#I sleep and think of mauve I wake and think of mauve i hear a song i think o

[noblepilcher]

mauve dump

[ceilidho]

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

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You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with. 

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels. 

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to. 

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today. 

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there. 

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you. 

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you. 

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet. 

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp. 

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor. 

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat. 

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it. 

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.” 

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down. 

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.” 

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you. 

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit. 

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid. 

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow. 

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy. 

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped. 

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it. 

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?” 

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting. 

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest. 

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you. 

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it. 

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you. 

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again. 

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples. 

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up. 

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid. 

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek. 

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you. 

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite. 

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture. 

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car. 

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.

[koiiiji]

I'm spamming cuz u said spam me soo.. pls do windbreaker wooin x reader

doing nails with Wooin...

author’s note ; ahhh!! again so sorry for such long respond!! again drafts from 2022🥳

author’s note 2 ; please no spam likes, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!

tw ; fluff, can be platonic or romantic, as you will interpret it😌

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sunlight streamed through the freshly cleaned windows, casting soft, warm light on the pristine apartment. it was saturday afternoon, and everything had fallen into place. you stirred in your bed, the smooth new linen cool against your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth of your body. the faint scent of lavender from yesterday’s deep cleaning still lingered in the air. there was something so comforting about waking up to a space that was clean, organized, and entirely yours.

you stretched, feeling the remnants of sleep slip away, and smiled to yourself. unhurried weekend was still stretching ahead of you. your head felt clear and unburdened — a reflection of the tidiness surrounding you. self-care alway felt like a right decision. you had done all the right things: face masks, hair treatments, a long, hot bath. with the day ahead free and easy, you decided to focus on things that nourished your soul. a lazy shopping trip was in order — a gentle drift through your favorite stores, picking up fresh produce and maybe a little something sweet for later.

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by the time you returned home, arms full of groceries, you felt content but not quite ready to let go of the calm, indulgent mood that had enveloped you since yesterday. spa day, round two, you thought with a smile. why not?

today you were going to update your manicure, maybe try that new shade of mauve you’d been eyeing. but just as you settled into the comfort of the moment, fingers brushing over the row of nail polishes, your phone vibrated insistently with multiplate notifications, from the shelf beside you. startled, you paused mid-reach and grabbed it, eyes scanning the screen.

Wooin.

you blinked. of course. your friend always seemed to know, to sense, right when you were slipping into that quiet space of solitude, as if it was some secret alarm only he could hear. with a grin tugging at your lips, you typed an answer.

[hey] [what r u doing cupcake?😎🖕🏻]

you chuckled, leaning back against the counter. he always called you that sweet nickname. ignoring his question, you typed another message.

[let me guess. you need something from me, right?] [mmm, maybe🥱 how do you know?] [somehow you always know im about to do something, and you texting me🤯🤯]

a low chuckle rumbled from his mouth, when he already was in his car, waiting when he can ask his final question.

[oh?? did i interrupt something important?))] [maybe. just another self-care session] [too pity, cupcake... [...i hate to interrupt, but i was thinkin to joined in😎🖕🏻]

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but laugh. you liked how Wooin didnt even bored to ask your premission to join.

[you? spa day?] [i think i could use a little pampering] [fine]

you typed, feigning reluctance.

[but if you’re coming over, you’re bringing snacks]

[😎🖕🏻]

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just as you finished setting up your little manicure station in the living room, a familiar knock rattled the door — three short taps, and you just knew this bastard knocked by his foot. grinning to yourself, you opened the door to see Wooin standing there, cocky as ever, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“look who’s finally decided to grace me with his presence,” you teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“of course,” he said, slipping past you with the kind of swagger only he could pull off. “someone has to save you from your boring solo spa day. you’re welcome, by the way.”

he dropped a bag of snacks on the coffee table and gave the nail polish bottles a once-over, his brow lifting. “wow. all of this just for me?” his voice was dripping with fake awe. “so sweet from you, cupcake!”

“hey, this is my self-care,” you replied, plopping down on the couch. “something you clearly know nothing about.”

Wooin raised an eyebrow, that mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. “is that a challenge?” he flopped onto the couch beside you, propping his feet up like he owned the place. “because if you’re daring me to take over this whole operation, i’m in.”

“are you serious?” you shot him a doubtful look, waving a nail polish bottle in his direction. “you’re gonna do my nails?”

he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head, the picture of pure confidence. “why not? i’ve got the skills.” his grin widened as he showed one of his manicured hands. black polish brightly reflected the light. “actually, you’re lucky.” he said shooting finger gun at you, dead serious.

without missing a beat, he grabbed the nail polish from the table. “alright, sit back, relax and let the master work.”

you eyed him with skepticism, but extended your hand anyway. “if this goes south, i’m never letting you touch my nails again.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got steady hands. steadier than yours, probably.”

you rolled your eyes. “sure, Picasso. just don’t paint my whole nail off.”

he chuckled but proceeded with surprising precision, his touch careful, yet annoyingly smug. “you know, i could totally charge for this. nail bars would pay good money to have someone like me.”

“oh yeah?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow, you watched as he dipped the brush into the bottle with an overly serious expression, like he was handling precious cargo. when he finally swiped the first brush stroke over your nail, it was surprisingly… good.

“see?” he smirked, clearly proud of himself. “i told you i’d nail it.”

you groaned at the pun. “you’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

“maybe,” he winked, adding another stroke to your nail. “but you’ve gotta admit, i’m kinda killing this.” you glanced at your nails, then back at him. “i hate to say it, but... you’re not half bad.”

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he finished painting your nails, each stroke getting a little faster, a little cockier. “you know, i should’ve charged for this. professional-quality work right here.”

you lifted your hand to inspect the final product, and, annoyingly, it was good. the polish was smooth, no smudges, no streaks.

“you’re actually pretty decent at this,” you admitted, narrowing your eyes at him. “i hate it.”

“aw, are you jealous of my superior skills?” he teased, tossing the brush back onto the table with a flourish. “i told you, i’m multi-talented.” he leaned back, grinning smugly and you cant help but rolled your eyes again, couldn’t hide your smile.

as the two of you lounged on the couch, snacking and bickering, you glanced at your freshly painted nails and couldn’t help but feel… lighter. there was something about Wooin’s playful, teasing presence that made everything feel more… comfortable.

“alright, alright,” you admitted, breaking the comfortable silence. “you did good.”

“Damn right, i did,” he said, flashing you a grin. “you’re welcome, cupcake”

shaking your head, you grabbed a chocolate bar and tossed it at him. “don’t get too cocky. next time, i’m making you paint your own nails.”

“oh, please. i’d rock it,” he said, catching the bar effortlessly. “you’d be begging me to teach you.”

you laughed, sinking deeper into the cushions of your sofa. maybe Wooin’s cocky, mischievous charm wasn’t so bad after all.

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MASTERLIST

[mauveastrum]

Classics student’s guide to romanticising november

While I personally love november, I understand why some people can’t really always appreciate it; especially where I live, it gets real gray around this time, when autumn still lingers and Christmas and winter are quite not here yet. A liminal space. Here are some little tips, habits, things from wellness to whatever that I like to enjoy in november when I’m not cooped up in the library battling with the attic verb system. :)

Coffee to wake you up in the morning, maybe another one at lunch if your short nights sleep is still lingering; different teas throughout the day to keep you warm from the inside as the weather gets chillier each passing day

a bowl of (warm) porridge with your favorite toppings in the morning, either prepared at home or ordered at a cafe with your friend

Dark red nails, preferably long, preferably with small metallic accents (I prefer gold and bronze, silver works very well too)

Seasonal fruits and vegetables; pomegranates! Persephone’s journey to Hades has once again taken place.

Adding a little bit of darkness to your eyes, it’s your pick whether that’s with kayal, smudged eyeliner, eyeshadow or just a gracious layer of mascara; but remember to not rub your eyes when you stayed too late at the library translating Catullus’ latin poetry! Alternatively, just rock those dark underyes baby

November is the month of poets, artists, thinkers, lovers and wanderers, you know what they say. Write, draw, think, love, wander! I keep a diary where I try to write everyday. Try to find small pleasures in the mundane and write them down. Beauty is omnipresent. I also have been trying to sketch more when I don’t have the energy nor the time to complete complex illustrations and paintings. Small but meaningful.

Pretty candles, scented or unscented, perhaps each one lit as an honoring to a god, goddess, daimon or your lares; in the colder months I like to light a candle in honor of Vesta/Hestia and ask her to keep my apartment warm

Preparing for winter by slowly switching to more thicker and moisturizing skin- and haircare products. Do this as you run out of one product, don’t give in to overconsumption, be mindful with what you buy and what you put on your skin and hair

Remember to move your body. Whether this is walking, running, stretching, strength-training, pilates… the options are endless and the choice is yours! Even little movement can help you fight that seasonal depression.

Big scarves, long jackets, leather gloves. Gives you an aura of mystery and keeps you protected from the weather

These are just some of my favorite things at this time. If you read through all of this I’d really love to hear if you have your own sacred little rituals around this time of the year. Thank you for being here, remember to be kind to yourself and others, and speak up for those whose voices are being silenced. Go make your novembers mythical🖤

Valete,

Mauve

[silkmoon777]

The Arcana: Julian's Route | Chapter 1

!! THIS STORY IS A DETAILED RETELLING OF THE ARCANA, INCLUDING PAID SCENES IN BOTH PROLOGUE AND JULIAN ROUTE. ALL CHARACTERS EXCEPT THE MC ARE PROPERTY OF THE ARCANA FRANCHISE !!

A/N: This is a reupload from my AO3 cause I want to branch out. Enjoy!!

Summary: In a small shop in Vesuvia lives Vivian Caelum, a student of the magical arts who works as a shopkeeper for her tutor, Asra Alnazar. Her name is not known in the streets as her master's is, nor does she have full control over her magic yet. But one night, there's a knock at her door; Vivian is needed at the palace to help Countess Nadia upon her personal wishes. Soon, what she thinks is a small task is something she would never have expected her magic to be used for: Vivian must find Count Lucio's murderer. Will she be able to track down the infamous murderer and finally put the Countess's years of restlessness to ease? Or will the killer captivate her in ways she can't explain? Is she even running after the right man? Something deeper than she thought is happening within her beloved city, and she's about to understand the vastness of the magical realms.

Pairing: Julian Devorak x Fem!Magician Reader

This Chapter Contains: mentions of blood and the slightest instance of violence

Word Count: 5,791

find the rest of the chapters in my masterlist here :)

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A smile, a brief hug; an exchange so short that we may as well not speak at all. That's how this always goes. Every time I wish it was different. Of course, it's a wish for a reason, a hope that never manifests despite however hard I could train my intentions on it.

“I'll miss you.”

I never hear those words I return. You would think I had earned even a small acknowledgement after all these years.

It's the dead of a cold moonless night. Distant stars struggle against the thick blanket of clouds, choking in their mist, drowning in the promise of rain. Dew has already set on the cobble streets beyond the cozy and cluttered walls of our home. It’s the perfect night to relish in the familiarity and comfort of home. Even in restlessness, my company persists. Everything about tonight overcomes any calling to seek something new. According to Asra, the beginning of a long journey could not come at a better time. His intriguing mauve eyes are wide and aware with vigour even at this time of night. An ungodly hour. Nothing about him tells me he thinks otherwise, wishes that he could get at least a few more hours’ worth of sleep curled up in the bed we are forced to share.

The sentiment is felt by me nonetheless. I make sure it doesn’t go unnoticed, willing every ounce of annoyance and fatigue into my aura. I know he can feel it. Not a moment goes by where he’s not infiltrating my aura with his magic, waiting with bated breath to sense change. Just making sure you aren’t overworking yourself, he’ll tell me when the shop is busy. Liar. He can’t admit that being unable to sense someone’s mood unnerves him. 

Unsurprisingly, Asra can only react to my mood in amusement, damn him. A faint chuckle sounds behind his full lips as I attempt to fix my hair again — my awful morning appearance does not ease any hilarity. My hair, which I pride myself in having perfect every waking moment, is in tangles, standing up where it should lay smoothly. My reflection in a passing hallway mirror was not exactly attractive.

“I have something for you," he says. They're not the words I want to hear, but my interest is piqued. “You can play around with them while I'm gone."

I raise a brow at him. "A gift? I have high hopes you know."

He chuckles, brushing a stray, stark white strand of hair from his tanned face. "It's just my tarot deck."

...His tarot deck? 

The tarot deck now extended towards me is the prized possession of the most powerful magician to walk Vesuvia’s streets, the one who happens to be making the offer. The bond he’s fostered with those carefully crafted cards is unparalleled; a bond even I could’t obtain with him. Asra has taught me his craft over the years. Often have I sifted my fingers through the deck, seeking its guidance, relishing in the spiritual and physical comfort they seem to hold. But beyond the occasional practise, they’ve never remained in my possession. Tarot cards are like familiars; they serve only the one they choose, and Asra has been chosen. 

He never parts with them, even on the simplest of errands. Tonight’s atmosphere tells me that he will not return for a while, and on these nights, I expect the cards to accompany him. And yet here he is, hand outstretched, waiting.

“You think I'm ready?” I say tentatively.

He smiles an adoring smile. "You know I can't answer that for you. You've made incredible progress, but you still won't let go of your doubt.”

I sense something in you, something worth harnessing, something worth subjecting to. …Something I have not felt in a long time. Those were the words Asra spoke two years ago on a night resembling this. Then, I had been his shopkeeper for almost a year after he saved me from a life on the streets. I did not believe him then, and even now, three years later, I am still doubtful. Of course, half of what he said was true. There was something in me, a pool of magic I had not yet bathed in.

Asra had known from the first moment he saw me dancing within a captivated crowd on a dirty market street. Only when he felt it begin to bubble and beg for release did he warn me. In many ways, Asra has brought me new beginnings to a life I once thought was meaningless. I’ve learnt myself and my abilities, and if someone asked me now how far I have waded into the pool, I’d tell them I’m consumed by it, dipping my head back to wet my hair and relishing the renewal. Asra, however, seems to think otherwise. I’ve only dipped my toes in, testing the waters like a kid on the beach at the first sign of summer. I trust Asra with my life, but I doubt this idea. 

My distrust that keeps me at the water’s edge; my greatest flaw.

“Do you think you're ready?” 

I pause, considering his words. “Well…why don't we ask the cards?"

"Excellent suggestion."

Asra leads me around the front counter and around the thick, purple curtains from the downstairs shop from the reading room. Around table sits in the middle of the room, worn wood draped beneath an embroidered lilac tablecloth. Besides the two wooden chairs on either side, the room is otherwise barren. Dim light from the street lamps shines from the grand window on the far wall. Spare shawls of dizzying patterns hanging from the walls, an attempt to bring life to the room. It works in all fairness.

I draw a chair opposite Asra and delicately sit down, sweeping the long skirts of my nightgown and robe to the side. 

"It has been a good while since we've practised," Asra points out.

"Because I've already perfected it?" I ask as I shuffle the cards, letting my intuition tell me when the order is right.

“Have you now?” Though Asra plays along, there's a genuine question in his words. "I mean, you are one gifted individual. I shouldn't have expected any less."

I snort. "Then let's not wait any longer."

He's always going on about how 'powerful' and 'gifted' I am. He paints me like another deity whose carved figure is on display in our shop, or one of the tarot cards themselves. That's an absurd comparison, I know. Sometimes I can't tell if he's encouraging my self-confidence, if he genuinely means it, or if he's just playing with me.

Smooth, cold scale brushes against the bare skin of my ankles, followed by a familiar hiss, low and seductive. The contact shoes away my wandering thoughts and a small smile tugs at my lips. We’re not alone.

The serpentine body cooling around my leg belongs to Faust, Asra's familiar. Rich lavender scales intertwine with milky white patterns and her plush underbelly. She acknowledges me with her beady red eyes, wearing the ever-present smile on her snout. Though she likes Asra the most, she’s always happy to see me, and I her. 

Faust retreats from me in search of her other half. She twists her way around Asra's colourful waistcoat and over his white button-up. She reaches his shoulders and nuzzles against the golden skin over his sharp collarbones with a hiss that almost sounds like a purr.

"If we're all here, then..." Asra strokes Faust lightly. "Let's begin."

Asra’s gaze follows my careful handiwork as I slip the cards through my fingers. Palpable energy hums beneath my skin, reverberating like a second heartbeat. Even Faust’s interest is piqued; her eyes follow the same path as Asra’s. Satisfied with the jumbled order, I tap the cards against the table and smooth their edges before I begin to draw.

Three cards lay face down on the tablecloth in a triangular formation. Facing the ceiling are circles of purple, pink and blue surrounding a heart. From the design sprouts golden stripes like rays from a childish drawing of the sun. Asra’s gaze flits between the three options as he determines what will benefit him. Slowly, his hand drifts to the second card, fingers gentle when flipping it over. The face of a cream-white owl staring back, its crimson eyes wide and feathered chest puffed.

"The High Priestess.”

"And what is she telling you?" Asra leans closer, expectant. "Is she speaking to you now?"

The meaning of the cards is never singular. While they follow a linear pattern, depending on the receiver, the message changes to suit them. Common readers rely on an inner catalogue of meanings and their intuition to decide which one. However, I am unlike a common reader found in street markets. My relationship with the cards is unique and unusual, similar to Asra’s. Each card whispers in my ear languages I cannot comprehend. The common human tongues are unfamiliar to them, their’s unfamiliar to I. And yet, the story could not be more clear. 

In my head, the High Priestess speaks, her voice rough and sultry and with an elegance unattainable by most. I let my mind blank, receiving her advice in its entirety.

"You've forsaken here."

Almost unnoticeably, Asra’s mouth twitches. "I have?"

"She calls to you, but you won't listen. Typical." I snort, earning a look from Asra. Though... "It's...frequent. Diligent. Asra, if you don't listen to her…"

There’s something in Asra’s eyes that, to me, is as incomprehensible as the language of the cards. It’s almost rigid or unsurprised, maybe both, but he looks away before I can understand. I almost open my mouth to ask him the matter—a stupid instinct. It's times like these that I wish I was as gifted as him at directing others. If only he was as open and willing to talk as I've always been.

A sudden sharp knock startles the two of us, breaking the heavy silence. Faust hisses and untangles herself from Asra to slither towards the door. A customer, perhaps. At this hour, though?

Asra's worried look is replaced with a smile. "Did you forget to put out the lantern again?"

I fold my arms. “Why does it always have to be my fault?”

"Well, you are the one whose job is to close shop."

"And you know those fire salamanders have gotten loose through town again," I counter, raising a brow. "Those pesky little things like to make my life inconvenient."

"Well, at least that's a good distraction. I can't stay any longer."

Does he have to go so soon? Asra slings his brown leather satchel over his shoulder and we head towards the back door. With a snap of his fingers, a thick red scarf materialises thread by thread, knitting itself together by the hands of someone unseen — another one of Asra Alnazar’s many talents. Following the scarf is a black hat that nestles over his curly white hair.

“Take care of yourself and the shop,” he says as he fixes the brim.

"Of course I will," I say.

"Well...until we meet again."

"Which you will make sure this time is soon."

He chuckles but says nothing, though I know there are words begging to be voiced. He parts the black curtains soundly and swiftly, slipping out the back door. The departure feels rushed, as always, like he’s been yearning for escape. Do I bore him? It hurts to consider, but I know it’s only a silly worry; an insecurity to fill the gaps he leaves behind.

I sigh, heading for the front door. It's all for the best, I suppose.

Right now I could be snuggling back into bed, stealing a few more hours of sleep with ample space thanks to Asra’s abrupt departure. It’s always abrupt, always at a terrible hour. Remaining unsaid are all the reasons he shouldn’t go, but when I’m never allowed to know his destination, how can I come up with a reasonable excuse? Now my only friend has disappeared as usual. Whenever I try to understand why, I’m shut down with desirable words and empty promises.

It will be quick. You won't even notice I'm gone. I promise I'll be back within a week.

He has yet to keep those promises. 

And, fine, he'll be away for just under a moon's cycle at best. But the fact that he can't tell me always burns a hole deep in my heart that I can never seem to heal. I would have thought that, after living with each other for years, equal trust would be established. He has all of mine, and I’m deceived to think I have any of his. I've only brushed the surface of who Asra really is.

There's another rap on the door, hurried and repetitive. Not just any customer, but an impatient one by the sound of it. I place my hands on the door and lean towards the peephole. This sort of hour does not motivate me to let just anyone in. Whoever stands at my door better be worth my time.

There's a mysterious figure standing beneath the glow of the lantern outside. The dim haze of orange light offers the unmistakable curves of a tall woman, features drowning beneath a dark purple robe and headscarf. Around her slim waist is a thick belt of gold and green designs. The gold shimmers proudly in the light. If she's from around this part of Vesuvius, it must be fake.

As her graceful hands twist together anxiously, I spot green and gold glints of rings on every finger. The jewellery, the finery of her robes and belt… The gold may be real. This is no ordinary customer. A wealthy one, at most. So I open the door, intrigued by the idea of her possible requests. Please let me buy new clothes this week, I plead silently.

The streets are solitary and cold behind the woman, glistening and slippery from early-morning dew. None of the shops are open yet, and none of their lamps are on. Of course, besides mine. Damn salamanders. 

"Forgive me for the hour, but..." The woman steps into the warmth of my shop. Her voice is rich and velvety, yet powerful, like marble disguised in silk. Her accent rings bells of familiarity in my mind. "...I will not suffer another sleepless night."

The strange woman gently lifts her glittering fingers to tug at the ends of her purple headscarf. The elegant cloth slips away revealing the visitor's face. As it falls to her hands, my breathing stops, my heart leaping to my throat. No way. No damn way.

"Please read the cards for me," she begs. "It has to be you.”

I can’t believe that before me, begging in a desperate voice that otherwise knows no authority, is Nadia Satrinava, the Countess of Vesuvia.

Long locks fall graciously in a cascade of violet, brushing the countess’s straight shoulders and framing the sharp angles of her face. A small jewelled headdress of pearls and emeralds sits against the smooth brown skin of her forehead. The gown hugging her body is utter magnificence, crafted meticulously from expensive silks and lace, cinched at her waist by a thick golden belt. 

Desperation swims in her crimson eyes, her full, red lips pressed into a thin line. I drink her in greedily like a starved dog; the straightness of her small nose, her high cheekbones and sharp jaw, the delicate makeup on her eyelids, her regal posture. She’s everything I could only dream of being. Her voice alone is enough to evoke envy, the jewels on her bony collar almost calling to every thief in town.

"I—wh—you've come to the right place." I stumble over my words inelegantly, almost cowering from the instant regret.

"So I'm told. Your reputation precedes you. Beggars and nobles alike..." She cocks her head as she takes me in, inspecting me like I'm the newest jewel in her collection. "The people of this city whisper your name in wonder like you're a deity."

I try to school my face into indifference, but I wonder if the way my eyes widen a fraction deceives me. My name? In wonder, like I'm a deity? But only Asra has treated me like such. I don't even think he’s serious.

"Though in my dreams you were different." She laughs. "No matter. I've come with a proposal."

"A proposal?" I repeat.

She searches me again, smiling. "Not very talkative, are you? Nervous, perhaps? You needn't be. I require very little of you."

I bow my head, my dark brown hair sweeping over my shoulder. Anything. Anything for the countess of Vesuvia. I say as much. "Anything, my lady."

"In that case, be my guest at the palace for a short while."

Breathe.

I've forgotten how to. Forgotten how to lift my chest to let air in. Forgotten how to even move. What use would I be to Countess Nadia? If anything, Asra should be the one. Asra should be...

Something hits me like a brick to the face. She saw me differently in a dream, hinted that my face was not the one she'd match to the card reader she sought out. She said the city spoke my name in wonder. Yet, she hasn't said my name. She only knows where to find her dream magician.

Asra is her dream magician. He has to be. My master is like a living, breathing spell book, his name carried through the wind of towns like he’s the holy one, not me. I should have asked. Why has this sudden selfishness gripped me so hard that I can't think? This could be my moment to finally be more than I am, finally live up to the powerful magician Asra depicts me as.

Besides, he isn't here.

I know I'm going to regret taking his place, but...

"You will be afforded every luxury, of course," the countess adds, as if afraid I wouldn't take the deal. Luxury; I've never lived in such an environment, never worn something to that standard. I suddenly feel very self-conscious of the old nightgown I wear and pull the flimsy robe closer. "I ask only that you bring your skill. And the Arcana."

The cards. Asra couldn’t have left them to me at a better time.

"I am at your service, Countess," I say with as little overexcitement as possible. "Whatever you need."

"You have chosen wisely, magician," she says. "I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow. I want to see those talents of yours for myself."

"Tomorrow?" God, I hope what Asra has taught me is enough to keep up the expectations.

She nods. "Of course. What better than to start as soon as possible? Now shall we do that reading?"

Just like that, my heart drops once more. A reading, right now before the countess herself? I'm not trained enough for this, not trusting enough in my skills to get it one hundred percent right. The fear of making a mistake and giving her false expectations grows. What if I give her advice she shouldn't even take into consideration? Asra would kill me if he found out; in fact, I can already hear his words echoing in my mind.

You know better than this, Vivian.

I do know better than this. And yet my lips still betray any morality. "Certainly, my lady."

The countess strides past me, heels tapping against the wooden floor as she makes her way to the reading room. I reach into the pocket of my robe, the familiar, smooth edges of the cards greeting my fingertips.

The countess takes the seat beneath the window. The dim light shines in from behind her, projecting an eerie crown of light behind her silk hair. Her back is straight, face unwavering. I try and somehow succeed in sitting in my chair without a tremor in my hands.

Her gaze flickers around the room as I place the cards between us. What must she think of the place? I only know her public image, kind and generous and considerate, yet still removed and distant. Maybe the countess isn't all as she seems—maybe she feels detested and uncaring for the lesser portion of Vesuvia. Whatever thoughts the state of the shop bring forward are unreadable.

"Go on," she prompts.

I shuffle the deck as I did only minutes ago with Asra. The cards slip through my fingers, merging and separating easily as Countess Nadia's gaze presses on me. I set out three cards as my magic sings to me, telling me that they're in the right places. The countess hums to herself as her crimson eyes flicker over the face-down cards, weighing her options as her long, slim fingers drift close. I can almost see the third card's pull towards her as she flips it over.

Greeting her is a human-like, grey wolf with eyes of lavender. Asra’s eyes. A robe the colour of plums is draped over its shoulders, one of its black, clawed hands held out to lift the crudely carved wooden wands around its head with magic. Fire burns angrily in the foreground.

"The Magician," I explain. There the cards are, whispering intimately in my ears. "You have a plan. One that's long—years upon years—in the making. Now, you seek to set it in motion."

Even though I doubted myself, that flicker in her eyes couldn’t be a clearer sign. I know, I do, it seems to say. The Magician being the one to tell her is so tells me something else: she needs me—or Asra—to do so.

"And? Should I move?" Countess Nadia asks impatiently. She leans forward, eager and expectant.

I close my eyes, letting the darkness behind my eyelids beckon me forward. Those whispers... "Yes. The cards say you should move forward as everything is in place."

"Say no more." She sits back slightly, drawing in a deep breath having heard what she needed.

She has thrown the curtains back, striding purposely back to the shop before I'm even on my feet. The cards almost seemed to shout at me this time, desperate to get their message across. Possibly a warning. Maybe the lady of Vesuvia knows that already.

What is she planning?

I spring to my feet and hurry after her. How improper would it have been if I had just let the countess find her way out herself? I push the velvet curtains and enter the front shop where Countess Nadia brushes her hand across a cleanly kept Bonsai tree on the glass countertop. She retracts her hand like a recoiling snake as she hears my approach.

"Your fortunes are simple. Much the same as the others I've heard." Her look of dismay washes away to something else far away. The dismay travels to me; I'm not the first she's sorted out and not the first to tell her the same thing. ...She's going to decline my help. "And yet...you are the first to pique my interest."

I don't dare lose my breath of relief as the countess makes quick work of tying her headscarf. Either her intuition is strong or she's losing hope, but whatever I did differently, whatever I did right, it worked.

I meet and hold her sharp gaze as I plant my feet, unmoving as she reaches the door. Everything I've said in our encounter comes rushing back to me, and I realise how submissive I've been. Cowardly, quiet, yielding. That isn't who I am, and not who I want the countess of Vesuvia to think of me as. Never will I stutter, be quiet and shy. I will be brave, confident. My own person.

I will carve my name into Vesuvia's streets, houses, rivers.

So I do not move to open the door for her. I don't break her gaze. I don't speak first. To my surprise, the countess looks vaguely amused as she opens the door, bathing the floor in faint moonlight behind her tall silhouette.

"Until tomorrow, then. Rest well," she says, uninterested. “And try not to be too shocked by what I will ask of you."

With that, she disappears into the tranquil, abandoned streets of Vesuvia beneath the blanket of night. For a moment, I'm frozen in the doorway, my shoulder leaning against the frame as I watch her figure. Either to make sure she's safe or because I'm still a little bemused, I can't tell.

I eventually shut the door, clicking the lock closed. This will definitely have to be a night to remember. Though, I don't understand how she did mistake me for—

"Strange hours for a shop to keep."

Ice shoots through my veins, a stark opposition to the warm feeling of magic beneath my skin. The voice is deep, masculine, foreign. Magic curls in my fingertips, but though I've been trained to kill if I have to, it drains my power. One wrong move and I’m left stunlocked.

But someone has broken in. It might be unavoidable.

I spin around, a scowl on my face as I search the shadows, trying to chase a figure from the dark. I find nothing lurking against the curtains, behind displays, but I can feel the thrum of a human heartbeat in the room's atmosphere. Where, is the question.

"Show yourself," I demand with a snarl.

"...Behind you."

I whirl around, letting light burst from my fingertips to find the owner of the mysterious voice. Light pours over the wooden floors, the collection of carpets, the array of products and spell ingredients and crystals to be sold. It drives the shadows from the deepest crevices of the shop. Sure enough, I see a figure looming against the grand oak door. I can tell by the amusement in his voice that this seems like a game.

The figure is extremely tall and lean, yet there is some undeniable muscle to him. All he wears are dark pants tucked into black boots, a shirt buttoned to his throat, gloves, and a black coat lined with red that is slung lazily over his shoulders. There is no hint of facial features, as all that stares back at me is a white plague mask with glazed red goggles. The only distinguishing feature visible is a head of wild auburn hair.

The intruder folds his arms lazily. "Now, sources say this is the witch's lair."

Witch… A loaded word. It’s somewhat of a slur in this end of the world. "What's it to you."

"Oh, that doesn't matter." The figure steps closer. "So who might you be?"

My heart quickens as he takes another step. "Who's asking?"

My back hits the shelf of glass bottles hard as I take a step back too fast. I don't falter, though, realising that it would be an opening if I were to let it startle or distract me. So I keep eye contact as a bottle tips off the shelf and shatters in an eruption of glass. The shards scatter before my bare feet and I wince, afraid to take another step.

The figure takes another step, then another, until the sound of boots crunching against glass fills my ears. I wish that they pierced the thick leather, wish it distracted him to—

Then an idea springs to mind as my finger brushes against the last standing bottles. The man leans down to level his masked face with mine. He tilts his head to the side curiously. 

“I'm asking. I'd rather not do it agai—"

My fingers grasp the neck of the bottle hard and I swing. It meets its target true, hitting the side of the mask against the buckle that holds it tight. A rain of glass explodes from the impact.

"Why you—"

He stumbles back, gloved hands coming to clutch the side of his face as he turns away. The buckle of the plague mask unclasps, leather giving way as it joins the array of glass. Blood drops on the ground like liquid rubies, slipping through his gloved fingers as he clutches a wound.

The stranger whirls around, a maniacal grin on his face. "A feisty one. How intriguing."

His skin is so pale he must hardly see the sun. Light grey eyes hold mine with untamed wrath, dramatically dark circles beneath from a lack of sleep. No, only one eye looks back to me—the other is covered by his auburn hair and an eyepatch. Déjà vu hits me at the sight of his face.

"Well, I can tell by the look on your face..." he wipes away the blood that traces the outline of his sharp, high cheekbones. "Shock. Horror. You know who I am, don't you?"

I...I do know him, but I've never seen his face in person. His name is so far away, locked away somewhere deep in the maze of my mind. If only I could find it, grasp it—

"Doctor Jules," I breathe.

His eyes widen a second. 

“‘Doctor Jules’? I haven't heard that one in a while." He recomposes his features into a scowl. "Now hurry up. Where is the witch?"

“Like hell I'd tell you!" I hiss. "You really think I’d sell him out?"

"And here I thought we could keep things civil." He towers over me, chilling the air around us. A drop of his blood hits my bare collarbone, his eyes following the glint of red to slither down my exposed chest. "Well, if you won't tell me where the witch is...won't you at least tell me my fortune?”

"Absolutely not. What interest do I have in reading your cards?"

A smile. A step closer. God, now his face is level with mine.

"I'm afraid you have no choice, darling."

He reaches up a hand to my face. Gloved fingers strike along my jaw, leaving a chill in their wake. It sparks a rage that courses through my veins. Disgusted, I grab his wrist. My anger manifests as a soft sizzle sounds from his glove. He flinches as my touch grows hot.

"If you want to walk out of here," I say with slowly, "with just that little gash and no city patrol alerted, keep them to yourself. I assume you don't want this to turn out messy."

His eyes flicker as he snatches his hand away. "Duly noted. Now do them on the counter. I don't want to have to waste my time chasing you down if you try to escape."

Heeding his words with much hesitance, I slip around him and approach the glass counter with fists clenched so tight I expect to find crescent moons in my palm. My magic thrums and coils tightly as I draw the cards from my pocket to shuffle them for the third time tonight. Don't let your hands shake, I tell myself softly. Don't let him see that you're afraid. Back straight, chin high, eyes unwavering.

So I keep my back straight, levelling the intruder with an iron-clad stare. The cards slipping and weaving through my fingers is therapeutic and comforting when my own home feels like a cage.

"Lovely decor," the doctor says all-to-cheerfully. I almost wince at the normality "Reminds me of the good old days."

I don't reply as I set the cards down. His cold, grey eye moves over them, stopping on the second pile. Curious, he flips it over.

The card shows a horses’ head looking sideways, a silky mane falling over its neck like a muddied waterfall. Though, there is no skin baring the horses. Instead, my eyes fall in the bare skull of the animal. There's a blackened hand reaching forward, holding a scythe. Death.

The Death card does not entail physical death. It symbolises paths coming to an end whether through failure or natural causes and encourages self-awareness. Upright, it is a common card for the awareness of endings. But reversed like it is now...I don't pull it often. Reversed, it means depressive emotions, resistance, unawareness, and illness. The voices whisper its meaning to the doctor in my ear, but I can't focus enough on them to understand. I don't think I want to. It's almost ironic to pull this card for the doctor, but I struggle to find humour in it.

“‘Death’?” he says, reading the cards’ title aloud. The doctor barks an uncontrollable laugh, as cold and harsh as biting on ice. "You've got to be joking."

I jolt as his fist slams on the counter, the glass thankfully holding firm. I look away, wanting to cave in on myself. A madman...I'm trapped in my own house with a madman. He laughs again as he stands up. The sound is cold and void and horrifying.

He says coldly, "Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an atrocity like me."

"That's not what it means," I counter. He completely ignores me.

"Well, you've been very hospitable," he starts, and I try not to gawk. Hospitable? When he broke into my home? "So I'll let you in on a little secret. Your witch friend has taught you his tricks, hasn't he? He isn't the type of person to share his secrets, so I could say he possibly cares for you. But when he returns..."

He bends down and picks up the plague mask from the floor. His eye fixes on the glassy crimson goggles with a faraway look.

"Seek me out. For your own sake. That creature is far more dangerous than you know."

I'm lost for words for a moment. "Seek you out? For my own sake as if I'm in danger? You broke into my house, threatened me, and insulted my master, and you expect me to go prancing around the streets of Vesuvia to find you of all people? All because you're trying to paint Asra as a threat? What do you even want!?"

He grins. "You just like a little deer lost in the woods, aren't you?"

"Wha—"

"I have my reasons," he says, cutting me off. "And they aren't of your concern if you aren't going to cooperate. And I suggest you keep our little encounter from your dear old master if you want to stay in his good graces."

I purse my lips into a thin line. "Get out."

Thankfully, the doctor doesn't need to be told twice. He fastens the mask over his head. "I suppose the hour is late and I've stayed longer than I wanted to. Don't let him fool you, girl."

"You know I have a—" The door slams behind him and the doctor disappears into the early morning mist. “—name.”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[incendiorum-arch]

"I bet you couldn't stop thinking about this..." on all fours the woman crawls closer to the dragon. each movement is careful, calculated, as if she were trying to truly seduce them. but she wouldn't, this is loni isn't it? pausing along the edge of the hot springs they'd find her right before them. leaning her weight onto her forearms she arched her back downwards, pushing her ass into the air. coy smile formed as head canted sideways, cheek pressed to rock. "did I feel good pressed against you when we were in that cave? how soft, how warm my skin on yours? did your cock twitch at the sight of me? how bad did you want to shove my snarky little face into the sand and fuck me till I cried your name?"

rolling over she looks up at them from 'pon her back, random strands of mauve vanishing into the steamy waters they currently resided in. "don't you want to touch me right now? look. I'm sprawled out here, just for you. c'mon. do it. wheres my big, bad dragon at, hmm?"

I BET YOU COULDN’T STOP thinking about this – it’s not far from the truth, but not quite… like… this. or exactly like this?

ever since the cave iovita can’t stop thinking about feeling her pressed against their side. warming them despite the chill. how their sleep had been, oddly, one of the best they had in such a long time, even with the situation looming over them and the cool air sinking into their bones on all the sides she didn’t touch.

but like it or not (they like it) the image of her has lingered in their mind. pulled up at the least inopportune times by their unconscious mind. maybe it’s the setting. warm and steamy and comfortable. maybe it’s the desire they keep trying to shove to the back of their mind. the desire to see her again, the desire to banter with her, the desire to touch and kiss and –

she’s a brat, even like this. it makes them want to plant a hand between her shoulder blades and put her in her place. nip and bite and drag the sharp points of their teeth across her skin. it would be like music to hear her whine and beg and yes, cry their name.

the dragon is uncharacteristically quiet. not a word has left their mouth, too stunned, too entranced by the scene before them. she’s like a siren, pulling them closer and closer until they lift themself up out of the water and sit beside her, half hard and aching to taste every inch of her.

the situation itself gives them the freedom to let their gaze roam, and let it roam they do, all the way from the oak of her gaze to the mauve between her thighs. don’t you want to touch me?

their hand skims her stomach, circling her hip. her skin is soft, warm, just like she said –

– and the dream snaps in two.

iovita wakes with their hips already grinding down into the bed below them. “ fuck, ” they mutter, unsure if they’re irritated by the dream itself or if they’re more upset that it didn’t continue. “ fuck, ” they hiss with more passion, and lean into the buzz of sleepy arousal, hand sliding down between them and the bed. they come in gasps, her name on their lips, and afterwards roll over to stare at the stone ceiling. it’s still dark, quiet. blankets rumpled around their legs. and iovita can’t stifle the sheer annoyance in their veins. she’s clearly made a nest in their mind and curled up there like a stubborn dog. and it means nothing. they don’t really want to do… any of that with her.

and yet her name still tastes like honey on their tongue.

@shealfa

[chill-that-ur-inmyhead]

This time last year, what was happening in your life? I was at a different university, no job and I really can't remember what I did for money! I think I had applied to some jobs and were rejected for after my uni course. A lot has changed. But for the better. It is scary and exciting. I switched university to study a masters course. I am so much happier at this uni but a bit poorer.

Did you/will you have coffee or some other form of caffeine today? I had a latte today yes

Who did you last have a text conversation with and what was it about? My course mates organising a ft to discuss an assignment we have to do.

Are there regular trains in and out of your town/city? Yes

Do you bathe your pets regularly? I don't have any pets currently.

Do you have a mailbox or do you collect your mail from the post office? We have a letterbox.

What was the last animal you saw, and was it a pet? Probs a squirrel.

Have you ever had an ear infection? I haven't

If you could watch any TV series right now, what would it be? OMITB season 3 but it's not released yet. I cannot wait!

Would you have any clue when your best friend last got their hair cut? hmmmm nope.

Someone messages you just as you’re about to go to sleep. Do you reply? Depends what the messages says

Do you grind your teeth, and if so, why do you do it? I think I do. More so I clench my jaw down such that my teeth are squished together.

Have you ever been hospitalized due to dehydration? No thankfully

Is there anything you need to remember to do before the day ends? Whoops day has pretty much ended. It was to wheel the bin in but already did that when I arrived home.

When you listen to music with headphones, do you keep the volume low enough to hear surrounding noise faintly, or do you blast it? BLAST IT unless I suspect a juicy convo is happening near me.

What’s your favourite online radio site? Spotify.

Do your parents have any authority over who you date? HA nope

How many different shades of nail polish do you have? I currently own more than 10 shades but could not say the last time I used any.

What did you have for breakfast this morning? museli and then my colleague offered to buy the office breakfast so I got a sausage cob. It was delicious.

Are you lucky enough to have an ice maker in your refrigerator door? That was the height of luxury when I went to my friend's house in primary school and their fridge had an ice maker.

Are you the type to wake up before the sun has even risen? When the sun doesn't rise until 7:30 yes. But now we are heading towards summer, the sun beats me to it.

Have you ever watched an anime series, start to finish? I have watched majority of Castlevania on Netflix but if they've had new seasons I probs haven't seen them. I shall add it to my list of things to watch after my exams in the summer.

Do you feel the need to rant about anything right now? If so, go for it.

Do you have a favourite towel? What colour is it? My mauve colour one is nice

Have you seen any films with Judy Garland in them?: Yes

How did you feel when you woke up today? Why? Like I was going to be late if I didn't start to get ready.

Who was the last person you messaged on Facebook? I think a friend from uni but I deleted it last year and don't have facebook on my phone and I hardly login online.

When was the last time you saw them? Years ago.

Do you have a friend named Nick? What’s his favourite food? From New Girl? Haha nope I don't

What are you listening to? Taylor Swift

What year are you/did you graduate high school? Sixth form in 2017 and started uni 2017 September.

Are you obsessed with anything? Ofc

Do you prefer waffles or pancakes? Waffles.

Do you prefer non-diet or diet soda? Either

Do you like seafood? Not really! I want to but just haven't gotten into it yet

Are you craving anything right now? Nope, just sleep.

Do you dress appropriately for your age? Hmm sometimes I think I should dress more mature but then I don't want to look too old so I really can't win!

If McDonald’s sold hot dogs, would you buy them? YES I prefer hot dogs over burgers (probs an unpopular opinion)

How long is your hair? Just past my collar bone but the curtain bangs need to be cut

Do you like your neighbours? NO :D

What’s your school motto? My current place of education is probs to make their students suffer. They really throw everything at us all at once, it is intense!

Has a bird ever flown into your window? Nope.

Which word did you say first, mama or dada? Hmmm probs mother

How old were you when you learned to walk? The usual age

What was your first pet’s name? Bonnie & Pip and I miss them!!!!

How many kids were in your class in kindergarten? Primary school? like 30 ish I think

Who was your best friend in elementary? It changed too much. I had a fickle mind and would constantly fall out with my friends on Monday but back together on Wednesday type situation.

Who was the best athlete in your freshman class? Not me haha

What teacher did all the high school boys/girls have a crush on? I went to an all girl's school and it was mostly the sixth form boys the girls had crushes on.

Where do you see yourself in a year? With a job, living in the city and a better social life!

If you were able to change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I would like to be slightly more intelligent. Not a super genius but a grade higher than I am currently.

Are you content just blending in with the crowd? I am destined for the city and although the city is loud and all look at me vibes, it allows for the people to blend into the crowd since there are so many of them.

[no0285]

you'd expect her to prefer nights like these. where she was able to wait on one person, be tucked away in a private room, away from prying eyes. but suki preferred to be performing. and while private clients often wanted a dance or two, this client in particular chose for her wait and sit guard, curtesy of their mutual friend.

and without protest, namely because she rather apollo didn't slit her throat, she strolled through nexus back to the private den. her specialized rooms had three levels, and his was of the v.i.p variety. so he got to sit in a beautifully decorated suite, fit for the enchantress princess she was, melting into the mauve velvet cushions. the floral lingerie set was shamelessly covered by a the sheer robe that draped behind her, flowing elegantly as if she too paid it for it's services tonight.

bending down slightly, she balanced the tray of his signature drinks various ingredients, ready for her to prepare for his viewing pleasure. except, santi never actually viewed anything, and half the time she was simply guarding him as he ruminated in his mind or did just as he seemed to be doing, drifting to sleep. her lips parted softly as her eyes flashed, system alerting her to the deposit of credits to her account. her pupils showed her the new balance remaining before disappearing from her field of vision.

"anything for you." she purred with a sweet smile. "and i don't think those clients are as worth it if they don't pay out as much as you do." satsuki lied, stretching herself along the couches arm.

"mhmm," she agreed, "will do."

lightly, she bounced her heeled foot, letting the minutes tick by as she occasionally looked to the door. she was bouncing between staring at herself in the wall of mirrors, drinking and tapping through her phone. rolling her eyes, annoyed, that she had to also go through insidious sleep talking, satsuki repositioned herself to lay along her stomach on the heart shaped bed, body not dwindled to just a silhouette through the sheer pink curtains.

she was about to tune it out when she heard the familiar name on his lips. her chest tightened, bringing a slew of flash backs to her memory. she relived her torture, her own screams echoing in her brain as faux pain shot over her robotic limbs. the mechanism now connected to her brain stem had began to beep, warning her against rising pressure levels in her blood. aside from referring to her she'd hardly heard her father's name, and to hear it from his lips, made her blood run cold. she had half a mind to wake him, spring bullets of question after question at his chest until he bled all over the floor between them, gasping for air as his heart pulsed streams of red liquid over her negligée and skin. but training overrode her emotions, needing to hear more, hoping he'd spit more secrets at their feet.

Closed starter for: @no0285 Location: Nexos Nightclub, Private Booth Time: 1:13 AM NJT

Santi settled into the velvet couch of a private booth at Nexos, the relentless bass thumping through the walls providing the perfect cover for his restless thoughts. This place was a sanctuary of sorts, where the noise allowed him the rare luxury of sleep without the fear of being overheard.

His eyes flicked to Setsuki as she entered; her presence was a requirement of his. He always insisted she be the one to wait on him—not for the service, but because his paranoia demanded it. Suki was discreet, and discretion was everything to him here. “Thanks for covering me again tonight, Suki,” he said, his voice laced with exhaustion but still polite. He then transferred a large sum of credits from his datapad to hers. “There—that should cover any potential clients you lost because of me, with extra. If you need more, just let Apollo know.” He stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I’m going to crash now. Wake me if something happens.”

Santi sank back into the couch, sleep overtaking him quickly. Within minutes, he was muttering in his sleep, the words slipping out in soft, fractured whispers. “...Kenji was getting too reckless... liability... Father said it had to be done...” The club’s noise almost swallowed the words, but the weight of old sins lingered in the air.

Words kept escaping his lips as his brow furrowed and sweat started form on his forehead. It was like he was having a literal fever dream. The memories of his rise to power surfaced in his subconscious, tangled with guilt and justification. The unconscious confession lingered, unnoticed by him as he drifted deeper into sleep. For Santi, it was supposed to just be another night at Nexos—a fleeting escape from the roles he played, unaware of the storm his sleep-talking might stir.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forbidden Lessons XXXI (Path B)

Masterlist

From here on, there will be 2 paths. Thus you will see chapters with the same number but a different path specified.

Warnings: noncon, age gap, abuse of power, coercion, mentions of suicide, depression, pregnancy and abortion. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

Bucky’s footsteps finally retreat. You stay as you are, staring down at the torn paper bag. Numbly, you unwrap the entire box and slip out the foil with the single capsule. You turn it over, then back, thinking, of what you’re not entirely sure. There’s nothing from here, one way or the other, you lose.

You sigh and put your head back against the door, tears cresting your eyelids and trickling down along the line of your nose. You feel blindly with your thumb and push out the tablet. You quiver and cradle it in your hand. One, two, three. You toss it back and swallow. Done.

That’s it. That’s your decision. Get rid of everything living inside of you. A death, just not the one you wanted. A walking demise.

You drop the package and the paper bag, letting it litter the floor and cross your arms over your knees. You hang your head as the tears flood down and fall into a crease of the borrowed sweatpants. They evaporate after a time, staining your cheeks saltily as your vision sticks to the end of the drawstring.

You don’t know how long you’re there, you don’t even remember falling asleep. Nor how you got from the bathroom floor to the bed, under the warmth of his arm, draped over you as you lay in his clutches. The walls close in each time you blink until you can’t breath, then suddenly, nothing. Again. The feelings slake off of you into blissful oblivion.

You stare into a distance you can’t see. A horizon, somewhere you’ll never know, where the sun rises in a blaze of yellow and orange against a pale blue canvas streaked with mauve. Far away, unreachable. 

Your eyes close and send you back into night. You wake once more, on your back, looking up at the ceiling. He’s talking to you, he has something in his hand. A glass of water. You roll over and watch the wall.

You don’t feel it when he grabs you, your body is limp as he turns you over, sits you up, and props you against the pillows. You see his anger but it doesn’t touch you as it roils off of him. He takes your chin in his tight grasp, the pain in your jaw nothing more than a dull weight. He makes you drink until you choke.

When he lets you go, you slump back down, only sliding onto your side and pulling the blankets over your head. Back into the void, where it’s safe, where he can’t get you. You sleep and sleep and sleep. Even when you’re awake, it’s just the same.

Food tastes like air, water isn’t wet, heat isn’t hot, cold doesn’t make you shiver. This world is muted and muddled. You don’t belong there, you never did. 

He sleeps beside you, caresses you, hugs you, holds you, speaks to you, pleads with you. Until it boils over and his caresses become gropes, his hugs too tight, his hold a trap, his words sharp, his pleas end in a sudden, jarring slap. Your head snaps with the force of it but you don’t give him anything else.

Then he’s apologising, petting you, like he can take it back. Like he isn’t what he is. Like you could ever forgive him or anyone else. 

Then the bed is empty, it’s day again. The second, the fifth, sixth, tenths, twentieth… you don’t know. It’s all the same. Your unbreakable trance and his unyielding desperation. Kisses, embraces, touches, pinches, bites, smacks, until he’s yelling and you can’t hear him.

Showers without comfort, meals without satiation, sleep without rest. Day in, day out, you don’t know the difference. It’s one long night.

The buzzing of a phone drones beside you. On and on and on. You have to pee. You sit up and walk to the bathroom. You’re alone. You’re… aware. You let out the pressure and wash your hands, the water drying on your skin as you walk down the hallway. It’s empty, he’s gone.

You go back to the bedroom. The phone still quaking. You turn it over. Your mother is calling. Her third call by the looks of it. You don’t answer as you sit on the edge of the bed. It’s bouncy and soft beneath you.

You glance down at the clothing, pink and decorated with polka dots. The top is tight where it shouldn’t be. You press your hand to your stomach. Not much, almost too subtle to feel, but there. You don’t understand.

Your hips ache as you stretch out, restless as your hand lingers on your middle. Your stomach aches and your mouth tastes like bile. There’s an image in your head of you bent over the toilet, the noise of retching in your ears.

You can’t lay still. You get up again and check the phone. No more calls. You set it down and leave it on the table. 

You go to the window and look out. It’s raining, the snow is gone. You search around, the dresser, then the closet. You dress in clothes meant for you and tuck change from the jar on the end table in your back pocket.

You listen before you venture back down the hallway. You sit and pull on your sneakers, taken from your dorm, like the light green jacket hung from the rack.

You unlock the door and step out into the hall. You don’t know the day, you can barely remember where you are, but you know where you’re going. You take the elevator to street level and look up at the grey sky, pulling your hood over your head.

It’s almost April, almost two months since that night. Something’s terribly wrong. As ever, your luck’s taken a turn for the worst. You can’t fight it any longer. 

You walk down two blocks to the bus stop and wait. You read the numbers on the sign. None of them go to campus but you know the four transfers to the eight. 

You let your hand wander back to your stomach. Will he be angry? How come you aren’t?

[amchara]

leave a light on (Cordelia Carstairs and Matthew Fairchild)

Cordelia Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild (Matthew/Cordelia if you lean that way, ie. as much Fairstairs content as we currently get in canon but this can also definitely just be read as friendship fic)

Wordcount: 1,380 words

Set immediately post-Chain of Iron, Matthew and Cordelia have to stop for the night before they get to Paris. Some classic comfort fic, where I decided Cordelia needs to be the one taken care of, for once.

Ahh, I am not sure I am fully ready to be back on tumblr [things are still tough irl] - but I saw the gorgeous Chain of Thorns cover release and it suddenly released some keen that I hadn't had for month for TLH and this is the result. Hope you enjoy!

---

Cordelia watched as the gas-lit lights reflected in the window, obscuring the rainy weather outside. She could feel beads of water drip from the edges of her hair onto her forehead. The borrowed wool coat felt heavy on her shoulders. Behind her, she could hear Matthew conversing in soft French syllables with the hotelier, asking for rooms and for some food to be brought to them, despite the late hour. 

The clock had chimed a few minutes ago; only an hour until midnight. This day had felt intolerably long, Cordelia thought suddenly. The morning felt a hundred years ago and she herself felt aged to the same degree, no longer the naive girl who had thought she might finally have found reciprocal love with James. 

They had disembarked from the ferry into the dark streets of Calais. Matthew had initially thought to press on and find a carriage to take them straight on to Paris. “Only imagine what it would be like to wake with the dawn light streaming along the banks of the Seine and the streets of Paris shining before us,” he said, his tone equally light and airy. It was a lovely picture to imagine (if perhaps a trifle optimistic, given her recollection of the city’s streets) and so Cordelia had quickly nodded agreement. 

He had offered her his arm, and they started through the foggy quarters of the town, but less than a hundred yards in, Matthew had stopped short. “You’re trembling,” he noted, frowning. “And you haven’t eaten much today, have you?” 

Before she could think to object or even reply, he had whisked them into the nearest reputable-looking hotel, deposited her into a large mauve armchair and had begun charming the dour-looking woman behind the desk. 

“Daisy?” Cordelia started and for the briefest of moments, she thought it was James, having come to his senses. Like she had hoped against hope at the train station, that he would appear out of a plume of smoke and soot, begging her to come home. 

But even as the sting of disappointment hit her, it disappeared as Matthew’s figure came into view, his blond hair curling damply around his face, the beautiful angles of his cheekbones highlighted in the dim light, his smile gentle as he held out a hand to her. 

She accepted it. 

--

The room was small but perfectly adequate to Cordelia’s eyes and initially, she didn’t know why Matthew was hovering anxiously beside her. 

“Oh,” she said, realising, as the hotelier left them without bothering to direct Matthew to his room.

“I apologise profusely,” Matthew said, and Cordelia could see a heat rising in his cheeks as he looked at the bed in question and then away at the floor. “There was only one room still available, and given the iciness of your hands, I did not want to drag you out again into the night. As I mentioned before we left London, I will be the consummate gentleman and sleep on the floor- or if that does not suffice- I will go out and sleep in the stables and-”

Despite the late hour, Cordelia could not help but smile. “I believe you and no, you will not be sleeping in the stables,” she said. 

He was still watching her worriedly. “But I will, if you ask. And as a precaution, I also registered us under different names. This is a mundane place but I thought it best to avoid it coming to light with the Clave later on…”

A consideration that she had missed but at this stage, she was past caring about her reputation. For what good it had done her? And would do her, past this trip?

She patted his shoulder, grateful for its solidity and warmth. “Matthew - we are both tired and famished,” she said simply. She nodded at the simple meal that had been set out for them. “Shall we?”

His eyes were dark, as she looked up at him but he swept an arm open and beckoned her forward. “As you wish,” he said. 

--

As a small child, Cordelia had been frightened of the dark. Not wanting to trouble her parents, she had always had Alastair check the corners of whatever new lodgings they had. Her brother had often grumbled, particularly as they grew older. But he still did it automatically - even for their house in Kensington, although Cordelia had long since considered herself capable of handling her fears. Particularly as the wielder of Cortana.   

Perhaps it was being parted from Cortana. 

Perhaps it was because she had rarely slept away from her family. 

Perhaps- it was the grief for her father that she had previously suppressed in order to deal with more pressing matters. 

Perhaps- it was for James and how she had let herself be fooled for so long. Or for the deal she unwittingly had made with Lilith (how could she have been so stupid?)

But it all crashed over her, overwhelming and insurmountable. She felt ice-cold with despair, her teeth beginning to chatter. And she was scared, as she hadn’t been for years and the tears were soaking her pillow and she tried to stifle the sobs that were emerging-   

“Cordelia,” Matthew’s deep, musical voice was soft. She could hear scuffing as he moved from his nest of blankets and for the second time in as many hours, she could feel him kneeling beside her, blindly seeking her out in the moon-lit room.  

She grabbed his hand, as if one might while drowning. 

“I’ve- it’s all ruined,” she said. “Oh Matthew, I’ve ruined everything. And I- I don’t know what to do.”

He held her hand, stroked her forehead, smoothed away the tears on her cheeks. “My darling, my darling,” he crooned. “Believe me, you have not.”

She shook her head, the tears falling faster. She couldn’t believe him. 

Moving carefully, as if not to spook her, Matthew sat her up, and positioned them in the bed so that she was cradled against him. As the warmth of his chest spilled through against her thin dress, and he held his arms tightly around her, slowly her shivers ceased and the tears began to slow. 

She shook her head again slowly, and she knew that he could feel her do so. 

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me right now. I’ll believe enough for the both of us,” he whispered. “Because you are Cordelia Carstairs and you are the most amazing, caring, fearless woman I know- and you will get through this and find your path again. And I will help you, however I can.”  

He held her, asking nothing else - as her ragged sobs slowed, and tears stopped and as her breathing started to slow, sleep starting to claim her. 

She felt him lay her back down onto the bed, a whisper-fine touch of his hands smoothing strands of hair behind her ear. He moved to stand up. To return to his separate bed. 

But it was still dark. And she still felt the loneliness and fear and grief. 

“Matthew,” she said. “Please-” Cordelia paused. 

Matthew hesitated.   

She knew it was inappropriate. Selfish, even. She knew that perhaps their previous interaction could be explained- however intimate- as comforting in grief, much as she had done when he had confessed his long-held secret to her. But what she was asking now could cross an unspoken line. 

“You only have to ask and I will do it,” he said hoarsely. 

“Stay,” she said. 

He did. 

Holding her against him, Matthew’s breath was at first careful and deliberate as if waiting for her to object. But gradually it evened, becoming peaceful and steady as he fell asleep. Cordelia’s eyes also became heavy, and even though the darkness still pressed in on her, she felt safe enough to allow herself to drift. 

In the morning, as the dawn light spilled across Matthew, haloing a face relaxed and vulnerable in a way it never was while awake, Cordelia thought, while it wasn’t Paris yet as he had promised, it was still a wondrous sight. A boy who cared and who was there for her when she needed it. Perhaps, despite all this mess there was still hope. 

And they would find it together in the city of light.  

--

Taglist: @lifeofbrybooks @dontmindmyshadowhunting @life-through-the-eyes-of @writeordie-4 @thomastaircompassrose @imherongraystairstrash and ahh, I am forgetting people who like TLH but lemme know if you want added/deleted to this tag list.

[hajimeiwaswife]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU

Word count: 4,2K

Wanings: angst (but fluff, too)

Summary: You weren't over the love Childe provided you, even when you were engaged to Albedo years later.

A blue, pink and mauve sky garnished the surroundings of the Stormbearer Mountains. The summery breeze, warm as the light of the bright sun, comforted those who walked along the path of fallen leaves, wild flowers and the smell of mint. A beautiful landscape presented itself for sore eyes to see.

A certain Alchemist was working on his new masterpiece, relaxing under the few rays of light that came with dusk, painting the one he considered the most beautiful person to ever put a foot on Teyvat. Mixing the colours of nature, he portraited on the sketch book the view he had of his fiancée and the scenery, all of it worthy of a cheesy romance novel and a fantasy book.

"How much time do you need?" Y/N asked in a tired tone, trying not to shift her position, "I'm getting crumps on my face from smiling."

The man didn't answer at the moment, considering for a brief time her question and filling a space on the page that still needed his attention. At last, he looked at her and smiled at the image he had the honour of witnessing. The girl, dressed in a summer white and blue dress, was slightly pouting at the lack of talking from his part. Her hair danced with the wind and he thanked Barbatos for letting him see her golden locks fly around her face.

"Just a little more, my love," he answered, his attention shifting back to the drawing in front of him.

"You said that an hour ago," the girl sighed, putting a smile again on her face so she didn't disrupt her lover from painting her, "I thought you wanted to go see Sucrose before the sun came down. Oh! And also, you promised Klee you'd visit her."

He hummed, immersed in the way her features took a hardened expression when she tried to remember something that needed to be done. Brows furrowed and fore finger on her right cheek, she looked at him in search of a comment from the Alchemist.

"Albedo! Are you listening to me?"

"You're so beautiful." mumbled the man, lost in her and the blush that was forming on her visage.

Shameless and, at the same time, honest and shy. That was Albedo, the one she was engaged to. Such an honourable and good man, someone who loved her as much as the Sea loved its waves, as much as the birds loved the Wind, as much as a Dwelling loved the warmth of the fire. He gave her his everything and from the bottom of his own person, and she was grateful for it.

"I'm sorry" he promptly said, coughing on his palm to hide the evident embarrassment he felt, "It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable."

At that, she couldn't help but laugh. He was such a beautiful person, always searching her comfort and well-being before anyone else's, always taking care of her and looking for her. A pure soul, she would venture to affirm.

"Don't be silly, sweetheart," Y/N chuckled, positioning once again for him to portray her, "you know I love it when you compliment me. Now, c'mon, finish before the sun falls."

"As you wish."

One more hour of dirtying their hands in paint and observing the marvellous dusk that came upon them, they left to visit Sucrose, who was willing to tell Albedo about her advances in the research they both were working on.

"That's impressive, Sucrose," Albedo praised the girl, reading the documents and correcting those things he found could be improved.

Y/N turned off the conversation, not really interested in the depths of the Alchemy. She respected what the husband to be and her friend did for a life and she couldn't be prouder, but that didn't mean she wanted to hear the endless conversations about properties a flower could have.

After saying goodbye to the little Alchemist, they both headed to say hello to little Klee, who was mad at them for coming so late, it was already her time for bed and, as she said, 'We can't go bomb fishing!', followed by a 'Do you not love Klee?' Reassuring the little bomb crazy kid was more draining than she could imagine, but she did it for Albedo, nonetheless.

The afternoon turned into the late hours of the night, lilac sky was now dark and adorned with stars. The Alchemist had intertwined his fingers with Y/N's, sighing in content, allowing himself to relax at the warmth of her hand and the serenity reigning in Mondstadt.

"Maybe we should head home, you seem exhausted," commented Albedo after watching his fiancée yawn for the third time in ten minutes.

"That would be great, actually." Y/N yawned again, gaining a quiet chuckle from the man next to her.

No one talked again, everything already said until the moment to bid goodnight when they laid in bed. Albedo, being the reserved man he was, kept himself in his side of the bed, not too confident to spoon his girl still.

The silence was only accompanied by Albedo's soft snores. Darkness decorated the walls of the room in the AM. The sense of being trapped growing inside Y/N as she thought of the implications of her new life. She was engaged to an incredible man, who told her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her every single day; who went with her on strolls and made her laugh; who could teach her more than she could ever imagine; who appreciated her as she was.

Still, she felt nothing. At all.

She liked Albedo, that was clear. Who wouldn't like Albedo? He was the perfect man. On more than one occasion, Y/N had Amber and Barbara drooling about how lucky she was to be with someone like him. She knew she was the luckiest girl in Teyvat, most women simped over Diluc or Albedo. But, at the same time, she only felt guilt for being with him without actually loving him.

Anxiety growing on her, she decided to stand up. She walked out of the room, being careful not to disrupt Albedo's sleep, and headed to the transport point, she needed to be away from any form of human activity, she felt like shouting and hitting the first thing she could see. Breathing becoming a very tedious task as she approached the device, opting to go to Mt. Aocang. If she was going to wake someone up, she preferred an Adeptus who wouldn't ask more than any nosy human.

The wind, colder than that afternoon, calmed her to the point her lungs could take the oxygen she had been trying to get for minutes. The orange leaves obscured by the night reminded her of the hair she used to love so much. The hair of that man she had once despised, then loved, and then lost.

He, who claimed to be brave enough to enter her heart, had been the one to take it and keep it even until those days. Y/N noticed how her breathing became irregular again, she was used to it, every time she thought about the Harbinger. That repulsive, irresponsible, dishonest, cunning, intelligent and breath-taking man she couldn't forget. How had she let it come so far?

Albedo gave her everything, yet her heart yearned Childe's love. How pathetic.

"Fuck you, Childe!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, not caring for the Adepti, not caring for those who could hear her cursing the Harbinger Tartaglia at 2 a.m. a Thursday night. "You ruined me, you motherfucker!"

So many fights, so many make outs, so much love making, so many nights under the stars trying to comprehend their feelings for the other. All of that for nothing. Like the bitter cold of Snezhnaya they froze, their hearts on their sleeves, light that came from the satellite above turned off.

"You know, sometimes I feel like you don't like me that much." she remembered him saying, his characteristic smirk on his face, "It's true we had our... abrasions, but girlie, c'mon, don't be so stiff."

She could clearly see in her mind how his hands came to her waist, grabbing her in a gentle but at the same time rough grip. A shivered down her spine, in the present and in the pass, and she was sure she would feel it in the future, too.

"How am I supposed to trust you, Harbinger?" she had said, crossing her arms after pulling away from him.

"Easy, trusting me."

And she did. She felt like a fool for allowing him to be so near, to had felt love from him, for loving him.

"Are you feeling okay? You look pale, my love," Albedo commented, a hand of his on the forehead of his lover, a worried expression on his face.

"Yes, Albedo, don't worry, I didn't sleep too well last night," Y/N reassured him, smiling slightly at her fiancé.

The Alchemist hummed, nodding to himself and returning to his work. The girl had returned to their room after a couple of hours in Mt. Aocang, praying for Albedo to not had noticed her absence. Apparently, he didn't. Had he noticed he would had already asked about it, or so she thought.

"I was thinking about visiting Liyue today, there are some materials there I need for my research," Albedo said after some minutes, looking at her, "I was wondering if you'd like to come."

Y/N's heart dropped. She had to say yes, how could she say no to Albedo? He wanted to spend time with her while still working, an effort she really appreciated. But, going to Liyue? What if he was there? Strolling those streets the two of them had travelled a thousand times.

But his gaze was still on her, waiting patiently for a reply. Doubtfully, she considered all her options: not going and upsetting Albedo; going and crossing him; going and being unable to continue due to the memories. No option was good, she had to choose between her fiancé's well-being and hers. 'He's made so any sacrifices for me'.

"I would love to, love."

Merchants selling, people buying, contracts being signed. That was Liyue in all its glory. Red, green and blue being the most recurrent colour themes on the walls, roofs and gardens, a gift to anyone who wanted to visit a paradise.

Albedo was buying some materials while Y/N stood next to him, not looking at anyone's face in case Childe decided to make one of his classic appearances. She grabbed Albedo's sleeve as a way to comfort herself, reassuring one time and one time again that she didn't have that much of bad luck to cross him in such a huge city.

She turned her head to look around at last, brave to see the stores and Liyue's people. Many of them knew who she was, having helped most of them at least in one occasion, great people with beautiful and peaceful lives. She had that now, at Albedo's side. But why did she feel like it wasn't what she wanted?

The red mask in one of the stalls froze her in her place, it looked identical to Childe's. She knew it wasn't his, of course, he was too involved in the Fatui and too wealthy to pledge his mask, but it made her remember him and one of the many memories she had with him in Liyue, again.

"Girlie, don't be like that" Childe exclaimed, smiling at her with bravado, "You don't have to feign you don't want that bracelet."

"I don't want it," repeated her for the third time, growing irritated.

"I have enough money to buy it for you, darling," the Harbinger insisted, taking her left hand in one of his and kissing her knuckles.

"How charming," she murmured ironically, rolling her eyes and pulling her hand out of his grasp.

"I know," he smirked, going after her, "and I also know how much you love when I act like a gentleman."

"How would you know that if you've never acted like one?" she snorted, watching his expression turn into an offended one.

"I'm a gentleman, you just can't appreciate my efforts to woo you," he replied with a pout.

"Aw, little Childe can't take a no for an answer," Y/N continued to tease him, smiling slightly at his spoiled brat's act.

"Very well, little lady, you're not having that bracelet," he stamped and turn away from her, walking without a real direction.

"Not that I wanted it!" she shouted at the distance.

Needless to say, she found the bracelet in her purse that night with a cheesy note that claimed 'To my favourite and stubborn traveller, with love, Childe'.

She still had it in her wrist, accompanying her wherever she went, reminding her of the stupid man that gifted it to her. Golden with Snezhnaya patterns, orange jewelry decorating the surface of the material. Albedo never said anything about it, never asked, and she was grateful for it, he knew to respect her space.

Her fiancé had just finished purchasing what he needed, looking at her with a loving gaze. She felt nothing, only appreciation, and she felt awful for not returning his feelings at their best, he deserved to be loved and spoiled. However, she missed him, she missed what they had.

The grey sky announced the storm that was coming, thunder and lightning appearing to give a performance of nature power. She had fought, walked, ran and danced in rain. She had danced, kissed and loved. But nothing of it with Albedo.

"Now a step to the left" instructed Childe, grabbing her waist with his left hand and her hand with his right one, "and now turn around... That's it! Perfect! You're a natural."

"Stop lying," she laughed, following what he was saying and dancing with him in a forgotten valley in some old ruins, "I can't dance for the love of Barbatos."

"I think you're really good, almost seductive," he purred, kissing her jaw and going down her neck, "seeing you move your hips like that just" an animalistic growl came from the back of his throat.

"Okay, calm down big guy, we're not fucking here."

The sound of thunder interrupted his reply, confusing them both for a moment. Suddenly, rain poured and soaked them wet. Y/N looked for somewhere they could go to shelter from the storm, but Childe just laughed and started making her dance again.

"What the hell are you doing, pee-brain!" she exclaimed, desperate.

"Dancing with you under the rain. Isn't it romantic?" he asked, smug as always.

"Romantic until we catch a hypothermia."

He didn't budge. Swaying them both with the dark landscape behind them, leaves flying around, wind aggressive. But nothing mattered as they looked at each other; love, affection and lust hidden in their souls, wanting nothing more than to indulge to the other and become one. How can anyone love this much? How can feelings root that deep? Childe was the only answer to those questions.

With nothing but a soft caress to her cheek, he smashed his lips on hers, kissing her while the rain accentuated the wet sounds. Everything with him was wild, but so addictive she couldn't help but coming undone, indulging to everything he asked silently from her. A kiss in the rain never felt so good.

"I'll be right back, I just need to drop this at Mingxing Jewelry," Albedo said, giving her a peck before leaving.

She stood there for a few moments, wondering what she could do white she waited for her lover. The rain was nearing Liyue Harbor, Albedo had told her he needed to do a couple of things more before going to the transport point to return home. She felt like throwing up, not a single spot in the city did not remind her of the love of her life, including their ugliest moments as a couple.

"How could you!?" Y/N screamed, feeling completely devastated and deceived.

"I had to! I'm sorry, okay?"

"No! It's not okay!" his indifference was breaking her heart, looking at him with disappointment, "Again! You did it again!"

"I was ordered to!" he shouted, his voice the same tone as hers, wrath in his eyes, "I have a job and you knew about it when you decided to fuck me!"

"What the hell, Childe!" she cried, "First of all, you nearly destroy Liyue! Again! Not only once but twice!" she was tired, everything was going down in front of her and she didn't want to watch it come to ruins, "And fuck you? You mean love you?"

"Love, sex, everything's the same, isn't it?" he replied, calmer and returning to his indifferent tone.

"W-what do you mean?" the fuming storm stopped to bring an eye of the hurricane, waiting patiently to unleash the tsunami over them.

"What you heard; I don't find a difference between the two concepts."

"You're lying," she murmured, unbelieving. How could he say that when an hour ago he was looking at her with so much love? Was it all an act? No, you can't feign feelings so deep.

"You're just too fool to see it, girlie," his smirk appeared, making her shake in fear, fear of losing what she cared about, "confusing terms and assuming things without asking."

"You're lying." she repeated, more to herself than for him to hear. He sighed, as if he was done with her.

"Think what you want. Now, there are people waiting for me. Until next time, girlie."

The shattering of her heart served up as the soundtrack of his departure. The leaves that had been once so vibrant and full of colour now danced around her in muted tones, mocking her. That was it, the end of their love. The palace the resembled their union fell into pieces, she needed to let go of him. The words he said cut deeper than a knife, made her feel cold. But how could she let go if she still loved him?

"So now you're with the Alchemist," a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, making her turn to the source of it.

There he was. Orange hair and piercing blue eyes. His smirk wasn't present in the portray he displayed of himself, walking as the noble man he said he was. Her heart raced for the first time in years, asking her for indulgence, for permission to feel.

"Yes," was the first thing she said after some minutes processing what was happening. Childe was there, in front of her, "yes, I'm with Albedo."

"I see," he commented, uninterested. She thought that was all the interaction they would have, that he would go away again and leave her live her life, but she had to know better, "even if you can't forget me, you allow yourself to be with someone else?"

"What is it to you?" Y/N felt offended, who did he think he was to reprimand her in such a dirty way? He couldn't know she wasn't over him, could he?

"It's unfair for both of you. You see, love shouldn't feel like you owe something to someone just because they love you." Childe said, his gaze falling at the bracelet for a couple of seconds before looking at the landscape, "You're fooling him and yourself."

"And what would you know about love?" the question came in a bitter tone. She was angry, how dare he talk about love when he did her so wrong? When he hurt her so much?

"Touché." Childe gave her a sincere smile that reached his eyes, it was breath-taking. Y/N felt her stomach twirl and her heart jump at the sight of such a beautiful scenario, "Glad to see you well, Y/N. See ya!"

And like that, he left the place as if he hadn't turned her world around again. She missed him, she admitted to herself that she missed him. She missed his wild nature, his odd conversations, the mystery wrapping around him. She couldn't forgive him, but she couldn't live without him, either. That's the way she loved him.

Once Albedo returned from his errands, they both went to the transport point to return to Mondstadt. The way back was silent, but not a comfortable one as they always had, there was some tension lingering in between them. She wanted to attribute it to the tension she had been carrying since her encounter with Childe, but deep down she knew there was something else.

When they entered their house, they both changed into their sleeping garments without sharing a word, waiting for the other to be the first one to break the silence. Y/N didn't have it in her to be the brave one in the situation at hand, so, finally, Albedo spoke.

"I know you're not over him," he said, calmly, but there was jealousy in his tone.

She was surprised to hear him say those words. She never mentioned Childe before, less being in a relationship with him. She wanted to feel fear, the same one she felt when her argument with Childe broke them apart, but she felt nothing at all. Why? Why couldn't she be in love with a man life him?

"What?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Y/N." Albedo sighed, sitting at the edge of their shared bed.

"B-but", she stuttered, searching for words, "H-how do you know...?"

"There were rumours... some years ago, about the 'traveller' being with one of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. It was during your time at Liyue."

She nodded, understanding, but really not understanding anything, "Did you believe them?"

"I can't say yes, but I can't say no, either." Albedo looked at her, he didn't look angry, and that made her feel a little bit better. "I just couldn't know if it was true or not because I wasn't there."

"I see." another moment of silence followed. She took a deep breath and looked at him in the eyes, "Why do you say that I'm not over him, though?"

"There are so many signs, you aren't the subtlest person, love." he chuckled, "The bracelet has Snezhnaya patterns and you haven't taken it out in all these years. I can only assume it was a present from Tartaglia."

Y/N nodded again, impressed with how observant Albedo was and with his deduction skills. She wished for the hundredth time that day that she would have fell in love with him and not with the Harbinger.

"I'm so sorry-" she began, but was quickly interrupted by her fiancé.

"Don't." he commanded, "That's not the only thing that gave you away."

"What do you mean?"

"Your late night trips."

'He knew' she thought, searching for any clues that could tell her when he had discovered it, but there were none. 'He has known all this time.'

"Why haven't you said anything?" she asked.

"I wanted to give you space," he began, "I must admit, however, that at first I thought you were cheating on me."

"I would never-" she was interrupted again, a kind gaze on his eyes.

"I know, I know. I realized when you came home smelling like grass and mint and not with the cologne of another man."

It was silent again, Y/N tried to find anything she could say to make him feel better, but she couldn't even understand himself. Why isn't she feeling her heart shattering? She knew why, but she didn't want to indulge in that feeling.

"I'm so sorry, Albedo. I really am."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." those words sounded identical to the ones she had directed to Childe once upon a time.

"I am aware that you don't love me the way I love you."

"Albedo-"

"But it's okay, I can love both of us enough to fill that gap."

She was at a loss of words. Had she heard it right? What did he mean? Albedo was so calm, so ethereal, looking at her fondly even when he knew she didn't feel the same. He was going to marry a woman that didn't want him the same way she wanted her. And even though he was aware of that, he was smiling.

"Why?" she wondered out loud.

"Because that's how it works, that's the way I love you, until you can return my feelings."

The leaves that danced aggressively at the other side of the window stayed still, processing the scene going on in the room of the Alchemist and the Traveller. Their colour coming back to a vibrant one, giving her hope of being able to love again, to feel something.

Her love with Childe was like the Sun and the Moon, so in love they were crazy for each other, but impossible and unworkable. But, Albedo loved her like the Sea loved its waves, like the birds loved the Wind, like a Dwelling loved the warmth of the fire, and she was going to return it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she would. And when she did, she would love him as much as the Leaves loved their trees, as much as the Lake loved the rain that floods it, as much as the Horizon loved dusk.

She bid goodbye to Childe that night, leaving the bracelet in the drawer in her nightstand. Adorning her hand only was the ring Albedo had gifted her.

"See you, Childe," she murmured at 2 a.m. before falling in her slumber.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger|| 01

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List: @bulletproofbirdy​ @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​

A/N: oh okayyyyy HELLO!!! Its here!!! Warrior! Yoongi is finally emerging from the depths of my writer blocked brain and I am SO happy you get to meet him. Once again, this series will be posted in parts just as Mama Mia! is and it may not necessarily follow a linear timeline. 

Also, I know I mentioned her in the tag list post but, SERIOUSLY you guys this story would not be possible without my wonderful friend @bulletbroofbirdy aka Rachel who has literally spent so much time dreaming up with wonderful universe with me. My sweet angel, you are the greatest in the world and I love you. Please go follow Rachel and send her all the love in the universe and thank her for her genius brain because, without her, this fic wouldn’t exist. 

War.  

It’s not an uncommon occurrence where you’re from.  

The ever-present shifting of the borderlines is a constant reminder of the struggle for power.

Many see it as a valiant effort, a noble cause...

But, war is something that doesn’t appeal to you.

It doesn’t sit right with your perspective on the world.

Sure, you understand it’s strengths and why it could be seen as necessary.

However, the consequences of war, of violence- never seem to be worth it.  

Death.

It’s not an uncommon occurrence where you’re from.  

When war is constantly raging on the background, it should be expected.  

It should be normal.  

To most of your district, it is.  

To you?

Every single rise in the death toll sends icy despair into your heart.  

Every drop of blood spilled feels as though it’s your own.  

You’re desperate to find the solution for peace but, you know it’s not that simple.  

Man is never content.

The struggle for power is never ending.  

As you grow up, you learn to adapt.  

Learning a trade is the easiest way to establish yourself so, you take up knitting and medicine.  

You sell your wears and remedies in the market every other day and spend your off days replenishing the stock that you sold.  

Your parents live comfortably but in order for them to do so, you’re in the market for hours on end.  

Today starts as any other.  

You’re gathering your wears in your family’s home as the sun is beginning to peak over the mountains.

The colors it throws through your window are breathtaking and, if you weren’t so exhausted, you’d be able to enjoy them a bit more.  

Thankfully, your preparations don’t wake your parents as they sleep soundly in their bed.  

You wish for nothing more than for them to be at peace every chance they get.  

They have sacrificed so much.

The market displays its usual scenery.  

The fishermen are always first setting up their catches from the evening prior, the butchers are hanging up their kills from the overnight hunt whilst the farmers arrange seasonal produce on their carts...

You always have your cart near the end of the market.  

It’s easier for people to think about softer things such as knitted blankets or healing elixirs once they’ve purchased their food.  

Thankfully, business is decent.  

Your wares are well-made and your elixirs have an exceptional success rate.

The prices are fair so you attract all walks of life but, you focus more on serving the lower class folk such as yourself.  

One of the fisherman, who you’ve grown acquainted with over the last few months, nods to your cart as you’re setting it up.

“What do you have today __?”

With a smile, you hold up a mauve woolen blanket which you’ve spent nearly two weeks on.

“This is the item of the day. I used a root dye to get the color- what do you think?”

He purses his lips, nodding in consideration, “I’m sure someone will snag that right away. It looks warm. It will be very useful over the next few months. Do you have any of that uh- “ Lowering his voice, he cranes his neck to assess whether or not any of his team can hear him, “ginseng mixture that you sold to me last week?”

You bite back a smirk as you nod towards the woven basket containing your various medicines, “I do. I made a new batch last night. Did you need some?”

A rapid nod is sent your way along with a handful  of coins, “Thanks. It worked wonders last time. My wife sends her gratitude.”

Your cheeks heat up immediately but given that you’ve heard worse things in the market place, you merely giggle and file your payment away.

Ginseng is a natural stimulant that you often recommend to men experiencing issues with sex or fertility. Whilst you completely stand by its effectiveness, you won’t deny that it’s slightly awkward working with the men you’ve helped. Especially since they often insist on loudly announcing how many times they had sex the night before.

The rest of the setup goes smoothly and by the time the sun fully takes its place in the sky, you are ready for the market to open.  

As your adjusting the sign on the front of your cart, you hear an interesting bout of conversation ignite in front of you

“Did you hear? The Royal Army is arriving today to refuel.”

“You’re lying. Are you serious? Do they- do you think they have him with them?”

“Of course! They aren’t stupid enough to travel without him. They’d be ambushed immediately.”

“Yah, what are you talking about?”

“The Tiger. He’s coming through town today.”

Instantly, your heart stalls in your chest.

You try your best to appear unbothered but, it doesn’t stop the panic from seeping into your bones.

The Tiger and the fleet of warriors he oversees are well-known in your village.  

Word of mouth is truly a powerful mechanism for spreading information and, stories of The Tiger had been circulating for quite sometime.

They started out simply depicting a powerful new recruit into the Royal Army.

Despite his initial inexperience, The Tiger quickly rose through the ranks due to his otherworldly fighting skills.  

According to the rumors, The Tiger was known for his silent destruction.  

By the time his enemies could grasp what was happening, The Tiger and his men had already completed their mission.  

They had already killed, maimed or destroyed whatever they were after.  

A recent success had led to The Tiger becoming the General of the largest fleet in the Royal Army.

From what you had gathered, he wasn’t much older than you so the fact that he essentially lead an entire army is quite impressive.

However, given the stories of his cruel and cold blooded nature, it makes a lot of sense.

“I heard he beheads the enemy general on the battlefield after he wins...”

“I heard he killed 3,000 men all on his own in the middle of a thunderstorm!”

“I heard he keeps a viper on him at all times and he sets it loose on anyone he disobeys him!”

“I heard that he never sleeps.”

“Do you think he’ll come here? Would he be seen out in public like that?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He has nothing to fear, there isn’t a single soul in this village who could take him on.”

“Plus, he never travels alone. He’ll have his men with him.”  

With a snort, you continue displaying your cart as normal and, only then do you realize that you stand out amongst the other merchants.

Every single one of them has an offering for the warriors.

It’s not customary to do so and, you’re only viable guess is that it has something to do with the market fawning over this tiger character.

“Were we supposed to put something out?” You murmur to the woman beside you, brows knitting in confusion.

She chuckles heartily, “When a normal fleet enters, no. We usually just offer them food and the resources we can spare.” A bit of excitement flashes through her eyes as she adjust the basket of radishes on her cart, “However, this is no ordinary fleet. I suggest you put something out too dear, that pretty face of yours could land you husband on the Tiger’s army, any one of his men would be a worthy mate. They aren’t shooting blanks like my husband over here!”

Her body jostles with laughter as she shoves her hand up against the man beside her, who looks whole-heartedly unamused.

“Jane, please...” He grumbles

You can’t help the grimace that comes across your face when Jane mentions finding a husband but, it’s quickly replaced with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

“I have something for that.” You offer in a hushed tone and, the man seems to unfurl from his submissive position as he offers a meek smile.

“You do?”

You don’t have time to answer him before the mood of the market shifts into quiet chaos.

“I think they’re coming!” The fisherman whispers frantically, adjusting the sign on his cart for the millionth time.

As much you hate to give in to the hype, you feel compelled to go with the flow and, put something out for the warriors.  

You settle on a basket of your most popular anti-inflammatory ailment that’s proven to be quite effective amongst your customers.  

The long strips of white wood are haphazardly placed into a woven basket as you brace your ears for the piercing sound of trumpets.

Magnificent as the musicians in your village are, the blaring cacophony of noise is far from something you wish to be apart of this early in the morning.  

However, the noise never comes.  

The gates open up as normal as a reasonable size crowd begins meandering throughout the market.  

You turn towards Jane with confusion painting your features, “Where’s the music?”

Jane is adjusting her radishes once again, glancing eagerly towards the crowd of people, “The Tiger does not allow fanfare of any kind. A far away village defied his orders once and played for him and his fleet anyway and- well...” She smirks bemusedly, “it didn’t end well for them, so we respect his wishes.”

Your eyes widen at that as you nod, swallowing back any fear that threatens to crawl up your throat.  

“Got it.”

The usual slew of customers begin filing in and as business begins to pick up, you slowly forget about the famous warriors that were to enter.  

Roughly, an hour later, your basket of willow bark remains untouched and, you begin to consider putting it back in its normal place. This particular bark is quite annoying to obtain and you don’t feel great about giving it away to some warrior after you’ve spent hours trying to procure it.  

However, as you glance at other offering baskets, you notice that some of them have been emptied.  

This means of course that either your fellow merchants put their offerings away or, the warriors are already in the market.  

A strange and unsettling feeling washes over you at the thought of deadly warriors perusing throughout town. You expected that they would be recognizable, especially given their reputation but, nothing seems to give away their presence.  

As a paying customer leaves your cart with an armful of various items, you notice something that normally doesn’t garner your attention: hair.  

You see it amongst the crowd, peeking over the tops of heads.

It’s a shimmering icy platinum and it’s tied up atop a strangers head with a beaded string. It moves throughout the crowd slowly, stopping at various points, likely exchanging words with another merchant before you finally make out the face it belongs to.  

A man dressed in cotton linens maneuvers out of the crowd, dark eyes scanning his surroundings almost anxiously. As he moves closer to you, you’re able to fully take in his features.  

Pointed and smooth, his face is the epitome of contradiction.  

Deep brown eyes, rounded button-nose, pouty lips and strong eyebrows adorn his face whilst his rather large hand flexes instinctually towards the object hanging off of his hips.

It’s a sword.  

This man certainly isn’t a civilian.  

Unfortunately, you’re unable to ignore the beauty he possesses. He is quite ethereal once you get a closer look at him; you don’t think you’ve ever seen another person that looks quite like him.  

As he speaks with the fisherman, your ears perk up to in an attempt to hear the sound of his voice.  

Faintly, you can discern a bit of rasp and calculation in his tone but, you aren’t able to absorb it over the sound of the market.  

Its then you realize that you’ve been staring at this stranger for far too long and, if you’re ever going to meet your quota today, you need to avoid distractions.  

You sell another one of your blanket moments later, increasing your daily total by a reasonable amount. Making blankets is enjoyable yes but, it’s extremely time consuming so it feels good when someone rewards you for your hard work.  

“Please have some radishes! They’re grown in top soil from the northern region! It gives them a certain uh- “ Jane’s shrill voice pulls your attention towards her cart which now brandishes a new visitor: the stranger with the blonde hair.

You're realizing that Jane is pausing mid-sentence because, she is desperately looking to you for answers.

You've assisted Jane with her produce before as she was having trouble with the flavor of some of her vegetables. This was mainly due to the fact that she had been using the wrong kind of fertilizer but, you had also given her several tips to improve the overall taste of her produce.

“A certain crunch...” You finish for her, stabilizing your tone as you brave a glance towards the man. “The mixture of the soils helps with the texture.”

His feline gaze rushes towards you at the sound of your voice, as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak.  

At the sight of you, his lips part momentarily before quickly sealing in a tight lipped smile which directs toward Jane.

“Thank you.” He nods toward her as he takes one of the radishes and tucks it into the pocket of his linen pants.

“Of course! Um thank you- sir for your...services...” She stutters and it’s then you notice that she hasn’t made eye contact throughout the entirety of their conversation.  

A bit of discomfort flashes through his eyes but otherwise, he merely grunts in acknowledgement.  

Jane’s comment is the last bit of confirmation you need that this man is indeed a warrior.

However, his reaction to her words strikes you as odd. Warriors rarely shy away from gratitude. They are often proud and boastful regarding their positions but, he seems to be bothered by what she said.  

The man never looks back at Jane as he makes his way to the next cart. Every so often, you notice him looking over his shoulder or glancing towards the entrances/exits of the market. His presence doesn’t necessarily make you uneasy but, his behavior sure does.

He acts as though he is in danger.

It puts you on edge but, you direct your attention back to the customer in front of you.

“Good morning.” You smile, “Anything catch your eye?”

The man cards a hand through his salt and pepper hair as he leans over your cart, eagerly scanning the items you have on display.

“Eh do you have anything for dry skin? With winter around the corner, I gotta start thinking about this old skin of mine. The wind does a lot of damage on my knuckles.”

“You know what? I think I have just the thing...” You bend down to access the crate beneath your counter and grab a medium sized glass bottle, “This is an olive oil and honey treatment, it will treat dry skin immediately but, it’s meant to treat dry skin over a longer period of time too. I also-” You bend down once more to grab a tin of cocoa butter and place it on the counter top, “have this. This should help with daily wear and tear. You only need a little bit so this tin should last you through the winter.”

The man smiles eagerly and quickly reaches for his pockets before he freezes. You don’t notice until you look up from your counter but, the platinum haired warrior is back and, he’s standing right behind your customer.

“O-Oh go ahead, go ahead. I uh- I'll go next...” The man stutters, gesturing frantically to your cart.

With a quirked brow the warrior moves to step in front of him until you raise your hand.

“No sir, it’s ok. You’re in the middle of a transaction.” You insist, eyeing the warrior sternly,  “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The immediate crowd surrounding your cart seems to pause, nervously glancing towards the warrior who merely nods and steps back into place.  

The shock is apparent on the faces of the crowd but you ignore it and send a reassuring smile towards your customer, “Ok, that will be 11.50 and-” You slide a bundle of rosemary towards him, “take this too, on the house. Brew it in some hot water to aid digestion, winter food tends to be a bit harsher on the system.”

The man swallows nervously, dragging his items toward his chest, “Thank you—uh so much. Thank you.” He turns towards the warrior, directing his gaze towards his feet as he bows his head, “Thank you for your service...”

The man doesn’t allow the warrior time to respond before he rushes off back into the crowd but, you get the feeling that it wouldn’t matter regardless.  

The warrior doesn’t seem interested in anyone’s gratitude.  

“Let me know if you have any questions.” You nod your head towards him, pushing the basket with your offering towards the edge of the counter before busying yourself with putting a few things back in their place.

He says nothing but, he approaches the counter whilst his eyes shrewdly observe the ins and outs of your set up.

He’s even more striking up close. His smooth, tan skin is mostly unmarked except for the giant scar running down the center of his right eye. It goes up the center of his eyelid and disappears right above the center of his brow. It’s still red and angrily risen against his otherwise angelic looking face.  

A warrior indeed.

The bit of people around your cart haven’t stopped their staring but, they are at least making an attempt to look like they aren’t paying attention. It doesn’t stop you from wishing that you didn’t have an audience.  

“Tree bark?” He questions with an arch to his brow

You look towards the basket he’s gesturing to before returning your gaze back to his.

“White willow bark.” You correct, almost defensively and it cause his lips to twitch.

“Is this some kind of decoration?”

You shake your head, placing your fingers on the edge of the basket, “No. It’s meant to be chewed. It reduces inflammation. I figured it would be useful since I imagine you deal with muscle soreness quite often.”

He smirks, “Amongst other things yes,” With long elegant fingers, he points to the basket, “So- if I chew on this, I should feel relief from any pain I might be experiencing?”

An all too rapid nod comes from you as you continue your explanation, “Well it’s mainly used to treat pain in your muscles and joints. If you’re looking to treat other types of pain, I have other options...”

He shakes his head, his hair swishing to the side as he does, “This should do, thank you.”  

You suspect that he’s done, given that the bark is (annoyingly) free and he’s only seemed to be interested in the offerings thus far so, he surprises you when he asks yet another question.

“Do you have any more of that salve?”

“Of course,” You offer him a smile now that the initial tension is starting to lift, “Did you want a big tin or small tin?”

He purses his lips in thought, looking towards his hands, “What do you recommend?”

Without a second thought, you step towards him and take one of his hands, bringing it closer to your face for inspection.  

The man seems to freeze in place, eyes widening in absolute shock, his own limb betraying him as it goes limp.

His hand displays evidence of the life he lives.  

Rough, calloused and blistered...

His nails are bitten down to a point that almost looks painful but, the thing that stands out the most is how beautiful his hand is to you.  

The strength in his skin is palpable and the indigo veins protruding against his hand are a firm reminder of what he is likely capable of.  

What you don’t notice however, is the utter panic that flushes across his face or the way his eyes dart nervously between you and his hand.

Just as you would during any consultation, you briefly run your fingers over the palm of his hand and up the length of each of his fingers

“Hmm I would recommend the big tin, I think...you have a lot of rough spots but the skin between your callouses is quite smooth so,”  You carefully set his hand back onto the counter and return your eyes back to his, “what that tells me is that your skin is roughened by your environment rather than by an actual lack of moisture.” You slide the big tin towards him, “Apply this to the dryer areas as needed throughout the day but, every night before you go to bed, make sure to put this on. Sleeping with it will allow it to seep into your skin and heal the dryness over time.”  

The warrior’s eyes are transfixed on you and for a moment he is completely speechless, his hand lingering on the counter before hurriedly places them back at his side.  

He can’t understand you and why you just touched him.  

But what’s worse, is he can’t understand why his mouth is suddenly dry.

Or why his skin is on fire...

Or why his heart is thrashing around in his chest.

He clears his throat and nods, “Very good. I’ll be sure to follow your instructions.” He sticks the hand you didn’t touch into his pocket, fishing around for something, “What’s my total?”

“That will be 3.50.” You say with a smile, holding out your hand.

He dispenses his payment into your palm before stowing his items away in his free pocket.

“Thank you.” He grunts, the hand you touched still kind of awkwardly lingering away from his body.

Was he going to wash it as soon as he got the chance?

Did you smell weird?

“Of course, have a nice day. Safe travels.” With a wave, you send him off, missing the small smile that momentarily appears on his face.

You’re genuinely relieved that the encounter is over but, you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t intrigue you.

Before you’re able to get your bearings and move on, Jane is rushing over to you frantically.

“What on Earth was that??? Do you know him??? Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?!” She swats your arm, her eyes wide with incredulity.

“Ow!” You grip your arm, “What are you talking about?”

The man has already disappeared back into the crowd but, you’re still attempting to keep your voice at a reasonable level.

Jane does not follow suit.

“You just put your hands on the Tiger!” Jane shrieks causing you to recoil in response, “He could kill you for that! What were you thinking?”

“He’s going to kill me because I touched his hand?” Your brow arches in amusement, as your lips threaten to smile, “I had no idea who he was Jane, I was just helping a paying customer.”

She doesn’t like your answer and quickly swats your arm again, “Y/N this is not a joke! He’s a dangerous man. I nearly fainted when you looked him in his eyes but, then you touched him and-”

“Jane, that’s enough.” The fisherman hisses, gesturing wildly to the crowd of people, “You’re making a scene and he’s still out here somewhere.”

She huffs her hands rushing to smooth out the apron over her dress before rushing a finger into your face, “You won’t be laughing if he shows up at your house with a sword in your face. You need to be careful.”

You smirk at this but otherwise comply, not wishing to fire her up any further, “Thank you for your concern Jane, I’ll make sure to carry my sword around too, you know, just in case.”  

Jane snorts then and rolls her eyes, scurrying back to her cart and mumbling something along the lines of:

“That mouth is going to get you killed...”

You can’t help but giggle.

There’s no doubt that the man you just spoke to was a warrior and, maybe he was some almighty warrior but he other than an intense staring problem, he didn’t scare you at all.

Thankfully, business is booming for the remainder of the day and although you’re thrilled at the money you’ll be taking home, you aren’t looking forward to all the replenishing you have to do.  

The last order of business before heading home is picking a few things for your parents and grabbing the last of the steamed buns for your best friend.

Rachel has lived beside you ever since you can remember. The two of you spent most of your childhood running around the village, causing mini bouts of chaos everywhere you went. Despite the challenges life had brought the both of you, you grew together rather than apart.  

Rachel is the village’s most treasured teacher and she’s been running the school for the past few years. She’s kind of the best and, you have a feeling she’ll be interested to hear about the rather interesting events that had transpired over the course of your day.  

As you turn down the dirt path towards her home, you start to wonder where the Tiger and his fleet would be staying.  

Your village wasn’t run-down but it wasn’t exactly luxurious by any standards.

The rubble near the beginning of the street along with the various empty wooden barrels doesn’t exactly count as décor and, the occasional drunken argument outside the village’s tavern certainly doesn’t add any class to the area but, its home.  

Rachel's house is easy to spot amongst the rest of the street as it’s the only one completely covered in plants.

She’s had a love of greenery for quite sometime and, it’s amongst the many things you two bond over.  

Adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you immediately reach for the handle and use all your weight to shove the front door open.  

Rachel is sitting on her sofa and despite the fact that she was expecting you, she still jumps at the sound.

“Oh my goodness!” She exclaims “Have you ever heard of knocking???”

You giggle but otherwise ignore her and lean against the door dramatically, “Rachel, you better get one last look at me because, this might be the last time you ever see me.”

She laughs lightly and folds her arms, “What did you do this time? Did you call the apothecary a fraud again?” Wiggling her fingers, she reaches out for the snacks your holding.

“Ok first of all, he is a fraud but no....it’s much much worse.” You shove the snacks into her awaiting hands before flopping down on the armchair, “I touched a man’s hand...”

She freezes, the bun lingering near her mouth, “Alright, now I am officially curious, why is hand touching worse?”

You smirk, “I touched...the Tiger’s hand” You point a finger at her quickly as her lips part, “Before you even make the joke, no it wasn’t a real tiger...it was THE tiger.”

Rachel snorts with laughter before going wide-eyed in shock, “You...wha--the Tiger? THE Tiger??? You TOUCHED the Tiger?!!?!? What were you thinking?!? Oh my god, did he bite? Wait, focus, Rachel---Why did you touch the Tiger?!?”  

Whilst she’s rambling on you burst out in a fit of giggles, snuggling back against the chair, “He came to my cart looking for a good salve for his hands. All I did was do an assessment as I normally do to see what he needed. I don’t understand why everyone is freaking out...he seemed pretty harmless to me.”

She leans forward on the couch, “Harmless? He seemed...harmless?!?” She whispers frantically, “He has personally slain hundreds of men with those very hands!!!  

“Why are we whispering?...”

Rachel returns to normal volume, rolling her eyes “Fine. More like thousands if you count how many his army has obliterated. And you just pawed at him--are you insane? He has killed people for less! At least that’s what the rumors say.”  

You keep giggling, completely unfazed as you make yourself at home, “The rumors also say that he killed an entire village because they played their trumpets for him. I don’t know how credible these rumors are.”

“Well....what was he like then? You cannot drop this information on me and not give me every detail.” She insists, gesturing wildly at you before leaning back and sipping from her mug.

“Uh he was fine. I mean- he was normal I guess, I don’t know. He has really long hair, its blonde- like really blonde. He looks young, way younger than I thought he’d be. He has a big scar over his eye. Jane was practically drooling over him...”

Realization crosses Rachel’s face as she watches you intently. She relaxes back into her chair as a knowing smile spreads across her face, “Ohhhh young, blonde, mysterious...Jane must really HAVE been drooling. Seems like she’s not the only one, though...”

“I mean- the fisherman guys were pretty excited too I guess. I don’t know what the big deal is honestly, I know he’s supposed to be good on the battlefield but they were treating him like he was some kind of king or something.” You narrow your eyes “Are you suggesting I was drooling over him? Because I definitely wasn’t...I even told him to wait his turn in line.” You insist, shifting around on the chair.

Rachel crosses her legs dramatically, steeping her fingers as she observes you, “Was that before or after you found out he was handsome? Hmm?” She smirks again, holding her hands up innocently, “I am implying nothing, I am just NOTICING that you are definitely affected by him. I haven’t seen you impressed by....well, anyone.”

She’s not wrong.

“Hey hey whoa...who said anything about impressed?? I’m not impressed. I’m not impressed at all.”

Rachel eyes you suspiciously”...right...not impressed at all. Well, did you at least hear anything about them? Any word on how long the army will be here? We’ve got to be the safest village in the country as long as they are in town.” Suddenly, she facepalms in realization, “My students will be so distracted as long as they are here.”

“Not impressed. He’s just a man with a scar and sword...” You insist, twiddling your thumbs “I guess they are just refueling, I’m not sure how long they will be here. Jane told me I need to watch my back so, hopefully not for long...” You giggle again, thinking of how excited the schoolchildren will be now that the legendary Tiger is in town, “maybe you can make an assignment out of it...”

She stares off into space for a moment and mutters, “that’s not a bad idea...we could get outside, maybe a soldier could come speak to them? There’s got to be at least one that’s not terrifying?...” Rachel shakes her head, unimpressed with your lack of understanding, “Just a man with a scar and sword—he is the most feared military leader of our generation! And I wouldn’t worry TOO much about watching your back. After all—none of the legends involve the Tiger killing civilians, do they? At the very least his presence here means good business for the village. If you can get the Tiger as a repeat customer I can only imagine the profits you’ll turn at that little stall!” She muses, laugh heartily, “Buy the salve that soothed a beast! I can hear the gossip already...”

You point a finger at her, “I like the way you think. If you ever want to stop educating and enriching the minds of our youth and be my business partner, let me know...” Suddenly the humor within you dissipates as the reality of your situation seems to sink in, “You don’t think I should be worried though right?”

Rachel lets out a short laugh, “Thanks for the offer...” She shakes her head, “As far as this Tiger business is concerned...I don’t think your safety is under any threat. How did he react when you touched him? Did he seem angry?”

“He just froze...” You recall, your eyes unfocusing slightly, “It was kind of weird honestly. I’ve never had anyone do that before. It’s pretty normal to get checked out during an apothecary visit. I guess I wasn’t supposed to look at him either but, how the hell am I supposed to do an exam if I can’t look at his face?”

“Hmmm...that is strange. I’ll be honest, I thought he would have scolded you or pulled away based on the stories. Unless...” Rachel slumps back against her sofa, her face relaxing into a smirk, “...he was just as surprised by you as you were of him.”

You wrinkle your nose, “Ew no. Definitely not.”  

Rachel doesn’t look convinced but you continue nevertheless, suddenly wishing to change the subject.

“He looked nervous I guess- I don’t know. His hand just sort of hung there after I finished. Today was weird...anywayyy-” You nod to the dough between your palms, “How are the buns? Did anything interesting happen in the education world.”

“Oh three boys got in a worm eating contest and threw up on their practice parchment so I could go without that kind of interesting for awhile. The buns are transcendent as usual but you-” She narrows her eyes in your direction, “- are dodging. Why would a general be nervous around you hmm? You said he is young...is he also handsome?”

“Ah god I love kids...” You note with a giggle before shrugging, shrinking back into the chair, “I don’t know. Objectively he- he definitely wasn’t ugly.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow, “I sense there is more to it than that.”

“Fine. He was easily the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. There! Are you happy now?” You grumble before dramatically staring off into the distance, “Oh to be murdered by the most handsome man alive...how romantic.”

This prompts a twinkling bout of laughter from Rachel who has finally finished the first of her many snacks, “I can think of worse ends my friend. Perhaps that was your only interaction? I am sure he is busy making preparations; too busy to be executing smart-mouthed apothecaries. I wouldn’t fret too much Y/N.”

With you sigh, you accept her analysis, sending a nod her way, “You’re probably right and, that’s probably for the best.” Despite the conviction in your tone, you can feel the disappointment on your face, “Thank you for calling my mouth smart.” You smirk before nodding toward the door, “I should probably head home. My father has a nasty cough and I seriously doubt he’s taken the medicine I left for him.”

Meeting you at the door, Rachel pulls you in for a big hug, “The smartest mouth in town- that's why I keep you around. Give your father my love and tell him, if he gives you a hard time—I will find out!”

You laugh, hugging her tightly, “The second smartest mouth in town...” You insist, “let’s do the tavern this weekend please. The children have been taking all your time and I miss my best friend!”

“Of course! No pack of tiny ruffians can get between me and a night out.”

You pat her shoulder gently before stepping out of the doorframe, “That’s right.” You smile, thankful to have someone like her in your life, “love you, have a good night.”

“Good night, sleep tight...” She sings, slowly closing the door, “don’t let the Tiger bite!” She laughs wildly before slamming the door shut to prevent your retaliation.

She’s a menace.

The walk back home is pleasant, the fall breeze nips at your skin through your sweater but, it feels refreshing against your flushed cheeks.  

Your parents are asleep by the time you return home.  

It’s common for you to arrive well past their bedtime but, despite your lack of contact, they still manage to make you feel loved.

On the kitchen table sits bowl of stew and freshly baked bread, along with a new blanket for the winter.  

Your mom makes a fresh one everywhere with thicker fabric to combat the icy freeze of the winter climate. The stew will be cold but, your heart will be warm and your stomach will be full.  

In truth, these are the only things that matter to you.  

Living simple certainly has it’s drawbacks but overall, you are comforted by it. Your parents raised you to be thankful for the things you have and to only set your sights on obtaining things that truly matter to you. It doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have goals but, your parents have always stressed that external success can be fickle and, material possessions only take you so far.  

Being content is truly priceless and, you’re thankful they instilled these values into you.

Climbing into bed, you allow your mind to wander to the man you met today.  

You couldn’t quite understand the legend behind him. Not to say that he wasn’t worthy of such folklore but, it’s more so that you didn’t exactly understand the warnings behind it.  

He didn’t seem scary.

Although, it’s possible his demeanor is something he uses along with his beauty.

It could be that the Tiger lives up his animal comparison.

Beautiful and deadly.

Village gossip shouldn’t keep you awake longer than necessary, you think, it’s time to rest up so that tomorrow’s work day doesn’t feel like a never-ending task.  

With the sound of the whistling wind just outside your home, you slowly close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

Your plan for a peaceful nights rest is completely demolished when you feel the frantic hands of your mother shaking you awake.

“Y/N! Wake up! Wake up! Raiders- they are raiders outside, hurry!” She drags the covers off of you, “We have to go!”

In a haphazard blur, you spring to your feet and arm yourself with a few important possessions and your sword.  

Your parents tow behind you as you make your way out of your home.  

The village is in utter chaos; shouting, clanking metal, screaming, amber flames peaking out from above the rooftops.  

You grab your mothers arm, keeping her close to you as you try your best to follow procedures.

Like most smaller villages, your area is equipped with a protocol that will ensure the least amount of damage if there were to be an invasion.

Collect the essentials and gather your loved ones

Arm yourself

Make your way to the town square; there is strength in numbers.

Allow the raiders to take what they want (with the exception of human lives)

Negotiate

Simple in theory but, rarely in practice.

It’s difficult to keep up with a protocol during times of intense stress.

Amidst the chaos, you see Rachel scrambling out of her house, with a bag slung over her shoulder.

You cry out for her, desperately hoping she will hear your voice over the madness,

“Rachel! Over here!”

With wide eyes, she reaches out for your mother’s hand, bowing her head to shield from any possible debris.  

“The army is here, they will protect us.” Your father murmurs solemnly beside you, his face stoic and rid of any bit of positivity

This could end very badly.  

The four of you rush into the town square, trying your best to remain calm throughout the screaming, back up against a wall. Your grip tightens on your mothers hand as you spot the tents of the armed guests currently residing in your village.

The raiders continue their plundering throughout the town accompanied by the sounds of glass breaking and shouting.  

Suddenly, there is a different sound: the clanking of swords. Briefly, you can see glimpses of armor peeking out of homes, the sight causing your eyes to widen.

“Look!”

Rachel and your parents crane their necks to see what you’re pointing out as the sounds coming from within your village begin to change.

Grunting, groaning, more clanking swords and a bit of shouting shoot out of the main street like fireworks.

“Clear the path!” An unfamiliar voice shouts and it’s then you can see what’s going on.

The raiders have been captured thanks to the ominous group of tourists that arrived yesterday.

Oddly enough, you don’t even remember seeing them leave their tents and it makes you wonder how the hell they managed to move so quickly undetected.  

There are several men, dressed in black and gold armor, dragging the raiders by their shirts to the center of town square. One of them is a tall, doe eyed looking man with shaggy brown hair and biceps that could likely snap a neck if they so desired. He has his sword to the back of one of the raiders who scuffles along on his knees to meet with the rest of his captured teammates.  

As the rest of the soldiers file in, another leader of the troop, tall and equally broad, gestures to Bambi with the biceps.

“Jungkook-ah! Bring the leader to the center; let our general deal with him.”

Jungkook does just that, quickly the toe of his boot into the back of the raider and jerking his head to the center of the plaza, “You heard him- move.” He grunts and the raider reluctantly shuffles forward.

Your fellow villagers are reasonably alarmed but, they all seem to freeze in place as they watch the show unravel before them.

This is already more excitement than your village has had in ages and, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eating it up.

The man who has now been identified as Jungkook, steps away from the raider, still pointing his sword at him, a smug smirk on his face, “You know for a master thief, you were far too easy to catch. Lucky for me, I made a bet with my brothers here that I would catch you in 10 minutes,” Jungkook walks back towards the man, entangling his fingers in the roots of his hair before tugging backwards, “, and according to the clock tower, it only took me 8.”  

Beside you, Rachel seems to swallow back her surprise before subconsciously starting to fan her face,  

“Goodness, he really is something huh?”

Despite the tense nature of the situation, her demeanor makes you giggle,  

“Stop drooling over the calvary...”

She smacks you playfully which causes your father to shush both of you, a moment which reminds you of your schoolyard days.

A bit of immaturity is actually refreshing after the events of this morning.

“Jungkook-ssi,” A voice bellows throughout the plaza, sending a chill down your spine, “What have I told you about placing bets on our captors huh?”

As the voice grows louder, you see him: the Tiger, stepping out from the main street, his long platinum hair flowing freely in the wind. His hand brandishes a sword, one that most certainly possesses the ability to inflict some serious harm.  

Sheepishly, Jungkook smirks, releasing the man’s hair roughly and stepping back to his original spot, his sword posing to strike.

“Sorry hyung, this one was just too easy. I saw him skirting the perimeter last night, I know it would be a sure win once I saw his technique.”

So that’s how the army was able to move so quickly; they already anticipated this attack.

The Tiger chuckles darkly, his eyes alight with pure delight, “Aish- what am I going to do with you people hm?”  

He moves like his name; slow, deliberate, deadly- you know that you’re about to witness an execution and you aren’t sure if you can stomach the sight, even if these raiders deserve it.

Its your turn to swallow back your reaction to him which doesn’t go unnoticed by your best friend standing beside you.

“Now look who’s drooling...” She teases, giggling as you playfully shove your elbow into her side.

The crowd is dangerously still, hanging on each syllable the Tiger speaks whilst his men, six other soldiers roughly his size, watch intently.

The rest of the raider clan are being held captive by the remainder of the fleet, bowing their heads in shame and fear but, the leader seems unaffected by their defeat.

“You lot aren’t men.” The man spits, his accent thick,  “you’re narcissistic little boys who like to play dress up. You’re cowards, hiding behind your swords, killing everything that stands in your way. You have no idea how the other half live. You have no honor.”

There are gasps throughout the crowd then as your village grows shocked at the way he’s spoken to the Tiger.

If you had any hope that this wouldn’t end violently, it’s been squashed by the time the leader finishes his sentence.

The Tiger however, merely chuckles again, a light smirk on his carnation lips,

“It’s odd that a man who earns his keep by stealing from others would have the authority to lecture my men and I about honor.” He kisses his teeth and slowly raises his sword to brush against the man’s cheek, “Look at all these poor people hm? You've terrified them. Your lack of intelligence isn’t their burden to bear now is it? But you have made it their problem; ripped them from their homes, terrorized their children, their livelihoods and, all because you’re too incompetent to learn your own trade.”

The Tiger’s words infuriate him and the next thing you know, he’s lunging off the ground towards the Tiger, a snarl arising on his mouth.

It prompts your hands to fly to your face and your feet to nearly trip over themselves as you brace for the inevitable fight.

But it doesn’t come.  

With one swoop of his arm, the Tiger has the leader knocked to the floor and underneath his leather boot. Jungkook has reacted quickly as well, his arm raising in the air to slice his sword through the man’s body. With one twitch of his hand however, the Tiger stops Jungkook from following through,

“See? You can’t do things like that my friend. Because if you do, my big friend here with the sword will slice your greasy head in two.” The Tiger smirks again, before turning his head over his shoulder, “You folks wouldn’t want to spend the day cleaning blood of your beautiful plaza now would you?”

Overexcited villagers quickly shout various commentary at him,

“Kill him!”

“Cut his head off!”

“Make him pay!”

The Tiger chuckles once more, raising his brows as the man struggles beneath his boot, “Well, I guess you’re lucky they aren’t in charge of your punishment...” He looks up towards the remainder of his fleet, nodding his head at the other prisoners, “Namjoon, Jin: ensure that none of these men are here against their will. If the rest of you are here by choice, I suggest you make yourselves disappear into the forest before I allow these fine people to get ahold of you.”

Immediately, the Tiger’s fleet begin following his orders and take the men away towards their tents. As they walk out of the plaza, only Jungkook, the Tiger and the clan leader remain.  

You notice Jungkook scan the crowd then, peering out at the eager faces watching the show he is willingly apart of. Very briefly but noticeably, his eyes land on your best friend and as they do, they seem to linger.

He looks curious, almost boyish in a way as his ways seem to memorize her face but before Rachel even realizes what’s going on, his eyes quickly return to the raider.  

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it. Don’t be a coward, I can’t listen to you ramble any longer.” The man growls which prompts the Tiger to push his foot down a little harder upon his back.

“I’m not your executioner, thief. Your fate resides with the Queens.” He explains, matter of factly before jerking his head towards Jungkook, “Put him in the portable cell. I’ll send a notice to the council that we have a criminal that needs to be dealt with.”

Jungkook nods, eagerly crossing the bit of plaza and kneeling down to restrain the man with handcuffs.

He grips the chain linking them and heaves him upwards so he’s standing between the two men.  

“I’ll hose him off first,” Jungkook wrinkles his nose in disgust, “I don’t want him stinking up our camp.”

“Fuck you-” The man spits, jerking his wrists in Jungkook’s grip which then causes the Tiger to raise his sword once again.

“Behave yourself, thief.” He commands, his eyes darkening for the first time, “I’m assuming if you’ve heard stories of my fleet, you are privy to the fact that we don’t miss our target. Please don’t give me a reason to live up to my name.”

With that, the two men drag off the clan leader towards the rest of their fleet, not bothering to look back at the dozens of people they just saved.

They ignore the applause, the gratitude, the pleas for them to return and feast.

You have to admit that you’re shocked.  

The supposedly wicked and ruthless Tiger sure seems to have quite a bit of restraint and diplomacy.

“Did he- did he really just let him go? Unharmed?”

Rachel asks a very good question and it seems to be the one on your parents minds as well.

“It’s extremely odd. I was fully prepared to witness an execution, he would have been within his right.” Your father notes, his eyes still trained on the center of the plaza.

Generals have a certain level of freedom with the prisoners they choose to capture; they are expected to have good judgement and carry out punishments if necessary.

In essence, the Tiger had every bit of authority to end that mans life and, given that he an eager crowd behind him, it genuinely perplexes you.

“Organized raids come with an automatic life sentence, the leaders are usually executed within a few days of their trial.” Your mother notes and it’s then that Rachel notices your silence.

“Well I think it’s safe to say that you didn’t make it on his hit list. You can’t be worse than a lead raider...” She grins, knowing full well that your confusion also comes with an annoying amount of curiosity.  

She also knows that you plan on finding a way to speak with him again.  

And she is absolutely right.

--------------------------

“Should I say hi to Jungkook for you? Ask if he’s betrothed?” You tease and Rachel promptly throws balled up dress your way.

You went to her house after the excitement in the town square to bake a batch of fresh bread for the Tiger’s fleet.

Bread is increasingly hard to come by these days due to a crop shortage in the northern region so despite what people may think, most military diets consist of salted meat and corn.  

Doughy, fluffy, cheesy, rosemary bread is a luxury.

“I have a feeling you’ll be preoccupied with your mission to court the Tiger.” She retorts but a deep frown comes over her then, as she wraps the last loaf in parchment paper, “Are you sure you should be doing this? Waltzing over to a tent full of dangerous soldiers doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“I want to thank them.” You insist, loading your basket with the rest of the loaves, glancing up at your worried friend, “All the village ever talks about is how ruthless they are, how cruel they are known to be but, the reality is: they saved us. It must be frustrating to refuel just as any other fleet would and have people gossip about you or fear you unnecessarily. I’m not planning on staying for tea or anything, I just want to show my appreciation.”

Rachel raises her brows, “That’s all hm?”

You nod, “Yep.” Your lips pop with the sound of the p and Rachel remains unconvinced.

“This has nothing to do with the Tiger?”

“Of course not.” Your answer tumbles past your lips far too quickly and, it causes your friend to grin knowingly at you.

“I know that look-”

“Ugh what look?”

“The look. That one-” She points at you, “You’re about to do something you know you shouldn’t.”

Her smile is far too contagious and her knowledge of you surpasses anyone you’ve ever known in your life.  

She has your number and there really is no point in lying to her.

“Fine, ok maybe it has a little something to do with the Tiger-” You smirk, trying to stifle the giggle that threatens your disposition, “Don’t laugh at me!”

Rachel’s twinkling laughter fills the room as she rounds the counter. Placing her hands on your shoulders, she smiles fondly at you, “Just be careful ok? I know he intrigues you and honestly I’m not at all surprised but, don’t let your curiosity get in the way of your safety. That’s the most important thing.”  

“I won’t.” You promise, smiling back at her, placing your hands on hers, “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Rachel helps you out once again, insuring you have everything you need before her soft voice is answering a question you asked moments earlier.

“And uh about that Jungkook boy-”

You smirk, “He’s definitely not a boy, did you see his muscles? He looks like he could bench press a mountain lion.”

She grows flustered, “No, I didn’t see any muscles, I have no idea what you’re talking about-”

“Oh so you also didn’t notice him staring at you in the plaza today right?”

Rachel’s eyes widen, “Wait he was?” She clears her throat, amending her eagerness as you giggle, “He definitely wasn’t staring at me don’t be ridiculous. What I was going to say-”

“What you were going to say is that ‘no Y/N, I don’t want you to check on Jungkook’s marital status directly but, should you happen to come across his left hand, let me know whether or not you see a shiny band around his finger, not that I would care or anything. Because, I totally don’t have the hots for him.’ “

Her mouth opens and then closes like a fish before she playfully nudges you through her doorway, “Shut up.”

With a laugh and a few parting words, you are off to visit the tent of your village's heroes.  

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous.

But you’d also be lying if you said you were nervous for the right reasons.

The concept of walking into the basecamp of a supposedly elite and ruthless fleet is one thing but, talking to someone you find attractive?  

Absolutely terrifying.

Your presence is immediately noted by the men inside the camp.

Two of them are seated at a table outside of one of the tents, hands and teeth full of meat, their motions freezing in place as they see you.

As you pass by one of their horses, you notice of them is speaking with a group of raiders.  

The conversation seems amicable, suggesting that many of the raider clan was indeed in your village against their will.

You approach the main but, before you are able to make ring the bell on the outside, you are crashing chest first into a very firm and very broad chest.

“Holy-” The voice sounds familiar and as you look up, you are meet with the bambi with biceps himself: Jungkook.

“Hello I-” You attempt to begin but his panicked voice interrupts you.

“Yah hyung??? Uh there’s a-” He swallows thickly stepping away from you, “There’s a girl here!”

The word seems foreign on his tongue and his behavior genuinely surprises you.

Where was the cocky warrior from this morning, brandishing a sword and placing bets on his captors?

“Jungkook, for the last time- we don’t use that word. We say young lady or woman...” Another voice, one you don’t recognize fades into your scope of hearing before pushing open the fabric of the tent. He is arguably just as beautiful as the other men, tall, dark haired, buff- as if he would be anything else.

“Oh, hello. Are you...” The man narrows his brows as he looks towards the group of raiders speaking with one of his counterparts, “Are you with the group or?”

You shake your head, your basket swinging when you turn back towards the village, “Oh no, no I’m from the village. My name is Y/N Y/L/N...” You bow your head slightly, “I came here to bring you this,” You gesture to the basket, “It’s fresh bread. I wanted to thank you for saving my people today.”

You feel the need to rush out your explanation as the rest of the fleet continues to stare at you. In fact, the way they are looking at you is rather unnerving.

It isn’t disrespectful just intrusive; they are looking at you as if you’ve sprouted a second head.

“You-” The man before you cocks his head, looking befuddled, “You came here to- thank us?”

“Well yes, I know bread is hard to come by and I figured you could use a pick-me-up after your fight this morning.”

He smiles now but his incredulity doesn’t change as he takes the basket from your hands, “It’s warm.” He notes, “Did you bake this recently?”

“Yes I baked it today, just now actually uh-” You decide to speak candidly now since the possible threat margin seems to be closing, “You look confused.”

Jungkook is practically hiding behind the man you’re addressing and it takes a large part of you not to laugh at his behavior.

“Forgive me.” He chuckles, “We aren’t exactly used to hospitality. Most villagers avoid us like the plague, it probably has to do with our General but regardless.” He bows his head, “We appreciate the gesture. I’ll make sure to pass along your gratitude to him once he returns.”  

“Oh is he not here? I was hoping to thank him myself.” You try and mask the disappointment in your tone, not wishing to come across as stranger than you already did.

The man shakes his head, “No. He often takes a walk after an invasion; gotta make sure the perimeter is secure.” He smiles and you are taken aback by how white his teeth were, “My name is Seokjin, I’m the outreach expert on the fleet and unofficial chef. I promise your bread will be put to good use, it’s been months since we’ve had any decent carbs.”  

His comment makes you smile and you are delighted that his demeanor is so welcoming.

“I’m sorry to heart that. Will you be in town long? I can try to set you up with a few more baskets before your departure?”

Seokjin chuckles warmly before snorting as Jungkook paws at the basket, “Easy.” He admonishes but its too late, Jungkook already has half a loaf down in his mouth, his chest rumbling with the sound of his groan.  

“Oh my god hyung, it’s so good...”

Seokjin looks disgusted with him but hands him the basket anyway, nodding to the rest of the fleet, “Share. Make sure you save a loaf for Yoongi and I.”

Jungkook happily obliges but not before turning towards you and bowing, “Uh thanks for the- for the bread....”

His sentence is choppy and over before it even begins as he goes bounding off in the direction of his team.

“Pardon him, he’s been in the army since he was fourteen. We haven’t done an amazing job at socializing him but, he’s getting better. He’s still a bit antsy around women though.” Seokjin chuckles, fondness in his eyes, “Ah but to answer your question, yes. We've decided to set up here for a few weeks to train our new recruits. I would love to more of this bread if it’s not too much trouble.”

You smile, waving him off, attempting to conceal your happiness at the news he’s just delivered, “Nonsense, I’d be happy to bake some more.”

“Excellent!” He chirps, clasping his hands together, “I’m sure Yoongi would be happy to know we’ve finally manage to contact with a villager. It’s been an issue for us, stories spread like wildfire you know? And just like wildfire, they tend to do more harm than good.”

“And Yoongi is?”

Seokjin chuckles, “Ah I believe you’d know him better as...” He flutters his fingers dramatically, “ the Tiger.”

Yoongi.

So that was his name.

“Oh yes,” You amend, “I’ve certainly heard of him but, I prefer to make my own judgements rather than succumb to the gossip.”

He smirks, “That’s very noble of you Y/N. I for one,” He places a hand on his chest, throwing a wink your way, “, live for the gossip.”

Your meeting with Seokjin ends soon after that with a promise that you would return with more bread.  

As much as you wanted to rush back to Rachel’s house to inform of your meeting with the ‘most dangerous fleet in the world’, you remind yourself that school is in session; a necessary but annoying inconvenience.

However, there are plenty of ways you plan on keeping busy for the remainder of the day and one of them involves visiting the river to collect more herbs for your remedies.  

You obviously weren't able to sell your wares today as the marketplace was still littered with evidence of the robbery.  Your parents had insisted you take the day off to restock and recuperate whilst they helped the village leaders clean up.

Reluctantly, you agreed and you are now very grateful that you had.

The river has always been one of your favorite places. It was rich, green, buzzing with life and, always a few degrees colder than your village. Surrounded by mossy trees that seem to stretch as high as the clouds, the river is encased with life. Rabbits, squirrels, tortoises, frogs and a plethora of birds all coral in the area the river resides in whilst bears, big cats, wolves and monkeys hide behind the dense forest. It’s any apothecary’s paradise as it is also the residence of any herbs capable of growing in damp areas.  

Angelica, Blue Vervain, Marshmallow, Stinging Needle and more: the river is your one stop shop for so many of your essential ingredients.

Today you’re after a particular herb though and armed with another woven basket, you make your way towards the large bushels of it growing at the base of a tree trunk.

Valerian is an essential herb in your arsenal and due to its popularity, it’s something you’re consistently having to restock.  

Gathering it carefully, ensuring you don’t disturb the root of the plant.

You are so enthralled with your current task that you don’t even notice that you are no longer alone.

“Is this where the tree bark grows?”

You jump nearly six feet out of your skin, whipping your head around to face your intruder.

Standing before you is the myth himself, the Tiger or as you’ve recently learned: Yoongi.

He’s still in his armor from earlier, his long tendrils pulled back away from his face into a low ponytail. Between his lips, which are curving slightly, is a piece of the bark he had taken from your cart the day prior.

He is chewing it as you instructed.

“You of all people should know not to ambush someone like that...” You breath, placing a hand on your chest, “I could have wacked you with this basket or something.”

He just smirks, “I’ve had worse.” He notes, taking the bark from between his teeth, “I’m sorry I frightened you though, I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

“Likewise.” You retort, nodding your head at the bark, “Is it helping?”

He shrugs, “Too early to tell I suppose but, it’s tending to my oral fixation so, either way it has a purpose.”

You straighten up a bit more and smooth out your dress, “It will work, it just takes a bit of time.” You assure him before adjusting the herbs in your basket, “I came by your tent earlier to offer my thanks for what you and your men did today, your outreach coordinator Seokjin told me he’d pass along the message but-”

“You did what?”

His tone doesn’t entirely lean one way or the other and you quickly grow worried that you offended him.

“I brought a basket of bread to uh-” You swallow thickly, meeting the intensity of his gaze, “to your camp as a thank you for saving my village.”

Several emotions flicker across his face before he settles on surprise, “I see. Were they polite?”

You can’t help but smile, this day truly has been full of surprises and, Yoongi’s demeanor is only adding to that list.  

“I only had the privilege of meeting Seokjin and well- I kind of met Jungkook but, he seemed a little-”

“Awkward?” Yoongi smirks

“A little.” You amend, “But both of them were very polite. They explained that they often don’t receive any hospitality on stops like this; I was very sorry to hear that.”

Yoongi’s teeth seem to catch the inside of his cheek as he nods curtly, “There’s no need for apologies. Hospitality is welcome but, never expected. I try to teach my men that we should never expect gratitude for what we do as it so often comes with a price.”

“I suppose gratitude should be offered situationally then, there was very little draw back to what you did today. Our village is privy to raiders; maybe if word gets around that you all were in town, that might prevent this from happening again.”

He purses his lips before nodding in consideration, “I see you’re point. Regardless of its necessity, gratitude is always welcome: especially when free food is involved.”

His comment makes you giggle and your laughter makes his lips itch in a way they never have.

“I wholeheartedly agree with that. I get a surprising amount of baked goods sent my way doing what I do so, I’ll have no problem dolling out the gratitude while you all are here.”  

Yoongi’s brows knit in confusion, “Do you people often pay you in baked goods?”

Laughter flows freely out of your mouth then and you shake your head at his question, “Definitely not, I sell my goods for currency as does any obedient member of society,” At this Yoongi smirks again, he likes your wit, a lot, “but I do receive muffin baskets, cakes, pies and whatnot from happy customers. They’re mainly from women whose husbands have taken my ginseng remedy.”

His curiosity blooms, “And why is that?”

You feel a bit of heat rushing to your cheeks, “Ginseng enhances uh- drive, often times it can be used a stimulant to promote you know-” You’re hoping Yoongi will put the pieces together but instead his eyes remain expectant, “passion.”

The word makes Yoongi straighten up a bit and in an effort to look casual, he nods quickly and hums a little too loudly.

“Ah yes. Of course. Well, as I said- free food is free food right?” He wagers, his fingers rubbing at the bit of bark.

Its your turn to smirk now but, you quickly change the subject when you ask, “Is the leader of the clan secure? I didn’t see him when I passed through your camp.”

He clears his throat, bringing the bark back towards his mouth, “He is. I have him locked up just behind the trees so he isn’t able to influence the new recruits. He had an alarming number of unwilling participants within his group, many of them claimed to be brought there with the threat of physical harm.”

You kiss your teeth and shake your head, “I don’t understand that kind of behavior. I understand that sometimes desperate people do desperate things but, to exert power or harm over another person without a viable cause...it just makes no sense to me.”

He’s intrigued now and as he brings the bark back to his lips, his brow knit with curiosity, “Hm. So do you think there is a justification to steal but not to commit violence?”

You can’t figure out why your opinion would matter to him but, you sure as hell aren’t going to question the length of this conversation.

“I think that some people believe they have no other choice but to steal. Wealth and power aren’t possible without a poor man to stand on, to oppress- I don’t support the idea of taking what doesn’t belong to you but, I could see why people are driven to do so. People are growing tired of being the poor man. Senseless violence isn’t something I could find a justification for. What the raiders often do, is both so I guess-” You hesitate, “I’m conflicted.”

Yoongi is captivated by your explanations, not because they are particularly ground breaking but, because they are particularly human. You aren’t afraid to discuss the complexity of life nor are you afraid to admit when certain things confound you.

“That’s a fair assessment. Do you agree with today’s outcome?”

Your smile returns, as you adjust the basket on your arm again, “I did. Especially because it seemed to surprise everyone, myself included.”

His lips return to his smirk, “Why? Because I didn’t behead him?”

“Exactly.” You breathe out a laugh before continuing,  “I for one was shocked to see you deal with the situation without your trusty viper...”  

His face turns to one of incredulity, “Oh my- you're not serious are you? Do people genuinely think I keep a viper on me at all times? Do they have any idea how unpractical that is?”

Yoongi’s reaction sends you into a fit of giggles and the sound makes his lips itch again.

He decides he enjoys the sound very much.

“I’m sure you’ve set a few people straight after this morning,” You offer, wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of your eye, “I doubt the rumors will repopulate the same way after you leave.”

“What do you think of them?”

“The rumors?”

“They’re entertaining.” You shrug, “But I don’t like to make assumptions about people unless I’ve met them, not even scary and supposedly cruel generals like yourself.”

The ghost of a smile shows itself on Yoongi’s mouth and his eyes seem to glimmer, pleased with your answer.

“I wish more people had that mindset.”  

It’s all he says before promptly dropping the subject again, nodding in the direction behind him, “I should probably head back to camp. I have a feeling that the longer I am away, the smaller my chances of getting any of that bread become.”

“You’re probably right, I have to be back before sunset anyway.” Your parents don’t like it when you’re out at the river after dark, “It was very nice meeting you Yoongi. I hope you enjoy the bread.”

His lips as he realizes something vital, “I’m sure I will. Forgive me, I don’t remember catching your name...”

At his observation, you extend your hand towards his, “Oh of course, my name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Without looking down, he grasps your hand gently as if he were afraid to break it, “Y/N- I’ll remember it.” He promises unnecessarily but it still sends a flutter through your heart, “Get home safe.”

When he releases your hand, you step back towards the bushel of Valerian before smiling once more,  

“You too.”

As Yoongi departs from the river, he smirks to himself.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be the routine stop he had planned on.

Perhaps this would be so much more.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Enough, For Now

CW: Sickfic, sick whumpee, feverish whumpee, shock collar, brief VERY vague emeto reference, child of whumpee POV, intimate/creepy whumper, noncon touching (nonsexual), noncon kiss (brief)

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with their permission.

"Oh, honey."

The little girl watches around the doorframe as her mother lays a soft hand over her father’s forehead. Her mother’s hair is a waterfall of darkness, the air between the trees on a starless night in the woods behind the house. Her father's is more like tree bark in sunlight, when she doesn't need to worry about what might be hiding in the woods, when they are allowed outside and she can run her fingers over the roughened texture and smell the air. 

Sometimes, her father’s necklace - the thick black band he wears that her mother uses to hurt him - is changed so they can go into the woods. He carries her little brother, who is still a baby, and she walks alongside him proud to help carry things, and the three of them are alone with the whisper of the woods around them.

She saw a bluebird, once, singing. Her father had smiled, just a little, at the flutter of wings when she got too close and it took flight.

He’s not smiling now.

Her father lays on his side on the bathroom floor, his cheek pressed to the impeccably clean black-and-white tiles. His face is flushed and there’s a thin film of sweat sticking his shirt to the curves of his shoulders and stomach. It makes him shine under the gentle warm light even as he shivers, compulsively. When her mother’s hand touches his head, he tenses, just a little, but he still can’t stop shivering. "Miss S-Savvie-"

“Look at you.” Her mother’s voice is simpering-sweet, syrupy, like the maple syrup that her father pours on pancakes when they are alone in the mornings when her mother is out of the house. “Poor thing. I suppose this is because I took you to that party last week, isn’t it? You must have picked something up while we were there.”

The little girl remembers - a swirl of colorful dresses and jewelry, too many adults in too small a space. Everyone wanted to congratulate her mother on getting out of the house just a few months after Jamie was born. A person with a thin smile, who was impossibly elegant, had said her mother’s dress was lovely in a voice that didn’t seem like they meant it. Then they’d looked down at her, and something in their severity had softened.

They’d asked to take the little girl to play with their own child, who was in her bedroom because grown-up parties are pretty boring.

It had been fun, although she had been nervous to be away from her father so long, leaving him without her in the throngs of people and all the perfumes in the air. He’d been nervous, too, happy to sweep her into his arms at the end of the night and carry her to the car with her head on his shoulder, her mother’s hand at the small of his back.

Like a family.

Now, though, her father is sick, and her mother’s eyes are brilliant and sparkling as she presses two fingers into the space just underneath his ear, just behind his jaw. In a real family, the little girl thinks, maybe the mom doesn’t look happy to see the dad is too sick to move. He makes a sound almost like a whine, barely escaping, and the little girl swallows. Her own heart races to see how hard he works to open his eyes. 

“Swollen lymph nodes,” Her mother murmurs. “Jax, did you manage to get the flu from someone? Honestly, sweetie, the first time you’ve gone out with me in two months and you get sick immediately?”

He turns his head to look up at Savvie, and the little girl doesn’t understand it exactly, but she loves the profile of his face because it is her father’s profile, the line of his nose and neck. His hazel eyes are fogged-over and hazy as he moves, and he might nuzzle into her hand, or he might simply hold still and her mother’s hand was already there. 

Then he jerks away, just as quickly, and the little girl goes still and her heart stops with fear - he isn’t allowed to pull away, he isn’t allowed to not smile at her touch, he’ll be in so much trouble. Just as her mother’s eyes go wide their sparkle changes to sunlight off the darkest, deepest ice, Jax begins to cough.

The coughs wrack his body, and he barely covers his mouth. By the time it stops, the first hints of anger have fled her mother’s expression and it has softened again. She sighs and rubs at his back, in soothing soft circles. He drops his hands and turns back to her, a slight half-smile playing on his face, gone, back again.

Wavering, like he’s struggling to remember how to make it.

“‘M sorry, Miss… Miss Savvie,” He says, voice rasping and hoarse. “I-I’m not exactly sure… when I started to feel like this, but…”

Two days ago, the little girl knows. For two sleeps straight, her father’s body has been strange - too hot to the touch, and his hugs have been timid, as though he hurt too much inside to hug as fiercely as he usually did. 

She knows. And he knows.

They don’t tell her mother.

He’s been on the bathroom floor all night. The little girl had found him there when she woke up - not in the big bathroom, but this smaller one in the hall next to her room - and had run to get her mother in her grand bedroom. 

She never ever went in her mother’s room unless she was allowed to or asked, but she’d been so scared when he barely moved at her shaking his shoulder that she had forgotten the rule. He had laid there so pale and listless, collapsed on the cold floor. 

For once, Savvie had not been angry. Instead, she had followed the little girl and told her to wait outside. For a few moments, Savvie had held her hand the way her father usually did, and the little girl had felt… like this was her mother.

But then… then she’d seen Jax. As always, in the little girl's life, the second her mother saw her father, the girl herself was forgotten. Her hand was dropped and she was told to stay out. So the little girl is left on the outside looking in, fingers curled around the doorframe, watching them together.

Her mother's pale pink chemise has a white lace trim that lays across her bare thigh, and her rounded nails are a soft deep mauve as she sighs and moves to kneel, touching his face just at his cheekbone, brushing it with the backs of her knuckles. She smiles, sweet and soft and loving. "It's not your fault, Jax. My poor sweet husband."

Jax only looks up at her, his hazel eyes glimmering and barely focused. But he looks only at her. 

Even sick, he knows not to look away. 

"But... why did you come all the way out here, honey?" Both her hands are on him now, one cupping his face and the other slipping behind his head, to lift it gently off the floor. "Oh, you're so sweaty. Gross.” Savvie's nose wrinkles, a little, and the little girl wonders if her own nose looks like that.

She hopes not.

"Got… Got sick." Her father breathes and it sounds wrong, somehow, too much air or not enough. "Didn't w-want to wake you. You have… an interview today." He coughs again, and Savvie has to let go for him to roll onto his side again and get the awful sounds out. 

Savvie's smile widens. Her blue eyes shine so bright. "How thoughtful," She says, and runs her fingers through the damp strands of his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, again and again. It looks like petting an animal, not trying to be kind to a man. 

If he likes the touch or not, she can't tell. She thinks sometimes he hates every single one. 

“Thought I’d feel b-better afterward,” He says, rough-voiced, eyes closed tightly. “Don’t.”

"Oh, sweetie." Savvie smiles and leans down, presses a kiss to his hair. He holds perfectly still for it. He doesn't even breathe. "I don't deserve you," She whispers, just loud enough for the little girl to hear. "But I'll love you forever anyway. Forever, Jax.”

His eyes open again, turning to look over her face as she pulls away, as though he’s checking for something, searching there. Whatever he finds, he relaxes, just a little. "Love you too, Miss Savvie," He says, and the little girl hears that it is flat, compared to how sometimes he hugs the little girl and says nice things to her. "Need… I just need a minute."

“Of course, darling. We’ll move you downstairs once you think you can walk.” Savvie keeps her fingers moving through his hair, sweaty or not. 

His gaze shifts a little, and he sees the little girl for the first time. He tenses, eyes widening only slightly. "Is-..." He clears his throat. Both of them freeze at how close he comes to the nickname neither of them wants her to know. "Isabella? Why are you-"

"She woke me up," Savvie says, and slides to her knees, slipping her arms around him and carefully helping him to sit up. He leans heavily against her, so heavily Savvie nearly loses her balance, but she manages not to land in an undignified heap. “She saw you and came to get me. She knew you needed my help.”

The girl would have gone to anyone else, if there were anyone. But they’re here alone, and she isn’t allowed to touch the medicine. 

One day, when she’s big enough, she will get him medicine all by herself and she won’t tell her mom anything at all.

“Thank-... thank you, Isabella,” Her father says, in this new sick-voice he has, and when he looks at her, for just a second some of the haze in his eyes is clear. He’s looking at her. It’s only for a second, before he turns back to her mother, and the little girl stores up the way he looked right at her, to save for later times when she is alone. He turns back to Savvie and says, “And th-thank you for coming, Miss Savvie.”

“Of course, sweetie.” Savvie shifts, and the little girl watches as the two of them very slowly stand, Jax working to get his legs under him, standing finally in a way that seems tentative, ready to tip back over at the slightest nudge. His eyes close and his face greys, and the three of them are briefly silent, waiting it out, until the dizziness passes and his eyes open again. “You’re right, though. I do have that interview, and I can’t just be thinking about you, I need to plan… let’s get you downstairs for today. I’ll bring James down once you’re settled.”

There’s a pause, full of meaning and thought the girl doesn’t know how yet to read. “Can… can H-Hannah come to watch them with m-me, or Isaac’s steward, please?” He rarely speaks so many words all at once, unless they’re alone in the sunshine room, where he tells her all the stories about his own family, far far away across an ocean. 

Those are the secret stories, the ones that the little girl knows to never let her mother know she’d heard of. 

He’s not supposed to think about his other family anymore. Her mother says that she made that rule so he wouldn’t leave the little girl and her brother. He never wanted you, anyway. If I told him he could, he’d walk right out the door and leave us all heartbroken, Isabella. So we have to make sure he never thinks of them, so he can’t leave us.

The little girl is scared that her father might leave, if he could. That her mother’s words are true. But she loves the way he smiles when he tells his stories much, much more than she is scared - and he has promised her, over and over with his arms around her, that he would never leave her here alone.

Now, though, Savvie just rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Jax. How is my uncle’s household supposed to stay in order if you keep trying to steal away half his staff?” 

They’re near the door and the girl backs away quickly to stay out of their way, not quite ignored but not needed, either. She watches them move, her mother’s arm around her father’s waist to help him stay upright, and the way he moves so carefully, so slowly, beside her. 

The medicine is in the cabinet in the bathroom, but her mother doesn’t go back for it. Instead, she leads Jax away entirely, towards the grand curving staircase that moves down to the ground floor. The little girl watches, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before she realizes what’s happening.

An interview day. 

That means her father will spend the day in the basement where no one can hear him - that must be where her mother is taking him, to be hidden away. The little girl licks nervously at her lips, and then flies back into the bathroom. There isn’t anything she can stand on in here, but when she climbs up on the side of the bathtub, she can grab the sink and hold, arms shaking with effort as she pulls herself up. 

The cabinet opens for her easily, as she totters, barely balanced on the rounded, shining edge of the sink. Their voices are fading as they move downstairs, her mother’s voice mostly. 

Almost entirely.

The little girl finds what she’s looking for - the last time her father was sick, he was allowed a packet of these little discs that come inside a box. The girl can’t read, but she knows the sun and moon signs on the packages, one for day and one for night. She grabs the whole thing, and then looks down, ready to climb-

Oh.

Oh, it’s farther down than she thought.

Her heart shivers in fear - but sometimes you have to do scary things, her father says it all the time when he tells her he is proud of her after her mother locks her in the dark for time out. This is a scary thing, but-

She jumps.

She crashes hard into the tile floor and lets out a high-pitched cry of pain, rolling along the ground. A bright ache flashes in her knee and arm from how she landed, and she presses her lips together to silence any further sounds. They’re swallowed into whimpers that don’t make it further than the door.

Still, she hears her father call, “Isabella?” He’s worried, he heard her, and the little girl stands back up, clutching the box of medicine with white knuckles on her small hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” She calls back, voice shaky, but she tries to sound fine. It will be much worse for her if her mother thinks she wants attention she’s not supposed to have.

“See? She’s fine,” Savvie says, and their steps fade again. The little girl moves with a focus rarely seen in small children to her room, where she picks up a soft little-kid backpack that is pink and lacey. Her mother picked it. She hates it. In the backpack she stashes some crackers and juice, and on top she puts her favorite stuffed animal, and some crayons. Finally, she forces in a coloring book. Then she moves out into the hall.

Her brother isn’t awake yet, no sound from his room, so she moves like a ghost down the staircase, following her parents to the closet with the hidden door. The door is already open, the wooden steps leading down and down and down. It’s scary, to take each step with the single light leaving so many shadows around, shadows that could have monsters hiding in them.

But sometimes, you have to do scary things.

She sets her jaw and lets her chin jut out, raised a little, and makes her slow and careful way down into the chilly basement, where the secret house is. The little place that her father has to hide, when people who aren’t ‘the right people’ come over, so that the ‘wrong people’ won’t know he’s here.

Her mother is already laying her father down in the little bedroom at the back of the basement place. It's so dark it feels like nighttime in there. She can hear them speaking, but not their words, and she tries to be very good and sits very quietly on the couch, out in what looks like a tiny little living room with a television in it, to wait. 

"Thank you, Miss Savvie," She hears, low and rough. "I l-love you, Miss Savvie."

The little girl winces, gripping the little brightly colored cardboard box with sweaty fingers that start to dampen the ink. Love is a wrong word. It's a word of threats and anger, of making things better by being good.

Her mother's voice is low, and soft, heavy with something the little girl is too young to know. "I love you, too, sweetie. Feel better."

There's silence.

The seconds draw out, and every single one of them is awful. 

Then, her mother murmurs, "I suppose we should stop. I'd hate for me to get sick, too. I'll bring James down once he's up and it'll be just you and the kids. That'll be restful."

He hums, and the silence draws out again, and then she sweeps past the little girl and away without even looking at her. Up the steps, up and up, and the little girl knows they are locked up down here, like always. 

Once her mother is for real gone, the little girl moves, silent as any ghost, down the hall herself, leaving her backpack on the couch. In the bedroom her father lays on his side, coughing a little, mostly just shakes of his shoulders. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and coughs again. The room is all dark except for the light in the hallway that frames her when he catches the motion of her shadow and looks up.

He manages a slight, faint smile. "Izzy. Did you follow us?”

“Yes.” Izzy’s voice is soft and grave. “I didn’t want her to need to bring me and get mad.”

He closes his eyes, just for a second, and nods. “I get it. What've you got there?"

She moves up to the bed and shoves the box into one of his hands. The sweat from her hands has buckled the thin cardboard but the packages inside are still good. "Medicine for your sick."

He stares down at the box, blinking. "Alka-Seltzer Severe Flu," he reads, and then meets her eyes. Theirs nearly match - hazel brown for both. “Izzy, honey, you’re not allowed-” The next round of coughing hits and Izzy scrambles up onto the bed, pulling herself up and moving around behind him, rubbing at his back with her hand like he does when it’s her that’s sick. Her mother’s hands move in circles, like the snake’s eyes in The Jungle Book movie, but her father is a straight line down, lifts up, starts at her shoulder blades and down again.

Izzy presses her lips together in concentration and comforts him just the same way. She whispers, “It’s okay, Daddy, you can cough down here, it’s okay.”

There are tears running out of his eyes when he is finally able to stop, and he’s closed his hand so tightly on the box he crushed it in the middle. He jerks in a breath, then another, and gradually the tremors through his body fade. She keeps rubbing his back. “The-... sound. Was that… was that you getting the medicine?”

She licks at her lips, and whispers, “I’m sorry. You’re sick. I didn’t know what, um, what to do-”

“It’s okay. Hey, I’m not mad. I’m not. C’mere.” He rolls onto his back and holds one arm out in invitation, and she snuggles up to his side, skin burning hot through his clothes but still her father, through and through. “I’m not mad. You’re…” He coughs but this round is short and doesn’t seem to hurt him so much. “You’re a good kid, Iz. D’you know that? Not just a good kid, you’re a good fu-, uh… A good person, too.”

Izzy, who is told every day by her mother that she is not a good child, holds onto these soft loving words and buries them inside herself, a barrier against her mother’s sweet-voiced violence. 

“I’ve got you, Daddy,” She says, an unconscious echo of his reassurances to her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you, okay? You just lay down and do rest.”

He doesn’t answer. His chest moves, inhaling like he wants to speak, but then he only breathes out again and turns his head to kiss her over her curly brown hair.

In a minute, she’ll get up and get him a water cup, and watch with him as the little discs fizz and turn to nothing and make sure he drinks every single bit to feel better. Her mother will bring James down, and Izzy will be the best big sister and her father’s helper and keep Jamie quiet and happy while Jax sleeps, and feels bad for having to sleep, and then sleeps some more.

But for now, in the silence and chill of the little space in the basement where Savvie hides them when other people come who might take her father away from her, Izzy holds on to his shirt and his arm is tight around her shoulders.

If a tear soaks into her hair where his cheek rests on her scalp, she doesn’t notice.

All she knows is his heartbeat, against her ear, and the steady certainty of his love for her, and her love for him. In a house where they have nothing else, that’s enough.

For her, anyway.

For now.

 ---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content

I had no plans originally of continuing the story from Whumptober Day 28. As far as I was concerned, it ended badly and that was that.

But you can all thank @outtacommission , because I was bribed into continuing it!

If you need a refresher on the original chapter, click the link above or read it on AO3.

This is the start of the new content, which ended up being super long, so I broke it up into three short chapters. I’m really excited and nervous to share this. Writing sequels for oneshots that weren’t originally supposed to be continued is...tough. This is the second time I’ve done it, and I always feel like the continuation isn’t as good as the original. But I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, so I hope that you guys enjoy it, too!

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Warnings: (big spoilers!) needles, implied CPR, broken bones, blood, brain damage, paralysis, amputation, panic attacks

.

“Quiznak. Oh, holy quiznak, Keith?”

.

“He’s not breathing. I’ve got no pulse.”

.

“Hold him steady, I’m cutting the back of this chair off so we can get to the shrapnel.”

.

“Come on, Keith. Breathe. Breathe!”

.

“Look, I found this in Red’s first aid kit. I’m a universal donor.”

“Get it hooked up, he needs everything we can give him.”

.

“Please, Keith. Please.”

.

“Shiro, his ribs…”

“I know. They’ll heal.”

.

“Wait! Look!”

“Oh my g-...okay. Okay. Hurry, let’s get him to the Black Lion. I’ll need you to ride with him so you can keep up the transfusion.”

“Right behind you.”

.

.

Consciousness came in spurts. The first time, he surfaced from the never-ending blackness to nothing but cold and pain, and the feeling that his insides were twisted into a big knot and trying their best to exit his body. As he retched, body automatically jerking to try to sit up or roll over and sending even more pain shooting through him, frantic voices surrounded him.

“...reaction...blood…!”

“But...O neg...shouldn’t…”

Somebody scooped him up like a baby and ran, jarring his screaming abdomen with every step, before depositing him onto a semi-soft surface.

“...Galra…”

“...sample...synthesize more…”

The words meant nothing to him. All he knew was pain and nausea, and a blur of lights and movement above him.

Just before he passed out again, there was a sharp prick in his forearm that momentarily drew his attention away from the rest of the pain. He couldn’t find the energy to protest it.

.

.

The second time, voices were the first to filter in, hushed tones that sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language. His eyes fluttered open, but the bright lights overhead made him wince and squeeze them back shut. 

“You’re okay,” someone soothed, the only words he could actually pick out from among the rest. “You’ll be just fine. Go back to sleep, now.”

There was a prick on the back of his hand, and he whimpered involuntarily. But a moment later the nothingness was taking back over, and he gladly slipped underneath.

.

.

The next time he woke, he had no recollection of the first two times, or of anything that happened before, but for some reason he was surprised to be waking up. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to do so. But here he was, awake. Only, he had no idea where here was.

“Keith? Bud? You with us?”

He knew that voice. Turning his head toward it, he willed his eyes to open, and after a moment, they obeyed. A blur of yellow and brown met him. 

“Hey, bud! It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you hear me?”

Keith blinked, trying to bring the person into focus. Once their features had solidified enough that he could make out dark brown eyes and a smile, he licked his chapped lips and attempted to speak. 

“Hunk.” For some reason the N dragged on for much longer than he had intended, but it was a word, regardless.

“Yeah! That’s me! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re awake and okay.”

How long had he been asleep? It must have been a while for Hunk to be worried. And he was pretty sure he felt okay, though maybe a bit numb overall. Maybe he really had been asleep for a long time. It kinda felt like he was waking up after one of those naps you take while you’re sick and your fever breaks in the middle of it.

He licked his lips again, to no avail. “‘hirsty.”

“Yep, yep, I’m sure you are.” Hunk turned and snatched something up off a nearby table, bringing it toward Keith’s face. “Here ya go. Small sips.”

The water was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted in his life. He wanted to gulp it all down, ignoring what he had been told, but Hunk pulled it away after only a couple of seconds. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Shiro and Fallenta and let them know you’re awake, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Keith struggled to process that sentence. He didn’t think he recognized one of those names, and he still couldn’t figure out why him being awake was such a big deal. Unless...he had gotten hurt in one of their fights. But then why wouldn’t he be waking up from the pod, not in whatever bed this was?

“Wha...happened?” His words continued to come out strangely, despite his best efforts. Maybe he had been sleeping on his face, because it was one of those numb parts of him that didn’t seem to want to move properly.

Hunk froze at the doorway, turning slowly to face him. “Um...what do you remember?”

It was a good question. Wrinkling his brow, he searched his still half-dazed mind, trying and failing to grasp at the snippets of memories that danced by. It didn’t take long for his head to start hurting, and he shut his eyes, giving up for the moment. “Don’t know. A fight?” He had a vague recollection of being in Red recently. “In the Lions?”

“Um, yeah, well, that’s...one thing that happened.” Hunk seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m gonna go, um, get the others, and they can tell you everything, ‘kay?” Without giving Keith a chance to protest, he disappeared through the door.

Keith sighed, and tested out various parts of his body. Other than most of his right side being curiously numb, and an almost unnoticeable ache in a couple more places, everything seemed to be working properly. He had been in Red right before waking up there...right? Maybe she could tell him what was going on.

Only when he closed his eyes and reached for their connection, he came up empty. There was nothing there. No hum, no purr, nothing. His heart leapt into his throat. Red! Red, where are you? What if something had happened to her? What if she was gone? What if he had done something to make her reject him, and he wasn’t even a paladin anymore, what if that’s what Hunk didn’t want to tell him? If he wasn’t a paladin anymore, then he’d...he’d be nothing. Useless. There would be absolutely no reason for him to be in the Castle anymore, in space at all. The other paladins would take him back to Earth and dump him off, and he’d have no one and nothing yet again.

The door opened, and Keith shot upright, ignoring the way it made his head swim and that ache in his ribs twinge. “I can’t feel Red! I can’t...what happened? Where’s Red?”

“Hey! Hey, shh, Keith, it’s okay!” Shiro was across the room in an instant, sitting down on the side of the bed and grasping Keith’s shoulders in both his hands. “I need you to calm down for me, okay? I’ll explain, but I need you to take deep breaths.”

Drawing in one such breath to appease the man, Keith glanced around the room, taking in Hunk’s worried expression and the alien stranger that stood on the other side of his bed. “Somebody please just tell me what's going on.” The words were still slurred, which was getting more frustrating by the second. “Why’m I here?”

He hated the look that Shiro shot up at the alien before catching his eyes again. They were treating him like a fragile child. Even when he was a child, he had gotten more bad news in his few years than most adults did in their whole lives, so it wasn’t like he didn’t always expect more. 

“You were in an accident,” Shiro finally explained, still speaking far too slowly and softly. “You and Red got hit with a zaiforge cannon and crashed into a nearby planet. Do you remember?”

Keith already knew he didn’t, so he wasn’t going to waste time searching his memory when he still wanted answers. “Where’s Red? Is she okay?”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Shiro squeezed his shoulder with his flesh hand. “She’s in rough shape. All her systems are shut down right now. But Pidge and Coran and Hunk have been working on her, and they’re optimistic that everything can be fixed. With time.”

Letting all his breath out with a whoosh, Keith slumped over forward. It was simultaneous good news and bad news. Red hadn’t rejected him, or at least he didn’t think so. But he hated that she was so badly hurt. “I wanna see her.”

Shiro’s smile twitched up a little higher. “I know. But first, we need to check on you. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. Everything seems to have healed up alright, but there were some things that couldn’t be tested while you were out.”

As if this was their cue, the alien - an objectively pretty, willowy creature with mauve fur, four long, thin arms, and a myriad of long, thin fingers on each hand - stepped forward. Their voice was light and feminine, and had a lilting accent that reminded him of Lance when he fell into his native tongue.

“I am going to give you some simple instructions to follow, okay?”

Keith frowned. “Who ‘re you?”

“Oh, yes, right.” Shiro indicated the newcomer with one hand. “This is Fallenta. She’s a Tellimite. They’re one of the most medically advanced species in the universe. We wanted to make sure you had the best care possible, so Allura brought us to Tellima as soon as we had you in the pod. Fallenta has been...indispensable.”

His explanation only caused Keith more confusion. If he had been in a pod, then why did he need a doctor? And again, why was he in some bed now? 

Seeming to sense his questions, Fallenta smiled and settled down opposite Shiro. “There were some...complications from your injuries. Coran and Shiro made the right call by placing you into a healing pod right away, knowing that it was the only way to save your life, but that meant that your bones that were broken could not be reset before healing. One of my jobs was to correct this once your abdomen wound was no longer life threatening.”

“Yes, you actually had two different stints in the pod,” Shiro nodded. His brow furrowed. “Well, three, if you count the time that your body rejected the blood Pidge had given you and started trying to shut down. Thankfully, Coran had those samples he took from all of us at the beginning, and was able to synthesize some more of yours.”

Keith couldn’t stand the troubled expression on Shiro’s face, especially since he had been the one to put it there. Lifting his left arm, he gently squeezed his brother’s elbow. “I’m okay now.”

Shiro smiled, but there was a sheen to his eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am about that.”

“Your cognition seems to be just fine,” Fallenta said, “and losing memory of the traumatic event is not uncommon. There are a few other things I need to check, though.”

She spent the next few minutes shining a flashlight into his eyes, asking him some questions about things that happened prior to the accident, getting him to remember a short list of objects, and observing his reactions to various movements and sounds. All of it led Keith to believe that it was his brain being tested, and it made him nervous. No one would tell him anything else, though, simply repeating that they would explain everything shortly.

It seemed to be going well, though, and everyone was smiling and calm, so he tried not to let it get to him. Until Fallenta moved on to testing sensations. She started on his left arm, lightly touching it with her finger, then poking her claw into his skin, then digging in her knuckle. Everything felt like it should.

“Alright, the right arm, now.” She smiled at him and held his gaze, but after a moment of nothing further happening, her smile faded into a neutral expression. Another moment, and he was wondering why she hadn’t done the test yet. 

“Do you feel any of this, Keith?”

“What?” He looked down, and her finger was on his forearm. As he watched, she moved it up and down his arm, tapping lightly. He swallowed hard. “It's...it's been really numb e’er since I woke up. My face an’ leg, too.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Fallenta smiled again, and as nice of a smile as it was, he was beginning to hate it. “Let’s complete the tests, and I will be able to tell you more. Can you feel this?” 

This time he watched as she pricked him with her claw, and to his relief, there was a faint jolt of pain. “A little. It's muted, though.”

“That’s good. And this?” She used her knuckle that time, and again, the pressure was faint.

“Same. What's wrong with my arm?” he demanded, glaring first at her, then Shiro. “Why can’t I talk right?”

“Have patience -”

“No!” Keith yanked his arm away from her with far more effort than should have been required. “I'm out of patience! Tell me what's wrong!”

Shiro put a hand on Fallenta’s shoulder, nodded at her, then reached forward and took Keith’s hand. “When we found you…” He paused, his jaw clenching and eyes flicking away for a split second before he seemed to steel himself to continue. “Your heart had stopped. It’s impossible to say how long you had been like that. I was able to get it started again, but it took a few minutes. So your brain…” Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. “It was without oxygen for several minutes, at the least. Brain damage has been a concern from the very start. When I said you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re okay...it was possible that you wouldn’t ever wake up. Or if you did, that you wouldn’t be able to function at all.” An errant tear slipped out, and he dashed it away with his metal hand. “But you’re here. You’re awake, and you can speak and think and...and it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

Brain damage? The words hit him like a blow to the chest. That meant his arm...his face...they weren’t just numb, they were...they were…

He ripped his hand from Shiro’s grip. “How can you say it's gonna be okay? Do you hear me? I soun’ stupid! An’ my arm...how’m I supposed to fight an’ fly if I can barely move my arm?”

“But you still have some movement and sensation,” Fallenta broke in. “That is very good news. It means that, with physical therapy, you can regain even more use. You can even have speech therapy to help you build up your facial muscles.”

“Speech therapy?” He almost laughed at that. “We’re in the middle of a war, we don’ have time for speech therapy!”

Shiro’s hand landed on his leg. “We’ll make it work, Keith.”

“No. No.” He shook his head harshly. “Get off. Get off me, I need...” Flailing his one good hand toward Shiro and Fallenta, he gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to fall. The weight on either side of the bed moved as the two of them stood. “I need some air. I need...” Red, that’s what he needed. He reached for the corner of the blanket that covered his legs. “I’m gonna -”

“Keith, wait!”

Shiro and Hunk both lunged, but it was too late. He had already flipped the blanket to the side, revealing what lay underneath.

Or rather, what didn’t lay underneath.

He was gonna be sick.

His leg. It was…it was missing from the knee down.

Keith screamed.

The next minutes or hours were a blur of tears and pain in his chest and breaths that wouldn’t come. He vaguely recalled Shiro being in front of him, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He vaguely recalled thrashing and slamming his head into the wall behind him. 

After that, though, the nothingness took back over.

Next

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {9}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 

The change within you was instantaneous, and your body fought it like a foreign virus. You’d barely slept a wink the night before. You tossed. You rolled. You took up your phone and hovered over Henry’s contact only to put it back down and toss and turn some more. Half of you wanted to talk to him so badly, but the other half wanted you to practice some restraint. There was no happy middle ground, and because there wasn’t, you struggled to find any peace in your mind. By the time you managed to fall asleep, it was one hour before you had to get up to prep for your day. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a message from the culprit to your sleeplessness himself.

 MSG Henry: Good morning, beautiful. I didn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I must have picked up my phone ten times to text or call you. It’s torture not being able to hear the one voice you want to hear more than anything.

 As soon as you read the words, your heart literally melted, and butterflies filled your belly.

 “Christ almighty,” you whispered as your fingers itched to rapid-fire. Before you could catch yourself, you’d already typed out a reply and sent it.

 MSG: Good Morning to you too, handsome. I know what you mean. I didn’t sleep either. I almost called you so many times. I think you’re addicting.

 You reread the message then groaned at the last sentence.

 “Really, Aliya, addicting?” You rolled your eyes hard and pushed to get yourself ready for the day.

 By the time you’d left the hotel, he still hadn’t replied, and you regretted responding altogether.  So, here you were sitting in one of your four meetings for the day trying to keep your head in the game and your mind off of Henry’s lips, or his eyes, or the feel of his muscular arms around you. It was proving more complicated than it sounded. When you weren’t thinking of his lips, or his eyes, or his arms and kisses, you were overthinking your message and his lack of response.

 A little more than halfway in your first meeting, your phone went off, and you had to make yourself slow down and not leap for it. Nonchalantly, you glanced at the screen and saw Henry’s name.

 MSG Henry: Addicting, huh? I like that, but you should not be talking. I have been addicted to you since the day you bumped into me.

 Any worries you’d had the last few hours melted away, and a smile spread across your face.

 MSG: Do tell me more, Mr. Cavill.

 Barely a minute passed before another message came in.

 MSG Henry: I would rather tell you while looking in your eyes so you can see the depth of which I mean them in my eyes.

 You bit your bottom lip and closed your eyes. He was different alright, you thought.

 MSG Henry: I’m sorry it took me this long to reply. I’m trying to finish up all business between today and tomorrow. I had to hide my phone from myself, or else I would have been messaging you this entire time.

 You couldn’t lie. That felt good to know that he was having as much of a struggle going about his typical day to day tasks as you were. The knowledge of that comforted you, but it also worried you. This thing was still so new. For the duration of your meeting, you texted on and off. It continued as you moved to your second and third meetings, and by then, your focus was shot. The only thing you cared about was what he was saying.

 You loved how open he was. He always found a way to describe to you just what he was thinking or feeling while still remaining mysterious enough to have you wondering what he felt and thought. It was interesting. You’d always been able to predict every man that tried to enter your life. You could predict their motives, what tactics they’d use to try to weasel themselves in, and you often could predict how things would end. With Henry, you’d been having a difficult time with those predictions. It bothered you.

 By the time you got back to your hotel room, it was nearing seven o’clock. You wasted no time putting your phone on silent to concentrate on a little self-care beginning with a soak in the jetted tub. You did your best to keep your mind open to allow the meditation track you played to really work at loosening the knots in your shoulders and tension in your neck. The stress of your life, mainly from work, was really beginning to show. It had always shown, you just never listened to your body whenever it told you to slow down or take it easy.

 Many of your friends and family teased you that you lived to work instead of working to live. There were times you were inclined to agree with them because you didn’t need to work so much to maintain the lifestyle you were accustomed to. You had more money than you knew what to do with. You could afford to take time off to recharge but, you’d lived with the belief that the less time you had to be idle, the better it was for your mental and emotional health. Idle hands, after all, were the devil’s playground. You’d grown so accustomed to working nonstop that you didn’t know how to just do nothing.  

After almost two hours in the bath, as you walked into the bedroom, you saw your phone light up. It was an incoming call from Henry. Sighing, you plopped onto the bed, trying to fight back the smile that wanted freedom. The smile won the battle.

 “Hello?”

 “Did I wake you? I called earlier but--.”

 “No, I’m awake. I put my phone on silent and took a long bath,” you clarified.

 “Ah, that sounds relaxing. Maybe I should try that. I’m feeling this burnout more and more.”

 “Those who are serious about their craft work too much.”

 Henry sighed softly, and you wondered if there was a hint of mint and Guinness on his lips.

 “I don’t want to work tonight,” Henry declared. “Tonight, I want to be with you.”

 You dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, do you now?”

 “Yes,” Henry confirmed, his voice dropping in baritone. Your belly fluttered, making you press your palm against it.

 “Have you eaten?”

 “I haven’t,” you breathlessly replied.

 “Good. I’ll be around for you in forty-five minutes.”

 You sprang upward. “That’s not enough time.”

 “Oh no? High maintenance are you?”

 You snorted and shook your head, hearing the tease and challenge in his voice.

 “Forty-five minutes then, just don’t get mad when I don’t look like pictures in magazines,” you quipped.

 “Come as you are.”

 Your reflection caught your eye. Because you’d gotten your hair slightly wet in the tub, it was now in a half natural half blown out state, making you look crazy. You doubted forty-five would be enough to tame it.

 “See you soon,” you said before hanging up to focus on getting yourself together.

 Forty-nine minutes later, you were dressed and on your way down in the elevator. As it made its way down, you assessed your appearance, thankful you were able to straighten your hair again to add a few loose curls. Part of you hadn’t wanted to bother, but you knew the dress you were going to wear would be better complemented with a sleek look. Your eyes skimmed the half sheer and half bodycon black dress you wore, loving that it was the right mix between sexy and classic. You added another layer of your mauve tinted lip gloss and just in time for the doors to open.

 It didn’t take long for you to spot him sitting in the lobby where one of the big-screen TVs were placed. He was watching a rugby match. You crossed the black and white designed tiled floors and approached behind him. When you dipped to his ear, his scent almost had a moan escaping you—almost.

 “Either, no matter where you are, you gravitate to rugby, or I took too long,” you whispered.

Henry turned, and the moment his eyes landed on you, a dumbfounded look washed across his face. You tried not to bashfully look away as you watched his jaw drop when his eyes took in the full view.

 “Wow.”

 A giggle that would have been nauseating from someone else slipped from you, making you press your fingertips to your lips.

 “You’re breathtaking.”

 You smiled, then gently tapped his chest.

 “Stop.”

 “I’m being completely truthful.”

 Those damn butterflies made their presence known once again.

 “Thank you,” you whispered.

 Henry held out a single peony to you. “For you.”

 As you took it, your smile widened. “Wow, one of my favorite flowers.”

 “Is that so?”

 You nodded.

 “Hmm, happy coincidence,” Henry replied as he stood and buttoned his suit jacket. Once done, he held out his arm for you. “Shall we?”

 You nodded and looped yours with his, ready for whatever the night brought on.

  -Henry-

As you sat across from him under the hanging flowers and dim lighting of the restaurant perusing the menu, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It could have been the way the golden light bathed your skin, giving it an almost glowing aura. Or it could have been the soft smile pasted to your subtle painted lips. It could have even been the spell of the restaurant, the classical music playing, and the sweet scent of flowers that surrounded the two of you. Whatever it was, he itched to touch you, itched to get closer, and itched to do nothing but find a way to keep a smile on your face.

 “What?”

 Realizing you were now looking at him, he smiled back at you.

 “Nothing.”

 “No, no. That’s a something look,” you said, still not able to not smile.

 “It’s nothing,” he repeated.

 “Henry, seriously. What is it?”

 You reached out and gently slapped his hand, then rested it on top of the table.

 “Nothing, really. It’s just—I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you,” he admitted.

 Your smile slipped, revealing a serious expression for a few seconds before you smiled again and dipped your head in a bashful way. Unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, he closed the gap between your hands and took yours.

 “Your parents must be proud to have raised such a charming son.”

 He smiled, then shrugged. “She has five of them.”

 “Bless her heart,” you added, making him chuckle.

 A comfortable silence drifted between you as he enjoyed the softness of your hand in his and the way your warmth mingled with his. He could get used to this, he thought to himself. When the waiter returned to the table to pour the chosen wine into your glasses, you pulled your hand away, but he didn’t take offense.

 “So, by this time next week, I will be off the grid,” he said after the waiter walked off again.

 A quizzical look swept across your face.

 “Off the grid? Are you a spy?”

 He smiled. “I promise I’m not.”

 Another waiter approached the table, this time carrying your selected third and final courses. He thanked the waiter as he laid the plates before you before he retreated.

 “You were saying,” you prompted, lifting your dinner fork from the selection of three different ones to your right.

 “I’ve earned some much needed R&R.”

 With your fork paused at your lips, you smiled. “Oh, that’s great. Congratulations. When was the last time you took a holiday?”

 He watched you chew and quickly got lost watching your mouth. It took him several seconds to regain his train of thought.

 “Eh-em, uh—perhaps a year and a half, if we are talking about a true holiday.”

 “Wow, that’s a long time.”

 “What about you?”

 You smirked, then scoffed. “Define holiday.”

 He returned your smirk then rested his knife and fork atop the braised beef on his plate before he replied. “Time off, no work, nothing that you have to worry about that can cause stress,  anxiety, or tension. Oh, and of course, sleeping late, drinking until three or four in the morning, fun every day, and feeling refreshed upon return.”

 You smiled as you finished chewing. He watched you take another sip from your glass and knew the wine was only making your lips even sweeter than they already were.

 “Ha! Jeez, when you define it like that, it’s been years upon years,” you replied.

 “Not good at all.”

 You nodded. “Tell me about it.” A soft smile was still on your lips as you placed another forkful of the pan-seared sea bass you were eating.

 With those words, a thought formulated in his mind, and it was a thought he wondered if he put words to would you be receptive. The remainder of dinner passed comfortably. Another reason why he couldn’t stop thinking about you and enjoyed being around you was because your conversation was always excellent. There was never any form of discomfort or awkwardness between you. You easily talked about so many things, and the things you said were always thought-provoking and intelligent. While everyone thought you were just a pretty face, you’d repeatedly allowed him to see that the world knew nothing.

 His hand was rarely without yours in it, and when he held your hand, you softly raked your fingernails against the palm and fingers. Every time you did it, the goosebumps that raced across his skin sparked a reaction that was visible much, much lower than his hand. Everyone else in the restaurant could have disappeared for all he knew because you’d captivated him and every single one of his senses.

 By the time you left the restaurant, it was close to midnight, but you didn’t seem to care what time it was. You held onto his hand as you walked along The River Thames. He often did this late at night when he couldn’t sleep. It was really the only time he could come and not be bothered or recognized because he was more than likely the only one there. Tonight your laughter danced through the air, and the gentle ebb and flow of the water only helped the glistening light from the bridge and neighboring buildings shimmer that much more. It was quite romantic.

You stopped and pressed your back to the iron gating that kept pedestrians out of the river. You stretched your arms out, leaning back as if to really enjoy the gentle breeze.

 “It’s a beautiful night,” you sighed out.

 Just like that, he drifted closer to you until there were only a few inches between your bodies. When you came upright again, your smile was still bright, even realizing he was so close.

 “Are you trying to push me in?”

 He smiled and shook his head. “Never.”

 “Oh no?”

 “No,” he repeated, taking another step to you.

 You bit your bottom lip then sucked it into your mouth, and he became even more painfully aware that he hadn’t sampled them since the night before.

 “Unacceptable,” he whispered.

 “What?”

 Reaching out, he cupped your jaw and slid his thumb across your cheekbone while he slowly traced every inch of your face to his memory. When his eyes met yours, he fell another foot or two deep into the quicksand-like pit of his growing feelings for you. He was so close to going under it was alarming.

 “It’s unacceptable that I haven’t tasted your lips in over twelve hours.”

 He heard a soft gasp escape your lips, and it was the only sound you made before his lips pressed to yours. The only move you made was to entangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The feel of your fingers against his skin brought those familiar goosebumps. He moaned, then pulled you flush against him. The feel of your body against his made his heart thump rapidly, and when you moaned against his lips, the need to consume you took precedence.

 When he delved his tongue into your mouth, he was shocked when you swirled yours around his, and the sensual move had him pressing you firmly against the iron behind you. It was out of character for him to do this so wide in the open, but he felt himself doing things that no one would ever guess he would do when he was with you. Your soft nibbled on his bottom lip brought his mind back to the rising dilemma, rising being the operative word.

 Pulling his lips from yours, he rested his forehead to yours. Both of you didn’t speak; instead, you were both lost in trying to catch your breath. Long moments passed, and in those moments, he fought to regain his composure. He’d never reacted to anyone the way he reacted to you.

 “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice shakier than he’d expected.

 Your eyes fluttered open, and he didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, but he swore he saw actual stars in them that put the night sky to shame.

 “Where?”

 “Away on holiday.”

 You pulled back a few centimeters and gazed into his eyes more intently. He watched them dart from his left eye, then to the right and back again. Slowly the stars vanished, and humor replaced them.

 “Good one,” you said before you laughed out loud, pulling your body from his.

 “Oh my god, you really had me going for a second,” you said through laughter.

 You took two steps as if to continue walking, but he laced his fingers with yours and pulled you back before him. You gasped, and the sound of it made him close the space between you again, pressing you onto the iron bars. With his body pressed to yours leaving no evidence of there being two bodies, you moaned, and the sound almost had him capturing your lips again. If he did though, he didn’t know if his hands would remain respectful.

 “I wasn’t kidding.”

 Your eyes were on his lips, and the desire for you to take control, almost overrode his desire to be in control—almost.

 “What?”

 “Come on holiday with me, just the two of us, a beach wine somewhere—anywhere.”

 He saw the moment you realized he was as serious as a heart attack.

 “You’re serious,” you reiterated.

 “More serious than I’ve been about anything.”

 You didn’t speak for the next minute, but you also didn’t move away. He decided he’d give you the time to consider it.

 You scoffed before you spoke. “What? Henry—we can’t.”

 “Why?”

 You gaped at him as if he were insane.

 “Why?” That was when you pulled away from him and took a few steps sideways while still leaning against the gate. “We—we don’t--.”

 You looked as if you were wracking your brain for a response, but you also looked like you were trying to catch your breath.

 “We don’t know anything about each other.”

 He took a step to you. You didn’t move.

 “Which is why a private holiday would aid in us getting to know each other—uninterrupted without the pretexts,” he replied.

 Your eyes widened before you shook your head then turned to face the water. You peered out silently, baffled. “Henry—we can’t.”

 He approached you, and as he leaned against the gate, you looked at him. “Tell me why,” he requested.

 “Why—because—I—I don’t do—that,” you stuttered.

 “What holidays?”

 He saw the exasperation wash across your face before it went blank. You stepped away again, then cleared your throat.

 “I have an early flight out tomorrow.”

 It was hard not to feel the rejection, but he hid it the best he could. Nodding, he held out his arm for you to take.

 “Then let’s get you back to your hotel.”

 The entire ten-minute walk, his mind went from one thing to the next. He worried he’d come on too strong, or that he’d said the wrong thing, or somehow offended you. Then he went back and forth with his decision to even ask you. Part of him felt like maybe he was jumping a little too far ahead, but the other part of him felt there was nothing wrong with inviting you especially based on how things had gone the entire night and the vibes he picked up. That made him wonder if he’d read the evening entirely wrong.

 When he stopped with you in your hotel's lobby, he was in no hurry to ask you again. He’d begun to feel quite stupid. His hurt feelings needed the night to recover. He took your arm from the crook of his elbow and held your hand. Again, you didn’t pull away. Deciding he couldn't afford to give you the time to, he lowered your hand and stepped away from you.

 “Thank you for dinner.”

 “T—thank you,” you said barely above a whisper.

 He nodded and debated his next move. He took a timid step forward and kissed your cheek.

 “Have a safe flight.”

 “Thank you.”

 This one was a whisper.

 “Good night, Aliya,” he breathed out before he quickly kissed your forehead then walked away out the door and down the street without looking back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[monsterywriting]

Zhulgan (orc) - Prologue

next part | masterlist

AN: Thank you to those who left the kind comments on my update post :) i know i said i’d post this yesterday but reading it again i wanted to fix up some stuff and ended up pretty much completely rewriting it... i hope you all enjoy the story.

word count: 7.4k

f!orc x f!reader

When the notice of war finally reached your village, half a year had already passed since the document had been signed and issued by the king. A town meeting was called and went throughout the night. The village leaders had been nervous to hear the news, not knowing if the fighting had yet to even begin or if it was already on your doorstep. It was eventually reasoned that because no soldiers had been seen in your village nor others nearby, there was no reason to panic just yet.

It wasn’t long after that a foreign platoon swept through the village of Ozryn, pillaging the grain stores and burning down every home and storefront for good measure. No one had been prepared, all the residents sleeping soundly when the attack began.

Most of the village was wiped out, people you’d known your entire life gone in a single terror-filled night. You were among the few survivors led out of Ozryn at dawn in chains, all of you still wearing your nightclothes and most barefoot. Only a fraction of the population were spared and it was immediately noticeable that they had purposefully kept the young women alive, making their motivation for taking you all prisoner all the easier to deduce.

Still, you refrained from sharing your grim observation as some in your pitiable party wept their prayers thanking the Maker for their miraculous survival. You simply didn’t have the heart to crush their hopes so soon—not when you were still trying to come up with a concrete plan for your escape

Unfortunately, the longer the group walked, the more you worried about nightfall. You no longer recognized the land and had lost track of how far from Ozryn you were, unable to concentrate on anything besides putting one foot in front of the other once the adrenaline drained out of you.

The sun was above your head when Mauve, the blacksmith’s daughter, slowed until she closed the distance between you, the chain that connected the two of you dragging along the ground. After a few moments of tense silence to see if any of the soldiers had noticed, she whispered.

“I know where we are.”

You froze in your tracks, playing off your shock as though you merely stumbled in the mud in case any of the guards actually were watching the interaction. You took in the surrounding country, willing the endless hills and marshes to suddenly become familiar to you. It still looked like a bunch of muddy grass when Mauve continued.

“We’ll come up on another village in a day or two. Tasca, halfway to Vircia.”

The names were familiar. Tasca was to the northwest of Ozryn, Vircia straight north. It made sense Mauve would have a pretty good grasp of the land, often leaving the village with her father to make deliveries. Despite the information making your planning a bit easier, your heart still sank. Another village meant another night of death, possibly more prisoners. From Mauve’s grim expression, she had come to the same conclusion.

“Keep it to yourself for now; they can’t know we’re talking,” you finally whispered back, both of you moving back apart.

It took all your willpower not to run your hands down your face in frustration, instead directing your energy to include more people in your revised escape plan.

At some point in the afternoon, the group stopped, word traveling down the procession to set up camp. You were all left to sit around, still chained together and several soldiers guarding your group. While the others all but collapsed where they stood, you forced yourself to remain on your feet, trying to get a head count of everyone who was still alive.

While you recognized all the faces, you knew only a few by first name. Winnie, the baker’s daughter, was closest to you, the only one chained behind you. Her face was relaxed as she was already asleep. Mauve looked similarly exhausted in front of you, though she still managed to remain awake as she laid sprawled on the ground. The rest were from the farming families that lived near the village, all faring marginally better, groups of sisters sitting close together to mourn their losses quietly.

Altogether there was twelve of you, six families left represented of the thirty or so that called Ozryn home- but you crushed that thought before it began.

“What are we going to do?” The elder of the two Littlerock sisters, Rose, whispered. She was around the same age as you and Mauve, the three of you in the same class when you were in school. It took you a moment to realize she was talking to you.

You look down at the Blackbriar sisters, by far the youngest members of your group, all three still teenagers. Everything was still so uncertain—such as how the twelve of you would outrun an entire platoon with horses and crossbows and the twelve of you debilitated and on foot with not a single shoe between you. The most you could share was your line of thinking, much of your plan dependent on opportunity that wasn’t likely to present itself in the middle of an enemy camp.

“We will have to wait and see if they separate us tonight,” you begin carefully, some of the older girls’ expressions flashing with disgust as they caught the subtext. “We need to gather our strength and escape. Preferably by tonight. We’re getting near Tasca; if we can get enough of a head start, we may be able to warn them and get to Vircia.

“Or, Dumir’s soldiers are already on their way and we won’t have to do anything,” you added lamely after a moment, the paltry hope you offered clearly doing little to dispel the gloom hanging in the air. The chances you would be found by anyone able to help and before nightfall were slim, and you all were just as likely to be killed in the chaos of a battle. The only true escape would be to escape on your own, something everyone had to come to grips with on their own.

When a soldier approached your group once again, everyone scrambled to huddle together, Winnie roused from her slumber and dragged close.

You alone remained standing, facing him down and doing your best to block his view of the others. Despite your best effort to keep yourself from showing any of the fear you definitely felt, you couldn’t help but take a step back when he got uncomfortably close. He grinned at you concession, the predatory look he gave you sending chills down your spine. Perhaps you wouldn’t even have until tonight to need to escape.

“All of you, get near the fire,” he finally said, ignoring you to address the group before jerking his head towards the center of camp where a large bonfire was already going strong. “What for?” You demanded in one final act of defiance, refusing to let your gaze drop when he turned back to you, annoyance twisting his features as he now loomed over you in a different threat.

Before he could say anything, a hand fell on his shoulder, the man sending the soldier away without a single order passing through his lips. You immediately recognized him as their leader, the one riding in the front of the procession and the one who had ordered the village be burned to the ground after capturing you all.

“There’s a hot meal for you all by the fire. None of my men will bother you there,” he smiled.

You didn’t trust the kindness of his words nor the honorable front he put on.  It was obviously not for any of your benefits that he protected you from the soldiers; if that were the case, none of you would be prisoners in the first place. His words did, however, give you more information about your circumstances. He needed you all alive and unharmed, if not for his soldiers or himself, then for his higher-ups and possibly until you were out of Dumir - which meant you could potentially have plenty of time to escape before finding out.

You followed after him as he turned to the fire, the others trailing close behind. He led you all to a vat hanging over the fire, soldiers serving bowls of broth and handing them out. You watched carefully as your meals were served, making sure nothing was slipped into the bowls before the hand off. Despite the likelihood of the soup already being poisoned was low, you still waited until you saw the soldiers eating before cautiously digging in.

Taking the opportunity to observe the camp’s layout, you tried to absorb your surroundings. They had set it up in a small valley, the size hidden from anyone traveling unless they happened to be right on the hills immediately surrounding it. The smoke form the fire, however, would make their location visible for miles, which meant they were either unaware that there was a village nearby or they weren’t worried about it. The former seemed even more unlikely as soldiers began to turn in to their tents despite the sun not being even close to setting. That there would be another attack that night was the more likely option.

Just as you were about to voice your observations to the others, you caught the leader staring directly at you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you quickly looked down at your plate. The encounter left you shaken, fearing that you had given away your intentions and ruining any chance of escape.

You woke later that evening, hours after you had been led to an empty tent and eventually fell into a fitful sleep after shaking at every noise that ventured too close to your tent. You had laid closest to the tent flap, making it a bit awkward for the others to sleep with the connecting chain but wanting to make certain that you could hear if anyone was going to enter.

There had been a guard posted outside, but as your eyes adjusted to the dark tent, you realized the camp was completely silent—save for snoring just outside the entrance.

While you don’t risk looking out and waking up the guard, you couldn’t contain your excitement as you roused everyone else from their slumber.

You couldn’t just walk out the front, the chances of the twelve people passing a sleeping guard waking him too great, but if you could crawl out the back without jostling the tent too much, then you could run up the hill and disappear in the marsh. You hurriedly whispered your plan to the others, Mauve telling them your destination should you get separated sometime in the night: the Great Gorge to the east that would lead you north, eventually near Tasca.

You, Rose and Mauve eased the back two stakes from the ground, the only injury a splinter in Rose’s finger she quickly pulled out. Once free, the canvas flapped slightly with the wind, hopefully any movement later attributed to that.

Once Mauve had the stakes, however, she got the idea to break the connecting chain, running along loops in your shackles and only fastened at the ends. While you all also had individual chains keeping your arms together, it would be much easier to move without being tethered to each other with a loud chain. Carefully looking at every link in the long chain until she found one with weak welding, she laid it on the ground and stuck the two points of the stakes into the hole, pressing down on the wider tops with both palms with all her weight until it snapped open. You all waited, everyone laying down on the chain in case the guard heard the noise.

After carefully extracting everyone in between the two people at the ends from the chain, Mauve and Rose slowly raised the fabric of the tent in the back, giving you a large enough gap to crawl out.

There was no soldier waiting to catch you as soon as you got out, fortunately. You glanced around the sides of the tent to see if there was anyone near the fire who would see all of you scaling the hill, holding on to your chains tightly as you moved so they wouldn’t make any noise.

The camp seemed deserted with the only snoring audible form the soldier that was supposed to be your guard; definitely unlikely for a camp of forty some odd men after spending the night before attacking a village to be so silent. An unease settled deep within the pit of your stomach but you brushed it aside, the more pressing matter of getting out undetected on the forefront of your mind.

The others crawled out once you signaled it was safe, immediately running as soon as you pointed them in the direction to go. Once Rose was out and gone, you held the tent open for Mauve, dropping it as soon as she was out and the two of you moving between the tents as stealthily as you could. Just as you were about to make a break for the hill, you were yanked back by your collar.

You gasped in surprise, the same soldier you had a run-in with earlier grinning once again with his sword pointed directly at you. You were caught. You tried to tell Mauve to run, but your throat was seized in panic.

Gathering every ounce of your courage, you spat in his face instead, trying to draw his attention away from Mauve so she had time to escape. It worked, his grip leaving your chain and wrapping around your neck as he shook you.

Instead of running, Mauve appeared behind him, wrapping her chain around his neck and pulling, his eyes bulging out in surprise as he dropped you with a squawk. For a moment you sat there, dazed until you realized the soldier was loud. If anyone was still in the camp, they’d definitely hear his gurgling screams. You scrambled to your feet, coughing as you gripped the shackle around your dominant hand as best you could and smashed it over the top of his head, blood spraying from the impact.

Your entire hand throbbed with pain, most acutely in your wrist. A sob escaped you almost immediately after but it had the desired effect, the soldier going limp. You stared for a moment as you watched him stare at you, twitching and then growing still. Too still. He continued to stare. You and Mauve blinked up at each other.

If he was found, it would be obvious you all escaped and in what direction. Mauve pointed at the tent and you both moved quickly to drag him back to it, you one-handed. Mauve rolled him underneath the gap while you held the loose material, careful not to get any blood on it to give yourselves that much more time.

You then ran blindly, time ticking before your group’s escape and your gruesome act were discovered. Your legs burned as you went uphill but you didn’t dare slow even after you and Mauve scaled the hill. The soldiers were already on your heels in your mind, easily following your footprints in the soft ground just as you and Mauve were following your companions’.

You weren’t sure when, but you found your hand in Mauve’s at some point as you ran, both of you tugging on the other whenever one of you stepped into a hidden pockets of water. The two of you were in the true marshland now, the tall grass making it impossible to tell where the wet soil ended and water began. The moon was but a sliver in the sky, as though she kept her light to herself to keep your trek cloaked in darkness from your pursuers. You looked over your shoulder feeling your stomach drop when the column of smoke originating from an orange glow wasn’t nearly as far as you imagined.

“How far is the ravine?” You pant, your hand and throat still throbbing.

“We should make it before dawn,” Mauve answered.

Over the course of the night, you rejoin Rose and Winnie, the latter one of the first to take off but a slow runner. None of you let her fall behind, forcing your group to move slower. It was dawn when you reached the gorge, a jagged break in the landscape with eight ghostly figures visible standing at its edge.

Rose ran ahead, pulling her sister Lily in a tight embrace. You, Mauve and Winnie, being the only members of your respective families to survive, are much slower to join, feeling awkward to interrupt the reunion and somewhat envious that there was no one for any of you to rejoin.

“You’re covered in blood!” Winnie suddenly cried out, looking at you and Mauve in horror in the morning light. You had thought the blood had been washed from you with all the water you fell into throughout the night, but if Mauve’s red face was any indication of what you looked like, you could understand the concern.

“We’re fine,” you said grimly, “but we need to assume that they found out we’re gone already and move fast.”

“Are we going to climb down?” Grace, the eldest of the four Cedar girls, asked, her voice hoarse.

You look at everyone, all covered in mud and looking about as tired as you felt. Unfortunately, your morbid gift in the tent had undoubtedly been found by now, so there could be no breaks.

“Yes,” Mauve answered for you, looking over the edge, “We can rest once we reach the bottom, but up here we’re too exposed.”

You look down as well, the slope steep but not an entirely sheer drop, likely the result of rockslides and time. Swallowing back the growing lump in your throat, you began to pick your way down, sitting forcefully whenever the rocky surface would break away under your bare feet.

A rock suddenly bounced off your back, very nearly making you lose your balance as you feared the entire thing was coming down on you. You looked up, the others also moving down the path you left. The further you descended, the colder the air grew, the small amount of sun you did have disappearing behind rock.

Contrary to what Mauve promised, you pushed the girls to continue moving, following the tapering stream north. The only way to tell the passage of time was the brightening sky, white fluffy clouds moving across the narrow strip of blue you could see. You pass natural grooves in the stone face, not quite large enough to be considered caves but which could provide a decent refuge when you do decide to stop, keeping you hidden from anyone looking from above.

You wanted to put as much distance as you could between you and the soldiers, hopefully going far enough out of their way that they couldn’t justify wasting resources searching for you. Unfortunately, none of you had much strength left to keep moving, the group forced to stop when the youngest Blackbriar girl collapsed in exhaustion.

Everyone huddled into one of the grooves, too cold and scared to split up though that was probably the wiser option. You planned to remain awake, listening for any sign that you’d been followed, but you passed out almost as soon as you leaned against the wall only to be shaken awake by Rose what felt like only a moment later and feeling entirely unrested.

Because your group was at the clear disadvantage - traveling with limited visibility in every direction with the tall cliff faces and the winding path of the ravine - you decided it would be best to travel by night, which would also allow the others time to rest.

You, Rose and Mauve remained awake to come up with a plan, Tasca still half a day’s walk away at least and no food or water to sustain the twelve of you until you reached the village. It was then you finally shared your concern that the reason you all were able to escape the night before was because the camp was empty. It was unlikely you could make it to the village before the battalion, if they did indeed leave to attack it as they had Ozryn.

Rose sobbed as you pointed out that even if you did go straight to Vircia and managed to survive without eating, none of you had any money or appropriate clothes, meaning it was still necessary to go to Tasca and hope there were still some valuables left untouched for you to take.

It was the third morning since the attack that your emotions finally hit full force, weeping silently into your hands until you finally slipped into unconsciousness, and even then the faces of the people of your village haunted you. You replayed the moments you tried escaping, running through the garden as you felt an incredible heat on your back as your home was engulfed in flames behind you. Once again you were cut off by a soldier on horseback and dragged back into the heart of the village, the faces of the stacked bodies you passed stared blankly up at you, covered in soot and blood. You thought about the same look on the soldier’s face back at the camp.

You didn’t let a single noise leave you, not wanting to wear down the others’ spirits any further. For some reason, possibly from some misguided belief that because your father had been the justice of the peace of Ozryn that you were the natural person to listen to, they were all relying on you to get them all to safety. For better or for worse, you would have to remain strong.

When you suddenly felt a hand press onto your shoulder you jumped, whipping around to see Winnie looking at you with similarly glistening eyes. You reached blindly for her and she immediately embraced you. You were grateful for her sturdy frame engulfing you, the two of you falling asleep like that, comforted by each other’s presence.

That night, you travelled again until dawn, stopped for a short rest and then looked for a way to climb out of the gorge safely. The walls were significantly less steep here - about double Rose’s, the tallest of your group, height - not nearly as much of a canyon as it had been out in the marshland. Despite that, none of you could afford any injuries in this pivotal moment in your journey. If the attack on Tasca was anything like Ozryn, the battalion was likely long gone, but you wanted to be prepared for the worst case scenario.

One of the Blackbriar girls found something better, noticing an old goat path along the cliff face with just enough space for each of you to ascend in a single-file line, the river they were brought to long gone but the route carved by countless cloven hooves remaining.

Once the group cleared the gorge, you found yourselves in a pine forest, the mud replaced with dried needles. The unfavorable terrain made everyone slow down, the sharp points of the pine needles making everyone flinch at some point or another.

“Do we all have to go?” One of the Cedar sisters suddenly piped up, her voice trembling with emotion, “Shouldn’t some of us stay in the gorge?”

You sighed, knowing her concern wasn’t entirely unfounded and likely mirrored the thoughts of most of others. You also were loath to see another ruined village, but to split up was dangerous, especially with no supplies or familiarity with the area.

“I’ll go into the village, but you should all stay close,” you answer, quickly adding, “Spread out but keep within each other’s line of sight. Run the moment you even think there might be danger.”

There were slow nods of agreement, but Mauve stepped forward to stop you from leaving.

“I should go, too,” She argued, “two sets of hands is better than one.”

You shake your head firmly, “You have the most profitable skill among us, Mauve. We need you if we’re going to make it in a larger city.”

You didn’t give anyone else time to argue, venturing through the forest the rest of the way alone. There was no smell that would suggest an entire village was burned two nights ago as you approached, but the forest was also completely silent save for the birds flitting through the tops of the trees. When you finally reached the first buildings, they were all still intact but there was no sign of life.

Entering a few of the homes confirmed your suspicion. Tasca had been deserted, likely long before just a few days ago as there was no evidence of a mad dash to get out. Nothing had been left disturbed, wardrobes and dressers carefully closed once emptied, picture frames and other personal items - things that would have been left behind if there was a sudden attack in the night - gone. Even if the soldiers hadn’t ransacked the village two nights ago, you suspected that you wouldn’t find much.

Just as you ended a fruitless search of the village center, you were suddenly seized outside the building, crying out as you were hauled by your hair out into the commons. You caught only a glimpse of your captor, bile rising in your throat as you immediately recognized the leader of the platoon.

Your heart leapt into your throat, any kind front he put up the day before gone as he glared down at you with purple-faced fury. You looked frantically around at the other soldiers surrounding you, your relief that no one else had been caught short-lived as you began to worry about your own fate.

The leader was yelling at you, but you didn't hear much as he shook you like the answers would come tumbling from your lips. You couldn’t say anything as you tried to keep your neck stiff, your stunned silence only seeming to stoke the flames of his wrath. The soldiers were silent as he dragged you to his waiting horse, snatching his riding crop from the saddle and bringing it down on your exposed calf.

You could only scream, mind completely blank with terror. It’s impossible to think, to come up with some means of getting out of this situation alive, but you were struggling to even believe you could. 

Suddenly, a horn - an unmistakeable signal for battle - blasted from the forest, seemingly from everywhere by the way the sound bounced off the pines but definitely close. Shouting erupted around you, though you were only vaguely aware of the chaos as you had gone entirely limp, no energy left in you to react to yet another dramatic turn of events. The leader attempted to pull your dead weight onto his horse, shouting for one of his men to help him, but he was alone in focusing on taking you prisoner, everyone else simply trying to survive the apparent ambush.

You managed to get a full view of the scene unfurling in front of you, not quite registering that orcs were storming into the village from the forest and attacking the platoon. In your defense, you were no where near the orcs’ lands, their shared border with Dumir to the west and definitely not extending this far south or east - orc raiders were the last thing you would expect to suddenly save you, more likely perhaps than only the king of Dumir himself or aliens.

You were released suddenly, narrowly avoiding getting stamped into the ground by the leader’s retreating horse. You ran unsure where you were going but well aware you couldn’t remain in the middle of a battle, at least having the wherewithal to go at a 90 degree angle from where the orc horde was currently pouring out of the forest in an attempt to get out of their way as fast as possible.

You could only pray that the others heard the ruckus and managed to escape, focusing on getting as much distance between you and the fight. Had you any money to bet, it would have been squarely on the orcs, but you weren’t about to stick around and risk getting killed or captured all over again, especially once they realized the village was empty.

The pines began to thin and you began to slow, believing you were nearing the gorge. You immediately skidded to a halt, your heart pounding in your chest as an entire orc caravan stared back at you, clearly as startled to see you as you were to see them.

When an old orc woman stood, you swiveled to your left and ran, though you didn’t even make it more than a few steps before you ran straight into another orc.

You floundered in his hold, unable to understand anything he was saying to you in your panic until a familiar name cut through - Ozryn. Before you could ask what he knew of your village, you heard your name, looking over your shoulder to see the others all standing there, clean and wearing different clothes. Their restraints were gone.

“We thought you’d been caught!” Winnie cried, her and the others rushing forward towards you, “It’s okay, they’re here to help.”

“You speak orcish?” You asked, still somewhat dismayed by all the things happening in such quick succession.

“No, I speak common,” the orc answered instead, much to your surprise. His accent was thick, because of his native tongue or from the tusks you weren’t certain, “The soldiers that destroyed your village trespassed on our land when they crossed into your country. We tracked them from then.”

A bitter taste was left in your mouth as you imagined how differently things would have been had they found the soldiers sooner, even if by just a few days. You would have still been at home, at this time likely taking taking your father and brother their forgotten lunches.

“I am Alkgan. Come, let’s get those chains off. Then you can bathe and change clothes, too,” he said, ushering you towards one of the wagons.

Various weapons were leaned against its wooden side, Alkgan disappearing to talk with whoever was inside the wagon. While you waited, you took in your surroundings, not quite ready to accept that you were completely safe just yet. Beasts milled around the wagons, tearing at the grass; it took you a moment to realize they were cattle, never seeing a breed so large before. The camp was populated mostly by children, from toddlers to young teens. It was obvious where most of the adults were. Few of the children paid you any mind, and those that did seemed more interested in your shackles than the group of strangers walking around the camp.

“This is Vulgud,” Alkgan said, bringing your attention back to the wagon, “He is our weaponsmith.”

The tall orc in question was stepping down from the wagon with a small iron object in hand. You had expected the chain to be broken with a large hammer on the anvil on the ground nearby. Instead, he took one of your hands and searched for the key hole, inserting the tool and seemingly randomly jiggling it around. Within moments, the shackle popped open, giving away and swinging while he repeated the process with your other hand.

You thanked Vulgud, running your finger along the bruised skin of your dominant hand’s wrist, evidence of what you did the night you escaped. It was big, spanning from your knuckles down your arm.

You quickly hid your arm as the old orc woman from before approached, a herd of young children following her. She held a bundle of clothes and ushering you towards a large basin.

Small, chubby hands of every shade of green held onto the rim, all trying to see who was in their tub. You smiled in between scrubbing the mud from your body with soap, the water thankfully opaque with all the grime and dirt from the last two days. They didn’t speak common, directing their questions in orcish to the old woman. She bared her teeth and growled, sending them all scattering, nodding to you before leaving you.

When you were finally changing into the clean set of clothes, Rose gasped, her gaze directed not to your arm but your legs. You looked down as well, noticing the welts that had grown more pronounced on your leg. You had felt the sting while you walked, but you hadn’t realized they had gotten so noticeable with all the dried mud. You pulled up the trousers, covering the marks. The clothes were clearly made for orc children, fitting your waist around but the leg not quite reaching your ankles. Fortunately, the boots you were provided made up for the difference, making the shorter length look purposeful.

Rose left the matter of your wounds at that, both of you returning to the others silently. Once you rejoined the others, Mauve filled you in on what happened while you were in Tasca.

Apparently, they had been found by the orc caravan shortly after you left, before they even had a chance to split up as you planned. They thought they were residents of the village before they saw the chains. It was a fortunate coincidence that the very people you all were running from were the same ones they spent weeks looking for.

“So, what now?” Mauve finished with a question, the others now gathered around you, “Do we still go to Vircia?”

“Shouldn’t we return home to Ozryn?” Grace argued, “The soldiers are all dead, it should be safe now!”

“Why can’t we stay here?” Winnie asked, “It’s safe; at least for a few days…”

“What if we rode along with the orcs?” Rose said, “I’m so tired of running… they’ve helped us so far. I’m sure they’ll pass by Vircia, at least.”

“You haven’t heard?” You all jumped as Alkgan approached the group, all of you watching him expectantly. “Most of the villages we passed were burned down… The larger cities are the same since humans have been fleeing Dumir through our lands for months-”

You stopped listening, despondent over the revelation. Your entire world had literally been razed to the ground just a few days ago and the final shred of hope you had been clinging to had been ripped away as well.

The others were staring at you. You could feel it, but you had no comfort or assurances to offer this time. The news was just as abrupt for you and you had no fallback. They all expected you to be like your father, always knowing exactly what to do and how to adapt, but he also never had to deal with situations of this magnitude in Ozryn so you felt entitled to take a moment.

Wordlessly, you turned around and walked away, unable to provide them the answers the so desperately wanted and overwhelmed with the weight of twelves lives you had found thrusted upon your shoulders. You had convinced yourself that everything would be alright so long as you could reach Vircia, that there would be people there who would no what to do, that you could somehow escape the rest of the war. It was the only way to convince yourself to keep moving and not just curl up and wait to reunite with your parents and brother.

Tasca gone you could handle - you had already suspected it to be the next target of the soldiers and it was always meant to be a stepping stone - but to learn that every other village and town was no longer an option…

You walked straight out of the camp, eventually leaving the forest behind and squatting down in the tall grass. You didn’t sit, not so besides yourself in grief as to dirty the borrowed clothes so soon but still trying to curl up as small as possible. You tried to dampen the nausea you’ve felt for days now, willing yourself to stop dry heaving. There was nothing in your stomach to bring up, but that fact did not stop your body from trying.

Alkgan appeared next to you at some point, plopping down on the ground and waiting for you to compose yourself before speaking.

“The others look up to you. They said you were the reason they were able to escape. Even refused to leave after we removed their shackles.”

“I see,” you croaked, not really seeing anything but wanting to be polite. You wondered why Alkgan didn’t go with the other raiders.

“You aren’t pleased that they see you as their leader?”

You snorted at that, “I’m no leader. There’s just no one else left from our village; they didn’t have any choice.”

“Of course they had a choice!” A deep rumbling that you soon realized was laughter came from deep within Alkgan’s chest as he looked down at you with amusement, the colorful beads that adorned his twin braids rattling together, “They had eleven others, or even choose no one. If you do not accept their trust, then you waste it… and you will need it if you are going to survive.”

You were taken aback by the unexpectedly profound piece of wisdom, the encouragement seemingly from out of the blue. Perhaps that was Alkgan’s role for the caravan, his insight so vital he didn’t go out into battle.

Before you could thank him for his advice, however, the sound of the horn once again echoed through the forest, signaling the return of the raiders. Before the sound even faded, Alkgan was up and walking back to the camp and you close behind, the orc woman leading the group calling out to him in orcish.

She was tall, a whole head taller than Alkgan once he was standing in front of her, who you thought was too tall already. Her armor was dented and covered in blood but she seemed to be in a good mood after the battle, baring her teeth in a gruesome smile and shaking her black plaited hair out of her helm. You gulped as she looked at you, her gaze clearly analyzing you. You were definitely intimidated, glad that you were not been the one to have crossed the orcs.

Mauve had told you that the warriors had already split off from the main group when they were found, so they definitely had no idea why a bunch of humans were in their camp. You could hear nothing while the two talked, the snippets you caught all in orcish anyways, but there was a lot of pointing and looking over at you, which was disconcerting. You stayed rooted in your spot, trying not to look as anxious as you felt while Alkgan walked back towards with you, the orc woman following him. You managed to at least maintain eye contact, even when you had to crane your neck back as they got closer.

“This is the chief of this caravan, Zhulgan,” he introduced the newcomer before turning to her and saying something in orcish.

You could definitely see a resemblance up close even without the similar names, their facial structures strikingly similar and the same mottled shades of green. The two went back and forth for a minute, both seemingly getting annoyed with the other.

The nausea flared up again as your imagination ran wild about what they were discussing, clearly about what to do with the twelve of you. The most obvious thing was being taken prisoner again. Even if your experience thus far told you differently, you felt that orcs would be a less desirable captor than fellow humans.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Alkgan finally met your gaze once again and you relaxed slightly, though the apologetic look he gave you kept you from fully calming down, “She says… your group should leave now.”

The tension immediately returned to your shoulders. You hadn’t expected to be faced with a decision on what to do so soon, despite having just discussed you options with the others. At the time, it had seemed far away, like you had been getting in front of the issue before it became one and you hadn’t even been able to come to a consensus.

“I- but- Surely you could just stay for the night? If you can just leave in the morning-?” You floundered, trying to think of some reason that could buy you some time to figure out what to do.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve remained on this land for too long already, especially during a war. We’re low on supplies already, we must go,” Alkgan said, the pity clear in his eyes.

You were on the verge of panicking, your mind and heart racing as you willed yourself to come up with some plan, an easy fix that would knock out all your problems. You had no time, unable to pause the conversation to talk to the others, so you were forced to act on impulse.

“What if we travelled with you?” You asked, the desperation clear in your voice. It was a long shot; Alkgan knew your plan was to go north and they were heading west; not to mention that you had nothing to offer them as payment in exchange.

Alkgan didn’t even bother to translate your request before responding, “That’s not possible. You’re humans-”

Zhulgan said something in orcish, Alkgan shaking his head.

“If everyone is fleeing Dumir, we will probably need to leave, anyways.”

“You can cross the border faster here.”

“Some of the girls have family out west.” A blatant lie, but necessary to try and sway Alkgan with a plausible enough excuse. “If they left, it would have been through the orc lands.”

You suppressed every nervous tic that threatened to disrupt your straight face, willing Alkgan to take the natural next step in his argument: that you had nothing to offer. You couldn’t decide who to look at to implore - Zhulgan was the chief, but Alkgan was taking charge of the conversation - so you awkwardly flitted your gaze between the two as a compromise. Zhulgan was staring solely at you, apparently trusting her brother enough to allow him to do so.

“Well you can’t cross without-”

“-paying tribute,” you finished with just a tad too much eagerness but now confident that you could win this argument, “As you know, our village was destroyed. We have nothing of material value to offer you, but we can work off our debt. Mauve knows how to work in a forge and can work metal. We can also help you procure supplies from any of the towns- or work with your animals or help take care of the young ones-”

Alkgan laughed, boisterously loud and making you jump. Zhulgan was still watching you closely, an unreadable look flashing across her eyes, though it was possible you imagined it. You were breathing heavily, not having taken in any air during your passionate monologue. You weren’t entirely sure if Alkgan was impressed with your quick thinking or convinced that you were completely insane.

Rather than clarify, he turned to speak with Zhulgan. You had no way of gauging if the discussion was in your favor or not, Alkgan still looking amused and Zhulgan’s expression frustratingly impassive.

After what felt like an eternity, Zhulgan turned to you, her expression inscrutable. “Your group may travel with us.”

Your jaw dropped, never once suspecting that she could understand what you were saying the entire time. You were embarrassed, believing she would only get a summarized explanation of your words. Still, your proposition had been accepted either way and you were relieved.

Of course, you didn’t have long to enjoy the victory, Zhulgan ordering the orcs to begin loading the wagons. You would have to break the news to everyone else - a prospect that made you dread the role of unofficial leader anew. Grace had already expressed her desire to go home and at least some of the others must agree. However, Alkgan’s words came back to you, putting some air back into your sails. They trusted you to keep everyone safe and you wouldn’t waste it.