#i love her........ my beloved wife countess nadia

[theintrovertbean]

I'm by no means here to stir any drama, but I also don't like misinformation spreading around. This isn't a personal attack against anyone, I just want to make a few things clear.

Nadia did NOT have power over Vesuvia. She was the Countess, the Count's wife. Who had the power? Lucio, the Count. Nadia was basically powerless because Lucio was the ruler, not her.

Divorce is usually much easier being said than done. Nadia is a very justice-oriented person, so she wouldn't just get a divorce when she is very much aware of what's going on. She recognized that the people were suffering and wanted to help, but Lucio didn't let her. When they got married, Lucio literally begged her to stay and help him. She told Lucio what he should have done, but he didn't listen to her and always got in her way.

Instead, Lucio threw lavish parties. A lot of people loved him, I won't even try to deny it. Now, Nadia could've involved Prakra, but that would've led to war. It's likely that the people who supported Lucio wouldn't have appreciated having their beloved ruler removed, and Nadia is not someone who enjoys unnecessary bloodshed.

Nadia is also a foreigner, which means she has very little support. In her own route, Valerius accuses her of murder because he doesn't want a foreigner to rule Vesuvia. He's not exactly a good ruler either, but he much prefers having his incompetent (as a leader, he's actually a huge help in Muriel's route), Vesuvian noble self giving the orders. The people don't know her. They don't even know for sure if she's Prakra, it's only a rumor. Lucio, on the other hand, is an accomplished military man who has ruled Vesuvia for a while now, so there's no way people would have supported Nadia over him. Everyone would have viewed Prakra as the enemy. In conclusion, involving Prakra wasn't an option.

Nadia also worked together with Julian and Asra during the plague to fix things. She was depressed, yes. Eventually, when there was nothing she could have done, she withdrew to her contemplation tower. However, she actually did whatever she could to save Vesuvia.

In Nadia's route, during her house arrest, she is seen reading a book about Vesuvian law, and that's when she explains the Court situation. The thing is, Vesuvian laws are incredibly old and dumb, so they prevented Nadia from firing the Court members. Again, she wanted to do it, but she couldn't. As my friend mentioned above, Nadia does make some changes in her upright ending. Valerius enjoys some time off and Volta becomes a food taster ^.^ What happens to the other courtiers is unknown (at least by me), but there's no way Nadia is letting them demon around Vesuvia.

Should she have done things differently? Yes. Despite hating immaturity with her entire being, is she actually childish? Oh definitely. But a criminal? That's a strong word. She's insecure, flawed, immature, stubborn, prideful, controlling, and probably a bunch of other things as well, but Nadia is not a criminal.

I hope I managed to make things clear. If there's anything else, I'm open to further, civilized discussion <3

[dontneedyourheroact]

has anybody else unlocked nadia’s birthday scene..... it’s a blessing (also these static images don’t adequately convey the way those ellipses dragged out and for that i apologize)

[davinamarr]

Nadia x MC - At Your Command, Countess.

Below the cut: slightly spicy, sickeningly sweet, self-indulgent Nadia x my female MC (Savvina!) content that I wrote half asleep and day-dreaming about Nadia. Enjoy! 

(Also pls be kind i am small and tired <3) 

Vesuvian mornings are nothing short of beautiful. The glowing sun casts its warm gaze across the horizon, bathing the entire city in a golden haze. The vast, deep blue sea that stretches out from the docks glistens under the sun’s rays. 

The Countess’ bedroom is situated perfectly, the sun cascading through the expensive silk drapes each day, illuminating the room in the gentle glow of the morning sun. 

Savvina wakes from a peaceful sleep with a gentle sigh, her eyes fluttering open as she turns onto her side. It must be early, she ponders, as the Countess is still sound asleep next to her. Her violet locks are strewn about beneath her, her lips parted slightly with each soft breath she takes; even in her state of rest, she looks positively divine.

Savvina watches her for a few moments, drinking in the vision that is her wife. The way the sunlight highlights each of Nadia’s features, how it accentuates the shine of her hair, how it makes her look like she stepped straight out of a portrait. 

Perhaps she did, Savvina thinks to herself, a small smile gracing her lips. Her gaze is still locked on the Countess. 

Nadia finally wakes, a sigh escaping her lips as her eyes slowly open, the deep ruby of her irises intensified under the beaming sunlight. Thick, dark lashes flutter as she blinks a few times, her own gaze eventually settling onto the blonde woman still watching her, clearly enamoured. 

“Good morning, jewel.” Savvina breathes, still gazing lovingly at Nadia. Nadia also shifts onto her side, never dropping her lover’s eye contact as she does so. A smile graces her plump lips and Savvina thinks, in that moment, she might melt under the gaze of the Countess. 

“Good morning, my love.” Nadia returns the tender greeting, reaching up to brush her perfectly manicured thumb across the cheek of her beloved. Savvina presses further into her touch softly, her own russet eyes shutting in satisfaction. 

“Did you sleep well?” Savvina opens her eyes to gaze up at Nadia again, gently twisting her face held gently in Nadia’s palm to press a kiss to the skin at the junction between her thumb and forefinger. Nadia watches as the tip of Savvina’s tongue swipes against her cool skin for a split second. 

“Perfectly.” Nadia replies, pressing herself forwards until her body is comfortably pressed against her lover’s. She doesn’t miss the glint of mischief in Savvina’s eyes. The way Savvina’s breath hitches in her throat at the sudden contact of their skin fills her with delight.

“You look rather... ravenous this morning, dear.” Nadia mutters, pressing her thumb gently against her lover’s lips, patiently waiting for entrance. Savvina complies immediately, shamelessly, letting the digit slip between her lips and immediately swiping her tongue across it. 

She releases it from her mouth with a small pop, a small blush dusting her cheeks, still gazing at Nadia through hooded lids. 

“Perhaps I am.” Savvina sighs, bringing her own hand up to cup the Countess’ soft cheek. Nadia leans into her touch, finally closing the space between them as she captures Savvina’s lips in a heated kiss. Nadia’s tongue finds hers, swiping across it eagerly, drawing a small moan from Savvina in return. 

Nadia breaks the kiss, breathless and reeling, “May I offer a solution for your hunger, dearest?” 

Savvina grins at Nadia, immediately shifting their positions, hovering over her wife before dipping down once more to press a wet kiss to the corner of Nadia’s jaw. 

“I’ll do anything you tell me to, my Countess.” Savvina whispers to her, placing more kisses along the column of her neck as she waits for Nadia’s signal. 

Nadia presses a hand to her shoulder gently, pushing her downwards and Savvina responds straight away, making no effort to hide her excitement as she drags herself further down the Countess’ body, stopping every now and then to press a kiss to her soft skin. 

Finally, she places herself between Nadia’s thighs, her deep brown eyes locking with Nadia’s ruby ones as she gazes up at her. Nadia can’t help but smile at the unwavering obedience and enthusiasm shown to her by the blonde magician. Her perfectly manicured hand finds its way into her wife’s pale locks, her grip firm. 

“I believe you’ve found your solution, darling. Go ahead.” 

The Countess was late to her first engagement that morning. 

[wingardium-letmefuckyou]

I just died in your arms tonight (Lucio x gender neutral!MC)

This is a gift for @countlucioskisses! We started talking because of sick with the plague Lucio so I wrote this for her!

Summary: Lucio is sick and dying. He shares a sweet moment with his beloved apprentice. Based upon the trinket scenes (which are horrible!!!). Title is based on the actual song, makes for nice background music while reading.

Words: 799

Warnings: none

The door to the Count’s chambers open soundlessly, revealing the man himself pacing up and down angrily in his room. You frown a little, having expected him to be resting in bed. His frantic movements are interrupted when he starts coughing violently and you hurry yourself towards him to support him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t treat me like an old man,” Lucio waves you’re attempts to aid him away but another fit seizes him and this time you truly have to hold him up. It always startles you how light he feels nowadays, just a fraction of the man he used to be. “They left me, you know. To go on a vacation,” he scoffs while you lead him to the bed, where he drops unceremoniously against a pile of soft and plush pillows. “I know,” you answer, crawling on the bed to lie next to him. You had run into Nadia on your way up, she had been dressed in her traveling gear, hurrying to get out. “He’s all yours,” the countess had said, giving you a look of utter disdain. You had merely smiled in response, unfazed by her remark. He had been yours for a long time now, the presence or absence of his wife changed little about that fact.

“Look at it from the bright side, we can enjoy some uninterrupted time together,” you offer, scooting closer to him and Lucio shrugs, knowing you’re right but not entirely ready yet to let go of his frustration. He doesn’t hesitate though to snuggle up completely against you, entangling his legs with yours, nuzzling his face in your neck. The little sigh of contentment that follows is not lost on you and you know it won’t take long before he will have forgotten about his so called friends. “You’d think they would want to be there for the last days of their beloved count,” he pouts. You go silent, painfully aware of what he’s implying. You know he is sick, you know there is no cure for the plague yet but you always grasped at that last straw of hope for a miraculous recovery. And so did he, this is the first time you hear him speak about a scenario where this doesn’t end with him getting better. “You’re not dead yet,” you say softly and Lucio notices the change of tone in your voice. He reaches for your hand, tenderly kissing the knuckles before he intertwines his warm fingers with yours. He was always hot nowadays, the fever scorching right beneath his skin. There was no denying how bad his state was. His bright red sclera, his sickly pale skin tight around his protruding bones, the dark circles beneath his eyes. All bad omens that pointed towards an inevitable end. But even the plague couldn’t stop you from loving him, couldn’t change that he was still the most handsome man you’d ever had the honour of calling yours. You wanted him, desired him, loved him completely and irrevocably.“I’m not giving them that pleasure soon,” he says and he sounds like his old self again. He’s barely able to lift his own teacup anymore but there’s still fight in him, a lust for life that’s not easily snuffed out. “Now, my darling. Pet me, please,” he’s pouting at you with big, silver eyes and there’s no way you can deny him anything when he looks like that. Lucio hums contentedly when you start running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp just the way he likes. He’s melting in your hands.  

“Dove, you’re too good for me,” he groans, the hands around your waist pulling you tighter against him. You smile and kiss his temple: “Maybe that’s because I love you so much.” “Mmmm, say that again.” “I love you.” “Again.” “I love you.” “Please, one more time?” “I love you. With all my heart.” He’s purring like a kitten now, completely relaxed by your words and touch alike. “I love you too,” he mumbles and you can tell he’s starting to get drowsy, the disease eating away at his energy, his eyes fluttering shut. Sleep quickly overtakes him.

Your hands don’t stop caressing the gold strands on his head for a long time, the movement just as soothing for you as it is to him. It’s moments like this when you know you made the right choice, where it’s all worth it. The betrayal in Asra’s eyes, the contempt from Nadia, the pity from Julian, the pain of seeing the man you love slowly die…It cannot touch you here, in this warm bubble of love and perfection, made for just the two of you.

“I love you,” you whisper, saying it once more, for who knows when your last time will be.

[immiebee]

“No, Momma!!!!!”

“Yes, Allie!”

Valerius rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he stared down into Lactarius’ outside garden. The well sized fenced in garden gave her the space to plant her fruits and vegetables during the spring and summer months leaving her greenhouse open to plant more exotic species of vegetation. A dopey crooked grin broke across his face as his wife and son waged war in her garden.

Alaric had been helping him earlier that day in his winery. The young boy following his Da and taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling winery. It wasn’t until they were checking the grape vats that Alaric decided to get more hands on. The young boy tossing his shoes and socks off and jumping into the large wooden vat with some of grape stompers. The young women squealing in delight as their young master joined in, making their work fun for the next hour. His feet, legs, and clothing soon covered in layers of sticky grape juice. Thankfully Valerius had suggested that he should wear his chore clothes, so not to ruin any of his good outing clothes. The young boy quickly becoming more of a stained mess with each jump.

It wasn’t until Alaric decided he had enough of hard work that Valerius was shouting for his son to stop, Alaric making a quick dash towards the manor. His arms outstretched like a bird as he swiveled and twisted. His cheerful laugh be followed by his panicking father’s shouts.

The young boy had been known to help with chores and while both his parents praised him for helping. He also had an unfortunate habit of continuing his normal activities after helping. Which often would lead to more work for the servants and his parents. Which was why when Lactarius hooked the boy under his arms and swung him up and then swiftly deposited the grape cover child in front of her Valerius let out a relived sigh.

“And where do you think your going covered in grape juice, boy?”

“I’m hungry! I’m going to ask Mabel for some snacks!”

Lactarius crosses her arms as she quirked an eyebrow at the grinning ombré haired boy. His blue eyes bright with mischief. “Not until you get cleaned up. We still have stains from the last time you ran through the manor after smashing grapes.”

“Aw, Momma!”

Valerius had taken a seat on the raised veranda just above the garden. The veranda itself lead into the manor or into Lactarius’ greenhouse, leaving no chance for Alaric to slip by both his parents should he make a dash for the doors. Resting his chin in his hand he let out a soft chuckle.

“Don’t ‘aw’ me! You need a rinse.”

“Okay! I’ll go inside and take a bath and then get snacks!”

Lactarius tied up her messy hair as she stared down at her son, her blue eyes filled with determination. Her demeanor quickly shifting from cool, calm to ready for war as she rolled up her sleeves. Alaric quietly sensing his own doom slowly backed towards the open gate as Lactarius stalked closer to her son, “Not a bath. A rinse. You will not be staining our tubs!”

“You wouldn’t Momma!” Alaric’s voice going to a sharp screech as he took off towards the veranda steps. Valerius standing at the top of the stone staircase his arms outstretched while his son scrambled up the steps on his hands and feet.

Lactarius once again hooking him under the arms, wrestled the squealing boy in her arms as she made her way towards the barn. Valerius following the pair giving a soft laugh at his son. Alaric glaring daggers at his father as he was heaved over his mother’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“Da! Don’t let her do it! I promise I won’t give my teacher a headache anymore!”

Shrugging his shoulders Valerius gave an amused grin, “You say that every time you get in trouble. And yet you still manage to give your teachers headaches.” Tussling his son’s hair he continued, “Just get it over with and you can get your snacks.”

“This is abuse! I’m going to tell Countess Nadia on you! She’ll take me in! She’ll adopt me!” Kicking once more as they neared the barn Alaric continued his shrieking, “Or I’ll run away from home! And be a bandit leader like Uncle Hawkthorn! Or a mercenary like Count Lucio when he was young!”

“Wrong, Allie. Bandits and mercenaries aren’t scared of a little cold water. They take baths.” Lactarius drawled which was shortly followed by a soft grumble, “Nu-uh. They don’t need a bath! Otherwise animals they hunt would smell them!”

After a low sigh from his wife, Valerius gave her a wink, “Then I guess you won’t need a rinse.....” A soft cheerful squeal filling the air as they came to a halt in front of the large outdoor cow trough. “A shame really, my love. Our son. Alone outside with the wild beasts. Unable to come back inside our wonderful manor.”

Lactarius grinning as Valerius’ voice dripped in comedic drama. Giving her own loud sigh, she leaned into his shoulder as Alaric arched up to peer over her head. “Oh, my beloved! How tragic our only son will no longer be with us! For he is a wild beast that must live in the woods and fend for himself. With no one to give him snacks or warm clothes!”

“Fine. I’ll take a rinse.” Alaric crosses his arms giving a small pout as the two looked back at him, “You guys are big babies. I’d make it on my own!”

“I’m sure you would....” Lactarius shortly flinging the boy into the deep trough. A grin cracking across her face when Alaric flailed about in the ice cold water. His wild hair sticking to his face as he broke the surface. Valerius gave a snort of laughter when Alaric flopped out of the trough and onto the dirt. His wife smacking her hands together as she made her way back to her garden, “You need to dry off before you go inside, Allie. Go sit on the veranda and dry off.”

“Momma!” Alaric giving a shrill cry before chasing after her. “No fair! I had my punishment!”

“True. But you still haven’t learned your lesson and a punishment isn’t complete until you’ve learned a lesson.”

“Da!!!!!! Tell her to let me in!”

The witch turned momentarily, her blue eyes piercing into Valerius’ golden ones. The man halting in his steps as his son tugged his pant leg, Alaric’s own large blue eyes swelling up with crocodile tears. Valerius was saved when Lactarius gave an amused smirk, “You are a push-over when it comes to your son, my love. I simply am keeping myself from one of your late night melodramatic sob stories.”

Puffing up in defense, he gave a quick snarl, “I’m not melodramatic!”

“I had to drag you to bed at three in the morning after Alaric ruined his Prakan bed sheet after he jumped on his bed covered in grape juice. You were drunk and refusing to go to sleep.” Lactarius crossed her arms, “You were so loud, you woke up some of the servants that in turn woke me up. And I had just drifted off into a nice deep sleep.”

Alaric smirked as his father crossed his arms and snapped his head to the side. Lactarius walked over to the pair, brushing a piece of hair behind her husband’s ear, “You ARE a push-over. And dramatic. And more importantly.....” Dropping a heated kiss to his lips. The action pulling Valerius from his own temper tantrum, his hands gripping her waist and pulling her close. The hairs on the back of his neck raising as she cooed, “...if you can keep Alaric soaking the floors and making a mess, you might get a nice surprise tonight~”

“Oh~ you promise?”

Valerius’ eyes snapping open as she gave a breathy laugh, “Well considering he’s making a mad dash towards the manor I can’t keep any promises.”

“Dammit, Alaric!!!”

Lactarius let out a loud laugh as she was tossed to the side. The Consul taking off in a sprint across the yard slowly catching up to their son. The pair tripping head over heels and collapsing in a pile of limbs in the grass. Valerius’ loud screech filling the air, “Don’t you bite me you little beast!!!! Accept your fate with dignity!”

“I’m a wild beast! I don’t need dignity!!!!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valerius is a push-over when it comes to his son. And a hover parent. Alaric has Valerius wrapped around his finger especially when he bats his baby blues.

Lactarius is the parent that deals out the “punishments” most of the time. Though never abusive to Alaric she does have a way of making him learn his mistakes.

[queenofeden]

my contributions to @lovelikeyoursfest for the first prompt, “the start of something new”. these are technically both excerpts from longer in-progress fics featuring my apprentice, laurel, but they happened to fit the theme so well i thought at least part of them deserved to see the light of day. consider this a teaser for my future works if u find urself interested~

chronologically, nadia comes first, julian can be found under the cut

Nadia & Laurel

January, 5 years ago

The whole of Vesuvia thrums with the energy of the masquerade, like one large body set to motion at last after a long winter. The lights, the reeling crowds, they pulse and pump as they make their way along the arterial canals, upwards, always upwards, to the highest reach of the city -- to the beating heart of it all -- the palace. Laurel catches Asra’s hand in her own, dragging him along, or he her, or perhaps they simply get swept away together by the throng, laughter bubbling on her lips for what feels like the first time in months.

Try as one might, it is easy to get separated once the party truly takes hold of the palace. The hoi polloi of Vesuvia clamor towards the offered food and drink, while the elite swan about and entertain themselves with chatter and gossip. It is not with intent that she loses track of Asra somewhere past the room full of enchanted, talking statuary. One moment he is there, and the next he is not, the space he once occupied at her side now taken up by three bustling women in matching silver gowns and masks done up like swans, all vying for entry into the room. It matters little to Laurel. Asra will find her eventually, when he cares to be found himself. He always does, somehow, whether she cares for him to or not.

There is little intent to where she wanders, keen to let herself be drawn wherever the whims of the party may take her. She knows there is something surrounding her -- a pall of grief, though it seems too melodramatic a sentiment. It is a palpable, invisible thing about her nonetheless. People walk around her, unsure of why, rowdy drunkards don't dare to jostle or bump her. Her own personal never-mind-me spell, cast without intent simply by virtue of existing. Their disinterest rankles, but she shoves the ill-feeling down deep. It's not them she's here for, anyway. A tall glass of fizzing wine makes its way into her hand, plucked deftly from a passing servant’s platter, and she carries it along in her gloved hand, sipping occasionally, leaving a smear of bright red along the rim of the glass from her painted lips.

The heavy press of the party lessens as she finds herself on the veranda, the roar in her ears fading, carried away on the cool evening breeze. It chills her overheated skin, bare beneath only a few thin layers of chiffon and satin, and she relishes the prickle of gooseflesh it leaves in its wake like a kiss. She takes her glass and drains the last of the golden wine too quickly, and trades it for another -- something pink and dangerously sugared this time. This too she finishes in a few deep gulps, setting the empty glass back onto the bemused servant's tray and taking another before they have time to even move away. Alone, save for the alcohol that burns in her too empty stomach, she wanders the less crowded gardens, full of others who have little interest in being found. She hums along to a familiar tune as she passes through a faint cloud of sound, drifting over the tops of the immaculately trimmed hedge walls.

She feels sweet with wine and song, the lightest she has felt all year. Here, the sounds and smells, the anonymous, whirling multitude of bodies-- they keep out what Laurel would rather forget. Here there is no responsibility, no pitying glances from familiar patrons, none of Asra's well-intentioned saccharine condolences. No one knows her here, not behind the gilt painted mask. She is hardly herself, if she wants not to be, and oh how desperately she craves the chance to not be herself, if only for just a little while. That is the true magic of the Count’s masquerade, something far more powerful than what she could throw together in a mortar at home and call such. She is only the swell of the music. It lifts her slippered feet, carrying her in some semblance of dance as she walks the cobbled path, eyes closed in what would feel almost like joy, if she could remember the feeling.

There is no one on the path with her, no one to see her dizzy, stumbling attempt at a coranto, so when her body meets something else -- someone else, the slide of a silk gown against her bare arms -- her eyes snap open, and she stumbles backward with an embarrassed curse.

"Shit! Sorry, so sorry."

Laurel lifts her gaze, expecting to see the heated glare of whomever she'd been unlucky enough to plow into. What she does not expect is the countess -- The Countess -- blinking back at her with equal amounts of surprise. 

With a choked sort of squeak, Laurel drops immediately into her best, lowest curtsy, knees creaking and head bowed so low her mask threatens to slip straight off her nose.

"O-oh, My Lady Countess, forgive me! Please forgive me!"

Her heart hammers in her chest. The Countess! Of all people to drunkenly stumble into! The count would likely have her head for daring lay a hand, however accidental, on his beloved wife. Or perhaps the countess herself would ask him to cut off her wicked, clumsy feet instead as a mercy. 

Less likely was the countess's voice -- rich and deep and rolling over her like sweet molasses -- saying softly, "It’s quite alright. Please stand."

Laurel blinks, straightening her spine in fractions, giving ample time should the countess deign to change her mind and command her to sprawl, prostrate in the dirt, at her feet instead. She doesn't. Eventually, Laurel is able to lift her chin and look the -- only slightly -- taller woman in the eye for the first time.

She had known the countess was beautiful, much in the way that people knew the sky was blue, the grass grew green, and the south was a frigid waste, an immutable fact. People spoke often of her features in the market, lauding the beauty of her violet hair, her striking, crimson eyes, her high, royal brow. More so, she knew it to be true by the simple truth that vain Count Lucio would never settle for less. What few memories she has -- a parade, swirling streamers in the air; the profile of a distant woman, nestled like an idol on a float of white roses and purple hyacinth -- are clouded by time and distance. She had pieced her together that first year, vague impressions and gossip and distant glances in the town square where she deigned to appear. Vesuvia's very own princess had crossed her mind very little after that.

This close, close enough to smell her sweet jasmine of her perfume, to count the faint few freckles on her bare shoulders, Countess Nadia is more lovely than Laurel could have ever imagined.

Laurel's gaping leaves her uncharacteristically silent, but the countess seems to recover first. Likely she's used to filling stunned silence.

"How is that you found me here?" she asks, a faint tinge of pink across her nose, though whether it is from embarrassment or anger Laurel cannot gauge.

Laurel glances around, taking in the tall topiaries that surround them. “I-- where is here, exactly?”

Julian & Laurel

Late September, 5 years ago

1.

The first time she arrives at his clinic, Julian doesn’t yet know that he should turn the woman he would come to know as Laurel Lobban away. She comes to his clinic like most regular patients, in a hurried flurry of skirts, eyes bright — not red, thankfully, the sclera a clear, healthy white with irises of sky blue — sharp with an edge of desperation. Perhaps a family member was sick, a spouse, or sister. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had dragged him from his clinic in the misty, early hours of pre-dawn with their pleas.

He lets the woman in — his first mistake — and leads her to the small table in the corner where he offers her a perfunctory cup of poorly brewed coffee or tea, though she doesn’t look to be in any particular need of it. There is a tension to her body, ratcheted tight as a halyard line. If plucked she might sing, high and sweet like the E string of his vielle, but that could also be his third cup of coffee before sunrise talking. From over her nose and mouth, she pulls down her paisley patterned scarf to reveal full but drawn lips, chewed raw and near bleeding. She stretches and bunches the fabric in her hands, twisting it into knots.

“You’re the doctor, then, yes?” she asks, squinting up at him. “Doctor Devorak? The one everyone talks about?”

A grin, black and bitter as the lingering taste of coffee in his throat, spreads his lips thin at that. “Well, now, that depends. What do the people say?”

The woman watches him, eyes canny as a hawk, flitting between his features, sizing him up. “They say you help people, that you don’t overcharge like the hacks in the heart district do.” She sniffs with derision then, nose crinkling up, though whether at the thought of his colleagues uptown or the smell of something in the room, he cannot tell. Astringent probably, he had just cleaned his tools for the day. Often he forgets how strong the smell can be to those far less nose blind than he. She coughs delicately, like she’s trying to suppress a gag. “They say you’re a good man.”

Ah, well, hm. Julian can’t say he’s heard that one before. ‘Foul, beaked harbinger of misery’ yes, ‘heartless bastard’ sure, ‘utter fool’ sometimes, but good man? Compliments were not something many of his patients or their families had on their minds once he was around. Her words settle like a heavy stone in his near empty stomach. This close, with her looking at him just so, her eyes are less so the color of summer. Darker, near navy, paling into a grey to match his own with a flash of almost-barely-there yellow at the center, like a brewing sky at sea -- one set to storm and tear him to pieces any moment, the look of them setting his sailor’s intuition on edge. He ignores them, words and eyes both. 

“And are you in need of my help then?” he asks, stepping away to rifle through his curio cabinet, stuffed to bursting with jars of tinctures and salves. “You don’t look beplagued, perhaps some other malady? Allergies? A fungus?”

A loud, nearly surprised, scoff. “I don’t have a fungus,” she asserts with umbrage.

He feels his cheeks heat, grateful that his head is buried in the cabinet and not on view of her no doubt scrutinizing gaze. “Of course not, of course not, so sorry. I didn’t intend any offense miss-- ah, I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Laurel, Laurel Lobban.”

She’s right behind him again. He jumps, knocking the shelves with a wayward elbow as he turns. Her hand is held out to shake, and he takes it with mild surprise. Her grip is firm, no nonsense, but she squeezes a little too hard just before she lets go in a way that lets him know how intentional, how controlled those reads he took of her were. He would see nothing of her that she didn’t want him to, that much he could tell. 

“Laurel Lobban,” he repeats, rolling the matching consonants on his tongue. “Laurel, laurus nobilis, lauraceae, like the plant,” he rambles, finishing rather dumbly. She snorts.

“Yes... like the plant. Are you all right, doctor?”

Was he all right? Maybe that third coffee had been a bad idea. “Fine, fine. Though I would be more fine if I knew what I could help you with, Miss Lobban. Hard to diagnose if I don’t know what ails you.”

“I don’t — ” she sighs, frustration warring across her features. “I’m not sick. I’m not here for some tincture. I — I want to work with you.”

He laughs. It was the wrong thing to do, by the telling darkening of her expression, the subtle shift in her jaw as she clearly clenches her teeth. He can’t help it though. It trails off, nervously, his stance shifting from one leg to the other. Whatever you do next, proceed with caution, Ilya.

“Work? Work here?” Nailed it.

“Do you work elsewhere?”

“I — no. This is it,” he replies, gesturing weakly at the single, cramped room, with it’s tiny storage closet and its rickety loft where he keeps his private office which is little more than a second closet. Why would anyone want to work here? With him?

“Then yes, here. With you.”

That he didn’t like.

“And do you ah — do you have any medical expertise then?”

She frowns. There’s a knot of lines between her brows that would be cute, almost endearing, in any other situation than this. Her cheeks flush pink. “Well, no. I mean I’ve read a few books, but… I had hoped you would take me on as an apprentice.”

His mouth falls open, spluttering. He weaves around her so that he’s no longer pinned, like a bug to a board, between her expectant gaze and the cabinet. “Unfortunately Miss Lobban, I’m not equipped to take on apprentices at this time. You see, I’m — well, the fact of the matter is — ”

Stop it. Stop talking.

“There are plenty of other doctors who would take you on, I’m certain.” Who? It doesn’t matter. Doctors who aren’t me. Why would anyone want to learn from a failure who couldn’t even cure his patients, anyway? What could he possibly have to offer an apprentice?

“I don’t want those doctors. They say you’re the best in the city, I want to work with the best.”

The best. Julian bites back another fit of laughter. Grinning — baring his teeth really — instead. “Now now, flattery won’t change my mind.”

She’s followed him again, standing as close behind him as she dares while he flits about the room, restless with nervous energy.

“If I was flattering you, doctor, you would know.”

Had he been this insistent when he’d come to Nazali the first time? Almost certainly, if the stories he’d heard oft repeated are true. How had they put up with him, and not thrown him out on his ear? The simple answer is that they are a much better doctor, a better person, than he. Nazali had discovered the plague, had made the greatest strides in its classification, its treatment, yet. And what had he done with their teachings? Squandered it all. Sat by and watched as patient after patient came to him for help, had plied them with false comforts, and in the end had done nothing, save for ease them into their inevitable deaths. He should tell her that. Should count out his many failures for her like he does for himself every night in place of sheep. Certainly that would frighten her away.

What he says instead is this: “Have you ever watched someone die?”

Her mouth goes slack, obviously taken aback by his question. For a moment he sees the fear flash across her eyes, but quick as it came it's replaced by something else. Something harder. She licks her lips and smiles, lips wobbling at the edges. "Do you ask all the girls that, or am I just special?"

He keeps his gaze hard, until the slight upturn of her lips collapses into a frown.

“Surely that can’t be a prerequisite for the job.”

“On the contrary,” Julian replies, nerves solidifying. “Humor me.”

Laurel’s eyes slide sideways. “No,” she says carefully, chewing over her words. “Though death and I are no strangers.”

Julian takes a deep breath, a brief flare of pain in his chest for having been the cause of the dark shadows that crossed over her features at that admission. He rakes a hand through his curls, shoving them away from his face, where they stay for a moment, before flopping back into his eyes. 

“So you have lost someone?” he asks, though it is less question and more statement of fact.

Her gaze flicks back to him, sharp and pointed as the tip of a blade. “Hasn’t everyone in Vesuvia by now?” she asks him cooly. 

Julian at least has the grace to look chagrined, feeling the heat of one of his telltale flushes burning under his collar. “I suppose you have a point there.”

“I don’t relish the thought of death, Doctor Devorak, if that’s your concern.” Laurel grips the strap of her bag tightly, staring up at him, imploring. “And I’ve no agenda, I assure you. I simply want to find some way to help.”

It is that moment that the door of the clinic swings open, the sharp RANG-CLANG-CLANG of the bell startling the both of them. A barrel-chested man heaves in the doorway, face shining, slick with sweat as he gasps, hands on his knees.

“Doctor! Doctor please, my husband he — “

Immediately, something shifts in Julian. One moment he is himself, good old Ilya Devorak. The next he is simply Doctor, parts within himself shuttering closed as others open, the whole of him changing as instinct takes over, just as it had every instant before a battle when the quiet set in and he and Nazali knew the first wave of bodies would soon hit; the calm before the storm, captured entirely within himself like a model ship trapped in a bottle.

“On it!” he barks, grabbing his overcoat and mask from their hooks with practiced ease, already making long strides towards the door before Laurel’s voice cuts through the quiet roar of his thoughts.

“Doctor please!” she all but hisses, chasing after him with stubborn steps. “I need — let me do something, anything!”

With a sigh, Julian reaches out and fixes the scarf about her neck back over her nose and mouth before placing his own mask over his face. Safe behind red glass, he cannot see the piercing blue of her eyes anymore, no longer at risk of being swept away by the violent current of her.

He takes her by the arm, and gently but firmly leads her to the door, past the panicked man who dumbly, silently, follows them out onto the street at Julian’s other hand. The rosy tendrils of pre-dawn light are barely making their way across the sky, the cobbles beneath their feet still heavy with morning fog yet to be burned away by the heat of the day. With a deft flick of his wrist, Julian switches the crude sign on the door front from ‘IN’ to ‘OUT’. When he turns back, Laurel still lingers under the halo of lantern light, hem of her skirts dancing around her ankles as she shifts anxiously from foot to foot. 

“I — ” 

“Go home, Miss Lobban,” he says, voice half muffled, mouth filling with the cloying scents of camphor and dried roses. “Truly, the best you can do for anyone is to not find yourself here again.”

With that Julian turns and follows the snuffling man where he leads, leaving Laurel behind him, disappearing into the pre-dawn gloom.

[the-realmsdelight]

Bells 🔔 Part I

Rating: NSFW/Explicit

A/N: I know I said soon, but here ya go. I apologize for not giving the people what they want, but I’m splitting this into two because it’s gotten so long. I’ll be posting the second part later some day, so y’all can look forward to all the good stuff in a bit. Also sorry for any mistakes or inconsistencies ya bitch can’t write to save her life.

Andromeda

Andromeda was having a great day. 

It had begun like every other day since her fiancée’s proposal, with her beloved Nadia peppering soft kisses on her face. She was beginning to feel spoiled honestly, with all the love and affection her future wife provided her. The Countess had been nothing short of kind to her and it was a bit surprising considering the two women had met under the strangest of circumstances. To think everything started with a deal made by the Countess’ first husband. What a funny beginning.

 It was a few months before her wedding, and the young apprentice found herself at a new level of touch-starved. Her Countess was always preoccupied with something, and it had been so long since the two had shared a bed. So, with Nadia busy creating plans for the reconstruction of the flooded district and planning her second wedding, Portia made it her duty to distract the magician on the days she wasn’t flooded with pointless duties. The red-head was blessing, sure, but she wasn’t her Nadia. And though she did enjoy her new friend’s company, Andromeda couldn’t help but yearn for her lover at all hours of the day. The apprentice often found herself lost in the warm embrace of her wayward imagination, and who wouldn’t if it was filled with images of the great Countess. Sadly, the young Andromeda was never left alone to amuse such sinful delights of hers because as soon as she had begun to feel her skin warm, the hyperactive Portia Devorak always made an appearance; Today was no exception, as the head maid quickly made her way to the silk-robed Andromeda.

“Oh, Lady Andromedaaaaaa,” she sang, and Portia could sing, “you won’t guess what I made you?” She questioned, and if her smile could get any bigger, Andromeda was sure she would sprain those adorable freckled cheeks of hers. Honestly her wide smile was always a cause for concern, it was like a double edge sword. Portia’s smile held promises that could give the magician something great that Nadia hated or something that she hated which Nadia loved. Once she’d given her the smallest piece of clothing she had ever seen, and Nadia had pounced in her as soon as she’d walked into the room. Of course, later, Andromeda had woken up to fifty shades of burns from the uncomfortable thing. 

“What did you make me Portia? A waist bag. If it’s a waist bag like Nazali’s I’m burning it.” Andromeda replied, being serious. Nadia would roast her alive if she saw the hideous satchel anywhere near her future countess-to-be.

“Perish the thought, no. I made you this necklace like the one I had made for Pepi.” The red head held up a cute little bell collar, that was so adorable one could just squeal at the sight.

“Lay it on me, dear! Hurry, quick please, I must show my Nadi right away. Maybe you can make one for her too if she likes it?”

“Of course, milady.” Portia beamed, putting the collar on Andromeda’s slender neck. It fit snuggly and contrasted beautifully against the apprentice’s tan skin, it looked like a classy choker more than a pet’s collar. She was positive that Nadia would find the sight of her matching with the cat cute.

Nadia

 It was unfortunate that Nadia, unlike her lover, had been having quite the frustrating day. The countess had been flooded with request after request and pointless task after pointless task. Her Vesuvia had been reduced to a pitiful state after Lucio’s rule, if one could even call it that, and it was a painstaking process to build it up from the ground again. Honestly all she wanted in that moment was to scream at someone or throw a table against the wall and yell out that thing her wife-to-be was always yelling. What was it? Yeet? Yes that. Speaking of her wife, Nadia had not spoken to her in two entire days and if the Countess had yearned for her touch before she certainly did more so now, surrounded by bland looking people who ravished guzzling the life out of her. Well, they weren’t necessarily bland looking, but in her mind, anyone was bland in comparison to the light of her eyes. Her Andromeda. 

 Just the mere thought of the apprentice sent shivers down her spine, it had been so long since she had lied with her lover. And as time passed without so much as a minute alone with her future wife, she had been plagued with memories of their love. The memory of the delightful warmth of her apprentice’s skin on her own, the taste of paradise on her lips, the melodious symphony of her cries as she grew closer to her peak, and the sight of her love absolutely wrecked beneath her was enough to make Nadia’s nether regions ache with unwavering desire. 

 She had never wanted, no, needed another human being more than the apprentice and it didn't alleviate her sinful needs when the younger girl chose that very moment to stride in. If Nadia wasn’t heated before, she certainly was now. Her Andromeda had walked into an important meeting, mid-discussion, wearing nothing but lingerie, a sheer robe, that darned smile of hers, and what Nadia could only assume was a pet collar. It took everything in her not to seize her wife at that moment and take her on that desk in front of every courtier who was ogling her. Instead, as her darling love grew nearer, she sat her on her lap and whispered into her ear, “If you move an inch or look at anyone at this table in the eye, I will rip of your clothing and make certain everyone at this god awful meeting knows who you belong to. Now be a good girl, kitten and sit.” And if the whimper that left Andromeda’s lips was any indication that she was aroused, the way her nipples hardened instantly after was enough to raise a few eyebrows.

 So that’s how the meeting continued, with the Countess whispering praises to her good girl for obeying her every word and her feeling a little proud at how composed Andromeda was being even though she was hardly wearing anything, and it seemed everyone in the room was openly staring at her. Well that self-control Nadia had been exhibiting lasted up until she could feel Andromeda’s arousal seeping through her own dress. At first, she thought her love had only spilled something on herself, but then she froze at the realization that the apprentice hadn't moved. At all. Carefully, hidden behind the fabric of the tablecloth, the Countess slipped her long fingers up the magician’s thigh. Paying seemingly no attention to how Andromeda’s breathing picked up, Nadia slipped her hand beneath her predictably wet underwear and had to bite her lip to stop the moan that threatened to escape her throat. Her apprentice was absolutely dripping with want, and by just placing her hand on her wife-to-be’s embarrassingly soaked core her entire hand was entirely covered in her slick. 

“This meeting is adjourned; I have pressing matters to attend to. All of you exit the room this instant.” The Countess commanded, and her commands were followed to the t. 

After a short moment of silence, she turned to look at her darling girl in the eyes, pulling her by the collar to look at her. The Countess couldn’t help but be mesmerized at the sight of the usually composed Andromeda with blown pupils and a flushed face. “My my darling, you’ve been very naughty, haven’t you?”

[thefightingmagician]

Weakness

The coppery smell of blood and the sound of crowds jeering and barking for more bloodshed muddled her senses as a pair of familiar weapons were thrust into her hands.

A bastard sword and buckler shield and then she was shoved forth into the light. It was blinding truly and the smell only grew worse, just as the roar of the crowd grew. All of her senses were being attacked at once and to say the least, she was not pleased. Shaking her head firmly, the woman stepped further into the colosseum, squinting into the afternoon sunlight.

More or less all of the seats were filled, the boxes too were overflowing, save for the Count’s box. The tyrant lounged beside his wife, a wild and sinister smirk painting his features. His golden prosthetic glinted and shimmered in the sunlight as he leaned forward, watching with glee. His courtiers leer from the shadows, all matching their employers sickening glee.

The gladiator steadied herself and shook her head firmly, peering out as she followed the Count’s gaze to the opponent she would be facing off against.

A behemoth of an axe bearer stepped from another entrance, the gate slamming shut as he made his way further. Sand and dust kicked up in his wake as he levelled the battle axe in his gloved hands. He was bare-chested, scarred muscles stretching and flexing beneath the skin as he smirked and planted the shaft of his weapon against his shoulder. He leered towards her, teeth yellowed and chipped.

She levelled her head and let out a breath, slowly raising her sword into the air before clanging it down against the shield she held.  

The crowds jeered loudly, many yelling profanities in their native tongues, some she understood and others she could only guess at. And yet, there were some who’s call held no malice at all, not jeers at her but cheers. They wanted to see her succeed; for once.

Her opponent lurched forward, a cackle of a laugh escaping his lips, spit spraying outwards as he swept outwards with his axe. It caught the top of her shield, causing her to stumble back with the force of the blow.

The fight had begun. No introductions, it wasn’t needed; the crowd had shouted for blood and they would soon get it. Whether from one or the other or even both, they had yet to see. No matter the source, blood is blood.

These sort of arena fights tended to only go for less than an hour at a time; always one opponent having the upper hand. And yet this was not the case, it waged on for an hour, then two. Blood was certainly spilt as the sword cut into flesh and axe head found the meaty flesh of a leg.

It all came down to the clash of shield against axe one final time as she was pressed down into the sand, knees buckling from pain and the pressure.

“Dying on your knees like the stupid little weakling you are.” The axeman hissed; his putrid breath mixing with the coppery scent of blood.

Disgust spread across her exhausted features as she pushed upwards, a final attempt that would succeed as her opponent was knocked back. He stumbled and swayed as she lunged forth, slamming her bastard sword open into his meaty, muscled chest.

His eyes widened beneath his helm and gazed down as blood trickled from his chest.

“I’m… Not… Weak.” She hissed out the words and slammed the shield down upon his head; the man toppling over.

The crowds roared and cheered, rising to their feet as they shouted for more. It echoed in her ears as she slowly fell to her knees, the adrenaline beginning to fade and the shakes setting in.

Her eyes opened as the memory of the fight from so many years ago faded. She laid in the bath that had been filled to the brim, as she had requested, with ice. Goosebumps covered her pale and scarred skin as she raised herself upwards from the ice that she had slipped beneath.

A slow breath escaped her as she raised herself slowly and fully from the bath, hands clenching tightly around the rim of the tub. Ice rolled down her skin, leaving wet paths in their wake. Reaching for a towel from the pile Portia had left her, the woman wrapped herself tightly in one before sliding into a heavy dressing robe.

Padding on bare feet, the warrior turned magician exited the bathroom, murmuring to a passing servant that she was done and made her way to her shared corridors with the Countess.

Nadia was nowhere to be found as she had needed time alone, tucked away into her Tower. Not that the magician minded much; she knew well enough that the Countess desired her solitude, perhaps not as much as when they first met, but still she had her days where a far-off look would appear in her vermilion eyes and she would vanish behind the doors.

Tucking the robe closer to herself, she ran her fingers through her short locks and settled herself onto the edge of the bed she shared with Nadia. Slowly the shoulders of the robe slipped down her arms, her fingers entangling into her wet hair. A soft sigh escaped her as she closed her eyes and replayed the fight in her mind's eye, recalling the smell, the sights…

Memories like this had begun to reappear, little by little, often when she was alone or in the middle of a quiet moment. Some were good, some were bad and sometimes they were just downright awful. And yet they were memories all the same. Memories she was pleased to be getting back, even if it meant she was forced to relieve the pain, the suffering and the ache.

“Not weak… What a laugh.” She murmured and raised her head slowly, cradling her jaw in her calloused and scarred hands. Her forest eyes shifted about the dimly lit bedroom before rising and she slipped out of the towel. Collecting a set of clothes from the closet, she quickly pulled them on and moved to stand outside on the balcony, running her fingers over the railing.

It was a cool evening and not a cloud in the sky as the stars twinkled high above her head. B squinted gently as she ran her fingers through her damp hair, watching below as the guards exchanged roles for the evening. The flapping of wings soon drew her attention upwards as Chandra, Nadia’s beloved owl, settled herself onto the railing beside her.

“Good evening to you too, lovely one.” B softly murmured, raising her fingers to gently scratch beneath the owl’s chin. The bird, in turn, would hoot softly, nibbling at the magician’s fingers who smiled just a bit.

“Do you believe me to be weak, Chandra? Will I bow to every creature that dares show me a fight?” She wondered allowed as she gently ran her calloused fingers through the bird’s feathers.

“I don’t recall the last time I showed you a physical fight, one that held any sort of true worth to it.” Nadia’s voice spoke from behind the pair. Her heels gently clacking across the balcony floor as she stepped up beside the magician, placing a hand on the small of her back and looking down at her.

B kept her eyes focused upon the owl still, gently petting and stroking over the bird’s silk-like feathers. She didn’t necessarily avoid Nadia’s gaze, but rather she simply had no want for the Countess to see the exhaustion and worry further. A soft sigh escaped her as she felt the other’s hand move draw up her back and rest against the back of her neck, nails gently scraping.

“Look at me. Please.” The Countess softly spoke, concern in her tone as B finally did.

Red met green as the two gazed at each other and Nadia drew her lover closer. Her fingers gently touching over the damp locks of hair and she leaned down, cupping her chin.

“I… Remembered more. That’s all.” B softly admitted before closing the gap between the two, searching for a kiss that she had been in want of all day. She was rewarded if only briefly as Nadia pulled away and stroked her thumb over her bottom lip.

The Countess was silent for many moments as the two looked at each other, her thumb gently stroking still before she spoke, “You are not weak, despite what your returning memories tell you, my Stars.”

Nadia lifted B’s chin higher and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

A soft sigh escaped the magician as she stepped closer, encircling her beloved Countess in a hug. She pressed her face into her shoulder, hugging the woman who she had dedicated her life to even tighter.

“You make me feel better, Naddy… Thank you.”

“Is that not what we do, my Stars? We face things together, not alone.” Nadia kissed her head gently and held onto her magician, resting her head down against B’s.

Love is a fickle creature and yet it had found itself right at home with the two women who remained wrapped up in each other’s arms for the rest of the evening, eventually turning into lay in bed together. Memories of the past could hurt you, but the memories made in the present could heal you and prepare you for the future, and certainly make you stronger.

[immiebee]

Oh god...I loved Valerius’ ending in Nadia’s Route. I’ve been working on stories for him and Lactarius, but I haven’t reached this point yet. I had to share this short before I go crazy!

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

A boisterous laugh filled Valerius' study on a warm sunny day. The windows opened to let in fresh air and warm sunshine into the large grand study; books lined the walls in large bookshelves, paintings of Valerius, Lactarius and their son hung on the wall. A constant reminder to continue to better himself, not just for him but for his family. Currently abandoned work documents  pushed to the side of his desk and in their place a large leatherbound book opened to reveal a knight doing battle with a great dragon.

Valerius couldn't resist his son's large blue eyes, especially when Alaric cocked his head to the side, soft pout on his lips. Damn his wife! She could teach him fire breathing for all he cared, but her signature smolder playing on his cubby face....TYRANNY! It also didn't help that the toddler was desperately clutching the large book to his small body, trying so very hard not to let it touch the floor. Nadia had let the boy keep the book when Lactarius and Alaric had visited the palace a few weeks ago. The Countess eyes sparkling when Alaric sat at the floor in front of the fireplace sounding out words, eyes squinting in concentration as he tried to read the words before him. Soon what was supposed to be a meeting for the aquaduct system turned into story time as the group took turns reading the fairytale the young boy was currently wrapped up in.

So here the partially retired Consul sat, with his son in his lap, at his desk, and reading how the brave Knight Oryn battled against the vicious Dragon. Smiling when Alaric squealed as Knight Oryn barely missed a sharp claw, rolling away from snapping jaws. The ombre haired man reaching down to playfully grab onto his son's side, mocking a growl as the Dragon's tail lashed out striking the Knight, giving his own laugh as he tickled Alaric's side. His son turning in his lap, arms raised and short ombre hair thrown back as he gave his own fierce little roar in return.

Valerius shrunk back in his chair, "Oh dear! It seems as though my son has been transformed into a dragon! What ever will I tell his dear mother?!"

The Consul falling back clutching his chest dramatically(maybe he should stop going to the theatre? or tell Lactarius that damn doctor isn’t allowed on the ground) closing his eyes, peeking open one as his two year old placed his small hands on his face. He gave a soft smile as Alaric's eyes became huge.

"No Da! It me! No faint!"

"OH THANK GOODNESS!"

Alaric squealed as Valerius sat up tickling his sides. The two of them too wrapped up in each other that they failed to see Lactarius staring out her greenhouse window across the length of the manor, eyes shining as she watched the two of them playfully swat at each other. The witch shaking her brown misscut hair, pulling it back so the undercut was clearly shown as she continued to clip and trim her overgrowing forest that she called a greenhouse. Gannen's large black body sprawled out in the greenhouse window, the Main Coon mix chittering as the birds hopped around on the stoned patio that connected the greenhouse to the outdoor garden.

As the pair finished the story, Knight Oryn having slayed the mighty Dragon and was now to wed the Princess Amata, Alaric sat in his father's lap content and tired. Valerius closing the book, craddled his son against his chest, placing his son's head on his shoulder as he picked up the scattered documents to read later. Alaric's little arms wrapping around his neck, tiny fingers twisting into his ombre braid.

"Grapes...."

Valerius gave a soft smile. It wasn't anything new that his son would randomly blurt out anything he thought of or saw. That magician's violet snake may not be cute to Valerius, but Alaric had picked up on her random outbursts. Watching the two of them (supervised under Valerius' commanding request) the two of them could make a crowd melt.

Patting his son's back Valerius murmmured softly, "Yes son. Da's wine are made from grapes."

"Moo!"

Confusion shifted in the Consul's face, "Your Momma has her cows in the barn. We can see them after you had your nap."

“Moo! Eat grapes! YUM!"

Alaric sat back pointing out behind Valerius, his bright blue eyes wide and a grin crossing his chubby face. Short ombre hair raising in excitment, mimicing his mother's excited demanor. Valerius turning his head to the window in confusion nearly dropping his son in the process. Golden eyes wide open as he stared in horror as one of Lactarius' brown Swiss cows poked her head into his study, licking her red/purple covered muzzle. Bellowing into the study to the man and his son.

"MOO!" Alaric laughed as Valerius placed him down before he raced over to the window slamming it in the cow's face, as his son bounced happily. "MOO! MOO! MOO!"

"Shoo!!! AWAY WITH YOU! NO! nonononono!!! Get away from there you beast!" Shrieking when he saw three more happily trotting through his vineyard.

Valerius opening the window to yell across the length of the manor, "Lacatrius! LACTARIUS!!!! YOUR DAMN BEASTS ARE OUT!"

Staring in horror as he saw the short woman desperately battling one of her other cows, shoving at it's chest as the brown silver cow happily munched on an uprooted strawberry bush. Quickly picking up his son and shouting for servants, Valerius had an army of guards and servants trying to contain Lactarius' five free roaming girls. As they wrangled the first two, Bane, the eldest and head guard, discovered the rowdy group had broke the fencing that went around their pasture and barn, successfully containing them until now. With two of the brown and silver cows contained in the large stone barn the group turned their attention to the three runaways.

Passing Alaric off to Mabel, the senior house maid a kind greying woman, Valerius raced off to help Lactarius with an irrate cow. The one in question, Sweet Pea (the guards having named the aggressive silver cow) throwing her head low, stomping the ground as Lactarius, her grey dungaree dress and white sun hat firmly tied around her neck, held her hand open in a desperate attempt to buffalo the cow. Valerius slowing to a stop behind Lacatrius, unsure but ready to help his wife. Thank the gods, she had rubbed off on him fashion wise. His black casual pants and knee high boots, loose white shirt were better for fighting off angry heifers, not his expesnive cashmire robes. Turning back to Lactarius, Sweet Pea wasn't falling for it, she charged forward head lashing out as she butted agianst the woman. Lactarius gripping, the heifers ears as she locked her legs in place keeping her head back from Sweet Pea's thick skull.

"OI! Knock it off you cantakerous bitch!" Another buck of the head followed by a quick session of front hooves stomping the dirt in a desperate attempt to crush toes. "Quit it Sweet Pea!"

Valerius covered his ears as Lactarius gave a loud sharp whistle. Head turning when he heard the sounds of whinnys from the stone stables, directly across from the barn. His beautiful black Arabian mare, Isadora, and Lactarius' blue roan Draft Shire, Onyx, were turned out to pasture earlier that morning. Isadora cantering up and down the fence as the chaos continued, her snorts and whinnys shrill and annoyed as people scattered about. Onyx on the other hand had stood watching, ears perked forward, breathing steady taking in the scene. That was until Lactarius' sharp whistle had him galloping away from the fence only to race back towards it, clearing the tall wooden structure.

His thunderous hooves charging towards the two humans and the irrate cow. A loud bray had Sweet Pea backing off from Lactarius, head still low ready for a fight. Onyx cantered around the couple placing himself in between the group. His large head lowered, stance wide as Sweet Pea charged again, only to be met with Onyx's flank in her face and his bucking legs. The cow backing down as soon as she realized she couldn't bully her way into the garden, turned her attention to the green and blooming vineyard. Valerius' breath hitched in his throat, pushing past Lactarius towards the blue roan Shire. "HERD HER BACK DAMMIT! HERD HER BACK!"

After an hour of Onyx playing body guard for the vineyard, all of the cattle was placed in the barn. Not without casualties, some of Lactarius' garden had been trampled and eaten, while a small section that was closest to the pasture was stripped clean from the other two that they had been dealing with. Groaning the sweaty and dirty couple sat down on the greenhouse patio under the shade of a willow. Valerius grumbling curses as he counted the cost of the damages done, Lactarius chin tucked up to her chest as she growled lowly. Those damn girls! She can't blame them, it was a beautiful day and they were just being animals. If anyone was to blame it was her, she should have built them a stone wall last year. Rubbing her eyes she stared over at Valerius, eye downcast as he met hers.

Scowl on his lips, he sighed reaching over to brush the hair out of her eyes, "It's not your fault. Your damn girls are too smart and strong for their own good." He grimaced as he picked a bit of mud from his braid, white shirt stained with mud and grape juices from helping shove the final heifer into the barn.

"I should have gone out to check the fence this morning."

"Yes you should have." Leaning over to kiss her sweaty cheek. "But then it would have made for a very boring day."

Snorting she rolled her eyes, "Well boring, but we would still be making money."

"It's not about money, love. We can make money anytime, this makes for a amazing memory."

Standing up, she stood over placing a leg on either side of his lap before sitting down. "Well listen to you, my beloved husband. I feel like our roles are reversing, shall I go up to your study and finish your work for you? I don't think I am fit to call myself your feral witch any longer."

Gripping her hips he dropped a kiss to her chest, "Never. You have brought out the best in me ever since I placed that ring on your finger." He leaned up locking eyes with hers, slowly bringing her down for a kiss. Tongues dancing, as she sank into his embrace with a soft sigh.

"SNACKS!"

The two of them nearly jumping out of the seat, turned to see Mabel walking towards the pair, smirk playing on her lips as Alaric rushed forwards with a large serving plate. On the plate was a stack of small sandwiches, fresh salad, and a small pile of bite sized fudge. Taking the plate Lactarius slid off her husband's lap to set it on the small wooden table, picking up Alaric to set in her lap. Gannen making an appearance as he sat on the edge of the wall, long tail swishing as he opened his jaw yawning. Mabel setting down a pitcher of fresh lemonade, serving it to the family before turning to leave, "While you two were out here playing round up, your boy was very helpful in the kitchen. He even helped make the sandwiches."

Lactarius hugged him tight blowing rasberries on his cheek, "Did you now?! What a helpful boy!"

Giggling Alaric picked up a sandwich chewing it and Valerius shook his head smiling, reaching over to take a sandwich for himself. Looking at his wife and son enjoying their snack, he looked over their estate and over to the fence as the guards repaired the last woodent structure under the confused stares of the cattle from their windows in the barn. Onyx and Isadora both trotting alongside each other in the evening sun in their pasture, heads thrown back, and Onyx kicking his heels. Despite the chaos and damages caused that day, many years later Valerius still held it as one of his fondest memories.