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daisyofwaterdeep · 6 months ago

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i have a NSFW Gale/Reader thought

hear me out on this one:

You have trouble falling asleep and tend to pick up potions of sleep when you can. A few sips around bedtime knocks you out and helps you be well rested in the morning. You recently finished off a bottle so when you and the gang are looting some crates, you pocket a fresh potion of the creamy lilac concoction.

Fast forward to that night. You stayed up a bit later than you intended, looking over some new scrolls and books you'd picked up that day, and decide you need a little sleep aid. You take a swig of your new potion and settle down in your tent for bed. But sleep doesn't take you. Instead, your breasts start aching. For a few moments you think that maybe your period is coming earlier than thought, but the ache keeps growing deeper, and when you go to feel your tits, you notice that they feel uncomfortably tight...full. And as you squeeze them, you feel dampness against your palms.

Confused, scared, and fighting the first inklings of panic, you grab the potion and stumble out of your tent. Luckily, you're not the only night owl and can see the warm glow of a candle from Gale's tent.

You announce your presence and he welcomes you inside, closing a book of his own and sitting up as you duck into his tent and close the flap for privacy. His pleasant smile immedately falls as he sees your worried face.

You quickly explain about the potion, how it might have been contaminated or perhaps spoiled. Gale takes the bottle and swirls the contents before uncorking it and giving it a sniff. He frowns.

"It uses some similar ingredients to a potion of sleep, so it's viscosity and smell are quite similar...but I believe I know what this is." He looks at you evenly before asking, "Did you take it?"

You nod, and Gale sighs from his nose.

"What sort of symptoms are you experiencing?"

It's a bit embarassing to admit, but you tell him, and he sighs again. You can see that he's not happy with the development and you quickly apologize for the hassle. His face changes then and he waves his hands in front of himself.

"No, no, it's not you, dear. It was an easy mistake to make. It's just that...How do I put this."

He takes in a deep breath and motions for you to sit next to him. You do, and he continues speaking, his voice slow and careful.

"That potion is used for mothers who are having troubles... shall we say, producing. It stimulates the breast tissue and...well, I'm sure you've realized."

Oh gods. You look down at your night shirt, seeing the small wet spots around your nipples. You look back at Gale (just as he looks away--it seems he was staring at your chest as well) and you ask what you should do.

Gale clears his throat. "Massaging the area will help, but to extract everything...you wouldn't happen to know a hungry baby, would you?"

You know he's trying to crack a silly joke, but it only makes tears spring to your eyes. Gale flounders, his hands fluttering around like scared birds before one lands on your thigh.

"Don't despair, dear. I'll...I know it may be a tad unorthodox, but if you'll let me..."

You tell him you don't care what he does, as long as it fixes your problem. You see Gale's jaw flex. He seems to be calculating something in his head before he nods curtly.

"I'll take care of it, don't you worry. Here, lay down for me."

He quickly grabs some pillows and arranges them comfortably on the ground and you lean back, the pillows propping you up in a half-lounging position.

He scoots close to you, his hands going to the buttons of your shirt before he looks up at you with those big brown eyes, silently asking your permission. You can feel your cheeks flush as you nod. He begins unfastening the buttons from the bottom, and with shaking hands, you start from the top, meeting him in the middle. Your shirt falls open, and your breasts are on full display in the candlelight, visibly tight and full, your nipples hard and wet with smeared milk.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, voice a hush in the night air.

You nod, fighting the urge to close your shirt as Gale stares.

"I won't massage them just yet, then. We need to extract some of the, erm, fluid first." He wettens his bottom lip and scoots a bit closer to you. "Do you understand what I need to do?"

It seems that he's just as nervous about this as you are-- you know what he's getting at, but neither of you seem brave enough to say it out loud. Instead, you nod your head and tell him to do whatever he needs to.

He nods and starts lowering his head hesitantly. "I know it's going to feel odd, but it's necessary."

You return the nod and fight back a shiver as you feel the warmth of his breath against your nipple. You look away just as his lips meet the swollen bud and bite your lip to stop any involuntary noises from leaving you. The feeling of his hot lips closing around your nipple and then the velvet wetness of his tongue cupping around it has heat flooding your stomach and cheeks.

He starts with a light suction, your nipple gently pulled into his mouth. You can feel the milk leaving you as he begins suckling, hot spurts that provide an almost instant relief in your aching breast.

You let out a soft sigh and Gale releases your nipple and looks up at you, his cheeks rosy and eyes darker than usual.

"You alright?"

You apologize and ensure him it's fine, telling him that it feels surprisingly good before realizing what you said and stumbling over your words. You flounder and clarify that the relief of the pressure feels good, and he nods his head quickly.

"I knew exactly what you meant." He adjusts himself on the ground, "I'm relieved to hear that it's working...we'll keep going then."

But before he dips back down, you stop him. You realize that he hasn't spat out what he's sucked from you and ask if you all should grab a bowl or something so that he doesn't have to swallow.

"I don't mind," He says, "It's less cumbersome this way." He stutters for a moment before adding, "U-unless it makes you uncomfortable, of course. I'd be happy to--"

You cut him off and tell him it's fine like this. And then, shyly, you ask him what it tastes like.

"It's...sweet. But not overly so." He gestures to your breast, where a pearly drop dangles from the tip of your nipple. "Try it for yourself."

So you do. You swipe the drop onto your finger and suck it into your mouth, surprised at the sweetness, even if that's how Gale had described it. When you look back at Gale, you see a curious heat in his eyes that he quickly masks before bringing his head down once more.

This time, you watch as he latches onto your nipple. The peek of his tongue as he takes it into his mouth makes you clench involuntarily. And then comes that relief again, that lessening of pressure that has you sighing and leaning your head back.

It's almost hypnotic. The feeling of his lips suckling at you, the press of his tongue against your sore nipple, the pain that slowly ebbs away and is quickly being replaced by guilty arousal. You close your eyes and sigh again, hand coming to the back of his head without thinking.

Your eyes fly open and you quickly apologize again. Gale pulls off of your nipple but doesn't lean up, his words breathed hotly against your sensitive breast.

"No need to apologize...please, get comfortable."

You tell him that he should get comfortable too-- you don't know how long this is going to take, and seeing him leaning forward on his knees is making your own want to ache in sympathy. He laughs softly, sheepishly.

"I do admit, it's not entirely comfortable. In that case..."

He moves slowly, carefully between your legs, looking up at you for permission that you grant with an encouraging nod.

Gale lays himself gingerly on top of you, his face level with your breasts. It's how lovers would cuddle, and it brings your heart to your throat.

"There, that's much better," Gale's voice has a slight tremble as he hovers over your untouched breast, "Is it comfortable for you as well?"

You tell him it is.

"Alright..." He takes his hand and gently cups the weight of your breast, "Let's work on this one a bit, shall we?"

He begins sucking at your other nipple, just as tender as the first one. But this time, with him laying against you and your hand returning to his hair, you find yourself letting out a moan despite yourself.

And this time, he doesn't pull away to ask if you're okay--The sound was purely from pleasure, and he seems to know it. Instead, he responds with a slightly stronger suck, his eyes closed and his long lashes on his cheeks. You try not to squirm, the heat between your legs growing to a point that you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy. You wonder if he can feel the thump of it against his stomach.

You don't know how long it goes on. The gentle pull of his mouth on you, the feeling of his warm breaths against your skin, his soft hair beneath your fingers...it's all so decadently pleasurable and you lose yourself in the feeling.

He swaps between your breasts, his tongue laving at your nipple before taking it into his mouth. The feeling of it makes you jolt and shudder and moan. His hand continues cupping your other breast, gently kneading it in time with each suckle. You feel a warm trickle of milk from your free nipple and watch as it rolls down the swell of your tit before meeting his hand. He unlatches himself and goes to that breast instead, licking the cooling trail up your skin before taking your nipple once again.

His tongue is becoming greedier with each of your noises, licking your areola, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and his nose pressing into the plushness of your breast. You hold his head firmer against you, legs closing around his body as you fight to not grind against him.

He's fully groping you now, both hands gently squeezing your breasts as his hungry mouth takes turns lavishing both nipples with his attention. His eyes are still closed and his brow is furrowed as he works, panting for air between each switch but never allowing himself to fully catch his breath.

You can feel the flow of your milk drying up. The ache in your breasts has mercifully subsided, leaving them feeling tender and sensitive. But Gale doesn't seem ready to stop-- he sucks harder at them, coaxing out each drop against his tongue.

So you don't stop him. You lean back against the pillows and run your hand over his back, through his hair, letting him nurse from you to his content. And as you watch him, you realize with a cold jolt that he's rutting himself against the ground. It's subtle, almost completely missable, but you can see the way his ass flexes as his toes dig into the ground for purchase.

The revelation finally breaks your control. You moan his name and raise your hips against him, spreading your legs as his teeth dig into your skin.

It's as if he had been waiting for this moment. He's sliding up your body immediately, his hot, panted breaths against your face sweet with your milk.

"Gods, I'm--"

Whatever he's going to say is lost as he takes your mouth, that skilled tongue that has been teasing your nipples all this time now pushing past your lips, that sweetness intensified as he kisses you desperately. His body slots perfectly against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pussy and grinding into it, starved for friction. Even through both sets of your clothes you can feel his member pulsing, and as he dry fucks you he groans into your mouth, his hands hungrily feeling over your body, your face, your breasts.

You cry out as the orgasm that has been building all this time finally breaks within you, and you cling to him as you rut madly against him. Your own passionate ministrations make Gale still, and it isn't until you hear his own throaty groan that you understand why.

Your arched back deflates back into the pillows, and Gale's body follows, as if not wanting to be apart from you. You can feel the twitching of his cock still buried between your legs, uneven jumps and shudders that have him gasping and pulling out of the kiss.

"Gods, I'm...I'm so sorry..." He pants, eyes fluttering open and worry knitting his brow. "That was...inappropriate, to say the least."

You hold the side of his face and reassure him that it's alright. And, you add with a smile, his unorthodox methods have managed to do what you sought to accomplish in the first place.

"I must say, I'm rather tired myself." Gale shares your smile, "Why don't you spend the night, in that case? Besides, it's best for me to be nearby, in case you need more...extracting."

You happily oblige.

#(arrow pointing at gales tummy) full of milk #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A QUICK LITTLE IMAGINE I WASNT EXPECTING IT TO BECOME ITS OWN LITTLE FICLET!!!!! OOPS!!!!#daisy dabbles #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #breastfeeding

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 11 days ago

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[prev]

The air in the Vanilla Kingdom is crisp and slightly thin from the high altitude, a far cry from the heavy dustiness that Healer is accustomed to from the village. Sadly, any refreshment he could have gotten from it is thrown off by the underlying sugary staleness.

The young batch of adventurers forge onwards in front of him, their chatter shaking the strange silence that blankets what Healer had assumed to be a populated kingdom. Plain Yogurt sticks close to his right, casually relaying descriptions of the battered and time-worn buildings they pass to him. It isn’t really necessary, because Healer can get an understanding of the area through the tap of his staff and the tiles beneath his feet, and he doesn’t have much interest in the visual details anyway. Still, Healer doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, endeared by the sweet sentiment behind his dedicated descriptions.

Flanking his left is a wary Black Raisin with a raisin crow or two, from the sounds of it. It is not ideal for her and Plain Yogurt to be on this venture together, but Healer appreciates both of their company regardless. At the very least, they seem to be ignoring each other for the most part, the typical tension between them mostly unnoticeable.

It is just as well, because Healer has enough to worry about as it is: the stale air, the silence slinking around them, the unsteady tiles shifting beneath the weight of his staff.

He hates to admit it, but it is all horribly unnerving.

Healer can understand his discomfort at the unexpected state of the kingdom, but he does not understand the twist of despair in his gut, something eerily close to grief. Everything feels wrong, and while that should be unsurprising coming from a place you expected to be inhabited, the wrongness Healer feels almost comes from a place of familiarity rather than expectation. Like it feels wrong because he knows it usually does not feel like this.

That is impossible, though, because Healer has never been here before. So he keeps that feeling tucked close to himself, following the sound of the group’s footsteps and Plain Yogurt’s elaborate commentary.

It does not take very long for them to agree that the Vanilla Kingdom seems to be abandoned, even more so than their own little village. There isn’t a trace of another Cookie anywhere, and the further into the kingdom they go, the more true that conclusion seems to be.

“This state of disrepair could be because nobody is around to maintain everything.” Wizard suggests as the young adventurers debate the cause, a contemplative lilt to his voice. “Perhaps the Cookies who once lived here fled from Dark Enchantress Cookie during the Dark Flour War?”

Dark Enchantress. Healer has heard the name before, but it has never hit him square in the chest like it does now, leaving him winded. Pain bursts behind his bandaged eyes, blurry memories of desperation and devastation ripping through him like a blade, dripping ice down his spine. It is all completely incomprehensible, ill-fitting with the reality of the village life he knows and upsetting because of it.

“Dark Enchantress– the things she’s done. The crimes she’s committed!” The gasp comes unthinkingly from his throat, and he suddenly knows with a startling certainty what Dark Enchantress has done. He shouldn’t. It is impossible, for someone to suddenly know things out of nothing, and yet–

The newfound power dwelling in Healer’s staff reaches weakly for him, drapes over him, cool and crisp like the high altitude air. It is meant to be soothing, Healer thinks, but a part of him recoils violently from it, because it must be the cause of these strange flashes of knowledge that do not belong to him. His hand jerks around his staff, as if he isn’t sure whether to throw it away or cling to it like a lifeline, before he stubbornly tightens his grip and plants it in the ground, trying to catch his bearings.

A hand lands on his shoulder, keeping him steady, and Plain Yogurt’s voice swoops in close behind. “Hey, are you okay? That was quite the reaction.” He asks, his words sounding heavy in a way that Healer assumes is awkward, even though Plain Yogurt doesn’t seem to get awkward often. “...Do you know Dark Enchantress or something?”

It is an innocent, almost casual question beneath its layers of concern, but it might be the worst thing Healer could have heard at that moment. It feels like it cleaves straight through his brain, peeling back his consciousness like an orange and dredging up ancient pain from the depths of his subconscious, so strong it is like it has been fermenting all this time. It crawls through his dough, and he is hit with the scent of burnt dough and ruin, of ozone and jam, of wilting lilies–

Healer’s gasp of breath catches wetly in his throat, sounding slightly strangled.

“Healer!” Black Raisin calls, and he can feel her pressing in on his other side, hands hovering over him but not quite touching, not quite as bold in her invasion of his personal space as Plain Yogurt is. Her concern immediately turns to anger, and she addresses Plain Yogurt sharply behind Healer’s head. “Don’t ask such a stupid question! Why do you insist on upsetting him over nothing?”

“I was trying to check on him!” Plain Yogurt argues, his hand on Healer’s shoulder tightening from his steady comfort. “If I knew it would make him worse, I wouldn’t have asked him that, obviously.”

“It is very easy to say that, isn’t it?” Black Raisin shoots back, and Healer can practically feel Plain Yogurt bristle beside him. He wishes they hadn’t started arguing at all, but at least it grounds him from the churning confusion of his unreliable mind, helping him recover his wits with something else to focus on.

“Black Raisin, please don’t make accusations like that.” Healer cuts in gently, the tone only slightly unsteady as he gets his breath under control. He lifts his free hand to pat her arm in consolation, closing the gap that she had been hesitant to bridge herself. “Plain Yogurt is right. He was only trying to help, and he had no way of knowing the question would be sensitive.” He pauses, then admits a little sheepishly, “Even I am not sure why I reacted so strongly.”

Black Raisin seems to hesitate for a moment, before sighing, her tone softening. “Are you alright now, at least?”

“I am, I promise you.” Healer insists with a little quirk of a smile, and it isn’t quite a lie, but it isn’t a truth either. He raises a hand to pat the hand on his shoulder too, tilting his head towards Plain Yogurt. “Both of you. Thank you for the concern, but we should catch up with our new friends before we lose them, shouldn’t we?”

Black Raisin makes a reluctant but ultimately agreeing noise, Plain Yogurt squeezes his shoulder once before his hand falls away, and that is that.

Healer is a bit relieved that the batch of young adventurers hadn’t noticed his severe reaction, distracted as they were with patching up some holes in their way forward, because he really has no explanation for it. He isn’t sure if he wants an explanation either. He tries to push past it instead, dismissing his own mixed emotions as they continue on.

Unfortunately, that is a lot easier said than done. It is like a lock has been unlatched, allowing memories that belong to someone else to seep in through the cracks, even as muddled and unclear as they are. Healer’s feet move as if they know this path, as if they have walked it a hundred times before, and it unsettles him more than if he kept tripping up.

Swarmed by his own creeping discomfort, Healer can barely pay attention to Plain Yogurt’s descriptions, let alone anything else. Plain Yogurt must notice his scattered attention, because he has always been oddly good at reading Healer, but he doesn’t seem offended. He just continues to talk, and Healer clings to his voice like an anchor even though he doesn’t quite process every word.

With the descriptions he does catch, Healer somehow manages to imagine exactly what is in front of him, so clear it is as if he can see it for himself, caught in his mind like a picture. But that is impossible. It must be, because Healer has worn his bandages for as long as he can remember, so he has never seen anything.

Healer is finally and suddenly pulled from his queasy confusion by a new voice up ahead, shouting indignantly. “Scrap? You’re calling my perfect toys scrap?! How dare you!”

“Uh, who are you?” Gingerbrave pipes up, slightly bewildered.

Healer feels the same, complicated further by disbelief, worry and an unexplainable dose of hope. “How can there be another Cookie here?” He turns to where he thinks Plain Yogurt is, waving his free hand to get his attention when he doesn’t manage to find his arm. “The rest of the kingdom is definitely abandoned, isn’t it?”

Plain Yogurt, as if in silent apology for not being where Healer expected, suddenly presses their shoulders together, staying for a long moment before pulling away again. “Well, it definitely looked abandoned. Maybe they’re the only one here.”

“Huh?” The new voice sounds just as bewildered as Gingerbrave was, and Healer aches a little as he realises how young the voice sounds, paired with Plain Yogurt’s suggestion that they might be here all alone. “Wait, are you really Cookies?” There’s a subtle rise of hope in their tone, and Healer’s ache worsens, knowing that reaction only makes Plain Yogurt’s deduction seem more likely. “Pfft, what am I saying? Of course you’re not. Now, where are your data chip interfaces?”

There’s a few quick footsteps, before Chili Pepper is shouting, “Hey, get off of me!”

The little one doesn’t seem to show any sign of noticing her protests, based on Chili Pepper’s continued grumbling and the little one’s muttered…calculations?

Then, the little one gasps. “No way! You guys are all really Cookies?” There is a flurry of more footsteps, followed by startled complaints from the rest of the young adventurers as the little one presumably turns their inspection towards them. “It sure looks like it! Woah, I haven’t seen another Cookie in…” The movement briefly pauses as the little one drags out a hum. “...forever!”

That is rather concerning in itself, and Healer wants to ask about that, to understand the situation so he could possibly offer the little one help, but in the next second, everything happens too quickly for his questions to have a chance.

The little one’s footsteps storm towards them, followed by a split-second scuffle, dough hitting dough, and a yelp of surprise. Healer sucks in a breath, but he already has an idea of what happened, even before Plain Yogurt says, “Don’t you dare.”

The words are low and flat, a warning that hangs in the air like thunder. Healer finds it to be a bit harsh of a reaction, but he knows how sensitive Plain Yogurt can be with unwanted touch and he can’t really blame him for that, so instead he tries to smooth things over amicably. “Sorry, he doesn’t like physical contact all that much. You should have at least asked beforehand.”

“He didn’t seem to have any problems making physical contact with you.” The little one sniffs petulantly, slightly muffled like they were covering their face.

“That’s because we’re friends.” Healer explains patiently, before his worry finally gets the better of him, taking a step towards the sound of the little one’s voice. “Are you hurt at all? I’m sure Plain Yogurt didn’t mean to, but I can help if you are.”

He reaches his free hand out in a friendly offer, but the little one doesn’t take it. They scoff, footsteps stumbling back. “Whatever. I don’t need to be here for this. Have fun getting lost!”

The footsteps scurry away before Healer can muster up a proper response, and he deflates with an odd twist of guilt in his gut, dropping his hand.

“Um…that was weird, right?” Strawberry mumbles in the quiet aftermath.

“They were weird, more like.” Plain Yogurt snorts humorlessly, a mostly unfamiliar edge to his tone. “Talking about equations and grabbing everyone willy-nilly like that. Suspicious, isn’t it?”

“I hate to say it but I agree.” Black Raisin mutters as if it pained her, a judgemental caution thick in her voice. “I don’t trust that Cookie one bit. They acted strangely, and I doubt that they are really alone.”

Plain Yogurt snorts again, louder with more genuine mirth. “You don’t trust anyone.”

Black Raisin huffs, but says nothing. In any other situation, Healer would have been thrilled to see them agree on something, to get along semi-amicably, but unfortunately he doesn’t quite agree with their joint stance.

“Well, suspicious or not, we should still go after them, right?” Gingerbrave argues. “It’s probably dangerous for them to be running around here alone.”

“Yes.” Healer smiles slightly, relieved that someone else had the same idea as him. “I have a few questions to ask them too, about their personal situation and this kingdom.”

Healer is not sure why he feels such a strong sense of responsibility over this little one, a deep-seated guilt as if whatever happened to them is his own fault. It doesn’t make sense. Still, focusing on the little one is better than focusing on anything else, because at least the little one doesn’t prompt disorienting fragments of memories that tear at his mind with impossible familiarity.

“A splendid idea!” Custard declares, just as upbeat as before. “After all, every king should understand their loyal citizens’ perspectives.”

Plain Yogurt sighs, setting his elbow on Healer’s shoulder and leaning into him. “Well, if you say so. It would be good for us to know what really happened here, anyway.”

There it is again, that strange lilting tone that Plain Yogurt sometimes gets, the one he can never parse. Healer turns to face him at the contact, suddenly reminded of his earlier unanswered question. He asks quietly, “They weren’t hurt, were they? I heard contact, but it didn’t sound too hard.”

Plain Yogurt pauses for a moment. “Of course not.” He assures in a soft, hushed voice. “Nothing more than a little scratch, at most. I’m not someone who likes violence, you know that.”

Healer nods, understanding. “No, I know. It was an instinctive reaction, as unfortunate as it is.”

Plain Yogurt hums, the sound trailing off. Then, he straightens up from Healer and announces, as if to dismiss the topic entirely, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your answers. We’re heading towards the castle anyway, so we’re bound to run into them again eventually.”

It is phrased ominously, but Healer accepts it as the support it is clearly meant to be with a small smile. “You’re right. Let’s get going, then.”

So, onwards they go.

It does not take them long to run into the little one again. Although they had retreated of their own accord, Chili Pepper’s penchant for rummaging through the scrap in their path quickly draws them out again.

“Hey, those parts are mine! Give them back!” The little one shouts from further away, clearly keeping their distance from the group. “You have no idea how precious those are.”

“Well, I do now!” Chili Pepper crows, a smirk colouring her voice. “And if they were really yours, how was I able to swipe ‘em up so easily?”

“Just give the parts back.” Wizard sighs in palpable annoyance. “We shouldn’t be picking unnecessary fights.”

“Yeah! You should listen to that Cookie with the high ice cream percentage, 13 grams of chili sauce!” The little one declares smugly, the tone rivalling Chili Pepper’s own smirk. They completely ignore both Wizard and Chili Pepper’s exclamations of confusion and offense, a bang or two suggesting that they had hopped up onto a box or ledge of some kind to lord over them. “This is my playground, and these are my toys. In fact, everything left in this kingdom is mine! So–”

The little one cuts themself off with a shriek of alarm, and Healer straightens up, mind racing as he whips around to try and ask Plain Yogurt what happened.

“Let me go!” The little one shouts indignantly, stopping Healer in his tracks. He can hear grunts of effort as they presumably try to struggle out of a hold.

“Hah! Not so funny when you’re on the receiving end, huh?” Chili Pepper retorts, a little too vindictive. For a split second, Healer assumes she must be the one to have grabbed the little one, even though the direction and distance of their two voices don’t match up.

“Woah, Plain Yogurt Cookie, you moved so fast, I didn’t even see you!” Custard says in awe, building to an innocent excitement. “How would you feel about becoming my Royal Bodyguard?”

Healer freezes, silently reaching a hand out to where he thought Plain Yogurt was. Sure enough, his hand only meets air, and he quickly tucks it close to his chest, not wanting to attract attention in his own confusion. He hadn’t heard Plain Yogurt move at all – but then again, he had suspected that Plain Yogurt could move silently for a while now, based on a collection of instances where, in Healer’s blindness, he seemed to disappear into thin air.

“Where did you even come from, you- you–!” The little one sputters, a frazzled irritation spiking their tone. “–What are you?!”

“What, you can’t figure it out?” Plain Yogurt muses, condescending to a degree that honestly surprises Healer. He had never heard him like this, even in his spats with Black Raisin; something so close to toeing the line of cruelty. “What a pity.”

“Plain Yogurt, be gentle with them.” Healer says, suddenly realising that he might need the reminder. He assumes that this odd behaviour stems from the little disagreement the two had earlier, when the little one grabbed at Plain Yogurt without permission, though it is still a little uncomfortable to reconcile Plain Yogurt’s usual behaviour to this.

“I am, I am, they’re just fussy.” Plain Yogurt replies, his tone lightening back to a much more familiar one. Since none of their companions refute the claim, Healer accepts that as truth, though he likely would have done so even if he hadn’t had the assurance. “Well, my dear, you said you have questions. Now is your chance to ask them.”

Healer, admittedly, cannot help being slightly flattered by the implication that Plain Yogurt did this for him, even though he doesn’t agree with his methods in the slightest. “You didn’t have to–”

The little one groans loudly, and the sounds of struggling stop as they must have finally slumped into Plain Yogurt’s hold. “Just ask your stupid questions and let me go, before I stop being nice and do something you’ll really regret.”

The threat washes over Healer’s shoulders as he moves over to where their voices are coming from, drawing closer to them. “Sorry once again, little one.” He apologises, because guilt gnaws at him, though he isn’t fully certain what specifically he is apologising for. “I don’t have too much to ask but… where are the other Cookies of this kingdom?”

The little one answers quickly and scornfully. “I don’t know and I don’t care! This kingdom fell a looong time ago, and nobody stuck around after that. Literally everyone knows that.”

Healer had guessed as much anyway, but for some reason, the confirmation makes him slightly queasy, his breath catching in his lungs. “No, that can’t be… all of the Cookies that once lived here?” Unwanted, the sound of a bustling crowd cheering dances in his ears, a sugary scent thickens the air, and Healer shakes his head to try and dismiss the ghosts of something that does not belong to him because it can’t, it can’t. “But then, where did you come from?”

Plain Yogurt must have loosened his grip, because the sounds of a scuffle return, and this time, the little one audibly escapes with a laugh that sounds only slightly hysterical. “I’m not telling you! Leave me alone!”

With that, the little one scurries off, even faster than before. Chili Pepper shouts after them, and one after another, the batch of young adventurers take off after them without giving much consideration towards whether such a chase is needed.

“Where are you all going? This is completely unnecessary!” Black Raisin scolds, but she still runs after them, her crow cawing impatiently. She must have accepted that, regardless of her own hostility in the village, the adventurers are her wards on this expedition, and treats them with protectiveness accordingly. “Be careful, the tiles are loose, remember?!”

Healer, with little choice left in the matter, goes to follow the sound of their disappearing movements, only to startle when a familiar voice appears on his left.

“Sorry for leaving you alone all of a sudden.” Plain Yogurt says, sweet but not quite as apologetic as his words should have been. “I saw you reaching for me earlier.”

Healer finds himself fighting a small flush of embarrassment, but he presses it down behind a breathy chuckle. Admittedly, he hadn’t heard Plain Yogurt approach him, and had assumed he had followed the initial rush after the little one, since he had been their captor. “Your movement really can be impressively silent when you want it to be.”

“What can I say?” Plain Yogurt hums, playful and weirdly sardonic. “It’s a gift.”

Healer sighs, reaching out expectantly and relaxing in places he hadn’t realised were tense when Plain Yogurt gives him his arm. “You shouldn’t have done that to the little one, though. You must have scared them.”

Plain Yogurt tsks, the sweetness in his voice taking on a begrudgingly bitter tang. “Why? I was only returning the favour.”

“Even so. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, you know.”

Plain Yogurt laughs. “And you, my dear? Are you speaking from experience?” He teases warmly, in the way he always teases Healer. It is not meant to be taken seriously.

But the question triggers a snap of pain at Healer’s temples, bringing in the scent of choking smoke and the sound of crumbling destruction, as if the whole world were wheezing in pain. Flashes of stark red dance in the pitch black behind his eyelids – red, definitely red, but how does he know what that is – and the phantom claws of an unfamiliar magic scrabble through him, freezing and wild and near uncontrollable. A last resort. A dangerous gambit.

“Dear?” Plain Yogurt repeats, now with concern, it must be concern because Healer must be imagining the rise of a smile in his syllables. “You keep getting distracted. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” Healer exhales the reply, perhaps a bit too quickly, desperately trying to empty his mind of anything but the tangible, understandable present. He tentatively loosens his painfully tight grip on Plain Yogurt’s arm, unsure of when that had happened. “Yes, I am. We should catch up with the others before we lose track of them entirely.”

Much to Healer’s relief, Plain Yogurt accepts his blatant diversion gracefully and they finally start walking. Healer is genuinely worried, to a certain degree, by how far they have fallen behind, but Plain Yogurt seems unbothered. He leads him along as if he is certain he knows exactly where the rest of their group has gone, even though Healer cannot seem to hear any evidence of them. Perhaps there is a more obvious visual trail that he cannot see.

“They’re in this big fortress.” Plain Yogurt comments offhandedly as Healer feels the wind cut off abruptly, held off by sturdy walls. He hears a commotion of familiar voices coming from up ahead and quickens his pace, half-dragging Plain Yogurt behind him in his haste. Plain Yogurt makes no attempt to complain, instead letting out an interested noise. “A warehouse of Wafflebots, no less! It looks like there are dozens sleeping in here.”

“Wafflebots?” Healer parrots in alarm as they finally reunite with the rest of the group, who all seem to be discussing the same thing.

“The Vanillians seem to have originally built them to help with tasks too difficult for Cookies, like defence and construction, not as weapons.” Wizard explains, his words slightly slow and stilted like he is still trying to piece everything together. Then he gasps, the audible manifestation of a burst of excitement. “And just look at that Wafflebot Goliath! According to this blueprint, they all have a permanent enchantment on their machinery which allows them to perform up to twenty-seven different commands. It’s incredible!”

“All of that only proves that we should destroy this place.” Black Raisin insists, her determined voice holding a precious thread of fierce hope. “The more impressive it is, the more danger it poses to the village.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Custard interjects with a nervous waver to his voice that steadies out as he clears his throat. “As future king, I should take a closer look first. If we can fix them, then they won’t attack anymore. They could even be a great help!”

Healer hears Custard stepping closer to what must be one of the Wafflebots, and dread drips into his stomach. “Uh, I don’t think that is such a good idea, Your Majesty.”

“No need to fret, my faithful subject!” Custard chirps cheerfully as his feet continue to tip-tap closer. “This one seems docile, so it should be–”

Before he can finish that sentence, a sharp whirring fills the fortress, echoing through the large space and ringing in Healer’s ears as the screech of moving metal synchronises with the thump of robotic feet.

Healer can hear everyone jump into the fight, though it is difficult for him to track what exactly is happening past the squeal of metal, the buzz of magic, the rumble shaking his feet and the battle cries. What he does know is that Plain Yogurt is still lingering behind him, and Healer backs up into him, throwing his free arm out to protect him just like he had back in the village. He tightens his grip on his staff, but is discouraged from trying anything by the sluggishly low amount of magical energy he finds.

The acrid smell of explosions and laser smoke wrap around him, thick on his tongue, and Healer tries not to choke on his own disgusting sense of déjà vu.

Thankfully, Plain Yogurt is not as panicked as he was during the attack on the village, grounding him in the present with his steady assessment of the situation. “They look like they’re struggling to beat it.”

Which sounds bad, yes, and makes Healer queasy, but it at least brings him back to the here and now. He tries to think of what he can do to help, hearing the group’s enthusiasm to fight begin to slowly flag, his thoughts tangling uselessly with one another.

“There’s a secret passage somewhere here.” Healer blurts out, and the words scald him because he knows that they are true but he shouldn’t. He can’t afford to question or reject it when it could save them now, though, so he continues. “Near one of the, uh, control stations? I believe?”

He could not sound less convincing if he tried, and yet Plain Yogurt grabs his elbow and begins steering him towards the wall without question. Healer makes sure to keep himself between Plain Yogurt and the Wafflebot fight as they move, tense with anticipation, until they slow to a stop.

Under the din of the ongoing battle, there is the creak of rusty hinges.

“Found it!” Plain Yogurt confirms as he tugs on Healer’s sleeve.

Relief finally rears its head, and Healer twists around to yell over his shoulder as Plain Yogurt pulls him into the passageway, “Everyone, follow us! There’s a passageway here, we should be able to follow it to safety!”

It doesn’t take long for the rest to enter the passageway behind them, banging against the walls in their haste and panting as they try to catch their breath. The trek through the narrow passage gives them time to calm down, adrenaline levelling out as the clanging of the Wafflebot Goliath fades away. Plain Yogurt leads the way, at some point releasing Healer’s sleeve, until the walls fall away from their sides and the crisp, open air greets them once more.

The crisp, open air and the unmistakable whirring of a fleet of Wafflebots overhead.

Healer tenses, tilting his head upwards to try and gauge if the fleet is approaching them or not. Plain Yogurt must notice him doing that, as he always seems to, because he answers his silent question. “Don’t worry, they’re not attacking us. Actually, it looks like they’re leaving the Vanilla Kingdom.”

“But then where…” Black Raisin trails off, before sucking in a sharp breath. “No! No, they’re heading towards the village!”

The words alone are enough to make Healer’s heart sink, but the spark of genuine, unadulterated panic in Black Raisin’s voice makes it even worse. Out of all the time he has known her, Black Raisin has never sounded like that. Even in the worst calamities, even when the Wafflebots first descended, she has always been able to take control and keep steady, directing her energy into protection rather than panic.

Then again, she has never been this far from the village before. She has never been in a position where, when a crisis occurs, she cannot immediately take action to protect the village.

“Healer, we have to go back immediately.” Black Raisin demands, and he can hear a raisin crow take flight somewhere, spurned by her urgency. “If we hurry, we might be able to make it back before too much damage is done.”

He can hear her marching back past him, to try and go back the way they came, and Healer’s hand flies up to catch her shoulder. Her panic makes his dough crawl, but uncertainty and the thinning curl of power in his staff glue his feet to the tiles below. “Wait, I– unfortunately, the power in my staff seems to be depleted from creating the portal up. If we go back now, I’m not sure if we will be able return up here.”

He can feel how stiff she is beneath his palm, almost trembling with the wound tension, but Black Raisin still stops at his touch. Her voice, however, is unyielding, only growing in agitation. “Why does that matter now? The village is in danger. We can worry about things like coming back here once we make sure everyone back home is safe.”

She is right. Healer knows that she is right, but there is a clashing sense of responsibility swelling from the depths of his mind, pulling his heart in two dizzying directions. “But we have yet to fully understand what has happened here.” He argues, though he isn’t quite sure he wants to know either, unable to verbalise the foreign guilt that has sneakily tethered him to the path forward. “We still don’t know the situation surrounding the little one, and there could be other Cookies here in need of help that we don’t know of. And there is the matter of- of Dark Enchantress–”

His throat spasms thickly around that name with something eerily close to grief, and he is almost relieved when Black Raisin immediately cuts him off.

“What has gotten into you?” Her disbelief almost fully eclipses her outrage, all of which is undoubtedly stoked by the pressure of the situation. “None of that is our problem. Our only priority should be keeping the village safe, and our only fight is with the Wafflebots that descend on us. There is no need for us to involve ourselves any further.”

“But the world is larger than just our village.” Healer says, his words gaining a strength he doesn’t really feel. “Something awful has happened here and–”

“And that is still not our problem! We are not here to be heroes, Healer, we are just Cookies trying to live.” Black Raisin shoots back, shrugging Healer’s hand off her. The gesture stings a little, because she has never rejected his touch before, but he lets his hand fall. She sighs, her voice leaning closer towards a plea. “Please, Healer. You've been reacting strangely ever since we got here, and you’ve been almost constantly distressed. Don’t you think it would be in your best interest to go back anyway?”

Healer understands her point, but it scrambles into the complicated knot of emotions swirling in his chest. Half of him is tempted, half of him really has no interest in knowing any more, but the cold sting of the waning power in his staff keeps him grounded like an obligation. When the words finally and clumsily tumble out of his mouth, he is speaking to himself more than anyone else, sharp with self-inflicted reproach. “No, no, turning back now would be cowardly.”

He doesn’t realise his mistake until he hears Black Raisin reply, “...Are you saying I’m a coward? Is that what you truly think of me?”

There is a shiver in her voice, a crack of hurt so much worse than her anger and panic, and regret washes over Healer in an instant. His face falls, and he quickly, furiously, shakes his head. “No, that’s not–”

“Well, he’s right, isn’t he?” Plain Yogurt deadpans as his hand finds a place in the junction between Healer’s shoulder and neck, his presence pressing in from behind. “Cowardice is why you kept trying to crumble me behind his back, isn’t it? A shame none of those attempts ever worked.”

It is like the air itself freezes between them, Healer’s muddled mind momentarily going blank.

“...What?” He chokes out weakly, completely caught off guard. His head automatically tilts towards Plain Yogurt, like it always does when he tries to search for confirmation on something or other.

There is a moment of thick, unbearable silence before Black Raisin finally, finally bites through it with her teeth.

“You!” She barks, a brittle sound that is both harsh and unbearably fragile, her audibly shaking breath acting as punctuation. She takes a deep breath, and for a moment, her words grow wobbly as if she is holding back an angry sob. “Healer, I…”

Black Raisin does not immediately try to refute the accusation. Healer can feel his heart hammering in his own throat. The whine of lasers gathering power reverberates from somewhere.

“I don’t have time for this.” Black Raisin mutters dejectedly, gruff and low, followed by the scratch of her boots against the tiles as she spins around and breaks off into a sprint back the way they came.

Healer hears the retreating footsteps multiple into tens of dozens, hears the screams and panic, sees glimpses of Cookies cradling growing cracks as they beg for him to save them, as they lose hope in him and–

“Wait! Black Raisin!” Healer lurches forwards, reaching a hand out to try and grab her even though she has long since moved out of his range, his own desperation ringing in his ears.

Plain Yogurt’s hand tightens its grip on him, and he is reeled back before he can try and run after Black Raisin in earnest. “Let her go.” He murmurs, rubbing his hand along the length of Healer’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. "It won't do either of you any good to keep talking when you're both stressed."

Healer ignores the attempted comfort in favour of twisting around to face him fully, fumbling before he manages to gather the front of Plain Yogurt’s robes into his fist. It isn’t meant to be a threat. Rather, it is the only thing anchoring Healer as his pitch black world seems to spin.

“Is what you said true?” He asks, his chest aching. The power in his staff thrums lazily as if in response, but he stubbornly ignores that too. “About Black Raisin?”

“I guess she didn’t trust your judgement on me very much.” Plain Yogurt replies softly, evasive and yet an obvious answer in itself.

His judgement. Healer's judgement. The villagers always trust his judgement, but they aren’t the only ones. The last Cookies to trust his judgement, for better or for worse, were–

No—

Healer’s head explodes in spiced pain and he feels cold, right to the tips of his fingers, swaying and collapsing into Plain Yogurt. Smells and sensations and images pop incessantly through his mind, barbed and vengeful, and Healer rejects them all, recoiling, writhing, sinking, sinking, sinking—

Until he, blissfully, enters dark nothingness.

#~6k words of healer fighting for his life against déjà vu. cheers!!#i just think there is some psychological horror in remembering this whole other life that is apparently you #but is so completely detached from what you know as your own life. so.#shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pure vanilla cookie #healer cookie #shadow milk cookie #(← called plain yogurt here you know the drill)#blind man's bluff au #the biscuit library

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