#Below 1k

[localechoes]

i will die. i will not die

[ganondoodle]

struggeling to draw anything for the totk rewrite bc i know the most popular stuff is some cool cutscenes or something and me working on detailed mechanics is mostly a waste of time :/

like i have alot of stuff worked out by now but it would take ages to draw concepts for all those new menus and mechanics when few people are interested in that- and while making a giant text post about it would be more efficient ... who the hell would read all that ._.

[mangofresca]

luminary

He isn’t sure where it comes from, but it’s an urge that rises suddenly, all-consumingly, with no hunger or warning to prelude it, like a countdown placed upon his life only seen as it hits zero—a flash of red, and suddenly every second ticking by is another second too late, another moment lost.

Lovino is smiling so brightly that the simmering heat of Agrigento’s summer seems more akin to the frigid winds of winter. He’s laughing—not a snort, not the contrite brush aside or sardonic smirk he gets when he thinks he’s being clever—head thrown back and shoulders shaking with mirth.

Alfred forgets how to speak, how to think or move or breathe, forgets everything except how to stare—gawk, his brain helpfully supplies, very obviously—regarding Lovino as if he was the one to paint the stars across the sky, to sprinkle indigo and amethyst across the midnight horizon, to use hardened hands to cradle the sun and bring lighted warmth to the world. As if he was something beautiful, ethereal, untouchable.

Except, he’s not; he’s not untouchable in the way Alfred previously perceived him to be, distanced by water and antiquity and a complex Lovino tends to wear like his own form of bastardized battle armor. He is there, right there, laughing, and Alfred wants to reach out a hand and–

And.

He’s touching Lovino’s face before he’s even thought the action through, before he’s even realized he’s done it, cupping his hand around the swell of a cheek and feeling the heat of it still flushed with laughter and wondrously-worn glee. He feels the expression under his palm calm as that smile fades, replaced instead with slowly-dawning confusion, soft in its perplexity, and he traces his thumb across the dip of Lovino’s under-eye, if only to savor the way those dark eyelashes flutter.

“Alfred?” Lovino asks, painfully sincere, with a tone that melds between a question and vague, befuddled acknowledgement. His eyes are wide. He does not move away.

“Would it be cool if I kissed you right now?” It’s a reply in the technical sense, an answer to a question that had seemingly been hanging in the air for longer than he realized. His own voice is startlingly soft considering the pressing urgency he feels tugging at his gut, his hands, his tongue, like if he can’t have this nownownow he’ll die, starved, stripped of life before he’d even realized he was bleeding.

Lovino gapes at him, blinking slowly. The cheek beneath Alfred’s palm burns warm, and he almost expected Lovino to blush, to feel skin stain itself scarlet beneath the pads of his fingers. He wonders if he should ask why it doesn’t.

There’s a moment where hazel eyes flick from his down to his lips before rising again, and Lovino makes a noise in the back of his throat like a hum, a huh, like he’s realized something about himself and the world and the universe. Like the knowledge of whatever it is has only just settled, and now he must contend with life now that he has it.

He blinks at Alfred again. “Yeah.”

He says it like it’s easy, like it’s always been easy, like permission would have always been granted had Alfred ever had the wherewithal to ask. Alfred files that away for later, wondering, not for the first time, if he missed something in the tones of Lovino’s voice, if something else existed in the recesses of cutting words and huffed musings and trite insults that were never really all that insulting to begin with. But that’s for another time, or maybe never, because Alfred never really cared to indulge in worries and preclusions, and Lovino is too good to be wasted on half-baked ruminations when the now was so much better.

Lovino says it like it’s easy, and when Alfred ducks his head down and leans in, it certainly feels easy, easier than maybe he expected. It feels like old nights spent tucked beneath the dim lights of New York speakeasies, of hushed conversations held in the stacks of his library, like something big and bright and cosmic had settled off somewhere far away, a revelation exploding in the periphery of his universe, vast and grand in its own private corner.

Lovino’s hand settles boldly on his shoulder, fingers brushing the hairline at the back of his neck, and Alfred can feel every inch of it burn through his clothes. Lovino tastes like vintage wine and the cigarette he had been smoking not ten minutes ago, and even though Alfred hates the smell, he thinks he can learn to like the taste if it’s been tempered by sweet reds and the natural soft of Lovino’s tongue brushing past his lips. Alfred feels Lovino’s cheek move beneath his palm, and he doesn’t quite get why until he realizes that Lovino is smiling, pulling away enough that they look like two kids grinning into each other’s mouths, lost and dumb and found.

“Been wanting to do that for a while?” Lovino sounds smug, but his eyes are bright, sparkly, pretty, his hand fisting the back of Alfred’s shirt.

For a moment, Alfred thinks, if you count eighty seconds ago a while, sure, but that doesn’t seem right, isn’t right, and Alfred can feel certain pieces of their histories click into place—not any sort of life-altering change, but instead something soft, the clink of a plate placed in front of him on the nights when he wouldn’t bother with sleep, the fresh scent of pasta and garlic bread the only thing to bring him back into his own body, the reminder that he existed within the scope of four walls, the person as well as the land.

Lovino is so close, close enough for Alfred to feel the tickle of his bangs against his forehead, and suddenly every word and every gaze and every laugh pulled from scowling lips all align and glimmer like radiant galaxies, all with Lovino at the center.

“Nah,” he says, grinning at the eye roll. “Just thought of it now.” But that doesn’t stop him from doing it again.

[architectsvault]

chapter 4 up! Thank you to @crypticvirago for beta-reading this chapter!

[jamespottersmixtape]

september 9: ocean 1,118 words @rosekiller-microfic

Beach day! Just them being stupid and soft and in love :,)

Evan stretches his arms and legs languidly across the beach towel he's laying on. The fabric is littered with warm sand that has long since fallen off of his body, leaving behind patches of sunscreen where it clashed with the water. He can smell the salt drying in his hair, a breeze hitting his face as he squints at the sky.

It's days like today that make Evan believe in perfection—or, as close to perfection as something can get. The weather is lovely, bright sun and a cloudless sky, a cooling wind coming in from the west. The ocean waves lap against the shore in small swells, cold but bearable for swimming in the heat, and the sound of the water is a calming lull, set to draw people into it's shimmering depths.

He can hear children laughing with their parents, splashing and making sandcastles without a care in the world. It almost makes him ache for the childhood he never got—his family too hung up on stuffy suits and formal dinners to register what their kids might want—but he's past that now. That life is far behind him and not once has Evan ever looked back. Besides, he's far too content to sit and dwell on the past right now. He'd much rather bask in everything the coast has to offer him, and continue to ignore whoever keeps shouting his name in the distance.

He smiles to himself. Everything is perfect.

"Evan!"

He internally groans and closes his eyes. Maybe whoever is yelling will think he's asleep and decide not to bother him.

"Evann!!"

The voice is getting closer now. He thought everyone went to get snacks? Who is yelling? Why are they yelling?

"EVAN!" Before he knows it the voice is directly above him, and an entire bottle of water is being dumped on his face.

He startles with a very unmanly yelp, his eyes flying open to find Barty keeled over in laughter, water bottle in hand, and Regulus standing next to him looking rather irritated. "What the fuck?!" Evan asks, wiping the dripping water from his cheeks.

"What do you mean, what the fuck, we've been calling you for two minutes," Regulus huffs, taking a small step away from Barty as he chokes out the rest of his laughs.

Evan glares at the pair of them. "Why?"

"They ran out of cookies and cream," Barty shrugs, laughter still evident in the way his eyes are lit up.

"You–" he sighs, running fingers through his tangled wet hair. "You dumped water on me because they ran out of my favorite ice cream?" Sometimes Evan can't believe he fell in love with this man.

"We didn't know what else you wanted," Regulus says flatly. Evan can tell he's trying to hold back a smile. Asshole.

Evan scoffs, getting up from his now soaked towel and grumbling something along the lines of been my friends for 12 years and can't even remember what ice cream I like.

"Look, my fucking hair is all wet again. I just spent an hour drying off and you ruined it," he pouts, shoving a finger harshly into Barty's chest; they both know there's no bite beneath his words.

Barty snorts, taking Evan's hand in his as they walk towards the small ice cream shop located right off the beach. "You should've seen your face baby."

Evan's cheeks heat at the term of endearment. He can't remember when Barty started calling him that, but one day it appeared and never left, a new staple in Barty's 'Evan vocabulary'. Evan can't say he minds, in fact he's grown rather fond of the name.

"Dickhead," he grumbles in retaliation. "You're mean."

"Mmm, but that's why you love me." Barty presses a quick and sloppy kiss to his cheek before he can duck his head.

He rolls his eyes but returns the favor. He can taste the sweat and salt clinging to Barty's skin.

Regulus interrupts with a loud gagging noise. "You two are so fucking weird," he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

—

They get their ice cream without any more hiccups, Evan settling for salted caramel instead and Barty for an obscure chocolate combination. He doesn't even know why they get their own flavors really, him and Barty always trade halfway through—but he supposes that's the fun of it.

The four of them—it's just him, Barty, Regulus, and James today—spend the rest of the afternoon in and out of the water. They sunbathe, James hits a volleyball around—even roping Barty into a game or two, something Evan never would've seen coming—and Evan manages to carry Barty's lanky frame all the way to the shoreline to toss him in. It was revenge, okay?

By the time the sun is setting the two couples are sprawled a short distance from each other, watching the pink and orange hues dance along the horizon before the stars come out to play.

Evan has his back to Barty's chest, resting between his legs with both their hands entwined over Evan's stomach. Every so often Barty presses a kiss to Evan's temple.

It's rare for the two of them to have such tender moments like this, especially in the company of others. Usually they reserve their soft touches and quiet whispers for the tranquility of the morning or weekends at home, but it's a nice change to be so open with vulnerable affection.

"Today was fun," Evan yawns, his body finally catching up with the day's exhaustion.

Barty hums in agreement. “I’m gonna get you back for throwing me in the ocean though,” he murmurs, nipping at Evan’s earlobe.

“Excuse me, that was my payback.”

“Just saying," he lulls in a sing-song voice. "You better watch your back Ev.”

"I'll be sure to sleep with one eye open."

They both laugh at that, content and serene in the little bubble they've created. Evan tries to snuggle further into Barty's chest but to no avail. Barty lets him drop against the towel, swinging himself over Evan's body so his face hovers inches above his.

Evan raises an eyebrow. Barty's grin is devilish when it breaks across his face. He leans down and slots their lips together for a quick kiss, one filled with sun and ice cream and salty air.

When Barty speaks it's low, just for the two of them. A quiet I love you exchanged between an inhale and exhale. Three words that always open the floodgates to Evan's guarded heart.

The day ends with the two of them curled up on their sides, legs tangled and clothes dusted with sand as the last sliver of light dips below the water.

Evan couldn't ask for anything better.

[kerizaret]

Ok i give up o top500 for filafever 💔 I need to save for next events

But top 1k it shall be and stay 🫡🫡 and that's good too!!

[beinghuman11235]

Woah!!! There's a thousand of you??? Following this blog?? Man it's not even a year and a half old. How???

[sillimancer]

uuuughh ooouuugh ooooh owww <- person who wants pho but doesn't have money

[hzdtrees]

Beaches

[bambino1294]

Eat Your Young

A Time Travel Fic — Playlist

? Chapters | ? Words | Rated M

“This, however, is not the same boy she reaped the first time. He is not soft and teary, he is warped and hardened. His hands are lightly bandaged, coiled rags disappearing into his sleeves, and something behind his eyes is already scarring, already scarred. This is not the same boy she sent off to a Quarter Quell but, then again, she is not the same Escort he left behind either.”

OR

The prisoners of war try again.

[lavenoon]

Okokok hi!

How would the boys (Eclipse included) feel about s/o 'borrowing' a a piece of clothing (like a shirt) or accessories to wear and/or making an effort to match his outfits?

Alright lets go! I'll default to "shirt" in the scenarios but the sentiment applies to basically everything lmao

Sun: Stealing his shirt to wear it out in public: For the sake of whatever is getting you out in public, lets assume he doesn't see it until you already are out and about, because otherwise, y'all would be late. He'll still fuss a little, just for show - what else is going to give him the excuse to lean down and purr a low little "darling, you could have just asked" if not the fact that your collar absolutely needs to be fixed right now? Frankly, wearing his shirt is an ego boost he doesn't need - or absolutely does. Superficially, he'll be the worst peacock about it, because there you are - wearing his shirt in his colors while out with him, immediately showing everyone you meet that you're with him. But deep down, Sun is anxiety galore, and he lives for the reassurance that you chose this, that you like where your relationship is going, and that this is what you want. He'll love to indulge, not to worry <3

Which is to say. If you so much as breathe that you wanted to match him? Good fucking luck. This man is going to be barely contained glee at the prospect of getting to coordinate outfits with you - what kind of power couple you'd be! And to think that you might even want to add to your wardrobe just to have something that would match something of his? Goodbye, he's ascended, and then returned with a vengeance because he has to treat you now, as much as he can - do you want a whole matching dress/ suit? would you want just one article to match - perhaps a jacket, or shirt, or a scarf the color of his tie? Or the more subtle claim - cuff links and collar pins and necklaces, he's all for it, and you'll have one hell of a time trying to get him to be calm about it. Have fun!

Moon: Stealing his shirt to wear it out in public: Whelp, there goes Moon! Gets about halfway through a tease before the reality of the situation hits him and he just crumbles into a flustered mess. He'd love to be smug and tease you about raiding his closet for a shirt - he usually opts for basic t-shirts in solid colors, so it's not even that special. But it's his and you chose it specifically, and now you're wearing it and once you're done wearing it it'll end up in his closet again and then he'll wear the shirt you wore and - best to not continue, he's already about to combust. Already prefers not being the one handling public stuff, so he'll let you take the lead and just turns into your backpack on legs to occasionally hide his face under the pretense of giving you a nice little head nuzzle, and some very quiet mumbles of "the color suits you, you should wear it more often" <3

Now, if you went and told him you'd want to match him, specifically? Man's just bluescreening for a second there, whoops. A fumbling mess and definitely the most low key about matching among these three, because he gets flustered to hell and back at the thought of attracting that kinda attention. He loves the sentiment, don't get him wrong! But if you keep it to at home/ the neighborhood, his processors will thank you for not overheating. However, once you express that said sentiment? He'll start just putting his nightcap on you, with more or less vague excuses or deflecting compliments of "you look cute" depending on his daily shyness level. And sorry, did the temperature just dip? No? Too bad, he's already stripping out of his jacket (while stealing a glance if you're looking) and draping it around you, because "you looked cold" - cuddle him some more, because he's currently heating up from fluster, and it'll be win win!

Eclipse: Stealing his shirt to wear it out in public: Oh my god, you've killed him to death. His casual clothes are often very baggy, and he already has to buy larger stuff to cover his entire torso. Honestly, his reaction is twofold - on the one hand, he's just melting and cooing over you, just so absolutely in love and just an excited mess that you'd want to wear his clothes. On the other hand, he's very interested in what you do with the extra sleeves. For a long sleeved shirt, they'd probably tie around nicely like a waist belt? For that extra ~pizzazz~ - or tuck them into a high-waisted skirt or pants (skirts you can also steal from his closet. I wouldn't recommend the pants). As always, very touchy about it, looking with his eyes isn't enough! Propriety be damned, you better be somewhere where cuddling is possible because that's what he wants to do, and now <3

And if you as much as insinuate that the purpose was to match him? This guy is the king of cheese and proud, and he'll wear all the embarrassing couple's stuff with you - he'll love couple's shirts (both just, normal shirts but you each get one of the same, or the "if lost return to [x]" "I'm [x]" type of stuff), he'll love matching accessories (of which he already has many, and is happy to share - all except his sun and moon eclipse necklace), key chains, anything! He loves the idea of matching, and a non-negligible part of him basks in that validation that you want to be seen with him, associated with him, and want to broadcast that to people even more than just going out with him! You aren't ashamed to love him so openly, and as someone who might get a bit self conscious if he's the only one being openly affectionate and cheesy, it's balm to his soul and he'll love to go all out!

[vonlipvig]

the thing about games is that to me everything that is above 1k pesos is expensive, but literally everything is above 1k pesos these days because what is 1k pesos anyway

[meaningtotellyou]

we’re getting somewhere… slowly… i guess

[architectsvault]

1 kudo away from 1k...

[gible-love-nibles-archive]

Eternal Diva Fic (Part 13)

This is where all the Softness (tm) is folks; this is the "Clare is indulging" part lmao. Then again, this entire section of the story is me indulging. This entire fic is me indulging. You signed up for this at this point.

No warnings here, pretty sure! Just a nice soft penultimate chapter :]

Word Count: 1.6k / Previous / Next

“What are you up to?”

I jerked in surprise. It was Descole again, leaning on the doorway.

It had been a couple of days.  At least that was what I guessed.  Time was hard to gauge when there weren’t any windows, and I was lousy at keeping track of time anyway.  

Despite Descole’s advice, I had barely gotten any sleep.  Believe me, I tried.  But my eyes wouldn’t stay closed or I couldn’t settle down.  So most of the time, I took out my notebook and just doodled away, hoping that would help.

“Drawing,” I said simply. “Can’t sleep.”

"Again?" was all he said as he came in. It didn't sound accusatory, but I took it that way.

"I've been trying to sleep, alright? It's just been with... everything! All of this!" I let out a short sigh. "I know that's not your fault, but..." I trailed off.

The masked man just stared at me. I might've been seeing things... but he looked a bit sullen.

"I'm not going to force you to sleep. If you can't, you can't. Simple as that."

There was a stretch of silence. Neither of us moved (not that I could move much anyway).

I could tell Descole didn't want to leave just yet. He had been doing that quite a bit, finding random things to talk about to stretch out these visiting times. I didn't really get why; none of it seemed useful to him at all.

“Could I see what you’re drawing?” He finally settled on that as he sat and settled on the other side of the bed.

I blinked. "You actually wanna see my art?"

"It's something you're passionate about, no? You carried a notebook with you to an opera house of all places, and you're fast at it. How long have you been drawing?"

"All my life, basically? It's just something I've always done."

"Fascinating..."

“…I… guess you can look. If you really want to.” I passed the notebook over to him.  I didn't have anything to hide; it wasn’t like there was anything embarrassing or weird in there. “Just don’t expect to be amazed or anything.”

He thumbed through my notebook quietly.  He just made quirky little expressions at my work and didn't say anything. After a little while of flipping back and forth— enough to almost make me nervous— he handed it back.

“Hm.  You were right.  I wasn’t amazed.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“Because there was nothing of me in there.”

I gawked at him for a moment. “Really? That's your only takeaway?”

“The only negative takeaway. Your style is charming and extremely expressive, your linework and handwriting is neat, and you somehow do it so quickly. I'm very impressed, dear."

"Wait, you... like it? Like, really you like it? You're not pulling my leg here?"

His smile softened. "Absolutely." But that softness went away fast for slyness. "But! If you want my opinion, your posing could use improvement."

"And drawing you will help with that. Totally not because you want free art of yourself." I couldn’t help but snort. “No thanks.  Your hat looks awful to draw.” I pushed it down over his mask so it would cover his eyes.  He chuckled as he fixed it.

“I could model for you, if that would help.” His smile may have been smug, but he was serious.

“I’m sure you have better things to do than be my model.”

“No, my schedule’s all free now with Ambrosia discovered. I'm very open and very available.”

“Well, I heard there’s another lost city out there that I’m sure would be a real head-scratcher for you.  They’re calling it Atlantis.”

“You--!” He playfully shoved me a bit (though it was more of a nudge), and we both couldn’t stop from cracking up.

~

Another random day, I couldn’t sleep again and Descole visited again.

“Is there anything that will help you sleep better?  You’re really starting to worry me.”

Asking the masked man why he was fretting over me so much never got me a straight answer.  I just dropped it after a while.  

“I dunno.  Time’s just… weird down here.” I was about to say it wasn’t that bad, but I swallowed it.  Of course it was bad; if I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t healing (or at least healing with nothing else happening).

He hummed for a bit, then seemed to get an idea. “When I was a boy, my mother used to read me a bedtime story every night she could.  I was out cold right as she finished.  Maybe the same will work for you.  Besides, it must be dreadfully boring here with only one thing to do.”

“...You have got to have something better to do than read me a bedtime story.”

"Please, dash your concerns.  You’re my guest; of course you’re going to take up my time. I'm not going to just leave you alone like some caged animal.  And besides… I want to.  So, do you want to hear a story or not?"

I was taken aback a bit.  He wanted to, genuinely? “Um… sure.  Why not?”

A warm smile slid onto his face. “Thank you, dear.”

I liked seeing that smile. Certainly better than... all that on top of the robot.

He went over to a little bookshelf I hadn’t noticed in the room before.  He dragged his finger across the spines, looking for just the right one. He gingerly pulled out a smaller book. “Ah, here it is.”

The cover was mainly blue with a blonde boy standing on the moon with yellow stars in the night sky.  The title:

“The Little Prince?”

“Have you read it before?”

“I’ve heard of it.  I’ve always wanted to read it, but I could never find it anywhere.”

Descole’s smile grew wider. “Well then, I’m honored to be the one introducing it to you.”

And that was how the next few days went: Descole would sit on my bed, reading The Little Prince.  He had a voice ready for every character, and it always got a laugh out of me. 

Eventually, I’d always fall asleep (most likely leaning on him because I peered over his shoulder to read the words or look at the pictures).  He didn’t leave me settled there forever (or maybe even very long), as every time I woke up, he was gone.

~

"Hey, Descole?"

"Hm? Yes?"

We had just finished a reading of The Little Prince, and the masked man looked exhausted. From context clues, it seemed like he was working on another plan for some ancient site or city or what-have-you.

I figured he wasn't going to tell me anything about it, so I didn't say a word. I was probably going to get roped into it somehow anyway, knowing my luck.

But something had been nagging at me this whole time, nibbling at me. I felt like if I didn't get it out soon, I was going to explode. So... might as well while we were both still awake.

"...How do I say this...?"

"Really, is it that bad?"

Ok sir, this attitude was not helping. "N-No, it's not bad! It's-- the opposite of bad actually."

"And you're having this much trouble getting it out?"

I sighed, and then steeled myself, gripping my blanket. "I just... wanted to say: your voice on top of the Detragan was... really nice...?"

Silence. You could've heard a pin drop.

...Why had I said that? Why did I say that?

Augh god, he was going to be just insufferable now! He was never going to let me hear the end of it!

But, to my surprise... it was still quiet. I hazarded a look at him.

Descole looked stunned. He was staring right through me, all sorts of gears and cogs turning in his head. The great mastermind Jean Descole looked... flustered.

Once he noticed me staring, he puffed up like a startled cat and pretended to cough into his sleeve. For a split second, it looked like his cheeks were flushed. But I wasn't sure.

He stammered. "Yours was... as well."

Silence once more. After a few seconds that felt like a few hours, Descole suddenly darted for the door, not saying a word.

"H-Hey!" was all I could get out before the door shut. I let out a short sigh. "Bad idea. Of course it was."

~

I settled into some kind of rhythm eventually: eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner; find some way to pass the time in between meals with or without Descole around; and once night came along, listen to him read. 

Every meal was cooked by Raymond, though Descole sometimes told me that I ate some of his cooking offhandedly.  I always told Descole that I could tell which parts he cooked: the worst-tasting part.  It was just me teasing him, and he recognized that.  Honestly, I couldn’t tell which parts he cooked, if any at all.

The masked man and I had pretty easy conversations at the start, but things started to get more… awkward as time went on.  Genuine compliments that caught either of us off-guard, and then Descole would hurriedly excuse himself and leave.  Words way too sweet for their own good.  Eventually, we started talking less and less. 

After we finished The Little Prince, he didn’t pick up another book for us to read. He'd just hand me one he'd thought I liked and hurried off again.

It felt… hollowing.  I wanted to say something about it, but I couldn’t just force him to talk if he didn’t want to.

Raymond reassured me during all this. “He’s… lost a lot, lass.  I suppose he’s just steeling himself for when you leave.  He’s enjoyed your company, and he’s preparing himself for when it’s all over.”

It… didn’t make me feel better.

Eventually, I was finally feeling better and could move about the sub.  Which of course, meant it was time for me to leave.

[freedcmscall]

Plotted Starter — Blood Magic | @triickst

Anders knew how drained he was, could feel that he had next to no mana reserves left in that internal pool from which he could pull. Fumbling hands pulled another bottle from his pack, a muttered curse escaping his lips as he realised it was the last one. No time to worry over that at the moment, he would be fine. His companions, however, he was not so sure of. Resolved, he pulled the cork of the lyrium potion out with his teeth and knocked back its contents, grimacing as ever at the somehow bitter yet cloying taste the liquid brought to his tongue.

It was supposed to have been another routine mission. Really, he should have known. Anders had known Lucian for long enough to know that any time something was supposed to be normal or routine, it ended up anything but. That was probably why he'd come along to begin with. It had been fine, destroying a cave full of slavers, until the point that it was very much not fine and they were considerably more outnumbered than they needed to be. Finally, though, everyone could catch their breath.

He'd tended to their other two companions, by some stroke of luck or act of the Maker only inflicted with largely superficial wounds. And then he'd gotten to Lucian, and dammit he should have started with him. Anders shoved down the panic threatening to bubble up in his throat and replaced it with stubbornness, pulling at every last ounce of mana and pleading with any whisp that would listen from the Fade to help him in healing this man. He couldn't lose him.

Soon, too soon, dangerously quickly, Anders was left panting and useless. He pulled at the Fade, begged it, pleaded, even sent a quick prayer to the Maker, and nothing. Lucian was still hurt, still too hurt. He couldn't heal all of the wounds - his mind helpfully supplying a moment later that it was likely because some were too imbued with blood magic. It was too dangerous of a combination, a large attack and Lucian's dependence on blood magic. This was the danger of blood magic, not a lack of control, not consorting with demons, but losing someone dear to him. For a moment, Anders' mind flashed back to Karl, dead by his hand, dead because his actions could do nothing to save him — no, not again. The healer was rendered a desperate man, and desperation could be a dangerous thing.

He took a deep, steadying breath, steeling himself. He had to do this. "You'll be okay," he whispered, not sure if it was to himself or to Lucian, whom Anders knew likely couldn't even hear him at this point. He was too close to dying, Anders was too close to losing him. He glanced about, ensuring no one else was watching him, reassured by the fact that it looked like the other two were conversing and sufficiently distracted, recovering energy from the mess that they had been caught in.

He blindly fumbled for the small knife he kept strapped to his belt, refusing to tear his eyes from Lucian in case his condition worsened even in the brief moments that such a movement took, moments that felt as though they were being pulled through molasses instead of the air through which time flowed naturally. Quickly, Anders unwound the gauze tied about his wrist and pulled off the leather cuff on his right arm. Taking no care, he tore apart the poorly stitched together old tear in the fabric of his coat - he could sew it back together, as he had done countless times. It was fabric, it didn't feel. It wouldn't die.

Left hand shaking and head pounding from the severe lack of mana as well as what he could feel was clearly Justice's disapproval, he brought the knife to the flesh of his wrist. His palm would have been easier - more pain but less fabric to undo, but likewise would have been too obvious. He couldn't risk anyone knowing what he had done. Before he could talk himself out of it, Anders had sliced open his flesh, floundering for a moment before he managed to get the blood to behave as close of an approximation of his normal healing as he could get.

There was a moment, too long of a moment, too tense of a moment, where he feared it hadn't worked. He had never studied blood magic, it was against everything he believed in (except for Lucian, he was okay to use blood magic except for when it left him bleeding out and dying in front of Anders). What if he failed anyway? His fears didn't last long, and at long last, the healing appeared to take. He was pale, sweaty, and exhausted, but the worst of the damage done to Lucian had been repaired and it was clear enough to Anders, given his profession as a healer, that he would live.

Before he himself could lose consciousness from the exhaustion, the mana loss, and the blood loss combined, and before Lucian could regain his own consciousness fully enough, Anders hastily re-wrapped his gauze about his wrist, messier than it had been but hopefully enough to hold. He neglected the leather cuff, wiped his small blade on his tunic, and tucked it back away on his belt.

"Come on, wake up," he encouraged, voice soft from care and wavering from all-encompassing tiredness. He would not rest until he saw Lucian stir. In Anders' state, he didn't notice that the blood was beginning to stain his sleeve. It wasn't even a passing thought or glance - he wasn't important at that moment.