#just lay inn bed dying and drawing these all day

[peachtaglia]

elliott stardew valley....... my wifme,..... i think that it is so funny that one of his loved gifts is a whole live lobster what on earth does he do with that thing..

My farmer is a loser fisherman more than they are a farmer. and,, somehow scored elliott????

#peaches scribbles #stardew valley #elliott sdv #sdv elliott #sdv farmer #stardew valley elliott #elliott x farmer #mimimmimimimimi #my deluisons <3 #i am sick rn like not very good #just lay inn bed dying and drawing these all day

[hyper-fixate]

you wouldn’t believe the dream I just had about you and me

[The other night, during a 3 am feed, I saw a post about soulmate prompts (I found it!) and saw this one (paraphrased):

20. They recognize their soulmate because they’ve heard their laughter in their dreams.

And today, those immortal husbands wouldn’t let me leave it be. Title from Some Nights by Fun.]

updated with AO3 version.

------- Yusuf remembered when his older brother, Hamza, had gotten married to a shy dress maker from the village over. She looked beautiful. She had hand stitched a beautiful pattern across the skirt of her simple tunic, with looping branches and leaves. A tree, the joining of two families to make one. Yusuf had been intrigued by it, choosing to sit by his new sister’s knee and gently traced his fingers along it. Something in the soft blue-green thread intrigued him. He knew he would sketch it in the hearth this evening, as he lay watching the fire dwindle to embers. His mother tried to shoo him away, admonishing him for touching the precious dress with his sticky fingers but Karima gently placed her hand on the nape of his neck and smiled at him beneath her veil.

‘Are you happy to be married to my brother?’ Yusuf asked breathlessly. Only seven, but already his mind was filled with the glory of love. The romance he still saw in his parents eyes as they brushed gentle fingers against each other’s cheeks and arms. He knew his parent’s love story and it warmed him to know that they were blessed with so many long, happy years together. He fell asleep with the same fervent prayer on his lips: let me have a soulmate too.

‘Yes, little brother.’ Karima glanced at Hamza in a way that was so tender and loving, Yusuf blushed as though he had intruded on something intimate. ‘From the moment I heard his laugh, it was as if a great weight was lifted from me.’ 

‘Then I heard hers, and she snorts. Like a boar.’ Hamza had come over to them, grasping one of Karima’s hands in his and drawing it to his lips. She swatted at him with her free hand, but she did laugh. And it did end in a small snort, a joyous noise that seemed to escape her against her will. 

‘How did you know, then,’ Yusuf considered his words carefully, ‘that it was dreams of your soulmate and not a boar?’

That drew a great laugh from Hamza. He laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back and even Karima giggled lightly.

‘Little brother, your mind is a treasure.’ Hamza gently ran his thumb over Karima’s knuckles and they exchanged that look again. ‘I must continue to check on our guests? Do you need anything?’

‘No, our little brother is taking good care of me.’ Karima said and Yusuf felt the tops of his ears heat at the easy nature in which she accepted him. Hamza kissed her hand again and, with a whispered endearment, left them. Karima looked down into Yusuf’s shining eyes. 

‘Do you wish to know a secret?’ She looked at him conspiratorially, and he nodded. ‘You must not say anything.’ Yusuf held his finger over his lips, to mime his silence. ‘But a part of me was so glad that my soul was bound to one so handsome and I was instantly ashamed. To be gifted a soulmate so close and so easy to find and to be concerned with his looks?’ She sighed, leaning back into her chair. ‘But what has been the greatest blessing is getting to hear your brother’s laugh at all hours of the day, not just in my dreams.’ 

She had a hazy smile on her lips, one Yusuf knew well from watching his parents. He had tried to capture that smile in drawings. Tried to imagine it on his own face when he caught his reflection in still water. To imagine the contentment of knowing you had found the other half of your soul, that you were finally on the path you had been destined to tread. He swallowed painfully.

For Yusuf had a secret. A dark, terrible secret, that felt so heavy in his young heart.

Yusuf was not certain he had a soulmate. 

He knew how it worked. That when your soulmate laughed, you would hear it that night in your dreams. His father, Ibrahim, had spoken of the joy he had, growing up and hearing his mother’s light laugh every night. How happy he’d been, knowing his future partner was so carefree and easy to laugh. How he’d felt his heart would explode when he’d heard that laugh, outloud, that fateful day in the market. How it had speared him through his heart. And Yusuf had sighed at the romanticism of it.

But Yusuf didn’t hear laughter in his dreams. Not really. Sometimes he thought he heard small huffs, little sighs of sound. But never laughter. Not the type that seemed to ring in his family home at all times of the day. When Ibrahim caught Mariam in his arms and swung her. When Hamza told stories of the men at the docks, trying to haggle for the wares. When Karima brought him sweets from the market.

When Hamza and Karima announced that there would be even more laughter to look forward to, their intertwined hands splayed over her flat stomach.

He was nearly thirteen when Yusuf woke suddenly, spilling the papers he had been sketching on before he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he knew what had woken him. A deep noise that sounded warm and joyful, but still so restrained. As he chased the dream, the noise seemed to slip through his memory and he couldn’t hold it. But a small giggle bubbled from his own lips.

It had been a laugh. 

He had a soulmate.

A more painful thought occurred to him, then. His soulmate had had so very little opportunity to laugh that it had taken nearly thirteen years to hear it properly. He did not think discovering he had a soulmate would have made his heart heavier. But the ache in his chest when he realised that there was someone out there for him, but that this person did not have the joy Yusuf had? That cut him deeply. He scrambled out of bed and folded his body into the familiar shape of prayer. He swore, as solemnly as he could, to bring such joy to his partner that he would know that dreamy contentment Karima had shared with him all those years ago, on her wedding day. I will hear your laugh at all hours of the day, to make up for years worth of missed dreams. 

Yusuf, like any good romantic, was also predisposed to fits of melancholy. He was not sure what he had done to upset Allah. He had had a good childhood, his silent existential crisis about not having a soulmate not withstanding. He had enjoyed his work with his father and brother, travelling by land and sea to trade their goods. Some part of him kept his feet moving. He seemed to know, deep down, that his quiet, solemn soulmate would not be found in the next village over. So he had travelled happily, easily charming those he met with a sharp wit and an easy wink. At every new market, new town, new inn, he wondered if this would be the moment he heard it. Heard the laugh that would begin his life anew.

Then that damned Frankish pope had called his holy war and everything had changed.

There was no laughter anywhere, not anymore. Not when Yusuf’s days were spent trudging through endless sands with this damned man. He’s not sure what made him offer his hand in peace after the last time they woke up. Honestly, it was more fatigue than any sort of mercy. He was covered in sand, his own blood, the Frank’s (Nicolo, his mind unhelpfully supplied) blood. There was bone and gore in his hair, caked under his nails and in his mouth. Surely anything would be better than this. Even walking with his once enemy who was trapped in this living hell with him.

It took many weeks for them to realise they shared a common language. It took them months to accept that whatever curse they both suffered had held and that perhaps, they should stop trying to kill one another and at least be civil. 

Nicolo’s Greek was slow and halting, half remembered from when he was a boy and before he had been promised to the church. Yusuf’s years of travelling made languages easier for him and between Greek and exaggerated hand movements, he had begun to pick up bits and pieces of Nicolo’s mother tongue. Nicolo still tripped over Arabic hopelessly, but was a dedicated student. He asked constantly for the names of things and spent hours repeating them to himself, to try and imprint them on his tongue.

Yusuf watched his hopeless companion and decided that perhaps he had not angered Allah that badly. Though their meeting had been so violent, he had seen a kindness under the layers of doctrine and faith, an eagerness to learn and experience this new world. Nicolo was distractedly oiling his long sword whilst clumsily rolling the strange Arabic consonants and vowels around his tongue. He misprounounced every word.

His companion was amusing if nothing else. And a fairly good cook. 

And that’s why you don’t tempt fate. Yusuf thought a moment later, as his musings were cut short by the sharp pain in his neck and he barely had time to see Nicolo jump to his feet as his world tilted sideways and went dark.

Yusuf awoke with a violent gasp. He sat up, his hands scrambling to his neck. His fingers found nothing but tacky blood. Nicolo was watching him, his eyes oddly bright in the dying light.

‘What happened?’ Yusuf asked, his voice rasping. He put his hands on his thighs, trying to ground himself. Nicolo moved back slowly, sitting down in front of Yusuf.

‘Bandits.’ Nicolo jutted his chin towards his right. Yusuf saw two bodies laying in pools of dark blood. ‘They shot you with an arrow.’ A small movement out of the corner of his eye drew Yusuf’s gaze back to Nicolo. He was holding an arrow bolt in his hand. ‘You did not wake up.’ Nicolo said, swallowing hard. ‘Not until I pulled out the arrow. I had thought-’ There was a half strangled sound from the Genoan. ‘I was wondering if your stubborn refusal to die was just at my hand.’ Nicolo said it so quietly, Yusuf’s tired brain took a moment to make sense of it.

It was easier to understand Nicolo’s tone in zeneize, his mother tongue. But Yusuf could hear fear in this man’s voice in any language. Anger and fear had been their first shared language, after all. Yusuf tore his eyes from the arrow, the arrow Nicolo had to tear from his neck, and back at his companion and saw the other man’s tunic was covered in blood. 

‘Are you well?’ Yusuf reached out, his hand poised in the air between him. Nicolo didn’t move away, but stared at Yusuf’s hand as one would a snake about to strike. ‘Did they hurt you?’ Yusuf tried to make the return of his hand seem casual and not stilted, but the tension still hung in the air.

‘This is mostly yours.’ Nicolo said, waving to his chest. ‘It sprouted out of you like a fountain when I pulled this out.’ He rubbed a hand across his cheek, smearing more blood. He grimaced when his hands came away tacky. ‘How bad is it?’ 

‘For you? It’s an improvement.’ Yusuf said in perfect zeneize and in such a deadpan manner that it startled a laugh out of his companion.

Yusuf froze. 

For a full moment, he wondered distantly if his heart had actually stopped and he was in the liminal space between their deaths and their gasping rebirth.

Nicolo laughed. Nicolo laughed.

And Yusuf knew that laugh.

He moved almost as a blur, reaching for Nicolo before the other man could react. Yusuf’s hands caught Nicolo’s face and the force of his movement knocked the paler man back, wedged uncomfortably, half on his knees and half on his pack. Nicolo squawked indignantly, trying to move away, his hands searching for a weapon on instinct. But it was too far away and the manner in which Yusuf had pinned him made it impossible to lever himself off his feet. Yusuf shushed him, softly, gently. Trying to convey that he meant no harm as one hand slid Nicolo’s hair away from his face and Yusuf searched those damned beautiful eyes for something. 

‘What are you doing?’ Nicolo, extremely confused and uncomfortable, stumbled out in slightly mispronounced Arabic, following it with a small huff at the manic look on Yusuf’s face. And it speared Yusuf right through the heart.

He knew that sound too. And his heart flew and broke and started thumping in his chest as if it wished to escape his flesh. Something had to escape, so Yusuf threw his head back and laughed. Nicolo went still under him, his eyes blown wide.

‘Mio Dio.’ Nicolo gasped under him and Yusuf couldn’t help himself. 

He laughed again.

(Prologue, of sorts)

‘And I kept my promise, I have tried every day to make him laugh. If only I’d known as a boy, so unsure of my dreams, how those small noises of joy would make my heart soar. How drawing a full bodied laugh from this quiet, thoughtful priest would make my blood boil in a very different way then when we met-’ Joe says

‘Yes, yes. We get it. You’re still disgustingly sweet.’ Andy sits down, her hands curled around a vodka bottle and offers it to Nile. Nile shakes her head. Andy takes a swig straight from the top.

‘Wait, so you didn’t laugh around each other for months?’ Nile looks slightly dazed. 

Nicky shrugs. ‘We were too busy trying to kill each other.’

Joe laughs.

Nicolo’s point of view here.

#Joe x nicky #the old guard #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova #soulmate au #fanfic #I just can't stop thinking of all of joe's great big laughs and nicky's little small ones #I may have also changed the word fringe to hair #10 years in the uk and I still couldn't do it #but bangs just sounds silly #beans writes fanfic

[jaskierswolf]

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 5/6  (1, 2, 3, 4 - 6)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

Rated E - for smutty reasons.

CW for this chapter: small panic attack that is quickly caught and pulled back under control

Much to Dandelion’s disappointment, Geralt disappeared after their fateful day at the brothel. Their separation had come as a surprise to Dandelion, having chased Geralt into the forest and the death of his most darling instrument. The night had been a soothing balm to his hurt, snuggled close to the witcher, inhaling his musky scent, but by morning Geralt had said it was time to part ways with no warning or explanation, and Dandelion had been too forlorn to argue.

So two weeks later he was stuck in a tavern, with only his voice to earn his way, not having nearly enough money to buy a new lute. He sighed, his fingers trailing over the rim of his wine goblet. It tasted like shit but, then again, everything in the world looked like shit to him, the bright and colourful world he knew had turned to ash. The only lutes he could even dream of affording would be cheap, nothing could replace the beautiful elven lute that he had lost.

He sighed again.

Dandelion hadn’t even been allowed to play, too morose and maudlin to be of any use, especially without an instrument. No lute, no witcher, no coin. Destiny had really decided to fuck him over lately.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Julian, pull yourself together,” he muttered and downed the last of his wine, slamming the goblet down onto the table.

The room went silent and he looked around with a furrowed brow. The goblet hadn’t even shattered and it certainly hadn’t been enough noise to draw the attention of the whole tavern, an unnatural silence that he’d only heard when…

“Geralt?”

His eyes shot to the door and he scrambled to his feet, and there he was… the witcher, cloak wrapped tight around him, the hood covering his snowy white hair. The witcher loomed in the doorway, golden eyes peering around the room with a fierce scowl until they landed on Dandelion. It was like the tension melted away from Geralt’s body, his entire posture shifting as a broad smile spread across his face. Dandelion licked his lips, caught under the intensity of Geralt’s gaze, trapped like a lark in a cage.

“Dandelion, at last,” Geralt greeted warmly as Dandelion met him halfway across the room.

The two men embraced each other, not caring for who else might be watching, and Dandelion buried his face in Geralt’s neck. The familiar scent grounding him, earthy like the forests they travelled through, a smokiness from the fires at night and the unmistakable smell of darling Roach. Geralt hummed and pulled back from the embrace, smiling down at Dandelion before pressing his lips to Dandelion’s forehead.

“Geralt?” Dandelion breathed, his face flushing from the uncharacteristic display of affection from his friend.

“It’s good to see you, can we talk?”

Dandelion nodded and led the witcher to the inn where he was staying. It was a cramped room, the cheapest one they had, and the bed was falling apart, but Dandelion hadn’t been able to afford better. He’d considered going back to his childhood home but even the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Lettenhove had not been kind to him and he was better in a shitty room than the luxurious icy corridors that were once his home.

He scratched the back of his head, knocking his bonnet askew and his fingers brushed the still ratty feather, and he was once again reminded of how shit his life had been in the two weeks he’d spent alone.

“Ah, umm, well. I’m sorry it’s not much, my dear, without…” he trailed off, the memories of his shattered lute in Geralt’s hands too much to handle.

“I have something for you,” Geralt hummed, not taking his eyes off Dandelion, gaze not so subtly flicking down to Dandelion’s lips.

The flush from earlier deepened and his pulse quickened. The room, which had been almost as frigid as the air outside, suddenly felt too hot, stifling and far too small for the two of them. “Oh?”

“Wait here.”

Dandelion nodded, bouncing from one foot to another, glancing at his satchel where his notebook and ink were stored. His tongue swiped along his bottom lip to stop himself from chewing them to shreds. His mind was racing through all the reasons why Geralt might want to talk to him, were they breaking up? Could you break up with friends? No, that was silly, Geralt wouldn’t have kissed him if they were breaking up…. Oh dearest Melitele, what if he were dying? What if Geralt were dying? Poisoned or cursed… or oh gods!

Dandelion gasped, falling to his knees. His hat fell to the ground and his arms wrapped around his chest, it was too tight and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Bloody hell,” he choked out, “fuck… Geralt.”

“Dandelion!” a voice yelled, echoing around the room and everything felt like he was underwater, floating through a fog, gravity was meaningless and his head water spinning, spinning.

A hand on his cheek.

Golden eyes.

“Dandelion, I’m here.”

Geralt.

Geralt.

“G’ralt?”

“Yes, it’s me, what the fuck happened, Dandelion?”

Dandelion blinked, his head pounding and his limbs suddenly felt like they weighed like lead. “You’re not dying?”

“What the- no, no I’m not dying, why would you think that?” Geralt asked, seemingly horrified by the question but Dandelion didn’t care, he leaned into Geralt’s touch, fighting his own body so he could press the witcher’s palm firmer against his skin.

Geralt was alive, and not dying.

He wasn’t sure why the thought had gripped him so tightly, an icy hand clawing at his heart, refusing to let go until the witcher was back by his side.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, feeling rather stupid. “I’ve lost so much recently, but I can’t lose you, Geralt. Please don’t leave me.”

Geralt sighed, pulling his hand away from Dandelion’s cheek, but before he could panic again, Geralt had taken Dandelion’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips in a kiss worthy of a knight. “I could never leave you, Dandelion.”

“But… you left?”

“I had an errand, a witch owed me a favour and it was time to cash it in.”

“I- I don’t understand,” Dandelion’s felt tears prickling in his eyes, and there was a lump stuck in his throat. He was a fucking mess, no wonder Geralt had left him. No, Geralt had come back to him, with promises of never leaving on his lips, but it was hard to believe, not when so much shit had been thrown his way in the last two weeks.

Geralt didn’t reply, he just reached behind him and Dandelion suddenly noticed the new strap around Geralt’s chest, imprinted with buttercups and marigolds.

A strap he knew.

His strap.

His lute strap.

“That’s- Geralt, that’s my lute!” Dandelion cried, his jaw dropping as Geralt pulled the familiar and precious elven lute out from behind his back. “Oh my gods, Geralt!”

Dandelion didn’t think, he just launched himself at the witcher, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck as their lips crashed together. Geralt grunted as he was pushed back to the floor, barely able to set aside the lute before Dandelion was kissing him, tearing at his armour. It was a frenzy as they both shed their clothes, Geralt’s buckles were trickier than Dandelion’s lute strings and it didn’t take long until he was huffing, pouting up at the witcher in frustration. Geralt took pity on him, batting his hands aside so that they could remove Geralt’s armour with more efficiency. Dandelion’s heart was racing in his chest, whilst they’d given each other a hand in the dark nights alone in the woods, or in rickety beds at inns, kissing had always been just out of reach. They’d never bothered in removing their clothes, keeping it impersonal, the intimacy never going beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Dandelion felt heat pool in his core as Geralt’s armour was peeled away, until he was left in just his small clothes, the medallion resting  between his toned pecs. They’d seen each other naked before, but never like this and Dandelion had to remind himself that he was allowed to touch. His hand shook as he reached out to trace a scar that ran across Geralt’s chest, just missing his heart. The jagged mark was a stark reminder of the risk that Geralt took a daily basis, for people that never appreciated him.

“Humans are sometimes the worst monsters,” Geralt murmured covering Dandelion’s hand with his, the low rumble startling Dandelion from his thoughts.

He swallowed, gazing into the warm, almost glowing, golden eyes that had, somewhere along the line, become his home. “I’m sorry, darling.”

They pressed their lips together in a tender kiss, losing the mindless heat from before, enjoying the comfort of holding each other close, skin to skin. Dandelion felt like he’d awoken from a nightmare, floating through this newfound dream. A dream where he was allowed to kiss Geralt, allowed to love him.

He hoped.

Gods, he hoped, the warm glow burning in his heart.

Geralt pulled back from the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. Dandelion whined and tried to capture Geralt’s lips once more, hands sliding down to grope at Geralt’s arse but the witcher’s finger pressed against his lips. “Not now, Dandelion, not like this.”

“Don’t you think you’ve made me wait long enough, witcher,” Dandelion huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“You just had a panic attack,” Geralt reminded him gently, his voice soft and like the welcoming heat of a summer’s day.

Dandelion pouted. “You got me out of my clothes for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Geralt smirked.

The witcher led him to the bed, which would have almost been romantic if it weren’t for the fact that the mattress wasn’t even good enough for the rats that Dandelion was sure lived in the walls. Geralt made no effort to remove any more of their clothes, seeming content to remain in their smallclothes, much to Dandelion’s displeasure. He pulled Dandelion on top of him as he lay back on the bed. Dandelion happily let himself be pulled into a kiss, only pausing to tuck his hair behind his ears as it kept dropping onto Geralt’s face, the witcher grimacing as he found himself with mouthfuls of blond hair.

Dandelion giggled, rocking his hips against Geralt’s. The witcher didn’t want to have sex out of concern for Dandelion’s well-being but that didn’t mean they couldn’t both get off, and Dandelion had two weeks of Geralt fuelled frustration to let out. His arse grounded against Geralt’s cock as he moved, a slow but getting rhythm, teasing the pleasure more than anything but it was still enough to bring a flush to his witcher’s cheeks.

“Is this okay, my darling?” he breathed, barely able to keep a soft moan out of his voice as the heat began to bloom.

Geralt nodded, grunting out a barely audible yes. His cock was hard and pressing into the curve of Dandelion’s arse, even through the layers between them. Dandelion leaned forward to kiss the exposed line of Geralt’s shoulders, his finger’s splaying on the witcher’s chest and hooking under the silver medallion.

“Do you ever take this off?”

“No.”

“Good, it suits you, my brave and fearsome witcher,” Dandelion purred as they moved together, slowly, just feeling the heat of each other.

“Yours?” Geralt growled.

“Mine.”

After that it slowly grew more desperate once more, a tangle of limbs, and messy kisses as they became reacquainted with each other, learning the secrets of their bodies beyond their cocks. Dandelion learned that Geralt’s neck was particularly sensitive just below his ears, and the witcher made the most ethereal noises when Dandelion nipped at the skin there. In turn Geralt swiftly realised that Dandelion was putty in his hands when fingers carded through the thick blond curls. Their kisses slowly grew more practiced as they became more attuned to each other, and soon enough Dandelion was panting against Geralt’s lips as he hung on the edge of his orgasm as they rutted against each other.

“Touch me, please,” he begged, the friction between them not quite enough. Geralt growled as his hand finally reached between them, pushing Dandelion’s small clothes down enough so he could wrap a hand around Dandelion’s cock, and he mirrored the action, huffing when Geralt knocked his hand aside.

The sight of Geralt’s hand around both their cocks was what pushed him over the edge. He whined, biting down into Geralt’s shoulder to muffle his cries as he came, but Geralt didn’t let up, his hand still stroking them both until it was almost painful. Dandelion gasped, writhing helplessly on the bed as the witcher worked him through the orgasm, his own cum now acting as lubrication. He whined, as his pleasure began to slowly build again through the oversensitivity.

“Oh… fuck!” he panted, closing his eyes tightly, his body a burning pyre that he was sure could be seen from the stars themselves.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt’s voice rumbled in his ear and Dandelion felt the wet press of his lips. “I… I can stop…”

“Don’t you fucking dare, witcher, or I’ll have your head! Oh, gods, fuck, Geralt!”

Their movements became more frantic as Geralt started to lose control, and then he was spilling over them both, an almost feral growl bursting from his lips and Dandelion keened as he came for the second time, the energy seeping from him and he collapsed next to Geralt. He barely registered the kiss on his temples and the soft “I’ll get us cleaned up, love” before he was asleep.

#the witcher #gerlion #geraskier #geralt/dandelion #dandelion #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing

[fruithoods]

broken bards

He thought back to his time with Valdo Marx, the sweet whispers, the soft way he had told Jaskier he would mean nothing. Jaskier had believed him, for a time.

Then he met Geralt, who- however unintentionally- helped him find himself. He lost himself in the stories of the Witcher, for years, knowing that no true harm could come to him while he was with him.

And then the day on the mountain had happened, and Jaskier had been shattered once more.

This time, there was no one to pick up the broken pieces.

He had tried- singing songs from the good old days, steadily ignoring the way his heart ached. How it yearned for the Witcher. He traveled, and traveled, going as far away from that mountain as possible. The further away he was, he figured, the further away the memories would be.

Until he wandered so far away that he lost the protection of the Witcher. It was common knowledge that the bard Jaskier was under Geralt of Rivia’s protection, and any harm that befell him would be dealt by Geralt twice over to whoever was stupid enough to inflict it.

Until the months passed, and the bard was no longer the Witcher’s constant companion. Which made him an easy target.

He honestly wasn’t sure how exactly it happened- the events shrouded by the fog of drink. It wasn’t uncommon for him to drink himself halfway to death, a habit from his time at Oxenfurt that he had never managed to quite shake.

All he knew for certain was that he had been grabbed, firm and harsh hands digging into his arms, making his skin crawl-

He had been dragged somewhere, for how long he didn’t know, to somewhere cold, and damp. He wasn thrown onto the floor, in complete darkness, his head hitting the ground so hard he saw stars.

Someone had come in behind him, their footsteps echoing in the silence, but drowned out by the ringing in his ears.

He felt himself being pulled up, and forced into a chair, chains binding his arms and legs, until he was sitting there, completely helpless.

Hands cupped his face, so like Geralt’s, and yet not.

And then,

pain.

The needle pierced him, and Jaskier screamed.

The first thing Jaskier registered when he woke was the pain. It seared through him, every nerve on fire. His mouth, his mouth. He-he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-

“Jaskier.” Geralt. When did Geralt get here? How did he-

He was hyperventilating now, the air not coming in, not enough. If he could have opened his mouth, he would have.

“Jaskier, Jaskier look at me.” A gentle but firm grip was nudging his chin up (just like Them), and he looked up through blurred eyes, up at the Witcher. Geralt took his shaking, bloodstained hand in his own, and lay it gently on his chest. His heartbeat was slow, slower than Jask’s own, and certainly slower than what a normal human’s would have been. But it was calming. Grounding. “It’s going to be okay. Listen to me, okay?” Geralt’s other hand came up to cup Jaskier’s jaw, his touch soft, softer than Jaskier could remember it being. As if he was worried he would hurt him, Jaskier thought. It was a bit late for that. He tried to relax, years by Geralt’s side and playing doctor had taught him that the best thing to do when injured is to calm down. He listened to Geralt’s breaths, and tried to imagine that everything was fine. They were together, it was before the mountain, they were lying in an inn somewhere. Jaskier had just performed, they were safe, and they were happy.

Everything was fine.

No it wasn’t.

He was probably hallucinating, he had gone insane and he was seeing things. Geralt-Geralt wouldn’t have come for him, this was his mind playing tricks on him.

He was alone, alone, alone, and no one was coming, Geralt wasn’t coming, Geralt hated him, he would die alone in this filthy dungeon, drowning in his own blood-

Choking in his own blood, more like it.

His mouth-

Oh Melitele above, his mouth-

He would never speak again- he would never sing again

It was that thought which broke him more than the pain ever could.

The way the needle had pierced him, the pain of the thread being pulled through his flesh

He was dying, he was sure of it.

Jaskier the bard, unwanted and alone, was going to die

Even if Julian Pankratz managed to escape, to get out, to survive-

He could never be a bard again. He could never do what he loved, he could never be the person he was born to be, the person he abandoned his family for

Who was he without his voice? It was bad enough without Geralt, without the muse he had loved, the muse who had thrown him away that day on the mountain-

But without his voice- his music?

He was no one.

Better off dead.

Better off dead.

Better. Off. Dead.

He squeezed his eyes further shut, so hard that spots danced in his vision. This was a dream- or a hallucination.

This was not real.

Geralt wasn’t there, Geralt had abandoned him.

His eyes remained closed when he was gently lifted from the chair, when the hair that had fallen into his face was brushed away by hands, familiar hands, hands he had held and kissed and knew like his own.

Not real not real not real

His eyes remained closed when he was picked up, strong arms carrying him easily, his head resting carefully on a shoulder

Not real

His eyes remained closed when warm air tickled his face, a light breeze that felt so real-

They stayed closed when he felt himself being put on a horse, the strong arms that had carried him letting him lean back on a firm chest, a familiar medallion pressed against the nape of his neck, surrounded by a presence he knew so well.

Not real. Not real.

They didn’t stir when he was lowered onto a bed, so soft, so different from the harsh, cold floor of the dungeon-

Not. Real.

All he had to do was open his eyes, and he would see that he was in the dungeon.

He opened his eyes.

And Geralt was standing beside him, covered in blood, his long hair messy and tangled. He looked horrible.

He was staring at Jaskier though, with that vulnerable expression that had made Jaskier melt.

His hallucinations were realistic, then, which made them so much worse.

Any moment, any second and he would wake up, to find himself chained to that fucking chair, alone in the dark, wishing he was dead-

Geralt saw his open eyes, and knelt down by the bed (not real not real-) slowly, as if Jaskier was one of his monsters, easily provoked and dangerous.

“Jaskier I-” He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. It was so like him, Jaskier could have cried. “I’m sorry. I truly am. What I said on the mountain- I can never forgive myself. And I can’t expect you to forgive me either.” He looked so honest, so vulnerable. This was, frankly, the most emotional intelligence Jaskier had ever seen Geralt display. It was obviously part of his hallucination. But hallucination or not, Jaskier still yearned to comfort him. To tell him that yes, it had hurt. Yes, he was an asshole.

But Jaskier still loved him, and he had forgiven him long ago.

He couldn’t, though. Not- not like this.

Jaskier pulled his arm from out of the cocoon of blankets he was in, and weakly reached for Geralt, his hand grasping for him. Geralt seemed to understand, and grasped it in his own. Jaskier squeezed, and he felt his lips unwillingly turn upwards.

He immediately regretted his mistake, as a searing pain shot through him. He flinched, hard, and his hand flew towards his mouth. It came away bloody.

Geralt immediately grabbed a towel and some water, which had apparently been next to him the entire time. Jaskier also saw a knife.

“Forgive me,” Geralt said, as he gently took Jaskier’s hand and pulled it away from his face. “this is going to hurt.”

It did.

(And it was real)

Recovery was, well, hard.

His lips healed fairly well, according to Triss. Yes, he had scars, and he hated them. They felt like a constant reminder, a constant reminder that he would never be the same- he would never be whole, again.

It was made worse because it was his fault.

There was something wrong with him, something broken. Because even weeks, even months after the stitches were gone, he couldn’t speak. Triss said it was because of the trauma.

Jaskier thought he was just weak.

Compared to Geralt, who had more scars than Jaskier could count, he was nothing. Geralt recovered from injuries in days, and he couldn’t get over this, this weakness in almost a year? Pathetic.

He tried, he tried so hard. He tried at night, when Geralt lay in their bed in their house by the sea (Geralt had insisted, and Jaskier had cried) and everything was silent. He stood in front of the mirror in their room for hours, trying to force the words to come out-

Geralt would always catch him staring at his own reflection, hating himself. He would climb out of bed, come behind Jaskier and hug him, resting his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder. He would tangle their fingers together, and press a kiss to the side of Jaskier’s head.

“You’ll get there, love.”

Jaskier would turn, drawing Geralt as close as he could, and wait until he felt those strong, familiar arms envelop him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt, honestly. He truly, truly didn’t. He was so patient with him. Somehow, Geralt always seemed to understand him. It was like when they were younger, and Jaskier had been able to decipher every “Hmm” or hum that Geralt made.

He always knew what Jaskier needed, and Jaskier loved him for it.

The day Jaskier spoke again was the day he got married.

It had been a dream, something he had vaguely thought about but never quite thought possible. Geralt proposed to him by the sea, his hair whipping in the wind, and Jaskier thought at that moment that he may be an angel. He said yes, of course.

The ceremony was to be small, with only their closest friends present. Yennefer had taken over the preparations, her only reaction to the news of their engagement a smile and “finally”

It was a dream.

Until it turned into a nightmare.

Because the first time Jaskier spoke, the first time he said Geralt’s name in years.

Was his scream as his fiancé (his almost husband they had been so close-) was run through.

The blood covering his hands as he held his Witcher, holding him close, as his tears threatened to blur his vision. “Geralt, Geralt- I-” he stuttered, hating that he couldn’t even say goodbye properly.

Geralt smiled, his mouth full of blood. Jaskier felt sick.

“Oh dear heart,” Geralt said, his voice so full of love. “It’s okay. I love you, my bard. It’s not- not your fault.”

The howl of anguish Jaskier let out as his fiancé died in his arms was indescribable.

At Geralt’s funeral, Jaskier finally spoke. It wasn’t much (not what Geralt deserved, he deserved so much better-)

As the casket fell down into the earth, Jaskier dropped his bundle of dandelions (Geralt said he loved them because they reminded him of Jaskier, once) on the ground, his eyes filling yet again.

He knelt, his chest feeling so heavy he couldn’t breathe, and he was thrown back to the dungeons from so long ago, helpless and alone.

Except this time, Geralt truly wasn’t coming.

“I’m sorry.” His whisper was soft.

He clutched Geralt’s medallion, given to him the night before his death-

Geralt smiled, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face. “This, this used to be the most important thing in my life. It meant that I belonged somewhere, that I had a home.” He pulled off the medallion, pressing it into Jaskier’s hands, and folding them gently over it.

“But now you’re my home. You always have been, it just took me so long to see it. It’s yours.”

Jaskier buried his face in his hands and sobbed, letting the grief take over. It was yet another one of those nights, when he felt so alone he thought he might die. He was clutching Geralt’s medallion like a lifeline, trying to stay afloat-

He didn’t deserve to be there. Not when Geralt was dead. It should have been him, it was always going to be him.

He burned his lute that night.

The lute- his first gift from his travels with Geralt, a constant reminder of all that he had lost. His music, his voice, and his Witcher.

He threw it into the fireplace, watching it slowly be engulfed by the flames.

He was broken.

His soul burned with his lute.

The bard followed his Witcher, forever, and always.

#the witcher #jaskier #the witcher netflix #geraskier #fic #angst #character death #geralt d*es in this because he had too much emotional intelligience #hehe #siwrites #geralt of rivia #jaskier x geralt #posted on ao3 #geralt and jaskier #dandelion

[crowleyellestair]

can i request soft but v angsty jaskier x reader? he is upset over something and the reader is comforting him and letting him know how loved and appreciated he is, but he just can’t accept the fact that she’s actually in love with him :3

AN//// Thanks for requesting! I got excited for this, finally being able to have a good situation for some of the lines I’ve been holding onto for a while

Masterlist

Also check out my other Jaskier stuff- I have a lot!

  The crowd had roared that night. The name of the minstrel had gained traction in recent times, certain towns being elated from the arrival of Jaskier. He had been floating on air, breathing in the praise he had been receiving as of late.

On top of that wonder, he had Y/n to share it with. The bard had kept to singing of The Witcher, refraining from tales of love since they had started traveling as a pair. Jaskier had fallen into a new tale of pinning and uncertainty, and never wanting to act on his feelings.

It has been four months since Geralt had asked destiny herself to take the bard off of his hands. Y/n had been by his side then, and she had stuck there till now.

And she’s there in this moment too. A small, harmless moment to her, but an eternity for Jaskier. The inn he had just played for was still ramped, and even as the two lay in their shared bed, they could hear the crowd. They had laid side by side, staring at the ceiling.

Most- most being Geralt, think that Jaskier is emotion driven. He is, keeping his heart on his sleeve, but Y/n knew how to decipher the feelings that rolled off of him. Some would assume that he would have cried a river from being thrown away from is best friend. Others would assume that that sadness would change him, never really lying about his feelings, and not being able to move on. Y/n knew better. Of course, she was non the wiser about what was brewing in his head and heart now.

“It really was an amazing night.” She sighed softly before turning to look at him. Her arm tucked itself under her head, a soft smile resting on her to match the soft gaze. Usually, Jaskier would turn to face her, but he continued to look at the ceiling. “But that isn’t to say you don’t always sound good- because you do. Always sound good, that is.” She started her compliment, quickly tripping over her own thoughts, as many bombards her as she thinks of him. Just like anytime she thinks of him. Too many emotions and thought raid her brain, not allowing her to look past the love in her eyes. But she could still tell, after finally finding her way out of her jumble, that he wasn’t acting normal.

Those people would be right in assuming that the day on that mountain had changed him. They would be right in assuming he’d be sad- but he once wished men to grovel at his feet before dying, Jaskier wasn’t a one-dimension crybaby. He was powerful in his own rights, only sometimes letting his emotions overtaking him.

Like in this moment. A moment that had been harmless, now dawning to be something more. She slowly shifts closer, resting her chin and arm on her chest. Most lovesick folks would focus on the closeness, and though she was lovesick, nothing now crossed her mind except for concern. Concern for her quiet bard.

“Dandelion?” A name she loved to use with him. In a place towards the end of the continent, they had called him that, and it had stuck with her. He was her flower in a field of grass. Outside of those isles, that was her name for him. She could feel his chest clench at her voice, which intern made hers follow suit. She pushes herself up to loom over him, invading his senses. “Did something happen?”

“No, it’s nothing to worry about, really.” Jaskier’s eyes dragged over her own, seeing the draw of her brow and raw nerves in her gaze. He threw a small smile to try and throw her off his trail, but she doesn’t move from her spot. “It was a good performance, wasn’t it?” She hummed but quickly added,

“But this isn’t.” A sigh rolled from deep in his chest, starting to push up to slip from her gaze, but an arm keeps her in her place. “You can talk to me.”

“Truly, I’m fine. I think I have a new song, so if you could…” she nods, leaving his space. Y/n finds her spot again, but stayed in a sitting position, eyes boring into him.

The pieces start falling in place. The whole night had been filled with songs of Geralt. The crowd screamed for more adventure- more so than most crowds. With the pairing of Jaskier being hesitant to sing of any love other than Y/n, he didn’t have much material. But, of course, she hadn’t known that part.

“This is about Geralt.” He froze mid action of getting up from the bed. He slowly falls back to sitting with his back turned. His shoulders drop and his eyes fall to the floor. “It’s okay to still be upset.”

“I know that, but it’s been months. It’s almost me keeping myself from moving on at this point.” She had a small frown find home on her, crawling to sit next to him.

“You don’t have to move on. We both know Geralt feels, and I’m sure he regrets what he did.”

“But he’s not here, is he? Geralt had everything I wanted and now… I don’t need the brute, so what’s wrong with me?” Y/n turned in towards him, a hand resting on his shoulder.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you. You’re perfect in being you.”

“Which is exactly wrong in everyone’s eyes.” He pauses before looking to her, the ghost of a smile flashing at her. “Other than you, apparently.”

“But your following-?”

“None of them know me. Tell me the last time someone asked, ‘how are you feeling today, bard? Want to think about the future while laying in a meadow?’” Y/n’s hand drops to land on his. He looks to their hands, brows knitting harder together than previous knitting.

“Well…” She pauses. She wanted to get her point across, so she broke character, much to his surprise. ”Fuck Geralt. And Yennifer. Or any of those people who don’t appreciate you for you or your raw talent and hard work. You don’t need them. They’re nice- great even. I know I’m not much, but I’m here, and I’ll never leave your side.” Jaskier looked to her, wanting to ask what had been eating at him since that day.

“And why have you stayed?” It took her by surprise, needing to answer fast, but not wanting to give away the real reason. Of course, there aren’t ever great times to tell someone life altering information, she decided now might be the right time.

“Because I care about you.” Her hand squeezed around his, trying to give emphasis.

“Despite what you say, you care about Geralt as well.”

“But I don’t love Geralt. He’s a great friend- kind of. He’s great company and inspiration, but I’m not following him.” His brows shoot to the top of his head, but his gaze turns back to the floor. He could feel tears being held by pure will, trying to process- to believe. But he couldn’t. He’s fallen in and out of love, but this is different. It was almost as if this was the universe’s plan for him- a plan to be with her. But the thought of her actually feeling the same? Impossible. He would hike his feelings up with his dramatic nature, but what she was saying is real. He’s never known her to lie, either.

“But Geralt-?”

“Helped me. For money. But he hadn’t stayed with me, trying to talk through my bad luck with me. He hadn’t given me a shoulder to cry on, and he certainly doesn’t have a pure heart-.”

“Don’t.” He whispered softly. The action making her heart stick in her throat. She knew there was a gamble in telling him about her feelings.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t…. I love you, and I’m sorry if that affects us in some way-.” A choked laugh escaped him, turning back to her with glassy eyes.

“Of course I love you. But I know you can’t love me back. To all the stars I’ve prayed to, none would be able to gift me with your love, as much as I’d want it.” Y/n tried not to relish in the joy she felt in knowing he felt the same way. She didn’t want to relish, seeing him in front her with that broken look on his face.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, you are the only bright flower in the middle of my world filled with weeds. You’re my dandelion, growing in even the thorniest of places in my life. Bright and golden, strong but having a soft side. You can blow in the wind eventually, but your strong will has kept your petals strong.” They sat in silence, both looking into each other. After a long while, his eyes fell closed, bringing her hand up to his lips.

He was trying to believe, but the place he had found himself in was too strong. He placed a soft kiss on her hand, stealing it from her and being able to keep it if she was truly lying.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #dandelion x reader #witcher imagine

[captcas]

Screwed (Destiel AU)

Screwed by capthamm (Part 3 of 3) Dean inherits the old family inn and has to move home to fix it up for selling. When the work proves to be too much, he enlists in the town’s only contractor’s help– his neighbor, Castiel. Dean is short on time, stuck in a hometown riddled with old flames, and falling for the man who lives next door. He’s screwed. notes: My first ever attempt in the Supernatural/Destiel fanfiction world… and into smut. please be kind. Thank to my lovely beta, Luke <3 (@bawley_bug) and to Meg on her help with the smutty portion read on ao3

In the weeks following going public , not much changes— the little touches and flirtatious glances were apparently always part of their routine no matter how blind Dean may have been to their significance— but the line between what’s his and what’s Cas’s is slowly but surely beginning to blur.

And Dean can kiss Cas whenever he wants.

Besides that, they move on with their days a lot like they always did. Saying goodnight lasts a bit longer and sometimes Cas spends the night. They wake up and make coffee and toast and talk about their renovations for the day and get to work.

It’s domestic, it’s nice, and Dean is pretty sure he’s never been more in love.

Dean is also dying for something more than PG-13.

Cas’s confession the night they kissed rings in Dean’s head every time things get a little more hot and heavy. He’s a bit more… experienced… and wants Cas to be ready.

But fuck if he hasn’t needed to carve out time for his own release each day. He’s positive Cas has noticed so he tries to keep his distance when riled up.

It’s nearly impossible and today in particular is proving to be excruciating. Cas is weeding the garden while Dean puts in new edging. Everytime he looks over he can’t help but notice the way the sweat trails down Cas’s features before disappearing below the hem of his shirt. Every once and awhile he uses his toned forearm to wipe the sweat away and Dean feels his resolve weakening.

Then Cas stretches– the bottom of his shirt rising enough to reveal his perfectly toned skin and a line of hair that disappears beneath the button of his jeans.

Fuck.

Frustrated beyond belief with his dick’s inability to keep to itself, Dean tells Cas he’s going to grab something from the garage. Cas hums in acknowledgement and gives him a small, naive smile as he walks away.

Dean can’t help but melt at the smile Cas reserves for him.

But then again he’s hot and bothered and needs some time away from his infuriatingly attractive boyfriend who won’t seem to let him in his pants.

Dean knows it’s not anything personal, Cas and him have talked about labels in the dark of the evening and Cas explained that while he’s definitely gay, he actually feels more at home on the ace spectrum. He’ll be honest and say he stayed up long past Cas that night researching demisexuality.

It just made him fall even harder for the man asleep beside him.

Dean busies himself with some unimportant organization in the garage in order to calm down before walking into the house to grab some water for the two of them. He closes the fridge and looks out the sliding glass door, dropping the water bottle at what he sees.

Apparently , the heat was too much for Cas who is now very shirtless while continuing to pull the weeds. Dean can’t help but watch him work. The way his muscles move with each pull and the sweat dripping down his back and off his brow is just too much.

Dean remembers what he learned about demisexuality and while they haven’t said the “L word”, he knows his feelings for Cas are anything but one-sided.

Fuck it.

Dean opens the sliding glass door and Cas turns around at the sound. He smiles brightly before he realizes just how determined Dean is to cross the lawn. At first he looks concerned, but then his gaze flickers down and Dean watches his boyfriend’s eyes go dark.

Cas meets him halfway.

This kiss is unlike any that they’ve shared before. The heat of the day mixed with the pent up sexual tension is surging through every inch of their touch. Cas’s hands explore Dean in ways Dean only dreamed about before. Not wanting to break apart, Dean feels the tightness in his chest from the lack of airflow. Cas pulls away first, breathing in the small amount of air between their lips. Dean gasps.

“Inside.” Cas whispers, but with his deep voice it sounds like a command and if Dean isn’t careful he’ll come right here in the backyard. He’s positive he looks totally wrecked when he nods in response before allowing Cas to grab his hand and lead him into the downstairs bedroom.

As soon as they’re indoors, clothing flies off. Dean isn’t sure who is removing what but it’s only a matter of seconds before they’re both down to their boxers and he’s pushing Cas backwards towards the bed.

The look in Cas’s eyes is one he hopes never to forget.

Then he’s on top of him and their lips are connecting before Cas trails down his neck and bites hard . Dean ruts his hips in response and Cas gasps.

It’s the most beautiful sound Dean has ever heard.

He searches blindly for Cas’s lips in the tangle of their bodies and when they connect again Dean is positive it creates a bolt of lightning down his spine.

Lost in his thoughts the kissing slows. Cas rests his forehead on Dean’s and they each open their eyes. Dean pauses to lose himself in the blown out blue of Cas’s eyes and only catches the end of Cas’s question, “...you?”

He can’t speak, not really, so he grunts in response and Cas chuckles against his lips, “I’d like to blow you.” It wasn’t a question this time. Dean can’t believe this is about to happen but he’s torn between wanting to feel Cas’s lips around him and wanting to do the same for Cas.

His brain only allows him to articulate one word of that, “You?”

Cas smiles softly before leaning in for another kiss. “Later, Dean.” Dean can’t begin to argue with the sound of his name mixed with Cas’s intense want so he nods.

Cas trails kisses down Dean’s chest before tracing a finger underneath the band of his boxers. He’s careful to help Dean remove them completely and his eyes light up when Dean’s hard-on springs from beneath the fabric.

This must be heaven.

“Are you…?” Dean knows what Cas is asking before he gets the words out. “All clean… I– uh– got tested... after our first date.” Dean diverts his gaze, but still sees the smile and blush that creep along Cas’s features.

Dean is surprised when Cas descends immediately once given the all clear. His tongue rakes the length of Dean’s cock before the warmth of his mouth envelopes the whole of it. Cas starts slow, moving up and down in a steady motion and Dean knows he won’t last long.

What Cas lacks in experience he is certainly making up for with enthusiasm.

As he glances down towards Cas, he is struck with how stunning he looks in this position. Every time he’s gotten head it’s been dirty and quick and secretive…but with Cas, he wants to take his time but knows the beauty and anticipation of it all won’t let him.

Someday he’ll draw this out so he can watch Cas work for as long as he wants.

Once he finds his rhythm, Cas speeds up and at the same time takes Dean’s balls in hand and begins massaging. Dean reaches for the top of Cas’s head, combing his hand through the dark locks and tugging gently. Cas gags a bit before coming up for air– Dean was quick to forget Cas’s inexperience. Cas rests his head against Dean’s thigh wordlessly and Dean wishes he could take a picture. Instead, he reaches forward, massaging the length of Cas’s jaw gently to help ease the soft pain he’s sure Cas is feeling. After a minute or so, Cas kisses the palm of Dean’s hand and looks up at him readily.

It doesn’t take long before Cas finds himself again and is moaning into Dean’s cock. Dean just about loses it when Cas’s cheeks hollow out. He whispers, “That’s it, Cas. Right– there–”

Dean thrusts hard. One– two– three times before he feels himself about to explode. “Cas, I’m close… I–” He feels his partner shift and suddenly Cas’s calloused hand is wrapped along the full length of Dean and he knows it’ll be any second now.

“Cas…” His moan comes out like a plea and a promise all wrapped into one and he feels himself come.

He swears he sees the cosmos as Cas brings him over the finish line and into the cooldown, the whole time whispering to Dean. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. I’ve wanted this for so long. Thank you.”

Dean opens his eyes and the world feels like it’s in hyper-saturation. Every nerve is on end and his soul feels like it’s on fire. He turns to Cas and immediately goes in for a kiss. Cas smiles into the movement and Dean grasps the back of his neck in an attempt to never let go of this moment.

Suddenly something feral courses through him and his hand moves quickly down to Cas’s boxers, he palms the length of his boyfriend and looks deep into his eyes, “Your turn.”

Cas’s dick twitches at the sound of Dean’s voice and if he hadn’t just been put on empty he could’ve come just from that movement. He starts to move down, ready to give Cas the same treatment he just got but Cas grabs his shoulder to stop him. Dean panics for a moment, worried they’ve gone too far and Cas is regretting the moment they connected in the garden but then he speaks.

“I want to kiss you when I come.”

Dean gulps, sex never being something intimate for him. A simple scratch of an itch, not something that means much of anything. But with Cas it does. He nods and begins adjusting their positions so they are laying side by side and facing one another. Cas shimmies out of his boxers before grabbing Dean’s hand and bringing it to his cock.

Dean stops him, pulling his hand back up to his mouth and licking his palm, all while keeping close eye contact with Cas– it makes them both shudder.

Cas hisses when Dean’s hand finally wraps itself around him and Dean wishes he could record that sound to listen to over and over again. Slowly, Dean starts to pump his fist. Cas’s eyes close, pleasure washing over his features in a look Dean could never have created in his mind. Soon they’re leaning in for a kiss. Cas urges it deepers, tongues moving in unison and teeth clacking together. It’s messy and perfect all in one. They smile into the kiss and share the same breath and all the while Cas is thrusting into Dean’s hand like it was always meant to be there.

And with that thought Dean hears the final gasp and feels the undeniable drip of come down his hands. He eases Cas through the aftershocks, reiterating everything Cas said to Dean during his come down. Dean almost doesn’t realize when he says it, but it comes out all the same. “I love you, Castiel.”

It settles in and Dean’s eyes shoot open. He searches to see any sort of acknowledgement in Cas but his eyes are closed in pleasure. Dean sighs in relief, assuming he’s dodged the bullet of scaring a man off by saying “I love you” the first time they sleep together.

He’s not a teenager.

But then Cas is speaking and Dean, once again absorbed in his own thoughts, catches the end, “... and I love you, too, Dean.”

He waits for the fear but it never comes. He doesn’t want to run or leave town and he certainly doesn’t think about just how mortified his homophobic father would be. He’s just is. Happiness and satisfaction coursing through him in a way he didn’t realize was real.

His past is filled with a lot of sex with a lot of people, but this… this must be what people mean by making love.

. . .

“Just ask him, Dean.” Sam sounds frustrated on their third phone call today. Dean has been pacing back and forth in the kitchen all day. They finished the inn a week ago and have essentially been playing house, neither of them making the move to either sell it or live there permanently. He knows Cas would live here if he asked, but he wasn’t sure how the financials all worked out. So he called Sam who assured him that if he kept the inn an actual operating inn he would be more than ok.

So why is he so damn nervous?

Up until now every “big decision” in the relationship he’s been able to pawn off on Cas– inadvertently or otherwise. Cas called himself Dean’s boyfriend, Cas met him halfway on the lawn, Cas was the first one to bring up lube…

It’s Dean’s turn to take a step.

And he wants to so it shouldn’t be this damn hard. He knows Cas is waiting for the conversation, but he also feels zero pressure from his partner. Cas has always been good at letting Dean do things on his terms, even if he’s seven steps behind and wasting their time (Cas was right about the dark blue siding from the start and won’t let it go).

He doesn’t want to waste another minute.

Dean realizes he’s been silent for too long. It’s the sound of Sam unloading the dishwasher on the other end of the phone which reminds him to speak, “You’re sure?” Dean hesitates and he knows he’s shucking the decision making off on someone else yet again, but this time it’s genuine. This inn is all they’ve got left of their dad. As shitty as he was at times, he was still family.

“I’m sure. Dad’s probably rolling in his grave knowing he practically set you two up, but he’d want you to be happy Dean. Whoever that’s with.”

Dean fights back tears. Sam may be the younger brother but he’s always been better when it comes to this emotional crap. That’s why they always made a good team.

“Thanks, Sammy.” His voice cracks at the nickname. He misses his brother, but fuck if he ain’t proud of him.

“Of course. And now Jess, the kids, and I have somewhere to stay when we visit.” Dean smiles widely at the thought of the inn full of excitement and family and kids around the holidays or during the summer. He pictures it so clearly... and in every moment Cas is there, too.

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Hanging up the phone, he heads downstairs to the living room where Cas is curled up on the couch watching some documentary on the History channel. His blue eyes find Dean’s at the sound of the steps creaking and he smiles that smile again.

Dean’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He crosses the living room and sits down next to Cas who has turned his attention back to the tv. Dean instinctively reaches for the back of Cas’s neck, playing with the small tuft of hair at the nape. Pondering the show for a moment, Dean waits for a commercial to speak. He likes when they do this, the comfort of the silence is new to him. There are a million ways to ask what he’s about to and he’s running through them all in his head when a commercial for some medication blasts on the screen and Cas closes his eyes to lean into Dean’s touch.

He wants this. Forever.

“Move in with me. Here.”

Cas’s eyes open and Dean can tell he’s trying to hide a smile. Dean feigns interest in the commercial while the knowledge of Cas studying the side of his face burns blush into his cheeks.

“Did I forget to do that?”

Dean laughs and all the nerves he felt disappear. He never thought something like this was in the cards for him– secretly always wanting for the comfort and ease that comes so naturally with Cas.

It’s better than he could’ve wished for.

Cas turns his head to kiss Dean’s wrist (now resting on the couch) and Dean smiles. They’ve got a lot to work out– Dean doesn’t know the first thing about running an inn– but the nervous fear that would usually accompany Dean on a step like this is nowhere to be found.

All there is is Cas and Dean couldn’t ask for more.

#destiel ff #destiel #destiel au #castiel #dean winchester #captcas

[amayawolfe]

Ch. 4 - On Death's Doorstep

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 4468

Summary: Hisoka finds himself back in familiar company from his past. Is this all real? Or is he dreaming? Perhaps even... dead? The only thing that quickly becomes clear is that the redhaired teen is most definitely not safe.

⚠️ Warnings: angst, blood, gore definition, mild violence, nightmares, mental trauma, mentions/suggestions of trauma, mental instability, panic attack, rot/decay, self harm, strangulation, near death experience, unintentional/accidental suicide, death rattle

Hisoka

   A warm, bright light slowly penetrated Hisoka's closed eyelids, steadily rousing his conscious mind. He could tell he was laying on something soft and was covered with some sort of blanket. Keeping his eyes closed, he attempted to shift his position to get more comfortable only to be greeted with a wave of intense pain. He winced and hissed through his teeth, he felt as though his entire body had been trampled by a herd of stampeding horses.

   Having been overcome with such a great amount of pain so quickly, his muscle tensed and cramped, making matters all the worse. He swallowed hard and felt his brow furrow as he tried to focus on making his muscles relax. It was a slow and exhausting process.

   The sound of someone walking on soft flooring close by caught his attention. Whomever it was shuffled right up beside him and stood silently next to him. Before he could speak, a warm hand lightly lay on Hisoka's sweaty forehead as though checking his temperature. After a moment, it began to gently stroke his head, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead. The act was soothing, and Hisoka could feel himself start to relax and take some of the edge off the pain.

   "I'm sorry, baby, that last one was really rough with you, wasn't he..."

   Upon hearing his mother's soft, tender voice, Hisoka felt as though he had downed an entire bucket of ice water; ice and all. He forced himself to suppress a shiver when chills ran down his back and he felt himself nod in response. Confusion trickled into Hisoka's brain, was this a dream? Or was he dead, too? How come the pain felt so real? If he was dead and now in the afterlife with his mother or simply dreaming of her, he shouldn't feel this kind of pain, right?

   "Am I-" ♣ his voice cracked, sounding hoarse and brittle. He licked his lips and found that they were dry and cracked. He then realized he was horribly thirsty as if he hadn't drank anything in days.

   "Water," ♠ he pleaded in a croaked whisper.

   His mother loosed a pain filled sigh, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but the water was shut off again. I'll have to leave to try and find some." The soft rustle of clothing indicated his mother was starting to move away to do just that.

   Hisoka shook his head, causing it to throb and spin behind his eyelids. Everything hurt so badly, it made him feel weak and vulnerable. He didn't want to be left alone, even if it meant the company of someone he hated. He feebly reached out to where he had heard his mother's voice coming from. His arm shook and ached as he reached for her.

   After a hesitant moment, he could feel her soft, warm hands gently wrap around his own. He sensed her draw close; the movement was followed by a tender, motherly kiss placed upon his brow. Her actions made a tight ache form in Hisoka's chest. How he wished that this could have been his mother all the time. Loving, caring, gentle. He knew all too well this facade was only the beauty that hid her venom.

   He slowly opened his eyes, his vision was a little blurry but he could see her sitting there beside him in her pale green bathrobe. Hisoka guessed she had just recently gotten out of the shower since her hair was up in a towel. The warm light that filled the little apartment they shared was brighter than normal and gave their surroundings a very fuzzy and surreal feeling.

   Hisoka tried to recall how he could have possibly gotten here. His brow furrowed again as he struggled to remember the most recent past events.

   I was with the troupe, we reached Dolle, we got to the inn, Jasper harassed Aba- Wait! ♠ Hisoka's eyes narrowed as flashes of being pulled into an alley darted through his mind. He could see and hear Jasper talking to him, and the brief scuffle they had. Then someone was behind Hisoka, but the broken stream of memories ended there.

   Hisoka felt a sinking sensation within the pit of his stomach. He licked his lips once more and tried to swallow before he spoke, "Am.. Am I dead? ♠"

   His mother gave him a sorrowful look, "Oh, sweetie, no no, you're not dead." She let go of his hand with one of hers and began to stroke his head again.

   "You must feel awful, I told that last one to be gentle with you. I'm so sorry sweetie."

   Her tone had become sickeningly sweet with empty apologies. Hisoka's nose wrinkled as a wave of disgust washed over him. He pulled his hand away from hers and looked away, yet she continued to stroke his head.

   "You always did say you were sorry, mother," he barely croaked in a rough, broken voice, "but you never did anything to prevent it." ♠

   The hand that had been stroking his head stopped and slowly pulled away. There was a heavy silence for a few minutes before he heard his mother sigh.

   "You're right, I'm a terrible mother. I should have done more to love and protect you."

   A scowl started to form on Hisoka's face yet he did not respond to her. Another heavy silence, one that grew uneasy with every tick of the second hand in the clock on the wall.

   After a while, Hisoka finally broke the silence, "Do not expect me to disagree with you..." ♣

   He could hear her shuffle and shift uncomfortably beside him.

   "I didn't- I mean, I know..." She trailed off and Hisoka snickered at her pathetic attempts.

   His anger and disgust with his mother was starting to override his pain and dissipate the fog in his mind. It gave him new energy to say the things he had wanted to for so long.

   "You knew perfectly well what you were doing," ♠ he snarled, glaring at the back of the couch he was laying on, "Yet you never did anything to fix it. Your own pleasures were always more important than me. ♣ Even though you could see what it was doing to me and what I was being put through you-"

   Hisoka stopped his tirade, he could sense something was wrong. The warm light that had been filling the room started to fade away and the air around him had become cold and heavy. His mother's breathing changed, becoming thick and ragged.

   "I know," her voice rasped, barely above a hoarse whisper, "I know I was a horrible mother. No, a horrible person. But Hiso, my son, my love, did I really deserve... this?"

   Hisoka hesitated, dreading what he would see. The air had become so heavy he could barely breathe as the room continued to descend into darkness. He slowly turned his head to look back at his mother. What he saw caused him to open his mouth wide in a silent scream and desperately attempt recoil to further into the couch.

   All color had drained away from his mother's flesh. A horizontal slit appeared in the middle of her throat. The wound wept crimson rivers as it began to yawn wider and wider. He could see muscles, tendons, and trachea seemingly rot away at a frighteningly rapid pace. Hisoka tried to scramble away but his battered and bruised body failed him while his decaying mother leaned forward and slowly began to reach for him with both hands

   "Tell me, please sweetie, did mommy deserve to die like that? Did you really have to kill me?"

   As she spoke her lips started to rot and pull away exposing her teeth and gums. Her cheeks became sunken as her eyes fell back into her head, leaving empty withering voids that bore into Hisoka's tortured soul. She wrapped both of her rotting hands around her son's throat and began to squeeze, cutting off the precious oxygen his body so desperately required to sustain life.

   Hisoka began to thrash and tear at the arms in a frantic and desperate attempt to pull death's hands away from his throat. His actions were futile as he only managed to tear away large handfuls of rotting flesh leaving behind exposed bone. His mind was in full panic, he couldn't breathe to scream and his eyes were blown wide, staring into those voids in his mother's now skeletal face. She drew closer, slowly descending upon him as she chanted over and over.

   "Hisoka, why did you do this? Why did you do this to me? I'm your mother. Hisoka? Hisoka! Hisoka! Hisoka!"

Abaki

   "Hisoka? Hisoka! Hisoka wake up!" Abaki cried out to her unconscious friend who now thrashed around in his bed and wasn't breathing as his own hands were wrapped tightly around his throat. She desperately tried to pry Hisoka's hands away to free his airway but couldn't get a good enough grip.

   She watched in horror as his usually pale, freckled face started to change to an angry shade of red and his lips began to turn blue. Shaking her head, Abaki turned and bolted for the door. Flinging it wide open, she screamed out into the hall, "HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP! IT'S HISOKA!"

   She looked back over her shoulder, tears of fright were streaming down her face. Terror gripped her heart as she feared she was going to lose her closest friend. That she was going to watch him die right in front of her, unable to help.

   Within seconds, Abaki could hear doors opening and hurried footsteps rushing in her direction. The first to the door was Magikana, barefooted and in her long sleeping gown.

   "Abaki vaht-" the magician's gaze darted from the frightened girl to the thrashing, dying boy. Her already wide eyes grew even wider as she pushed passed Abaki and made a beeline for her apprentice. As she made it to Hisoka's side, another showed up at the door in boxers, a tank top, and socks. It was the juggler that had seen Hisoka before the sideshows. His eyes grew wide with shock amd concern as he took in what was going on.

   "Do not just stand zere, Zane, hold him still for me!" Magikana snapped, struggling to hold Hisoka down the best she could. The juggler blinked then rushed over to help. He barely managed to grab hold of Hisoka's legs to pin them down.

   "Kids stro- OOF!" Zane was cut short when Hisoka unconsciously delivered a hard kick to Zane's gut, knocking the wind out of him a bit.

   The next person who appeared at the room's door was Moritonio in a house robe. With a quick look he immediately understood the dire circumstances, grabbed Abaki's wrist, and made his way towards the others.

   "Come girl," he instructed calmly, "we'll need your help, too."

   Moritonio drug a dazed Abaki with him over to the bedside opposite Magikana, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. Zane was now laying over Hisoka's struggling legs, keeping them pinned to the bed.

   "Press your hands on his chest, Abaki, try and keep him still as best as you can," the troupe leader ordered, "Kana, hold his shoulders, I'll try and pry away his hands."

   "Be careful as to not break his neck," she warned as she adjusted her position and pressed Hisoka's shoulders down into the mattress.

   Just as Moritonio took hold of Hisoka's wrists he noticed the boy's thrashing had diminished greatly, becoming nothing more than feeble twitches. A sense of dread washed over him as he realized what was happening.

   "Hisoka?" The boy's hands were still wrapped tightly around his own throat. Moritonio strained to carefully pull Hisoka's hands away. As he did so, Hisoka's nails drug across his own flesh leaving behind bright red trails in their wake. The moment his airway was free, a strange gurgling sound started to emit from the trainee's throat. The adults grew pale as Moritonio felt for a pulse. After a moment, he looked up at Magikana and shook his head.

   Abaki's chest grew tight and it felt like her heart had stopped. Her eyes grew wide and became brimmed with tears, gaze falling upon her friend's face, "H-Hisoka?"

   At the sound of her voice, Moritonio glanced over at Abaki and his eyebrows suddenly shot up; an idea came to mind. He looked back to Magikana who seemingly heard the ringleader's thoughts and she nodded. The magician then snapped her fingers at Zane to draw his attention away from the poor boy and onto her,

   "Quick, fetch zee doctor, ve vill do vaht ve can."

   Without question, Zane nodded and bolted out the door. As soon as he was gone Moritonio looked back to Abaki once more.

   "Abaki. Abaki!" The traumatized girl jumped a little and turned her focus to her troupe leader and nen master. "Listen to me carefully, Hisoka's heart has stopped as well as his other bodily functions. We could try to resuscitate him, but Kana and myself are not familiar with the methods and may make matters worse trying. However, we need to try something, and I may have just the thing. I want you to emit a small amount of energy into his body. Give it a jump start."

   Abaki blinked a few times, she was in a mild state of shock, "W-what? You want me to..." She looked down at her friend's lifeless body and nearly broke down. Magikana turned swiftly and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, shaking her just enough to snap the trainee's attention to the magician.

   "Listen carefully, if ve are to save Hisoka," she said in a cool, calm yet stern voice, "ve need you to listen to vingleader, okay?" Abaki nodded with a sniffle before looking over to her nen master.

   "O-okay, what do you need me to do?"

   "Place your dominant hand here," Moritonio instructed, pointing to an area of Hisoka's chest just over his heart. Abaki hesitated, but only for a moment, then she leaned forward and rested her hand lightly on his still chest. Her lip quivered but she kept it together and looked back up at her nen master.

   "Okay, what's next?"

   Moritonio spoke clearly and quickly as he explained to Abaki to move her nen to her hand. Once she had done that, she was to slowly and carefully emit her nen into Hisoka's fading residual nen. Abaki was terrified, she knew there were so many ways this could go wrong. She could accidentally force too much nen into her friend causing organs to be ruptured and bones crushed. Or she could completely fry his nervous system rendering him brain dead. She could even damage his aura nodes and cause him to become nenless.

   Tears started to spill from her eyes again when those horrid thoughts threatened to cloud her mind. She gave her head a little shake and bit her lip to help maintain focus. She understood why Moritonio was having her do this instead of himself. Emitting nen would flow smoother from a person who is naturally an emitter. With Moritonio being a transmuter, the task would most likely be more dangerous even though he was the more experienced nen user. The fact that her and Hisoka had been training their nen together for the past several weeks and were more intune with each other's nen was another positive factor.

   Abaki bit her lip a little harder as she felt the strain of her efforts start to fatigue her body. She had no idea how much time had passed. Seconds? Minutes? Or had it been hours? She honestly felt as though it had been the latter. Her eyes having been shut during most of the process, she wasn't even sure if Magikana and Moritonio were still there.

   Hisoka, please, wake up, her heart and mind pleaded as one. She pictured his warm, mischievous smile as he teased her about her crush on Camilla. Those sparkling amber eyes filled with life and excitement as he showed off his nen and magic tricks. She couldn't picture him any other way. This cold, still, lifeless body she was mixing her nen with was not, no, could not, be her friend.

   Her brow furrowed and her jaw tensed all the more as she pushed those happy memories of their short lived friendship down through her nen and into his. She now tasted blood coming from her abused lip, but she didn't care.

   Hiso, I'm not giving up on you. Wake up. Wake. Up. NOW!

   Abaki gave her waning nen a gentle but firm push in a last attempt to save her friend. The last of her nen energy that she could spare. She gasped and would have collapsed onto Hisoka if not for Magikana catching her and holding her upright.

   Her vision had begun to blur from over use of her nen, but she could see her friends' still, lifeless face. Moritonio checked for a pulse once again. After a moment his shoulders drooped and the look on his face became sad and grim.

   "H-Hiso?" Abaki whimpered. She began to reach towards him with trembling fingers when all of a sudden his entire body jerked.

   Abaki cried out in frightened surprise as Magikana pulled her back in sheer reaction; even Moritonio jumped back. Hisoka threw his head back into his pillows and his back arched greatly, lungs hungrily sucking in a massive breath. His bloodshot eyes were now wide open and possessed a frightened, feral look.

   When Hisoka started to flail again, Moritonio quickly stepped forward and grabbed the trainee's wrists in case he were to hurt himself again.

   "You're alright, boy," Moritonio calmly stated, "no need to thrash about, you're safe. Nothing and no one here is going to harm you. You're among friends."

   Hisoka blinked several times, pupils so constricted they were barely visible within their golden irises. He was obviously confused, not to mention terrified. He seemed to slowly recognize the older man as he began to settle down. Moritonio let go of Hisoka's wrists and slowly backed away a bit to give the boy a little more room to breathe. And breathe he did, for he was alive and now conscious to the waking world.

   Abaki let out a choked sob as an enormous wave of relief washed over her. She wanted to rush forward and hug her friend, but Magikana held her back. A task not too difficult since the girl was now quite weak herself.

   "Is best to let him rest, yes? Little one still has injuries."

   Abaki glanced up at the magician and saw that, she too, had tears in her eyes and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. She looked back at Hisoka then reached out and gingerly took her friends hand. She winced a little at just how cold his usually warm hands had gotten. The touch made Hisoka look in Abaki's direction. His gaze was a little unfocused, and he still seemed a bit confused. He blinked a couple times before he attempted to speak.

   "Aba-" Hisoka, Magikana, and Abaki all winced in unison at the sound of Hisoka's voice. Broken, dry, hoarse, it sounded painfully horrible. Hisoka lightly touched his throat with his free hand then jerked it away with a ragged hiss. He then looked over to Magikana with a muddled expression.

   "Is bit of story," she sighed softly, reaching over and gently brushing the red raspberry hair out of the eyes of her apprentice. "Rest now, you are safe. Doctor should be here any minute now."

   As soon as the magician finished her sentence, a huffing, red faced Zane magically appeared through the door with an exhausted looking woman in tow. She wore medium length salt and pepper hair up in a messy bun, wore glasses, and carried a doctor's bag.

   "S-sorry it- *pant* took so long," Zane puffed, "She was *pant* asleep."

   "Well," the doctor mumbled under her breath, "it is the middle of the night." She spotted Hisoka and adjusted her glasses as she walked towards him. Moritonio stepped back to give the women more room while Magikana and Abaki stuck close on the opposite side.

   She instantly frowned upon a closer look at Hisoka and looked back over at the ringleader.

   "Is this the same boy that was attacked in the alley a couple days ago?" she asked, carefully tilting Hisoka's head up to get a better look at his neck.

   "Yes," Moritonio answered plainly.

   "These are not the injuries my colleague told me about, these are fresh," she glowered at the marks on Hisoka's neck and snapped her head back round angrily. "What happened to him? Who did this?"

   "It would appear that while the boy was in comatose he had a horrendous nightmare," the ringleader explained calmly. "He's been mumbling and talking in his sleep throughout most of this past day. We figured he would soon wake up, but instead, he attacked himself. He strangled himself to the point of losing consciousness once more, as well as he had stopped breathing."

   The doctor's face paled a few shades and even more serious, something Abaki had not thought possible just a moment ago.

   "Heartbeat?" Moritonio slowly shook his head.

   "How long?" she further inquired.

   "Close to thirty minutes I'd say."

   The doctor's frown depended and she continued her exam. She checked his eyes and listened to his vocal cords, heart, and lungs. Once that was done, she asked Hisoka to do some simple motor function tests which he completed relatively well. Abaki held Hisoka's hand while the doctor worked, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze whenever Hisoka flinched or seemed uncomfortable. She was relieved to feel the warmth returning to his fingers.

   When the doctor lifted his shirt, Hisoka's eyes blew wide with surprise. His attention was drawn to the vast collection of bruises and bandages all over his body as well as the ones on his arms and legs. He looked over at Magikana and Abaki. His trainer frowned and shook her head slightly, silently mouthing the words, "vill explain later".

   Finally the doctor sighed, removed her stethoscope and placed it back into her black bag.

   "Well," she started in a tired voice, "his vocal cords and trachea are damaged, but not to the point of needing hospital care, thankfully. The rest of his injuries seem to be coming along nicely; and quickly, might I add. But he will still need at least two weeks of bed rest, plenty of good food, and lots of water. You want to have him stretch a couple times a day so his muscles don't stay stiff all the time. It'll help up blood flow and healing as well. I will be back to check on him in a week, but call me or my colleague if anything strange starts to arise. Not breathing or having a heartbeat that long, I am honestly surprised he's doing as well as he is, all things considered."

   "Thank you, doctor," Morintonio replied solemnly.

   Abaki noticed the older man frowning at the doctor's news and how he exchanged looks with Magikana. This was an issue, the troupe was supposed to have been in the next town by now, but due to the recent events things had been put on hold. To put travels on hold for another two weeks could prove to be devastating to the troupe's finances.

   Moritonio motioned for Magikana to come with him as he walked with Zane and the doctor outside the room. She nodded then gently brushed Hisoka's hair once more.

   "Rest, little vun, I vill explain everyzing in zee morning." Hisoka frowned a little as he looked over his trainer's face. He then sighed through his nose and weakly nodded his head. She produced a tired smile and gently ruffled his already messy hair. Before she left, she retrieved two blue sports drinks from a nearby grocery bag and handed one to Abaki and Hisoka each.

   "Both of you, drink, rest," she instructed then focused on Abaki, "Stay viz him, I vill be back as soon as I can be." And with that she left the room.

   Abaki shifted her position so she could lean back against the headboard to rest more comfortably. She watched as Hisoka opened his bottle and chugged down over half of the blue liquid in one go, wincing from the pain as he swallowed.

   Once Hisoka drank his fill, he pulled the bottle away from his dry, cracked lips and took a large, shaky breath. He looked over to Abaki and the two friends stared in silence.

   I wonder if he knows that he nearly died. Well, I guess he actually did die. At least for a short bit there. Should we tell him if he doesn't know? Or would it be better left not telling him? I'm not sure if I would want to know that I did something like that to myself without knowing.

   Her mind continued to wander as she carefully examined the red haired teen. His dark and sunken blood shot eyes, messy hair, bruised and scratched face, then finally the freshly forming brushes on his neck. She felt her lips twitch as she surprised a grin and snorted through her nose.

   Hisoka blinked and opened his mouth to question her but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he closed his mouth and tilted his head, giving Abaki a look of inquiry.

   She couldn't help it, a wry, exhausted smile lightly danced across her lips as she said to her friend, "Hiso, you look like shit..."

~ ~ ~

📜 A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story and I really hope you liked the chapter. If you did, please remember to heart and pass word along of this story! I do apologize for the long wait on this chapter, life just gets crazy sometimes, yah know?

Also, I wanna add that if you are feeling down, depressed, unstable, or think that you could cause harm to yourself or even others, please, please, please reach out and get help. Whether it be friends, family, or even someone from a help service, someone out there does does care about you and you do, in fact, matter! As a survivor of attempted suicide, and one who deals with Bi-Polar I Depression, I know that the battle can seem tough, endless, and just down right exhausting. I know that asking for help can be tough and scary, but the first step to anything worth while usually is.

With that said, I again thank you for reading, and please take care of yourself. Get lots of rest, sunshine, exercise, and drink plenty of water! Until next, laters!

~ ~ ~

Previous Chapter: Ch.3 - The Show Must Go On!

Next Chapter: Ch. 5 - Whispers of the Cards

#read trigger warnings! #potentially triggering #hisoka #young hisoka #hunter x hunter #fanfiction #head canon #teen hisoka #oc story #chapter story #chapter 4 #oc #hxh #imagines #anime #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hxh fanfiction #hisoka hunter x hunter #anime head canon #anime fanfiction #backstory

[thepartingglassofthorin]

Of Beginnings

When Thorin awoke in the morning, a kink in his neck was present, along with the feeling of guilt and dread. He was back among the living, and he remembered every moment of the journey; from insulting Bilbo at Bag End to asking for his pardon as he lay dying on the River Running. Those memories had haunted him in his dream state, causing him to gain little sleep.

He peeled himself off the straw mattress, finding sunlight was flooding through the barred window behind the Guard's desk. The Guard himself was leaned back in his chair, his book on his chest as he dozed lightly. The Dwarf King could hear the bustle of life outside of the prison, a pleasant smell wafted in from the vendors, causing his stomach to howl loudly.  Thorin attempted to smooth his hair down while stifling a yawn, trying to ignore the worsening pains in his stomach.

The Guard continued to doze, a gentle snore coming from his round face, growing louder as the day past from early morning to early afternoon. By the time he had awoken, the morning vendors had sold their wares and goods, packed up and the afternoon vendors had all set up for their shift.

The door flung open, a brisk cold air nearly put out the embers in the fireplace as the guard from the night before stood in the doorway, his cloak held in the crook of his arm, the bright smile on his face grew as he waltzed up to the desk. 

The Hobbit guard sat upright at the first instance of noise, drawing a knife from under the desk in his alarmed state, placing it back as his friend strode up. 

"Guess who's gotten lucky, Tookie," He said with a smirk. The Hobbit glared at him as he rubbed his head, pulling himself to sit upright in his chair.

When he didn't respond, he continued, "I can see it now, eleven kids, just outside of Bree, in a little quaint cottage-"

"Do you have any clue what time it is," The Hobbit yawned, stretching his good arm up over his head.

"Oh, sorry. I was out celebrating with her Brothers most of the night, and-"

"You can tell me later," He interrupted, rapping on the desk. "You about you take this dwarf home, and then you can tell me about it tomorrow after I've slept in my own bed!"

The Prancing Pony stood with a gloomy look. The paint was peeling, and the roof whistled with small holes in the thatch, while the sign creaked slowly as it swayed in the wind. 

The Guard, who's name was Stephen, held the door open for Thorin as they entered the dusty Inn, his joyful attitude only worsened Thorin's foul one. 

The Inn was busy with staff as they prepared for the night rush of customers, Thorin almost ran into a waitress carrying a bus of mugs back into the kitchen as he entered, Stephen said a cheerful hello as she disappeared behind the door. 

"Isn't it a little early for Drinks Stephen," A tender asked as he leaned over the counter. "You haven't even asked her yet," He added as Stephen laughed.

"No, it's never too early for drinks," He chuckled, leaning on the counter with his back to the tender. "But I can't right now, perhaps after my shift." 

The Tender leaned upright almost immediately. "Oh? Who've you brought back today? Fredrik again?" He leaned further over the counter to look at Thorin. "That boy is gonna find himself-" His brows creased as he saw Thorin, a frown becoming more defined the longer the two stared at each other. 

"Your things are out back, sir," He said gruffly, with a jerk of his thumb towards his left. "Payment is two gold." 

With a stifled growl, Thorin gave his payment and went to gather his things. As he walked out the door, he could hear the two men return to their merrymaking. He quickly grabbed his things, wiping the muck from his sacks before he set them on his back. 

He was late, by almost two days. He had walked before, but this time was different. He couldn’t mess up, he refused to let this quest fail as the one before had. He couldn't shake the dread that laid in the pit of his stomach, try as he might. He didn’t understand any of it. The way Auel had tricked him, and then shoved him through the doorway without giving him a moment to think about his already hastily made decision. 

Why wasn’t he able to know he was in the Halls of Waiting, why was it so dark and dreary? 

The more his thoughts lingered on those unanswered questions, the more his stomach squirmed. Something wasn’t right with all this, and he had to figure out what!

The night was cold, colder then it should be mid April, but it was ok. Thorn knew some spring nights were temperamental.

But this was too cold. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at his toes. His bare toes. 

The King leapt to his feet, he had been resting against a tree. Cold snow crunched under foot, he yelped in surprise and went to sit back down, only to lean all the way back, the tree having never been there. 

Now thoroughly covered in snow, the Cold King’s mind scrambled for an explanation. He had only intended to sit and rest against the old oak on his way, the very same tree he had slept underneath on his last trip. 

Snow crunched not so far away, Thorin pulled himself out of the snow and started to brush off his clothes, only to realize he wasn’t wearing what he had been. Of course he hadn’t, otherwise his boots would still adorn his feet! His fur lined vest and blue tunic were replaced with a white tunic, tucked into white trousers of the same fabric. Despite their thinness, Thorin realized he wasn’t as cold, or as wet, as he should have been. 

He also realized that he didn’t have any sort of weapon on him. 

“Come this way!”

The King whirled around, looking for the source of the feminine voice, the crunching snow coming closer and closer. 

“Where are you,” he hissed. The collar of his shirt was yanked from behind in response. He landed in a deep snow bank, tumbling backwards through the snow as he slid down the hill. He came to a stop finally and laid in the snow for a moment. As far as he could tell the crunching was a well ways off now, but for all he could see, they could have watched him tumble down the hill and be laughing at him. Snow rose above his body by about a foot and a half. 

The crunching came back, this time much closer, Thorin peeled himself out of the snow and sat up, peering out towards the crunching. 

A young dwarrowdam made her way through the snow towards Thorin, her white gown hung loosely and seemed to shimmer against the moonlight. Her golden coils hung loose as well, and she smiled brightly at him, offering a small hand once she reached the snow covered king. Her bright blue eyes showed genuine joy, and reminded Thorin of someone, although he couldn’t place the name.

”It’s a pleasure to finally see you again,” she said, her voice was quiet, as if she didn’t want to break the stillness of the night. 

Thorin took her hand and stood, trying to recall whom this was. It felt like a deep buried memory, but he couldn’t remember. 

“We haven’t much time,” she hurried, pulling him towards a small farmhouse across the snowy field, her stature hid her strength well as Thorin almost fell into the snow again, not having a chance to reply or pull his hand from her grip.

He looked back at the snow bank he had fallen down and saw no trace of his fumble, or any sort of disturbance. "What sort of trickery is this," He mumbled to himself. 

"It is no trickery, Thorin." She pulled him behind a hay cart and watched as three approached the door, they seemed to shimmer in the night with their silver cloaks. There was no light that they needed, for warmth or guidance. "This event will change your life, and it is important you understand it."

Thorin turned to her, a scowl across his face. "Who are you? You seem well acquainted with me, and yet I don't even know your name!"

"Shhhee!"

The tallest of the three stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door, he stooped under the roof and if the Master of the Farm let him inside, he would have to bend over to enter the humble home. All three lowered their hoods as they awaited the Master of the Farm, they shone with eerie brilliance, certainly not of Arda. 

The darkness within the house vanished as a lantern was lit, it made its way down from the top floor as the tall one knocked again. A groggy voice responded, nothing really coherent.

Soon enough, the lantern was set by the window and the few latches were undone. The door opened to reveal a tall man, hardly past his twenties. He had red hair and freckles across his face, with bright green eyes. He wore a well loved robe, but that was it. He was built like a barrel, but wasn't flabby, what little bit of him Thorin could see was all muscle.

He held the lantern out at them, his face slowly turning sour the longer they stood in silence.

"Well? What reason have you to wake my wife and I up at this awful hour?"

"We seek shelter for the moment," The one on the porch said. "We are brothers, and ask your permission to warm our hands before we continue on our way."

The man eyes the bundle in the shortest' arms suspiciously, moving the lantern towards it. "And what of that? A sack of rutabagas perhaps?"

The one holding the bundle laughed, Thorin recognized it instantly and looked at his companion, worry etched on his face.

She looked back, slyly with a smirk pulling up one corner of her mouth.

”Nay, but she might look like one,” Auel said gently, stepping forward and showing the bundle to the man.

He hissed like someone had laid a hot fire poker across his backside, quickly setting the lantern down and taking the bundle from Auel.

”Are you insane,” He seethed, thumping came down the stairs as someone else joined the throng. Auel and his company moved inside, the shorter staying by the door and looking out at Thorin, the same sly smirk came over his shadowy face before he turned to make a comment to someone.

Thorin’s lady friend grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the slightly open door, lights began to shine within the house as more lanterns were lit. A quiet infantile cry came from the home as well, Thorin hoped that the man hadn’t any children whom had been woken up.

Thorin pulled his hand from hers, she stopped and beckoned him on, he frowned and cross his arms.

”What is the meaning of all this,” He asked, gesturing at the farm around him. She stood straight and strode over to him, not meeting his eyes. “Am I dead or not?” She took his hands in hers and looked at their calloused palms, her small fingers tracing the scars and lines on his hands.  “I recall this farm from my younger days, but what purpose does it have in saving Fili and Kili?”

She finally met his eyes, sorrow filled his soul as she stared at him. 

“Trust is not in your nature,” she spoke softly. The homestead seemed to shift and change as she spoke. Thorin felt as if he couldn’t keep his balance, like he was on a tightrope being shook from both ends. The land surrounding him flickered, a celebration appeared, love and warmth entered his heart. Before he could come to know what it was, the scene changed again, the farmhouse, barn, and hay shed all erupted in flames, screams, fear, terror, the roof of the home collapsed as a specific scream pierced the burning sky.

“But please,” She held his fingers tightly, bringing the scene back to the silent snowy field. “You must trust me and Auel with this. It will not be easy, or comfortable, but we both will be there, every step of the way.”

She looked up at him, her face as blank as a stone. 

With a ragged sigh, Thorin squeezed back, falling into step beside her as they turned to watch the scene unfolding within the home. 

The Three Figures stood at the door, their mission complete, and the new parents wished them well. They had wanted a child for so long, and although they hadn’t expected their joy to be fulfilled in this way, they wouldn’t have it any other way now.

The Three turned and stepped off the porch, headed right towards the two dwarves it seemed. The man shouted out at them.

”Is there a name for our little rutabaga?” 

Auel stopped dead in his tracks. The brighter of the two had been a little further ahead of his companions, however he halted, turning back to give the Ancient Smith a warning glance. 

With a hearty chuckle, Auel turned around as his hood fell off his crown, a bright smile replacing the saddened one he had hid beneath his hood.

”Her name is Armis SparrowSong! Tell her all thou knowest when she comes to find her heart!”

The scene shifted again, only the Lady’s steady hand on Thorin’s arm kept him upright.

"It's time to wake up, Thorin." She turned and took both of his hands again. Her form seemed to change rapidly, her defining features remained the same, but she grew taller, shrunk low. Wrinkles, scars, age spots all came and went from her face and neck, but her vibrant eyes remained on his face, piercing his soul.

"Know this name, do not forget her." Her grip on his hands began to lessen, fear bubble up from his stomach as his hands found her forearms.

"What is your name," He ask, pulling her slightly, a silent plea for her to stay. She smiled as her form began to fade. 

"Garnet."

Thorin lurched forward as her name burned his ears, Garnet. The stars shone above him, giving him light as he stumbled to his feet. Bleary eyed, struggling to connect with the earth below his feet, his foot found a root and caught on it. Pain shot up his leg as he fell against a tree, sliding back to the forest floor. Memories flashed in his mind of the River Running and a chill entered his heart as a shadow fell across him. 

It wasn't just a dream, He thought. Garnet took me to that desolate farmhouse, for whatever reason. 

His mind reeled, the chill in his heart grew as he sat and processed all that had happened to him within the past week.

 With a furious shake of his head, Thorin stood up again, walking away from the roots and shadows of the Forest, making his way towards the road again. He couldn't let those thoughts stop him. He had to get to Erebor, not to reclaim it however. This time, it was to save his nephews from their Horrible Fate. He knew he couldn't convince them not to go, he had tried last time to no avail. He only hoped that this time they would be more careful, that he would be more careful.

Author’s Note

Ok, so I know I said there would be longer chapters ahead, and I promise there are, but I forgot how short this one was.... The next one makes up for it, I promise, I think it’s like.... 27 pages/9k~ words?

Oh! Before I forget, you can read ahead on Quotev, under the same name!

Tags: @tschrist1 @emrfangirl

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

#thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #retry #reset #fix it fic #the hobbit #hobbit #shire #prancing pony #middle earth #fili #kili #bilbo baggins #bofur #super excited!

[dreadwulf]

#4  With this Kiss I Pledge My Love

(previous chapters)

Jaime Lannister should have ridden back to King’s Landing weeks ago.

He had fully intended to, after putting the Riverlands to order – to return to his son the boy king, and offer his protection. Get him a proper Small Council who will advise him wisely, and a real Kingsguard to protect him, and get Cersei somewhere well away. Garrison the Lannister armies wisely to maintain order, clean up the mess his lord father has made of the kingdom.  

Instead Jaime has been wandering about in a fruitless search for an unimportant girl. Spending weeks riding through snow and freezing cold in a gods-forsaken corner of the Vale with a motley party of leftovers who don’t want him there. He has told not a soul where he has been nor where he is going. He has been gone from his post for so long that the Crown has declared him dead and replaced him on the Kingsguard, and the army he had commanded has been rerouted by unknown orders away from the Riverlands, which will surely swiftly descend into renewed chaos.  

He should go back. He should abandon this pointless quest and return to his duties. Jaime has no reason not to, except that he swore a vow and meant it. Under duress and foolishly perhaps, an oath sworn to a dying woman who didn’t die after all, but an oath still. I am yours and you are mine. He is keeping his oaths now, even if no one expects or even wants him to.

There had been no cloaks, no kiss, and no pledging of love, only their hands bound together and him speaking the vow. But even if she had not spoken the same vow back, and the marriage bond will soon evaporate into the air as though it had never been, it will not be him that breaks it. He can be stubborn too.

So he wakes on the cold ground each day and she says barely a word to him and he speaks hardly a word to her as they ride to the Gates of the Moon, and the sands trickle down in the hourglass that is their marriage until only days remain. 

Jaime has ridden with her every day through deepening snow and treacherous ice until finally they reached their destination and made camp here, her and Podrick and Hyle Hunt and the Hound, alongside all of the other travelers who have come to rest at the Gates of the Moon. 

The Gates are no more promising than anywhere else they have arrived. There is an extensive encampment here of hopeful hedge knights and nobles from the highlands, but none have time for an odd woman in armor and her questions about red-haired girls of four-and-ten. There are no further rumors of Sansa Stark here, or of her sister, although there are a great many more interesting rumors about the rest of the kingdom in the progressing winter.

Jaime collects these rumors and opinions with some interest, mingling himself with the men at camp over food and drink for several days running. Turns out there are a great many things that a person will tell a traveler in the Vale that they would not tell to Lord Commander Lannister. Some of those things are pure nonsense, but others are rather illuminating. 

It is not so bad, being dead. He gets many more smiles and greetings as a dead man, and not so many sneers and whispers. He keeps his stump shoved under his travel cloak, has muddied his hair and beard so that they are not quite so golden, and it makes him nearly invisible. He is another middle-aged hedge knight trying to relive his glory days at tourney, so far as anyone knows. 

Not so far off. He could not hope to compete there now. Left-handed these green boys could take him, and without his fearsome reputation to dissuade them his life would be in real danger. 

He sits at supper and looks at the farm boys and young lords, in the spring of their youth and the peak of their skills. He imagines Brienne defeating them all, beating them down into the mud until they beg for mercy. It’s a shame she won’t enter the tourney; he’d like to see that. Would any one of them be a match for her, at her full power? They are nearer her age, their reputations as spotless as their unbloodied swords. If she had awakened from her long sleep married to one of them, would she be so aggrieved?

The competitors like to talk, and the spectators even more so. They spin tales about the fighters who have come hoping to be Winged Knights, their family connections, their sweethearts and patrons. They tell him all about Lord Baelish and his natural daughter Alayne Stone, who have organized the tourney.

These tales in particular catch his ear. If Littlefinger has a natural daughter I’ll eat my boot. The man is too careful for that. Only the Spider is less likely to produce a bastard offspring, and only out of physical impossibility. 

He asks questions about the fabled daughter, and her upcoming marriage to Harold Hardyng.  An awfully advantageous match for a Stone, marrying the next in line to the Vale. Conveniently Petyr Baelish seems to have gotten charge of little lord Robert, and rules the Eeyrie as Regent. Jaime wonders if there might be an accident in store, once that wedding is complete. Maybe several accidents. Sweetrobin and Harry the Heir cleared away, and the Vale belongs to Lord Baelish.

He would very much like to meet this Alayne Stone. 

That’s more difficult than he would like. She will attend the tourney when it begins, but thus far has remained out of sight. He will have to wait for the tourney and possibly for the very final rounds to lay eyes on her, and that is likely to happen after his deadline is passed. Not that it makes any difference – the one has nothing to do with the other, no matter how persistently his mind makes the connection. Finding Sansa will not stop the marriage from ending.

It will be a relief to have it over and still he is increasingly agitated at the thought. He lies in his tent each night and he thinks on the Hounds Tooth inn when he had shared a room with Brienne as his bride. He had passed that evening most pleasantly, and even though nothing of import occurred he finds himself thinking on it fondly. Brienne asleep and unguarded in his bed while he sat by the fire. Friendly strangers wishing them well, simply for having one another. Your lady wife. It was a night stolen from someone else’s life, a life he is never going to have. 

For his own good the marriage must dissolve. It is inane to cling to an illusion and he has done that quite long enough with Cersei. He is never going to be somebody’s husband; he is a knight and he is the kingslayer and that is that. 

He is chewing on just this thought as he rides back to his bed at sunset. He knows when he comes back to camp Brienne will be surprised to see him again, as she has been every day that he has not left their party. She knows very well he has other places to be, and is waiting for him to remember it and ride away. Yet he is lingering here and unwilling to leave, though what he is waiting for he cannot imagine. Brienne cannot imagine it either, clearly. 

It’s making him cross, and distracted. He does not notice the riders gathering to his flanks until it is too late to evade them. 

Jaime is pulled from his horse before he can draw a blade, and thrown to the ground.

Sellswords, plainly. Not expensive ones. Five of them, looking like they’ve slept rough half their lives and just barely know how to hold a blade. He’s a little insulted that anyone would think him no match for these.

He leans back on his elbows and contemplates them in a relaxed pose. “I haven’t any money, and if you want a fine horse, you’d be better off feeding mine to the one you’ve got. This one’s slow as molasses.” 

“No money eh?” A skinny, toothless alley cat of a mercenary points a rusty longsword at him. “No Lannister gold?”

Jaime frowns. Clearly his disguise has not been so effective as he’d hoped. 

Some of his mates are skeptical. “Can this be the golden lion? He looks more like a weasel.” 

“No, it’s ‘im.” The tallest one spits a dark stream through his teeth and stands over Jaime. “Lord Baelish pointed him out to me personally.”

Well that’s irritating. Apparently Littlefinger was in the same room with him and Jaime never laid eyes on the man. Clearly he can cross “spy” off his list of potential careers after “swordfighter”.

“If you’re seeking out a ransom, you may have to wait some time to get it. Only ravens travel well now, and they don’t carry quite so much gold.”

“We got the gold already,” Toothless tells him. He jingles the money bag that hangs beside the knife on his belt. “Lord Baelish pays us well, and he only needs your head.”

Of course. He has asked entirely too many questions. And whatever his plans, Littlefinger has no intention of anyone outside the Vale hearing of them until it’s too late. 

“The Crown will have all your heads for it,” he says confidently.

“You’ll be buried right here, Kingslayer, and they will never know. The Crown believes you dead already and no one will miss you.”

Belatedly, Jaime realizes he is right. Not one of his compatriots in the Kingsguard or the Lannister Army knows where he is, and his own house has already forsaken him for the grave. Next to no one will notice if he dies now rather than two months ago. And even fewer than that will mourn him. Possibly none.

He lunges.

The knife comes easily out of Toothless’s belt and into his side, spraying Jaime with blood. But the remaining four sellswords are on him in a moment, and it takes only a few kicks in the stomach before he lies still in the snow again. He knows this routine. 

The tall man has his sword out now. “If you’ll tell us where to find the giant bitch, I can make it painless.” 

“Nonsense.” Jaime brushes the snow out of his hair as carelessly as possible. “Let’s make it hurt. I can only die once, after all.”

“Happy to oblige.” The tall one shoves his face back into the snow and stands on him. Jaime doesn’t even know who he is. Some no-name cutthroat sent by Petyr Baelish. What a stupid way to die. 

“What in the living fuck is that?” one of them shouts.

Horses approach. Abruptly the boot on his neck lifts, and Jaime spits out mud. Is there someone else here trailing him, after the Brotherhood and the Vale Guards? With any luck they will kill each other. 

He wipes snow from his eyes and sits back on his heels. Two riders approach very rapidly, and one of them has a sword raised. It crashes into the sellsword who had just been standing over him, with such force it knocks him off his feet.

Brienne dismounts in a strikingly graceful motion, her sword drawn, and she stares them down.

“Unhand my husband,” Brienne growls at them.

Jaime grins. A more wonderful combination of words he cannot imagine. 

“Already done,” he points out, waving his stump. “The bloody mummers beat them to it.”

She doesn’t hear him, swings directly into action. 

The fight is brief. She holds Oathkeeper with both hands and leads with her left, with her right arm still healing. It should discomfit him how easily she switches her lead hand, how one left-handed blow knocks the blade from her opponent, but instead it makes him smile. She makes short work of their weapons, knocking them from their hands, and their owners from their feet, while Jaime kneels untouched among them. 

He hadn’t known how pleasant it could be to be rescued. It’s really quite wonderful. Someone fighting for him, bleeding for him, spilling blood. When the immediate threats are downed she stands in front of him protectively, Oathkeeper in hand, and she looks like a song. A song only for him, for his sake. 

“Kingslayer’s Whore!” one of the downed men moans from the ground.

“That’s Kingslayer’s Wife, I’ll have you know,” Jaime says irritably. “She’s made an honest man of me.”

“Hush.” Brienne advances on him. In the time it takes Jaime to stand, Brienne has the man under her boot with a sword pointed to his neck. “What do you want with him? Robbery?”

“Execution,” the wretched man spits. “For crimes against everything good and decent. Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, great golden cripple.”

“That’s right, you do not deserve to say his name,” Brienne tells him. “None of you do. Call him what you will, but you will not be half the man he is.”

Gods be good.

Jaime is pierced by those words, a clean wound right through his chest. It hurts like every time he heard the name and no one spoke up for him, all together, all at once. Paired with the balm of her defense it is almost unbearable.

At a moment’s notice Jaime knows what he wants after all. He wants to keep her. He wants to stay her husband, and her to stay his wife. Never to part again. 

He wants her.

“Kingslayer’s Whore,” the sellsword repeats, spitting at her. “Got his cock out of your mouth long enough to ride? After murdering your liege lady Stark for him?”

His blade is drawn before he’s even thought to do it, and he’s walking briskly to Brienne’s side. 

Jaime aims the end of his sword directly at the man’s mouth, descending until it falls between his teeth and the man is choking and whimpering against it. 

“I don’t suppose sword-swallowing is one of your skills?” He pushes it a little further in, and the man gurgles in terror. “I hear in Braavos there are men who can take a sword right down their gullet and all the way to the hilt, and pull it out again right as rain.”

“Ser…” Brienne speaks up, cautiously.

“I wonder how you learn to do a trick like that - a little at a time, or all at once? Let’s find out.”

“There is no need,” she says quietly, putting a hand to his arm.

He meets her eye only briefly. She threatened the man herself only moments ago, but this is too far? 

“My lady wife would have me show you mercy. Can you keep a civil tongue in your head?”

The man makes an eager noise, too afraid to nod his head, and Jaime pulls his blade back.

The scene has not gone unnoticed - they are not far from other encampments, and other fires. There are onlookers now, and among them Podrick Payne on his horse, his little sword drawn in their support. He threatens the onlookers with it, having them keep their distance.

“They were tipped off,” Jaime tells Brienne. “Littlefinger is here - Petyr Baelish. I don’t know what he’s up to but he wanted me dead, and you as well.”

“I have no dealings with him,” Brienne says quizzically. “Could it have something to do with Sansa Stark?”

Unwisely, the man on the ground speaks up. “There’s no Starks in the Vale, whore. No Starks anywhere anymore, thanks to you and yours. They –”

He is interrupted by a swift kick in the face. 

Jamie hasn’t yet sheathed his sword, still thinks of feeding it to the man. He’s still angry. He has brought even more abuse on Brienne simply by his association and it infuriates him. His voice sharpens to a deadly point. “You will address the lady properly. Or you will keep no tongue in your head at all.”

“Lady Lannister –” the man corrects himself quickly.

Jaime startles at that, and Brienne stiffens beside him. Then he laughs. “Oh, we haven’t settled that bit yet. Lady Brienne will do for now. But there will be no more of this ‘Kingslayer’s Whore’. She is a noble lady, and a sworn blade of your precious Starks, and no one will speak so crudely of her in my presence and keep their tongue. Understand me? Tell that to your noble compatriots.”

The man whimpers agreement and Brienne lifts her boot, allowing him to sit up and rub his throat nervously.

The city guard, Vale soldiers, approaches in a thunderous pack. Brienne is cheered by their appearance, but Jaime knows better. Littlefinger will own them too; he is thorough like that. 

Exactly as expected they take him by the arms as soon as they dismount holding Jaime between them. Guards will have to make a show of arresting him, so that they can murder him in private.

“Sers, these men attacked us,” Brienne tries valiantly to explain, appealing to the guards with her sword lowered. She still thinks they will listen.

One of them shoves her aside. “Quiet, you ridiculous bitch.”

So of course Jaime had to headbutt the man in the face, which hurts, but it drops the man like a sack of flour, which is satisfying enough to be worth it. For his trouble he is slung into the back of a wagon, a jailer’s hearse. 

“For what crime?” Brienne questions them loudly. “We were defending ourselves from these sellswords.”

“Attacking a city guard,” the guard says.

Brienne considers that, visibly, head cocked to one side.

Then she smashes the man in the face with the hilt of her sword, so that his nose produces a most astonishing spray of blood, and is immediately thrown into the wagon right next to him.

*******************

“You could have stopped them,” he grouses to her later.

They are seated on the cold stone floor of a dungeon, daylight barely peeking into their cell.

“If by that you mean killed them, we would hardly get anywhere finding Sansa Stark if we run about murdering city guards.”

“We’re not going to find her in here!“ 

She is unbothered. “They will keep us but a night.”

“And wake us with a knife across the throat.”

“Pod rode for help,” Brienne says stubbornly, staring straight ahead. “He will find Ser Hyle and Ser Clegane. They will think of something.”

Time is passing fitfully as the light slowly fades. Their cramped cell is barely big enough for the both of them and it's freezing besides, and they sit just near each other, not touching, their breaths visibly hovering in the air around them. Brienne pulls her knees closer to her chest, for either warmth or protection. Without her armor she is probably short of both.

A dozen things to say flit through his mind, and he says none of them. Instead Brienne speaks up next, some time later. 

“You did not have to do that,” she says softly. “To threaten the man on the ground. Or attack that guard.”

He snorts. “Certainly I did. What else would I do, the dishonorable Kingslayer.”

“I mean that you did not have to defend my name.” She shifts, angling her face away from him. “I am accustomed to being insulted.”

So is he. But Jaime is not accustomed to her being insulted, at least not by someone other than him. “Where did that particular insult come from, I wonder? Kingslayer’s Whore. The Brotherhood said it too, well before the Quiet Isle. Did you ride about declaring that I had sent you? Not a great stratagem.”

“The lions on the sword might have had something to do with it.”

“Ah.” 

He swallows and thinks about the rope marks around her neck. Perhaps it had not happened because she had any great feeling for him, but it is his fault all the same. He gave her a sword covered with lions and sent her after Sansa Stark, and they broke her arm and tore her face and hung her. 

“If you are going to attack anyone who calls me names, you will have to fight the whole of Westeros from one end to another. Do not bother.”

She is so calm. He wants her to be angry and rage about it, and it isn’t in her. She is resigned to this. It makes him want to shake her. 

“If people must make arses of themselves it is one thing. But for you to take abuse on my behalf… that I do not like. Your reputation should not suffer for things that you did not do.” 

“It’s my reputation too, now,” she says mournfully. “Already the Vale knows I killed my liege lady and disbanded her Brotherhood. I did do that, and I can hardly dispute it. It will be everywhere before long.”  

“You cannot possibly be troubling yourself over that.” Jaime grimaces even to think on it, it makes him sick inside, in an entirely familiar way. “You had no choice.”

“I did have a choice, and I made it. I chose to break my oath, and I knew the consequences. I learned them from you.” She looks over at him finally. “You made a choice as well. And you have still carried the guilt all these years, haven’t you?”

His mouth goes bone-dry. Only Brienne has ever seen how he blames himself for breaking that oath, even all these years later. Despite every reason why he could not have done otherwise.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor too. I can only make up for my failure by her mother by keeping my promise, and seeing her safely returned to Winterfell.” She leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “At least then I can hold up my head and know that I did the best I could. I was no kind of knight, and I failed from one end of it to the other, but I cannot go back to Tarth until I have found her.”

Brienne looks so bone-tired and forlorn at that moment that it aches to look at her.

The protective instinct in him rises up, the most powerful instinct he has, and Jaime is totally unable to resist it. Something is hurting someone dear to him and his most natural reaction is to fling himself at it. He doesn’t have a sword and the enemy is nothing he can protect her from, but Brienne is hurting and he cannot think how to make it stop.

So he grasps her shirt at the collar and pulls her to him, kissing her. 

Brienne goes very still and softens all at once, melting against him. Her mouth is warm and sweet and his heart is racing and he is pulled by a current far more powerful than he can swim against. The world rushes by very quickly, a blur.

Her hands struggle up to his chest as if to push him away but they only sit there preparing, always about to.  

The thought floats by without his leave. With this kiss I pledge my love. His lips speak it to hers.

But then she does push him back. He stands against her hands catching his breath. Her eyes are so blue and so wide and so full of hurt.

“How could you?” She chokes out the words painfully. 

“Like this,” he says, trying to kiss her again. 

“Don’t.” She jumps up to her feet, backing away from him as though he had attacked her. “Why would you do something like that?” 

Because he wanted to, that’s all he can think of. And he can’t tell her. To simply say, out loud, what he wants? Jaime doesn’t do things like that. A person cannot just admit to the things they want, not out loud. If you reveal what you really want, someone will take it from you, someone will use it to get what they want from you. A person keeps those things inside, and they try not to think on them, so that no one will discern their secrets. With enough practice a person will not even remember the things they want. Or know what they are in the first place.

“I wanted you to stop talking,” he says, too frustrated to think of anything better. 

“You…” she sputters angrily, and paces over him. “Did you think you can do as you like because we are still married? Did you think for a moment that I might not want my first kiss in a filthy dungeon…?”

“Your first?” That had not occurred to him. 

“Oh, gods.” She covers her face and he can see she’s blushing all down her throat, where it disappears down into her shirt. 

That old instinct again. How can he make it better?

“I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you.”

"You wanted…?” Her face tightens painfully. “Why?”

Jaime thinks of Red Ronnet and his rose, and he would very much like to find the man and hit him again. 

“I lost my senses, all right?”

“Stop talking,” Brienne snaps at him, and shoves herself down into the farthest corner away from him, still blushing. 

Jaime congratulates himself silently on making everything infinitely worse, and then things get worse again, all on their own. 

A woman walks into the dungeon. They know immediately it is a woman, well before they see her, from her carefully measured, delicate steps. She is tall, though not so tall as Brienne, and she walks to the bars of their cell and looks down upon them calmly.

She takes down the hood of her winter cape, standing over them, and it reveals rather than a noble lady a young girl, no more than five-and-ten, if that. She is dressed plainly but elegantly, in fine homespun clothes of a lovely warm caramel color that matches her hair, and looks quite out of place in a filthy dungeon. 

Jaime searches out her face in the dim light. “Alayne Stone, I presume.”

Alayne nods. “I am. And you are the Kingslayer, and this lady is your wife, Brienne of Tarth. The woman who murdered Catelyn Stark.”

#WHOOPS PLOT #okay this was going to be the last chapter and then it got long #because me #so now there is going to be a Chapter Five #From This Day Until the End of My Days #braime #tumblr fic

[yukizakii]

finale

He hates him. He should hate him, but he doesn't. Because this is Kondou’s Shinsengumi that he entrusted to Hijikata, he must protect Hijikata. It has to end this way.

Souji's final moments, and his relationship with Death.

It has to end this way, is what he thinks as he tightens the ripped, dirty strips of cloth around his hand. He bites down on the cloth to hold it in place as he wraps it again around the hilt of his sword, tasting the dirt and blood from the road and battles fought before. It’s unpleasant, and for a moment his stomach seems to want to lurch and cough, but he pushes it down and clenches his teeth to pull the cloth tighter. It doesn’t matter anymore.

All that’s left is for him to die.

Souji isn’t afraid of death, hasn’t been for years. As a child, he had been afraid. He feared the death that had taken away his parents, and forced his sister, Mitsu, to grow up faster than she should have. After his parents’ passing, he had cried for months on end out of fear of Enma, the god of the afterlife, who would surely spirit him away as well. Yet as he had listened to the whispers behind closed doors in his home, his fear had been replaced with guilt. Souji had been young, but he was old enough to be able to draw his conclusions when he heard the tone of voice that came with the words burden and a waste of space. Afterwards, Souji simply felt nothing towards death other than acceptance that he too would meet that same fate someday, and perhaps for the better.

How wrong he had been.

Death was a blessing to him, a fortune. Death had stolen away his parents, but instead it bequeathed meaning into his life: to protect those who he cared the most. What a far cry he was from the hopeless child that had first arrived at the doorstep of the Shieikan, holding his wooden sword devoid of passion. Death was what had led him to Kondou, to begin training at the Shieikan as a live-in student and to find his purpose: To live to kill and be the Shinsengumi’s sword. The more that he wielded his sword and swore to follow the path of a warrior, the more that he realized how much death seemed to intertwine itself in every aspect of his life.

Perhaps Death was a blessing, but it certainly was not kind. When Souji had heard the word tuberculosis escape Dr. Matsumoto’s mouth, his first reaction was to laugh. He had been unable to stop, despite knowing how crazy he must have looked from an outside perspective. Surely this was karma, for the dozens of men he had killed on the battlefield without remorse. How especially thoughtful of Death to try and send him off by withering off his life force with each bloody cough. What mockery it was that the men Souji had killed would live vicariously until the last moment, but Death would not allow him the same grace.

Well, Death could try to take him down like that, but he wasn’t going to win. Death could go fuck itself if it thought it could make him go quietly. To live as a warrior was to walk the line of life and death every day, not knowing what would come next. Souji had embraced the adrenaline that came with the thought of potentially dying every time he raised his sword against another man. He loved the rush he got every time a blade got dangerously close to his face, or the feeling of his lungs heaving as he desperately tried to catch his breath in-between skirmishes. To die as a warrior would be an honor, and wouldn’t it be the most fitting for him to die on the battlefield, just as he had killed so many others?

Mitsu, he thinks, would be disappointed in him. Sad, even. But she will never know, and for the better; he knows that she has her own life and family to worry about during the war. She never did, and never will understand the lifestyle that her young brother chose to live. Souji had kept in touch with his sister sparingly throughout the years, but eventually he had stopped writing truths to her. His last letter a month ago indicated that he was fine, healthy, and participating in the Koyo Chinbutai with the remaining members of the Shinsengumi. He hopes that she will be happy with her life.

Kondou had written a letter to Mitsu as soon as he learned of Souji’s diagnosis, but Souji had been clever enough to have Chizuru intercept it for him. Chizuru-chan, can you offer to take Kondou-san and Hijikata-san’s mail today? Just say that you’re going on rounds with Sano. But give me Kondou-san’s mail. If you don’t do it, I’ll kill you. He remembers her round face staring back at him with confusion, before her features settled into one of sadness and understanding. Within a few hours the letter had been tossed into the fire as its final recipient, Chizuru watching him in silence.

Oh, little Chizuru. Frankly, she shocked him with her kind and selfless demeanor, even in the face of tragedy and death. He had expected her to instantly crumble like a child after witnessing what would be a series of nightmares to any other person, but it seemed that she stood with her back straighter with every harrowing adventure they went through. She was certainly one of, if not the strongest women that Souji had ever met. He thinks ruefully of the day they had first met—that innocent expression on her face had been unforgettable. He remembers the satisfying clink of the weight of his sword shifting as he had pointed it straight at her, and her eyes that seemed almost too large for her face fixating on the sharp tip. What a pity that I might have to kill such a cute little woman, he remembered thinking. But the last time Souji had seen her, he had been shocked by how much she had changed. She had chased after him with a stubbornness and determination that could have only grown out of pain and suffering. Her face had thinned as she had matured and grown, and he noticed that her eyes no longer had the innocent gleam from years before. Gone was that timid girl from that snowy night in Kyoto, replaced by a woman who had seen hurt and death and yet still raised her sword against enemies with them with unwavering loyalty.

That person is lucky to have her by his side.

Being in the Shinsengumi had changed them all more than they could have ever imagined. Souji and the Shieikan crew had always dreamed of being real warriors, but dreams could not have prepared them for reality. Kenjutsu practices turned to fights to the death, and bruises from wooden swords turned into nasty wounds that required stitches. Rumors, petty fights, and politics became daily roadblocks that they were forced to become accustomed to. The introduction of the Ochmizu and Rasetsu was perhaps the worst of all. But no matter how difficult things became, Kondou had remained kind and soft with every man and soldier, just as he had treated Souji as a student at the Shieikan. It was Kondou’s kindness, heart and unrivaled warrior spirit that made him a fitting leader of the Shinsengumi. Unlike that man.

That man, Souji thinks. That man’s name makes his blood want to boil, and when he thinks of his name now he subconsciously clenches his fist. Selfish, bilious, rude, and a man who had left Kondou to die.

But if Kondou had been the head of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata was the backbone and the spine that held it together. Kondou was a skilled orator and had the charisma and presence of a leader, but he was a gentle romanticist who liked to consult the books. On the other hand, Hijikata was all sharp edges and pragmatic, and a genius when it came to creating strategies that were critical to success. Even in the early days of the Shieikan, Hijikata had always been unyielding and harsh, allowing no one to talk down his dreams of hanging up his medicine box and taking a sword. When the opportunity had come to leave Edo and journey to Kyoto to join the Roshigumi, Hijikata had been the first to pull together the crew to plan their departure and involvement.

The Shieikan was where he grew up, but it was the Shinsengumi that became his home. When Souji thinks of the words family, he thinks of the Shinsengumi—and it is a family built by Kondou. For that reason alone, the Shinsengumi had been worth laying down his life for, all of these years. Souji thought himself as nothing more than a sword, and it was an honor to kill and bring death upon those that threatened the Shinsengumi’s progress. But beyond the skirmishes and public work associated to their name, there was a man who had shouldered burden after burden and rallied day and night for their success. The Shinsengumi and Kondou only rose to where it was today, because of Hijikata’s drive and leadership.

Souji knows that without Hijikata, there is no Shinsengumi. And because this is Kondou’s Shinsengumi that he entrusted to Hijikata, he must protect Hijikata. It has to end this way.

I heard that Hijikata Toshizou is staying in the inn in the next town over. Looks like he’s injured and only has one other companion with him. This will be an easy kill.

He hates him. It’s his fault that Kondou died, so he should hate him. He hates him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t hate him. Though he would never admit it out loud, Hijikata has always been like a brother to him. A bitter and sour one for sure, but like a brother nonetheless. When Souji had fallen ill, Hijikata had somehow always been the first one to scold him to go back to bed and to order Chizuru to make him medicine or soup. Souji had teased him—What are you, a mother bird hovering over her hatchlings? Really, you don’t have to seem so worried about me, Hijikata-san. Despite their constant bickering and harsh words throughout the years, Souji knows that he is a gentle, caring man beneath the demon-like exterior. But more than that, he knows that Hijikata loves the Shinsengumi more than anyone else.

Souji does not have much time left to give to the Shinsengumi, but Hijikata does. Souji cannot allow him to die. It has to end this way.

The lamps go off from the enemy, and he is alerted back to the present from his thoughts. He lets go of the cloth from his teeth, and drops his arms to his side. His right hand is now his sword—fitting now, that his body is now one with his sword. He closes his eyes, and breathes in the fresh night air. He lets his mind go blank, and draws on the power stored within his body to turn him into a Rasetsu. For the first time in months, he feels the air and power rush through his lungs and fill every space in his body with unbound strength; tuberculosis suddenly feels like nothing but a distant memory.

In the face of Death, he feels more alive than ever.

He steps into the moonlight, and hears murmurs from the men as they look at him. Gunshots whiz through the air, but he sidesteps them so easily. He hears the familiar Who the hell are you being shouted into the night, and his lips curl into a smile. Would these be his last words? How fitting, because he would absolutely love nothing more.

“My name is Okita Souji, the 1st captain of the Shinsengumi!”

Tonight, for the last time, he will be the Shinsengumi’s sword. Okita Souji smiles, and allows himself to fall into the familiar embrace of the battlefield.

Goodbye, Hijikata-san.

#xposted on ao3 #hakuoki #hakuouki #jesus christ i can't believe im back on tumblr and writing fanfics #fanfic #tl;dr okita simping a lot

[hydemeincradle]

I’ll Take Care of Her

Cybird Creative Challenge Day 1: Firsts (masterpost to original prompts: https://hydemeincradle.tumblr.com/post/616992091106574336/cybird-creative-challenge-prompt-masterpost)

Notes: So remember Anise? Well, I kinda threw her in Sengoku... And as she falls to the ground again, she happens to bump into a certain someone special.

Tagging @littlemissyina seeing as I have written about her character, Daisuke. Hope I have done him justice (although I did use most of your words)! And as always thanks to my bestest @stupidoafofspades for checking and editing for me <3 Lastly, while writing this a song came to my mind and it fits perfectly, Mansionair’s Falling. So if you want to join in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c21Uw6Pc4c and the lyrics can be found here: https://genius.com/Mansionair-falling-lyrics Word count: 1786

__

It was the smallest little thing, sat there on his outstretched palm. And yet it made the biggest difference. Deep down I was still afraid, so very afraid, but it was quite simple, take the sweet and try it. I plucked it and slipped it between my lips savouring the intense sweetness and nodding. It was good, real good. The sort of good where I could easily get addicted to such sweetness. Before I knew it, a bag of them was held out to me and I took it, scrabbling inside for another. I wanted to grumble, to protest, my trust was being bought with sugar… and it was working.

“Thank you,” I said sheepish, staring at the pretty pink bag in my hand. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s the least I could do for treating you the way I did.”

I glanced up at him and he was smiling, not a fake smile –I’d seen plenty of those before– but a genuine one. It wasn’t like I was good at really telling how trustworthy people were, but right now I was alone in a whole different place and he was the only one reaching a hand out to me. A sugar filled one. I smiled back at him, what did I have to lose? I had nothing but the clothes I’d escaped in.

Alright Daisuke, I’ll trust you.

“Well,” I started and quickly spun round in a large circle, turning back to face him. “Nothing happened before now…” My eyes widened at my error. “No wait. Nothing happened before the other food. You just met me and fed me tasty things, ok?”

I nodded at my inclusion. The food at the tea house had been very tasty and it’d be awful to have to forget it. Even if it was pretend forget.

He grinned and it felt like I’d eaten another piece of konpeito with the sweetness I could taste. “Okay, so like we just met, at the tea house then.”

“Exactly. Oh but I still have no idea what I'm doing.” I laughed and held up my new bag. “And I kinda don't have anything except what I’m wearing and this cute little bag.”

“I can set you up at the inn with a room,” he said with a nod. “And I have a few kimonos you could borrow but they will be a bit big on you… but we have a seamstress here that could make a few for you soon.”

I frowned, feeling so guilty, I didn’t want him to feel responsible for me. “That seems like an awful lot. Are you sure that is ok? I don't even have any money to pay you back and I don't know what I am going to do and…” I stopped and sighed. I’d already been through this before after I moved the first time and it had been a pain, and here I was again.  

Daisuke waved his hand and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, we can just visit the tea house again and I’ll take that as you paying me back.”

I stared at him confused. “How is that paying you back?”

“Just say yes, and consider it even.”

His smile widened to a grin and I had to snort and look away as I felt my cheeks flush. “Alright, it’s a deal. I am very curious about all the different foods you have, especially if they are just as yummy as what you’ve already shown me.”

“Good,” he said, reaching up carefully and plucking a leaf from my hair. “Shall I show you to the inn?”

I froze for a moment, unsure how to react; his touch had been so gentle and kind. Instead, I just nodded and settled for glancing around at the market before we left; it was full of small stalls and shops with many items I wanted to stop and admire, but behind us the sun was setting and the market closing. I would be back for sure.

As we walked to the inn in the dying light my mind raced around thinking about what had happened. The adrenaline was slowly slipping away as I clung to the safety Daisuke was promising; the knots in my stomach eased and gently unclenched. Only hours before I had been falling, falling, falling from the sky landing in a tree. I’d ran from my home only to be grabbed and interrogated here. My wrists still ached from the bindings and yet… I had to forget. We were starting over.

I pushed the thoughts away as we entered the inn, a building that looked just the same as all the rest to me. This whole place was new and so different from the two countries I had lived in before. It was scary thinking of adjusting again, but the alternative was worse. I would get used to it. I had to. Or I suppose, I could leave again… Daisuke led me upstairs towards an empty room, pausing to grab some clothes from his room next door then handing it to me.

“Here you go, I’ll be just in my room if you need me. I expect you want to rest.”

With a short laugh, I took the clothes. “I feel like I need to sleep forever but I’m wide awake all at the same time. So I think I'm going to wrestle with all this,” I motioned to the ridiculous length that my hair had grown to, “and see if that helps.”

My flailing earned a chuckle and I found myself stepping closer. “Would you like any help with it?”

… Help with it? My fingers found the edge of my sleeve and I twisted it under my fingertips, fidgeting. “Um, well, maybe… I don’t know. Uh, wouldn’t that be a bit weird?”

“I guess?” He shrugged. “I just thought I’d offer. Well, goodnight Anise.”

With a quick wave he slipped into his room and I was left wondering what to feel. My mind was yelling fear, to hide away until rested and keep running, and my gut told the opposite. Each brief touch and smile from Daisuke chipped away at my fear, drawing me closer. I pulled the door shut and sunk down on the funny bed-floor, I needed sleep and a clear mind.

Tattered clothes were dropped with a sigh, the only things left of my life in Cradle. I pulled out a photograph I had hidden deep in a pocket, holding it with all the care in the world; the only thing left of my life before Cradle. And here I was trying to dress myself in a strange man’s clothing, fumbling with the cord and trying to tighten the baggy material. He’d been right, it was too big for me. I wouldn’t have thought it, with me being as tall as him, but he did seem to be hiding what appeared to be a muscled figure under these strange long clothes.

Brush in hand, I attempted to run it through my newly grown hair which now pooled its way to my ankles; it fell heavy and still contained some leaves from my past collide with the tree. Each knot just pulled and tangled, leaving me growling in anger and frustration until I flopped back on the bed in defeat.

Would it really be that weird to go and ask him for help? I wanted to be able to do it all on my own, to take care and fend for myself but… surely it would be ok, just this once?

I made my way back to the hallway, hovering outside of Daisuke’s door hoping he hadn’t fallen asleep or anything just yet. Or maybe I should just go back and try again… I shouldn’t bother him… should I?

“ Psssst... Daisukeee... Um, can you brush my hair? Please?”

The door slid open far too fast for my liking, and I felt my cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment.

A smirk graced his lips as he said, “thought it would be weird?”

I crossed my arms and pouted at the horrible teasing tone that came from his mouth. “It's just... I don't usually ask people I just met if they can brush my hair and it's kind of a weird thing to ask but there is so much of it and the brush gets stuck and I can't reach and,” I admitted quietly, “I need help.”

“Come in and sit down.”

“I normally chop it off when it does this,” I mumbled, shuffling into his room.

Daisuke sat down on the bed-floor and pat the space in front of him. “How short? I think it looks nice like this.”

“You think it looks nice?” I stared at him. Were we seeing the same hair? “Did you not see the leaves still tangled up in there?”

I stood feeling vulnerable, not knowing if it was truly safe, but I took a quick breath and sat down on the bed-floor. I had decided to trust him, so I shouldn’t stop now.

“My hair used to be this short.” I tapped my shoulder and pulled the bulk of my tangled hair to lay on my back. “It seems to be... a condition I have. Gets out of control and I chop it off again.”

With a gentle touch, Daisuke started running the brush through my hair, stopping to pull out a steadily growing pile of leaves. Each stroke of the brush calmed my mind further, until no fear tried to make me flee. I was enjoying my time here, instead.

“Is... Is this your natural colour?”

I was all too aware just how close Daisuke was now, with his voice soft and warm behind me.

“Yeah, it’s um, kinda crazy I know. It's... a thing where I was born. Some people have all sorts of colours.”

I smiled thinking back to the random assortment of colours I’d seen. Although unusual, I had been quite lucky to have mine match quite well. Purple, blue, and pink. Colours I’d grown to enjoy, even now, even with my fear of magic.

“I’ve never seen hair this colour before. It looks nice... different.”

Different. Yes, it was definitely that. The people I’d seen so far had simple coloured hair, blacks, browns, whites. Had he even seen purple hair before?

My eyes slipped closed with the lull of the brush movements, and I could feel myself falling again. But this time I was caught by safe hands. I couldn’t help but think of earlier with my back slumped against the tree, I could barely keep my eyes open and I heard a warm voice say as he scooped me up gently, “I’ll take care of her.”

#CybirdCreativeChallenge #cybird creative challenge #Anise #ikemen sengoku #ocs

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au #5

Here’s the ao3-link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866

Summary: “Does anyone have a map?" "Nah", Freed says in a blasé manner. Maybe the bastard doesn't care about dying all that much, but Laxus would like to live a little bit longer, thank you very much. "We don't need it", he continues and Laxus scoffs. "Hey man, control your hubris." 

Chapter under the cut!

When Laxus comes to, it's not in a nice, warm and cosy room with blankets wrapped around him. Instead, it's with his face or rather his whole body half-buried in the snow. Some confused part of him thinks it's quite cosy and warm anyway. He debates closing his eyes and going to sleep, but a brutal twack to the head bars him from doing so. "What do you think you're doing?" Freed yells before lifting him on his feet.

With his brows settled in a frown, Freed brusquely dusts of Laxus' poor excuse for a coat. "Dumbass", is all he says before tugging him along to meet up with Bickslow and Evergreen. Those two greet them with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "Babes!" Bickslow yells before throwing his lanky arms around both of their shoulders. Ever opts to punch the nearest one of them (unfortunately, Laxus) and pout. "Don't do stupid shit like that again. Why did you guys wait that long? "

"We we're enjoying the scenery for a little while longer", Freed says before Laxus has to go and explain himself. "The snow, the crumbling bridge, the utter drama of it all." He bats his ridiculously long lashes at that and Evergreen moves over to give him a punch to the shoulder as well. "Of course you dragged this poor man into your ludicrous schemes", she grumbles as Freed laughs her concerns off.

Looking around, Laxus can't see anything but a white wasteland. Snow surrounds them from all sides and there are no indications of where they could possibly be. He starts to fear that they only postponed their deaths and that they would encounter a slower, more agonising one. The others haven't seem to have realised this, caught up in bickering over something or other. "Guys?" When they turn their attention to him, he waves at the white surrounding them. "How are we going to find our destination? Does anyone have a map?"

"Nah", Freed says in a blasé manner. Maybe the bastard doesn't care about dying all that much, but Laxus would like to live a little bit longer, thank you very much. "We don't need it", he continues and Laxus scoffs. "Hey man, control your hubris."

"It isn't hubris", Freed counters and squats down to write something in the snow. Very quickly Laxus realises that he isn't writing, but drawing. Soon a map appears and Laxus has to admit that the man knows his stuff. It's meticulously detailed and he raises his hands in surrender. "You win, just get us out of here please."

"I will", he promises, "and I wasn't trying to brag. You looked a bit worried and I wanted to alleviate that feeling a bit." It's surprisingly thoughtful coming from Freed. As Laxus is about to give him his reluctant gratitude, Freed slaps his arm hard and grins obnoxiously. "Also, if I were trying to brag, you'd instantly know. My dear Laxus, my hubris could move mountains."

Instead of being irritated, Laxus can't help but be amused at Freed, standing knee deep in the snow, proclaiming that he would fistfight God if given the chance. Interrupting Freed's passionate speech about his own arrogance, he throws his arm around the man and gives him a noogie. "You're nothing but a loser with a big vocabulary, ain't ya?"

"That's blasphemy!" Freed protests and Laxus rolls his eyes. "Whatever, whatever. Let's go already, it's not getting any warmer." With a confidence that's completely unfounded, Laxus turns into a direction, striding away, hoping that it'll inspire the others to finally move already. It doesn't. "Laxus darling?" Freed calls out in that tone of his that spells annoyance for Laxus. "Sweetie, you're going the wrong way. You should know that, the defective bridge is in that direction. You know, the one we were unfortunately heading to?"

"Just lead the way and shut up, please."

"Since you asked so nicely."

Surprisingly, they reach a town around the evening. Although it's not very grand, a quick look through the windows of some shops tells Laxus that the place certainly is expensive. He whistles as he sees a particularly outrageous price for a dress and Evergreen comes to stand next to him to see what the fuss is about. When she spots the price tag, she shrugs. "It's normal. This is a tourist town, famous for its fashion, quaint panorama and terrific food."

"Shame we won't be enjoying it", Laxus muses, "We don't have the money for it. Hearing those words, Bickslow turns around with a big grin. "Laxus, Laxus, Laxus", he tuts, "Money is no issue for those with fast fingers." Although Laxus certainly doesn't disagree, he does wonder what their grand scheme is. "Should you guys really be dragging a royal into the criminal life? No offense, but you guys are a little bit shady."

"A little bit?" Freed's voice sounds disbelieving. He turns to Bickslow and Evergreen. "Would you look at that, we we're doing better than I expected!" Evergreen hides her smile behind her hand in an attempt to save Laxus' dignity a little bit. "We're doing so well that he nearly promised us his first born", she giggles and Bickslow holds out his hand. Unsure of what he's supposed to do, Laxus takes. Suddenly Bickslow's face turns serious as he pulls Laxus close. "Baby, you just signed a contract by taking this hand", he says, voice uncharacteristically grave. "Seeing as you trust us that much, from now on I'll entrust something to you as well."

With his free hand, Bickslow reaches behind him, grabs an unsuspecting Freed by the collar and unceremoniously shoves him against Laxus. "Here you go, my own firstborn child." Dramatically, Freed blinks and stretches his arms out towards Bickslow. "Mommy, please don't give me to the strange man! He reeks of sweat and he looks like a mountainboar! He'll eat me for sure!" Laxus rolls his eyes. "Yep. I'll swallow you whole", he says interrupting their inpromptu theatre.

The phrase makes Freed choke on his spit, his cheeks flushing a deep red that's very visible on his pale skin. Bickslow outright guffaws and Ever lets out a little "Oh my". The exact phrasing of his own words hit him at that moment and he shoves Freed away. "You are all nasty. Mainly you", he says and points at Freed. "Nasty, nasty gremlin boy."

"I am not a gremlin boy!" Freed yells back, getting a bit heated. "Getting called nasty, I can live with, but I am no gremlin! I refuse to be adressed as such." Laxus tauntingly pats the man's head. "But you can't refuse. Here's a royal order for the two of you." Evergreen and Bickslow listen in amusement. "You are to call him nasty gremlin boy at any and all times. For all you know, it is his name now. Amen."

"Amen", they chorus and as per royal order, he-who-was-formerly-known-as-Freed is getting pestered by all three of them until he tells them that he'll leave them to sleep out in the streets if they don't knock it off. Since this implies that he-who-is-now-again-known-as-Freed can actually get them a room somewhere, they promptly shut up and bury the nickname for later use.

Once Laxus is laying on the bed in the room Freed's managed to score for him, he wonders how Freed had done it. Looking around, he can see that the room (and the whole inn) had been made for people with a lot of money and he doesn't think that any of the people he's travelling with have that. The bed he's laying on is so comfortable and soft, that it's very likely that he'll never move from there again.

"Sup buddy", Bickslow whispers as he tiptoes into the room. "We decided that I'd be your roommate for a couple of days, I hope you don't mind." Laxus shakes his head. "It's fine. Ever would probably like her privacy and if I had to room with Freed, one of us would have killed the other before dayrise. It would've been a gruesome scene."

"Not if Freed was the culprit", Bickslow winks and Laxus is too tired to think about the implications. He gives a simple thumbs-up instead. "You mind if I use the shower first?" Bickslow asks and Laxus blinks slowly. "Don't care", he mumbles before yawning. "I'm going to stay here forever."

"You do that baby", Bickslow laughs before disappearing into the bathroom. Curling up into a ball, Laxus makes himself comfortable. It's easy with the soft mattress, although it is very warm. He drifts off regardless of the heat.

When he wakes up, the heat is unbearable, but the cold he's simultaneously feeling doesn't allow him to put the blanket away. He's deeply uncomfortable, but too sleepy to think about what his next course of action should be. His thoughts are a muddled mess and unable to make sense of them, he tries to fall back asleep. Instead, he keeps toeing the line between being awake and slumbering and it doesn't make his feel any better.

The door of the bathroom opens, bringing forth a warm gust of steam that does nothing to help relieve him. "Babe, you can use the bathroom if you want", Bickslow calls out and Laxus merely grunts in response. He doesn't think he could leave the bed even if he wanted to. Hearing Bickslow approach, he painstakingly cracks open a single eye. A moment later, he feels a very warm hand on his forehead and he swats it away. "Stop that", he murmurs and Bickslow complies. The sound of his footsteps removes itself from Laxus' vicinity and he barely hears the "Be right back!" before the door opens and closes again.

By the time the door reopens, Laxus is a sweating, shivering mess. His teeth are chattering violently and he's confused whether he's cold or not. Three sets of footsteps approach his bed and Laxus wished Bickslow hadn't made a public spectacle about him being sick. He should protest, but he hasn't got the strength nor will for it. "You guys should go eat, I'll handle this", one of them softly whispers and soon, it's only the two of them in the room. At this point Laxus is too far gone to recognise them and too far gone to care about any of it. He falls back asleep.

The hours? that follow are confusing to him. Between waking and slumbering he registers someone cooling him down with wet towels, their cold hands patting his head from time to time and the sense of calmth that comes over him when they do it makes his whole body unclench. Sometimes he can feel nightmares threatening at the edges of his mind, but his caretaker waves them away with a simple hand on his forehead or sweet, nostalgic lullabies hummed under their breath.

The time he spends awake is becoming longer, Laxus notices. Now, he's able to form somewhat coherent thoughts and the first thing he does, is try to pull himself upwards. Immediately, someone's pushing him back down. "I wouldn't do that if I were you", someone advises him and after a few moments Laxus recognises him to be Freed. "How are you feeling big boy?"

He tries to answer, but no sounds escapes his mouth. Seeing this, Freed offers him a cup of water and when Laxus takes a sip, he suddenly notices how parched he is. With big gulps, he downs the whole cup while Freed watches in amusement. "You don't do things in moderation, now do you?"

"Moderation makes life boring", he rasps as soon as he's caught his breath and Freed gives him a wink at that. "Well would you look at that, seems like there are things we can agree on." Between coughs, Laxus manages to get out: "We'd probably agree on a lot more if you weren't such a bastard."

"But where would be the fun in that? We just established that neither you nor I do things in moderation. Keep up with the schedule, my dearest Laxus." Freed draws himself closer, placing a familiar cool hand on Laxus forehead and keeps it there for what can only be a short while. It feels infinitely longer though and Laxus can feel himself heating up under his studious gaze. "Your fever had broken, but now it seems to be coming back." Then he looks Laxus right in the eyes, smile devious. "Or might there be another reason for your lovely red visage?"

Determined to not let Freed have the last laugh, Laxus reaches for the sweat-ridden pillow supporting his back. With one hand he quickly draws Freed closer and simultaneously he smushes the drenched pillow right into the man's face with his other hand. Instantaneously Freed starts yelling in absolute disdain and after he's wrestled himself free it turns into laughing as the two of them grapple for a while.

It shouldn't be as tiring as it is, but he's sick and Freed picks up on his weakening arms immediately. "Looks like playtime is over for this patient. I'll call Bickslow over and leave you to him."

"You aren't gonna stay?" He hates how vulnerable his voice sounds and how obvious it must be to Freed. "Nah, you stink", Freed answers seemingly completely oblivious to Laxus' little moment of weakness. It's probably for the better. "Goodbye, I'm going to take a nap", Freed says before waltzing out of the room.

Not even five minutes later Bickslow appears and the first words that tumble out of Laxus' mouth are: "Do I smell?" He suppresses the urge to facepalm at his own words. Frowning, Bickslow asks why he thinks so. Moping like a child (he chalks it up to being sick), he explains that apparently Freed's reason for leaving is his smell. As he's explaining Bickslow's face changes from concerned to amused until he's barely able to suppress his giggling.

"Is that what he said? If he was truly bothered by the smell of a sick person, he wouldn't have been taking care of you for the past seven days. That man has a flair for the dramatic, but I think he just needs a nap. He wouldn't allow himself to properly sleep before he knew you were okay though, so he must be walking on his last legs."

Now that he says that, Freed had been looking a bit pale himself and Laxus thinks he remembers dark circles under his eyes. He does wonder though, why the man was so adamant about taking care of him, seeing as Laxus mainly seems to be a form of entertainment to him. His hands had been so careful though when nursing him back to health and his voice oh so sweet. Laxus decides to not dwell on it anymore, but he does fall asleep with the soft sound of Freed's voice in his mind.

#Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #fraxus #bickslow #fanfic #TheFairyWrites #Anastasia au

[fox-moblin]

I'm to afraid to come off anon, but if you feel like it I think Legend being sick or something would be interesting I guess? Thank you either way

Alright ya’ll - slowly but surely I’m getting through these requests. :>

****

****

“Easy, easy…”

“Fu…fuck…”

Legend stumbles, the arm not clutching Warriors for support curled around his stomach.  Warriors holds him upright, supporting him as the two of them slowly make their way across the sands.  Legend clenches his eyes closed.

“Warriors… I’m not… I’m…”  he trails off, clamping his mouth shut as a wave of dizziness overtakes him.  Warriors curses, pulling Legend up as he pitches forward.  

“Hey!”  He hefts Legend up from under his arm pits.  “Stay with me, okay!  We gotta meet up with the others; buck up!”  

Legend’s head lolls and he mumbles some sort of profanity under his breath.  Warriors swallows.  

“Damn…” he mutters, looking around.  The land round them is vast, giant sand dunes stretching out towards the horizon.  He can’t see an end,  his only guide being the sun, which has slowly begun to move lower in the sky.  

West, he thinks, shielding his eyes.  They have to go west.  He glances down at Legend, who’s head is bowed low.  He’s shaking, gritting his teeth as he fights to stay standing, and Warriors feels his heart clench seeing his friend so weak.  He huffs.  The sun is setting; it’s going to grow cold soon, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s been plaguing them for the last few hours.  Both of them are sunburned despite their best efforts to stay covered, their cheeks and noses and the tips of their ears a rosy red, and Legend, for whatever reason, has taken the brunt of the sun’s wrath, heat sickness slowly sinking its claws into his body.  Warriors pulls him close, trying to shield him from the sun the best he can.  Legend presses against him, groaning into his chest.  

“W…we gotta keep moving…”  

“We have to get you to shelter… and get you some water.”

“…’m fine…”  

Legend lifts his head weakly and Warriors can see the gleam of sweat on his forehead and the confusion in his eyes.  He sighs.  

“C’mon.”

***********

They walk for another hour, their progress growing ever slower as Legend succumbs further and further to the heat.  Despite Warriors’ hope that the setting sun would cool the world at least a little, they’ve not felt the effects of it yet as it hangs low in the sky.  For at least the fifth time that day, Warriors curses Wild’s world; the endless desert is killing them.  They’ve already escaped two sandstorms and some sort of giant sand fish, and Warriors is starting to think their luck is running out.  He’s rationed what little water they have, giving most of it Legend, but their canteens have grown light and anxiety has begun to creep in, sending chills down his back despite the haze surrounding them.  He lets out a shaky breath, tightening his grip on Legend’s tunic, and tries to stay calm.  He’s a soldier; he can handle this.  

Next to him, Legend groans.  

“H..hey… I think… I think ‘m gonna-“

He pitches forward and Warriors has to drop to his knees to catch Legend as he flops like a rag doll into his arms.  He lies there, motionless, and Warriors stares at him in shock.  

“Legend?”  He shakes his shoulder.  “Hey… hey, Legend, come on!”  

He flips Legend over, pulling him to his chest, and pats his cheek, warm and feverish beneath his palm.  Legend doesn’t respond, his head rolling to the side when Warriors touches him.  Beneath his eyelids, his eyes move with whatever dream plagues him.  Warriors takes a breath in through his nose and tries to stay calm.  

Legend’s alive, for now.  

Hylia be damned, he’s gonna keep it that way.  

He lifts Legend, hands supporting him under his knees and shoulders, and begins to walk.  Legend’s head flops back, his mouth hanging open, and his chest shudders with each breath.  Warriors thanks whatever goddess is looking out for him, because it’s certainly not Hylia’s holy ass, for keeping the heat from infecting him as well.  The last thing Legend needs if for Warriors to pass out as well.  

Like a cruel joke, Hylia, with all her great power, brings night quickly and, with it, a cold that could rival the icy peaks of the Mt. Lanayru of Wild’s world.  Warriors shivers, his teeth chattering as he slugs his way across the dunes, as harsh winds sweep over him, kicking up the sands so that they dance and swirl around him.  If he’d been anywhere else, without his friend slowly dying in his arms, he might have thought it beautiful, but in the moment all he can do is scream in frustration and crouch low, bending over Legend’s limp form.  Legend is shaking again, too weak to fight the cold on his own.  Warriors rips his scarf from his own shoulders and wraps it around Legends, tucking the fabric under his chin.  The blue looks almost silver in the cold light of the moon, as pale as Legend’s ashen skin.  Warriors holds him close and looks out over the desert before them.

They’re perched on a tall dune and, without any clouds to block the moon’s light, Warriors can see rather far.  

The cliffs that have sat on the horizon all day are still there, closer than before.  Warriors closes his eyes.  

They could offer some shelter.  

They could offer some hope.        

Warriors opens his eyes and glances down at Legend.  His friend shudders.  

He wants to hope.  

He’ll have to move fast.  The moon is still rising; the coldest parts of the night have yet to come.  If he can make it to shelter before they come, Legend might have a chance.  

He breathes deeply, letting the air out and watching his breath puff like a cloud in front of him, and then looks down the length of the slope before him.  

If anything, Wild would be very proud of what he’s about to do.  

Legend would be too, he thinks, if he were awake to witness it in all its undignified glory.  

Warriors steals himself, sends a prayer to the goddesses, clutches Legend close, and leaps off the dune.

His feet hit the sloping sand with a force that almost sends him tumbling forward and he thinks, for a moment, that maybe he should have just sat on a shield and slid down.  He manages to catch himself and then he’s running and stumbling his way down the dune as the loose sands around him behind to slide downward as well.  In the tiny part of his mind that isn’t all panic and screeched profanities, he imagines that he probably looks very stupid.  

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until he hits the bottom and almost crashes into a cactus.  He rolls forward, curling over Legend, and doing some sort of front flip that would probably be rather impressive if not for the fact that he lands painfully on his back, the wind knocked out him.

He wants to lay there until his head stops spinning and he can breathe normally again, but Legend whimpers pitifully from where he’s flopped like a piece of wet grass across Warriors’ chest and Warriors forces himself to his feet, grunting as he lifts Legend up again.  

Keep moving.  

Warriors marches on.  

**********

When he sees the light of a fire, Warriors sobs.  He doesn’t care about the fact that he probably looks like a wreck, face red and puckered, sand everywhere it shouldn’t be; he falls to his knees, thanking anyone and anything, before stumbling upright again and sprinting towards the light.  

It’s a pathway through the cliffs, the opening to a narrow cavern and, as he crests the small hill that leads out of the desert, Warriors almost starts to cry again.  An inn.  A horse stable.  He begins to make his way towards, trying to compose himself, and speaking in low tones to Legend, where he remains in Warriors’ arms, wrapped in his scarf.  

“You’re going to be okay.  I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

**********

Legend wakes with a jolt and a groan, bringing up a hand to press against his aching forehead.  His other hands is trapped beneath something and, when he tries to move it, whatever is holding it tightens its grip.  He’s lying on something soft and warm and, other than the monster of a headache he can feel coming on, he feels… rather okay.  

The lingering taste of a potion sits in his mouth and he smacks his lips.  He’s thirsty, but not desperately so.  

When he finally opens his eyes, blinking away sleep, it’s to the soft light of a lantern, hung somewhere to his right.  Above him, the light casts dancing shadows on the patterned walls of an inn, those found in Wild’s Hyrule.  Legend sighs softly.  

Safe.

To his left, something shifts, and he turns only to feel a lump building in his throat.  Warriors is sat next to him, curled over his bed, asleep.  Legend’s other hand is clutched between both of Warriors’ and his friend’s head is rested on Legend’s stomach.  Beneath it, spread out over the quilt that covers him, Legend is surprised to see Warriors treasured scarf.  Legend breathes and Warriors’ head moves with it.  

“Hey,”  Legend murmurs, trying to draw his hand away, but Warriors doesn’t respond, only clutching Legend’s hand tighter.  Legend tries again, but only sighs when the results remain the same.    

He’s tired; the rest of the inn is barely awake, the only movement coming from the inn keeper, who keeps glancing over with a fond smile.  Legend looks away and back at Warriors.  

In his sleep, his friend whimpers something and turns his head to bury his face deeper into the blankets and, subsequently, Legend’s abdomen.  Legend stares at him quietly, waiting, but Warriors only snores softly.  Legend hesitates.

“Oh, for Hylia’s sake,” he finally mutters and grips Warriors’ hands back.

*******

*******

Anyways.  Yeah.  

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #legend of zelda #link between worlds #hyrule warriors #mobwrites #sorry this ended up being slightly more warriors heavy #forgive me - i hope this is at least somewhat close to what you were looking for my friend #heat exhaustion #fainting #sickness #angst #oof #classic ort but with different links #i tried #gotta get used to them

[darkhymns-fic]

Separate

As Lloyd starts on his journey to look for the Cores, he finds it much harder than he anticipated. He's not used to traveling alone, without her voice by his side.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3 Notes: It's Colloyd Day!! To celebrate, I wrote a collaborative fic with the wonderful writer, Lil-Samuu, with both of us writing different sides of the same story, hers from Colette's perspective and mine from Lloyd's. This was a fun idea for such a special day! 

For Lil-Samuu's Colette-focused story, please read it here. This is connected to Lloyd's story and works well when read together! @frayed-symphony also drew amazing art for both stories, be sure to check!

---

Lloyd had never been a very good writer.

That simple fact was told to him by Professor Sage whenever she had the chance to. Much of that was complimented by a frown, trying to read over an essay he turned in that very morning while he looked several different shades of guilty. Clearly littered with incomplete sentences, some of them including just the wrong words by nature, it was hard to parse whatever he was trying to say.

Not like he didn’t try, but his characters would get a little sloppy, or merge into one another and make little sense of the sentence he attempted. It wasn’t the same as drawing or making figurines. Those things interested him, feeling like he could create something out of nothing, or just try to mold an idea that he had been holding inside his head. Then it was easier, then it was interesting.

This, writing, just wasn’t interesting to him.

“Gah, why does this stupid stuff matter anyway?” Lloyd had argued, his temper getting the best of him. At 12, he couldn’t control the rawness of his frustration. Though he wouldn’t have much better luck a few years later. “If I want to talk about something, I should just be able to say it! Writing it down takes way longer.”

“There will be times when you can’t just say what’s on your mind at that moment,” his teacher had patiently explained. “It’s good to gather your thoughts and put them down for someone to read later. What if they can’t hear what you to say at that moment? What if it’s easier to say what you want on paper?”

“No way! If I have something to say, I’ll just say it!” Lloyd was proud of his stance on this, hands on his hips, head raised high. Not even his low marks for the day could drag his spirits down.

Until one night, when he had to write a letter for Colette.

Suddenly, he had a chaos of thoughts to say, but no way to say them out loud. And no more bravery to do so.

As he stayed up on the night he would leave her, Lloyd tried to write her a letter, until the picture was clear in his head.

---

Despite the strange warmth in the air, Lloyd had somehow still caught a cold.

“Ah-choo!” Lloyd sneezed a bit loudly. With a sigh, he wrapped his cloak around himself, trudging through the snows before finally seeing the city gates of Flanoir. The spires of its cathedral pierced through the dark night sky, which glittered with so many stars and the brightness of two moons.

“I’d count as many as I could before, when Kratos helped me. But now I can only count a few before my eyes get heavy. But it feels so nice to do so all the same.”

And she would say that with the brightest smile on her face – to be able to sleep again.

Lloyd had barely gotten a full night’s rest since he left Colette.

“Agh, don’t… think on that now. It’s not helping any.” He clamped down on his muttering, trying to keep his lips from getting chapped from the wind. Also, it was kinda weird talking to himself like this? He never used to do it this much, but it had always felt natural before to say whatever was on his mind, knowing someone was with him to hear it. Sometimes he’d listen to how Colette would do the same, pattering off the names of dogs she found, or talking about the shapes she saw up in the cloudy skies, and he’d drink in the sound of her voice.

Each night was quiet and empty without her.

Lloyd finally made it past Flanoir’s entrance, dimly annoyed at himself for landing his Rheiard a bit far off from the city. But it’d be dumb to just get the vehicle out from his wing pack, fly it for like a minute, and then get off again! Even though his walk had been an extra 15 minutes because of it, but Lloyd was stubborn like that.

He kept making dumb little mistakes like this lately. A wrong flight turn at Sybak, then leaving half of his Gald at one town accidentally… and now here at Flanoir…

Lloyd’s satchel that he carried over his shoulder was light; he’d gone through most of his food, sometimes snacking in the middle of the night when he could barely sleep. He kinda wished the blessing of Martel gave him better self-control… or the power to summon infinite food… or something else that was cool.

“The power to summon doggies! All kinds from around the world!”

“Heh, yeah. That would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it? Kinda like my Sorcerer’s Ring that one time!”

Lloyd blinked, stopping in the middle of the street when he realized. Oh, now he was making up conversations between them…

Martel had said her power would protect him from the mental effects of his mission, but he was clearly already losing it! Needing something to do with his hands, he looked through his satchel, trying to remember what he needed. More food definitely, maybe some mittens (he still had a few Penguinist’s Quills), a couple of Gels, but did he even have enough money…? He kept searching, assessing, his hand brushing against something familiar, making him stop.

He held out what he found, the sky feeling heavy, yet the weight in his palm so light. Red-dyed gloves imprinted against the white, the contrast so strong in his eyes still.

He was losing it, or… he just really, intensely missed Colette. He thought knowing that she was safe now would be enough but…

It had been only a week or so since Lloyd had left Colette – not bravely, not with an explanation of any sort even. The air had been familiar in that part of Sylvarant, just near Iselia. Maybe that was why he had chosen to go on that very night. Colette wouldn’t be far from the town; she’d go back to her home, to people that would be there for her, when he couldn’t be. She’d be able to have a normal life to herself again, one that was denied from her; from the world, and even from himself.

He had already involved her in one dangerous mission with him. He couldn’t put her in another. That was what he told himself – what he kept trying to tell himself.

Lloyd did wish he hadn’t left her completely alone though. He had tried sneaking away by himself, but Noishe, who had tagged along with them for most of the journey, soon caught wind of his movements. The only way to stop the dog’s whining was to take him along, at least far enough to Dirk’s home. Maybe Colette would stop by there…

Someone bumped against his shoulder, nearly making him trip. Oh. Yeah, he was still standing in the middle of the street like an idiot. Clearing his throat, he put back the weight he held into his satchel and moved away, the antiquated buildings – yet taller and sturdier than most buildings back in Sylvarant – giving him a nostalgic sense. The snow fell more gently here than outside the city walls, probably because those same walls buffered the wind, leaving more pleasant but still chilly weather.

…Actually, it was a bit warmer here too, even more than he expected. That’s weird… The cloak now felt a bit too suffocating this way. He had to loosen it from his neck, giving himself room to breathe.

Things in the world weren’t right, not completely. From changes in temperature to a certain taste in the air. That was why one night, Lloyd had heard Martel’s voice in his head, telling him what he needed to do. He was supposed to search for the Cores. But, in all honesty, Lloyd had no idea where to begin. He had just… somehow ended up here. In Flanoir.

That had been another mistake. Why did he travel to this place?

---

In the cozy warmth of his room, the metal fireplace insulating him well against the cold from outside, Lloyd had nearly fallen asleep on his feet until he heard a soft knocking on his door.

Usually, Lloyd would conk out like a log once entering an inn room. Just the sight of a bed invited him to just lay down and close his eyes right away. The pleasant heat of the entire inn already had him yawning and stretching, the snows from beyond the building muffling most sounds.

But this time he stayed up. He expected something. There had been so much in his head, the snow gently falling.

She didn’t even have to say anything until she opened the door, her hair so bright –

---

Lloyd found himself at the inn before he knew it.

“Oh,” he said aloud, looking around like a gaping fish. He had just completely blanked out on his walk to here. How’d that happen? He rubbed his scalp, thinking on it a bit too hard.

“Oh! You’re Lloyd Irving, aren’t you?”

Well, that got his attention. Lloyd turned to the front, finding a man around his age, waving to him.

“Yeah! I remember you! You and your friends would stay here all the time like a year back.”

“Uh! Y-yeah, hey!” Lloyd waved at him, walking to the front past some dining tables, his boots making the floorboards creak. He felt so bad not remembering this person’s name… He did recognize the face though. The guy had short cropped black hair, a ready smile on his face. He seemed pretty happy to see Lloyd?

“Are your friends going to come by too?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me this time around.” Saying that out loud suddenly felt weird, as if the reality of everything had just now sunk in. No, no, he had known that all along. He had just been trying to push it away in the back of his skull, that was all. “For a, uh… a quick visit!”

The man behind the counter continued to smile at him. So, was he the receptionist? The innkeeper? Maybe the cook that just happened to be out here while the real receptionist was on break? Colette would probably remember… At the least, she might have remembered his name. Having gone with Lloyd around the world to name every dog she met, she learned and memorized most people’s names they came across too.

And maybe she would remember this person, especially after her and Lloyd had been rejected by so many inns at so many places.

But she wasn’t here with him.

“I could tell it was you. No one else wears so much red around here!” The guy kept laughing and talking, but it was hard to pay attention. Things didn’t seem right, like Martel had told him. Things just weren’t right.

And it was up to him to fix it.

---

“Those with the blessing of Martel can weather the mental drain of the Cores. So only you can take this mission.”

Yuan had always been blunt and straight to the point. At least at this moment, Lloyd appreciated it. After some rough first impressions, both had started to trust one another. Especially with the presence of Martel binding them.

Still, he had to ask. “Why doesn’t that include Colette though?”

Yuan raised an eyebrow. It was strange not seeing him wear the dark cloak anymore, his clothes more casual, his eyes less hard and bitter. The tree behind him was still a small thing, a sapling with the first hint of greenery, leaves beginning to sprout forth. He couldn’t see Martel, but he could sense her – despite not knowing what exactly she thought of his question.

With Yuan, he could tell right away. “You’re thinking what I just asked was stupid, aren’t you?”

“Never said that.” Yuan frowned. “But why Colette specifically?”

“Because… she was with me when we both went to the tree. When we gave it a name!”

“When you gave it a name,” Yuan reiterated. “Remember?”

Lloyd sighed. “Okay… but we both promised we’d do anything to protect the tree from withering.”

“It was still you that made that promise. And Martel accepted that promise, along with the name you’ve chosen, as proof of the pact.” Yuan sighed. “Or should I go over the way such pact-formations work again?”

“I got it, I got it.” Lloyd held back another sigh. He had left Colette at a Church of Martel, her business with the priests allowing him time to visit this place with the World Tree.  Even though she had been here before, even though she had heard the name he gave… She had asked of him to give it a name…

“Are you just looking for an excuse to not do this?”

“No!” Lloyd said back. “I never said I wouldn’t do it. I’ll find the Cores and keep Ratatosk from awakening them. If only I can.”

“That’s right,” Yuan said, now appearing to be satisfied. “Only you.”

He felt Martel’s own satisfaction as well, but in there, a small tinge of understanding.

Lloyd still wished for a different outcome.

---

“Do you want a room? Hello?”

Again, he had been thinking too hard on things, losing track of everything. If Colette was here, she’d have nudged him for spacing out. Or talked with the innkeeper/receptionist/chef? Lloyd still wasn’t sure…

“S-sorry. Uh, what were you asking?”

“Just wanted to know if you needed a room. We can probably give you a discount after all your stays with us! Like… like 10 percent max though.”

Lloyd thought on it longer, much longer than he meant to. The inn’s rooms were warm, but the place was already so warm, warmer than it needed to be. Any other time, it would make him fall fast asleep, but like before, his mind kept turning over and over.

When Colette opened the door to his room, he had felt those thoughts settle. But, she wouldn’t do that now. Because he left her.

“Um, no. That’s okay. I’ll be leaving already.”

“Oh? Then… why did you come here?”

Lloyd paused just as he was turning away, the words completely lost to him. There was a weight in his chest that was hard to get rid of.

“I’m not sure,” he said out loud, then left through the inn door. He still didn’t learn that guy’s name.

---

When Lloyd had left with Noishe to his dad’s home, part of him had been calm. Something about seeing the two-story house there, the vines climbing up the walls, the sun’s rays slanting over the creek that ran around his house, had been relieving. The dog happy-whined at the sight, already wanting to run towards the home, his large ears flicking with excitement.

Lloyd honestly felt the same. But he stopped himself from just running forward. Moving further out of the forest, he saw Dirk watering the garden, probably having been up since dawn doing all the other chores in the house – including taking care of what had been Lloyd’s own chores.

He could barely hold back anymore, so with a shout, he called out to him. “Hey! Dad!”

The dwarf perked his head up, his beard somehow even bushier than before. Noishe had rushed past Lloyd, ambling up to Dirk to get promptly petted on his furry head. “Lloyd! Haven’t seen ya in a while. Still holding up?”

“Yeah!” Lloyd answered a bit quickly, waiting for his dad to make the connection. The space around him was too prominent, the lack of a voice too clear.

“I don’t see Colette with you today. Is she back in Iselia?”

Lying is the first step down the path of thievery. And even though Lloyd had definitely lied before, that vow felt so much more vital at this moment. She probably was in Iselia at this moment, maybe even looking for him…

“Someone needs my help,” Lloyd said, a little rushed, but still convinced he had to go through with it. “I can’t have Colette involved in it. So… we need to be separate from now on.”

He inwardly winced, seeing the gears in his father’s head work, assessing the truth of his words. That was one other reason why he didn’t lie often. His dad could always tell when he did anyway.

“How long will you be gone then?” Dirk finally asked, stopping his petting of Noishe to cross his thick arms over his chest.

“I’m not sure. It might be a while. I… really don’t have any idea.”

“Have you told Colette any of this?”

A pause. “I did.” This one wasn’t a lie still, but he held back. He had a feeling Dirk wouldn’t approve of the way he told Colette.

But sometimes things couldn’t be said right away at that moment. Sometimes one needed to wait and gather one’s thoughts, suddenly all so mixed up. And sometimes, it was easier.

Dirk continued to visibly ponder over Lloyd’s words, the sun still shining brightly, despite a small chill in the air. The weather had been strange lately, like the hint of snow back in Triet. Lloyd didn’t have much time to pause and wander around anymore. But still, he had to come here, he had to have some closure in something.

His father looked him straight in the eyes. It didn’t matter that he was a few feet shorter – Lloyd always felt smaller in his presence no matter what.

“You’re doing what you believe is right and true, are you?”

“Yeah!” This he knew for sure, even though the pain of leaving Colette was still fresh. “Of course!”

“And you won’t go making trouble for people out there?”

“No way! I swear!”

Then, that bushy beard revealed a white, shining grin. “Then what are ya waiting for? Get to completing your tasks so you and Colette can travel together again.”

Lloyd blinked, feeling out of sorts almost. “You’re not mad?”

“Lloyd, you’ve done nothing to make me angry. I trust you. Just as I know that Colette trusts you too. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Right! I will!” Back then, his burdens felt lifted, at least for a moment. Still, he had one thing to ask. “Hey, Dad? If, um, Colette comes by…”

He paused, wondering if he had a right to say this. He had given her a letter, but was that enough?

“Go on, Lloyd,” Dirk said, his voice gentler.

“Can you tell her…?”

---

Maybe camping out in the snows was his way of punishing himself.

But still, the outside was not nearly as cold as it should have been. Either way, Lloyd wore his cloak, and if he buried his hands underneath the snows, they’d go numb with the chill regardless. He made the campfire by rote, soon finding the flames eat up the kindling, already melting the snow underneath it. Snowflakes still drizzled down, if not as fiercely as they once did a year ago.

“Could we still make snowmen like this? Or do you think it would melt too fast?”

“We could try! Just gotta speed through it! Whoever makes the fastest snowman wins!”

“Oh! What do I win then?”

“Hey, why are you assuming you’d win already?”

Lloyd sat against a big snowdrift, half burying himself in it. Here he was, making up conversations again. What would his dad think of him now though? He no longer felt as confident as he should have been.

In his satchel, there was little food and money. He had forgotten to stock up, already leaving Flanoir before even staying there for more than an hour. It hadn’t felt right, being there without her. Traveling all this time with her, and then suddenly an emptiness around him.

His hand had brushed against the snowbunny she had given him earlier in the city, its shape fitting into his palm. It was the one thing he made sure to never forget to leave behind.

“And I get to stay by your side, right?”

Lloyd shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the memory, the guilt, the need to have her seated beside him. And then he was overwhelmed by the reality that she would not be with him for so long.

“I’m sorry,” he said out loud to the fire, seeing the way it flickered in the darkness. The fire seemed to cast long shadows, longer than they should.

Lloyd raised his head. The clouds finally cleared, giving him a clear view of the stars.

There were so many new ones ever since the worlds reunited. People of both worlds now shared the same sky, the same stars, and the same moons. Sometimes he wondered, back when Tethe’alla was separate, how different the sky must have looked compared to Sylvarant’s. Or maybe it was still so similar. But with them meshed together like this, that distinction no longer mattered. Everything was now under one sky.

Colette was under this sky too. She seemed to like counting the stars with him.

There was one particularly bright star. It flickered like a candle in the pitch-black expanse above him. Looking up at that star made his head feel a little clearer. The tension in his neck seemed to dissipate.

Under this same sky, maybe Colette was watching this star too? Thinking that, at least a little bit.

The air was warmer than it should have been, but still Lloyd wrapped his cloak around himself, the empty space around him much too wide, much too cold. He’d do better tomorrow, figure out what he needed to do, where he needed to go, to finish his mission and get back to Colette.

It was just hard to get used to.

“I’ll come back, okay?” he said out loud, watching that same bright star. No one would hear him, not for a long while. But someday, she would.

It was nice though, looking up at the sky, at that star…

---

Dear Colette,

By the time you read this, I’ll have already left on my own journey. Sounds familiar, right?

I think I understand why you wrote me that letter back then. It’s not easy to do this. You look really happy when you’re sleeping, and I don’t want to ruin that with this. Or maybe I’m too worried to do that anyway.

This will be familiar too… I care about you too deeply to get you involved. Sorry, I’m just stealing your words at this point. I’m not good at this!

Even though… I wish you could be involved? But I can’t ask that of you. I can’t ask that of anyone.

But I can promise you though that I’ll come back! I want to protect this world, this world with Colette in it. And I want to keep staying by your side, too.

But for now, I can’t.

I’m sorry.

I was happy traveling with you all this time. Just with you. And I wanted to keep that going.

I’m sorry for leaving, and for telling it you this way. I hope you can forgive me.

But I’ll always  I really feel like I I’ll miss you, Colette.

I’ll come back.

-Lloyd

#tales of symphonia #colette brunel #lloyd irving #colloyd #colloydday #fanfiction

[camille-clair]

The Kiss

[Music]

Cami clutched the letters and began pacing her room, chewing on her thumb nail when days continued to go by without his word, her mind and heart refusing to accept any reality without him as she tried to reason with herself what possible reason there could be he didn't reply. "Maybe he broke his arm and can't write. Maybe his ship got delayed." She continues rambling to herself.

Just then a knocking came upon her door.

She quickly rushes to the door, throwing it open in expectation.

Upon the other side of the door stood a man in fine clothing. In his gloved hand he held a letter. In his other was the reigns of his steed. Somewhere upon both their person's bore the crest of Holt. His Amber eye'd gaze was solemn. "Are you miss cami?"

Cami's eyes widen and she wordlessly nods. Oh no.

The man bows his head respectfully moments before he offers out the letter,  "By the request of Lord Holt I am to give you this...." He paused a moment so that she could take the letter from him. In the letter were simple instructions and directions on how to get to Bryton's home in Whiteriver Pines, which was located somewhere in the mountains north east of Stormwind. It would be a few hours ride, but nothing too bad. "...if  you choose to go there is a Dapple Grey Mare saddled and waiting in the local stables for you."

She blinks then let's out a relieved sigh, "Alright. May I head there now?"

"Of course. Have a pleasant journey, Miss." With that he turned to mount up and be on his way.

She moves to gather a few things before heading to find the mare.

The mare was munching away at some oats while being brushed by the stablehand.

"Good evening. I'm here to pick up this mare." She offers a smile to the stablehand.

The stablehand stopped for a moment and looked to her, "Whos'ya be askin t' use this horse?" The man asks.

"My name is Camille Clair, a Messenger came by telling me this mare would be waiting to take me to Lord Holt." She keeps a calm expression.

"I don't remember bein told who wus t' use 'is horse, bu' theys did say someone wus comin. Suppose ya'd be tha person since yer the only one who be askin." He then stood, placing the brush upon the side of the stall. "If ya given me a moment or two I c'n 'ave her ready fer ya' m'lady.

"Of course." She bows her head and waits.

The stablehand got to work grabbing the bridal, the saddle and stirrups--each item was very intricate with designs of House Holt. He took no time at all to secure the gear to the mare's body before offering the reigns to Cami, "'ere ya' go, M'lady."

"Thank you." She takes the reigns before moving to lead the mare out of the stable before mounting her, she then looks at the mare and tries to solve if the horse was gonna take her or if she should know where to go.

The mare's ears flicked back toward the woman as if waiting for a command. Her tail swayed slowly in the warm breeze of the day.

"Uh.. Let's go?" She furrows her brows.The horse didn't budge. She merely turned her head to the side to look at Cami.

Cami stares at her in confusion, "To Lord Holt." She wasn't sure what the horse expected her to say.

The horse whinnies, kneading its hoof against the gravel. It took off at a brisk trot, taking her out of the city of Stormwind and into the forest of Elwynn. It was a pleasant, bright sunny day after all. A ride would be perfect at this point.

She relaxes on the horse, looking round to try and memorize the route.

Trees...trees.... trees... More trees. Nothing too exciting. Only a few hours later when they arrived in Goldshire would the horse come to a halt at a nearby water trough and drink.

She pauses to stroke the horse's neck, letting it drink for the time being.

The town was bustling with its daily activities. Vendors were selling food, the Smiths were building and repairing weapons and armor...and the drunks were drunk at the inn. The mare's ears flicked about as she listened and watched. Only when her thirst was quenched would she begin to move..not in the proper direction, no, but toward a young farmer's wife who was selling fruits and other food assortments.

Cami snickers, slipping off the horses back and moves to buy a carrot and an apple, then once money is exchanged, she offers the two to the horse to let it pick what it wanted to eat.

The mare bobbed its head between both offered items, seeming unsure of which she should take. After a moment or two she lifts her head a bit and chomps down on the carrot.

She pockets the apple for later, letting the horse munch on the carrot before getting back on her.

When she was safely mounted, the mare returned to her original path carrying her through Goldshire and back onto the path into the forest.

She strokes her mane as the horse rides.

The mare's left ear flicks back toward her but she kept steady on down the road. Some time later they passed just near the entrance to Northshire. There was a steep incline which was nearly hidden by the trees and overgrown brush. She navigates around it with ease and continues on upward. Eventually the steep incline levels out, once they were higher up in the mountianous region of Elwynn, so the journey became easier. As more hours pass Cami would see all sorts of wildlife, massive trees, and a huge flowing river. The horse chose to follow that river the rest of the journey. Soon enough a large cabin surrounded by a massive metal gate and walls. A guard stood to the left and right of said gates. She would be able to hear the barking of several dogs on the otherside.

Cami stares and marvels at the surrounding foilage and wildlife but then as they drew close, she looks at the gates, wondering to herself if this was his families home.

One of the guardsmen steps in front, "Halt, M'lady. What is your business with Lord Holt?" He would ask.

"I was summoned here to see him." She spoke confidently.

The man canted his head, eyeing her then the mare. Recognition for the beast ran through his mind, "I see, well. Please, M'lady, carry on about your business." He bows his head then and turns to open the gate to allow the mare and cami through. Once inside the gate would close behind them. The barking of dogs grew louder as they neared the stables. Several stablehands rushed out to greet her and help her off of the mare, whom they would then bring into the stables to rest. | A servant arrives almost immediately followed by ten to twelve hunting dogs. They barked and yapped and sniffed at the woman, not once would they ever consider harming her without their master's order. The servant, however, was apologetic for the dogs' behavior and ushered her inside to where it was much quieter.

Camille follows the servant inside after standing still for the dogs to sniff her. "Is everything alright?"

"Lord Holt has been restricted to bedrest since he returned from battle." The servant explains. "If you will wait here, I will see if he is awake and well enough to speak."

She stands and nods, sighing with relief that it was just bedrest and not anything grievous.

The servant returns after a few minutes. "He I awake and very eager to see you. His room is just up the stairs and to the left."

Camille nods, quickly heading up the stairs to check on him. She pauses outside his door before knocking, "Bryton? Are you decent?" She jokes before slowly opening the door, bracing herself for what she may see.

Bryton was laying half propped up on a few pillows. The room was dark, aside what light filtered through his window. He sat up more properly when cami came into the room, although he grunted a bit from the pain of moving. "Depends on what you mean by decent." He sounded tired even as he tried to joke, "Hey there pretty lady...been some time..." He adds soon after.

She walks over to his side, "How are You? I've been worried." She reaches to gingerly cup his cheek.

"Mm, I'll be fine after a few days of rest. Still so very sore." Bryton replies. His face had several scrapes and cuts, all healing so it did not look too bad.

"I'm glad you're okay." She smiles, "What happened out there?"

"It was chaos...there was so much unneeded deaths." He swallowed hard, recalling everything he could remember. The man cringed suddenly, grasping at the blankets which covered his chest. "S-sorry..."

"Relax." She frowns, resting a hand on his shoulder, "You're safe now. Everything will be fine."

Bryton lays back and exhales, the blankets falla bit revealing a multitude of bandages over his torso and arms. 'Been a rough few nights of sleep.'

"Have you had healers come by to ease the pain? Maybe some tea?" She frowns deeply at the bandages.

"I asked them to come tomorrow. I hoped today you would get my letter and invitation to come here. I did not want them taking up the whole room." His brow rose a bit.

She blinks, "Oh?"

"Oh, oh what?" He replies in question.

"N-Nothing." She says, glancing away before looking back a him, "How are you feeling right now? Any pain?"

"My chest is sore other than that, I am fine." He lifts a hand trying to draw her down to sit upon the edge of the bed. "I'm not dying if that's what you're thinking is going on here." There was a bit of hesitation upon the  word 'dying' as he said it.

"Thank the Light you aren't." She smiles, though still looking worried.

"Mmhm, I have the healers and my sisters to thank for that." His gaze grew dark for a moment when he recalled something, "I am glad you were not there to see the horrors and atrocities committed by the Horde...by their Warchief."

She nods, stroking his cheek, "She will be brought to justice."

"I hope sooner rather than later." He nuzzles into her hand gently.

She kisses his forehead, "For now, focus on getting better."

"Apologies for worrying you all this time. I haven't had the energy to write to you...in a few days I could take you on a tour of my home, if you'd like." His expression was very apologetic

"I would enjoy that very much. Presuming your sister doesn't have a hissy fit with my pressence." She rubs her thumb against his cheek as she cups it.

Bryton's brow rose a bit, "Which one? I have three, in case you forgot." Again he gently nuzzles into her hand, enjoying her touch.

"Any of them." She giggles.

"How did your time in Kul'Tiras go? I am surprised to see you back so soon...not that it's a problem or anything for you to be here...now."

"I have yet to leave. I wanted to wait till I was sure you would make it back from Lordaeron." She blushes softly.

Bryton was surprised by such, "Oh..."

She looks down, taking his response as something bad.

"What? I am just surprised is all. I thought you would...you know want to visit there. But, I...um am happy you stayed until I was back."

She glances at him, checking his expression carefully.

He was being as honest and truthful as he could be in his current state. "I'm glad you're here. honestly, I am."

She smiles, "Glad I get to see you again."

Bryton smiles to her before settling all the way back down onto his bed. So nice, big and comfy. "Feel free to look around, meet the servants, play with my hunting dogs or see my horses in the stables." He rattled off.

She remains where she was, booping his nose, "I met your hunting dogs, they seem quite well behaved."

Bryton laughs a little, "Mmm, they can be good tempered. They were the pride and joy of my father...at least the parents of them."

She leans against him, careful not to hurt him. "Still.. I'm wary to see them."

His brow rose with concern, holding her close to his person as he could. "Why's that?"

"I heard the women of your family can be quite intimidating."

"Yes, they can be because they have to be at times." He sighs.

She looks at him, "Do you think they'd like me?"

He canted his head to the side, "Who exactly? There are many women in all of House Holt."

"Your sisters." She murmurs.

"I cannot say, but I hope so. At least...you do not have to fret about my parents' opinions." He mutters

"Oh?" She peers at him.

He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He would not speak.

She decides not to push it, moving to shyly grab his hand and play with his fingers.

He did not open his eyes for a long while, He instead smiled as she played with his fingers a bit. The man looked very relaxed after all.

She remains in silence for awhile, just enjoying being in his company as she toys with his fingers.

At some point, Bryton's breathing grew level. He even started to lightly snorr.

She blinks at his snoring then silently giggles to herself, she doesn't move but just stays there quietly, letting him rest.

Bryton's slumber seemed to be a peaceful one. He did not thrash or shift very much at all. Once in a while he would mutter incoherently about bandits, orcs, or even his father. None of it made sense.

She moves to brush a strand of his hair behind his ear, resting beside him before closing her eyes to just listen to everything around them.

Some time later, she may smell something delicious being made somewhere in the house--meats, potatoes, carrots, excetera... By this point bryton grabbed the covers ad rather abruptly rolled on his side away from her.

She opens her eyes then laughs quietly at Bryton. Such a heavy sleeper. She decides to go explore while he sleeps.

The house was quiet and very homely even for being so large. All over the place were animal trophies, antlers, fangs...in the main room, however there was a large family portrait of himself, his three sisters, and his parents. He looked fairly young so the portrait must have been done years ago.

She eyes the portrait, taking it to memory before she continues exploring.

Depending on where she went she would see many many rooms with beds, furs, or other assorted hunting gear. At one point she may even stumble into the kitchen.

She makes her way to the kitchen and peeks in, not stepping foot in until she knew how busy it was.

There were two people working on making a small meal. One was chopping up some beef, while the other worked upon the potatoes and other foods. The one slicing the meat stopped for a moment and peered toward the door in question.

She eeps then hides behind the door for a moment before peeking back in, "W-What are you making?"

"Lord Bryton's favorite meal. Beef, potatoes, n' carrots." The chef replies. "Ya' 'is guest, Miss?"

She nods, "That I am." She slowly steps closer, peering over their work with a curious gaze.

The chef was cutting and slicing the beef with ryrhmic precision. "Will you be staying for dinner then, Miss?"

"If it would be no bother, yes." She bows her head.

"Yer no' allergic or against eatin' meats or any type of foods, are you?" His brow rose as he asked, pausing in his cutting.

"I'm allergic to cinnamon." She murmurs embarassedly.

"MM, righ' right. Strange allergy but I am not one to judge. How is Lord Holt fairing? I assume you have visited him within the day."

"He is fairing well. He fell back asleep a few moments ago." She offers a smile.

"Aye. The man does need 'is sleep, 'fter 'is near death experience. Bu' not durin meal time." He replies gruffly.

She raises a brow, "Near death?"

The chef looked a bit confused, his expression showing 'you didn't know'? "Ah. well, tha's no' my place t' tell, Miss. Apologies."

"Alright." She murmurs, her brows furrowing in concern.

He tried to casually change the subject, "Th' meal will be ready in abou' ten minutes, iffin case you were wondering."

"Alrighty. May I stay and watch? It's rare to be in a kitchen.'

"If ye, wish, Miss. All I ask is tha' you don't get in mine or the staff's way." He replies. A few more chops and the meat was fully sliced into thin pieces.

Cami nods, moving to find a place to stand out of the way.

The chef chuckles a bit to himself and continues his work. Since he had 'an audience' he decided to show off a bit more than he usually did. "...so,  Miss, wot did ya say yer name was?" He'd ask out of the blue while now cutting the carrots up into smaller, more equal pieces. He scooped them up with his knife and spread them out upon the plate which held the slices of beef.

"Camille Claire. Of the Claire House." She spoke.

"Ah, excuse m' ignorance, Lady Claire. I've never 'eard of your House. Where do you hail from, might I ask?"

"Elwynn." There was a small glint of shadow in her eyes at the remark but she keeps a calm smile, "Most know my cousin, Lady Daniels in Arathi Highlands."

"Ahhh." His gaze only grew more apologetic, "Well's issa pleasure t' meet ya, nevertheless."

"It's fine." Her lips press into a thin line as she glances around.

The kitchen wasn't the largestone she's probably seen, but it held all the needed items to cook or bake whatever Bryton wanted. In the last few minutes before the plates of food were finished the chef took a bit of time to 'pretty' up how the food sat upon each plate. "Is there somethin' yer lookin for specifically, Lady Claire?"

"Hm?" She looks to the chef, "Just looking around. Trying to memorize where things are." She offers a smile.

"Nothin's gonna get moved about if you look away, if that's what you're thinkin."

She giggles a bit, "No.. Just not used to being the one standing still."

The chef chuckled. "Alright, well, the dinning room is just through the door behind me if you'd like to get settled in, M'lady."

"May I eat with the Lord?" She glances at the chef.

The chef looked baffled for a moment, "Ah, well...if that is your wish, M'lady, I can have it arranged."

She nods, "Thank you."

The chef summoned in the servants and told them of the change of plans and had the food sent up to Lord Holt's room.

Camille moves to head up to Bryton's room.

A small table and chair had been set up beside Bryton's bed. He was awake sitting  up slightly. The man looked well rested.

"Hey sleeping beauty." She smiles at him.

Bryton grunts as he then swung his legs around so he'd be sitting up to greet her. "Hello yourself." He pushed away the covers now fully revealing both of his bruised arms and bandaged torso. Fortunately the man at least wore pants so he was semi decent for her.

She giggles, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, but better. I apologize for drifting off like that.”

"It's fine. You needed your rest."

"It's rude when guests are over."

She walks over to gently pat his head, "I think I can excuse the behavior for a day."

"If you so insist."

She pats his cheek, "Eat up."

"I hope you're going to do so as well since the chef was so generous to make extra."

She nods, moving to take a seat.

Bryton took up his utensils to grab a few slices of beef--he stops however, "Uhm, would you like some of these before I take some?"

"You eat first." She snickers.

"...You sure?" His brow rose.

She nods, sticking her tongue out, "If I want it, I'll just steal it from your plate later."

"Well...ah...that's rude...I think." He shrugged a little and took several slices as he liked. Then some taters, then some carrots.

She waits until he's served himself before fixing a plate for herself, letting him eat first.

Bryton waited until a Cami filled her plate before digging in. He did not realize how hungry he was until he took his first bite of the food.

She slowly begins eating, remaining refined as she crosses her ankles beneath her seat.

Bryton's method of eating was much less proper as he nearly stuffed his face.

She giggles as she watches him, moving to pick up a napkin and wipe away some mess.

Bryton stopped for a moment, also taking a napkin to wipe away crumbs. "Apologies...I am eating like an uncivilized person."

"It is fine. After sustaining such wounds and being in a war camp, I am sure this is refreshing to your tastes."

"True, but still I should not be eating like a starving child..." He lifts a hand, running his fingers through his hair.

She pats his cheek, "Eat how you will until you are full. It's not like anyone will judge you here."

Bryton's cheeks darkened a tad. He was embarrassed nevertheless. He did go back to eating but a bit more slowly, once and a while glancing toward her.

She eats calmly, still smiling to herself.

At one point he stopped again, "Thank you...for visiting by the way."

"Of course." She blushes, "I've been so worried about you.."

"I am sorry for worrying you like that."

"You were just doing your duty." She sets her utensils down, glancing at her lap.

"I suppose so...I did say I was going to help the next major battle with the Alliance..." He poked at a small piece of carrot.

"I'm glad you keep your promises." She reaches towards him then quickly pulls her hand back.

Bryton's brow rose as Cami hesitated and retracted her hand, "Are you alright?" He'd ask.

"Y-Yea." She glances down at her lap, having finished her food.

Bryton sets his fork upon the plate he ate from and reaches out in an attempt to take her hand in his. "Are you sure?" He pressed, clearly seeming concerned.

She blinks as he took her hand, holding his, "Just.. Happy you're alive." She had tears building up, quickly wiping them away, "I was so scared.. And I never got to tell you how much I care."

Bryton's gaze grew apologetic, "I am sorry to have worried you so much...it was never my intention to do so." He squeezes her hand reassuringly.

"I know." She spoke quietly, chewing on her lower lip as her mind was abuzz with words.

After a few moments Bryton decided to release her hand and return to eating. He was silent as he did so, only glancing to her once in a while.

She rests her hands in her lap, she was done eating and her mind was still working things over. Finally she takes a breath, putting on a smile, "So did you write to any girl you're seeing?"

Bryton gave her a confused look, "I'm sorry?" He didn't quite seem to understand the question.

"You know.. Are you courting anyone? You never told me before you left." Her thumbs fiddle with each other.

The poor man only seemed to grow more confused as she explained the question better, "I...am not...?" His brow rose as he spoke each word slowly.

She nods, "Alright." She doesn't expand further on the question but keeps her smile.

"Alright? Alright..." He slowly stuffs another piece of carrot into his mouth. She could see the wheels of thought turning in his mind.

"Something on your mind?" She raises a curious brow.

"Mn, nothing important...nevermind it." He did not want to come off as being too nosey.

"Come on. You know you can talk to me." She leans forward.

"Mmmhmm..." He'd hum while eating another carrot. His mouth was full and he was not about to talk with it like that.

She tilts her head to the right, "You're making me curious."

He swallows hard, "...I could say the same about you."

"What do you mean?" She blinks.

"Your question you asked me."

"What about it?"

"It was a bit...out of the blue." He admits.

She blinks then blushes, "Ah. R-Right. Sorry."

Bryton grins a tad, "You know my sisters...being the eldest I am expected to carry on the bloodline. Ever since I got back, they've been pressuring me into finding someone to court." The grin fades.

"Oh." She blinks, glancing down, "I take it they have a few maidens in mind?"

"No one that I have been interested in." He replies with a casual shrug.

"Oh? None of them pretty enough for ya?" She laughs quietly.

He slowly placed his fork down as she joked about it. He was full it seems, "It didn't feel genuine--er, natural, I suppose is the word." He leaned back a tad upon his arm.

"I see." She glances at him curiously.

"There were three ladies. I don't personally remember what they looked like or their names..." He trailed off for a moment, suddenly opting to lay back upon the bed where he sighs when feeling comfortable again. "One of them just wanted to bed with me all the time, which was super awkward, another wanted to rush right to the wedding and get married..." He closed his eyes for a moment.

She gently clenches her fists and wrinkles her nose, "Ew. Those types."

He turned his head toward her, while gently resting both hands upon his chest. "Oh believe me..." His eyes opened. "The last ... woman was the most..ew...of them all."

"How so?" She raises a brow.

"Her family runs some sort of winery, eh, or something to do with wine. Either way. On our first quote un-quote date she tried to give me a drink, she claimed her family invented, as a sort of exclusive taste testing." He grimaced, "...let's just say I am fortunate enough to be a big game hunter to be able to tell the difference between a drink...and what she tried to get me drink."

"She tried to drug you?" She blinks wildly.

Bryton bobbed his head a little, "I suppose that is one way to put it. But, ah, she tried to get me to drink a combination of boar, deer, and...worgen blood."

Her eyes grew wide. "Why??"

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a small sigh, "She had some crazy idea that turning me would make me a stronger and...sexier guy for her liking."

"That's stupid!" She growls quietly.

"Believe me. I polietly excused myself from the place and never returned after that little discovery."

"Do your sisters know?"

"No. I thought it'd best not to stir that pot and just leave it behind."

She frowns, "They should know. To try and force the worgen curse on someone.. That's unacceptable behavior."

"You speak the truth, but it's over and done with. I'm fine."

She shakes her head, "I'd have her thrown in the stoackades for such actions.. I know worgen are our allies, but to force it on someone is completely unacceptable."

"I'll admit she seemed like an oddball when I first met her, but since that day I haven't seen her."

"Alright." She lets out a sigh, though her brows knit together in worry.

"It's fine, Cami. I can take care of myself...well, sort of."

She frowns, "Sort of?"

He merely gestured toward the bandages, bruises and cuts.

She sighs again, offering a weak smile, "Should be more careful."

"It's not like I've ever fought an Orc before." He huffs.

She reaches over to gently pinch his cheek, "Can't say that anymore."

"First time...and hopefully the last time. I do not know how soldiers do it."

"It is a mystery." She pats his cheek, "So what are your plans for after you recover?"

Bryton lifts his own hand to meet hers, "Good question--" There was a light knock upon the door.

Cami peers at the door before standing to open it.

There was one of his servants, a courier by the looks of it as he held a note bearing the Holt symbol upon it. "Good evening, Miss, I apologize to be interrupting at this time but I have an urgent letter for Lord Holt."

She moves back to his side, sitting quietly to let him read.

The man made his way into the room and hands the letter to Bryton who then, in turn, took the letter to open and read it. Ow it hurt him to sit up.

Cami peers at him curiously.

"I'll reply in the morning." With that Bryton dismisses the courier and sets the letter aside.

"What was it?" She tilts her head again.

"Something I did not want to think about so soon."

She raises a brow, "Do I need to steal you away?"

"There is word that Lord Kaidren Holt wishes for the other members of the family to travel to Kul'Tiras."

"Oh. Are you even fit to travel there?"

"I can't be too sure, but if you are wishing to go still, then I will tough it out."

"I'd rather you didn't push yourself."

"Punish myself by enjoying a ship ride to a place I've only ever heard stories of?"

She smiles, "Does that mean I get to come with you?"

"I was...hoping you'd like to, seeing as how you never went in the first place."

She smiles, then moves to wrap her arms around him in a hug.

Bryton sat up more so that they could hug. "It would not be fair otherwise."

She holds the hug for a time being before slowly withdrawing, "I should let you rest. When did your family want to leave?"

"by the end of this week or next week. If you would like there are a few guest rooms you can choose to stay in. For tonight at least...if you'd like."

She nods, "Alright. Then tomorrow I'll pack a few things for the trip." She smiles brightly.

Bryton grinned. "Any of the rooms just down this hall are open for you. If you have questions or need anything don't be hesitant to call a servant."

"Alright." She moves to take and squeeze his hand. "Will you be up much longer?"

"just until the Laura comes to change my dressings." He admits.

"The Laura?" She blinks.

"mhm. Very sweet woman. She's been a friend of the Embris Holts since I was a young lad."

"I see. So she's been working with your family for some time?"

"she and my parents were best of friends. They offered her a place here when things were going downhill for her."

"That was kind of them." She relaxes a bit.

Bryton nodded. "Indeed...did you enjoy the meal?"

"I did." She nods, blushing a bit.

"That's a relief." He smiled a bit at her reaction.

She peers around the room, trying to find something else to talk about but failing.

"So, uhm...Would you like me to show you to one of the rooms?"

"Er. Are you even able to stand?" She murmurs softly.

Bryton moves to sit up, slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed and attempts to stand. The man grimaces whilst doing such extreme movement.

She moves to put a hand on his chest, "No! Not allowed. Lay back down." She looks worried.

Cami had stopped him just before he put any weight upon his feet. "I'll be fine...just a little sore as I said before."

"No! Rest!" She keeps her hand on his chest.

Bryton's gaze grew weary and tiresome when cami insisted he rest. Alright...alright." he replies defeated. Thus he swings his legs back onto the bed and lays back.

She strokes his cheek with her thumb, "Take some time to gather your strength. You'll need it for the trip."

Bryton chuckles a bit, "Alright, mother. I'll rest. I hope you do as well."

She giggles, then kisses his forehead, "Good. Now get some sleep."

"I already said I would, now the longer  you stand here the longer it will be until I can actually sleep." He winks.

She moves to sit back in her chair.

Bryton just lay there for a few minutes before turning to look at her, "I hope you are not going to sit there all night? It would be very uncomfortable."

"I might." She shrugs.

"There's a room next door..." He half gestures.

"Would you prefer me to leave?" She blinks in realization.

"N-no I didn't mean--ah, what I am simply wanting is for you to be comfortable."

She smiles, "I'll stay a bit until I'm sure you're resting peacefully. Then I'll move next door."

"Er...okay...ah, I'm sorry..." He settles back upon the bed.

"Why are you sorry?" She blinks.

"I didn't mean to insult you or anything."

She smiles, "That's quite alright. I know you're just flustered.. Your head must be swimming from the medicine."

"I can see--extremely well even with the medicine. It's not that bad honestly!" The man exclaims.

She giggles, "I wasn't saying you can't see!"

"Well it's hard to see underwater."

"Under water?" She blinks.

"You said my head was swimming, did you not?" He grinned a tad.

She giggles, "Oh don't be cheeky now."

Bryton chuckled. His gaze once more lifts toward the ceiling. An odd silence followed where he said nothing else.

She relaxes and watches quietly.

Bryton shifted around on the bed trying to get as comfortable as he could, but it was a bit difficult with her staring at him

She begins glancing around, sensing his discomfort.

Eventually he closes his eyes and relaxes.

She stares out the window briefly.

The sun had set behind the horizon at this point with the sky darkening in the process. Depending on how long she stared out the window she might noticed a brief movement of something just right outside.

She narrows her eyes at the movement, clenching her jaw.

Bryton casually pulled the covers up to just above his chest. Now he was super comfortable. Whatever it was did not move again. Perhaps it was nothing, it could have been a bird after all.

Camille stands, moving to flag down someone who worked there.

Most of the house was quiet as many of the servants had gone off to their own sleeping quarters. The few that remained was the maid Bryton spoke of and other guardsmen.

"Guardsmen." Camille spoke quietly, "I believe there is something outside stalking the grounds."

The guardsman looked at her in question. He looked rather tired, possibly from the long shift. "Mm? There are many wild animals which sometime venture close. I am sure it is nothing to worry about, M'lady."

"Alright." She murmurs but still was suspicious, she returns to Brytons room.

Sometime during Cami's short departure from his room, the man had fallen asleep and was slumbering peacefully.

She moves to sit in front of the window and stare out it, keeping an eye for movement as her gut didn't trust it.

Outside she'd see a figure donning the guardsmen armor. Just in front of said person was one of Bryton's dogs. It was sniffing about for any strange or hostile scents.

 She watches them with quiet interest.

 The dog paused, ears and tails perking. It was watching something in the woods. Whatever it was, was hidden from Cami's view.

 Cam keeps an eye on the dog, waiting for its reaction.

 The guardsmen released the leash, allowing the dog to bolt off into the woods. He followed after. Barking was heard moments later. Oh dear.

 She tenses as she stares after them, gripping one hand in the other nervously as she listens intently to the barking.

 The barking continued followed by the man's shouting.  Such commotion went on for several minutes before a yelp followed...then silence.

 Camille quickly stands and looks around for anything weapon like.

 Bryton's sword and armor lay resting against the wall. The weapon was a zweihander...massive in size and very heavy in weight. Otherwise there were no weapons within that room.

 She wrinkles her nose, no way she could lift such a blade. She searches for a candlestick or something of similar variety.

 She wouldn't find anything specifically in that room. | Bryton was muttering a bit in his sleep.

 She looks back to the window, ready to scream if needed.

   There was no movement outside. Only the darkening of the sky and slow rising of the moon. A breeze rustled the trees. Something out there might make the hair on the back of her neck stand.

 She slowly backs away from the window, eyes on it. She quickly peeks into the hall.

 Nearby, upon a nightstand, lay an ornamental dagger placed before the framed image of someone and a small lit candle beside that. The house was quiet. It was strange no-one was checking out the barking from behind the home.

 She grabs the dagger and candle before ducking back into the room to wait.

 And wait she would do. The night only grew darker and darker. Even the pale light of the moon could not offer much vision or reveal anything going on within those woods.

 She remained vigil, letting the candle burn down.

 Her vigil seemed to be working as whatever it was did not leave its cover of the woods as long as she stood there. Perhaps it too was watching and waiting to see what she would do.

 Despite the sleep that was beginning to take hold, she refused to close her eyes until she knew it was gone.

 The figure soon grew impatient as it revealed itself from the brush. Although its form was covered in a hood, its glowing eyes, posture, long ears, and maw gave away what it was. Worgen. In one swift motion it would toss something from its grasp out further into the open. The body of the dog! Its head craned upwards, a smirk clearly taking to its lips as it revealed its sharp teeth.

 She scowls down at the worgens and in the utmost unlady like manner, she flips the worgen off.

 Although its expression could not be read clearly, the perking of its ears showed that her rude gesture first confused then angered it. It wasn't about to take her sass either. It bolted for the massive house attempting to climb the walls to get to that room.

 Camille in the highest pitched, loudest yell she could possibly muster with her tiny body, "ASSASSIN!"

 Bryton was the first to awaken to the screaming. To hell with pain, he would sit up and look around. The word she yelled took a moment to process. With such he got out of bed grabbing for his sword seconds before the assassin broke through the window causing glass to shatter everywhere. The house came alive, shouts of alarm and barking followed suit. | The worgen snarls with anger. He slammed his arm into Bryton's chest sending the man to the side. His intended target would have to wait...His gaze focused solely upon her.

 Camille grips the dagger. "Hello fleabag." She continued to taunt despite her hands shaking.

 "Barely a word spoken and ye've caused me a lotta trouble, girlie." He snarls in retort. His ears swivel toward the door as he could hear several guardsmen making their way up the stairs. Blast it! The worgen looked for something...anything--AH-HAH! He moved to the sole bookcase which was conveniently against the same wall. He intended to move it right in front of the door. | Bryton now had a wonderful headache, his vision was blurred, and his chest hurt almost as much as it did before. "Leave...her alone, filth." He conjured up a few words, trying to find wherever his weapon lay nearby.

 Cami sees him trying to block the doorway and she rushes behind him to try and stab him in the side with the dagger.

 The worgen had taken his eye off Cami just as Bryton spoke. He roared in pain when the dagger dug into his side. The bookcase was halfway in front of the door but due to the pain he turned in an attempt to swipe cami away and deal real damage to her.

 She let's out a cry as she's swiped and stumbled back and onto the floor. She huffs in pain as she bled from his claws, she spit out, "Cursed mutt. Can't even handle being quiet or running when you had the chance."

 The worgen snarls. Her blood upon his claws and words caused his fur to stand on end. "I was't paid to kill the whore of the house, but I suppose there can be--" THUD...THUD...THUD... The bookcase was barely holding that door as the soldiers tried to force their way in. He peered over his shoulder. "Blast it all! I've no time for this!" He reached for her to grab her by the throat. Intending on choking and killing her. To his side, just out of his vision, Cami would see Bryton slowly rising to his feet. He gave up on grabbing his weapon knowing it would be too difficult to use in such a small room.

 She gasps as he grabs her throat, though as he tried to choke her, she took her pointed heel and moves to kick him in the groin, gasping for air as she mutters, "Bitch." Aiming to grab his hood if she could and yank.

 The worgen yelped. Groin kicks were such a low blow but they were effective! His head shot up but her yanking on his hood pulled it down over his eyes. He stumbled back, after dropping her in the process. | Such a stumble caused him to be within range of Bryton who jumped up grabbing him by the throat with both arms, pulling the worgen down upon his back in a very awkward way.

 Camille huffs and gasps for air as she's released. She moves to shove the bookcase out of the way for the guards.

 The bookcase was heavy, but with her determination she was able to move it just enough that the guards could shove it the rest of the way from their end. Two rushed in while the others stood outside to not crowd the room. One immediatly turned to see Lord Bryton holding the worgen in a choke hold. The fleabag had passed out within moments--not without clawing up the man's arms in the struggle. The other guard peered at Cami in worry, assessing her own wounds, "M'lady are you alright?" She spoke.

 She nods, "Focus on the lord." She tries to hide her wounds despite the oozing blood and her growing light headed.

 The woman shook her head side to side, "with all due respect, m'lady, you are in need of seeing a healer as well." She barked a few orders to the guardsmen outside. One would fetch the maid who also had a few lessons in healing. The woman guardsman set her weapon aside to kneel before her and apply pressure to the wound. Bryton seemed to not be phased by his new wounds. Especially when he was the even going to release the neck of this assassin. He was going to kill him! "Sir, please release him so we can talk him into custody! Also, your wounds need t be looked at!"

 "Bryton." Camille voice was soft. "You need to question him.. you need to know who sent him." She was a bit wobbly at this point.

 Bryton's arm only tightened around the worgen's neck, but such action was brief before he chucked the unconscious fleabag to the side. Although every fiber of his being was screaming in pain, he was too stubborn to give in just yet. "Take this...assassin to the cell. I'll deal with him later." His voice had lost all its warmth and friendliness at this point. He forcibly stood and then made his way over to where the female guardsmen and Cami sat. His sudden intrusion causd the woman to scoot off to the side so that he would have room. The man silently examined Cami's wounds before placing a blooded hand over the source. A warmth and soft light radiated from that hand. It seeps into the wound with the intent to dull its pain and slow the bleeding. | The other guardsmen pushed the bookcase fully out of the way then took hold of the unconscious worgen--awkwardly dragging him out of the room.

 "You shouldn't push yourself." Camille spoke softly, resting a hand over his.  

Cami could feel the tenseness radiating throughout his form just by touching his hand alone. He was determined to heal her as much as he could. A guardsmen or two made their way back into the room to deal with the broken window and glass She reaches a hand up, cupping his cheek as she whispers, "Relax. I'll be fine."

 Bryton felt the warmth of her hand upon his face. His tired gaze lifted to meet hers. Still the man refused to listen. |  "Young man, how many times do I have to tell you to stop pushing yourself." An elderly woman's voice came from just outside the door. When Bryton gave no response the woman hobbled her way into the room over to them, "Don't you be ignoring me now, Mister, you're going to do more harm than good at this rate. Sit...right beside her if you must but leave all that healing and wound mending to me." The woman scolded him, who reluctantly stopped and finally flopped to the side sitting next to cami.

 Camille blinks at the old woman and smiles softly, mouthing thank you to her for getting him to sit.

Bryton hung his head while the woman got to work. | She quickly assessed each of their wounds, "are you hurt anywhere else?" She'd ask of Cami.

 She shakes her head, "Just the claw wounds.. and the soreness from being choked."

 "Did you bring any other sets of clothes?" She asks while taking a dried cloth to the wound with the intent of cleaning up the excess blood. "Both of you will need to wash up."

 She shakes her head, "Sadly no."

 "I see I see...are you well enough to walk?"

 She nods, "I believe so."

 The woman nodded in acknowledgment, "Guardsman, if you would be so kind as to help this young lady to the bath so that she may clean up...I will be having a stern talking with Bryton." | The Guardsman nodded and offered her hand out for Cami to take.

 Camille takes the hand, glancing back at Bryton to assess his emotional state.

 The guardsman helps cami to her feet, "This way, M'lady." She mutters softly. | Bryton looked to be feeling all sorts of emotions at that point, but he was forcing them away as to not shatter right then and there before everyone.

 She frowns but follows the guardsmen.

 The guardsmen led her out of the room. Occassionaly she would glance to Cami to see if she was alright. Down the stairs they went and across the main lodge to the other side where the bath was. Other guardsmen were moving about the house with bryton's older dogs making sure the place was entire secure.

 Her hands were shaking as she followed the guard, adrenaline finally wearing off and leaving her in practical hysterics.

 Finally they would stop before the proper door. The guardsman opened it, to reveal a large bath inside, "Here we are m'lady..." her lips part once more as she was trying to figure out the words to say, "...I am terribly sorry that this happened." She bowed her head apologetically.

 "Its fine. I'm glad the man was caught." She steps inside.

 "There is a towel hanging right next to the bath...I will remain outside the door if you are in need of anything."

 "Alright. Thank you." She shuts the door.

 The room was large, well lit, and warm. It held an assortment of cabinents and antler decorations.

 She moves to begin slipping out of her traveling cloths, wincing a bit as she tries to slow her breathing.

 Her wounds were not deep and had stopped bleeding thanks to the assistance of Bryton's healing. She would be tender there for some time but at least there wouldn't be scars. She could hear the sound of people and the dogs moving about outside the room, but at least none would bother her.

 She touched the wound and cringes before moving to start the bath and sit in it.

 Some time later a light knock came upon the door followed by it opening just enough for a folded up dress, with a note laying upon it, to be placed just inside the room. The door then closed right after that.

 Once she was clean and her nerves calmed, she moves to step out and drain the water before drying off.

 Things quieted down so the threat was more than likely over. There were a few hushed whispers directly outside the bath door but nothing too urgent or worrisome.

 She gets dressed and moves to step out of the bathroom. Glancing at those outside.

 The guardsman at her door turned her attention to Cami as she came outside. The other guardsman who was talking in the hushed tone immediately went quiet.

 She glances at them, "What is it?"

"It is nothing, M'lady." The woman spoke first as politely as she could.

She narrows her eyes and in a rather scary calm voice. "I just dealt with a man trying to kill me and the Lord of the house. I will have to return to my family- another noble house, and have to hide that I nearly died while leaving without a guard. Please do not cover or hide information from me, especially when the mere doubt of my prior concern lead to both the death of a guard as well as one of the Lord's prized hounds." Her eyes were cold.

Both guardsmen went stiff before bowing their heads in unison and apologetically. The male would speak this time, "Lord Bryton is want to interrogate the prisoner right now as he is refusing to rest..." The male trails off.

She sighs. "Take me to him."

The male quickly nodded and gestured for her to follow him with the female guardsman following behind them.  They swiftly moved back across the room heading up the stairs and into a room further down the hall from Bryton's. Two guards stood on either side of the double doors. They would open it to reveal a large office like room. Bryton sat behind the desk, scowling. He was still shirtless, this time the bandages on his chest had been changed and his arms were covered in newer bandages due to the worgen's claws. Across from him stood a guard who seemed to be utterly exhausted from debating with the man. "My Lord you really need to reconsider. You're in no condition to deal with him at this point!"

Without missing a beat, ignoring her racing heart. Camille walks up to Bryton calmly, cupping his cheek before turning him to face her and in a quiet commanding voice. "Enough. Rest." Before pressing her lips to his to keep him from arguing. She had a gut feeling he would hate her later for it.

Bryton was indeed about to argue but the kiss stopped him in his tracks. He did not expect it, nor did the guardsmen around him. Its suddenness caused him to forget whatever he was going to say and do in the first place. The already tense air of the room grew even tenser.

She broke the kiss, her face bright red. "Going to rest now?" She was barely able to say it calmly.

Bryton blinked slowly, eyeing her for a long time in silence. His cheeks grew nearly as red as hers. Fortunately the guardsmen took it as their queue to leave the two alone.

She glances away shyly, her facade of calm confidence breaking. She begins to fidget before hiding her face in her hands

When the doors closed and they were truly alone Bryton would stand. He grasps her wrists gently to move both hands from her face so he could look at her.

She glances at him, cheeks still lit up like a Christmas tree. "B-Bryton?"

"Why did you do that?" He spoke softly. There was no anger in his tone or expression.

She glances at her feet, mulling over her words because she didn't want to admit the truth, but finally she moves to lightly hit his chest with her fists as she couldn't hold it in, "Because I like you, stupid! We could've died tonight and I would've never had the chance to tell you.. and now.." tears began to form, "Now you're pushing yourself too hard after all of it. I could barely walk I was so shaken, and yet you want to interrogate a man before you've recovered. I had to stop you.. I can't see you get hurt anymore." She sniffles.

Bryton listened and processed every word and emotion that flowed from her. When her fists lightly struck his chest he did lifts a hand, after releasing her arms, moving a finger gently beneath both of her eyes--brushing away the tears. He then proceeded to pull her into a tight hug, "I'm sorry I was not strong enough to protect you..." He murmurs.

She holds onto him, "You need to be more careful." She grips onto him tightly. "Promise me you'll rest."

"Mm...Alright. I will try to be more careful." He murmurs the promise. "...only if you promise to do the same."

She smiles, "Of course." Cupping his cheek.

"It's still...late...did you still wish to sleep?" His brow rose a bit as he asked.

She nods, "Though you should rest.. Probably in somewhere not your room till it's safe."

"I'm thinking the couch might be a safer place this night." He admits.

She giggles, "You have a couch to sleep on?"

"In front of the fireplace, yes. I thought it would be odd to have a bed in the middle of that room."

She nods, "Do you want to sleep alone?"

"Then who would keep you safe...surely not my guardsmen...after tonight's fiasco."

She laughs softly, "Then lets go rest." She rests her head against his shoulder a moment.

Bryton stood there, just allowing her to rest against him. He lifts a hand to brush his thumb gently across her cheek.

She squeezes him close, then lifts her head, "W-We should.. we should go rest.. before your wounds get to you." her cheeks flush again.

Bryton blinked. His gaze dropped briefly to all the bandages upon his arms and chest. The pain he felt had been forgotten about due to the events which occured that night. He swallowed hard and drew his hand back from her face. Tiredness began seeping back into his mind with pain in suit. The man nodded, simply deciding to lead her out of the office. "Keep watch..." He murmurs to the guardsmen outside the doors.

Camille helps him out to where the couch is.

Bryton was trying not to lean upon her as they made their way back down the stairs into the main room. Fortunately the servants had started up the fire in the fireplace so it was at least warm in the room. Upon the floor and couch were several blankets and a few pillows. He gestured toward the couch. "Take the couch."

She shakes her head, "No way mister! You're injured. You take the couch." Her voice was clear that she was not gonna argue it.

Bryton felt way too tired to argue anyway. He simply signs and then proceeds to collapse onto the couch.

She sits beside him on the floor, "Should I have someone fetch you some numbing root or potion?"

Bryton just lay on his back staring at the ceiling. "I'll tough it out."

She rolls her eyes, leaning against the couch, "Alright."

Cami's reply caused Bryton to turn his attention to the back of her head. "What?" He mutters in question.

"Nothing." She shrugs her shoulders.

"Don't pull that with me." He grunts while turning over onto his side to face toward the fireplace.

"Just that you've already proven you're tough.. No reason to be in pain to prove it further." She leans her head back to rest on the edge of the couch.

He ran his fingers through her hair, "I don't feel I've been tough enough. These past few months."

She blushes, "S-so.. about earlier.." She trails off.

"Mmm...?" He hums gruffly, pausing in his action to allow her to speak her mind.

"I.." She was struggling to think of what to say to explain her actions.

"I'm listening..." Bryton drew his hand away, finding it way more comfortable to lay upon his back. She could hear a few pained grunts with each movement he made.

She glances back at him, "Are you sure you do not want numbing root?"

"I'm waiting for you to tell me what's on your mind." He replies instead. Such a stubborn ass.

"Do..." She inhales then sighs, "Do you find me.. court-able?"

Bryton went completely silent. He scratch lightly at the base of his neck. "Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you wish to be courted or not."

"Depends.." She murmurs, staring at her lap as she twiddles her thumbs, "W-Would you..." She swallows hard, "Would you want to court me?" She then hides her face in her hands, completely embarrassed in having to ask.

For the first time, Bryton felt his heart skip a beat when she asked. He blinked a few times, processing...thinking...going over the words in his mind. "I...um...well if you think I am worthy of such..." He replied rather awkwardly.

She was red in the face as her heart thumped loudly in her ear, she slowly lowers her hands enough for her eyes to peek at him. "Of course you're worthy."

Bryton's face was not red, but she could see how embarrassed he was with discussing the topic. "Then...yes...i-i suppose I would...could court you."

"Then... would you like to?" She internally punches herself for being straightforward.

Bryton nodded once, "yeah, I...um...yes. yes, I would like to very much." He silently prayed to the Light that none of his guardsmen were within earshot. The last thing he wanted to do was give them a reason to think he was completely incompetent.

She stares at him for a moment as her mind processes that he said yes before a big grin crosses her features and she moves to kiss his cheek. Trying hard to contain her excitement.

About the same time as she moved to kiss his cheek, he drew both arms up in an attempt to hug her--this action may just accidentally pull her onto his person rather than the original intended result.

She blinks as she kisses him unintentionally. Her eyes widening.

Bryton was not expecting that again so soon. His face darkened a shade moments after their lips met, his gaze locked with hers. Instead of pulling away, however, he would press into the kiss finding such action very delightful.

Camille was still as red as a tomato but she closed her eyes to enjoy the kiss, her hand cupping his cheek.

Holding her close with one arm, his other hand brushed across her cheek and gently ran through her hair. He could feel his heart pounding.

(( @householt. YER BOY DID IT! Ignore extra spaces between things, I got real lazy editting it down from discord. #LazyAsFuck ))

[squiddybeifong]

Devotion

Day Six of the Azula Ship Challenge

Pairing: Tophzula

Notes (on chronology) in tags

--

The world was in a moment of chaos. People moved about, fleeing their temporary settlements and hunkering down in their villages, stubbornly refusing to give up the lives they had made. Fights over the future were constant and tension was at an all time high. It was to be expected; no one was calm after the end of a war, much less one that spanned over a century.

Adults were frantic, trying to ensure that their children would grow up knowing peace, even if the peace was strained. It was funny, given as they all had been witness to violence anyway. Violence and death and tragedy had been such defining aspects of the past three generations, but now?

Now the world had a chance to catch its breath.

Azula did just that, trying to keep her breathing steady as she walked among the noisy residents of the village. She and Toph had been travelling along the forests for the past two days after spending some time in Gong Village; now, the two benders wanted nothing more than some time to relax before they headed westward.

The princess easily followed Toph's footsteps as she looked around the square, her tired eyes taking in all the people milling about the space. Her gaze fell onto a sign hanging above a food stand, the carved writing proclaiming: Koling's Chili Noodles -- best in Ji Wong Village!

She felt the beginnings of hunger gnaw at her stomach at the mention of Fire Nation cuisine and mentally chided herself; she had almost forgotten how well integrated firebenders were in some communities. The war had been going on for over a hundred years and certain villages along the edge of the Earth Kingdom had been occupied for more than a few decades. Fire Nation soldiers had settled down, had fallen in love, had married and had children, and now their children were doing the same. Neither the first soldiers nor their children were as zealously patriotic as their counterparts on the main island so when the war ended, they decided to stay.

The princess felt as Toph intertwined their fingers, leading them through the crowd, and couldn't help but smile. Firebenders and Earthbenders, Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, red and golds and greens and browns. They fit quite well, if she was being honest with herself.

The village was full of nonbenders, earthbenders, and firebenders alike. It was honestly pretty wonderful to watch, especially compared to her cell in the palace. She and Toph sat on a bench at the edge of the commotion. The earthbender quickly slipped off her shoes, the soleless material resting forgotten in the dirt. Azula took the moment to stretch, observing as some children set up a fire pit.

She held her breath as she watched them work together. One locked her knees and bent the ground, sloppily crafting a lopsided circle with two wells at its poles. Another opened a bag and started pulling out sticks, dumping them into the pit. He rubbed his hands together and a flame lit up his finger. The third child -- the youngest of the group -- poured oil and the boy lit the wood, the three leaning in as the flames sputtered and jumping back as the fire began to grow.

An old woman hobbled up to them, one of their grandmothers most likely, and shooed them away as she began to assemble rods and poles together, linking them to pots and pans. The royal felt a small bubble of happiness in her throat at the sight. Beside her, Toph was smiling as well.

Feeling comfortable, Azula leaned against Toph’s shoulder, sleepily observing the festivities going on around them. Suddenly Toph was shaking her and poking at her stomach. Azula didn’t bother to look at her, even as the metalbender started to laugh, “You’re about to fall asleep Firefly. Hmm…” Toph placed a hand on her chin in mock deliberation, “I don’t think I can carry you without drawing a scene. How about we find somewhere to rest up. There’s gotta be a few places we can get a room.”

Azula hummed, her nose scrunching up as she considered the dirt and rust decorating the edges of the buildings across the street, “I'm not going to stay in a dump. We need to find somewhere good.”

Toph snorted at that, the movement pushing her bangs about her face, “I doubt we'll find any palaces here, Firefly.” She planted her feet, her lips splitting into a grin as she zeroed in on a building right near the edge of the village. The vibrations there pointed towards it being an inn, and as it was incredibly sparse in people compared to the where they were sitting, so the stocky earthbender wasted no time in jumping up, groaning as she stretched her limbs.

She turned, shooting a smirk over her shoulder at the firebender. Her blind eyes softened and a smile overcame her lips as she grabbed the princess’s hand and pulled her up. They speedily slid through the mass of people; of vendors selling food, of children playing tag, of couples sharing dumplings and the elderly lounging.

Their outfits blended in and no one spared either of them a second glance. Azula did the same, keeping her eyes moving as she took in all the sights. The village was pitiably small compared to the peasants on the Fire Nation’s main island, but she could appreciate the multitude of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation food and decoration.

Toph suddenly veered off path, shacking up next to a dumpling stand. Azula allowed herself to be dragged along as she took in all the wonderful smells. They hadn’t eaten in almost half a day, and right now the princess didn’t feel like putting up her usual picky front.

The earthbender immediately set about ordering as many dumplings as she could: komodo sausage, roasted duck, fried green tomato-carrot, chili cabbage, bean curd and mushroom. The old man smiled a toothless grin as he set about packing up the snacks, folding them into rows and stacking them in a flat box.

As they walked away, Azula tried to contain her mirth as Toph eagerly shoved one in her mouth, groaning in satisfaction. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as some girl, taller but seemingly slightly younger than herself, stared at the two. Azula glared and the girl ducked her face away. Almost immediately after, she looked towards them again.

No -- she didn’t look at them, she was looking at Toph. Azula narrowed her eyes as she watched the floozy adjust her top and brush the hair out of her eyes. She smiled and started to make her way to them, her dark eyes briefly leaving the earthbender to catch the princess’s gaze.

She smirked right before she saddled up in front of Toph, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she opened her lips to introduce herself. Before she could Azula balanced the box in her arms and nudged the earthbender with her hip. Toph’s hand casually made its way around her waist and Azula smirked as she watched the freckled face fall.

She flashed a broad, triumphant grin at the stranger, her teeth seemingly sharper than usual. Quickly leading Toph towards the inn Azula brushed past the girl, roughly knocking their shoulders together.

The girl went tumbling to the ground and Toph’s calloused fingers rebukingly tapped against the princess’s hips, even though Azula saw her smile. Snorting derisively the princess maneuvered to the edge of the village, eyes locking onto the inn’s wooden welcoming sign. Making their way to the counter, Toph quickly paid for a room -- two beds, second floor, one large window facing west -- and the couple made their way up the stairs.

Neither wasted any time in collapsing as soon as they walked in. Toph moaned into her pillow, lowly giggling as she let herself sink into the mattress. Azula watched her out of the corner of her eye, smiling as she undressed. The princess sighed happily as she kicked off her boots and laid on the bed, stretching her limbs until she felt like a jelly-starfish.

She closed her eyes and then suddenly the room was lit in color, in deep oranges and dark yellows. Her honey eyes settled on Toph, laying on her side and nibbling on one of the dumplings. The earthbender smirked at her, “Had a good nap, Lightning Bug? You’ve been out for a while.”

Azula blinked rapidly, trying to wake herself up. She squinted as she focused on Toph, partly haloed by the fading sunset. Her training was the only thing that kept her from being hit in the face as a dumpling was flung at her.

Toph snickered and Azula rolled her eyes, taking a bite. She reclined against the pillows, smiling a bit as she looked around the room. Her eyes still felt tired but she forced herself up, grabbing a row of dumplings and plopping down next to the earthbender.

She rested her weight on Toph’s back, shaking her hair free of its flattened bun. The two laid there in companionable silence, broken only by the sounds of them eating. Down below, the festivities continued despite the approaching nighttime.

Toph spread herself out underneath her girlfriend, burrowing back under the covers. She had no qualms against sleeping the day away, especially with such melodious noises coming from across the village: children were singing and squealing as they played, wood was burning, stews were bubbling, chunks of meat were sizzling in oil, paper dragons were rusting in the wind, flutes were being played, horns were being blown, drums were being banged, lovestruck couples were kissing and laughing.

She pouted as the firebender stood up, looking out the window as the last flickers of sunlight were shooed away. The princess leaned against the windowsill for nearly an hour, sleepily watching as the stars began to poke their way into the sky. Behind her, she listened as Toph fell asleep again, curled up amongst the smooth quilts.

There was movement in the shadows; the flickering of a dying candle brought Azula’s attention back outside. Her gaze followed a child as they ran to rejoin their family; right across from the window there was a group of people milling around the outside of a house. They scurried in and out of the short building, carrying packs of vegetables and pots and tied up sacks of clothing. A larger than usual cart was waiting in the shadows, four ostrich-horses tied in front of it.

Azula frowned as she watched them move about. The cart was dingy and all four wheels seemed to sputter as they bore the weight of its passengers’ possessions. Her eyes flitted to Toph, asleep on the bed. She had somehow gotten even more tangled up in the sheets, her feet poking out from the bottom of the blanket.

The firebender gnawed on her bottom lip, watching as Toph’s nose scrunched up, barely awake but conscious of someone staring at her. Against her better judgment, Azula walked up to her, placing a quick peck on her lips.

Her manicured nails softly tucked part of her girlfriend’s bangs behind her ear, watching as blind eyes opened, sleepily blinking. The princess kissed her again, “I’ll be back soon. I’m gonna go get some more dumplings.”

Lazily shutting her eyes Toph nodded, quickly succumbing to the warmth of the bed all over again.

Azula stood, mindlessly wringing her hands together, as she watched the shorter girl for another moment. She took a deep breath in, held it for a moment, and slowly released it. She ignored the knot in her stomach and quietly slipped out the door.

The street outside the inn was quiet. Somewhere just outside the village an iguana-parrot squawked and the squeal of a cricket-rat shrilled in the air. Rounding the corner, Azula stayed near the inn’s edge as she took in the group more fully.

It was a family, dressed like peasants but carrying a plethora of bags and cooking supplies. There were a few children -- one being the firebender she saw earlier -- holding their dolls, a few men carefully tying up the luggage at the end of the cart, some younger women moving from a yard to the cart, helping an old woman wrap up the food.

Azula took a deep breath, smelling the spices in the air and feeling the tiniest remnants of flour blowing in the wind, brushing against her cheeks. Without realizing it, she had stepped out of the shadows.

She felt the children’s stares but ignored them. Eventually, one of the men noticed and stole a glance. He considered her nervous stance, the pensive look on her face, the travelling coat wrapped around her shoulders, her lack of boots; his eyes followed her fingertips, quickly flicking a tiny flame back and forth between two of her fingers.

The man waved and the princess jumped a bit, glowering as he smirked at her, his gaze flicking between her and the cart. His voice was teasing as he called out, “Ya know, we can make room if ya wanna join us, lady.”

Her golden eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she was glaring again, pulling her overcoat even tighter around her arms as a gust of air blew past, extinguishing the spark on her nails. Casually, the man tilted his head eastward, “We’re gonna be headin’ out to Makapu Village as soon as everyone’s ready.”

He smiled as he looked down at his hands, reddened from the rope-burn. His green eyes were excited as he added, “Yeah, Oma’s been to Makapu before. When she was there, all the ground was just perfect for plantin’ fruits and peppers.” He laughed, the sound low and scratchy in the night air, “And Yin and me just love plantin’ fruits and peppers.”

He finished tying the last bad to the cart’s edge, shaking his head in amusement as he looked around. The buildings were mostly quiet on this side of the village, full of families and freshly arrived travellers sleeping, but the rest of Ji Wong was still busy in the square. The sounds of dancing and wood crackling in the fire overwhelmed the cat-owl’s calls and the fluttering chirps of the bat-roaches.

He looked at her again and Azula held his gaze. He smiled again, the movement crooked on his scruffy face, “The name’s Li Zhee, if ya wanted to know.” There was something soft in his face as his stare shifted back to the cart, where his family was finishing up their packing.

“This village’s just done all that she could, ya know?” Something forlorn was lurking underneath his words and he chuckled again, the sound devoid of happiness, “I gotta say, I’m gonna miss this place. Even if all the new people are bringin’ life and money in, it just isn’t the Ji Wong that we grew up in…”

Azula furrowed her brows and shifted her weight, preparing to leave. Where she planned to go, she didn’t know. Maybe to one of the women with their rice cakes or the grandmother holding the baby, they would let her join in without all the unnecessary backstory. Li Zhee noticed and caught her eye again, “Ah, sorry. I was ramblin’ again, wasn’t I?”

Without waiting for her to speak her continued, “If you wanna leave with us, I could hold little Hi Ting in my lap if you wanna squeeze in between Opa and Oma.” His voice was quiet as he glanced at a house, its windows dark and its yard dusty, “None of us mind helpin’ someone get outta here if they need.”

Gold eyes flicked up to the inn’s second floor, right where she knew Toph was sleeping, completely unaware. Azula nibbled on her bottom lip, considering his offer. She glanced at the moon, not even a third of the way into the sky. Toph wouldn’t wake up until sunrise, they could get at least a day’s advantage travelling by night.

It would be so easy to leave…

Azula wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to march over there and suffer for who knows how long, packed in between a bunch of strangers. She wanted to firebend a light onto the candles that one of the other men, probably Yin, was having trouble with. She even wanted to find a spot near the door of the cart so she could watch as the dingy inn disappeared out of view.

But the words clung to her lips, her soles stayed rooted to the ground, and her fingertips remained cold. The thought of Toph waking up all alone brought an annoying rumble to her stomach, the unsettling sensation rolling around her like two buzzard-wasps fighting.

She met Li Zhee’s eyes, noticing how he was missing half an eyebrow, and allowed a hint of a smile to grace her lips. “Thanks, but I’ll stay here,” She said, jerking a thumb towards the inn behind her.

He grinned at her, shrugging his shoulders and chuckling a bit. “Alright then. But if you’re ever in Makupu, don’t be a stranger, stranger.” Azula watched as he gave her a mock salute and turned back to the group, helping one of the children up past the wheels.

Quietly slipping through the shadows Azula made her way back to the inn, taking care not to make too much noise with her steps as she neared the room. She focused only on the ground, only on placing one foot in front of the other. She refused to think about how deeply Toph had entrenched herself into her life.

The princess of the Fire Nation should never have to have her will bend to someone else. She had been trying to convince herself throughout the entire trip that she had manipulated Toph into getting her out of her cell. That it was Azula that wanted to go out and see the rural areas of the Earth Kingdom to find metalbending students, that is was Azula that put the idea of romance into Toph’s head.

She ignored the dull throb in her lips, the flesh crying out from being mindlessly bitten so much. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what she had just done. What in Agni’s sake had just happened?

She thought that she could control Toph, could hold some form of power over something, to have some sort of influence over anyone. But she wasn’t in control anymore. Neither was Toph, if she was being honest. If anything, they were acting as equals.

The thought made her sick and she had to pause her steps, softly prying her fingernails out of her palms. Wiping the trace droplets of blood off her hands, the firebender couldn’t help but repeat one word in her mind, over and over and over again.

Why?

Why did she even care about Toph’s well being? Why was she putting the earthbender’s feelings above her own? Why did she keep feeling guilty whenever she thought about escaping?

Why did her lips tug down into a frown whenever she considered that she had to escape, when she knew that Toph would let her go her own way if she ever expressed that she wanted to, Zuko’s wishes be damned?

And why did she want to stay in this grimy, run down inn for another night?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Azula ignored the answer that threatened to sneak into her brain and slid past the door. Standing in front of her bed, she shed her clothes and donned her sleepwear. Sitting on the bed’s edge, she hesitated, eyes flicking from her side of the room to Toph’s.

Full lips pursed for just a moment, then the princess was standing up and sliding in next to her earthbender, softly sinking into the sheets.

The bed was warm and smelled of jasmine. Without even thinking twice, Azula curled up around Toph’s form, burying her head in the crook of her neck and wrapping her arms around the shorter girl’s waist. Toph shifted a bit, readjusting herself without waking up.

Azula sighed at the wonderful feeling of tension sinking out of her limbs, but her eyes refused to stay shut. Pupils large in the darkness, the firebender could barely make out her companion’s form, hidden underneath the blankets.

She had been lying to herself earlier and here, in the quiet and the dark, she could admit to herself that she couldn’t lie about this.

Her mantra came back and she found herself answering the same word over and over and over again.

Why? Why? Why?

Toph. Toph. Toph.

She didn’t know what this feeling was, but she didn’t mind it for the time being. Her mind flittered between a plethora of lazy, disjointed thoughts, thoughts of Toph and dumplings and sacrifice and consideration and love. For a brief, traitorous moment, the princess wondered if this was how Ty Lee used to feel about her. Azula shook that thought away, paid the rest little mind and let the warmth of Toph’s back and the scent of jasmine lull her to sleep.

A few hours later she awoke to heat everywhere. A comfortably warm body was nestled against her own and the sunlight was unrelenting as it shone in her face. The princess sighed happily as Toph snuggled up against her, burying her nose against her collar. Ignoring the tickle of the earthbender’s bangs, Azula kept her eyes and mouth shut, content to enjoy the moment. She flexed her fingers and couldn’t help but wince as her stomach growled out, the rumble dull in the dusty air.

Toph was silent, her demeanor pensive, at the sound.

She leaned over and kissed the base of Azula’s throat. The princess felt the chapped lips smile against her skin. “Those dumplings must not’ve been all that good, huh?”

Barely containing the curse from escaping past her lips, Azula let her head fall back. Of course Toph knew; she always knew, didn’t she?

She had smiled though. Was it because of the calmness of the morning, or was it because Azula stayed?

Mentally shaking her head, the princess pressed her lips against Toph’s temple, deciding to stay quiet. If Toph wasn’t going to talk about it, neither would she. They would just enjoy the morning together.

#azulashipchallenge #princess azula #toph beifong #tophzula #my writing #day 6 #devotion #this comes right after pact #will be put on ao3 later #this one feels shorter but i wanted to show how azula is starting to fall in love #i hate the ending tho #it feels so abrupt #also i needed to see jealous azula at some point in this story