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waltwhitmansbeard · 2 years ago

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you need not worry, child (a my fair lady one-shot)

y'all thought i was done, but like delilah briarwood, i simply refuse to accept death! this is a one-shot that is going to be bridging my fair lady with its sequel. unlike the previous one-shot set in the mfl world, this one is actually like important and relevant to the plot, so i recommend reading it only once you've finished mfl, which you can read here on my tumblr or over on ao3.

the story does require some trigger warnings, but bc i don't want to spoil some things if i don't have to, i'm gonna ask you to go over to ao3 to read them there. this way people who want the trigger warnings can get them but people who would rather not have those warnings spoil some of the plot points of this one-shot don't have to worry about that. in general, i will say that this one-shot deals with some sensitive subjects that may not be appropriate for all readers. also i'm not a doctor. i don't even play one on tv.

and of course, we would not be here without @romeoandjulietyouwish and her wonderful medieval au!

In the depths of autumn, when nightfall is quickened and the wind blows cold, a little cottage stands under the mostly bare branches of a cherry tree. Out front, a small patch of squash and turnips grows wild, framing the path leading up to the bright green front door from the direction of an impressive castle. A man walks this path, a black cloak pulled tight around his shoulders against the chill, and stops briefly to smile at the member of the castle guard stationed on watch a few dozen yards away before pushing inside, where he is greeted by a crackling fire and the smell of something burning.

"Hello?" he calls, trying not to be too worried by the smoke in the air as he toes his boots off to set just inside the door.

"Hi!" Keyleth twists around from their little kitchenette to grin apologetically at him. "I'm...still getting the hang of this."

Vax doesn't mind. (Vax never minds.) As a princess, his wife was not taught the ways of homemaking and cooking, but since they've moved into their home, she has thrown herself into the effort. Though her days are often filled with important work befitting someone who will someday rule a nation, she practices as often as she can, and Vax, who still wakes up disbelieving that this is his life, treats each attempt as though it were concocted by the castle chefs themselves.

(Of course, Vax himself is no slouch at the culinary arts, having studied at his mother's elbow for years before he and his sister were sent to Syngorn. He's always enjoyed cooking, the riot of aromas in the air, his attention being pulled in half a dozen directions at once. He knows Keyleth feels the urge to learn, to prove herself to be more than a coddled princess who's never had to work to provide for herself, and even though he'd never believe such a thing about the woman who works harder than any person he's ever met, he understands that this is a matter of pride, and he's not going to stand in her way.)

He sidles up behind her at the stove and wraps his arms around her waist. "What's for dinner?"

She sticks her bottom lip out, stirring hopelessly at a large pot of...something. Stew, maybe? "What we can pilfer from the kitchens, I think." She sighs. "I'm not very good at this, am I?"

"Hey." He presses a kiss into the side of her neck. "You are extraordinary at a great number of things. If cooking is your greatest weakness, I do believe the future of the Ashari Nation is still in good hands."

Her body is tense, jittery. "I suppose. I just wanted..." She tosses her ladle into the pot. "It doesn't matter." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I can go get us something from the castle."

"Come here." He spins her away from the stove to face him. "There is trouble in your eyes. Did something happen?"

Something shifts in her smile, and now instead of disappointed, she seems restless. She glances at the pot, clearly gives up, and takes his hand and pulls him toward the little sofa facing the fire. She sits and curls her legs under her, her entire demeanor feverish and distracted. She plays with his fingers nervously. "I spoke with Nel today."

"Oh." Nel is Derrig's wife, and since Derrig took over his role as Keyleth's primary guard, she has become a staple figure in their lives. She comes to tidy the cottage for them sometimes, her three eight-year-old girls and baby boy in tow, and has been Keyleth's principal instructor on her culinary journey. It is not unusual for Keyleth to have spoken to her today, so he asks, "What did you talk about?"

"Well, you are aware of what Nel does? When she is not being a godsend to us, of course."

Vax furrows his brow. He's sure he knows, but after the day he's had, he can hardly remember his own name. "Remind me?"

Keyleth worries her lip between her teeth. "She's a midwife."

The realization comes slow, like the sun breaking over the horizon. His eyes widen, and a hopeful smile creeps along Keyleth's face. "No." She nods. "Truly?"

"We're going to have a child," she breathes, and then she's squeaking, having been lifted up off the sofa and spun around in a circle. "Vax!"

He sets her down carefully, knocking their foreheads together. "We're going to have a child." He sighs. "How long have you known?"

"Nel only confirmed it today, but I've suspected for a few weeks, actually. I wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up."

Vax is worried his heart is going to leap directly from his chest. He holds Keyleth's face in his hands, her skin flushed and bright in the glow of the fire, and kisses her, grins against her lips like a man possessed. It was approximately a year ago that they were just beginning, a princess and her guard, a romance fated for heartbreak and misery, yet here they are, in their home, their rings on each other's fingers, and a baby on the way. Vax could never have imagined for himself this ecstasy, this contentment, this peace. As he pulls his miracle of a wife back onto the sofa, curling her into his side, he sends a quick prayer to his matron, the mistress of fate, to thank her for weaving for him a destiny far brighter than any he would have created for himself.

They sit on the news as long as they can, but Keyleth, not quite the purveyor of secrets that Vax is, starts to split at the seams before a fortnight is out. She comes home after a long day of meetings, most with her father, and demands they tell him before she blurts it out in front of the entire council and his advisors. Vax, mercifully, agrees, and the next morning the two of them set off for the castle together, in search of the sovereign. They find him in his private study, and the door has only just closed when Keyleth, gripping Vax's hand tightly, spills the news like a criminal's confession.

The sovereign, who sits at a large desk littered with all manner of maps and papers and ledgers, stares at them impassively for a long minute, and Keyleth feels beads of sweat trailing down her neck. Finally, the exterior cracks, and he is grinning, crossing the room at a breakneck speed to gather her up in a hug. She sinks into her father's embrace, relieved that he is not displeased.

"Congratulations, my daughter," he says, holding her out at arm's length to look at her. "I should have known. You have that same glow your mother had." Tears spring to Keyleth's eyes, and she flicks them away with a laugh.

Her father then turns to Vax, claps him on the shoulder, and pulls him into a hug as well. Vax's face blooms in surprise, but he tentatively returns the gesture. Her father ends the embrace and then shakes his hand. "You're in for an adventure, son."

At the word son, Keyleth watches Vax's entire body shift. He straightens up, his throat bobbing just a bit, and he says, "There's no one else I'd rather go on it with."

They tell Percy and Vex at the same time, which is easy enough, given that the two spend little of their free time apart these days. They invite them over for dinner, Vax helming the cooking effort, and Vex hasn't even shrugged off her cloak before she's pointing an accusatory finger between the two of them. "You're pregnant."

Keyleth gapes. "How?"

Percy, who is in the process of hanging his own jacket up near the door, looks at her with concern. "What do you mean, how? Surely you know the mechanics of it."

Keyleth's face bursts into flames. "That—I didn't—how did you know?"

"I was right?" Vex gasps. "I was fucking with you!" She wheels on Vax, barreling toward him and throwing her arms around his neck.

Vax catches her with a laugh. "So you're happy for me then, Stubby?"

She pinches the back of his neck. "Of course, I'm happy for you. Anything that brings you joy brings me joy."

Percy walks up to Keyleth and pulls her in for a hug. It is a relief not to be keeping this secret from the closest thing she's ever had to a brother. "This is magnificent news, Keyleth."

She grins. "You're going to make a wonderful uncle, Percy."

His eyes grow misty, and she knows he's thinking of all of the other nieces and nephews he is never going to have. "I'll protect any child of yours with my life, you know that, right?"

"If you love them half as well as you've loved me, my child will be very blessed, indeed."

"And you." He holds her by the shoulders, looks her straight in the eye. "You will make a wonderful mother. Any child would be lucky to be raised with your empathy and your generosity."

Now it's Keyleth's turn to be teary-eyed, and she buries her face in his shoulder, so grateful to have a friend as true as he.

Word spreads quickly through the castle, because nothing loosens lips like the news of a royal child. Keyleth once again finds herself the object of much attention and speculation, which is never a position she enjoys. The situation only worsens when the news breaks beyond the castle, beyond Zephrah. Felicitations and gifts come flooding in from all corners of the Ashari Nation and countries beyond, including a beautiful wooden cradle of Elvish make from the High Warden of Syngorn and a child's book of arcane magic from the Stormwinds of Draconia. (Keyleth decides to give the latter to Lady Allura, Mistress of Arcana, for safekeeping.)

Along with the well wishes come snippets of gossip, rumors about the child's father and a royal woman carrying the seed of a lowly commoner. The fact that Vax has been titled as Champion of the Raven Queen has not reached all corners of society, but even still, Keyleth boils at the thought of either her husband or their child being scorned for their social standing. Is it not enough to have the eternal adoration of a royal? Is a title what makes Vax worthy of her, and not his heart, his courage, his loyalty? Vax brushes away the gossip, reminding her that as a god's Champion, he needs not the approval of others, but Keyleth cannot forgive the injury.

The only word that seems to have any effect on Vax is one Keyleth knows he's had hurled his way his entire life: bastard. Their child is not a bastard, of course, and Keyleth is not so naïve as to be unaware that a princess birthing a bastard child would cause problems with the line for the throne. It is perilous, therefore, for such slander to be whispered about, and they both know it. There is only so much they can do to quell the rumors—they are married, a fact that cannot be disputed before any king or god—but worse than the dangers regarding lineage is the way the word brings out the shadows in Vax's eyes. There is nothing she can say—how does one shake off insults about one's child when they aren't even true?—so she turns to her father, who in turn decrees that any potential guest at Zephran court who has spoken ill of his grandchild and the future sovereign of the Ashari Nation shall never darken the halls of his castle again. The rumors don't stop completely, but they never hear the word bastard again, which is something of a relief.

Keyleth is quite amused to notice the changes in Vax's demeanor now that they are expecting a child. Already an extremely physically affectionate person, Vax is almost never not touching her when they are together. His hand is on the small of her back, or his chin is hooked on her shoulder, or he keeps their legs pressed together when sitting beside one another. He is always there, a moth fluttering about a flame, but Keyleth doesn't mind. She enjoys the happy, loose grin on his face, the press of his palm against the barely-visible curve of her stomach. She knows that family is a matter of particular importance to Vax, whose own experience with it has been unsteady and often lonely, and she will never begrudge him these first moments of domestic joy.

It is not only in their little cottage that his physical attentions have become more prominent. Before Keyleth became pregnant, she was always careful to maintain a respectable display of affection while in the castle, not only for her father's sake, but also to maintain her regal presence in front of court. This habit is broken by Vax, who keeps at least one hand on her wherever they are in the castle. He has also developed an interesting tendency of just slightly placing his body between Keyleth and whomever they're speaking with, an impulse Keyleth suspects he hasn't even noticed in himself.

Personally, she doesn't resent Vax's new proclivities—she has always felt more relaxed when he is near—but she does see the hint of scandal in the eyes of those at court who are accustomed to more proper displays of affection. Once, when Vax has been called to be present at the funeral of a farmer on the edge of town, Keyleth visits with her father, to whom she apologizes for any discomfort or impropriety.

Her father, however, waves off her concern. "Keyleth, I was a complete and utter madman while your mother carried you. There was a page who accidentally spilled some wine on her one afternoon and I nearly had the boy thrown in the dungeons for a month until Vilya talked me down off the ledge. Vax's behavior does not trouble me at all."

So Keyleth allows herself to enjoy it, the small touches, his constant nearness. When they lie together in bed and he presses his ear to her scantly rounded belly, whispering secrets and promises to their child, she comes to understand that this, this quiet joy, this tremulous heart in her throat, is when her lifetime of loneliness has truly come to its end.

One morning, just a few weeks after the night their lives changed forever, Vax awakes suddenly before dawn to the bed jostling harshly. He lifts up onto his elbows in time to see Keyleth hurtling out of their bedroom and into the kitchen. Confused, he slides out of bed and follows her. "Kiki?" He hears a violent retching sound and moves faster.

In the kitchen, he finds Keyleth bent over the sink, trying to keep her hair out of the way as she vomits into it. Vax rushes up to her, holds her hair in one hand, and rubs the other up and down her back. Her entire torso ripples as she heaves, again and again, until nothing but bile comes out. In what little moonlight creeps in through the curtains, he can see she is ghostly pale, and she gasps for air through her retches.

When she seems to be done, her shoulders slumped forward, he grabs a dishcloth, wets it in the sink, and uses it to wipe the sweat and sick from her face. "There," he breathes, brushing her hair back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and her mouth is clearly dry. "I'm sorry."

"Absolutely not." He takes the carafe of water from their tiny dining table and pours her a glass. "Drink this, and do not ever apologize to me for this. I have no way of knowing what stress this is putting on your body. You never have to be sorry for growing our child, Kiki."

Exhausted, Keyleth slumps against him, slowly slipping at the glass of water. He ushers her back into the bedroom, where they sit on the edge of the bed together as she finishes her drink. He then takes the glass from her, sets it on the bedside table, and lays her back down. "You take such good care of me," she murmurs, her eyes sliding closed.

Vax leans down to kiss her forehead. "We take care of each other. We're a team."

She smiles softly, and then she's asleep again.

These violent purges quickly become a nightly thing, waking them both suddenly from a dead sleep, until the issue begins to infect their days as well. Keyleth cannot keep any food down, vomiting everything back up within half an hour of each meal. Nel visits often, testing out new methods of combating the nausea—herbal teas, smelling salts, different diets, changing the pace of eating—but nothing helps. Vax notices that Keyleth is losing weight, when he knows she should be gaining some to support the baby's growth. Anxiety fills his every waking thought, and he skives off most of his duties as Champion to once more follow his wife around, the princess's uneasy shadow, not that he imagines he would be any help to her in this condition.

His anxiety turns to panic a month later, when Nel, having stopped by to check on Keyleth after what has now become her regular afternoon nap, pulls him aside to say, "I worry for them both if she cannot start gaining weight again."

Vax's blood runs cold. He sees the pallor in Keyleth's skin, the sunken shape of her cheeks, and he knows that she is unwell. "Nel, please. They are my world."

Nel runs a stressed hand through her long blond hair. "I wish I knew what to try next. She is not able to keep food down long enough for either she or the baby to receive enough sustenance."

Korrin, who had joined Nel in her visit and whose eyes reflect Vax's own disquiet, says, "Vilya suffered similarly, if I recall, but I don't believe her nausea causes quite this much distress. There was some remedy, I believe, but that knowledge has been lost to me in the past twenty years."

Vax wants to pull his hair out. "There must be something. A potion we haven't tried, an old wives' trick, anything."

"I have an idea."

All three turn to see Keyleth leaning against the open door frame of the bedroom. Her thick dressing gown is wrapped around her to ward off the early winter's chill. She looks so frail, Vax worries one good gust of wind will come take her away.

"What is your idea?" Nel asks, keeping her voice bright, though Vax can hear the doubt in it.

Instead of answering, Keyleth walks toward them and out the front door. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and she is only wearing thin slippers. Vax snatches a knitted blanket off of the sofa and rushes after her, Korrin and Nel on his heels. Keyleth walks to the cherry tree, its branches reaching and bare, and settles herself on the ground between two large roots. Vax catches up to her and, wrapping the blanket tightly around her shoulders, asks, "What are you doing?"

"Wait." She places her hands on the hard, cold ground and closes her eyes. Vax steps back to watch, tossing a confused glance over his shoulder at the sovereign and the midwife. Keyleth sits in silence, breathing slow and deep, and between his own raucous heartbeats, Vax listens to the bracing wind whistle through the branches. The cold brings some color back to Keyleth's cheeks, though he isn't sure the exposure is good for her. He waits as long as he dares, and just when he has decided to lift her up and carry her back into the warmth of the cottage, her eyes flicker open. "Cinnamon."

Vax blinks in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

Keyleth begins to stand, and Vax rushes to help her to her feet. To Nel, she says, "The tea you made with the ginger and the fennel and the peppermint. We need to try adding cinnamon."

Nel seems just as bewildered as Vax feels, but she nods fervently. "Right away, Your Highness." She rushes off toward the gardens.

Vax and Korrin steer Keyleth back inside, settling her in front of the fire with several blankets piled atop her lap and shoulders. Vax sits at her feet and asks, "What did you do out there?"

She offers a little shrug. "I'm not sure. It...felt like praying, in a way, but to the natural world, rather than a god. Papa, you said that Mother had found a way to ease her symptoms, and I thought...I don't know, perhaps the earth remembers."

Vax exchanges a baffled look with Korrin. The sovereign places a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Did you hear her?" he whispers.

Keyleth reaches up to hold onto his hand. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I'd like to think so, even if just indirectly."

Nel returns within half an hour with a new tea concoction in hand. She steeps it in some boiling water and gives it to Keyleth to drink, which she does hesitantly. Vax and the others wait with bated breath. After several long, agonizing minutes, a smile begins to curl at the corners of Keyleth's mouth. "Well. I haven't felt this good in ages."

Vax lets out a nearly manic laugh, ducking his forehead against her knee. Nel announces that she is going to begin cooking at once, and Korrin comes to sit on the sofa beside his daughter. He pulls her into a hug. "You astound me. Every day, you astound me."

Vax watches with pride as Keyleth leans into her father's embrace, and to himself, he thinks a quiet prayer to the Raven Queen, asking her to pass on his endless gratitude to Vilya of the Ashari Nation.

Keyleth's health improves, but slowly, and while her nausea is abated enough to allow her to keep most foods down, she still struggles with general queasiness and fatigue. She will take that, however, over wasting away and near-constant regurgitation. As the nights stretch out, each longer than the last, so too does her belly, which Keyleth finds herself running a hand over almost compulsively. It doesn't feel real, this smooth, hard bump, and she is often distracted by it when she should be listening in meetings. Her father insists that she does not need to maintain her usual schedule, that she should be resting more, but she feels so behind already, with how much time she spent feeling ill and malnourished, so she attends every conference and planning session, offering her insight on farming subsidies, an updated taxation plan, and a major construction project in Pyrah. She studies her documents and formulates her arguments, and most nights she falls asleep on the sofa in front of the fire, physically and mentally exhausted.

Vax begs her to slow down, to take more breaks, but Keyleth knows that if she is to be sovereign some day, she cannot use pregnancy or motherhood as an excuse for any dereliction of duty. Her father raised her alone—albeit, with the assistance of the castle staff—and maintained his obligation to his people at the same time, and she'll be damned if she doesn't do the same.

Once a season, the royal family opens the castle doors and invites any Ashari citizen to come forward and express a grievance, concern, or request to the sovereign. Many also bring donations, extra food or clothing or even livestock that they do not need that can then be redistributed to the poor. Keyleth attends, of course, with Vax always at her elbow, and she helps her father welcome in each and every guest, who hail primarily from Zephrah, though a few have made the long trek from the other Ashari cities and villages.

Much to her dismay, the talk of the event is the upcoming royal baby. Many Zephrans have brought small gifts for the child, such hand-knitted swaddling clothes and toys carved from wood, and Keyleth accepts them all with awe and joy. The generosity of her people staggers her, and more than once, she finds herself needing to turn to wipe away tears.

Still, despite this awe-inspiring goodness, Keyleth's energy begins to dwindle quickly. She is rarely surrounded by so many people at once, and the noise and the smells and the heat are starting to overwhelm her. Her mouth goes dry, and her hand reaches back to where she knows Vax is.

Instantly, his hand is in hers, and his voice is in her ear. "Are you alright?"

She shakes her head, which is starting to swim. Through her dizziness, she is aware that Vax is quickly escorting her from the throne room, though she cannot feel her legs moving. When they are out in the hall, away from the bustle of the gathering, Vax leans her up against a wall and inspects her closely. "Kiki, talk to me."

Derrig, who had apparently seen their rapid exit inside, appears beside him, his eyes widening at whatever he sees on Keyleth's face. "She does not look well."

"We'll take her to Pike," Vax announces, which is the last thing Keyleth hears before her eyes roll back in her head and she crumbles toward the ground.

Vax manages to catch Keyleth before she crashes to the stone floor, staggering to scoop her up into his arms. His heart has leapt into his throat, and he turns to Derrig and snaps, "Get us to Pike, now."

Derrig doesn't hesitate. He leads the way toward Pike's chambers, Vax stumbling behind as fast as he can. He's only half paying attention to where they're going, his eyes locked on Keyleth's unconscious face. It seemed so sudden, her decline in the throne room; one minute she was smiling among her people, accepting a baby blanket dyed in the colors of the Ashari crest, and the next she was pale and distant. Is it poison? This wouldn't be the first time that someone would try to use a toxin to kill her, and with so many people crowded into one room, it wouldn't be difficult to apply something to her skin or slice her with a poisoned blade. Or perhaps some magic has been cast on her—would that be something Pike could undo?

Derrig shoves open the doors to Pike's study, which is half a library, half a shrine to Sarenrae. The Mistress of Divinity is up on a ladder, pulling a leather-bound tome off of a shelf that would be too high for Vax, never mind a gnome, and she nearly falls off in her surprise at their entrance. "What in the Hells..." She trails off at the sight of Keyleth, unconscious and sagging in Vax's arms. She scurries down the ladder. "Get her on the sofa."

There's a low sofa near the windows, and Derrig quickly knocks some papers that had been left atop it onto the floor. Vax carefully lays Keyleth down, crossing her arms over her torso and brushing her hair away from her face. "Pike, please!"

She appears, her holy symbol clutched in one hand. "Let me work." She closes her eyes and holds her empty hand just a few inches above Keyleth's chest. Vax hovers, heart beating wildly, eyes never leaving Keyleth's slack face. It seems like a lifetime before Pike relaxes out of her posture and says, "Neither magic nor poison did this. She seems unaffected by any outside influence."

"I don't understand," Vax grits out. "She just...dropped. Something must have happened."

Pike turns to Derrig. "Go get your wife, please." The guard nods once and disappears back into the hall. Then to Vax, she says, "This seems more medical than mystical to me. I want Nel's expertise."

Vax falls to his knees beside the sofa, taking one of Keyleth's clammy hands into his. "Is...is our child alright?"

Pike hesitates, then places a hand on Keyleth's rounded belly. "I sense a life in here, yes. For now, at least, your child still lives."

Vax's forehead crashes against the edge of the sofa, and he stays there, praying to the Raven Queen over and over and over not to take his family from him. Pike pats him on the shoulder before going over to one of her workstations.

It takes only ten minutes for Derrig to reappear with Nel, who carries with her a satchel of various herbs and remedies. Vax quickly moves out of the way for her as she leans down over his wife. "Any insight, Mistress Pike?"

"Nothing that I would be able to help with. I think this is more your area."

Nel puts her fingers to the inside of Keyleth's wrist, then presses her ear to her stomach. Vax watches in confusion as she continues to poke and prod at Keyleth, and he wants to scream at her to do something, but he stands by in tense, agonizing silence.

After several minutes, Nel digs around in her bag and pulls out a tiny glass vial, which she uncorks and sticks under Keyleth's nose. Five, six seconds later, Keyleth's eyes flutter open, and she coughs a bit, a hand coming up to flick away the offending vial. "What...?"

"Keyleth!" This time, Nel moves for Vax so that he may curl over her, putting his hands on either side of her face. "Gods, you're awake." He looks to Nel over his shoulder. "How...?"

"She fainted," Nel explains simply, "likely due to stress and overwhelm." She narrows her eyes and points a finger at Keyleth. "You have been overexerting yourself. You are very lucky no damage was done."

Keyleth smiles sheepishly. "Yes, ma'am." She turns to look at Vax, and he can only imagine what she sees on his face. "Hey." She lays a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm alright, truly."

Vax can't even begin to find the words to answer, so it is Pike who pipes up and says, "I don't want to step on your toes, Nel, but between this and the extreme nausea, I feel like the princess needs to...take a step back."

Keyleth frowns, but Nel nods in agreement. "I concur. Your Highness, my recommendation is bed rest."

Keyleth's jaw drops. "Bed rest! But there's still months to go!"

"Your Highness, you are still underweight and fainting as you did today is alarming. Your dedication to your work is admirable but I hope you do not believe it should come at the expense of either your health or your child's."

"Keyleth." He barely whispers her name. It is a plea. It is a prayer. She looks at him, at the supplication in his eyes, and she relents. "I will...ease my pace," she agrees. "I cannot commit to complete bed rest, not yet, but I promise, I will not maintain the workload I currently carry."

Vax will take whatever victory he can claim. He kisses her, relieved she is awake. Nel instructs her husband to go to the infirmary and retrieve a rolling chair, and when Derrig returns with it, he and Vax help Keyleth up off of the sofa. They take her in the chair back to the cottage, Keyleth mortified the entire way, and Vax fusses over her until she is in bed and resting. He thanks Derrig for his and Nel's help, and when they are alone, he climbs into bed beside his wife, curling his body around her and dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Do you know how keenly I need you?"

Keyleth brings a hand up to stroke his hair down his back. "I am sorry. I didn't think..." She sighs. "I thought I could do everything. Be a mother and a wife and a sovereign."

"You can," Vax insists, "but you cannot do it alone. It is why I'm here, why Nel and Derrig and Percy and Pike and your father are here. But we can only help you if you let us."

A single tear rolls down her cheek. "I am afraid of losing myself."

"I am afraid of losing you. Please, I am begging you, let us take some of your burden. If either one of you is lost, I will not survive it."

Keyleth twists her neck and kisses his forehead, and whispers, "For you, anything."

True to her word, Keyleth begins taking items off of her schedule, limiting herself to only a handful of meetings per week with no more public appearances. She is assisted by the council, who come to her regularly to report important information and to seek her guidance for future conversations. Keyleth begrudgingly admits to herself that having the work come to her is a lot easier on her back and knees than daily trips up to the castle.

She does not stay completely bedridden though. She still totters around her garden, when the snow begins to melt, to tend to her vegetables and plants. She also has more time to devote to cooking lessons, which Nel is happy to provide if it means Keyleth is not traipsing about the castle at a breakneck pace.

In fact, Nel has become quite a staple in their little home, and with Derrig always somewhere near, it means that they have the entire family over rather frequently. The triplets trample in and out of the cottage, dragging the last of the winter's snow with them and constantly screeching about something or another, and baby Will is almost never out of Vax's arms. On a night, when Nel is walking Keyleth through some new recipe or technique, Vax is with Derrig on the sofa, bouncing the child in front of the fire and, much to the women's horror, watching him play with one of Vax's daggers.

Keyleth often finds herself distracted by the sight of Vax with the baby. He seems so natural, lifting the child up above his head or rocking him to soothe his cries. It is, much to her surprise, utterly provocative, and often after these dinners have concluded and Derrig and Nel have dragged their exhausted children home, Keyleth tugs Vax by the belt toward the bed, where he tries to insist that she not supposed to exert herself too much before giving in to her more persuasive temptations.

When the snow has largely finished melting and the white blooms appear on the cherry tree's branches, the two of them set up a small picnic at the roots to celebrate, still bundled against the chill. Keyleth breathes in deep, enjoying the sting of the air in her lungs. Spring is her favorite time of year, with the promise of renewal and growth. As the weather warms, new sprigs will erupt from the earth, and she cannot wait to watch and nurture each and every one.

After their lunch, in which Keyleth has proudly displayed her much-improved culinary talents, they sit back against the trunk of the tree, Keyleth nestled between Vax's legs, his arms tight around her torso. She keeps her cheek pressed against his and listens to the twittering of squirrels in the branches above.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he murmurs after a long silence.

She smiles. "You can always have them for free." She pauses, contemplative. "I was thinking about my mother." Vax hums, encouraging her to continue. "Nel has been a blessing, I think we both can agree, and I cannot imagine getting through this without her wisdom and guidance. But...I do wish I also had my mother's."

His arms tighten around her. "So do I. I also wish...I wish I had a father, a real father, to look to. My father is a prick, and I do not wish to emulate any of his parenting with our child."

Keyleth lets out a humorless laugh. "You with no father and I with no mother. We are quite the pair to be raising a child together."

Vax presses his hands down to the curve of her belly, and Keyleth can feel the familiar knocks from the inside of their baby reaching out for him. "I think...we shall do the best we can. We will take your father's advice and my mother's memory and Nel and Derrig's expertise and our friends' help and we will somehow, with the blessings of the gods, not fuck this up."

That earns a laugh from Keyleth. "Yes, that is the goal." She rests her hands atop Vax's. "I am so glad that we are doing this together. I saw how my father struggled to be my only parent, and...I would not wish to have that fate."

He brings his lips to her neck, kissing her once before saying low in her ear, "There is nowhere else in the world or the next I would rather be than right here, with the two of you."

She tips her head back against his shoulder and lets her eyes slide closed, content and warm even against the crisp spring air.

Just in time for her flowerbeds to bloom, Keyleth is consigned to full bed rest, with Nel brooking no arguments on the matter. The prescription came after a rather harrowing afternoon when Keyleth, in one of her limited sojourns to the castle for work, became light-headed and nearly toppled down a flight of stairs, kept upright only by Derrig's quick action. Vax is worried less by this event and more by Keyleth's quiet acquiescence to the directive. She's been more and more tired lately, even as the council has taken on a greater share of her duties, and Vax sees her tensing up more frequently against some pain or discomfort that she rarely shares with him. For her to accept Nel's edict so easily, knowing as he does her dedication to her work, feels like a great weight upon his chest.

He has all but abandoned his own work as well, only rarely straying from Keyleth's side. He reads to her, cooks more food than she can possibly keep down, and leads her on slow, careful turns about the garden to prevent clots and bedsores. He has devised a game in which he comes up with the most eccentric, horrible names for their child and tries desperately to get her to agree to them, which at least serves to distract her from her soreness.

Korrin comes to the cottage nearly every day, often taking his lunch with Keyleth, who eats what she can at their small dining table. The sovereign does his best to buoy her spirits, reminding her of her mother's own struggles during pregnancy and how proud he is of her tenacity and strength, but Vax finds that after these visits, Keyleth seems even more tired and anxious than she had been before. Percy and Vex come to call as well, although their visits usually entail Percy taking Vax's place by the bed and Vex dragging her brother outside for some air. Vax knows that his sister worries about him, worries about both of them, but there is little he can do to reassure her when he worries himself.

The spring wears on, and Keyleth wears down. Nel is keeping track of her stomach's swelling, and she says with confidence that the baby is still growing, but Vax can see Keyleth once more wasting away before his eyes. Every day, her skin is a bit more pale, her cheeks a bit more sunken in, her eyes a bit less bright. He sits with her and holds her hand and sends up a continuous prayer to the Raven Queen, who so generously spared her life once before, to beg for her life, for both of their lives. He has never felt more helpless, more impotent in his entire life than he does holding her cold hand, listening to her shallow sleeping breaths.

Of course, Keyleth, being Keyleth, attempts to brush away any and all concern, insisting that she is fine and that the bed rest is doing wonders. Vax knows she is lying, Nel knows she is lying, her father knows she is lying, but the lie seems so important to her, so they let her keep it. She jokes with Percy and loses card games to Vex and lets the triplets come in and tell her all about what they learned in lessons that day, but when everyone has gone home and it is just the two of them left, she ducks her head against Vax's shoulder and weeps silently, exhausted and aching. Vax just holds her, stroking her hair and whispering his love to her, over and over and over.

Black. When Vax opens his eyes—when he assumes he opens his eyes—all he sees is black, an inky darkness that is at once familiar and unsettling. Unlike his last time facing his matron, he does not wait. He calls out, "My lady?"

He feels the mask's presence before he sees it; in a blink, it is there. "Vax'ildan. My chosen."

He has not heard this voice since the night he believed himself moments from death. It sends a shiver rippling across his skin. "I have not been serving you as I should," he confesses, bowing his head. "I apologize for my negligence. I just...my wife..."

"Your child."

Vax blinks, feeling first surprised, then foolish for his shock; of course the goddess of fate would have already begun weaving a tapestry for his unborn child. "I find myself unable to leave them, in case..." He swallows, and asks the thing of the Raven Queen he is most afraid to know. "Are they fated to die?" Anticipating her response, he clarifies. "Are they fated to die now, as a result of this pregnancy?"

The mask, infuriatingly, is expressionless. The voice, smooth and soft, seems to emanate from just behind his left ear. "Death comes for your family, my Champion. Death, and undeath." Whatever body Vax has in this space is on the verge of collapsing. "It is choices, Vax'ildan, that determine where their next threads lie. I offer you this warning: keep that which you love most close to you. Fate is not as certain as mortals like to believe. You may pull at the threads, as much as I allow. Pull carefully, my chosen. Their lives depend on it."

Vax blinks again, and he is awake, staring at the ceiling. His head falls to one side to see Keyleth, sleeping in an awkward configuration of pillows and blankets, and the shadow of a now-familiar elbow running along the inside of her belly. He places a hand over it and whispers, "I will break the world for you." He rolls to lie along Keyleth's side, pulling her as close as he dares without waking her, and he does not sleep another wink.

When she confirmed Keyleth's pregnancy, Nel estimated that she was, at the time, roughly two months along, which the midwife did not find surprising, given Keyleth's slight frame. That would put her expected due date in late spring into early summer. This expectation is why Vax flies into a panic when early one mid-spring morning, as he is assembling a bowl of porridge that should not disagree with Keyleth's stomach, a sharp cry erupts from the bedroom. He drops his ladle and rushes inside to find his wife clutching her rounded belly, now quite large, with the sheets thrown back to reveal a spattering of blood across them.

Vax freezes, and then his body moves on its own. He spins for the front door and rips it open, and mercifully sees Derrig approaching for the beginning of his guard duty. "Get Nel now!" Vax shouts at him, and Derrig doesn't hesitate, immediately sprinting back the direction from which he came. Vax slams the door and flies back into the bedroom, where Keyleth is breathing heavily between pained cries. She clutches at his arm the moment he's next to her. "Vax." Her voice is thin. "Something isn't right."

He takes her hand and presses his fingers to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse is thready, weak. Terror grips his throat. "Nel is coming. Everything is going to be fine." He's not sure which of them he's trying to convince. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, yeah?"

He dashes to the kitchen sink to wet a towel before returning to clean off her sweat-soaked face. He then cleans as much of the blood from her legs as he can, but there is so much, and his hands shake. Keyleth's breaths are coming shallow and hard and her eyes are closed, and for once, Vax is glad that they're not open to see what he's seeing.

It takes about fifteen minutes for the doors to burst open, Nel flying in with her satchel of midwifery tools and Derrig hot on her heels. She immediately begins barking out orders, which the two men follow without question, moving Keyleth into helpful positions and throwing the curtains back to let in as much light as possible. Nel settles herself between Keyleth's legs and asks her questions: how much pain is she in, where is the pain, when did it start, can she feel the baby moving? Keyleth answers as best she can, though her responses are interrupted by frequent yelps and groans. Through it all, the blood doesn't stop.

"We need to deliver now," Nel announces.

Keyleth, who is half-propped up on some pillows and squeezing Vax's hand, whimpers. "But...it's so early."

Nel pats her leg sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but..." Vax watches her edit her thoughts before she says them aloud. "I believe it is in the best interests of your health and the child's to deliver now."

She digs around in her bag to begin making a poultice that she explains will induce labor. As she works, she motions for her husband to come closer. When he does, Vax watches her whisper in his ear, "Get the sovereign, just in case."

Vax can't feel his body. He can't feel Keyleth's hand in his or his feet on the floor or his breath in his lungs. Death comes for your family, the Raven Queen told him. He moves automatically when Nel instructs him to climb onto the bed behind Keyleth, supporting her back, and there is a thin, high-pitching ringing in his ears. He surrounds his wife as best he can, bringing her back to rest against his chest. Her head tips back against his shoulders, and he almost doesn't hear her when she murmurs, "Vax?"

He smiles down at her, though the expression feels hollow, fake. "Yes, my love?"

"Will you..." Her voice breaks. "Will you tell our baby how much I loved them?" Tears topple from her eyes. "Will you let them know how sorry I am?"

Her words, their heartbreak and their resignation, alight a fury in Vax that he has not felt since Gaben Finefirn appeared in the middle of the night all those months ago. He curls around Keyleth to look her dead in the eye. "You are not going anywhere," he tells her, and much to his own surprise, he believes what he's saying. "You are going to bring our beautiful child into this world and you are going to help me raise them and you are going to rule a nation, do you understand me?"

She nods, but the tears don't stop. Vax pulls her close against him and takes each of her hands in his. Nel looks up at them from the base of the bed. "Your Highness, I'm going to begin the process of inducing labor. Your pain will likely increase, but I hope that the labor won't take too long, given your baby's current size."

Keyleth nods weakly, and Vax squeezes her hands. "You are strong," he whispers in her ear, "the strongest person I have ever met. I know you can do this." And when she squeezes his hands in return, it feels like a promise.

When the sovereign enters the princess's cottage at a near sprint, Percy is only moments behind, with poor Pike running as fast as she can to catch up. The main living area is empty, but behind the closed door of the bedroom, they can hear muffled voices and sounds of pain. Derrig, who led the troupe there, says, "Let me check on them," before disappearing behind the door.

The sovereign begins to pace from the front of the little house to the back, flinching every time a particularly loud cry emanates from the bedroom. Percy looks to him and says, "Sovereign, I'm sure she'll be alright—"

"None of us is sure of that," the sovereign snaps, and Percy falls silent. He's right, of course; Percy has no way of knowing if his friend, the closest thing he has left to a sister in this world, will survive the day. When the bedroom door opens again, his heart leaps in hope, but Derrig calls for Pike, and the two of them disappear again.

It is just Percy and the sovereign now, and he loses all ability to gauge the passage of time as they wait, the sovereign pacing, Percy leaned up against the mantle, too nervous to sit. The sounds coming from the bedroom are horrifying; he can hear clearly Keyleth's very obvious distress, almost animalistic, primal. Percy thinks about his own mother, whose face he can hardly remember anymore, and how she did this seven times. He thinks about Vex, and for a fraction of a moment, allows himself to wonder what a younger version of himself might look like with her thick dark hair and pointed ears.

Standing here, arms crossed, with nothing to do but bear witness, he feels like a fool, like a little boy, with no real sense of the world. Keyleth is a princess, someday a sovereign, and this is the lens through which he has always viewed her, even after she had become his closest friend. But hearing her cries of anguish, Vax's low murmurs of comfort, he realizes that she is a woman, a wife, gods willing, a mother. These are all pieces of her he has chosen to overlook, and he closes his eyes and prays to whatever deities are listening a promise to love each of those pieces as dearly as he loves the princess, if only they give her the strength to hold on.

It must be hours, he assumes, of quiet with the sovereign, who at some point throws himself onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands. Percy doesn't move, just stands by the fireplace and watches the bedroom door. Shortly after midday, the front door whips open again, and an irritated Vex'ahlia storms in, dressed in her full Captain's regalia. She gives a short bow to the sovereign before rounding on Percy. "Anything you care to share, Percival?"

Percy blanches. "I'm so sorry. Everything happened so quickly and then..."

Frustrated, Vex abandons her bow at the door and stalks into the kitchen, where she begins to brew some tea. She pours cups for the three of them, and then they wait as a trio, the sovereign on the sofa, Percy by the mantle, and Vex hovering near the front window, eyes darting nervously between the garden outside and the bedroom door.

Time wears on, and the sounds of anguish crescendo, agonizingly louder and louder, and Percy's heart is a manic drumbeat in his chest. And then, suddenly, there is silence. For the first time since they arrived in the cottage, there is no sound coming from behind that door, not even a whisper. The sovereign looks up from his hands, and Percy sees a man in terror.

They wait. The seconds drag on. The door remains closed. Percy does not breathe. And then—a mercy. A cry, sharp and shrill. Percy exhales, slumping back against the wall and Vex comes to throw her arms around his neck. The sovereign runs a tired, relieved hand over his face. He stands and resumes his pacing, and Percy knows that he wants nothing more than to knock down the door, but together they wait, listening to the miraculous symphony of a newborn's cries.

When Nel lays the baby, squalling and wet, onto Keyleth's chest, Vax stares in awe. He cannot take his eyes off the tiny, curled toes or the squashed nose or the just barely pointed ears or the fingernails! Why does a baby need fingernails? He is barely breathing as Keyleth brings a shaking hand up to brush their daughter's round cheek, stroke back the fine wisps of hair atop her head. His miracles, both of them.

There's a thick, fleshy cord still attached to the baby's navel, and Nel asks Vax if he'd like to cut it. Shaking and nervous, he grabs one of his daggers from where he keeps it under his pillow and carefully, so carefully, reaches around Keyleth and slices it. Derrig then comes over to take the baby over to a small basin to clean her. Keyleth's whole body tenses when his arms reach out for her, but Vax, still settled behind her on the bed, kisses her cheek and murmurs, "He'll bring her right back, it's alright." She nods hesitantly and lets her go.

While Derrig cleans the newborn, Nel and Pike get to work doing the same for Keyleth. They help her through the afterbirth process, and then Pike lays hands on her leg and slightly deflated stomach and bows her head. Warm golden light fills the room, and Vax watches Keyleth's entire body relax, the color returning to her face. He sighs in relief when she says, "Oh Pike...words cannot describe how much I needed that."

Pike pats her leg. "We can't be losing you, can we?"

Derrig returns with the baby, and Keyleth curls around her, pressing her close to her skin. Vax hooks his chin over Keyleth's shoulder to marvel at the splay of eyelashes—eyelashes!—across her cheeks. When Nel is finished with her work, she comes up to begin gently prodding at the baby, who wails in protest. "She is small," she announces, "but with excellent lungs, which is good, though perhaps not for your sleep. I would limit her exposure to the world for a little while, until she can grow a bit stronger. But congratulations, Your Highness, Champion. You have a healthy baby girl."

Vax is sure that his heart is to give out at any moment. "What do you think?" he asks quietly. "The name we discussed?"

Keyleth smiles. "I think my father will like it." She looks up at Derrig then. "Is he here?"

Derrig nods. "With Lord Percival and Captain Vex'ahlia, Your Highness."

Nel and Pike make sure Keyleth is appropriately covered before Derrig swings the door open to invite those waiting inside. The former appears first, eyes wide and mouth agape, and Vex and Percy's faces appear just behind. Keyleth shifts so they can better see their daughter's face. "Papa, Vex, Percy...I'd like to introduce you to Vilya of the Ashari Nation."

Nel, Derrig, and Pike exit the room to give them some privacy. Korrin comes over to stand beside his daughter, gazing down at the infant in her arms with adoration. "Oh, Keyleth." He bends down to kiss the crown of her head. "She is perfect."

"Let me see!" Vex rushes around to the opposite side of the bed, peering at the baby. "Brother, look! She has our mother's nose."

"Based on the crying we heard earlier, she'll have your mouth." He jolts when Vex reaches out to pinch him.

Percy hovers near the foot of the bed, wide-eyed. "And how are you feeling, Keyleth?"

Keyleth sighs. "I am feeling everything. This is a happiness beyond anything I could have imagined for myself." She pauses. "I am also very tired."

Korrin places a hand on her cheek. "You should rest, then. Let us get out of your hair."

Keyleth frowns, looking down at Vilya and clearly not wanting to close her eyes for even a moment. Vax knows she needs to sleep, though, and also knows that if his sister doesn't hold her niece soon, she's going to explode. He carefully slides off the bed, out from behind Keyleth, and coaxes the baby off of her chest. It's his first time holding her, and he is so sure she is going to break. "You rest," he says, urging his wife to lay down. "We'll be just outside."

Keyleth has little fight left in her. Her eyes easily slide closed, and before he leaves the room, Vax bends down, cognizant of the tiny person in his arms, and murmurs in her ear, "I am so proud of you, Kiki."

Once everyone has gathered in the common area, Vilya becomes the star of the show. The newborn, all pink and sleepy-eyed, is passed from person to person, and each face lights up when she is cradled in their arms. Vax sees tears in the sovereign's eyes as he holds his granddaughter, and when Vex holds her, she paces a large circle, cooing at her with a wide grin. Vax watches her, still disbelieving of the way the day turned out. The Raven Queen's warning echoes in his ears, death and undeath, and now that they are here, his wife and child both blissfully alive, he can admit to himself that he has spent every minute since that dream in abject terror of losing either of them. He can't but believe, then, that his matron's warning was not in regards to his child's birth after all, but rather something else entirely. He knows this should concern him, that as her Champion she has called him to face this challenge head-on, but today, he is a father, and the gods simply must wait.

As he watches his sister pace from his seat on the sofa, he notices Percy, just next to him, watching her too. Vax leans over to Percy and mutters, "You know, my sister has always wanted children of her own."

Percy gives him a withering side glance. "Is that so."

Vax shrugs. "Just thought that might be something you'd like to know."

Despite his annoyance, Percy claps him on the shoulder. "I know we have not always...seen eye-to-eye, especially where Keyleth is concerned. But you have made her exceptionally happy, and for that you will always have my thanks."

Vax watches his sister play with his daughter's impossibly tiny fingers. "Well you've repaid the favor with my sister, so I suppose that makes us equal."

"I suppose it makes us brothers."

Vax gives Percy a long, curious look before wrapping him up in a hug. Perhaps it is the ecstasy of his new child's arrival to the world, but for the first time since he was a boy, he feels as though his family, as big and complicated and confusing as it is, is finally complete.

Night has fallen, and the little family is alone. Keyleth's father, Percy, and Vex left with promises of another visit tomorrow, and Nel, whom they thanked profusely for her prodigious work, has already warned them that she and Pike will be returning frequently to check on mother and daughter. But for now, Keyleth and Vax stand in their little second bedroom, which has been furnished with a small chest of drawers, a rocking chair, and the Syngornian cradle, inside which rests Vilya, swaddled in the blanket of Ashari colors gifted to Keyleth by one of her people. They peer down at her, Vax curled around Keyleth from behind, and watch the infinitesimal rise and fall of her chest, each breath, to them, a miracle.

"Look what you did, Kiki," Vax whispers in her ear. "Look what beauty you've given us. A thousand lifetimes and I will never accomplish a feat half as extraordinary as this."

"I can't believe this is real," Keyleth breathes, squeezing Vax's hands atop her stomach. "I thought...I was so sure..."

Vax has always been able to hear her unsaid thoughts. "You thought you were going to die." It's not a question.

She was sure of it, sure that she would not live to see her daughter's first sunrise. She could feel the vitality leeching out of her with every minute of that arduous labor, and it is only by Nel's expertise and Pike's magic that she is able to stand here and gaze down at the most perfect of all the gods' gifts. "I hope you know that I wasn't...giving up. When I said those things to you. I truly believed that I would not be here to tell her how fiercely I love her." Though she would have thought herself all dried out, more tears spill down her cheek. "And now I get to tell her every day."

Vax kisses her tears away. "It is indescribable, my gratitude. For you, for her. For this life we are building together. I never would have believed myself capable of such joy. I thank you for sharing it with me."

Keyleth twists her head to kiss him. She knows that this slice of contentment cannot last forever. Some day, she will rule her people, and there will be great demands on her time and burdens on her shoulders, and those things will eventually be passed onto her daughter, but for tonight, the three of them are the entire world.

After a while, Vilya wakes up with a crackling wail—such sweet music, the cries of her baby—and Keyleth feeds her; despite such a difficult pregnancy and tumultuous birth, Vilya mercifully took to breastfeeding like a duck to water. Once the baby is sated, Keyleth stands from the rocking chair and says to Vax, "There is someone I should like to introduce her to. Come with me?"

She watches Vax look out the window at the dark castle grounds with uncertainty, but she knows his reluctance to deny her anything, so he nods and follows her out of the cottage. Vilya is tightly bundled against the evening chill, and Keyleth doesn't plan to be outside for long, but she still curls the baby tight against her body. She leads the way to the cherry tree, whose blooms are turning pink and vibrant. They stand beneath the branches, father, mother, and daughter, and Keyleth murmurs, "Mother, I'd like you to meet your granddaughter, Vilya."

The wind shushes through the branches, and a few cherry blossoms sway toward the ground. Vax once again wraps his arms around the two of them, warding off the cold and keeping Keyleth from trembling. "She is named for you," Keyleth continues, "because I hope she grows to have your confidence, your grace, your love. Our people lost a wise and compassionate leader when we lost you, and all I can do is attempt to raise my child to share in these traits, to be the queen that you were in what little time we had you."

She sniffs, thumbing away tears from her eyes. As she composes herself, she is surprised to hear Vax speak. "Your Majesty, I thank you for your daughter. Without her, I would have been lost to the shadows, never more than a bastard and a rogue. But she saw in me a light I thought long extinguished, and now I am the happiest man to have ever lived. I am a husband and a father and a tool of the gods, and I owe every bit of it to Keyleth, and by extension, to you. I am most regretful that you cannot be here with us, but I swear to you, by the moon above, that I will care for them both with all that I have to give. As long as there is breath in my lungs, they will be loved, they will be cherished, they will be protected. You have my word."

Keyleth tips her head onto his shoulder and looks down at the half-dozing baby in her arms. Tomorrow, Keyleth will once more be a princess, and her little daughter, still in her first hours of life, will become one as well, and all of the trappings and revelries of the crown will herald the arrival of the next heir to the Ashari throne. But tonight, beneath this spring moon and the branches of her mother's cherry tree, Keyleth can be a new mother, in the arms of her child's father, smiling down at her most beloved baby with a heart on fire.

#well ain't this a big boy #buckle up kiddos #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #vox machina #vox machina au #tlovm #tlovm fic #my fic #my fair lady

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leogichidaa · 2 years ago

Note

Regulus is really Rabastan but it’s actually Sirius and him pulling a prank on the entire Wizarding World to see if they can convince everyone that Rabastan Lestrange actually exists when nobody’s met the guy before, they know the Lestrange parents and Rodolphus and they know Rodolphus is an only child, and absolutely nobody knows where this guy even came from because he just popped up one day and claimed to be Rodolphus’s younger brother (Rodolphus decides that this will not be his problem, if some random guy wants to be his younger brother so badly then why not? Rodolphus’s life is already weird enough, he’ll accept a mysterious brother into his life, welcome to the family and all). He’s got a Dark Mark and nobody remembers when he joined, not even Voldemort, who did an actual double-take when he saw Rabastan for the first time (Voldemort: I don’t think this guy is really Rodolphus’s brother since nobody ever mentioned him, but I don’t know enough about pureblood families or siblings to dispute this). Sirius sees his brother in Azkaban (for crack purposes, inmates get to socialize for like an hour), and he’s all “Reg, you know you can drop the act, right?” but Regulus is committed now and also nothing could be funnier than them arresting a guy who doesn’t even exist and not even realizing Rabastan Lestrange isn’t real. Post-war, Hermione or someone is going through the legal papers, trying to ensure nobody else got thrown in prison without a trial, and she has the really awkward time of telling everyone “So, you know the Lestrange trial a while back, the one with Bellatrix? Yeah, so it turns out I can find absolutely nothing on her brother-in-law and Rabastan Lestrange doesn’t exist. We’ve all seen the guy, so anyone know who he really is?��

@ncoincidences

😂 I love this!

I love that Rodolphus is like "yeah, more family, cool". He's not bothered by this mysterious new brother and he's not put off by his wife's illegitimate child. Is this because he craves a family? Is this because he is incapable of experiencing human emotions? Who knows!

The Ministry is so ass-backwards and incompetent they literally throw a conman into prison without realizing they're being conned. Background checks? Never heard of them.

The Quibbler publishes an expose about how Rabastan Lestrange is not who he appears to be and that actually, he is a stack of turnips that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack enchanted to act like a man and infiltrate wizard society. Regulus and Sirius read it together and Sirius calls Regulus a turnip constantly.

#ask #anon ask #regulus black #sirius black #rabastan lestrange #regulus is RABastan #I need 100 crack fics centered on Rabastan now lmao

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sydmarch · 2 years ago

Text

Suggestion

evrart/oc fic is done at last...

summary from AO3:

Browsing fayde and came across: Easy Leo - "Oh hey, Mr. Harry!" The little fellow looks happy to see you. "It sure is nice of you to help out Mr. Evrart like you've been doing. He's so awfully busy most days -- he doesn't even eat the turnip porridge me missus sends him every day. She makes it with lots of butter and sliced sausage, she does... It's delicious." and have had my brain damaged beyond repair by it.

Second person from the POV of my OC, Sid, who owns a bakery in the Doomed Commercial Area. After hearing the above from Leo, they decide to stop by Evrart's office with everything they weren't able to sell before closing up shop for the day.

WC: 3637

AO3 link here or you can read below the cut

the tags on AO3 are a bit scattered so instead of copying them directly i'll warn you this contains a blow job, vaginal sex, references to feedism (there's surprisingly no actual feeding in this but it's a fairly central theme), body worship, size contrast, belly kink, mind games/power dynamics, & some sexualization of reduced mobility. if you don't like any of that just keep scrolling!!

Waving to Mañana as you make your way into the harbor, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. You’re hoping that this visit will be interpreted as a simple display of generosity, but as soon as this thought crosses your mind you know that you’re kidding yourself. This is Evrart after all - if anyone’s going to realize you’re making up an excuse to drop by, it’s him. Although you’ve only met a handful of times, you’re certain that someone so perceptive has no doubt taken note of your wandering eyes

Despite this, you hold out some hope that maybe you won’t be quite so easy to read. It’s not like you’ll be lying about having baked more than you were able to sell for the day. Most days you did exactly that - to the point where giving out leftovers to whatever friends happen to be hanging around the DCA when you close up shop is something you’ve become known for. Something that is sincerely an innocent display of hospitality - you are naturally generous - so why would this be any different?

Because it’s Evrart, of course. During your relatively short time spent Martinaise, you've quickly come to realize this man seems to know everything. More than that, whatever he doesn’t know, he intuits. Almost effortlessly so. The more you ponder this, walking along the winding pathway atop the containers, the more you start to suspect it’s part of the reason Evrart appeals to you. He’s a master of a game that you clearly enjoy playing as well, considering how much thought you’ve put into this. Maybe some part of you wants to be bested. You’re definitely aware of the fact that whenever you’re around him, two parts of your mind start vying for control; Salesmanship, admiring his technique - and Electrochemistry, admiring his body.

As usual, you make small talk with Leo before entering Evrart’s office, although today your mind is racing so much that you barely manage to half-listen. Leo, friendly as ever, doesn’t seem to mind your inattentiveness. More likely he doesn’t even notice. Once free from the exchange, you steel yourself before stepping into the container and carefully ascending the makeshift staircase.

On more than one occasion you’ve wondered if this staircase - no more than a pile of stacked wooden crates - is yet another tactic intended to throw visitors off balance. Just like that godawful folding chair. Although the chair doesn’t inconvenience Evrart directly in the same way as this staircase would, when he has his own, much more comfortable one, behind that massive desk. How the hell does he possibly manage these stairs?

Of course, you’ve heard the rumors that he never actually leaves this container. You’ve never never put much stock into it - like most things when it comes to Evrart, you suspect there’s more to it than meets the eye. Although not buying into the theory doesn’t mean that you hadn’t given it plenty of thought. Far more thought than you probably should, in fact.

You couldn’t help it, really, with the way that Electrochemistry had reared its ugly head the moment you overheard part of that conversation in the Whirling: “No, I'm telling you, he doesn’t leave the container because he can’t. You think he or his brother can still walk? Ha!”

Approaching the top of the stairs, you shake off the thoughts before entering the upper container. Now’s not the time to allow your mind to wander. Especially not in that direction.

Looking towards Evrart’s desk, you see he’s already watching you. Of course - he knew you were coming.

"Good evening, my friend! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Evrart straightens from his typewriter as he greets you, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. You’re familiar enough with his mannerisms to know he often assumed this position, but you can’t help but notice that this time there seems to be something more exaggerated in the motion. He stretches more slowly than usual, maybe - with more intent behind it.

Against your better judgment, you look him up and down. It’s like your eyes have developed a mind of their own, seeing him with his arms back as if putting his body on display for you. You suppress a shiver.

Before Electrochemistry can lead you any further down this incredibly distracting line of thinking, you reply.

“Well, I was chatting with Leo the other day and he mentioned you’ve been so busy with the strike that you haven’t really been eating… so when I realized I’d baked more than I was able to sell today I figured I'd drop by with what’s left over, since I’d be passing by the harbor either way.”

Flashing a smile that you hope doesn’t come off as anxious, you gesture with your free hand to the bag held in the other. The name of your bakery, “Delicacies, Confections, and Abandon”, is scrawled across the front.

The smile Evrart flashes back to you falls somewhere between affable and predatory.

“Well, isn’t that generous of you!” He leans further back into the leather chair. “Especially generous, for someone who has no direct ties to the union.”

His good eye is trained on you - unwavering. You can’t help but swallow heavily before responding.

“Not being employed by the union doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything that you do for Martinaise.”

Almost imperceptibly, Evrart raises an eyebrow.

“‘You’ meaning the union, of course.” While you manage not to stutter out the correction, you’re painfully aware that your response was too rushed to feel natural.

“Of course!” he replies. His grin widens.

You feel as if he can see through you completely.

“While I do truly appreciate your generosity, Sid, why don’t we cut to the chase and discuss why you’re really here, hm?”

He’s thrown you off balance there; you weren’t expecting so much forwardness so soon. Intuition sets your mind racing with possibilities. It’s clear that your best bet is to buy yourself a bit of time. Rein your thoughts back in.

“Sorry, Mr. Claire?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you can’t keep yourself from looking at me. And trust me, my friend, I can always tell if someone’s looking out of disgust or because they like what they see - I’ve had plenty of experience with both.”

Your heart skips a beat. Some small part of you manages to be glad that at least he didn’t misinterpret you and take offense to your wandering eyes. You know it’s pointless to protest, but your Salesmanship fails you and your mouth gets ahead of your brain.

“I, uh, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh come now, no need to play dumb.” He shakes his head at you chastisingly while wagging a finger. “We both know you’re smarter than that - I truly do admire your little cover story today.” Leaning forward, Evrart braces his forearms on the desk before continuing.

“Not to mention going into baking in the first place. An excellent front for what you’re really interested in. Very clever”

Fighting Intuition to silence the stream of “ohgodhefiguredmeoutdidn’theIshouldhaveknownhewouldknow” flooding through your mind, you regain your Composure and reply much more confidently now.

“I enjoy the work.”

“I’m sure you do - no doubt you also enjoy the effect it has on people.” He looks up at you with a knowing gleam in his eye.

Despite Evrart’s insistence that there’s no need to play dumb, you aren’t ready to give up on one of your most tried and true methods quite so easily.

“...Making them happy?” You tilt your head to the side in a well-rehearsed display of confusion.

While you may be skirting around the truth, it’s not a lie. You enjoy the simple, innocent pleasure of bringing people joy through your baking just as much as you enjoy the things that you’re certain Evrart’s hinting at. While employing half-truths got you far in your old life, you doubt it will be as impactful here. Evrart is bound to recognize the taste of his own medicine.

“Sure,” He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s all about making people happy. And watching them fatten up in the process is just an added perk, is it?”

Head spinning, you’re almost glad when Evrart keeps going - it saves you from having to come up with a reply.

“Sid, don’t look so surprised, now! I know how often you visit the Whirling in Rags to drop off leftovers for that cafeteria boy. And I’ve certainly noticed the effect those visits have had on his waistline. Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to approach me. Hurt, even!” He places a hand to his chest dramatically, but his expression looks anything but.

He continues. “Tell me, was I simply too intimidating for you? Too big a fish to fry?”

His emphasis is careful. Deliberate.

Blushing, you realize this is one of the rare occasions where words fail you completely. Salesmanship has checked out. Electrochemistry dominates your mental landscape, pooling hot in your gut.

Although you had always refused to so much as entertain the idea of broaching this topic with Evrart (the consequences of such a conversation going badly with someone so powerful… offering up that kind of information about yourself to someone who wasn’t interested… your Intuition wouldn’t let you consider it.) this was exactly the kind of thing you’d fantasized about, wasn’t it? If only Evrart knew, then maybe you could find yourself on the other side of the desk, straddling him in that leather chair.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He leans back in his chair again, eyeing you smugly over his glasses.

“You could try saying exactly what it is you want.”

He already knows what you want. More than that, he knows that you know that he knows. Evrart’s got you right where he wants you. You can tell from his shit eating grin - godwhyisthatshiteatinggrinsohot - that this is all part of the game to him. He’s getting a kick out of watching you squirm.

Now that you’ve actually found yourself in this position, it’s time to ask yourself - what do you want?

You’ve always seen yourself as the dominant one. You certainly are with Garte, not to mention all of the others before him. But you had always felt differently when thinking about Evrart. There was just something about a man who oozed power and control to such an extent - someone who was so physically imposing… you couldn’t imagine yourself wanting to do anything besides whatever he asked of you.

Be that as it may, you don’t intend to submit so easily. It’s not in your nature. Plus, you know Salesmanship intimately enough to be familiar with the thrill of a challenge. A thrill you’re certain Evrart has to be familiar with as well. He wants to see you squirm? Draw on all of your Composure and don’t give him the satisfaction.

You sigh in exaggerated defeat.

“What can I say? You’ve read me like a book. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. And I’m sure you’ve known the whole time, haven’t you?”

For just a fraction of a second, he appears caught off guard. You suppress a smile - proven right that he hadn’t been expecting such directness after your earlier stumbling.

“Yes, well, as I mentioned, your looks were far from subtle. Speaking of which,” He laughs, and his hands move to his collar as he slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. “No need to keep up the act. You can look all you’d like.”

You shouldn’t look. If you look, your brain will short circuit, Electrochemistry will run wild, and you’ll lose all hope of playing it cool. Knowing this, you still can’t resist for longer than a moment. Not after how many times you’ve undressed him with your eyes.

You look.

Your heart pounds as if it’s trying to break free of your chest.

Everything you take in - the obvious softness of his exposed skin, the sparse patch of dark hair across his chest, the sheer size of him - sends a rush of heat through you. It fills you with a desperate need to be over there, hands exploring every inch of his body, right now.

As if reading your mind, Evrart pushes his chair back from the desk and beckons you to approach.

“I do hope you don't mind doing most of the work here. Unfortunately my health prevents me from getting up. You understand.”

The implication is obvious. He’s figured you out so well that he doesn’t even have to say it and yet here you are - biting your lip to keep yourself from reacting. Salesmanship tells you he’s only trying to get a rise out of you; Acumen tells you in all likelihood this doesn’t actually mean anything; but Electrochemistry tells you ohgodhereallyisjustthatbig.

You place your bag down, realizing that yes - you have indeed been holding your bag this entire time, with the canvas strap you’d wound around your palm clenched in your fist like a stress ball - before making your way around the desk.

It takes all the willpower you’ve got left to keep your hands off of him. You’re painfully aware that would be the obvious move, and despite your longing, you aren’t willing to let him win just yet.

Instead of reaching out, you grab the bottom hem of your sweater and pull it over your head in one fluid motion before dropping it onto the desk behind you. You aren’t wearing a bra - you never are. Smoothing your hair back into place with much more drama than necessary puts your breasts on full display.

Lowering your arms after completing the motion, you hazard a glance down at Evrart. While his expression remains composed, you can tell from the bulge in his pants that you’ve gotten to him.

He doesn’t say anything. At this point fully aware that he no longer needs words to counter your movies. Instead, he shrugs off both his shirt and blazer at once.

He’s got you good.

The two of you haven’t even touched yet, and somehow you’re more turned on than ever before. He makes a show of undressing, drawing out every movement so you can fully appreciate how each motion sends ripples through his flesh.

Giving into temptation, you move so quickly that you’re on your knees before your mind even realizes that your body has made this decision. Hands nearly shaking from arousal, you unbuckle Evrart’s belt and unzip his pants. His lower belly spills out, exposed mere inches from your face. The sight of it, doughy and warm and just begging to be grabbed, forces you to bite your tongue to hold back a whimper.

Even so, your obvious arousal doesn’t go unnoticed by Evrart, who smirks down at you and repositions himself slightly. He’s unbearably close now.

You reach out - however you retain enough Composure to subvert Evrart’s expectations, pulling down his underwear rather than feeling him up the way you so desperately want to.

Instantly your mouth is on him, with not a moment spared to admire his cock first. You don’t like cock much, really - but what you do like are the moans you’re rewarded with when your tongue presses flat against his shaft.

If your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, you’d grin. You feel as if you have the upper hand for the first time in this exchange - at least for the time being. Only now that you’ve managed this small victory do you allow your hands to roam.

Cognizance and Electrochemistry work in tandem to take in every detail. The dimpled skin of plush thighs brushing against your palms, followed by the subtle indentations of long faded stretch marks beneath your fingertips as your hands make their way up Evrart’s belly - it sends a thrill up your spine and down between your legs.

Fuck. You can’t believe how good he feels.

Usually you wouldn’t be ready to escalate so quickly. But something about the combination of Evrart’s soft body beneath your hands and hard cock inside your mouth has you desperate for more. So you pull back, leaving a line of spit stretching from your bottom lip to the tip of Evrart’s dick like spider silk.

Looking up at Evrart, you can see that he’s about to ask you something - what you’re doing, why you stopped - whatever it is doesn’t matter. If you want to maintain the fragile control (or maybe just the illusion of control - who’s to say this isn’t playing out exactly as he wanted it to?) you’ve managed to gain, you cannot allow him to get a word in.

As quickly as you can manage with the way your head spinning from arousal, you get your feet underneath you. Using one hand to steady yourself against the desk, you use the other to peel off both your shorts and panties in one go.

Before Evrart can say anything, you’ve climbed onto his lap and have buried him inside you. He gasps. You barely manage to keep yourself from doing the same. It takes a few moments of adjusting your position before you can really start working your hips. Realizing just how wide you have to spread your legs to accommodate him makes you even more wet.

Once you’ve gotten into a good rhythm, you look down to admire your bodies juxtaposed against each other. The contrast drives you wild - compared to you, he looks even bigger. His hands are all over you; such large hands that completely envelop your ribcage, the small of your back…

Emboldened, you move your hands from where you’ve had them braced against the backing of the chair and place them on his sides. You thought he felt good before, but that was nothing compared to how he feels now that you’re gripping his lovehandles while riding him.

Still, you need more. You lean in even closer, pressing your front completely against his.

Moving your hands to his shoulders to facilitate the change in position puts your face just inches right up against his neck, which you kiss with wild abandon before it occurs to you; wait, am I going to leave Evrart Claire with a hickey? The thought may scandalize you, but Evrart either doesn’t consider the idea or doesn’t care - he just pulls you in even closer.

Held so tightly against him, your entire body can feel the jiggling that accompanies each thrust. It’s so overwhelming that after just minutes in this new position, you’re on the edge. Despite being on the verge of orgasm some small part of your mind - Salesmanship, most likely - still manages to chime in, unable to believe that you’re really going to finish first. It doesn’t matter - with his cock filling you up and belly pressed against your clit, you can’t stop yourself from cumming.

As the orgasm overtakes you, you bury your face into Evrart’s neck to muffle the cry that escapes your lips. Only to find out there was no need, as he reaches climax in tandem with you while making no attempts to silence himself.

He must have really been keeping it together, to have been so close without you having any idea. Although, you were very preoccupied.

Rather than climbing off of Evrart’s lap once you’ve both finished, you hold your position. Enjoying the feeling of his body against yours is certainly a motivation for you not to get up, but you stay in place mostly because you’re not sure how to face him after this. What do you do next? What do you say? It’s much easier to remain where you are; face buried in Evrart’s neck, your bodies glued together with sweat.

You can’t say how much time passes like that - not a sound in the room aside from your breathing and the ticking of the novelty swordfish clock on the wall nearby - before Evrart clears his throat.

“While there’s truly nothing I’d enjoy more than to spend the rest of the evening with you naked on my lap, I do unfortunately have other matters I must attend to.”

Your face goes red, and you’re grateful he can’t see your blush. After scrambling off his lap,you turn around quickly and gather your clothing. Dressing slowly, you draw out the time spent with your back to him in order to get your expression under control once more.

Fully clothed, you smooth out your sweater and turn back to Evrart; fully dressed as well, albeit with his shirt still halfway unbuttoned.

“I do expect you to drop by again, Sid. Next time you’ve ‘baked too much.’” He pauses from buttoning his shirt to punctuate his remark with exaggerated air quotes.

“Oh?” You tilt your head, curious. You hadn’t been expecting this to come back up once he saw through you.

“Yes, of course! It’s just like you said before, after all. I really have been too preoccupied with the strike to be eating properly.” He gestures down at himself with a dramatic wave of the hand. “I’m practically wasting away! You wouldn’t want to have a hand in that, now, would you?”

“Of course not, Mr. Claire.” You suppress a smile and try to respond as demurely as possible.

“Oh come now. I think we’re well past this “Mr. Claire”, aren’t we, my friend? Call me Evrart, I insist.” He flashes you the same shit eating grin as before.

No way. You can’t say you know what his angle is - Is this a test? A genuine request? A power play too complex for you to work out on the fly? What you do know is that refusing to merely play along has gotten you this far, at least.

You mirror his grin before responding.

“I’ll see again you very soon, Mr. Claire.”

#oughhh oh man i can't believe i'm actually sharing this lmao. be niceys to me i'm vulnerable! i'm a cat showing you its tummy!#de #disco elysium #evrart claire #my writing #texticles

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starlingsrps · 6 months ago

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no way to say goodbye.

“sidney, darling, thank god you’re here.” mum kisses him in each cheek and starts to steer him towards the sitting room, as casually as she’s capable of doing anything. “the-“

“heat pump?”

“heat pump,” she responds gravely.

“i got it, kitty,” he says, hanging his hat on the newel post and his coat on the rack. dorey catches this conversation as she’s coming down the stairs and he gives her a broad wink and mouths “favorite” at her.

dorey wants to roll her eyes but knows it’s likely the truth. it’s december and he’s been coming around long enough to slip easily into her parents affections. she’s learned that it’s very easy to like sid- he has the easy disposition of a friendly labrador and mum adores him. he eats whatever she comes up with when she improvises from the rationing cookbook without comment and can fix the frequently broken heat pump seemingly by magic. they had even presented him with a wrench on his birthday a few weeks ago, the kind of recklessly thoughtful gesture that they’re prone to.

“you tried, didn’t you?” he asks when she joins him on the rug.

“maybe.” she had yesterday, a bit too cocky after the last time when she’d fixed it herself with only minimal input from him. they’ve yet to be able to find a replacement gasket but if keeps sid coming over, her parents seem all too willing to tolerate it. they were slightly less enthused when she’d made it worse but perked up after promised he would be there to fix it soon.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “you stripped the screw, dore.”

“i don’t even know what that means.”

he laughs. “exactly. you’re back to assistant duty.”

she tugs his earlobe and then kisses the back of his neck. “prat.” her mother calls from the kitchen, likely to witness the triumph of her newly created vegetable loaf emerging from the oven. “you’ve just lost your assistant.”

it’s just the four of them for lunch today and mum cheerfully encourages seconds of the vegetable loaf. it’s been quiet since jane left to study in new york and jessa is visiting cas in galway with the intention of hauling him back for christmas. the loaf has a similar appearance to a bit of firewood and is about as dry but with enough brown sauce, it’s not the worst thing to emerge from the depths of her mother’s imagination. sid takes thirds and doesn’t seem at all disturbed by the fact that it bears a striking resemblance to something from the forest.

she draws the line at bringing the idea to the ministry of food. it’s hardly her department and anyway, haven’t the people of britain suffered enough creative use of turnips?

after they finish, dorey and sid are m wrapping up to go for a walk, maybe go to a movie (and make out in the back row of the movie) when the news interrupts the mahler symphony playing in the sitting room. the words wouldn’t have mattered much to her before sid but when she hears the words about an attack on an american base in hawaii, her attention turns to him. he’s frozen, half in and half out of his coat and she realizes that she’s never seen someone at the exact moment their life changes.

“shit.”

“sid-“

“i have to go, excuse me. i need to - fuck, my hat?”

she picks it up from the newel post and silently offers it. he takes it, trying to kiss her cheek as he does. he misses, bumps the bridge of her nose instead. he swears and grips her chin to kiss her hard. “i’ll-“

“when you can,” she interrupts. “be safe.”

by mid january, she’s fairly certain she’s been dumped by a man she wasn’t even technically dating.

she hasn’t heard a word and the note she sends him at base come back return post. when she finally gets brave enough to call, she’s told he’s no longer there and no, they won’t say where. she arbitrarily sets her birthday as a deadline and then resets it for february - they met then and it seems only fair to wait at least that long.

still nothing.

she lets herself stew on it another few days (making a list of things she could have possibly done wrong before burning it) and then throws herself into work. foolish to let herself forget it. there will be time for romance, time for a life when the war ends, if that ever comes. she thinks in code and spends her time with the other codebreakers, all of whom are blessedly uninterested in anything but codes. her free time dwindles and her life becomes a triangle between her room, hut six, and the occasional visit to jessa to sit on her sofa and drink wine. she can’t quite bring herself to cross the river and have to explain sid’s suddenly very conspicuous absence to their parents, nor can she bring herself to cut out jessa.

“have you talked to sid lately?” jessa calls from the kitchen.

it’s april and she hasn’t said a peep about him in weeks but dorey should have known she was simply biding her time. she feels a deeply unwelcome pang in her stomach. it’s been at least four days since she thought about him and she’d been so proud of herself, as though she was trying to win a one woman contest. “no,” she calls in response. “i haven’t.”

jessa makes a sad little sound that only pisses dorey off. “i’m sure he’s just busy,” she says, handing her a glass of wine. “nothing to do with you.”

“no, of course. but it’s been three months.” she frowns at the wine. “four. it’s hard to not take that a bit personally.”

“do you want to talk-“

“absolutely not, thank you.” she takes a deep gulp. “i’ve been dumped before. i’ll survive.”

jessa pats her leg and gives her a look that makes her want to jump out of a window. “you should talk about it, love. you’ll feel better.”

“i will not. i feel fine,” dorey lies. “he’s very busy and i’m very busy and it was never all that serious. jessa, there’s a war. please be reasonable.”

“everyone needs someone to love them, dorey, war or not.”

she sips and thinks of sid’s sweet, sleepy smile against her skin and the way she felt herself bloom under his attention. it wasn’t as though she’d never dated before or been in a relationship but unlike half the cambridge dons she’s been with, she never felt like he was humoring her until she took her top off. he listened and she couldn’t have imagined how quick she could get used to that. she misses his easy laugh and feeling wanted. she feels a spark of tears and blinks them away quickly. “i wouldn’t call it that.”

jessa rolls her eyes and settles back against the sofa. “of course not. what are we calling it then? for future reference.”

“very good sex and conversation,” she says, returning to caustic. it feels safer this way.

“and that’s half the battle, isn’t it?” she sighs. “i don’t know, i thought-“

dorey kicks at her. “don’t think anything.”

#type: writing #s: dorey x sidney #verse: at the end of the world

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chronicswitch · 5 days ago

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My therapist shared this poem with me by Andrea Gibson and honestly it resonates:

The Nutritionist

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables

Said if I could get down 13 turnips a day

I would be grounded,

rooted.

Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness is.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight

Said for 20 dollars she’d tell me what to do

I handed her the twenty,

she said “stop worrying darling, you will find a good man soon.”

The first psychotherapist said I should spend 3 hours a day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed, with my ears plugged

I tried once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet

The yogi told me to stretch everything but truth,

said focus on the outbreaths,

everyone finds happiness when they can care more about what they can give than what they get

The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax

The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said

The trauma said don’t write this poem

Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones

My bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.”

My bones said “write the poem.”

The lamplight.

Considering the river bed.

To the chandelier of your fate hanging by a thread.

To everyday you could not get out of bed.

To the bulls eye on your wrist

To anyone who has ever wanted to die.

I have been told, sometimes, the most healing thing to do-

Is remind ourselves over and over and over

Other people feel this too

The tomorrow that has come and gone

And it has not gotten better

When you are half finished writing that letter to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried”

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back

There is no bruise like the bruise of loneliness kicks into your spine

So let me tell you I know there are days it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets when you break down like the doors of the looted buildings

You are not alone and wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chamber of your shame

You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy

I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside

Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside

Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house

But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing

A life can be rich like the soil

Can make food of decay

Can turn wound into highway

Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says

“it is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society”

I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat

Screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound

Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town

Calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down

What I know about living is the pain is never just ours

Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo

So I keep a listening to the moment the grief becomes a window

When I can see what I couldn’t see before,

through the glass of my most battered dream, I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind

and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.

So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in

just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better

but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts may have only just skinned their knees knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming

let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here

asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet

you- you stay here with me, okay?

You stay here with me.

Raising your bite against the bitter dark

Your bright longing

Your brilliant fists of loss

Friend

if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,

my god that’s plenty

my god that’s enough

my god that is so so much for the light to give

each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over

“Live”

#chronicself

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thecreaturecrossroads · 2 years ago

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Draconna Bio

Name: Draconna

Race/Species: Fire Witch/Drake Elf merged with a Dragon

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral??/Good

Voice Claim: Gal Gadot or Cote De Pablo

Nationality/HomeCountry: ??

Height: 12 ft tall usually, x3 in her Dragon form. Never is smaller than 6'10.

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Body Type: Tall and slim. Nice butt.

Hair color: Deep Red

Eye color: Silver and pastel lime green

Age: 900 years +

Pets: Felix the 10th. Fluffy black cat. Very Big cat. Can blend with shadows like her namesake.

Likes: Ice Cream, Spicy food, snack foods. Pumpkins, Gardening, Cows, wild boar, Moose, Elk, Astronomy, Clouds, Cats, books, cinnamon, laying in the sun, stargazing, mint, cloves, peppers, spicy peppers! Melons, berries, seafood, most squashes and most root veggies.

Dislikes: Turnips, SQUIRRELS, humans, she has a mild fear of fire and as such tends to favor her other breaths. People trying to steal her hoard. If you need some money you could just ask! Being under water for too long.

Personality: Draconna is reserved and calm. She carries herself with Pride and elegance. Those that interact with her behind closed doors see that she is actually a bit of a shy gal. A bit awkward and behind the times with jargon. Often messes up phrases and sayings that are popular nowadays. A gentle creature at her core she treats others with politeness but reservation. She's easily distracted by the scent of gems or treasure in the earth and will stop what she is doing to investigate. Contrary to what one might be led to believe since she is a Dragon, she is very generous. She's a hopeless romantic and when in love is stupidly smitten with her beloved. She has her own set of morals up to some thievery, but tends to leave treasure to cover what she's taken. She's gentle as a Dove when around children. Her favorite thing to do is teach the Flight's hatchlings.

Back Story: Draconna was born to a Firewitch names Marta, and a Drake Elf named Tokar. They lived somewhat peacefully on the edge of Marta’s village of birth. Marta as a witch had a rocky relationship with her village but was peaceable and did her best to help them when there was problems. But when she married a Drake Elf, had a child and began raising her, and shortly after the child was five years old a disaster struck the village... well things went downhill fast. The village, stirred up by the local bigot, blamed them and came in the night to ruin their lives. They set a fire laced with dragon rose to their home while they were all sleeping. Beat them within an inch of their lives when thee little family escaped the flames, hung Draconna’s father and proceeded to drown her mother. They attempted to do the same to Draconna but Tokar’s brother arrived and saved her in time. Draconna was horrendously injured and instead of lose the last of his family after managing to save her life, her uncle merged her broken body with that of an abandoned dragon hatchling from his home. Her Uncle did his best to raise her from then on and help her learn how to be what she was now. All while being the protector of The Sanctuary.

The Sanctuary being a continent separated from the rest of the world and protected by wards and a shroud of intense mist. Where the magical races, mostly Dragons, could hide from humans. The dragon’s respected her uncle and treated her civilly for the most part. though the other hatchlings were not so polite. Many of them bullied her behind everyone’s backs. She had no control over her breaths, had a lisp, couldn’t automatically speak any language, and wasn’t a “real” dragon. She was in a very bad place at the time, fearful of strangers and her new home. So it was many years before she spoke up about it and defended herself. It took her a long time to fully come into her powers.

She met and fell in love to a Shadow WerePanther man she found while she and her Uncle were repairing the wards one evening. And who decided to live in the sanctuary with them and died saving her life some many years later.

Skills: She can change her height at will with limitations. She can breathe fire, lightning, water, and Acid. She can make her wings disappear, can disguise herself as a human, incredible sense of smell and hearing. Can always smell if there is precious items around and in the earth. All dragons are Omniglots, she has to learn them slowly like humans do though.

Weaknesses: Dragon Rose and Dragon's Bane.

Position/Rank/Job: King of Dragons, Protector of 'the Sanctuary'

Quotes: TBD

Theme Song: Moroccan Roll by Vanessa Mae

#Draconna #About Draconna #Dragon Sorceress #King of the Dragons

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cervidaedalus · 1 month ago

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Man idk it's like I expected nothing and was still let down.

Bit of context- this was someone I met mere months after my mom's passing, who sucked me into the anime con scene, but who was a bit boy crazy, didn't like to be wrong, adulterous, and had something of a mean girls gossip-negatively-about-your-friends streak. Lots of things I felt super uncomfortable with, but I didn't really start processing most of that until around 2015, when I fell into a deep depression. This was also when I tried to seek help from this person, only for her to completely ignore me and talk about... well... Mud. The person, but I'll get to that. Another friend revealed she SA'd him, this got spread, but Erica treated it less of an "Okay I actually fucked up" and instead tried to sweep it under the rug and make excuses. I tried to keep my distance as much as I could but I did NOT have the emotional bandwidth. 2018, I've broken up with Braden after some very insecure and abusive behaviour. Previously, "Mud" who was Erica's like... OBSESSION for almost a decade had messaged me here on Tonglr about refs for the neck scales on lizzer men, and left it at that. Coincidentally, the time I decided to message him back as Braden's packing to leave, he has a tattoo appointment that week to get it done. We hit it off, I even tell him that I was afraid to engage with him before because of Invoking Erica's Wrath. And that's what happened. She was in a relationship with someone she would soon after get engaged to and marry not even 2yrs later. She had no real reason to still be attached to this dude- especially not to a degree where she OPENLY CAUSED HARM TO US BOTH. It was this whole thing on FB where she not only unfriended me only weeks after trying to meet up with me while visiting family, but ANNOUNCED it in two posts, trying to draw pity and attention her way so she could spill her narrative. I knew what was up, I'm pretty sure Mud knew what was up, "nobody is even asking how I feel" he said, but there were so many people commenting "hashtag teamerica" and it fucking destroyed me. Everyone siding with your abuser and watch it go down type shit. Which... totally wasn't something triggered very recently lul. Another friend of mine straight up told me that she was popping OFF to him saying things like "Mud's driving out here to visit [them], he never did that for me!" All I had was Mud. I did NOT trust anyone- not even the people who reached out to me. When would they turn and side with Erica? Were they playing both sides? Mud knew what was going on, so I COULD trust him. But could I? And there was a tag I used to have on my old blog, "damnit mud" during this whole fiasco. A lot of my pain and uncertainty and conflicts of self-worth poured out to him because I didn't really have anyone else I trust. Naturally that all went... poorly and just got worse and worse especially after the proxybro incident(s). Anyway, I don't like to dwell on it because it's something -I- haven't even forgiven myself for yet. Like I just hope he's doing okay these days. Shortly before Erica set the wheels for this in motion, she confided in me that her new man voted for Turnip and she likes was going to as well. So imagine my surprise when I go down the rabbithole of trying to "where are they now" my old friends FBs and find her FB pfp is none other than the PA assassination attempt fist in the air that all the room temp IQ cultists have.

WHO'S HASHTAG TEAMERICA NOW, FUCKERS. AREN'T YOU GLAD YOU SUPPORTED A MAGA CULTIST.

#anyway welcome to the clown show

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years ago

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Mad Dog Has a Girlfriend?!

Summary: No one expected Kyoutani to have a girlfriend, much less one that loves physical affection as much as you do. They also didn't expect you to be from Tokyo or that you would stop by to see your boyfriend while you're home from the US. Surprise!

TW: A little canon divergent but not by much

A/N: This is a small crossover with Kuroko no Basket, but it's a small one, and none of the other characters make an appearance, but the reader does go to Shutoku and is Midorima's sister. It's barely mentioned though.

You had barely set foot on Seijoh soil and you were already lost.

You shouldn't have been surprised, but you were.

You glanced around the entrance, then spotted a familiar volleyball jacket, and you made your way over.

"Excuse me," you said, tugging on the boy's sleeve.

He turned to look at you, and you thought briefly that he looked like a turnip.

"Hi, so, I clearly don't go to this school, but I'm looking for the gym? My boyfriend plays volleyball here and I have no idea where I'm supposed to go."

"Oh! Um, well, we're about to start practice, but . . . I could walk you there if you wanted."

"Would you?" you asked, giving him a small smile. "I suck at directions."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to get lost, especially if you're here to see one of my teammates."

"I'm (Y/N)," you said, keeping pace with him as he turned down the hallway.

"Kindaichi Yuutarou," he replied, bowing his head to you.

"I knew I recognized you!" you said, nearly startling him. "I saw you play the last time I was home! You played well. My boyfriend thinks so too! You're a first year."

Kindaichi nodded.

"I'm a second year," you admitted, "but like I said earlier, I don't go here."

"Then where do you go?" Kindaichi asked.

"I go to a school in Tokyo, Shutoku," you told him.

"They have a strong basketball team, don't they?"

"Yeah, my brother plays, the guy that supposedly never misses," you said.

"Brother?"

"Yeah, we're twins," you admitted. "But he always acts like he's older than me."

"Kindaichi, there you are! Who's your friend?"

The man that spoke was one you recognized as Oikawa, Seijoh's main setter and captain.

"(Y/N)," you said, bowing slightly. "I'm just here to say hi to my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Yeah, he plays for you," you told him.

"How old are you?" Oikawa asked. "And which one of my players has managed to snag you?"

"I'm a second year, so is my boyfriend. I think you'll be surprised by who it is Oikawa-san."

"You know who I am?"

"Of course, my boyfriend's told me all about his team," you replied.

Kindaichi opened the doors to the gym for you and you smiled at him.

You were met with the smell of sweat, and the sound of volleyballs slamming into the floor.

Your boyfriend took a running leap at a set, and you watched as he slammed it down, landing gracefully.

You whistled at him, drawing everyone's attention.

The entire gym tensed, waiting for the blond's reaction.

"Nice kill Ken," you told him, smiling brightly at him.

You had been face-timing, but seeing him in person was so much better than a small screen.

Kyoutani's face broke open in a grin, something that his team had never seen before.

"(Y/F/N)?"

"Hey puppy," you murmured, biting your lip.

He sprinted for you, and you grinned, letting him scoop you up and spin you around like a cliche movie scene.

"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't back for another month and a half!"

"Mom called me the other day and told me that we had a family emergency," you said. "Don't worry," you added when you saw the distressed look on his face, "no one's hurt. Well, kind of. My cousin is getting married next week and one of her bridesmaids just had a baby. She needs a replacement, and I was the lucky lotto winner."

"How long are you in town for?"

"Just today and part of tomorrow," you told him. "I'm staying with a family friend for the night so I can catch a later train back to Tokyo tomorrow. Jet lag is a bitch."

"How was L.A.?" he asked.

"Hot. Busy. Crowded," you muttered, leaning into him. "I don't know how Kagami-kun handled it for as long as he did. Although, that kid has enough resistance to handle pretty much anything other than his own temper."

"What are we witnessing?" Oikawa asked, eyes wide with shock.

"Oh, I probably should have mentioned that I've been in the U.S. for the last year, huh?" you asked, giving them a slightly embarrassed smile.

"You should have mentioned that our resident Kyouken-chan was your boyfriend!" Oikawa shrieked.

"You were serious when you said they call you 'Mad dog-chan'?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said, arms around your waist still. "Told you they were weird."

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I missed you," you whispered.

"Missed you too."

"I can still hold the entire world in my hands though," you said, cupping his face, making his face flame.

"You know I was talking about the ball right?" he asked, trying to deflect but you laughed.

"Just call me a sap," you told him. "I know you want to."

"I do, but you already know, so there's no point in saying it again."

You smiled at him again, thumbing his cheek lightly.

"So this is why you don't pay attention to the girls in school!" Watari said, looking like a great mystery had been solved.

"That, and he acts like he has rabies," Yahaba muttered.

"Aw, are you being moody again?" you teased.

"Hey, I haven't gotten to see you in person since Christmas, sorry for missing my girlfriend," Kentarou said. "Besides, why can't girls just take a hint when you don't want them around?"

"You should be glad that we can't take a hint," you told him. "That's why you fell in love with me, remember?"

"I never wanted you to leave me alone though," Kentarou countered, "I just had the maturity of a twelve year old that hadn't hit puberty and didn't think about anything other than food, volleyball, and dogs. Not necessarily in that order."

"Fair enough, but I'm glad you didn't pinch me though," you replied.

"Have you guys ever seen him touch another human being for this long?" Matsukawa asked.

"No," they all replied.

"I've seen him hug his sister, and that's about it," Iwaizumi said, glancing at you. "Wait, you're his home screen."

"What?"

"He has a picture of you as his home screen on his phone," Iwaizumi said.

"It's a picture of us at your mom's birthday party last year," Kentarou told you.

"Which one?" you asked, dreading his answer.

"I think you know the one angel."

"I hate you."

"You love me and you know it."

"They aren't exclusively separate emotions," you muttered, burying your face in his chest.

"If it makes you feel any better," Iwaizumi said, "I think I'm the only one who's seen it."

Your phone rang in your back pocket, distracting you.

"It's my brother," you muttered.

"Mom wants to know if you've landed," your brother said when you answered.

"Well hello to you too," you grumbled. "No warm greeting for your beloved sister?"

"Hello."

"Thanks Shin. Yeah, I've landed. I'm with Kentarou right now."

You heard your brother groan, and you rolled your eyes, listening to him relaying the message to your mother.

"Hey, I don't complain about Takao when he stops by!"

"That's because you two are closer than Kagami and Kuroko."

"Except that we're not the ones dating. Besides, your hands wander more than Ken's do. And you can't deny that they don't. Do I need to bring up New Years?"

"Speaking of, Dad says-"

"I don't need to know what Dad says!" you yelped. "I know what he doesn't want to happen! But when I get back my room better be the way I left it. I don't want any more mishaps. If I find something you and your boyfriend are dead. Understand?"

"Yeah, I get it. Have you checked your hor-"

You hung up on him before he could lecture you about your lucky item for the day.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you stared up at the ceiling.

"Don't kill him, don't kill him," you muttered.

Kentarou snorted.

"I have to go, but I already texted you everything you need to know," you told your boyfriend, who pouted.

"Can't you stay?"

"I wish I could, but I'm tired as hell, and I promised Alex that I would call her. Besides, you have practice."

"If you wanted," Oikawa interrupted, "you're more than welcome to stay."

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a distraction or anything."

"You'll be fine, besides, Kyouken-chan can walk you to wherever you're staying after."

You already knew your boyfriend wanted you stay, and when you glanced around at the others, they didn't seem to be eager to get rid of you either.

"Okay, I'll just call so that they know I'm gonna be a little late to dinner."

"I love you," Kentarou whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too," you told him. "But seriously, get back to practice."

He stayed with you for a few more moments, arms around your waist, trying to keep you as close as possible for as long as possible before he pulled away.

"You're gonna stay until it's over, right?"

"I promise I'll be here," you told him, sitting off to the side.

He played well for the rest of practice, and he kept glancing at you with a small smile, something that seemed to freak his teammates out.

"Do you wanna go to the wedding with me?" you asked as you walked with him.

"Am I going to have to deal with your brother and his boyfriend?"

"No, they have a training tournament coming up."

"Then yes."

"He really gets under your skin, doesn't he?" you asked.

"More than he does yours. I don't like people that don't like the sports that they play."

"It's not that he doesn't like the sport," you told him. "It's just that he's not into team play. He likes being able to do things himself. Not as much as Daiki-kun, but similar. He's just starting to realize that he needs the team as much as the team needs him. Takao is another big part of that."

Kentarou grunted, and you pinched his side playfully.

"That was you until recently," you reminded him.

"Maybe that's another reason I don't like him. But I will put him with him."

"Why?"

"Because of you," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Sap."

He hummed as you walked up the driveway.

You both stood there for a few moments before you wrapped your arms around him.

"I'm not doing anything for the week, I'm all caught up on my work," you told him. "Why don't I come visit you after your practices?"

"You had better," he muttered, burying his face in your hair. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"I know, but I'm back full time next year, then you can deal with my presence all you want."

"Don't threaten me with a good time angel."

You snorted, breathing him in before you pulled away.

"Give your sister a hug for me Ken, and make sure you eat something when you get back. It's getting late."

"Promise me you'll visit?"

"Yes, you separation anxiety riddled puppy. I promise to visit as much as I can and as much as your captain will allow."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He kissed you goodnight, then headed home, and you couldn't help but smile as he walked away.

You really did love him.

#kentarou x reader fluff #kentarou x reader #kyoutani x reader fluff #kyoutani x reader #kyotani x reader #kyotani x reader fluff #kyoutani kentarou x reader #mad dog x reader #kentarou kyoutani x reader

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inkskinned · 5 years ago

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my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them.

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of... sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings.

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks to be sure i spoke to only him and no one more, for fear a man might snatch me. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spent so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

#spilled ink #prose #short story #wlw #if you're confused they were planning this from day 1 #rat poison goes to the rats #rats go into stew.... subtle poisoning #the ending can be read many ways #but always happy

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momolady · 3 years ago

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Shorty & the Beast: Part Two

Kyairil’s past is one he wants to keep a mystery. As long as he has a future he can look forward to now, it doesn’t matter. But is Roslile really the one who can save him?

Female Main Character x Male Monster (both cis)

Roslile kept Kyairil hidden for a few days, preparing for the long journey it would take to reach the Cobra Strait. While her father continued to go to Bellmore to look after the house of his previous employers, she carefully stocked food for the journey, hopefully enough for her and Noodl . The only thing she lacked was money.

“Why am I not surprised you Halflings use turnips as money?” Kyairil’s voice rang in her head.

“Shut up,” she snapped back at him. “We use money like anybody else. We just like food, that’s all.”

“Well it certainly didn’t help you grow,” he sighed.

Roslile rolled her eyes, hoping he could feel it through whatever magic was connecting the two. “Do you really want my help?”

“Like I said to my last date: I’m desperate, so I’ll take anything.”

Roslile huffed, making up her pack and setting it beside her bed. “Look, unless you have a way to get some money for this journey, I’m going to need you to be quiet.”

Kyairil sighed heavily. “I have many ways, I just need my body in order to use them.”

Roslile put her hands on her hips. “Then be quiet.”

“Just know that I’m sticking my tongue out at you right now.”

Roslile ignored him as she went over the cost of things inside her own room. Her books could total up to something, maybe. Her gardening tools would fetch some money too, if she got to the right buyer. Maybe her desk was worth a gold piece, at least. She was making up a list of things she was willing to sell when she came upon her jewelry box. She was never one for baubles or beads, but her mother had left her a beautiful golden chain and locket.

“You feel sad. Why do you feel sad?” Kyairil asked, annoyed by the disturbance.

Roslile shut the jewelry box and scoffed. “Who said you could feel me? Is this going to be a thing now?”

Kyairil grumbled something under his breath before making a throat-clearing sound. “The two of us made a pact. Once your village is protected, I won’t have to feel anything about you. Until then, it’s something you’re going to have to get used to.” He sighed. “So what’s got you down, little pigeon?”

“The only thing of value I have is my mother’s locket.” She smoothed her hand over the jewelry box with a concerned look. “But that’s really all I have of hers.”

“Then don’t sell it.”

“But I have nothing else!” Roslile was about to throw herself down onto her bed in frustration when she felt two hands on her shoulders. The strange force moved her, turning her in the direction of the halberd on her desk, where Kyairil’s eyes glowed in the blade. “Take the beads off the blade, if you’re going to pout like that. They’re real sapphire, and I used to wear them all the time. They mean nothing to me other than that they matched my skin.”

“It won’t hurt you or anything to remove them?” Roslile asked, surprised by the offer.

“At this point in my life, I would be excited to feel anything,” he sighed. “Besides, I’m sure they’re worth more than the silly locket anyway.”

Roslile took the beads, breaking the thread that attached them to the handle. They glimmered in her palm. “Your skin was this color?”

“You should have seen me bathed in moonlight,” he sighed nostalgically. “I was the envy of all the drow.”

The hairs on the back of Roslile’s neck prickled. “You’re a drow? I’ve never met one before.”

“This is Carbagne right? The place used to be drow territory.” He went quiet. “Don’t tell me they’re all dead? I couldn’t bear that.”

“No,” she said. “Just… underground, I think?”

Kyairil went quiet again. “Just sell the damn beads. I can find more elsewhere once I have my body back”

“Are you sure? You can say no.”

Kyairil grumbles, and Roslile could feel his eyes roll. “If I wanted to say no, I wouldn’t have offered to begin with. Now cease your chirping and sell the things. We need to start traveling soon. We can’t sit here and hope your goddess decides to pay a visit.”

It was easy enough to find someone to buy the little sapphire beads. The only problem was that word would spread, and the questions would lead right to her father. Roslile would have to leave soon, or her father might get suspicious of something. There were four beads attached to the Halberd, so Roslile made a snap decision. Just before she went into the shop, she put one bead in her pocket, deciding to keep just in case. If money became tight, she would at least have something she could keep safe and sell down the road.

Back to the beginning of this story. Before Kyairil had been imprisoned in the halberd, he had worn the beads as earrings. They had been a gift to him, and the first luxurious present he had ever received, so they were his symbol of power and influence. To him the sapphires meant more than complements to the color of his skin - they were a reminder of everything he had worked for, his power as a sorcerer and the drive to increase it. They weren’t much use to him now. They were a reminder of what he had accomplished, and what he failed to do. There was blood on his hands, staining his fingertips amethyst and wine. It was a stain that remained even in his imprisonment, but that’s a part of the story that we must save for another time.

Once all of Earthwick was settled in bed, just a little past midnight, Roslile would leave with Noodle for the Cobra Strait. She would avoid traveling through Sothen, mainly passing through the kingdom of Taville and the Rogue’s Forest, which would take her to the outskirts of Obresh. Unfortunately, Obresh had been seized by Sanguis Rex and his men, and the once-friendly port was barred. The citizens were being taken in as refugees on the western continent, where the Rakshasa Kingdom was. Roselile heard that if one went below Obresh to the beach, one could take a ship to the Peninsula, and travel from there into Rakshasa territory through a passage known as the Man-Eater Gate. Right now, anywhere that bordered water was a dangerous kingdom to be in. Once she was able to get into Rakshasa territory, she knew she would be safe.

That evening, Roslile had one last dinner with her father, making sure it was a heavy one so he would fall asleep faster. Once she was sure he was snoring soundly, she readied her pack and took the halberd into her hand. “One last thing,” she whispered. She stopped at the table and laid down a letter she had prepared for her father to read.

“Don’t get sad again,” Kyairil murmured.

“I’m doing this for him, for all of Earthwick.” She glanced down the hallway one last time. “I’ll show them who can and can’t be a hero.” She slipped out the back door to where Noodle was waiting, ready with the saddle.

“Heroes often die. You sure you want to be a hero?” Kyairil sounded like he was taunting her, so Roslile ignored him, mounting Noodle and directing him where to go. Once they crossed the edge of Earthwick, Roslile looked back. Some of the lights in houses were twinkling, and smoke from the chimneys rose into the sky. “Don’t tell me you’ve never left home before,” Kyairil giggled.

“Shut up.”

Kyairil continued to chuckle. “Oh don’t tweet so loudly at me, little robin. I think it’s adorable! Here I am wanting freedom, and you’ve never even known it. Well, get a taste for it, because after this you’ll know what freedom really is.”

Roslile’s heart as Noodle cantered away from the village. “And what do you know? I thought drow couldn’t walk around during the day.”

“It’s not preferred,” he grumbled. “But I did make my way around in my youth. I traveled far and wide to learn from masters in the art, and I’ve seen the mountains of valleys of both continents as well as many of the islands.” He let out a beleaguered sigh. “But I suppose that was long ago now.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what you did to be turned into a weapon?” Roslile asked, hoping to distract herself from the nervous knot tightening in her belly.

“I was not turned into a weapon. I was imprisoned in the weapon. There’s a big difference,” he huffed.

“But why?”

Kyairil laughed loudly. “Why, you ask? Because of petty squabbles. They were all against me.”

“I think it’s because you’re full of shit.” Roslile was already exhausted. Eventually Kyairil would have to come clean about it, maybe. But for now, she wanted to distract herself from the fact she was leaving home and might come back to something else. “You didn’t do something really bad, did you?”

“Everyone is bad to someone,” Kyairil mumbled.

Roslile’s smile perked up. “Full of shit. I was right.”

By dawn, they had made it through Charbagne and Roslile was letting Noodle rest. She had her first meal on the road, gazing at the hills that sloped down into the flat terrain of Taville. She thought about how long it would take to get from here to Obresh. It could take them a few days, possibly even weeks. And once in Obresh, it could take days for them to get a ship, longer depending on the hold Sanguis Rex had on the ports. After that, it could take time to convince someone to let her speak to Queen Mythri. Due to the war, she might not ever get to see her.

“What is that you’re eating?” Kyairil suddenly broke her chain of thought.

“This?” Roslile asked. “It’s bread, cheese, and pickles.”

Kyairil made a disgusted noise. “Pickles?”

“Yeah, I make them myself.” She took out the jar she had brought. “I grow the cucumbers and everything! I was even learning how to distill vinegar from wine, but I suppose that will have to wait.” She looked back at the jar. “I like to put peppers, onions and carrots in there too. I also have some pickled okra.”

“The kobolds had spicy pickles made from these horrible little peppers. They were sour and made my stomach feel like it was on fire, but as long as I had some lime with them I could eat them all night.”

“Unholy pickles! My mother used to make them,” Roslile said excitedly.

“You know about them?” Kyairil sounded just as enthusiastic.

“I got sick from them once. They hurt more coming out than going in.” Roslile smiled brightly, remembering how she curled up in her mother’s lap after that. “My mother always saved seeds from the peppers. But after she died, we lost her collection.” She frowned slightly. “Everything I know about gardening I know from her.”

“You feel sad when you talk about her.”

“She died,” was all Roslile said. She turned to her food instead, eating until there was only a tiny morsel left, which she shared with Noodle for all his hard work.

“You shouldn’t have eaten so fast,” Kyairil warned. “I barely got to taste anything.”

Roslile frowned. “I thought you couldn’t feel anything?”

“The more time we spend in close contact - such as you carrying me on your back - the more our bond grows. I could almost taste the pickles,” he whined. “It’s been so long!”

Roslile jumped back onto Noodle’s back, and despite some resistance, Noodle went along down the road again. “I’m not sure how I like sharing everything with you. What do I get from it?”

“I’m sure eventually you’ll get a sense of my abilities and power. Possibly, you could even become a conduit for my magic. With some time and practice, I bet I could start casting spells through you.”

“Then why didn’t we practice that before we left?” Roslile exclaimed. “I mean, we could have set up protection around the village! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because my magic wouldn’t be strong, and if we did set up that protection we wouldn’t be able to leave it. Without my body, the spells would have been weak and useless without me nearby. Through you, my magic will only be as strong as your body and mind allow.”

A pout softened Roslile’s glare and furrowed brow. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Sure you are, tiny robin,” Kyairil scoffed.

That afternoon, exhausted and needing sleep, Roslile found an abandoned fox den to rest in Noodle guarded out the entrance, also falling asleep. The fox den was quiet, dark, and cool, so Roslile was able to fall asleep almost instantly. She dreamed like she always did, starting off on a pearly white beach where she had gone with her family long ago. She stood letting the water wash up onto her toes, feeling the sand sifting between them. It was always bright and warm, but now it was dark and bathed in moonlight. Where her family was usually having a picnic further up on the beach, there was a stranger standing right beside her, towering over her in the glow of the moon. Long white hair flowed with the light, catching a breeze and billowing about his head.

“You dream of the ocean. How interesting,” he sighed. He held his hands up into the air, as if he were trying to cup them around the moon. “Do you have good memories here?”

Roslile took a step back to look up at him better. “Who are you?”

He squatted, dark eyes looking into her light brown ones. He smirked, tilting his head into his palm. “You are rather cute.”

She furrowed her brow. “Kyairil?”

He pinched the tip of her nose, his fingers capped by long, sharp nails. Billowing sleeves adorned his arms, and as he rose again they caught the breeze. “It’s been a long time since I felt the wind, let alone the warmth of the moonlight on my skin.”

Roslile turned to the ocean again. Looking up at Kyairil, her neck hurt, but also there was something else. “You’re in my dreams?”

“Magic connection, blah blah blah,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you of that, little sparrow.” His tunic caught the wind, blowing out forward and plastering tight against the back of his legs. “I suppose I should thank you for this dream.”

“It’s usually daytime when I dream,” Roslile said softly.

“I prefer the night.” Kyairil’s smile showed his beautiful teeth. “Try and sleep for as long as you can today. I want to stretch my legs again, so to speak.”

Roslile tried not to look at him. If they were connected, he would know for sure what she felt when she peered up at his face. He would know she found his long limbs, slim figure, and sculpted face beautiful, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, or to talk about it on the long road they had before them.

Kyairil pulled up his tunic and stepped into the water with a disappointed sigh. “I can’t feel it like I thought I would.” He sat in the foam, letting his tunic billow about him like a jellyfish. His spoiled pout made him look younger than Roslile had assumed.

“Hopefully it won’t take long to get your body back.” Roslile stood beside him in the water. “Then you can go to the ocean again.”

Kyairil stared blankly ahead, his eyes unfocused and glazed over while his hair hung limply around his face. Roslile noticed he had small gold posts in his ears, but she didn’t realize that was where the sapphires once hung. “I’ll even take you myself, promise,” Roslile said brightly.

Kyairil lay back in the water, his hair and flowing clothes followed the gentle lapping waves. He stared up at the moon, his eyes as reflective as the blade of the halberd. “There are things I miss more than the ocean,” he lamented.

Roslile sat down beside him. “Well…” She wasn’t sure what to say.

“This was a good pep talk.” He patted her leg, and his skin felt so incredibly soft. “I’m fine with this, for now. Just the moon.”

Roslile looked down at his face, only to quickly look away again. “Something on your mind, little sparrow?” Kyairil slowly rose from the water, his hair and clothes still very dry. “Your eyes keep darting around like loose marbles.”

There was no way in hell that Roslile was going to admit what she was currently thinking. It would be her last day on earth before she admitted that. “I never expected you to have long hair.”

Kyairil’s smile grew three sizes, and he fell back into the water with a laugh. Roslile woke to the sound of his laughter still ringing in her head, with the same resonance as windchimes caught in a breeze. It faded slowly as she rose to see the sunrise cresting over the hills. By now her father was probably waking up and finding the note she had left behind. It occurred to Roslile that this was the first time she had woken up away from home.

“Don’t get too down, little finch,” Kyairil said softly. “Remember what you’re doing this for.”

Roslile sighed as she crawled from the fox den to be greeted by Noodle. “I just hope he isn’t going to be too worried.” She started looking through her pack for food.

“Maybe he is,” Kyaril sighed. “But doesn’t that just mean he loves you?”

“What was it like when you traveled?” she deflected, choosing not to think about Earthwick or her father.

“Well, for one it was much easier than this,” he scoffed. “I had a horse called Coal Black, and he was magnificent. He could go all day without having to stop once.”

“Well, Noodle can run really hard. I just haven’t wanted to push him.” Roslile took a bite of her food as she gazed out across the distance. There was a slight damp in the air, and when she breathed in it held the scent of rain. “We need to hurry and find a town before the rain comes.” She let Noodle finish eating before she loaded her pack onto his back again.

“This might be a good chance to see if I can use you to channel my magic.” Kyaril was excited by the prospect. He had been out of practice, and never had to use someone else before as a conduit for his magic. But if he could perform again, then just maybe he could feel a little more like his old self.

“Okay, what do I do?”

Once they were on their way, Kyairil and Roslile practiced, seeing what they could do with their growing bond. Roslile tried to do what Kyairil asked, but sometimes it sounded too ridiculous. She tried to do the channeling and the breathing like he asked, but at one point she almost had to vomit. It felt like he was pushing from inside her stomach and out of her mouth. She stopped by a river, letting Noodle drink while suppressing the bile in her throat. “I think we need to be better friends before we continue this,” she choked.

“Oh, come now, it isn’t that hard. If you just listen to me it can...” He stopped suddenly. “You smell something.”

“I do.” She looked up, and across the river was a camp with banners of dark red and gold hanging from the tents. There were gnolls and lizardfolk walking around, wearing matching colors and strange crests. They looked as though they had been there a long time, like they were waiting for something.

Roslile got up slowly from the riverbank. “Soldiers,” she whispered. “From Sothen.”

“Is that bad?” Kyairil’s tone was cautious. “Maybe they’re on the run? Hiding?”

Noodle growled low in his throat, and Roslile rushed to quiet him so he didn’t bark. She pulled him aside, trying to lead him away from the river without being seen, but as they were turning back the way they came a soldier emerged from the pushes, tying up his trousers. “What’s this?”

Roslile’s eyes bulged, her stomach lurched, and she threw up. The soldier flinched, standing back before chuckling. “Aww, poor little lass.” He knelt, taking something from his pocket. “Are you lost?”

Roslile shook her head. “No! No sir,” she coughed. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”

The soldier laughed. “There, there, no need to worry. I know the kids are playing games. I won’t tell them where you are.” He handed Roslile an orange. “Eat that, it will make your tummy feel better.”

She sniffled, watching her closely as he rose back up. “Th-thank you?”

“Be careful, alright? It’s not safe to play around the base. You should head on back across the river to the camp.” He winked and went on his way.

“What the fuck?” Kyairil whispered.

Roslile hurriedly jumped onto Noodle’s back. “I’m not staying around to find out!” It was lucky he mistook her for a child. She used to hate that, but now she was thanking her lucky stars. They ran for as long as they could, storm clouds brewing and the scent of rain unmistakable now. Kyairil insisted on practicing again, promising to try something that didn’t make her want to throw up.

By the time they reached a village, and it was starting to drizzle, they had discovered that Kyairil could give Roslile painful little shocks. “My whole body feels prickly!” Roslile complained.

“I’m sorry! It might take more time before we can do magic together.” Kyairil was frustrated. To him it was so easy, how could it possibly be that hard for her? Magic was supposed to be a natural thing, and everyone could do it to some degree. Had life changed so much during his imprisonment? If so, it was a nasty way for it to go.

Roslile flexed her fingers, which were stiff and antsy. “At least we’re here now that it’s started to rain!” She hopped off of Noodle. “Let’s find a pub to hide in until it stops.”

She wandered around the muddy streets with Noodle in tow. Everything looked empty, and there wasn’t a sign of light or people anywhere. It was strange, and the gnawing idea that this town had been evacuated stayed at the back of her mind. She finally saw a chimney with smoke, and when she found the building there was a sign out front advertising it as an inn and tavern. The rain was coming down hard, and she was soaked to the bone. Even if it seemed too good to be true, she had little choice in the matter.

Inside the tavern was quiet, but at least it was warm and dry. Roslile turned her head this way and that to inspect her surroundings. At the door she noticed a long line of boots, and some weapons hanging from the coat rack. “Oh, look at this! We’ve discovered where death by blunt trauma lives,” Kyairil shivered. “Surely this place can’t be safe for us.”

“You can’t judge a book by its… giant, bladed cover,” Roslile said, catching sight of a massive claymore by the foot of the stairs.

It felt like Kyairil’s hands were on her shoulders, pulling her back towards the door. “We escaped one possible death today. Do we really want to make it two?”

There were voices coming from down the hall, and Noodle began to bark loudly. “Shut him up!” Kyairil commanded. Roslile tried to grab hold of Noodle, but he charged into the hallway and continued to bark loudly, taking a defensive stance.

“Who goes there?” Someone growled. Noodle tensed, and a ridge of fur stood up all the way down his back as he snarled, showing teeth. An orc came into view, standing before Noodle with a confused expression. He offered his hand, letting Noodle smell him. “There’s a good dog. Who are you protecting, boy?”

Noodle’s tail began to wag, and he licked the orc’s hand. “Your dog is bad at this,” Kyairil hissed.

The orc saw Roslile, standing frozen in fear. “A halfling? What the hell is one of you doing in these parts?”

“I…” Roslile shivered. It was a miracle she had escaped that base today. Maybe this was the end of all her luck.

The Orc walked around Noodle and approached her. “Where are you from?”

Roslile was beginning to shake, but Kyairil’s hands on her shoulders squeezed tight. “Breathe,” he whispered. “Calm yourself and focus on his eyes. You have to look deep, so you can feel his heart. Now ask him.”

“Who are you?” Roslile asked.

The Orc’s eyes went blue in their whites, for the briefest flash. “Name’s Charrick.”

How did that work? Roslile tried again. “What are you here for?”

“My friends and I are from Obresh. We’re looking for an encampment of soldiers so we can find their encrypted maps of the Cobra Strait.” He looked confused after he spoke, chuckling to cover it. “Hope you aren’t a spy.”

“The camp,” Kyairil exclaimed.

“I’m from Earthwick. It’s a village in Charbagne.” Roslile stood closer to Charrick. “I saw the camp this afternoon!”

His eyes grew wide. “How? Where?”

“It was along the river, just before I came to the Juggernaut stones.”

Charrick grinned and rubbed his hairy chin. “We have food and drink inside. We’ll give you whatever you want. You’ve probably saved Obresh. Uh…”

“Roslile,” she said. “Roslile Portigardens.” She was fit to burst with excitement. Was this what being a hero felt like? She followed Charrick into the main hall, where she spoke of what she saw to the other orcs. They laid out a map for her, and she showed them where she had found the camp, explaining what the soldier had said to her.

They fed her and Noodle, giving her a cup that would fit her hands so she could drink and celebrate with them. She told them about Earthwick and her hopes to protect it. “The drow want to take it back,” Poppy, Charrick’s sister, told her. “They’re trying to use Gravelmeuse as a way to get inside, because they lost it ages ago when they were expunged for planning a coup. But once their queen died, they didn’t have much of a fighting chance,” she chuckled.

A shock went up the back of Roslile’s neck, and the feeling of a heart pounding against her back reminded her of Kyairil’s presence. “Drow? Really?”

“They’re working with Sanguis Rex. One of them just married his right-hand man,” Poppy scoffed. “But I don’t think they’ll be able to take over Charbagne. I heard that they’re sending some folks to Hell, to talk to the drow there and form an allegiance.”

“Roslile,” Kyairil whispered urgently. “Can we… can we go elsewhere? Please?”

She gently set down her empty cup. “Is there somewhere I can rest for the night?”

“Sure, kid.” Poppy rose, taking her to the stairs. “The room at the end and to the left is free. Go ahead and take it. We’ll have breakfast before we leave in the morning.”

“Thank you!” Roslile tried to get Noodle to follow, but he was enjoying being fed by the other Obresh mercenaries too much to care. Roslile gathered her things and entered the room. She placed the halberd by the bed and clutched her chest. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

“You can feel that?” Kyairil choked.

“What’s going on? You started acting strangely when she was talking about the drow.” Roslile began removing her clothes and hanging them by the fireplace.

“What are you doing?” Kyairil balked.

Roslile looked towards the halberd, her underclothes in her hands. “I’m getting ready for bed. What does it look like?”

“You look naked!” Kyairil snapped.

Roslile stretched before the fire. “Oh? You can see me?”

Kyairil grumbled something under his breath. “You sound like you don’t care that I can see your… behind.”

Roslile chuckled. “Grow up a little. Surely you had time to do that recently.” She walked back towards the bed and stretched out on it, never having slept in a bed so massive before. “Think on the positive things today. We’ve accomplished a lot.”

Kyairil didn’t respond. “Are you even listening to me?” Roslile sat up and grabbed the halberd, laying it on the spacious amount of bed she had.

“I’m listening,” Kyairil scoffed.

“Was that magic we used earlier?” she asked quietly. “When we got Charrick to talk.”

Kyairil exhaled loudly. “Yes. It was. We were able to use magic today.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it?” Roslile rolled onto her side to face the halberd. “It took a while, but we finally did it.”

Kyairil grumbled. “I suppose.”

Roslile closed her eyes. “I’ve never been this lucky before. My luck always seems to swing the other way.”

“Luck isn’t real. You shouldn’t put your stock in something so intangible. You were lucky today because of yourself, not because of some all-knowing force you can’t see.”

“Maybe you’re my lucky charm.”

Kyairil laughed. “Don’t be stupid. What did I just tell you?”

Roslile was beginning to sink into sleep. Her eyes were heavy, and her body began to melt into the bed. “We make a good team though.”

He sniffed. “Too early for that. Just get some sleep, little finch.”

She did just that, fading into a dream that was different from before. Usually when she drank, she barely remembered her dreams. The room she was in was small but warm, and one entire wall was a four-poster bed. Curtains flowed out over the opening, and pillows had spilled all over the floor from within. Outside the moon was full and bright, almost pushing itself against the glass. She stood there, not realizing she was naked until she felt a chill run over her skin.

“If you’re cold, come here.” A hand came from the curtains. The fingers were long and elegant, decorated with shining golden rings and nails that were sharp and black. Roslile stepped close, admiring the near-black, sapphire skin. “Is that you?” She took the hand, and the fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Who do you think it could be?” Kyairil pulled her into his bed, which was bigger than it looked. There was a stained-glass window behind the headboard, made from purple-and-blue glass, and the moonlight filtered through it, shining along Kyairil’s exposed skin. He wore a long robe of silken material, and his hair was pulled into a braid and wrapped around his head. He looked painfully gorgeous and luxurious.

“Where are we?” Roslile asked.

“My old bedroom.” He lounged back against the many, many pillows. “I was surprised to find myself here. I didn’t think you knew it.”

Roslile hugged a pillow to her chest. “I don’t remember my dreams when I drink. This could be your influence.”

“It’s not quite how I remember it. Everything feels so much smaller.” He flicked his dark eyes over to her. “Maybe that’s your influence.”

Roslile’s heart beat wildly. She had been with men before, but never one like Kyairil. He was so lovely and masculine, and he looked like would smell good if she buried her face in his hair or his neck. She was usually confident when it came to bedroom situations, but now she felt like an awkward bumpkin. Kyairil’s eyes looked into hers, and a smile spread across his face. “What are you looking at, little sparrow?”

Roslile gulped. “Nothing.”

His eyes flicked down, noticing how tightly she was squeezing the pillow in her arms. “You gave me an eyeful earlier. Perhaps I should repay the favor.” He sat up, tugging the robe off his shoulders.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. “There was nothing to look at with me! Get over yourself.”

“Nothing, you say?” Kyairil breathed, beginning a slow crawl across the bed. “I saw the cutest, perkiest ass I’ve ever seen. It looked quite firm, but soft too.”

“Shut up,” Roslile giggled. “You’re just teasing me.”

“My tongue is for teasing,” Kyairil whispered directly into her ear. “My words mean something.” He pulled the pillow from her arms. “Why so shy now?”

“I’m not.” Roslile looked into his face, regaining some of her courage. She reached out, placing her palm against his chest. His skin was so soft. “Can you feel that?”

His smile grew, and a black tongue darted over his sharp, pearly teeth. “Actually, I can. You’re very warm for such a tiny bird.”

“Why do you call me that?” she pouted.

Kyairil moved in closer. “You look like you have tiny hollow bones.”

She scoffed and tugged his robe open. “I can feel your heart racing again. Nervous?”

“Maybe a little.” His breath hitched and was followed by a moan. “I haven’t been touched in so long.”

Her hand moved down his chest to his stomach, and her fingers brushed against hair. She bit her lip, moving her hand back up and touching his face. Kyairil leaned into her palm, nuzzling against it. He looked into her eyes, and she rose onto her knees, parting her lips. A tongue slapped her in the face.

Roslile woke with a shock to see Noodle panting and smiling at the edge of the bed. She sat up and touched her face as she looked around the room. Glancing at the halberd, she let out a laugh. “Stupid dog,” Kyairil growled.

#monsterxhuman #monster boyfriend #monster romance #halfling #tiefling #my writing #momolady monsters #monster fudger

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