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buttercupsandboys · 2 years ago

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Sunshine & Rainbows

Alfie Solomons x Livy (OFC) — Chapter 14

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 14: descending into madness

Summary: Alfie meets with Bernard and discovers Livy is missing. It doesn’t go well.

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, violence and angst

Word count: 4376

A/N: It’s been a while, so here’s a quick recap! (Or click here to read Chapter 13 again!)

Alfie and Livy were having a private moment by the Cut when they were interrupted by Thomas, and Livy learns the men are working with Bernard McCall from the High Rip Gang—the man responsible for her abuse and trafficking as a child. Livy panics and flees with the help of Polly and Esme.

This chapter starts with a small time jump. We’re back at the Cut, only this time, it’s from Alfie’s point of view…

"Livy, I need you to know that I—"

… that I love you.

Fuck, he was so close to saying the words that had evaded him for weeks, but as always, Thomas Shelby has the worst possible timing.

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't. Leave before I shoot you in the face."

Alfie refuses to turn around, his broad shoulders shielding Livy from view, his fingers gripping her hips as he contemplates pulling the trigger.

It’s fucking tempting. After a long week, the last thing he wants to do is talk business. Especially not now, with Livy in his arms, staring up at him with wide eyes and swollen lips. How someone like her finds pleasure in his company, Alfie will never understand. She deserves better, surely, but it’s too late for that. She’s his now, and he’s going to finish telling her how much he loves her just as soon as he can get rid of—

"Bernard and his boys are making a move."

Oh, for fucks sake.

Alfie knew getting involved with those useless cunts from up north would end up biting him in the arse. He curses, slamming his fist into a crate, wishing he wasn’t right all the damn time.

"He's on his way from Liverpool. He knows about Sabini and would like to renegotiate."

"Yeah, I bet he does," Alfie grumbles as he helps Livy down, his frown deepening when her heels narrowly avoid a murky puddle. It’s yet another reminder that she doesn’t belong in this filthy fucking city, but he’ll have to tolerate it a bit longer. There will be no getting out of this meeting now, not with Liverpool proving such a valuable asset.

Begrudgingly, he admits that expanding their network has been profitable. But at what cost? Bernard is no fool; he demands a premium for access to the docks, and now that Sabini’s gone, Alfie can only imagine what else he’ll ask for.

Or at least … that's what he would be doing if he wasn’t so fucking distracted.

Alfie prides himself on staying two steps ahead of his associates and rarely enters negotiations without knowing what the other party hopes to achieve. It’s what sets him apart; while his capacity for violence is legendary, along with his fiery temper, it’s his dangerous mind that’s responsible for his astonishing rise to power.

He’s astute, focused, and cunning.

But not tonight.

After being away from Livy and coming so close to confessing his love to her, he feels more like a nervous schoolboy than a criminal mastermind. Fucking hell. It’s taken him so long to get to this point, to find the courage to say what needs to be said, but with every passing minute, fear and doubt are creeping up his spine, the foreign emotions slowly consuming him.

Vaguely, he’s aware of taking Livy’s arm and leading her to a car, Cyril yapping at their heels, a cutting breeze chasing the setting sun, chilling without the familiar presence of his hat. But Alfie observes these things as if from a distance, still lost in thought.

I love you.

It shouldn’t be this hard to say, should it? They’re just fucking words, and he’s never been short of them before. In fact, he considers himself something of a master when it comes to weaponised conversation.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Alfie uses words to control, confuse, and manipulate; they’re like tiny foot soldiers in his one-man army. He’s confident on the battlefield, making deal or die offers with dangerous men, but here, with her … well, fuck.

As the streets fly by, a blur of grey and cobblestones, Alfie wonders what type of man he’d be if he hadn’t been hardened by life. Would sweet words—soft words, beautiful words, words a woman like Livy deserves to hear—roll as naturally off his tongue as the curses that pepper his speech? Would he have courted her, taken her to dinner at least, before fucking her at the goddamn breakfast table?

He’s never been prone to second-guessing himself, but as Thomas rambles on about Bernard, Alfie tallies his list of regrets. There’s so much he would do over if he could; fuck, he should have sought out Livy as soon as the war ended, protected her like he promised, instead of waiting for her to show up on his doorstep. If only he hadn’t been such a selfish bastard, she would never have set foot in the Eden Club, and those fucking wops would have never laid a hand on her.

Of course, Livy finds trouble wherever she goes, and under normal circumstances, Alfie would never allow himself to wallow in the past. But he’s not accustomed to feeling vulnerable or insecure—love is toying with his mind—-and she’s everything he never knew he wanted.

He’s afraid of losing her, scared of the moment when Livy comes to her senses and disappears from his life. Like a rainbow after a storm, here one minute, gone the next, leaving nothing behind but brightly coloured memories.

His chest clenches painfully at the thought, but Alfie quickly shuts it down. It won’t happen; he won’t let it. She’ll be back in Camden Town soon enough, and then he’ll take her somewhere, somewhere expensive, and tell her properly, be a fucking gentleman for once in his useless life—

“Esme.”

Livy’s soft voice catches him off guard, and Alfie finds himself blushing under his thick beard, grateful for the fading light. The car comes to a stop as he turns in his seat and fights to keep his expression blank.

“Probably putting the kids to bed," Thomas replies.

Alfie nods, avoiding her eyes, sure that if Livy looks too closely, she’ll see right through him. And now is not the time, not with Thomas Shelby watching on silently and Bernard McCall arriving any fucking minute.

"Why don't you go and say hello—alright, pet? I'll come and find you when we're done here.”

Time seems to freeze as he waits for her response, and there’s a strange tension in the air he would normally remark upon. But nothing about tonight feels normal, and he’s never felt less like himself as he hurries to help Livy out of the car, holding her close when she nearly trips over Cyril.

“Fucking mutt,” Alfie growls, his frustration bubbling over.

But to his surprise, his mild-mannered pup growls right back.

Alfie frowns at the odd behaviour, the hair on the back of his neck suddenly standing at attention. His instincts urge him to pull Livy close, to look deep into her golden eyes before she rushes off. But then her full lips brush his cheek, and Thomas is leading the way to the betting shop, and business is business, after all.

He lets her go.

“Right, Thomas, I think we both know this is a waste of fucking time.” Alfie is irate and can’t be bothered to hide it. “He wants a piece of London, and that ain’t fucking happening.”

“Of course not,” Thomas scoffs, pausing to light a cigarette before taking a seat behind his large desk. “But Bernard is … optimistic. Just talk to him, eh?”

“Talk to him,” Alfie repeats dryly, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. He hates everything about this fucking office; the trinkets and the smoke and, most of all, the smug fucking man sitting across from him. “Well, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m just about out of words tonight. So why don’t you stop dancing around and fill me in on your fucking plan?”

With Livy gone, Alfie has finally managed to gather his wits. Bernard is on his way because the Blinders and Jews are dividing up territory, and it’s so fucking obvious he can’t believe he didn’t see it earlier. But Thomas did—and judging from the look on his face, it can only mean one thing: a ridiculous, overly-ambitious plan.

And fuck, he’s too tired for this.

While part of him reluctantly admires Thomas for his initiative, and his ability to twist anything to his advantage, lately there have been rumours of Russians and Americans, politics and weapons, and silly things Alfie wants no fucking part of. Especially not now, with Livy in his life. It’s a ballache waiting to happen, and he has a bad feeling he’s already an unwilling pawn in one of Thomas Shelby’s games.

“We’re just buying time tonight, Alfie. That’s all. Send him back to Liverpool, let him find his head, and I’m sure we can all come to an agreement.”

“Fuck off, Thomas. Do I look like one of your dumb fucking brothers? I know you’re playing at something—“

Before Alfie can finish, they’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” announces Thomas, shooting Alfie a stern look.

Alfie grunts, eyeing a pretentious bronze horse from across the desk, fighting the urge to smash Thomas in the face with it.

His temper fails to improve when the door opens, revealing Arthur and Bernard. Now he’s stuck in a room with who he’s sure must be his three least favourite people on this fucking planet.

“Bernard,” greets Thomas. His tone is polite, but he doesn’t stand or offer his hand, and neither does Alfie. “Take a seat.”

Bernard doesn’t take offence. Instead he smiles, a crooked smile, revealing a prominent gold tooth.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies, dropping into the seat next to Alfie and nodding when Thomas offers a whiskey. “Straight to business then, lads?”

Alfie huffs. “Well, here’s the thing, right. I recall us making a deal just the other week—did we not?” He strokes his beard before pointing accusingly at Bernard, shaking his finger at the older man.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did, mate. And yet here we are again, sharing air in this godless city.” Alfie’s voice drops dangerously. “So I’m guessing you have something of considerable importance to tell us. Unless you enjoy wasting my fucking time?”

“Wastin’ your time?” chuckles Bernard, sipping his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his weathered hand. “Oh, that’s funny, that is.”

“Is it?” Alfie glances across at Thomas. “‘Cause I’m known for a lot of things, mate, but my sense of humour ain’t one of them.”

Arthur snorts from his place near the door, having witnessed Alfie’s ‘humour’ firsthand.

“Well, ‘ere’s the thing, big fella. When we was negotiatin’, you failed to mention your plan for the Italians.” Bernard’s smile disappears and is quickly replaced with a menacing scowl. “Now I can’t ‘elp but feel you’re wastin’ my fuckin’ time here, mate.”

Alfie isn’t easily baited, but he can feel his patience slipping away, his temper rising in its place. The more he thinks about it, the less he cares about Liverpool, and he’s not sure how much more he can tolerate from this ugly scouse fucker. Right now, all he wants is to be home with Livy, and he’s not afraid to break a few bones if it will hurry things along.

“Is that so? Well, don’t be shy then.” Alfie leans forward and looks Bernard straight in the eye, just inches from his face, daring him to look away. “Tell us what you want, treacle.”

Bernard refuses to back down. “A third of the Italian’s territory,” he snarls.

“A third of …” Alfie can’t help it; he throws his head back and laughs, a barking sound from deep in his chest, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right, well, that ain’t ever going to happen, now is it? So thanks for coming. Now, why don’t you fuck right off—“

“I think what my colleague is trying to say”—Thomas gives Alfie a pointed look—“is that London is off the table. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Bernard narrows his eyes, jaw clenched as he waits for Thomas to continue. Alfie follows suit, wondering where the fuck he’s going with this.

“You’re a smart man, Bernard. You know you can’t maintain that kind of territory from Liverpool.” Thomas stands and looks out the window before turning back to face the others. “But you didn’t come here to talk about London.”

“Then what the fuck am I doin’ ‘ere? Since you know so fuckin’ much.”

Thomas reaches forward and places his palms on the desk. “Because we both know I’m a man of considerable resources.” He straightens up and inhales from his cigarette before pointing at Bernard, the smoke coiling between them. “And I have something you lost. Something you want back.”

And there it is, thinks Alfie.

The pieces are falling into place. Thomas Shelby has pulled a bargaining chip out of thin air, and Alfie would bet his left nut it’s because he needs Liverpool for more than his sad fucking gin.

He has a bad feeling about this …

But Bernard grins.

“There’s only one thing I want more than London.”

“Patience,” Thomas promises. “Go back to Liverpool. Give me 48 hours, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Bernard nods agreeably, leaving Alfie feeling like a third wheel with no clue what they’re talking about. But he knows better than to show his frustration and instead sits in stony silence, hands fisted by his side, fuming as Thomas wraps up the meeting.

But when the door closes, he explodes.

“What the fuck was that?” Alfie demands, coming to his feet, ready to wrap his fingers around Thomas’s scrawny little neck.

“Alfie,” he replies, raising his hands in peace. “I just needed to buy some time.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Alfie growls dangerously, stalking closer. “But time for what, mate?”

Thomas takes a cautious step backwards.

“To call in some favours. I want Liverpool, and I want Bernard out of the picture. It’ll be better for both of us.”

Alfie stares him down as he weighs up his options.

Beneath the whiskey and smoke, he can smell Shelby bullshit, and there’s no doubt in his mind Thomas would play him for a fool. The intelligent thing would be to keep pushing for more details—by any means necessary—before this whole mess has a chance to blow up in his face.

But he’s exhausted and just about out of fucks tonight, so for once, Alfie chooses the easy way out. Maybe he really is getting soft, but right now, he can’t find it in him to care. Not when he has other, more pleasurable, things on his mind.

“Right, Thomas. Well, as you know, I am a man of faith. So I’m going to let your blatant fucking lies slide—for now. But know this. I can smell your pikey nonsense a mile off, and I will only allow your little games for so long.”

Alfie steps back and collects his cane, absently reaching for his hat before remembering its fate. He curses, leaving Thomas with a final warning.

“Do not tempt me because I will not hesitate to end your measly excuse for a life.”

And with that, Alfie stalks out of the room, ready to collect Livy and finally get the fuck out of Small Heath.

“What the fuck do you mean she isn’t here?”

If Alfie thought Shelby men were infuriating, that was before coming up against Shelby women.

Esme leans against her battered door frame, arms crossed over her chest, shooting Alfie a look that would melt steel. Polly stands behind her, smoking a thin cigarette, looking bored.

But Livy is nowhere to be found.

“What are you deaf?” snaps Esme. “I told you she left earlier with your big oaf of a dog.”

His hand grips his cane as he silently counts to ten. Alfie isn’t the type to hit a woman, but he wonders if tonight will be the night he makes an exception.

“Listen, love. I’m just about out of fucking patience. So stop with the bullshit, yeah, and tell me what else you know before I knock it out of ya.”

Esme practically snarls, reminding him of one of the small yapping dogs he’s seen on Cyril’s walks; she looks ready to chew his ankle off when Polly intervenes.

“Look, Mr Solomons,” she proclaims, pushing Esme aside. “Livy left a half hour ago, said she was looking for you. That’s all we know.”

Alfie frowns and tries to hide the panic slowly rising in his chest. “Well, she didn’t fucking find me, now did she? Do you have any idea where she might fucking be?”

Polly shrugs, taking her time, inhaling from her cigarette before continuing. “Ask Thomas. He thinks he knows everything. Let him help you.”

Fucking hell.

At this point, Alfie is so tired he can barely stand, so angry he can barely speak, and so worried he can barely breathe. And now he has to drag his arse back down Watery Lane to enlist the help of Thomas fucking Shelby.

He wonders if this night could get any worse and then berates himself because of course it could. Fear settles in his gut, memories of Livy’s kidnapping fresh in his mind, the worst-case scenario increasingly possible.

Because how could she just get lost?

Lost …

The fear suddenly turns to ice, like glass shattering into a million shards, exploding, slicing him to ribbons from the inside out.

“And I have something you lost. Something you want back.”

He’s still in the dark, still missing vital fucking information, but a sixth sense tells Alfie that Bernard’s visit and Livy’s disappearance are no coincidence. With a speed he shouldn’t possess, not with his sciatica flaring up the way it is, he finds himself banging on Thomas’s front door.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, Alfie signals to Ishmael, who’s been patiently waiting by the car all evening. He has him blow the horn, not caring if he wakes the street. He’ll wake the entire city, burn it to the ground if that’s what it takes.

He promised Livy, promised her father, and promised himself this will not happen. Not again. After years of merely existing in this wicked world, he finally has something real—someone worth living for—and he’s not going to give her up without a fight.

Alfie feels a fresh surge of panic, and he’s ready to smash the door down when Thomas casually opens it, a cigarette dangling from his lips, wearing a bored expression just like his fucking aunt.

“Alfie,” he greets dryly.

“What have you done with her, Thomas?” asks Alfie, his voice deadly calm.

Thomas frowns, an unusual show of emotion. “I don’t know what—“

Alfie slams his cane against the door, splintering the wood, the sickening crack echoing down the empty street.

The floodgates have opened.

“No, Thomas,” he bellows, spit flying from his lips, rage thundering through his veins. “This is your fucking town. So tell me, where is she? What fucking happened to her?”

He reaches for Thomas, blindly shaking him. The fear is so much worse than the last time Livy went missing. Too much is unknown. He can’t make a plan, can’t mobilise his men; he’s fucking helpless, and all he can do is take out his rage on this cunt because Alfie is sure he’s involved somehow.

His fists start flying before he can stop himself, and he must break Thomas’s nose; there’s blood, warm and wet, coating his hands as he drags him into the street. The residents of Small Heath, accustomed to violence, shut their curtains and look away as Alfie continues to unleash his fury.

He knows he should stop—he needs Thomas’s help—but Alfie can feel himself descending into madness, fear and anger blinding him to reason. Flashes of Livy alone in the dark run through his mind, and he can’t control his body’s violent reaction. Every cell is calling for her; she’s the light in his life, and he needs her back.

“Where is she?” he roars, over and over, as the coppery scent of blood fills the air. Alfie barely notices when Arthur and John appear, shouting and pulling at his arms, or when Ishmael cocks his gun, bringing the others to a standstill.

It’s only when another voice rings out, strong yet feminine, that everyone stops and listens.

“She left,” Polly announces, standing in the street, surveying the scene with disgust. “And can you blame her? Look at the lot of you.”

Silence rings out, and Alfie‘s heart skips a beat.

“She left?” he repeats dumbly, oblivious to the eyes on him as his mind struggles to make sense of her words.

Polly nods.

Alfie lets go of Thomas, not looking when he lands in a heap, not caring when his brothers drag him away. His attention is on Polly, and Esme when she joins her from the shadows.

“Why?” Alfie asks, in a whisper so broken he barely recognises his own voice.

But he finds no sympathy among the Shelby women.

“Because she’s not fucking safe here, now is she?” snaps Esme, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Of course she is,” Alfie scoffs, his anger returning. “I keep her fucking safe. She’s safe with me,” he roars, thumping his chest with his bloody fist.

Polly raises an arched brow. “And how’s that working out for her?”

He opens his mouth, ready to unleash hell, but finds he can’t because she’s fucking right. Livy’s been in danger since the moment she showed up on his doorstep.

And Polly knows it.

“That’s what I thought,” she replies, her voice softer this time. “Listen. If you care about her, you’ll leave her be. She’s safe, for now.”

“I can’t just fucking—“

“Yes, you can,” Polly commands. “Get a room at the Midland and clean yourself up. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Alfie wants to protest, but the look in her eyes compels him to listen. There’s more to this, and he intends to find out. Besides, what choice does he have? He glances around and finds himself surrounded by angry Shelbys, with more Blinders lurking in the shadows, their familiar peaked caps concealing dangerous blades.

Yet they keep their distance when he turns away, and he can’t help wondering why they allow him to walk off after smashing Thomas in his pretty face.

It doesn’t add up, any of it.

His hip is grateful for the comfortable bed, but despite the late hour, he can’t fucking sleep.

How could he?

The clock on the mantle ticks loudly, keeping pace with his heart as he stares at the ceiling. Alfie’s deep in thought, trying to put himself in her shoes, trying to understand why Livy would leave him.

Just hours ago, she was wrapped in his arms, staring at him like he mattered … and now she’s gone? What is she so afraid of that she’d leave without saying goodbye? Why wouldn’t she let him protect her? Doesn’t she trust him?

These questions swirl around his brain with no sensible answers, leading him to the real possibility that Polly is lying. She is a Shelby, after all, and it’s not unreasonable to imagine her covering for Thomas and whatever he’s plotting. But if she is, she’s a fucking good liar.

Either way, Alfie can’t figure out his next step.

He could call for men, head north to Liverpool and track down Bernard. He still suspects the fucker has something to do with her disappearance.

But it’s risky. They’d be outnumbered, and what if he’s wrong? What if someone else has her? The last thing he wants is to waste valuable time on a wild goose chase.

Or what if she left of her own accord, as Polly claims, and wants nothing to do with him? The thought is heartbreaking, almost too painful to envisage, but he knows he has to consider the possibility. Is it worth chancing a war with Bernard when he might not have her?

Absolutely.

He’s already written off Liverpool; it’s too much fucking hassle, and there are easier ways a violent man can make a fortune. But more importantly, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to get Livy back. With every minute she’s gone, Alfie realises just how much he would happily sacrifice to be by her side. He’d give up a thousand Liverpools without a second thought if that’s what it takes to get her back in his arms.

But right now, he doesn’t know where to strike, and the best he can do is weigh up the odds. It’s all a fucking gamble, and Alfie isn’t a betting man, especially with no clear favourite and so much at stake.

He stands, growling with frustration, fighting the urge to break something, when he hears a soft knock on his hotel door. His heart leaps, hope rising in his chest as he crosses the room in two long strides, praying he’ll find Livy on the other side.

For a moment, he swears he can smell her sweet scent, cherries and vanilla, flooding his nostrils and warming his heart. But then he flings the door open, and his smile disappears, disappointment washing over him when he sees Polly and Esme instead of his beloved.

His first instinct is to slam the door in their smug faces, but fortunately, the logical side of his brain takes over. He takes a deep breath and arranges his features into what he hopes is a welcoming expression.

“Come in,” he invites, standing aside.

Polly nods, sweeping into the room like she owns the place (and probably does). Esme follows close behind, looking less than pleased to be there, throwing herself into a chair by the window and planting her boots on a small table.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” mocks Alfie, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture and making no effort to hide his irritation.

“What was that?” snaps Esme, staring him down as she deliberately ashes her cigarette on the carpet.

He glares back. “Did I stutter?”

“Fuck off, you—“

“Enough!” shouts Polly, coming to stand between them. She turns to face Alfie. “We didn’t drag ourselves out in the middle of the fucking night for the fun of it. Now, do you want to bicker like a child, or do you want to find Livy?”

That shuts him up. He gives a slight, sober nod.

“Good. Now take a seat. We need to talk.”

Tag List: @noz4a2 @confessionbrain @omgeternal @potter-solomons @quarterpastmidnight @woofgocows @shaddixlife @redhead7799 @cillmequick

#Livy x Alfie #Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders alfie #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic

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deadspace-babe · 4 years ago

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Tin Cup

My first official fic!

This is a simple Julian X Reader. How the day boils down after a night out together. (nsfw and fluff tbh)

We stumbled into the shop at around 3 am bellowing sailor shanties, arms hooked and legs kicking. Julian and I spent all night at the Rowdy Raven drowning sorrows, sharing stories, singing, dancing and shouting sweet nothings seemingly to everyone in the bar instead of just whispering them to each other. Jules was about 6 drinks down and I about 4. I wanted to drink more but I was already tripping and the taste of the salty bitters at the back of my throat kept me from downing anymore. I’m not quite sure how Julian does it but he definitely holds his liquor better. Even though he drank two more mugs of bitter piss than I did, he seems just barely buzzed.

As we pushed and tripped through the curtains to the back our song turned to laughter and we flopped down on the couch almost flopping to the floor we fell so hard. I landed on top, his arms lazily draped over me and his face still scrunched with laughter. God he’s so beautiful like this, when he blushes like that my ears burn and all I can think about is kissing him forever. I lay a small kiss on the top of his nose and his skin lights up a few more shades. With the alcohol still clouding my head I can’t help but wonder how far down his blush goes. We’ve been naked together before but I’ve never really seen him in the light, everything we’ve done together had always been closed under the cover of the night. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to see all of him until now.

I guess I was staring cause Jules giggles and clears his throat, “You want me to make you some tea mlady you’re looking a little under the weather ya? Or am I distracting you?” He says teasingly poking at my reddening cheeks.

I roll my eyes and roll off of him giving a quick nod, “Earl grey please.” He nodded and pushed of the couch swaying a bit but maintaining his demeanor. As I waited I thought back on the night we had and many before this and how deeply in love I am with this man. Since the moment I met him I feel like I knew. The way he looked at me and trusted me and acted so selflessly curse or not. No one has ever meant more to me than he does. How did I get so lucky.

“What are you smiling about darling? Something happen while I was gone?” He huffs playful while handing me my mug.

“You” I reply nonchalantly. I inhale deeply taking in the smell of soft earl grey and Julian’s black coffee as he figures through my response his face switching through so many emotions. I take a slow sip and let out a chuckle,

“Nothing bad, just how lucky I am” I slump against his shoulder feeling it sag a little at the contact.

“If anyone’s lucky it’s me darling. I never thought I’d be loved by anyone. I thought I deserved to die and was willing to do so for something I couldn’t even remember. You’re the only one to have ever shown me anything brighter than my dim past..” his eyes lowered and his voice deepened, “But here I am sitting next to the love of my life preparing for forever.” His voice lifted and he set his mug down to pull me into his lap. I push back into his chest and sigh,

“Ya ya I love you too you big sap” I put my own mug down and pull him in for a kiss pulling off his eye patch, “My perfect Ilya, you’re worth more than anything in the world” I can’t help but get lost in his beautiful eyes. The red making the grey of his irises stand out even more” I kiss his lids and he lights up again trying to avert his eyes from mine.

He’s so cute I want to hear his laugh I spin around in his lap, watching the surprise on his face as my hands shoot to his sides before he can analyze the mischief in my eyes. My fingers start to move and his eyes widen in fear. He screams falling over immediately,

“NO TICKLING” I ignore his protest and assault his side and neck relentlessly till our laughter and screams fill the room and his tears start to fall. His smile makes me so happy. I cease my assault and lean down kissing the middle of a tear trail on his cheek. He takes my distraction to his advantage bringing his hand to my hips. I feel my body being pushed back and his hands start to move,

“NO WAIT” I yell, He smiles triumphantly down at me,

“NO PERISH” he counters tickling me relentlessly. Eventually after many tickles back and forth, many protests and a few kicks later the fight comes to an end and we’re left a heaving crying mess on the couch just staring and giggling like two teens in love for the first time. “So pretty” he whispers messily locking his lips with mine. Our lips moved together sloppily but passionately. I can taste the bitter alcohol mixed with coffee on his tongue. We break every now and then to trade little pecks and to take in air. He stops to stare for a second “You sure you’re ready for a forever with me?”

I give him and exasperated sigh, “Oh you know it. You won’t be gettin rid of me any time soon.” I say flashing him a cocky smile. I lean up to reattach our lips and a leg comes up between mine rubbing gently. I take a deep breath and pull his lip in between mine teeth. The skin breaks and he lets out a groan. I can tastes the copper in my mouth and he pushes his leg harder. I sigh out a quick laugh, wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him down. I bite his earlobe til the skin breaks and he shudders then I watch it expectantly waiting for It to heal with a confused face. Oh ya his curse went away, I keep forgetting. I realize then smile devilishly “You look so pretty when you bleed and I can finally mark you up now. How about we get a little rowdy and see how deep the bites can go?” I whisper seductively into the offending ear. He lets out a shaky breath over my shoulder and nods into my crook excitedly. He snatches me up off the couch and climbs the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he moves I can feel his bulge press against my pelvis sending electricity up my body.

At the top he gently lets me down, the second my feet hit the floor I take control pushing him onto the bed forcefully knocking a little wind out of him at the sudden movement. I jump on top of him and make quick work of loosening him up as his nerves continue to get the best of him no matter how much he wants it. Our lips knead together and our legs find crooks to rock back and forth releasing some pressure. Though with our height difference it becomes sort of difficult to, you know, kiss and grind at the same time so I move to palm at him instead. Our kissing quickly becomes more and more desperate and so do his hips. I can’t help but to nip and bite and suck at his lips and tongue. I pull away from the kiss a inch or two still holding onto the tip of his tongue for a second before releasing it back to him in favor of stripping him down.

I pull his hand up to my mouth and bite down on the tip of his gloved middle finger, slowly dragging off his hand and do the same with the other but this time leaving a wet stripe on his palm after, making it a point to leave a gentle kiss on his “tattoo”. Then I move to his boots. Jesus fucking Christ those damn boots. They’re so… sexy but so damn annoying. Thigh high tight leather boots. Only Jules. My struggle to peel them off almost kills the mood but the humor of it keeps it light enough. I move back up his body and easily pull away his white button up. I can’t help but stare down at him. I hadn’t even realized the sun had started to rise until It peaked through the open window (hmmmmmm we should probably close that……..or not ;p) sending radiant shades of purple and orange to dance on his face and chest. I finally catch just how far down that delicious blush goes, and oh does it go far, from his ears to his naval. Oh I just want to lick him up I think to myself immediately latching my lips to the cord of his throat and sucking.

He lets out a moan “Y-yes” I make sure to trace the path of his blush leaving light kisses on his ears, then his eyelids, cheeks, smile, and chin. Then a little rougher at his neck, shoulders, and traps making sure to knead the skin in my teeth between kisses and licks. Now down to his chest and belly, I drag my tongue down making eye contact all the while as he stares back biting his lip in anticipation. “Come on I can take it” he grinds out “Just cause the curse is gone doesn’t mean you can go easy on me” I answer him by biting down hard on his right nipple and he arches into me with a low groan.

“Trust me I won’t” I say slyly watching the excitement dance in his eyes. I suck and pull on both nipples and leave bites all down the sides of his chest and stomach before yanking at the thicker piece of flesh right above his belly button where a piercing would go. I yap up the blood I spilled and glide my tongue down to the v of his hips leaving a light red trail behind me.

“You’re going to be the death of me” he whispers. I smile and proceed to dig my thumbs into the deep groves of his pelvis and curl the rest of my hands around his hips digging my fingernails in deep. I tuck my tongue under the hem of his pants as far as I can go and bring it back up to his belly button and he squirms so deliciously at the action moaning my name, I can’t help myself anymore. I snatch his pants off enjoying the delightful bounce of his freed cock and the little wet spot it’s left on his skin. I throw his pants across the room quickly taking my place between his legs. I squeeze his thighs hard enough to leave bruises and suck little marks from the hollows of his knees all the way to the crease of his thigh. The bob of his dick catches in my peripherals and I smile against his skin. “(Y/n) please I can’t take it anymore” I look up to see his dick swollen, bright pink and dripping.

“Actually I think you’re going to be the death of me if you keep looking this scrumptious” I say leaning forward. I lick a nice long stripe from base to tip the swirl my tongue around the head.

He bucks up “AhH please please” I chuckle but do as he asks, so good for me i think wrapping my mouth around his moist heat. He bucks up again and I hold his hips down. Sure to leave bruises. His hands come up and tangle into my hair and he breathes harder and harder tugging lightly. God he’s so gentle with me. Adorable. Right as he gets to his edge twitching in my mouth I pull off with a sickening pop and he groans from the pressure. His pink dick throbs again, soooo cuteee

I climb off the bed to go to the closet stripping my pants off on the way there. “Why’d you leave?” he asks when I come back still panting desperate for relief.

“I have a surprise for you. I didn’t want you to cum before I got it out.”

“A surprise?” He says cocking his head trying to peak around my body at the object(s) in my hand.

“Oop you’re right I think actually have two for you love, or is it three” I smile tapping at my chin as if I forgot. He flushes then changes his shaky smile to a more seductive one,

“Then why don’t you come over here and show me what you’re made of already. Scared?”

“Oooooo after that comment you should be the one that’s scared” I snort shoving his surprises in the bedside drawer for now. He looks a little disappointed (cute). I climb back on top of him kissing him deep and shoving my tongue in even though he’s already given me access. I smile into his mouth and grab his cock squeezing lightly just where he likes and whisper into his gaping mouth that’s waiting for my return. “Here’s surprise number one love” my hand glows a soft blue then starts vibrating quickly. He immediately bucks into me, hard. “You like it? I’ve been practicing just for you babe” I say licking into his mouth which is gaping wider due to the sudden rush of pleasure. I pick my body up off his and remove my hand. He finally lowers his back onto the bed again. Hehe not for long I think smiling slyly to myself. I put just the tip of my finger on the flushed tip of his dick and activate the spell again. He arches again. The vibrations are so fast that his dick is actually bouncing off of it. Small fast little bobs and it’s lighting me on fire. I can feel my slickness growing. Hmmm not yet I wait for him to almost reach his release once more before I stop again sliding up his body to reach the drawer allowing my thigh to rub against him gaining me a quick hiss. I slide back across his body and he catches a glimpse of surprise number two he bucks up unconsciously just at the thought of it.

“God you’re torture” he breathes raggedly.

“Oh you like it that much? I’m so glad. I made it myself” I wink at him while inserting one end of my new glass blown ribbed strap into me smiling quite proudly. The smile quickly leaves as my face contorts due to the added coldness but also the slight release. I pull out the bottle of lube and drench my fingers. I place my thumb on his perineum and pushed then then circle and hook my fingers repeatedly on his tight ring.

“Gahhh fuck youuuuu” he puffs out

“No Jules. I think it is I that is fucking you” I say plunging two finger into his tight ass and curling. He lifts off the bed again practically screaming, damn maybe I should have closed the window. I think, though dismissing it quickly. I scissor and stretch him making sure he’s ready while making my thumb vibrate on that sensitive piece of skin right between his balls and his ass (perineum btw) he gasps and I pull out keeping my eyes trained on the hole he’s been burrowing into his bottom lip with his teeth. I move forwards between his legs and he automatically hooks them around my waist while I line myself up. I push in slow and he arches so hard and so high I almost slip out.

“Did I make her too big for you?” I giggle.

“Hmph i-it’s per-fect” he stutters as i bottom out in him.

“Ah my beautiful Jules. What did I do to deserve you” I sigh.

“You know I want to kiss you so bad right now but you’re too damn short. I can’t reach.” He says heavily, craning his neck down to try to reach.

“Geez don’t rub it in. It’s not my fault you’re a whole 6’4, fuckin Sasquatch imma whole foot shorter and I’m the one wrecking your ass so stfu” I puff thrusting hard.

“HmPh aggressive” he says wiggling his eyebrows at me. I plant my fists at his sides and thrust harder.

“You know it ;)” I say with a cocky tone even though I’m struggling to find a rhythm. He keeps slipping and shifting upward I can’t keep him steady. I yank his hips down closer to me, lean forwards on his chest and hook my arms back and behind his shoulders. Hmmmmm much better I sigh finally having a stable hold to create a solid rhythm so he doesn’t slip every time I thrust. I push harder, pulling almost all the way out each time to slam in hard than the last. At this point he’s a babbling mess. Hmmmmm on second thought I hope everyone in town hears this music ;) I can tell he’s coming to his edge. He brings his hands up to rest on mine as they dig into his shoulders for grip. I swear just his touch on my hands as he bounces on me feels like enough to destroy me. My pussy is annihilated honestly. Just at the sight of him. God I really do love this fool. I leave small kisses on the skin I can reach leaving quiet encouragements in between each. He lets out a loud choked off moan and arches hard suddenly and I can feel his release shoot in between us but I don’t let up pounding in. I ride him through it and into overstimulation until he’s shaking, screaming, tears start to roll down his face. I pull out slow and he winces,

“You alright?” I ask coming up to give him a soft kiss.

“Perfect.” He says, eyes closed looking completely blissed out. I smile and wipe the tears with my thumb and bringing it to my mouth. He opens one eye to peak up at me “Did-did you just like lick my tears?? You good?” He says in a fake judging tone.

“You know if you think that’s weird get ready for surprise number three love.” I kiss him again pushing my hands up into those soft auburn curls and scraping my nails across his scalp eliciting a little shiver. His shoulders relaxed and I leave a little kiss on his forehead before dipping down and licking the cum off of his stomach making his dick twitch against my chest. I come up and kiss him again tangling a hand in his hair again and letting the fluids mingle in our mouths. With my free hand I open the drawer to pull out surprise number three. Jules is still quite distracted tasting himself on my mouth so I take the opportunity to get started. His eyes shoot open when he feels the cold leather on his neck. I latch it and he looks up at me bright red. “Ooo yes keep that face it matches the color so well.” I say gliding my finger across his new bright red collar.

“You know I think this one might be one of my favorites” he says coming up to kiss me again dragging his tongue over my lips.

“Hmmmmmm get ready surprise number 3 has a few parts” I say playfully He looks up at me expectantly as I grab the rest. Red rope and a red leash to match his collar, all nicely complimenting his hair. The look on his face is absolutely pitiful and so full of lust, his eyebrows are knit together and his lips swollen from bites, his own and mine. I rub his cheek lightly and he pushes into the touch, god.

“Come on” he puffs “I’m ready” he says staring up with half lidded eyes. God not the bedroom eyes Jules I’m dyingggggggggggg. I lean back binding his wrists together tugging to make sure it’s secure. I pull him up so he’s sitting upright and he immediately tugs on the front of my shirt. “You too, please.” To be honest I had forgot I was still clothed from the waist up. I look down to find cum, sweat, and blood stained everywhere, guess I’m throwing this away, gross. I agree and strip off my shirt leaving on my bra, he tugs on that too staring intently.

“Nuh uh you gotta wait for that one” I say smiling pulling his restraints forward to lay a kiss on his nose.

“Mhhhhh I hate you” he groans at me rolling his eyes.

“Is that so love? Well let me show you how passionately I feel about you. On your knees now please” i say in a harsh tone throwing his hands to the side forcefully. He lights up red again but does as he’s told. Since his hands are bound in front of him he lays his chest and head on the bed keeping his ass high. I nudge his legs further apart running my hands up and down his thighs and hips. I hum stroking up his sensitive inner thighs feeling him shiver under me. I reach up and spread his ass then pull back and send a crisp slap to his right cheek. He arches hard letting out a loud groan and I rub the fresh print to ease some pain before sending another hit to the other cheek. I repeat the same action over and over a few times watching his aching cock bob with excitement creating a small pool on the sheets below it. I decide to give him a little release…..but just a little. I press my hips against his ass receiving a hiss at the pressure and cold skin. The heat radiating off the hand marks I left makes my insides throb and my mouth water. God he’s delicious. I try to compose myself leaning over his back rubbing little circles into his wet belly. I make sure to slide the strap right up next to his heat and I roll my hips. He lets out a high pitched moan and tries to lift his head off the pillow. I push him down lower and keep grinding against him with the toy until he’s panting.

“Please please please darling ….ahhhHha” he groans as I push again “you’re such a tease” he says breathlessly.

“Hmmmm you love it” I say smiling into his skin leaving small kisses. I rub against him a few more times until his breaths get more erratic. When they do I slid up and hook the red leash on the collar and pull. The front of his body lifts off the bed and he lets out a choked moan. “Is it too much?” I ask with worry in my voice. He smiles looking back at me,

“it’s great you know id tell you if it wasn’t” he grinds out pushing his ass up against my hips.

“Mhm just checking” I whisper more for myself than him. I line myself up and push into him harshly while keeping a tight grip on his leash. As I pound up into him his bound arms bounce against his stomach in time with his dick. I pull his head back so far I can feel his hair brushing against my shoulder. I bite hard into the skin I can now finally reach watching the blood bloom and slide down his chest before I could catch it with my tongue. I hear his moans get louder and he starts pushing back onto the glass strap as he reaches his edge once again. I grow slicker and slicker right at the edge of release and I lose my rhythm. I’m so close and so is he but for some reason I just can’t get the right angle and the right feeling for myself so I focus on him instead. I give him a few quick slaps to his thighs and a few more hard wide thrusts that he bounces hard back onto and he comes undone in seconds.

I release the leash and squeeze his slim waist hard to keep him steady, but instead of falling forward he goes back onto my chest his head finding my shoulder and I watch his one red eye roll back then pinch closed in pleasure as he releases all over the sheets screaming my name. We really should have laid out towels. He’s still up against me a panting mess. I let him come down while I untie his wrist rubbing them a little before moving to undo the collar. I put it aside and kiss the side of his face tracing up and down his torso with light fingers. To my surprise he pulls off the glass toy trying not to show any discomfort at the action. He turns around and immediately catches my mouth with his. He runs his tongue along the roof of my mouth and pulls me into his lap I feel warm leather come up and latch around my neck. He tightens it a bit never releasing my mouth. I jump a little finally releasing the kiss as I feel the glass toy being pulled out of me. He pulls it up to his mouth and licks it, cleaning it of all evidence of me.

“I know you didn’t cum” he says tossing the toy aside and inserting three fingers into my dripping heat. I gasp turning bright red and throw my head back, he uses the leash that was still attached to hold my head there. I smile up at the ceiling while he pumps his fingers into me,

“You sly dog.” To my surprise he removes his fingers and the leash to stand pulling me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. isn’t he sore? I think to myself instinctively hooking my arms around his neck. He chuckles sticking out his lower lip to “pout”.

“What I can’t give a little loving back?;)” he kisses me deep and gentle and I feel my back hit wood and a cold breeze rustle my hair. I smile into the kiss but he doesn’t seem to care continuing to kiss my parted lips and teeth, Ilya you fool.

“Oh we’re an exhibitionist are we? I say playfully. He finally opens his eyes and leaves a peck on my nose.

“Aren’t you the one who left it open in the first place dear? Maybe you wanted them to hear us too ;b” I smile and nip at his lip,

“Hmmmmm maybe I did” almost the second I finish the sentence my head is snatched back by the leash and partially hanging out of the open window. He immediately moves to my collar bone leaving sweet little kisses and licks while rubbing himself against me. I can’t help but buck into him and groan out into the morning air. I can feel spit running down my chin, my mouth still gaping as I chased the pleasure. He takes the opportunity to hook a thumb in the corner of my mouth and lick into it making sure to clean the mess I’ve made on my chin. I buck again and bite down on his thumb as electricity shoots through me. “Ilya please I fucked you three times already I don’t think I can’t take much more.” I mumble his finger still tucked in my cheek.

“Oh my so needy” he whispers exaggeratedly lining himself up. He pushes in without warning releasing my mouth and I basically scream out the window for the whole town to hear. At this point the sun has completely risen and I can hear people start to leave their houses for the day. They’re going to think I’m getting murdered or something. I think bringing a hand up to muffle the sound only for it to be pulled back down in favor of removing my bra. He releases the leash but I keep my head in place and help him get my bra off my arms. The second the garment is shed he latches onto my breasts sucking, biting, pulling, licking and rubbing all while continuing to pound me up and what felt like out of the window. I wind my fingers into the soft hair at his nape and pull, the other hand coming up to stroke his face,

“aH jULes I love you SO much. Perfect perfect PERFECT” I yelled out the window again.

He hums happily against my skin “I love you too darling.” he whispers at my collar bone one hand leaving my chest in favor of rubbing at my clit. He circles it pounding harder and I finally cum with a choked scream pulling him closer as I clenched around him and he continues to pump, though it becomes more erratic. He bites into my shoulder only hard enough to leave a small indent (so gentle) and the over stimulation throws me back into the high as I cum again screaming louder than the first. Two more harsh pumps and he’s releasing for the fourth time.

He leaves kisses up the panting column of my throat and up my jaw finally leaving a deep kiss right on my lips that I can’t help but hum happily into. “You know you never cease to surprise me doctor” I say with a wide smile.

“Same to you dear” he says pulling out and lowering me from the window sill. He removes the collar and kisses me again this time rather sleepily. I look over to the bed only to see an absolute disgusting mess on the sheets. Thank god for Asra, I think remembering the pile of pillows and blankets he used when reading in the corner of the room. I walk over too it dragging Ilya close behind and flop down onto the mound of comfort, he follows suit. I roll over to curl into his body enjoying both the warmth and the view.

“You look so handsome covered in purple and blue” I say looking up at his duel colored eyes. He blushes and averts his eyes.

“Ya? Well maybe we should do this more often then.” He states with a warm smile. “Thanks by the way. I have to say that glass work was quite masterful” he giggles.

“Aw thanks. I”m glad you enjoyed it but damn, now my abs feel tight as fuck” I say with a goofy tone.

“Yikes same, my legs feel weak as fuck.” We laugh with each other for a little trading silly compliments and “I love you’s” before dozing off together. God I love this man.

Bonus: Asra runs in panicked after someone in town said they heard screaming from the shop. He bolts upstairs basically screaming only to find the most revoltingly dirty sheets and two just as dirty people in a pile of HIS pillows, wrapped in HIS feather blanket, snoring as loud as possible. “Oh my fucking god I can’t believe these two heathenssssss!” he says running down the stairs to bleach his eyeballs.

#julian devorak #the arcana #ilya devorak #julian x mc #julian x reader #we gettin it tho

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bunnyywritings · 4 years ago

Text

no one else but you

Greed x fem!reader

[a/n: thank you for another request! It’s been a hot minute since I re-watched FMAB so I’m a little rusty with the characters. I think I made him rlly soft here...This is set after Promised Day with a twist! Greed lives, has control over his body and tries to start a new life with his s/o. What’s in BOLD is the reader dreaming. enjoy! -yours truly, bunnyy-`ღ´- ps. I 100/10 do not recommend writing after being awake for like 29 hours lol I lost my train of thought waaaaaay too many times while writing this ]

“What? You thought I still wanted to be with you?” The disgust in his voice made the pit in your stomach grow. “You seem to forget who I am. I’m Greed.”

“But I thought-” You were cut off by a scoff.

“I didn’t think there was anything useful in there.” The was he was belittling you was the last straw, your shoulders shaking uncontrollably as tears streamed down your flushed cheeks like a waterfall.

“W-why are you s-saying these t-things? This isn’t l-like you!” You pleaded.

“Yeah, well that was when the twerp was still in charge. I hate to break it to you sweetheart, you don’t know me at all.” A wicked grin curled his lips, the hardening of his outer-shell grabbed your attention. It encased just his arm. Before you could say anything else, he used that hand and grabbed you by the throat. His grip was deadly as he picked you up from your knelt position on the floor. “Now if you’re done with your yapping, I don’t need you anymore. You were nothing but a hindrance.” he emphasized his words with a growl before tossing you onto the bed,

“Good riddance, (y/n).”He spat and you watched his back as he walked past the doorway.

“N-no! Greed! G-Greed please! Please d-don’t leave me!” Your hoarse voice fell onto deaf ears. “Please don’t go...”

You jolted awake in a cold sweat, tears leaking from your eyes as you curled into yourself, tugging the duvet closer to your body.

Greed had been away for about a week or so, saying he had “things to take care of.” Whatever that meant, you had no idea. You just knew that it had nothing to do with this ‘Father’ character either, but you never really questioned Greed. You trusted him. Even if he was a homonculous and even if he was an ex-member of a secret military that tried to take over the government. With Greed’s newfound freedom, he was eager to start over. Start a new life with him. He was different though, it wasn’t like ‘GreedLing’ as Edward liked to call him, he was completely greed. Through and through. It was like a total personality change. He still respected you and loved you, there was no doubt about it. However, you couldn’t help but feel inadequate when he would return to your shared apartment after running an errand and would brag about how many girls, and guys, wanted his attention. Saying things about how gorgeous/handsome they were, and how they basically threw themselves at him. Not to mention all the perks that he had received by just existing. Discounts on clothing, or the butcher lady “looking the other way’ and giving him an extra pound of meat, free of charge. Slowly, your insecurities came into the light. Being afraid that one day he’d find another girl that you were no match for. One that had an amazing body, smarts to match his wit. You feared it so much that it was a recurring nightmare that you had been having for weeks. Greed had noticed how off you were acting and asked if you were okay and not wanting to burden him with your silly thoughts, you just shrugged him off. Fake smile painted on your lips as the phrase, “I’m fine.” seemed to leave them at least 4 times a day.

He had called you a day or two ago and said that he’d be back soon. How long was soon? Had he already found someone else? Were you really someone that wasn’t worth his time and attention....pfft. What were you thinking? Of course you weren’t, he deserved so much better. He deserved a girl who wouldn’t hate what she saw in the mirror. He wouldn’t want a girl who wasn’t smart and witty like he was. He’s Greed. He only wants, and deserves, the best of the best.

These thoughts plagued your mind as you went through the day, trying to fill the time. Doing useless things. Cleaning everything at least 5 times over, or picking up a book and getting comfortable on the couch only to put the book down 15 minutes later. Mind racing with unanswered questions and suspicions.

As the day passed by and the sun started to say its final goodbyes with an array of reds and oranges smeared across the sky, the fear in your tummy swelled. You reluctantly got ready for bed, dreading every second that passes by. Hours passed, you laid in the dark resisting the way your heavy eyelids dropped closed. If you didn’t sleep, you didn’t dream. Simple. Easier said than done.

Disappointment filling your entire being as you gave in. Letting your eyelids shut and sleep tug at your subconscious mind. An surely enough, those fears plagued your dreams. Leaving you to toss and turn in the sheets, mumbled phrases escaping your lips.

“(Y/n) this is Lust, she’s an...old friend.” During that pause, you definitely didn’t miss the way his eyes were running over the curves of her scantily clad body. A thing, serpentine smirk grew on her lips. The dark crimson color shimmering under the golden light of mid-day. “I thought it was finally time for a change of pace so, it’s time for you to go.” The grin on his lips was playful but his eyes were piercing into you, in any way but playful.

As you looked her over, you weren’t surprised why he had picked her over you. Her breasts were perky and perfect, her curvy yet slim body was enticing in a way that yours never could be (so you thought), her lips may have been thinner than yours but they seemed to fit her small frame perfectly. Her stomach was flat and probably didn’t protrude when she sat comfortably (it so did), and the way Greed was hungrily eyeing her definitely gave away his own selfish intentions of getting himself off.

“What? But w-where would I-“ your stutters were cut off by Greed making an exclamation.

“And she has a fully functioning brain. Unlike the poor excuse of a walnut, that you no doubt have, as a brain!” He chuckled, you couldn’t believe he was going this far to be cruel. You were so distraught that you hadn’t noticed the tears falling from your face. “Great! And here come the water works again!” Greed scoffed.

The one thing Greed hadn’t expected when he stepped into the apartment was to be instantly met by your screams. It was what you said that made his heart ache.

“Greed! Please, please I know t-that I’m not enough but-” He stopped at the door, it was open just a crack but it was enough to see you sit up, eyes wide and tears trailing down your cheeks. He watched with a broken heart as you approached the mirror.

“Of course he doesn’t want you. Who would?” You started to prod at your tummy, then at your thighs, before your hands moved upwards and cupping your breasts a bit, holding them up a bit before you let them drop naturally and went to pick at your skin. Scowl permanent on your beautiful face. “He deserves better than-than trash.” That was it. He shoved the door open, causing you to jump and turn to him.

“G-Greed? You’re back?” You were slightly afraid as you watched his towering figure march over to you. Clenching your eyes shut to endure any verbal abuse he was going to inevitably spew at you...but it never came. Instead, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you into his chest.

“Why are you saying those things? Hmm? Why are you hurting my pretty girl?” You were taken aback by his reaction. Why were you acting this way.

“N-No, it’s silly...”Your cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, as you shook your head and nuzzled into his warmth.

“It’s not silly if you’re this upset. Now come one, tell me.” He noticed your hesitance and chuckled. “Look, just because I am the way I am. Greed. Doesn’t mean that I don’t care for anyone else.” He assumed he guessed correctly on the reason you sere so upset. “I love you.”

“Are you sure? Because you could have anyone one you want, crave anyone you want and you’d still pick me?” The disbelief in your voice wounded him.

“Yes.” There was zero hesitance. “I would still pick you. Every. Damn.Time.” Tears rose to your eyes once again but they were for the overwhelming feeling of affection in his words. The way he didn’t stutter when he said it caused chills to run up your spine. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, (y/n). You stuck by me despite my faults. Despite my flaws. You loved me regardless of what I had done.”

“Well you did the same for me.”

“Well how could I not? You don’t have flaws.” He cupped your cheeks and leaned down to kiss away the remaining of the tears. He then got behind you and hugged your waist as you both stood in front of the mirror. “Your body is deliciously stunning.” He playfully bit your neck which caused you to squeal a little.

“But what about-?” You had motioned down to the slight pudginess of your tummy.

“What? Your belly? I absolutely love your belly, it’s super soft and it makes you very cuddly. I wouldn’t have you any other way.” His hands then slowly ran up your torso. “And you know I love these. No explanation needed. They’re perfect.” He purred as he gave your breasts the tiniest, most playful of squeezes.

“Greed!” You giggled, falling back into him. All fear and insecurity seeping out of your body.

“Shouldn’t me being with you be reassurance enough?” There was a cockiness in his tone, goodhearted but cocky nonetheless. “I’m Greed. I only desire the best of the best.” He spoke in a powerful voice, one you would fear if you didn’t know him. “And I only desire you, my love.” You made eye contact with him through the mirror.

“Only me? You wouldn’t want someone prettier? Or smarter?”

“Nope. It’s you. No one but you. You’re perfect the way you are and no one else could ever be the one for me.” he gently pushed your chin to move your head to the side, lips meeting his in a passion filled kiss. Spilling all your emotions into it.

“Now...” He gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him. “why don’t I spend the entire night showing you that you’re all that I want.”

Needless to say, after this night, you never once again doubted Greed’s love for you. And from here on out he made sure to remind you every day.

#fmab x reader #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood x reader #greed ling x reader #greed x reader #homonculi x reader #anon ask #anon #request

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songsofloretto · 3 years ago

Text

Kieran gave me this earlier. I like writing for Kieran. He's a nasty bastard trying to turn his life around which makes him multi-faceted but as a character giving direction he's easy to 'feel'. Kieran never does third person perspective. His stories are always first person and written like a commentary.

Kieran, Nicky, Rory and Matthew

Sainsbury's, May 2021

"Uncle Kieran can I have these water pistols?"

It's been 30 years since I last took a child grocery shopping. It was bad enough in the 1980s with the kids wanting the sweets at the end of the checkout and all that. Fast forward to the 21st century and the problem has absolutely mushroomed, along with the size of supermarkets in general. Before I went to prison supermarkets only sold food. These days they sell everything from sun-dried tomatoes to fecking funeral plans. Nothing is sacred from these corporate giants. There are whole sections devoted to toys so there's no avoiding the inevitable pleas from children presented with their every wildest dream every time you call in for a pint of milk. Our Matthew's grandson is no different. The little lad is only four years old and to him this toy section is like every Christmas morning he's ever dreamed of all rolled in to one.

"Eh?" I say.

Rory lifts a box of four water pistols from the shelf and almost topples over under the weight of them. I grab it quick and steady him before he smacks his head off the corner of a shelf.

"Woah," I say to him, "steady on, our kid."

"I want these water pistols," Rory says emphatically, "there's four altogether. You, me, Uncle Nicky and Grandad can all play with them in the garden."

I look at the box. The pistols are nothing special. I've seen more power in a carrot. But the kid is right. It's a boiling hot day and perhaps an hour in the garden shooting each other up is exactly what this fecked up family needs to bond.

And who can say no to little Rory, who hasn't seen his daddy in over a year. Deaglan has been stuck in New York over this bloody pandemic, unable to get home to his son, missing out on all the drama we have going on here. The kid, innocently caught in the middle of it all, deserves a little joy in his life. I take a pistol out of the box and work my finger over the trigger, pretending to shoot, while Rory laughs and crouches down low.

"Aye you can have them," I tell him, and ruffle his hair with my fingers.

Right on cue the ever uptight Nicky slides up to us, almost falling over himself in his desperation to spoil any fun. He's swaggering about in his police uniform with a stick up his arse as usual. No tie or epaulettes but you can still tell he's an off-duty police officer. The cunt.

"I don't think so," he says rather efficiently as he plucks the box and the pistols out of my hands.

"What the f...Nicky!" I say, and pull the box back from him, "what's wrong with you?"

"I don't think it's appropriate for children to play with guns," Nicky says matter-of-factly.

"Aww!" Rory whines, "please, Uncle Nicky!"

His face creases and I can't bear to see him look sad. I know from experience that arguing with Nicky isn't easy. He's a jumped-up, self-important and arrogant little prick. In fact he's just like me when I was his age. It amuses me somewhat. I know that he'll get wound up like a clock if I challenge his decision - and I'm really trying to make friends with him, honest - but I've got to try and change his mind, for the little lad's sake.

"Well they're only water pistols," I say with a little shrug, "not gonna do much damage with them, eh, Nick auld fella?"

Nicky pulls a straight-laced expression and looks down his nose at me like a seasoned bloodhound would look at a yapping pup. He thinks I'm scum, I realise as we face each other off. He'll always look down on me like this, because in his bright, British eyes I'll always represent the dirty side of Ireland. I feel the vein on my temple flicker. I have to take a deep breath to keep my cool.

"It's not about any potential risk of damage," Nicky breaks the tension between us with a belittling little sniff, "it's about the psychology. Teaching children that guns are good fun and can't hurt anyone is a slippery slip. Before we know it he'll be twelve years old and shooting up his gym class."

"Fuck off Nicky, this is England, not America," I try to laugh off his point but he just keeps staring.

"And I don't think you, of all people, Kieran O'Driscoll, are in any position at all to be encouraging my nephew to take an interest in firearms," Nicky looks down his nose at me again.

I've been trying hard to handle his snooty arrogance for weeks. I really have. But something inside me snaps.

"Why?" I ask, squaring up to him, "because I was in the IRA? Is that it?"

I don't know what I'm doing. I'm 79 years old. Nicky is 45. I haven't got a chance against him in a fight, especially not with all his police training, but it's my pride that pushes me on. I have to stand up for myself, be a man about it. Teach this little arsehole a lesson.

"Yes," Nicky nods his head, "because you dealt firearms for terrorist organisation. And I don't want you playing with any sort of gun, imitation or otherwise, in front of my brother's son."

Deaglan is Nicky's own twin brother. They've never met. They were seperated at birth. Deaglan stayed in Ireland with Matthew, Nicky went to England with Kate. And now he fancies himself as the big Englishman, the creme de la creme of Britishness, superior above each and all other nationalities. And he spent his whole life loathing the Irish for putting his mother in a wheelchair. She was was a British soldier, victim of an IRA bomb, Newry police station, 1975. Sad story.

It was a terrible shock to poor Nicholas Jamie Hawley when he discovered that his father was not, as his mother always told him, a dead British soldier who died for his country in a halo of bullets. His father Matthew is in fact a proud Ulsterman who is very much alive and even did time for murder. Nicky's brain must have exploded inside his skull when it tried to digest this information. When he realised that half of him bled for Ireland it nearly knocked him sick.

But he had to get used to the idea because this pandemic threw us all together under the same roof, forcing us to learn to love and live with each other. And so here we are, factions of a long-estranged family trying to find common ground, and about to start fighting over water pistols in Sainsbury's.

"You'll never forgive me for being ex-IRA, will you?" I ask him.

"Never," Nicky lifts his chin, "once a terrorist, always a terrorist in my book."

"I did my time, Nicholas," I tell him, "27 years in a hell-hole of a prison. Oh Lord I suffered. And I'm deeply sorry for my transgressions as a younger man."

"Sorry will never be enough," Nicky whispers, "what your sort did to my mother..."

I close my eyes. I don't like think of it. And all over some water pistols to make the little lad happy!

The Voice of Reason enters stage left. Here is Matthew O'Driscoll, everyone's favourite peace-keeping fence-sitter. He spent an age parking the car and has only just joined us. He's as Irish as I am but everyone loves him, even Nicky, because...well because he's Matthew. Need I say more?

Matthew is astute. He studies the body language between me and his long-lost son and folds his arms, awaiting explanation.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"The wee bairn wanted a few water pistols to play with," I said, "and PC Gobshite over here has got an issue with it."

Matthew looks at Nicky who blushes a little as if he suddenly feels rather foolish.

"I didn't think it was ok," he says. His mouth is suddenly dry and he swallows, "to promote guns to a child. I'm in Loco Parentis for Rory. Deaglan has trusted me to look after him. I don't want to fuck it up and send the kid back to his dad thinking guns are ok. Because they're not. What would Deaglan think of me?"

He gives Matthew a slow look. Matthew nods his head. He is trying to understand Nicky's perspective. The man is nervous about all this family stuff. He's still reeling from the shock of discovering he has a family he never knew, that the family is Irish, that there is a man out there in the world who shares his face. Appearance and reputation is key right now. Nicky has never been a parent and suddenly, thanks to the pandemic, he's stepping in to care for his twin brother's son. He wants to do a good job. Of course he does.

It's interesting that Nicky never gives Matthew any stick about being Irish. Let's not forget that Matthew did prison time too. In 1994 he shot his own best mate in the head to stop the IRA from kidnapping and torturing him. We've never spoken about the fact it was me who ordered Brophy's kidnapping in the first place. If I'd have got my hands on Donnachadh Brophy all those years I'd have cut his balls off, fried them in Crisp N Dry oil, added little salt and pepper to taste and made the cunt eat them. But not now. I've mellowed out now. I'm not like that any more. I wouldn't hurt a hair on Brophy's head if he were alive today. And I don't deal in guns. Except water pistols because...well they're water pistols for feck's sake.

"You mean you've taken offence to Kieran handling a gun because he's Irish, is it that it?" Matthew asks.

"Not because he's Irish, per se," Nicky says, "but because of...it's because he has previous."

Matthew nods. The simple action brings calm to the situation. Nicky is feeling heard. He relaxes a little.

"I know you still suffer the fear of the IRA," Matthew says to him softly, "I know as a kid they haunted your dreams. You grew up thinking you had to protect your Mammy from them. But it's all in the past, Nicky. Wether we like it or not we're all together now and there are things we have to forgive each other for if we're going to survive this virus. And survive as a family. Because that's all any of us ever longed for, isn't it? It's time to let go, son."

Matthew takes the pistol from Nicky's grip. The police officer tightens but then releases his hold, surrendering control to the father he never knew he had, and letting go of the toy gun. It's very poignant, metaphorical moment. Makes the man in me uncomfortable so I try to inject some humour to make it bearable.

"Fecking hell," I scoff, "who do you think you are Matty eh? A walking example of the Good Friday Agreement?"

Matthew doesn't take his eyes from Nicky's face. A silent agreement is passing between them.

"Shut up, Ki," Matthew says without looking at me, "it's all right, Nicky. We're going to take these pistols home, fill them up with water and have a big old laugh together. Three generations shooting cold water at each other. And it will be safe, it will be ok. Because it's what families do together all the time."

"Ok," Nicky starts scratching at his arms in that way he has when needs to self-soothe with a wash, "we'll have a water fight. Together. But I'll need to get a shower first."

"If it makes you feel better," Matthew nodded.

He understands Nicky's need to be clean better than I do. I've never known a man so obsessed with washing his skin, changing his clothes, marinating in aftershave because unfamiliar smells upset him. As soon as you walk into the house we all share his first question is 'have you washed your hands?' He won't let you touch anything until you wash your own hands at the kitchen sink. Which by the way is a Belfast model. That little detail is lost on Nicky. It brings me a private sort of amusement.

Nicky's scratching intensifies. We'll have to hurry up with the shopping now because he has it in his head that he needs a wash and a preen. If he doesn't get to a shower soon he'll start getting all upset with himself. There's no time to argue now.

Matthew hands the pistol to the four-year-old whose innocence is responsible for bringing us all together. And then we all walk on, four abreast, to find the pint of milk we all came in looking for in the first place.

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dreamofkpop · 5 years ago

Text

Trouble

Stray Kids 10th member AU

Charlie x Stray Kids

requested by anon // requests are open!!!

This all takes place before Changbin’s birthday

(gif not mine! credit to owner!)

“Alright, good job, take a break guys, i’ll be back in a moment”

As the choreographer walked out of the room, the 10 of them relaxed and spread out around the practice room.

Charlie dropped her water bottle onto the couch an zipped up her hoodie, pulling the hood over her head. “Guys i’ll be back in a minute”

“Where’re you going?” Jisung asked as she walked past him.

“Just to the bathroom, don’t worry i won’t get lost”

The boys laughs and chatter faded out as she shut the door behind her and turned down the hall. She walked towards and into the bathroom with her head down, almost bumping into the girl stood at the sink. She was a trainee who’d only joined a few months ago, Charlie barely knew her.

The girl hadn’t seen Charlie’s face and continued to talk on her phone, staring at her reflection.

“Yeah i don’t why she’s in the group!”

Charlie stopped, her hand slipping off the door lock and falling at her side. She leaned closer to try and hear clearer, fear beginning to bubble up.

“No...no yeah, yeah i doubt it, there’s no way they’d let one girl into a group of nine boys” She spat.

‘They’re talking about me...’ Charlie thought, her jaw tensing.

Ignoring the hammering in her chest, Charlie pressed closer to the door and continued to listen, letting the fears prick at her.

“She’s not even pretty! I bet she’s had so much plastic surgery, how much d’you wanna bet she did something to her eyes? I don’t believe for second that they’re natural!” The girl continued to rant.

Biting back a scoff, Charlie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door.

“Her attitude stinks as well, like her hideous face isn’t enough, she’s a fucking bitch! I don’t how she’s even an idol? Ugly, rude, not even the slightest bit talented! It’s crazy...she doesn’t even deserve to be in Stray Kids”

Charlie’s hand unintentionally curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough the make them bleed. She could feel her heart start beating faster and tears prick behind her closed eyes.

“Oh- I’m late for my class, i’ll call you back”

As the girls footsteps retreated out of the bathroom Charlie let out a shaking breath she didn’t even know she was holding on.

Unlocking the door, she stumbled towards the sink and placed her hands flat on the surface. Her chest was heaving as her breathing became more sporadic.

“Calm down Charlie, calm down, not the time nor place for this...” She whispered to herself.

Once she’d calmed herself down, she reached up an pulled her hood down. Charlie slowly pulled her hand back and held it out in front of her, staring at it.

‘I’m shaking...why am i shaking? why do i always seem to be shaking?’

Her eyes diverted fro her hand, zeroing on the mirror in front of her, on her reflection. The girls words ringing in her head like alarms.

Ugly, Rude, Untalented...

Charlie sighed and stared at her own reflection, tears reappearing on her eyes the longer she stared, mentally pointing every little imperfection. She brought her hand up and ran it through her hair, sighing sadly.

She doesn’t deserve to be in Stray Kids

“She’s right...” Charlie muttered, bringing her hand down, poking at her face. Her fingers tugged at cheeks, her nails ran over the freckles on her face then the scar on her eyebrow, making her frown. “She’s right, I’m hideous...”

Before she could continue pointing out imperfections, the silence was cut by a ringtone, more specifically her ringtone. She fished her phone out of her pocket and cleared her throat before answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you really get lost?” Jisung’s cheery yet sarcastic voice rang through the phone.

Charlie rolled her eyes, ignoring the pang of sadness in her chest. “Shut up, I’m on my way back” Then hung up, leaving him no time to respond.

She looked back at her reflection, hurrying to wipe the tears she didn’t even know were falling, before turning and leaving the bathroom, a single thought ringing in her head.

She doesn’t deserve to be in Stray Kids.

It hadn’t been too long since Charlie’s run in with the trainee, a couple of weeks tops, but things weren’t going too well.

Charlie was slowly becoming distant, more reserved, a lot more closed off. It was subtle at first, the only time she’d genuinely spent time with the boys was when they were in London.

Apart from that she rarely spoke to them unless it was necessary. Whilst they were on tour she’d kept herself locked up in the hotels unless they had to go out.

And the boys had begun to notice.

Felix was undoubtedly the first to notice her change in attitude and the way she acted around them. He realized it when they were in Paris and she rejected his offer for some late night sight seeing, usually she was the one suggesting such adventures.

He eventually bought it up to the rest of the boys, who had each noticed their friend’s strange behavior.

“She looks really upset, like there’s something bothering her” Woojin had commented during one of their discussions after a concert, looking back at Charlie who was asleep on the couch behind them.

“One of us should talk to her” Suggested Hyunjin, earning a very sarcastic comment from Minho in return, to which he just rolled his eyes.

Chan, who looked the most distressed by the situation at hand, had offered to talk to Charlie. He only had to figure out a way to get her to talk to him, or any of them for that matter.

Throughout the rest of the tour, Charlie put on a brave face. She brushed off the boys’ concerning stares and questions, masking it with a simple “I’m just tired”

It wasn’t until they got back from tour that everything fell through.

They all sat in the JYP cafe, conversing happily and munching on whatever they’d ordered. Charlie sat in between Jisung and Hyunjin, staring blankly at the table, unconsciously scratching the back of her hand with her nails.

Unbeknownst to her, the 9 boys surrounding her kept glancing at her, sending worried glances to each other as subtly as they could.

Apart from them and the actual workers, the only other people in the room happened to be the two causes of the whole situation. Not far from where Stray Kids sat, was the trainee and her friend, and they were right in Charlie’s eye line.

If she looked up and slightly over Woojin’s shoulder, Charlie would have a direct view of them, which only meant that they could see her too and were probably already gossiping.

Someone reached over and grabbed her wrist, making her snap her head up. Woojin gently pulled her hand away, placing it on the table. “If you keep doing that you’re going to end up hurting yourself”

“like i haven’t been doing that already..” She muttered under her breath, low enough that they didn’t hear her as she grabbed the sleeves of her hoodie and pulled them down to her knuckles.

Charlie straightened up in her chair and her eyes drifted over to the two girls. The first girl, the one who started all this, was already staring over at the, a sickly looking smirk on her face. When she caught Charlie’s eyes, she raised her hand and waved.

Looking away, Charlie took a deep breath in to calm herself and pulled out her phone, opening her messages. Her best friend, Kiko, was the only one who knew what was going on.

Charlie: I feel like i’m about to pass out and idk y. This crap is gettin’ too much [12:05 PM]

She put her phone away and brought her attention back down to the table, subtly listening in on the conversation the boy’s were having. They were recalling something funny that’d happened in Berlin.

The sounds of chairs scraping against the floors caught Charlie’s attention, she looked up as the two girls walked past their table, smirking at Charlie as they passed.

Once the girls were out of room Charlie let her shoulders slump and her hands uncurl, she ignored the buzzing of her phone and closed her eyes.

Another chair scraped and her eyes snapped open, this time it was Jisung who’d stood up, saying something along the lines of going somewhere before walking out.

“Did you see the way she looked at me? It looked like she wanted to rip my throat out”

“She did, as if a girl like her could even lay a hand on you”

“And that sweater!! It matched with her face, ugly as hell!”

“How can the nine of them stand to be around her, she must reek of something”

“I know right! I was getting depressed just looking at her”

The two voices made Jisung stop as he was about to the corner, he carefully peeked around the corner and his eyes widened when he saw the two girls. A bad feeling began to prick in his chest as he listened in on their talk, though he knew he shouldn’t be.

They continued to yap on and on, making snide and crude remarks about Charlie, Jisung’s hands were curled into tight fists at his side. On the one side he wanted to walk up to them and give them a piece of his mind but the other side of him wanted to march back up to cafe.

‘This must be what’s made Charlie so distant, something they’ve said is messing with her’ He thought and then with a heavy sigh turned back down the hall towards the cafe.

Charlie was still absentmindedly picking at her sleeves when two hands landed on her shoulders, making her jump and spin around. Jisung stood behind her with an upset look on his face.

“Come with me for minute” He held his hand out to her.

Reluctantly, she grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull her from her chair and into the hall. Once they were out he turned around and placed his hands back on her shoulders.

“What did those girls say to you?”

In the back of her mind she began panicking, every curse under the sun running through her head as she tried to ramble up an excuse. “Wh..what..what girls?”

“Don’t be like this, not right now, You know which girls i’m talking about, the ones that were in the cafe with us. What did they say to you?”

‘God damn it’ Charlie thought, ‘There’s no way i can lie to him...’

She looked down at her feet, screwing her eyes shut to stop the tears welling in her eyes, messily fumbling with the ends of her sleeves.

“Charlie, hey, look at me. Tell me what they said, please” Jisung practically pleaded. He moved one of his hands to the side of her face, a sad smile appearing on his lips when Charlie leaned into his touch.

She shook her head, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. What sounded to Jisung like a sob came from under her hand, immediately making him more worried.

“Charlie, baby, please tell me what they said. You know none of us can help you if you don’t tell us.” He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arm around her securely.

After bottling it up for so long, Charlie finally broke. Her arms wrapped around Jisung’s torso tightly as she started sobbing, everything from the past couple of weeks finally flowing free.

Holding her to him tightly, Jisung rocked side to side gently, he brought one hand up to the back of her head and propped his chin up on the top of her head.

He didn’t say anything, letting her cry as much as she needed to, ignoring the tears slowly forming a puddle on his shirt.

Once Charlie had calmed down she pulled back, her hands still gripping the back of his shirt. Jisung took his hand off of the back of her head, using his sleeve to wipe the tears off her cheeks.

She sniffed and shook her head, her hair falling past her eyes. “It’s stupid...i should..i shouldn’t have let it...let it get me”

Jisung frowned. “What did they say?”

Her breath hitched as she breathed in, closing her eyes for a moment. “Just...just stupid comments a-about..about my looks and attitude but...but-”

“Oh Charlie....” Jisung sighed, pulling her back into a hug.

“But she said...that i..that i didn’t deserve to be in Stray Kids” Charlie whispered, her words muffled by the fabric of Jisung’s shirt.

“What?!” He exclaimed, pulling back to look down at Charlie, his jaw dropped. “And you believed them?”

Before Charlie could even think of anything to say in reply Jisung cut her off, his tone defensive and slightly angry.

“Listen to me, whatever they said about you, it’s not true. You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever met and you’re really really beautiful, like extremely beautiful. I know you’d always try and deny it but you’re incredibly talented and amazing, you can ask anyone you know and they’d agree. Don’t listen to those girls, okay? You deserve to be in the group as much as the rest of us and nothing’s every going to change that”

Tears pricked in the corners of Charlie’s eyes, flowing freely down her cheeks when she blinked. Panic flashed over Jisung’s face when he saw them, bringing his hands up to cup her face.

“Hey what’s wrong?”

Looking up at him through tears, she gave him a smile. “I don’t deserve friends like you...”

As a sob ripped through her words again, Jisung pulled her back into his arms. They stayed like that until Charlie had stopped crying, her eyes red and puffy as she pulled away.

Jisung smiled at her. “Is that why you were so distant? ‘Cause you thought what they were saying was right?” Charlie hesitantly nodded and he sighed. “I’m going to talk to Chan hyung about this, those girls shouldn’t get away with speaking about you like that!”

“Don’t be to drastic, i know what you’re like” Charlie pointed, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Fine fine” He raised his hands in defence. “But you need to talk to the rest of them, explain what’s happened because we’ve all been so worried...especially Chan hyung and Changbin hyung”

Charlie nodded and tugged on her hoodie. “Fine, i will”

Footsteps sounded behind them, stopping a bit behind them. Charlie and Jisung turned and saw Woojin standing there, a kind smile on his face.

“You two okay? You’ve been out here a while” He asked, walking up to them.

Following a small nod, Charlie walked up to Woojin and wrapped her arms around him. The older boy was shocked at the sudden action, but he was quick to hug her back.

She smiled at him. “Everything’s good, everything’s finally good”

#female!straykids #stray kids 10th member #female!kpop #kpop female addition #kpop female oc #kpop oc #kpop au #stray kids oc #stray kids au #stray kids female addition #stray kids female oc #stray kids #skz #stay #charlie kim #kim taeshin #stray kids charlie

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royal-writer · 6 years ago

Text

Love Was Her and I : Part 1

I’ve come to the conclusion that this portion of the story is taking too much out of me to write. Therefore, I will be cutting this au not into two parts; as originally planned, but three rather extensive pieces and two smaller, bonus pieces.

This first piece is 42 pages long, single spaced so... Enjoy that.

Part 1: Here Part 2: Click BONUS n1: Click Part 3: Click BONUS n2: Click

Day 1

It wasn’t going to be a good day.

He could tell from the sharp ache in his legs. The stairs already were proving a challenge so early in the morning even with a white-knuckled firm grasp to the banister.

One step at a time, he reminded himself. He could still do this-

A steady hand found his waist. It slipped around his frame to grasp him as he stood rigidly; aware of the way he wavered. His freed arm on his left side was tugged upward with encouragement.

Amon latched on to the supportive shoulder offered with a ragged breath. An apology already flickered in his eyes and fastened ahold to his features as he turned to look at the allure of a face so radiant it still gave his feeble old heart a flutter.

No mortal should be this impossibly angelic.

She was so sublime. The profile of her body still so delicate; thinness wrapped in warm tones off autumn skin marked with time. Years of hardship; scars from battles lost and won, dark marks from the sun on her skin as well as in black hair with shades lightened on top and sneaky strands of silver curling out here and there.

She wore only a plain pair of beige trousers and a simple blouse today. It was perfect of course; everything she put on looked lovely and grand on her. Paling in comparison to her luster; no dress, jewels, lingerie or simpleton clothing; not a single piece coming close to the scale of her divinity.

And her caramel colored eyes, holding the windows to a beautiful soul that held the key to his heart. The most lively shades of all in those eyes; never having changed a day even as age crept over laugh lines. Even as time defined the area beneath those eyes with puffiness and wear.

“You wouldn’t mind escorting an old woman down the stairs, would you?” she teased; her voice a musical gentle chime.

He scoffed softly, rubbing his fingers into her shoulder.

“If you’re old, my darling Essätha, then I must be prehistoric.”

She gave a noise of disagreement in the back of her throat. Leaning in just enough from her waist to avoid pressing weight into him, she kissed his cheek.

“I only see a rather dashing man beside me, m’lord Amon,” she purred all too sweetly. “A very handsome, very sweet, very lively gentleman who looks gorgeous; and whom still finds all the energy to chase me down the halls and raise his sexy commanding voice to gain control in a room full of bickering noblemen.”

His smile grew vaguely puzzled as she kissed his nose and reached up to brush some stray white hairs back from his forehead. What did she mean by raising his voice at noblemen?

There it was again. The look of dawning fear that faded in and out of view each day.

Amon smiled tightly, trying to find the answer to replace the pain in her eyes with the endearing look he longed for. But his thoughts, alas, continued rounding on her comment.

“T-That’s okay,” she breathed, urging him to take a step forward with her as she looked away. “It- It was a long day yesterday. I’d push it out of my thoughts, too. Those dukes; phew, they sure don’t know when to pick their fights but you had them just so under your heel.”

He… had?

“I mean one could hardly get a word in! Yapping on and on about the highland forests. They’re not up for negotiation; it’s not a good place to consider placing a trading post and building a town but do they listen, heavens no! Forget the fact there’s a peaceful fey population there living undisturbed. Forget the fact it’s inhabited by vicious wildlife that would surely tear apart any construction and scare away potential citizens.”

Essie gave a sniff as she finished her rant, looking to the opposite hand rail as they took a few more gradual steps down the stairs.

She was crying again.

He knew that sound. Knew it all too well, as of late. It wasn’t a breath of irritation from whatever incident she spoke of. It was a desperate, stuffy-nosed inhale to calm herself.

His hand dug into her shoulder blade. Agony sweeping through him; so desperate to console her, to make it better-

And then a different agony; splitting in his hip and stealing his strength.

A string of curses in various languages as his leg gave out and he slipped.

He should have fallen, really. She was much too small to hold him up but she was feisty and she was determined. His amazing wife; so gentle and so kind, locked her arm around him tightly. Holding him there at the waist against her side with labored breath as he tried to steady himself.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered, her voice broken.

He had this.

He could do this.

Amon gingerly rested his feet back on the stairs. Testing his weight, finding that there was only an ebb of pain now in his side. Most if it had radiated down to his ankles instead. Tolerable. He hurt much these days; this was nothing compared to… he lost his train of thought. Had he felt worse before?

“Miss,” Essätha’s voice cut into his muddled thoughts. “Would you mind fetching a chair?”

Coming to, the Illiad heir blinked tiredly as he spotted the young maiden walking down the hall ahead at the end of the stairwell. She curtsied respectfully, and stole away with haste.

“I’m so sorry my dear,” he muttered angrily, looking down at his feet to balance his steps as they followed their descent.

“That’s okay,” Essätha encouraged, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re doing just fine, my beloved. Let’s just focus on getting you off these stairs and sitting on something sturdy and comfortable.”

Comfortable. Nothing felt comfortable these days.

Nothing but the softness of her touch, so careful and unfaltering against his side. Nothing but her love, still so strong and true as it had ever been.

Much as he didn’t want to, Amon allowed himself a glance over to her. Hoping to catch her eye; praying to see her loving smile and nothing more. Please, nothing more than the happiness and caressing love that washed over him; bringing him strength where nothing else could. Nothing but her joy; the delight she deserved to have in her heart and written on her face.

She was mostly turned away from him. A vacancy in her gaze.

This was his fault.

Her pain was because of him.

Miserable; with nothing on his broken thoughts to better her wounds, he looked shamefully away.

Completely unaware of her, an opposite hand going to her chest and the stricken flash in her eyes as she held her breath with tormented pain.

Day 2

With the stairs having been such a challenge the other day, Essätha insisted on having breakfast upstairs in the sitting room to their chambers. The house staff was, of course, was willing to accommodate the request but Amon felt no less guilty. In turn, he could hear the fretting of his soft-hearted wife trying to help carry in anything and offer a hand.

What a blessing, that woman. Much too good for the likes of him.

She helped him to limp on his throbbing legs over to the couch. Murmured words of encouragement nestled close; her hand upon his side. Something about his medicine being prepared; sweet nothings going in and out of his ears that rang with his rapid heartbeat.

Medicine? He didn’t have medicine. Had there been a doctor here the other day? He couldn’t remember. So many comings and goings. He wondered if he’d recognize the individual.

They sat before the coffee table in content silence. A tray placed between them on the sofa topped with only some of the foodstuffs spread across the table before them.

He picked up a steamy fruit-stuffed pastry. Taking a bite first, then offering a delicate (albeit somewhat shaky) hand out to Essätha and watching the way the light played on her face as she caught his movement. A laugh; so real and so lovely as she leaned in to accept a bite. Playfully almost, raising her eyebrows before she’d pull away to go back to nibbling on a piece of bacon.

Amon found himself full before he even finished the pastry and managed to force down the horrid painkiller concoction. Funny, he could definitely recall eating more than this with ease some time ago. A full plate and then some when the day prior had been particularly taxing.

For a while, he closed his eyes. The clatter of shifting dishes resonating in his ears as his Essätha ate.

With a grunt, he reached out to paw for his mug of coffee between slit eyes. His back popped and creaked as he held his teeth firmly together to keep from moaning with pain. Taking hold of the handle, he leaned back gradually to shift his weight from his aching hip. Not so much as bothering to blow the steam from his cup; taking a lengthy drink of the harsh beverage.

He held his breath. Preparing himself to lean forward and return the mug to the table, when gentle fingers met his wrist.

The mug effortlessly was tugged from his grip as it loosened. A glimpse to a teasing smile and vibrant eyes; watching as the most beautiful woman in the world took a drink precisely on the spot he had in an indirect kiss.

His heart squeezed at the nonsense, flirty little act.

Without delay, he leaned over the edge of the tray.

Essätha placed the mug on the edge of the table as she mimicked the action. Pausing, her hand slid the tray to the side the closer they got. Holding it further and further out, just shy of the nearby table-

It fell to the ground in a soft clatter as they sat close. Mere inches apart, fanning soft breathes against each other’s cheeks.

Footsteps at the door.

“Is everything alright, Lord and Lady-”

“Bring more coffee, please,” Essätha stated, her voice only carrying just enough to be heard.

Neither of them turned to see the young handmaiden curtsy as their lips met. Gently, taking no wild rush or passionate craze into a wildfire but a softened, aged union. The biting acid of harsh coffee; the care of mirrored lips tracing over one another before molding in a faint sigh.

She still kissed him in a way that was mesmerizing. Different from any other; true and effortless, taking all the time in the world with such tender doting fondness.

Hands shaking, he reached up to take hold of her perfect face in his callused hands. Hearing the way her breath hitched. Just as responsive to his touch as she had always been. Bowing to him; leaning in to taste his lips and quiver in a manner that said what her voice did not but her body so clearly did: overcome with emotion, so totally and completely smitten with every bit of him.

His back hurt at this angle, but he would make due. Especially for this; especially for her.

And like she could read his very thoughts, she pressed closer to him. Sending him further and further back, until he rested flat against the sofa with her looming over him. Bright, pink cheeks and a brilliant grin curving on that flawless age-thinned mouth of hers as they parted ways.

“Mmm, doesn’t this just give you memories,” she laughed with embarrassment.

Finding his fingers into the loose wisps of her hair, Amon tucked them back behind her ears as he leaned forward just enough to kiss her brow.

“The very best,” he agreed. Pelor, the kaleidoscope of flashbacks felt like just yesterday…

She moved to slip away from him, then. His hands falling away, clutching for hers as a dejected look fell over his face.

“Oh don’t give me that face,” she giggled, reaching around to grab a pillow.

Taking hold of his legs, she helped bring them up on the sofa. A wince; holding back a hiss as rippled agony shot through him. Slowly adjusted, she rested each limb on the pillow for leverage.

“That should help with some of the swelling,” she muttered to herself, fluffing the edges.

Clearing his throat to keep the shaken edge off, Amon spoke up faintly: “You are too good to me.”

He very nearly could feel the tightness of his throat and the burn in his gaze as she regarded him. That unwavering love; all the confidence and support he never could have dreamed to see in someone’s eyes looking to him.

She was an unexpected part of his life. A plan not made, but one he couldn’t live without. Not anymore.

To consider how his life may have otherwise been; stuck in his house alone… Or worse yet, stuck with no house and still wandering uselessly like a ghost with the spirit of his step-kin residing here. Fontane’s fate hidden from him; the man’s soul still suffering in limbo.

Her unknown to him, still lost in the world.

The taste of a memory colored upon his thoughts. In the dancing firelight by the hearth, sitting across from him in the Boar’s Tusk tavern with fingers laced in front of her. A pint of ale before him; a pint before her, watching her smug confidence and teasing smile as she looked into his eyes. Her words had been vain and yet kind; offering her assistance in reclaiming his home on his behalf. A lost man spending days slipping further and further away from reality.

Her voice came out much like her eyes appeared; a deep amber of golden sweet honey awakening him: “I am your wife, my sweet. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Ignoring the flair of echoing fire that seared into him, Amon sat up quickly. His rough hands took hold of her waist, hearing her muffled squeal as he dropped back down with her sprawled out halfway on top of him. Suffocating slightly, but warm and soft.

“You are so incredibly beautiful, my darling Essätha.”

He cut off her startled protest with a kiss. A bit less sophisticated than the last; rasping his mostly-white salt and pepper beard against her chin and cheeks.

He pulled away. A roughness in his voice as he practically growled, “I love you.”

Another frantic kiss. Hands roaming; moving up her back to gently weave in the bouncy curls and waves of her hair. He liked it when her hair was down; the ability to hold the smooth locks between his fingers.

As they broke apart once more; only by centimeters, she laughed with surprise.

“I love you too, but would you give me a moment to respond!”

“Your lips are doing just fine at that.”

“Oh, you naughty old man.”

A wide, splitting grin, and he pressed another kiss over her mouth, sealing her in place.

For a moment, he wondered if he’d mistakenly been too forceful. Or perhaps his beard a bit too unkept, as she flinched and grew rigid.

Parting for a breath, he tried to find his words to inquire of her well-being, but she surged upon him. Shaking, an unexpected roughness to her greedy mouth. Less plump than it once was, no less wonderful to kiss.

The door to the room softly opened, and shut thereafter with a nervous giggle that went unheard.

This- this was all the life he needed. In the refuge of her presence where he found solace.

Day 5

Why was she giving that man such a dirty look?

“Thank you, Xanner,” Essätha coolly responded, “That will be all for the day though, I’m afraid.”

The vassal gave a polite bow in response. Low; almost kissing upon Essätha’s knees with one hand to his chest and the other behind his back.

“Any time you need me, my lady, I’ll be right here for you.”

Amon couldn’t say why, but he didn’t care for the man’s words. This Xanner fellow’s eyes were empty of depth as he righted himself to steal a glimpse into Essie’s eyes. A perfect posture; nicely tailored suit, his briefcase barely scuffed and a heavy scent of cologne lingering on him. Something harsh; befitting his uncaring face.

On a whim, the Illiad heir reached out to take his wife’s hand. Squeezing gently, feeling her returned gesture and the racing of her pulse beneath fingertips.

Xanner’s glimpse moved over to him next. He offered a slight bow, and nothing more. Now, his memory may be faulty, but Amon felt the gesture appeared to be lacking. There was usually more class and over exhilarated enthusiasm in all greetings and well-wishings to an heir of a noble bloodline. This man’s gesture seemed… far less invested in him than he had Essätha. Which; although she was clearly the far more beautiful and intriguing individual here, soured his thoughts immediately.

He simply did not care for the lacking respect.

He certainly did not care for the lasting gaze upon his wife.

As soon as the man left the room, Essie took a heavy seat beside him.

“You do not like him,” Amon commented, curiosity in his voice.

She tore her gaze from the door to him with some surprise.

Licking his lips nervously; aware of the place of humiliation this put him in, he spoke quietly: “Has that man done something to us that I do not remember?”

“Oh- no my beloved, Xanner is just… complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Do not worry about it, my dear.”

His eyebrows knitted together. That was only going to worry on his thoughts more now. The man; whatever his name was (it was already slipping from grasp again), had held little to no respect to him. And the way he’d looked to Essätha; not with adoration or even respect but with an unspoken hunger…

His thoughts skipped. Jumping on the needle of a record-player, he could already feel his train of thought disappearing even as it formed. He hated it when that happened. Had that feeling happened already today? Is that why he was so frustrated?

He forgot entirely. It didn’t matter.

By the time he roused from his mind, he noted Essätha’s fingertips rubbing into her temples. A frustrated grumble from her mouth and she exhaled loudly through her nose. Tilting forward, her elbows rested upon her knees as she continued drawing circles over her the side of her head.

“Essie, my dear…?”

“Oooh this blasted headache.”

With a worried smile, he reached over to rub a hand against her back.

“It may be from the stressful conversation. Maybe I should go have a talk with him-”

A hand reached out to grab the one he still had resting on his leg.

“No. Please, he’s not worth it. I’d rather have you here.”

Her lips appeared pale as she smiled lightly. A dancing light in her stunning light brown eyes, looking straight into the core essence of his soul with profound love and longing.

A strange, unfamiliar glimmer traced over her face seconds later. She leaned over once more, groaning with agony.

Gently, Amon placed both hands on either side of her hips. He pulled her carefully, until her back was flushed completely on the back of sofa. His mouth pressed to the side of her face as he leaned over her, carefully reaching down to rock her flats a few times before they’d fall into his hand where he could drop them on the floor.

“M’lord Amon I’m fine-”

“Shhhh,” he whispered, pulling her against his side.

There wasn’t enough width to the sofa for two people to lay on it, so he held her to his chest while pulling them down. Groping for a pillow, he jammed the oversized cushioned pad beneath his shoulders and propped his head up.

He wasn’t as strong as he once was. But she was slim; and although the pressure on his chest wasn’t an ideal weight, he’d felt worse.

“You’re always taking care of me,” Amon murmured, kissing her cheek. “Let me take care of you.”

She gave him a smile once more. It was faint, as beads of sweat collected on her forehead.

That was no headache.

Giving a quiet hush, Amon placed a hand to the back of her head to encourage her to lay down. Her face nuzzled into his shirt with a shudder, fingers grasping the fabric of his clothes.

In response, he rested his chin against the top of her head and held her carefully. Rocking from side to side, feeling the way her frame grew limp against him as she relaxed.

Feeling the sweat from her face seep into his clothes.

He would need to remember to have a doctor hailed. He would need to… to remember…

Essätha’s breath came out a gasp, startling him.

“My dear?”

No response. He gave her a gentle shake.

A sleepy mumble this time, slurring.

The poor, graceful beauty, Amon thought with concern. He rubbed lightly against her backside as she drifted into a deeper sleep. His own eyelids began to fall just listening to her slowed breathing and heart rate, a sigh on his lips.

What was he supposed to do later? Ask… ask one of the servicewomen to… to do what again?

He’d think of it later. For now, he would allow himself to rest pleasantly, knowing his lovely wife was sleeping right there with him.

Day 6

From one person to the next, his dark encircled eyes moved. None of them looked the least bit familiar. None of them carried a thought in his head; a candle to guide his way through the murky depths of what remained of him.

It left him unable to focus on anything they were saying. He had to be sure when they directed their full attention to him that he could speak appropriately. Thus far, he’d been lucky. His doting wife took all the conversation with stride and elegance; her hands clasped before her knees and a polite smile on curved lips that colored her cheeks.

He knew he should remember them. He was the Lord of these lands, and he knew the people he served.

Or… Or he had, once.

The gentlest hand found his. Delicate fingers, so small and dainty weaving between the spaces of his own. It comforted him; soothed his thoughts to some degree. At just a glance to Essie, it elevated the dull ache in his chest. The sense that he was not good enough evaporated. His old heart felt lively once more in those seconds; and the edges around his eyes grew less deep as he’d smile fondly.

She cast him a tender smile. But the sadness in her eyes, it reminded him of himself all over again.

“How very kind of Otis and Elewys, right dear?” she hummed to him gently. “Bringing that bottle of syrinelle red you enjoy so much.

Oh, Pelor bless her considerate heart.

Nodding, he offered his first true glance to the pair’s eyes. His smile eloquent now; no longer straining as he inclined a respectful gesture to the couple.

“Thank you for your consideration as always, sir Otis and miss Elewys,” he managed; a bit panicked that he could not address them by their last names properly.

“Oh Amon!” the lady laughed’ her shroud of stained red lips opening wide with grating laughter. “You hardly need to thank us. After all, it was you who introduced us to it. Otis hardly enjoys drinking anything else these days. Isn’t that right, honey?”

It took every ounce for Amon not to wither beneath the stare of the man. He had a deep, balding hairline and scrutinizing eyes beneath the pair of spectacles he wore. Through them, his sharp green eyes seemed to be digging into skin. Crawling against him; trying to figure out what was amiss.

Not everyone was so blinded by his the masked disguise.

A sharp noise from Essätha rounded the man’s attention back to her; tearing his gaze free.

“You wouldn’t believe the conversation we had just a few days ago with some of the local counts,” she explained. “I’ve simply not been able to recover from the situation; it was so draining dealing with the scoundrels! You should have seen m’lord Amon though; such a fierce bear among deer. He had the gents quivering in their boots.”

For only a brief moment, the Illiad gentleman felt terrible in recalling none of this. Even worse, seeing her struggle through conversation to place a safe cushion for him to fall on. Trying to hide how far gone he truly was. Saving him the agony of admitting defeat and wounding his pride all the more by asking questions that he should already know the answer to.

But the feeling vanished rather quickly; forgotten from his disintegrating thoughts. It took only the squeeze of her palm to his, and the brightness of her eyes to leave him smiling in his forgetful state once again.

His thoughts were even more scattered than usual. A tiredness pulled at his eyes; willing them to close in slow-blinks. Just enough of his youthful training reminded him that it was rude to fall asleep in the presence of company, much as he wanted to.

“Oh honey, I can believe it,” the woman; whatever he name was, sang with laughter.

“Whatever were all of you talking about?” her husband inquired in a surprisingly light voice.

Instead of taking in the words, Amon listened more to the tone of voice from his dear wife. The rise and fall in her spinto timbre. The giggles she produced in the middle of her phrases that was so perfectly her. Gentle and airy; a melody more divine and softly played than any instrument he’d ever heard.

As she spoke, she leaned closer and closer into his side. The warmth of her curves against him, inviting him to rest.

Essätha reached over to him with a free hand, pressing against the side of his head as she murmured something he didn’t catch.

Whatever the case, he willingly allowed her to guide him. Nestling into the crook of her neck, inhaling the lovely scent of vanilla and rose on her delicate skin.

He should be feeling bad. Putting her in this position; covering for his exhaustion now as well as his fragments thoughts. Never quite recalling enough to be anything but a lost soul among conversation.

But her frame was hot. Flushed red; he guessed, with shyness or embarrassment.

An untrue assumption.

“You’ll have to pardon our exhaustion,” she guilty expressed to their guests. “We’ve spent many a nights griping and debating the damn meeting, you see.”

Was that a lie? He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it so.

He wanted to ask her to stop protecting him. He wanted to speak on his own behalf; but what could he say? What honor he still held; what desire in himself to still be recognized as a man and as the Lord of the Emerald Expanse, it still longed for respect. To admit his weakened state was to lower himself in the eyes of all who worked around and beneath him.

He didn’t want to be treated more like a half-wit then he already felt he was. Judging himself far more harshly than his worst critiques.

In that moment, too tired to care what they thought or said, he nuzzled a drowsy placement of his lips into the heat of Essätha’s neck. Feeling the burn of her skin. The rush of her pulse; a drum resounding in her. It didn’t quite sound as he believed it to when she was startled by his actions or warmed by his touch, but then again, who was to say he remembered?

A bit bitterly, he sank into a quiet doze. Lulled by the ebbing soft voice that sang to him; lilted in his ears and drugged him. Pulling him into a deeper sleep as she released his hand to stroke his face and hair.

Oh, no sweeter paradise compared to sleeping there, right next to her. Guests be damned, he was shortly and happily lost in heaven after only a few coaxing caresses of her hand.

All was right and well in the world with her there, his darling Essätha.

Day 7

He managed the stairs today, if for no other reason than to follow Essätha as she wandered the house with the maidens to clean. Hopelessly devoted, a follower to her ethereal light.

Listening to the laughter of the young women, it brought him a reason to smile. Even as he mostly dozed; placed in a chair upon each room. Here and there catching a glimpse of Essie’s eye as they caught each other staring, and would begin to laugh.

Oh, the way she turned a deep, shy red in the face as he’d catch her glimpsing his way. Such a twinkling gaze of warmth and love exuded from her. Absent were his worries and his concerns; hardly catching the way the girls giggled as they’d witness these longing glances.

He was an old fool; but he was the happiest, most devoted, most in love fool of them all.

It completely went missed; with his eyes closed, the way his dear would pause to clutch her chest with a trembling hand. A troubled light cast over hazy eyes. A gently murmured excuse to pardon herself to the bathroom, only to lean into a wash bin. Fingers clutching the edge as dizziness washed over her and subsided in crashing, unexpected waves. Drops of embers radiating into her lungs.

But she would return, a calming smile as she walked over to kiss his sleepy face and shuttered eyes.

Only, to be tricked into a stolen kiss. His hands would slip behind her head and through hair to hold her in place as he smiled against her mouth.

And whatever ailment either of them had, so briefly, simply did not exist as they’d laugh with fondness.

Day 8

Wasn’t he supposed to do something? He couldn’t remember. It was hard to remember, curled up against Essätha’s side.

She leaned over to brush her lips against the top of his head. The heat of her body burning like a fire against his side. Gentle fingers coming up; brushing through his thinned hair in slow, sweeping gestures.

A slurried mess of words grumbled out of him.

“What was that, m’lord Amon?” she teased, distractedly placing a kiss to his cheek.

“Are you almost done with that?”

Hoarse giggles echoed in her petite chest. The gentleness of her hand moved over the back of his head, working into the stiffness of his shoulder. Kneading carefully and slowly until a relieved sigh managed to work it’s way through him.

Pelor, she was too much. Much too thoughtful. Somehow, someway, she knew just where to touch him. Coaxing out another alleviated groan as she rubbed into the sore places on his side and down to his waist. Tender little circles both small and wide shifting over and over against him both high and low from waist to hip and back again.

“I can be, if you’d like.”

“Do you want help?” he murmured, more preoccupied with her hands than his words.

Her silence had his eyelids rising from their half-lidded bliss. With a tired sigh, he glanced up to her sweet face. She looked tired. Darkness sitting beneath her eyes; a thin smile that she leaned down to press into his temple warmly.

“If you wish to help, my beloved, I wouldn’t object.”

Grumbling, Amon reached out for the paperwork in her hand. He tried to concentrate on the scrawled writing in front of him. Much of the scratching he didn’t recognize, but the signatures already squiggled across a few pages in a curled slant he still recalled.

He forgot some of the phrasing as soon as he read it. Not because of his slipping mind, but because of how distracted he was by the gentleness of her touch. Moving from fingertips to palm; massaging into the most tender, aching spots of his body…

If he was a younger man, Pelor…

“I know just what to do with this,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” Amusement in her voice; drawn into her own distractions pampering him.

Giving a gruff noise in the back of his throat, Amon flicked the paper in the direction of the coffee table. It missed of course; rolling over a few times before settling on the floor.

Essie gave a faint snicker in response. He could feel her tense up to move and stand, but his arms reached around to hold her in place.

“M’feeling selfish,” he mumbled into her shoulder, “but I’m going to have to ask you to leave it and stay here, beside me.”

A content sigh escaped Essätha as Amon rubbed his cheek against her shoulder. Daring to inch closer; pressing a lazy kiss against her hot cheek and then to her toasty throat and neck. Breathing in the fragrance of her skin and breathing warm air back against her as she shivered with awareness.

“A rest would be nice,” she finally agreed, a bit breathless.

He placed another soft press of his rough lips to her jaw. Scrapping his beard to her tender skin; feeling the warmth of her seep into his cold as he lounged into her side. Delightfully warm and soft.

She shifted once more.

Instinctively, he clutched to her as she moved. Unwilling to loosen his grip until he became aware that she was only just moving to get more comfortable. Turning in to his body, her other arm squeezed between the cushions and him to grope both of her hands into his hips.

“Mmm, if I was only a little younger,” he taunted quietly, voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Tssh,” she hissed, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “This is perfect. You’re amazing, just the way you are. I love you, and I love holding you like this. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

A drawn out snort of disbelief reverberated in his chest. He was not the perfect one here.

Nevertheless, he cuddled up into her awaiting body further. Drinking in her heat; finding comfort in her angelic, careful hands and the sweetness that was all her. Drifting in and out as he rested his cheek to her collar, listening to the faint pulse beneath.

As he fell into a deep slumber, she shifted restlessly to sleep. A flushed tone to her face, gasping faintly for air as she slept.

Day 10

Amon reached out, groping for the warmth of a body that should be there.

With heavy eyes, he grunted as he forced his aching old body to shift around.

Only just a glimpse of bedhead dark hair, his shirt, and some loosely drawn sleep drawers from Essätha’s frame were visible as she exited the room on drifting feet.

Moving a hand to his face, he emitted a muffled groan. The nearby window was shuttered closed and curtains drawn, but even still some of the half-moons light managing to find a way in through the dark sky into their bedroom.

He got to his feet slowly. Pins and needles of sharp, brief, small flickers of pain wedged into his body like starbursts. Mumbling incoherently through a yawn, Amon shuffled after his wandering wife.

Her path lead out of their chambers, and out of the sitting area. With edged nerves Amon limped; occasionally placing a hand to the wall for support, as he picked up his pace.

This was very unlike her behavior.

Where was she going?

In the hall, no suggestion of which direction she had gone. Torn with indecisiveness, he took the route considered to be the one that would lead swiftly to both kitchen and staff off on the right. Maybe she had went to seek out something? Someone?

But he had been right there. Right there, at her side. Surely she could have; would have, sought him out first. He was there for everything with her… They’d seen it all, together. Walked through hell and back hand in hand. He had only been resting inches from her.

The library floor was cooler than the hallway. A glimpse throughout the room, and he spotted the slightly agape door that lead out to one of the upper level balconies.

Slowly; carefully, he made his way to the glass-paneled door. Even picking up his feet this time rather than shuffling; not daring to startle her if she was outside as he tried to silently pry out the cracked door.

Oh, she was…

His heart swelled in his chest. A short, faint, hardly-there gasp.

Simply, he was stricken. Sitting upon the granite surface of the bench pressed up against carved rows of stone that enclosed the space, Essätha lounged against the marble. Her face rested upon arms folded over the ledge like a dream.

Moonlight hugged her clothes and shaped her face softly. Reflecting in the sterling hues in inky hair, setting a starlit glow to her eyes that could barely catch from the angle he stood at. Her legs were tucked beneath her as a sigh dragged out from her lungs, followed closely be a wince.

The pained action was a slap to his gaping mouth. He’d been so captivated by her celestial pulchritude that for such a brief time, he’d forgotten how odd her actions had been to leave the bed in the middle of the night in such a manner. No comment, no softly-whispered words.

She’d just… left.

Clearing his throat, Amon tapped gently upon the edge of the door.

Essätha was quick to turn towards him, a hand to her chest.

“O-Oh, m’lord Amon…”

He shifted his weight from the wall to shuffle outside.

And like the darling, tender woman she was, Essie was instantly on her feet to offer him a hand.

“What are you doing out of bed,” she fretted, aiding him to the bench.

A raspy chuckle escaped him.

“Looking for you, my dear,” he replied, taking hold of her hand to bring it to his lips as they sat.

Her face was flush as he looked to her. At first, he had simply thought her to be embarrassed at being caught, but the sheen on her face, the void over her eyes-

He reached out to touch her face as she tried pushing his hands away.

He’d meant to call the doctor! That was the nagging sensation; that is what he’d been forgetting to do! But she’d been acting so fine, as of late, and it had fell away from his brainless head. Always forgetting- what sort of husband was he?

“I’m sorry,” Essätha drawled tiredly, half-closing her eyes as he felt along her feverish face with worried eyes.

“It was hot in the house; I just wanted to come get some cool air… You were sleeping so well… I didn’t want to wake you… I- I should have known you’d wake up without me there-”

“Shhh- shhh don’t apologize,” he muttered in a rush, carefully feeling along to her chest.

Pelor, she was warm all over.

“I didn’t mean to wake you-”

Amon pressed a finger over her trembling, colorless lips.

“None of that now,” he soothed. His hands were shaking, thumbs moving to stroke along her jaw and along her throat. No signs of lumps, no foreign shapes.

With a weak sigh, she leaned heavily and suddenly into his side. Making no objections as his anxious, shaky hands carefully felt along her chest and down to her sides and stomach.

Warmth spilled against him everywhere he touched. Slicked with sweat, her breath soft against his side-

She gave a wheezy gasp.

Cursing aloud for his careless, rough hands, Amon jerked his touch away.

“N-No it wasn’t you,” she rasped with exhaustion against his neck. “My chest aches.”

“I’m calling the doctor-”

“Don’t wake the maids, dear, it’s so late.”

A groan passed through him. Wrapping an arm around her side, he held her to him as she rested her face at the crook of his neck.

“You’re going to catch a chill out there,” she mumbled.

He snorted through his nose. He was going to get a chill inside then, because she was not in there with him. Warming his side; warming their home with her delightful glow.

“Why don’t you come back inside with me?” he requested gently. “I’ll fetch a basin of cool water and we’ll see about lowering that fever.”

A silent nod pressed into his shoulder.

Taking hold of her hand, Amon moved to his feat. Overhearing her mostly muted cry of protest; the feeling of her fingers digging into his hand as she held to him.

Without hesitation; without question, she followed him. To her feet, directly into his arms with a muffled whimper as he pulled her in close. The salty smell of sweat and sweet hint of lavender on soft, sticky skin.

He took a few steps back. Eyes meeting hers; fingers curled together as he encouraged her to move with him. Off the outlook, in the library, and through the house into adjacent the hall. Their steps careful treading.

His feet clipped against themselves, but he held steadfast to keep from falling over. A promising smile, guiding her through the passageway slowly.

Dragging out a shuddering breath, she leaned all of her weight into his side abruptly.

They stumbled and by the grace of Pelor, Amon found his long-lost strength.

Propping weight into one of his burning heels, he took hold of her tighter than he’d like. Grasping her to his chest; feeling the shivers race over her damp skin. He would waver and stagger before regaining his composure, an exhaled gasp of shock finally pulling out of his lungs.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked.

Anchoring his weight to his assured leg baring the brunt of their load, he shifted. Unhinging gradually, he dragged the both of them back the short distance into the wall.

Her shoulders were shaking. A tearful inhale, clutching on to the front of his shirt.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Shhhh, shhhh, don’t cry,” he soothed, rubbing his arms along hers as hands against her back.

“Don’t cry my love; my darling Essätha. Shhh, shhh. You’re fine here. It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

Her sobs pressed into his shoulder. The ever-present heat turning into a radiating fire. She was only growing hotter; her strength disappearing more and more in wobbly legs.

He wasn’t sure at first if he could hold them both, but her sharp cries had him clutching her closer.

He would make do.

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. He hated that sound. It did not belong in this strong woman. It was a foreigner, stealing into her kindness and good heart.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it harder on you-”

“You’ve made nothing harder for me, dear Essie.

“I could have made you fall-”

Pressing his legs out to trap her so she wouldn’t stumble, Amon leaned back and took hold of her face in his hands. His thumbs skimming; wiping away the tears that did not fit on those splotchy cheeks. Tears that should never be on such a lovely face of gentleness and beauty. Tears he loathed to see.

“I would never let you fall,” he swore, staring deep into her eyes. “Do you hear me? Never. I would be your cushion if it came down to it. I’ve got you. I have strength enough for the both of us; I will take care of you.”

A dry, pained rasp answered him. She looked away, a slight quiver from her lip.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he pulled her into his body. Feeling her shivers; the rapid flickers of her heartbeat pressed so close to his.

“Let me help you,” he hoarsely added. “You work too hard, my darling Essätha. Let me look after you. Let me love you and care for you; as your partner and as your husband. I took an oath to stand beside you, in sickness and in health.”

He held her waist tightly whilst pushing off from the wall. A bit unsteady for a second; his limbs trying to function despite the pain and the added weight. But he steadied because, by all the gods, he would not falter now.

With the waver of his frame, she tried to pull away from him.

“Don’t run from me,” he urged in a whisper, holding her firmly to himself. “Don’t brush me off… Don’t… Don’t let me forget when you are hurting.”

She moaned, gripping tightly to his shirt as she drew in a breath.

“M’lord-”

“It’s no excuse!” he rasped, voice breaking as he clutched her closer. “Don’t… Don’t give me any excuses.”

“It’s not your fault-”

“I’m failing you-”

“No, my beloved, please-”

A frustrated exhale, smothering her shaking frame against himself as he breathed into her ear, “I’m sorry. I never meant to bare so many burdens upon your heart and soul; upon those perfect shoulders. I would never… have intended to cause you so much torment.”

“I’m a weaker man, growing less deserving of your gentleness by the day. Forgetting things, fumbling. But I love you; my sweet Essätha; and I know you love me. Of that, there’s no doubt in my mind. There will never be a doubt in my mind how much you care for me.”

“But when I took your hand and I looked into your eyes and I asked you to be mine, from that moment on it was no longer ‘should I, could I, would I’ it was an affirmative ‘I must and I will’. As your spouse, as your lover, as your eternal friend it was my duty and my privilege to care for and to love you, always.”

“You have never faltered from those promises we made that day. And although I have tried my best; with every bit inside of me, I know I have been failing you.”

Dry palms touched his face. Holding him steady, lips meeting his chin.

“You are not weak, and you are no burden,” Essätha rasped softly. “You are my Lord Amon Thomas Illiad, keeper of my heart. Nothing has changed. You are still have all of me; you still bring me all the happiness I had longed to touch all my life.”

“I am no one when I am so blinded by my wife’s ailments,” he countered bitterly.

“I do not blame you for things beyond your control.”

“Then do not blame me- but do not let me sit in the dark,” he pleaded. “If I could just- If only my mind still worked as it should-”

She collapsed fully and all at once into him in a fit of tears.

He was at a loss. Standing there; a statue of an imbecile with tears on his cheeks; wettening his beard.

“I-… I’m sorry this is… this is not the time for such talk,” his voice echoed.

He sounded old. Vastly old. And so far, far away.

“Promise you won’t forget me.”

Barely there; more a phantom’s illusion than words.

He clutched at her as the smallness of her thick voice met his ears.

“Never, my love. Never.”

A tortured sob dragged from her. So frail, so unbearably hot.

His cheek rested atop her head. A drainage bearing down upon him as tears slipped free of his eyes and into her already wet hair from sweat.

She was hurting so much, and it was all his fault.

She was sickly, and it was his absence that had allowed it to happen.

No amount of doctor visits, medications, clerics, or otherwise could mend him. He was broken. His carefully studied intellect from years of study gone. His memories washed away with the tide; returning only in short bursts and sometimes incorrectly or not fitting properly into place. His body aged; constantly humming on a pitched note of pain.

All he had left was her. His love for her. His undying devotion to her; the trust and loyalty placed in such compassionate hands holding him up and guiding him through. His spirit and resolve to be the best he could be for her.

It no longer felt like enough.

He loathed himself. Inflicting wounds upon the one who held the final fragments of who he was. The last star shining in his sky; the guiding northern light that brought him home. All of his happiness and love embraced in someone so understanding and patience of his irregular lapses in memory. The decayed mind, the slipping personality, the spectral remains of who he once was that she clung to so desperately and brought fragments of life still into what remained of him.

And here he was, asking even more of her. Requesting she hurt herself on behalf of his damaged mental state. Implying she be both his caretaker and his eyes; for he was clearly stupid and blind to allow this to have continued on to such a point of misery for her.

It was… too much to ask of her. Unfair to put so much on her shoulders already holding up so much. Arms holding together the last of him in such a delicate, gentle way. Hands keeping him afloat.

He didn’t deserve her. He was not worthy of all this consideration and faithful, never-ending care.

“Let me run you a bath,” a hoarse voice crawled forth from his depths. “A nice, cool bath.”

Between hiccuping sobs, she shook her head.

“Essätha-”

“Stairs.”

The single, muffled word riddled him with guilt. His own handicap once again kicking him down.

“Just the basin, then,” he murmured.

A vigorous shake of her head, pressed into his chest. “N-No please- please don’t leave me please don’t go- the stairs-”

“I-I won’t. I won’t.”

He was shaking. The water stored upstairs wouldn’t be very cool and not nearly as refreshing, but it would have to do.

She was hurting enough.

He didn’t want to add any further strain and stress upon her.

“Will you let me guide you to our bed, my love?” Amon inquired softly, painfully.

A small nod pressed against his torso.

Slipping into the nook of her side, he released one arm from around her. Waiting, patient as Essie gradually loosened her hold on his shirt to grab hold of it from behind instead. Much of her weight bore against him like a lean-post as she dragged out exhausted, stuffy breaths that shook her frail frame.

He gritted his teeth through the entire, agonizing walk. Feet dragging more than anything else; having to compensate for not just his own unsteadiness but hers as well. She would try regaining her composure for but a moment, and would soon after falter once more with ragged, gasping drags of air.

Pressing into his side, pressing away from him to try giving him room and strength to walk.

And he would pull her defiantly to him. Taking her instability in stride.

He could do this.

He would do this, for her.

Day 11 – part 1

To hell with these damn buttons!

Griping to himself, Amon felt with his stiff fingers along the holes of his shirt. His digits would shake as he relaxed them, making it just as impossible to jam the clasp where it belonged.

The bed creaked on the other side, making him freeze up. Clutching each side of his clothes, he turned his head (with his neck protesting in agony) to see a tangled mop of black hair pop up from the pillow.

Knotted and tangled in an unrecognizable mess, the nest covered over the face of it’s owner as they gave a huff.

He reached out instantly the moment the damp cloth still stuck to her face fell in her lap. Slipping fingers beneath the gnarled strands, he carefully knitted through sections to tuck the locks back from her face. They slid behind her ear and stuck to her face and mouth, covered in a mixture of sweat and warmed water.

She still felt somewhat feverish to the touch.

But she offered him the impression of a sweet smile as he plucked strands from her face and from her mouth tenderly, regardless.

“Did I wake you?” he murmured with shame, leaning in to press his lips over her forehead.

“I don’t know if I was really sleeping in the first place,” she admitted, reaching out for him.

Glancing down, he watched as she slowly buttoned up his shirt. One at a time, in delicate thin fingers.

His throat tightened on a reflex.

“I could have gotten it-”

“I know you could have.”

No doubt in her voice. No teasing. Completely serious in her conviction.

“I just wanted to help you,” she added once completing the final button, leaning forward to rest her forehead to his.

“You should be resting,” he disagreed in a throaty voice of anguish, kissing her cheek.

She mumbled something. Words he couldn’t distinguish even this close.

His hands followed the map of her body he knew by heart. It had changed and grown over the years in new ways, but still utterly, completely beautiful. Smoothing over the thin fabric of his own sweat-covered shirt clinging to her body; the soft material giving away all of her imperfections beneath his hands.

So gorgeous. So perfect.

Essätha gave an unexpected sensual moan in response. Immediately clamping her mouth shut, she laughed as she pulled away from his face.

“Goodness-” she giggled, finding no room to finish the thought as he pulled her back in for a sudden embrace.

Amon peppered light kisses to the underside of her throat. Each one moving a little further up; pressing lips against her chin and to the corners of her mouth and-

She stopped him there, placing a hand to his chest as she gave a breezy, faltering snicker.

“I wasn’t finished,” he complained, inching closer as he smiled, eyes upon those very kissable soft lips.

“Perhaps not the best idea, my beloved,” she reminded him, taking hold of an arm to pull it back around so she could press a kiss over his wrist.

The warmth surrounding her space reminded him of his own senselessness, and he immediately pulled free of her.

“I’ll see to getting you a doctor,” he decreed firmly.

“Mmm, yes m’lord Amon,” she breathed. “While you do that, I’m going to change… Do not wander far.”

Upon the last of her words, a trickling fear in her voice once more. Panic written in the glistening of her gaze locked upon his.

“I won’t be far,” he promised, worrying his eyebrows into a furrow.

Last night still sat heavily on his heart.

He had to do better.

He had to be better, for her.

Placing a hasty kiss to Essie’s knuckles, Amon slid off the edge of the bed. The knifing pain in his chest and fire in his bones instantly gave him awareness that he was indeed, alive and very aged now.

She murmured something; likely encouragement, but it was lost in his ears. The harsh beat of his heart in his eardrums as he hissed quietly, shuffling across the room. Every so lightly, using the door frame as a sturdy rest before he continued through the sitting area towards the far door.

Thankfully, with a hand to the wall, it didn’t take him terribly long to come across the first housemaiden. Already up and about, bustling around the house to spot him coming upon the door that lead to the gallery overlooking down upon the dining area.

“Lord Amon,” she greeted pleasantly, giving a curtsy.

What was her name again? He raked through his brain, but it didn’t come to him. Instead, he simply offered the most polite if not strained smile he could manage. Feeling it tug on his lips, pull at the wrinkles against his face.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but would you mind having the doctor… doctor…”

What was his name?

“Your physician, Lord Amon?”

“Mine? O-Or Essätha’s,” he muttered. Did they have different doctors? There was so many as of late…

There was a softened light of concern in the young woman’s eyes. He tried to pretend as though he didn’t recognize it, but he did. If it wasn’t that, it was almost always pity thrown in his face.

Except with Essätha. It was always love. Love, and tinges of fear when he had his slip-ups.

He tried not to took too deeply on that. It hurt too much.

Everything would be fine..

“Of course, Lord Amon,” the young maiden stated with professional courtesy, tilting her head forward. “Would that be all?”

Smiling faintly, he reached up to scratch his beard.

“Coffee. Black. Bring sugar for my darling, would you?”

“Certainly, Lord Amon.”

With a curt nod to the woman, he watched as she headed down the hall.

He hoped Essie was in the mood for something sweet in her coffee today. Even if she wasn’t, he had a feeling her eyes would still light up just the same. Adoring him; grateful for all these little things he still remembered. It always brightened her features when he recalled things with ease. So fondly his memories of her painting in his thoughts through elegant strokes of a brush that defined her every charm and signature.

Satisfied with himself, Amon carefully turned back for the bedroom. Shuffling along on with care on the floor, making his way through the lounge area.

Pausing, he picked up a few ledgers lying on the edge of the desk. Flipping through a few; finding the wonderful scrawling of his love’s hand placed upon some. Notes added to others in the margins of with a steady hand. Strokes of ink curling so wonderfully.

What would he do without her?

A scoff at the very thought. He couldn’t handle this house, all these finances without her. The words began to blur into nonsense before his eyes. Numbers made no sense; who was he paying, for what reason, what did that name mean, when did this request need finalizing.

She handled everything. The house, the maids, the work, him…

With a heavy sigh of guilt, he went to place the documents neatly back on the table.

A sharp curse from the other room.

It was followed by a crack, and sudden thud.

Thoroughly startled, he dropped the paperwork and turned swiftly. The rush of wind sent some reports scattering in the air and to the floor.

His body was unprepared for the range of motion and haste he pushed it through.

Dragging in a sharp gasp, he staggered. If not for the quick grip of his hand to the edge of the desk, he would have taken a fall for sure.

Pain stabbed through him. Starting in his hip, and blazing down into his leg and through his side.

“Essätha?”

No answer.

“Essätha, my darling?” Panicked this time, riddled with worry.

Silence.

He didn’t want to pull the card, he didn’t want to-

“My dear, could you… could you come help me?”

With a flinch; both from gritting pain and humiliation, he waited.

She did not come to him.

Grabbing the edge of the desk firmly, Amon worked his way around it. Finding the wall to lean against; shoulder and all, he shifted his weight forward. Aware of the way his leg was nearly limp with pain; refusing to take even the bare minimum of his size as it seized and gave with each step. Causing him to stumble; causing him to cry out hoarsely in pain.

He grabbed the edge of the door frame and pulled. Yanking himself forward; forcing his back to the structure. Each breath a harsh pant. His chest falling and rising quickly as perspiration dotted his neck and face.

His blood ran cold as ice despite this.

Leg forgotten, he lunged forward.

It buckled beneath his weight; sending him to the floor.

Growling with frustration, his knees rapidly swelling with bruises, Amon crawled the remaining distance over. An action once that would have been beyond mortifying now not even a second thought to his primary objective in front of him.

Oh Pelor, no.

No no no- this was his fault; this was all his fault he’d left her alone! She’d told him; asked of him only not to be left alone and what had he done! What had he done!

“My darling?” he cooed, his voice cracking as he reached for her.

Blood. Blood on the corner of the dresser; blood clotting in her hair in a dark, crimson flood. Collecting on the floor; running over her temple and down her cheek.

“Essätha my love.”

His voice broke a hundred different ways in only a few syllables.

Shaking vigorously, he ran a hand gingerly over her pale complexion and sweaty face.

In a knee-jerk reaction, he pulled away.

She was burning like fire.

“No no no no no no-”

Whimpering, his lips shaking, he looked around the room. Was- was there still health potions still stashed somewhere around here? Did he still have any of them around? Would they still be good-

She gasped for air, her breath coming out dry and wheezy.

He tried to stand. He had to get help; he had to get her off the floor, he had to look for something or someone to help her-

His legs slipped, and he crashed back down on his purple hued knees beneath thick trousers.

“Not now, please!” he begged, staring down with horror as the blood began to puddle on the floor.

He tried again. Failed; feet refusing to even move into the place his mind asked of him.

“Oh Pelor, someone help her please!” he cried out.

He was pathetic.

He could do nothing for her.

He couldn’t even do anything for himself.

She’d gotten hurt, and it was all his fault.

This was all his fault. He hadn’t been there. He wasn’t there for her. She wasn’t feeling well and he had just left her alone. She asked him not to leave her alone; she had been so frightened of him leaving her alone-

Falling to his angry, swollen hip throbbing with agony, he reached for her.

“Please! Someone!”

A raspy demand. A howling echo of pain and fear.

Shoes came flying through the sitting area moments later. A heavy, breathless voice before they even entered the room called out: “Lord Amon-?”

The maiden nearly tripped upon herself as she slammed into the room.

Upon his thigh, he gingerly rested Essätha’s head. His shirt half removed; buttons popped across the floor as he balled it up to press to her head wound.

His eyes shot up to the woman as she entered in a rush. The whites of his eyes now red through his gaze as he exhaled in a rush; his nose too stuffy to breathe through.

“Please-”

His voice broke. Lips shaking; the taste of his tears upon them.

A close-mouthed gasp escaped the maid. She pressed a hand to her throat, and rushed forward suddenly to kneel at his side.

Her fingers pressed to Essie’s throat as he leaned forward, listening to her raspy gasps.

“Her pulse seems strong, but very fast,” the young lady observed, meeting his gaze.

“Help her,” he pleaded, flickering his gaze back down to his shirt growing redder by the second against her head.

“Help her; help her please do something-”

His chest shook helplessly. The sound of her ragged gasps of air so unnatural. He knew he’d not heard such a sickly, horrendous sound… Not since-

On reaction, he snarled at the woman as she tried to wrap her arms around his Essätha.

“Lord Amon, we should get her off the floor,” the young lady remarked with fearful, wide eyes.

Yes… yes of course- she was right-

A groan of turmoil, his legs refusing to work.

“Let me go get more help,” the housemaid murmured, getting to her feet.

“Hurry.”

The woman was out of the door and racing through the lounge in seconds. Without hesitation, without delay.

Unable to take his eyes off of his darling, Amon hummed with encouragement. His tears, meanwhile, dripped down on the bloody shirt pressed firmly over her head.

“I’m so sorry my dear. I’m so sorry. I’ve failed you yet again.”

“Please forgive me,” he asked, shoulders rising and falling violently as a sob broke through him.

“Everything will be alright, love, I’m here. I’m here. I’ll take care of you I promise; I swear.”

Day 11 – part 2

There were doctors and clerics standing all around, making the room claustrophobic. All of them crowding around the bed. Huddled tightly together; a mass of professional coats and robes.

The bloody gash upon Essätha’s head was, thankfully, mended. She did not rouse from unconsciousness, however. No gentle shakes, no softly murmured honeyed words, no curious prods of the doctors of people shining lights in her eyes gave her reason to wake.

It made his skin crawl.

Like a wounded animal, he dared to snap at anyone who thought to remove him from the bedside.

Thus, the doctors were forced to try checking on his elevated legs between his furious rampages.

“Get your hands off of me-!”

“Lord Amon, we need to secure your position so that a cleric can try mending your hip bone. It’s fractured, and it won’t heal properly if you don’t let us work-”

“I didn’t call you here to take care of me! I called you all here to take care of her!”

He waved a hand to the stunning woman laboring for breath at his side.

“Lord Amon,” the doctor sighed, “Be reasonable. We’re only trying to help. It’s our duty to make sure-”

“You need to make sure she’s okay,” Amon rasped, taking hold of the man’s arm in a powerful grip as he worked his jaw.

“She needs to be okay.”

The doctor choked, trying to pull free his arm as the Briarton Lord dug his fingertips into flesh with an impressive grasp. Yellow-tinged bruises were already beginning to form upon the doctor’s skin.

“We can give him some drugs,” another doctor murmured from the safety behind others. “Knock him out; it’ll make the whole process easier-”

“You will do no such thing!” a housemaiden cut in sharply on his behalf, her face red with aggravation.

Faces in the room stared to the young woman. She appeared less confident, and more frazzled beneath all the sudden attention.

“He’s scared for his wife,” she stressed. “Can none of you see that?”

The room was silent. A grunt escaped Amon, grateful to the young woman who’s name he didn’t recall as she pushed past a pair of individuals to come beside the bed.

Her voice was one of conviction as she spoke to him: “Lord Amon, it is not my place to speak on Lady Essätha’s behalf and I apologize, but she would be very distraught knowing you were refusing treatment. Please, let these men and women help you.”

It was a low, wounding blow to his stubborn pride.

Mute, he only gave a nod.

He was too numb, filled to the very brim with shame to do anything else.

They were careful as they handled him. Like a fragile doll. But none were quite as tender and gentle as Essätha as they readjusted his posture and shifted the angle of his body. Poking and prodding; revealing the various bruises on his hips and legs as they exposed him by removing articles of clothing to better assess their patient.

It was humiliating.

Hopeless, he held to Essie’s hand the entire time. Comforting himself partly; the other half of him hoping that whatever strength remained in his fingers would awaken her back to reality. Bring her out of her comatose state, and back to him.

She could have his strength. She could have all of what was left of him.

Murmured incantations; more like hymns, were breathed by a pair of clerics as they pressed her hands lightly near his bruised, exposed skin.

Some of the stabbing pain began to free itself from his aged frame.

Then, more pain still ebbed away as the duo stepped away for two more to step up and continue on with another series of chanted words to their gods. Languages he didn’t know; words that held no meaning to him.

As these two stepped back, he found his weary voice of open fear again.

“And my Essätha?”

“We’ve done all we can for her, Lord Amon,” someone spoke up. “She’s… just going to need some time to rest.”

The darkness of his eyes bore into the man speaking. Slowly, forfeiting like a lesser animal to an alpha, the man turned his gaze away first to swallow nervously.

“What is wrong with my wife?”

The softness of his voice was a ploy, and they all knew it. Smelled the anger around him; the hurt, the fear.

“What is wrong with my wife?!” he repeated in a snarl, trying to push himself off from the bed.

“Lay back-”

“Lord Amon, please-”

“You’re going to hurt yourself-”

Aggravated, he tried to push away all the various arms and hands that encouraged him back into the bed.

Tearing his gaze from the swarm of people, Amon glimpsed over with alarm as the arm pressed against his side shook.

Convulsions raked down Essätha’s limp form. It illustrated her body in a way that was not meant to contort as a grating, jarring exhale raggedly fell from her lips.

Amon grabbed for her instantly. The burn of her body unfelt; the daggers of pain in his own forgotten.

She shook uncontrollably against his chest. Each breath gasping and faint. Drawing in oxygen through shallow rises of her chest and letting it out in suffering, heaving wheezes.

Someone’s hand reached out as though to touch her, and he swatted it away with a growl. Vision wobbling; finding it difficult to differentiate friend from foe.

“Careful, careful-!” someone nervously piped up.

He didn’t know whom this new voice was telling to be careful; him or the one who reached for him.

The shakes and shivers knotting in her muscles and seizing her up in cramping, unnatural forms slowly disappeared. All but the lightest quivers here and there; her breath labored as the movement behind her eyelids danced.

They were both covered in sweat.

His face was drenched in it. Dripping from his eyes even; strangely.

“What was that?” Amon muttered with quiet brokenness. “What just happened, why was she-”

“Those would be the manifestations of her illness,” an uneasy voice to his left reported. “One… we fear we have an inkling’s knowledge to; if all assumptions are correct.”

“It’s been dubbed the Graveshadow’s Disease. Samples would need to be taken and a better evaluation performed to confirm this; but it’s a sickness inflicted on generations of children born with inherited Shadowplane magic. The disorder has wiped out many family lines over the years as it only seems to pass from mother to child. It’s not infectious to anyone in this room.”

The concern that whatever was ailing his beautiful wife might drag him in didn’t even touch his thoughts. If he grew just as sickly, he wouldn’t care. It would not deter him from her side. All but too concerned for that sweat-drenched face of ethereal grace as her lips trembled and occasionally moved into wordless expressions and hitched gasps of pain.

“It… has no recovery. The mortality rate is…”

His eyes shot over to the woman who dared join in the conversation, with words that were bold-faced lies in his ears.

“She will be fine!” he threatened, pushing himself up further. “She will recover. None of you know her; none of you know the strength in this beautiful woman-”

A faint whimper captured his attention, and his words tapered off. Slipping his arms around her tighter, he cradled Essätha’s sweltering physique against his side protectively.

Clearing their throat, another medic spoke up: “The symptoms don’t positively id the problem. We… We could still be wrong.”

“What else could it be?” Amon asked numbly.

Uncomfortable glances sorted around the room, and back to him.

“It would be Filth Fever,” someone spoke quietly. “Weaver’s Fever, which affects magically-inclined folks, or Shiver’s disease.”

“It could be something non-lethal; something we’re missing” another medic cut in quietly, but there was… doubt in her voice.

The woman was quick to step back behind someone as Amon’s blazing eyes sought her out in the crowd.

“You dare-”

“There are alternatives, nothing is set in stone yet!” a cleric jumped in, a rush of smoke emitting from their draconian nostrils nervously.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Amon met some of the eyes looking upon him. Most turning away; intimidated or simply too pitying to look upon him. His arms holding his wife’s body with the utmost care against himself as she lay like a boneless silhouette in his grasp, gasping for air.

“What makes you so sure it’s-”

What had they called it? Damn his brain; why would it not function for him when he needed it the most!

“Graveshadow’s,” someone offered.

A singlular, thick grunt of agreement pressed out of Amon’s chest in answer. Moving his hand, brushing strands of hair delicately and shakily from her enchanting face slick and ashen with sickness.

“Her magic is a characteristic property of where she inherited it,” a medic stated.

“The ailment’s known to commonly be associated with Graveshadow’s is… present. Fevers, aches, body pains, headaches would all occur at some point or another. Sometimes nausea. A case-by-case basis of pus-like blisters forming on areas of the body. The… The body starts rejecting it’s hereditary magic. It begins to form a rot, on the inside of the victim. It festers; usually notably affecting someone for the majority of their life but becoming most obvious in the twenties or thirties. It begins in less prominent organs most often before attacking the more vital regions of the body; the heart, the lungs, the liver, and so on.”

“It may not be this at all, however,” a soft-spoken man added in. “I’ve never heard of such late signs progressively taking over a patient. Most cases involve years of the disease setting in.”

“Exactly,” another stated with relief. “You would have noticed the omens sooner than this, Lord Amon. It could be something else entirely.”

He would have noticed the signs.

Oh Pelor, what a goddamn useless cur he was!

How long had she been suffering these sweats, the outbreaks of headaches, the sudden dizzy spells?

He didn’t know.

He couldn’t remember.

No- no he was doing it again he was faltering and it was at her expense.

He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t do it again he had to be strong he had to focus.

Her life depended on it.

Her life in the balance, hanging by threads of doubt by everyone in the room.

Without a shred of doubt in his mind, he knew this- Grab… Gravel… Grading? Degrading?

Tears swam in his eyes with frustration like a child.

He couldn’t even remember what the fucking illness was called anymore. Only spoken seconds ago; already out of his mangled brain and tumbling somewhere in the black hole of his mind.

She’d been so strong and enduring for him. Quietly letting this pain slip beneath the cracks. Not to worry him; not to put added pressure on his fading thoughts.

It was eating at her, this decay. Ravenous on her beauty; trying to devour all the good and purity in the world through her.

How could she contract such a terrible fate? What would-

“My mother was a saint,” she had said with sadness in her voice. “I just wish she’d had more time… It took her, all at once. She didn’t show it to me, whatever it was. Not until her last days. Always putting on a brave, smiling face…”

They both knew.

The information had been sitting before them, all this time. Without their knowledge; without the thought to check or ask or inquire. No imploring questions; no thought to seek the truth of the matter.

And him; her husband, spotting none of her decline until she was succumbing to it’s horrors. Dragging her down, threatening to tear her from his grasp.

No. No, he would not allow that.

This illness would not take. Not his beautiful Essätha. Not his wife; not his closest confident, not the sun in her eyes that blazed through him and brought warmth and happiness back into his dead world. Not this woman, so courageous and brave; never bending or cracking no matter how much the world tried to break her.

It was one more fight.

They could do one more fight. The battlefield was different; just as the one in his aging mind, but they could do it.

She could get through this. His everything and more; so powerful and spunky and brave in every way.

“We need to find a cure,” Amon managed, his voice hardly a whisper.

“Lord Amon-”

He clutched to the quivering shape of his wife with resolve, stealing only a glimpse around the room.

“We are going to find a cure!” he snapped; tone wavering in and out.

“Send messengers and pigeons and ravens- I don’t give a damn what you have to say- just get people here. The greatest minds; scientists, scholars, physicians, alchemists, mages, clerics- anyone in a medical field, I don’t care what it is. They will be reimbursed for their time at a cost sum of their choosing.”

“Get in contact with-”

Faces. Faces without names.

He faltered.

“The- my companions-”

He struggled. Willing his damaged brain to work; trying to find the answers through a hazy buzz of exhaustion and fear.

Graveshadow’s Disease. Ah- yes! That was what it was called! But that wasn’t what he was looking for, what was it he was looking for…

“We can do that, Lord Amon,” a softened, feminine voice from one of the housemaids answered in knowing quiet.

“Do what?” he muttered, glancing only so briefly to see the tortured face of the young miss.

“… We’ll see to it that help is called,” another maiden slowly reminded him. “We’ll send the carriers straight away, Lord Amon.”

He’d… asked for carriers?

His eyes glanced down to Essätha.

Ah, y-yes. He… had.

All of the youthful young ladies that helped to upkeep the manor slipped out through the doors. Some needing to squeeze through the throng of individuals with apologetic whispers as they went.

Tiredly and with guilt eating at him, Amon leaned forward. His chest shaking, hands cupping each of those delicate hollowed cheeks in a tender grip. Caressing the sheen of sweat from her face as drops of tears fell from his face, landing upon her nose and forehead.

“It’s okay, my love,” he breathed, brushing his lips over hers.

Someone cleared their throat awkwardly.

Casting a venomous look to the crowd, the Illiad heir released a furious hiss through his teeth as they clenched firmly together.

“Leave us at once!” he shouted in a hoarse rasp.

Most gave a frightful jump at the harsh, bitterness of his voice. No longer sounding tired and aged, but filled with fury and rage. A carrying, strong voice of a man most didn’t believe existed anymore behind the fragile state of his aged appearance. Sunken in tired eyes; shadows and bags beneath them, dark spots and white hair with only remnants of gray-ish black still in his beard.

He looked much a shadow of his former self in some ways.

But in that moment, there was no denying he was Lord Amon; ruler over the Emerald Expanse, a force of nature all his own.

Fleeing the room in large flocks, only the most brave; or perhaps more stupid, lingered to gather supplies or stare with dumbfounded nervous energy.

“We’ll be back to conduct further tests and examinations later.”

Amon shot the speaker a despising sneer.

“Find out about this forsaken illness,” he growled. “I want every letter, every script, every mention of it ever breathed and written down in this room by tomorrow’s first light.”

Thoroughly spooked like frightened prey, the remaining individuals gave hasty, nervous murmurs he didn’t bother to make out as they fled. The thunder of boots moving into the lounge area and for most, quickly from there into the hall.

Lying on his painfully aching healed hip; still bruised and throbbing, Amon reached over the side of the bed to grab a damp cloth sitting in a bowl of ice water on the nightstand. Mostly dripping the chilled liquid on himself, the blankets, and the floor; he leaned over to rub the soothing coolness into Essätha’s skin. Washing the blots of sweat away. Wiping down her forehead, over her cheeks, against her mouth.

He leaned back to rinse the warmed cloth out with more cool water, and began drawing circles with it over her neck and beneath the collar of her shirt.

“I’m here for you, my love,” he encouraged in a soft coo, brushing a kiss over her forehead as more sweat began to bead up upon it. “You’re a strong, beautiful woman my Essätha and I know you can get through this. I believe in you. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

“I promise you.”

Day 12

“This is all of it?”

“Yes, Lord Amon.”

A frown appeared on his face with disbelief as he looked over the books and carefully folded pieces of paper.

“This can’t be all there is,” he muttered, staring up helplessly at the doctor and maiden’s face with dawning horror.

They could only stare at him in turn. The doctor unflinching and passive; the young lady a puffy-faced, red-eyed, broken complexion.

“Find me more,” he growled, slamming one of the books down on top of another. “There has to be more!”

His snarls of aggravation ripped through his throat, startling the pair as they hurried for the door.

The young lady’s eyes met his as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Catching her attention; catching the unshed tears glistening in her eyes as she stiffly slipped out of the room to leave the entrance slightly ajar in case he called for anything.

Slowly, he dragged a heavy sigh gruffly from his chest.

His gaze shifted over. Grazing over the thin sheet clinging to her sweaty hips and waist. Wrapping itself around her, with one arm thrown over the pillow and the other low; held in his rough hand.

Such harsh, pained little gasps escaped her.

What he would give to exchange them for his own. A replacement not perfect, but better than this.

Anything was better than this. Watching her unwakening face. Feeling her skipping pulse in her wrist. The heat that never let up and the unexpected quakes that shook the bed and kept him both from work and from rest.

Not that he expected rest. When it did try, however, to claim his old eyelids to fall he would find himself barely in a state of dreaming when something startled him. Reality setting in; ashamed he would allow himself to relax.

She was getting no rest. He could tell by the defining darkness that grew more and more by the hours beneath her eyes.

If she was getting no rest, then he shouldn’t either.

This was all his fault.

If only he’d caught this sooner. If only he’d been there; if only he’d noticed; remembered, spoke up, taken better care of her. Loved her as gently as she did him. Nurtured her as she should have been instead of depending so much on her. Allowing this to creep up upon her unnoticed by him. Working her spirit and health to the ground.

With numbed fingertips, he flipped open one of the notes laying atop the stack of documents and books.

Graveshadow’s Disease.

Ah, that was its name.

Just a name, nothing more.

Another villain to be vanquished.

Essätha wheezed beside him. Her arms straining; trying to pull away from him as she rocked to her left, and then to her right. A stiff back rising up from the bed as she gasped for oxygen.

In soothing murmurs, he reached for her. Murmured so softly; so gently on his chapped lips as he pulled her into him. Ignoring the way his legs burned and ached, settled atop pillows that he mostly managed to tug his appendages off of as he moved to follow her.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, please- please relax. Relax for me darling- please- please- please-”

A break fragmented his voice. A mirror into exactly what his heart felt like, seeing her struggle so. On such a simple, thoughtless task such as breathing.

When he finally managed to grapple his arms around her, laying on his side, he pulled her into his chest. Her body rigid; stretching out and then trying to curl in with simultaneous jerks and twitches. Spasms of muscles moving. Perspiration beginning to form in an all-over body sweat once again.

His lips pressed to her hot forehead, murmuring what he believed to be the words the clerics used. His memory was a bit fuzzy, but it sounded right.

Deep down, he knew it would do nothing for her.

Yet… she stilled. Slumping into his arms; her chest weakly, shakily moving in uneven intervals.

He didn’t dare question it. Divine intervention or a streak of luck; he was just glad to see her stop struggling.

“Thank you,” he lamented. To her, to any gods there might be listening and watching over her. A thousand gratitude’s would not be enough.

Anything but the struggle.

Anything but the agony stitched on her elegant features.

He pressed a firm kiss to either of her cheeks, stroking the tangled mess of dark hair from her face.

Everything was going to be fine.

She would be fine.

Day 15

Exhaustion pulled at him. He would not allow himself to embrace it. Willing himself awake; pinching at his skin and drinking his mug of coffee even as he trembled. Even as the hot beverage would slosh out and he’d curse as it would burn and leave red marks against his chest and stain his shirt.

In pausing moments, he would rest his head against her torso. Listening. Feeling the way her chest heaved in a way that his own echoed. Unnatural lengths of silence; even worse spells of quick gusts of breath never fully satisfying her. Dragging them in, dragging them out in bursts as her temperature skyrocketed.

They were both so tired.

Her struggles never quite allowing her either awareness nor sleep. Tossing and turning; her fingers clutching loosely to fresh sheets.

With dedication, with love; with all the loyalty he held for this stunning woman who enriched and enlightened, he solely took the responsibility with his shaky hands to wash and change her out of yet another day’s clothes.

He’d hoped his own would soothe her. It brought a sad, not fully there smile to his face as he’d recall so fondly her teasing. Mocking him in apparel much too large for her size; but insisting even as his pants would fall off her or his shirt ran low to her knees and fell more like a curtain than clothes that she enjoyed the feeling. Something about… something about how it always felt like he was holding her. Something about the smell of his clothes and how it comforted her.

They tried anything. Everything. Resulting to spoon-fed soup and drops of water. Praying to hydrate her as the fevers burned through her and dispersed, only to return within fractions of a minute later. Coming and going like a thief, stealing her will. Making her more and more feeble and fragile.

He stroked and dabbed at her face with a replenished bowl of ice water. Caressing the side of her face with the material stretched over his palm. Fearful his own cursed touch might bring another fever or bounty of twitching, muttering rolls of pain sweeping over her as she’d whine and clench her teeth. Tossing and turning, coughing weakly.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered.

The quiet stretched on, as it always did.

“Tell me what to do, my dear, and I’ll do it.”

Silence.

“I’ll do it all- I’ll do anything. Anything at all for you.”

When she gave him no answer, he leaned in to brush his mouth against her forehead. Pressing small, equally tender kisses along the side of her face, to her temples. His hands; still holding the cloth, stroking sentimental letters against her neck. Stringing together into words; phrases of his love for her as his lips trailed over the bridge of her nose and against her upper lip and over cheeks to her chin.

He stopped himself short of her lips. Slightly parted.

She gave a faint gasp.

“What do you want?” he pleaded. “What can I get you- what do you need?”

Her face turned away from him. Fingers gripping; weakly digging in to his palm.

“I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe with me.”

He leaned away from her, taking hold of that delicate hand to press a kiss upon her fingers. The motion of his other hand never slowing; never ceasing in his task to massage the cool damp cloth against warm flesh as his vision went hazy.

Blinking his misty eyes, droplets of tears fell on Essätha’s face.

He dabbed them off slowly as even more of the unreasonable drops sprang forth to land on her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth, her chin, her forehead. All sliding over her features, collecting into her sweat.

“You’ll be better soon,” he choked.

“I promise.”

Day 19

Amon glimpsed over at Essätha as her fingers squeezed against his through their interlocked digits.

His mouth too parched to form words, a bare grunt shook his chest. Reaching across, his eyes flickered from her to the nightstand as he took the glass of water sitting nearby. Clutching it firmly this time, recalling not how many but vividly that he had dropped more than one glass on the floor recently.

Slowly, he drank from the cup before sliding it back on the turntable.

With another longing stare, he took in her complexion.

So ravishing. Beneath the perspiration, the color of her sepia skin now pale and lacking in pigment and depth was still lovely. Just as stunning as her thinned mouth; the silver kissed strands of midnight hair. Every freckle and dimple a spot he admired. Craved to touch, desired to kiss.

She was sweaty and she was unkept, and she still stole away his breath to look upon. The most captivating woman he’d ever seen. The most appealing and stunning of features; the shape of her hands fitting so nicely against his, the arches and curves still so enticing even as he worryingly watched the leanness grow rapidly.

She was a wordless beauty. Unmatched, unsurpassed.

He pulled her hand up to his mouth to press his upon it. Snaking his mouth over skin; trailing lips against her as he found her pulse and held a kiss there. Enduring her heat; lingering in a lasting gesture of softness and adoration.

The shifting of her eyelids stilled, and her lashes lifted.

Oh, Pelor, his Essätha! His Essätha; his darling Essätha and those eyes! Those eyes the color of toffee just barely, just barely visible as she blinked in mere slits to take in the ceiling from above.

Then to take in his face, as Amon leaned over her with breathless anticipation.

“Essie?”

Hopeful. His gaze pleading.

A breath escaped her, just as shaky as usual.

“Amon?”

Dry. Wheezing. A rasp of faded whispers.

It was stupid and it was thoughtless, but he cupped her chin with his free hand and kissed her sallow cheeks and then her quivering lips eagerly.

Her body shook beneath him. A weak cough pressed to his face.

Damn him and his foolishness.

He moved to pull away, finding her attempting to sit up and catch him.

Her strength failed her however, and she fell back into the mattress.

“Oh, my darling,” he mumbled, anxiously leaning in to press kisses along the shape of her nose.

His eyes ventured across to the side table. Taking hold of the cup half full, Amon snatched it up. Briefly, releasing her hand to aid his propping up his wife’s head so she could take a drink.

His hand had never felt so firm and steady. Careful not to allow a single drop to drip past as she polished off the beverage with the slightest incremental tilts of his wrist so not to drown her.

A shaky sigh drew from her lips; speaking faintly as he went to place the glass on the table: “What’s going on?”

“You’re sick my love, but I’m taking care of you.”

His hand held firmly to hers in an affirmation to his vow as he brushed his mouth to hers, cradling her face in one hand.

“You’ll feel better, soon.”

A hiss of pain drew through her teeth.

Ashamed of himself for pushing upon her, Amon leaned his weight from her side. Gently still, his fingers rubbing away the beads of sweat on her face.

“Everything hurts.”

A barely-there whisper.

Tears began to shine in those caramel eyes. Staring to him, so haunted with pain.

“Let me hail a doctor-”

The words faltered with confusion in his mouth as she reached for him. Taking in the written features of her face. Pain. Sadness. Concern. So many layers of careful consideration and worry as her trembling fingers brushed snow-white hairs from his forehead.

“You look so tired,” she acknowledged faintly; voice cracking. “You need… to sleep.”

His heart filled with a sharp ache.

“Don’t worry about me, my beautiful Essätha. Let me worry about you. Focus your attention on healing.”

“Sleep with me,” she insisted. “Lay back.”

“Essätha I- I can’t-”

“Please.”

He groaned.

“Please m’lord-”

It was impossible to say no to that voice. To those teary-eyed brown eyes. To the carved and sketched lines of affection written upon such a tired, wonderful face. Such a gorgeous, unearthly splendor.

He laid back until his body was flush with the bed. Her feverish frame pressed closer as their limbs shifted, until she placed her face against his chest and he was holding her side. His aged fingers running through matted hair, trying to detangle some of the knots that weaved in and out.

Goosebumps played out against his skin as she touched him. Such soft, delicate fingertips drawing circles against his hip. Drawing against the stinging pain that never seemed to leave him there.

“You’re bruised,” she gasped faintly, peering down at skin as she pulled at his shirt.

“I’m fine.”

“My beloved, what happened?”

He swallowed. A memory he couldn’t wipe away on the forefront of his thoughts. Unable to unsee the broken shape of his wife sprawled out on the floor, with blood trickling down her features. Helpless to her.

Of all the damn things he could not forget, why must that one persist?

“You need a cold compress,” Essätha muttered, more to herself than him.

Her weight shifted, rocking to the left as though to sit up.

A sharp whine drifted past her lips.

Exhaling roughly compared to her softened, short gasps, Amon reached over to pull her back. Smothering her against his chest as he rolled over to take hold of her. The weak, frailness of her thin body more starkly obvious to him than ever as he could pick out the shape of bones beneath her clammy skin.

He felt sick.

She shuddered all over, trying to pull away from him. When that didn’t work she bowed; back curving away as she whimpered and flung herself weakly around.

An elbow to his ribs. A hand to his chest. The heel of her feet kicking at his shin.

Amon held her, gently, through her struggles. Cooing softly; trying to reassure as his heart tore to pieces.

Quick, shallow, painful gasps. Dragging air in. A wobbly, hollow cry of agony that fired straight through him.

Never had he felt a sharper torment. One that was not his own, but he would drink it from her if only he could. Pelor, he would take it all. He would take her suffering and be grateful; never having to wick sweat off her pretty face again; never having to see her throw herself around like a limp doll trying to find comfort at any angle and only wrestling with herself in the process.

Tears swam in his vision as she sobbed. Loudly. Openly. Directly into his chest as she flipped partly on atop him as he clutched her.

This beautiful, cherished woman who hardly ever allowed herself to shed a tear, let alone be seen bawling.

Squeezing the burning liquid from his eyes, Amon rocked them gently back and forth. So flimsy her body; feebly trying to convulse but having none of the strength to do so. Instead, weakly jerking and twitching as Essie sucked in air desperately.

“Please, let her rest,” he pleaded to the unknown. “Give her peace. Please. Please. Please.”

It did not come.

He could only lay there and hold her. Praying; whispering sweet nothings, asking whatever gods there may be to help her.

There was nothing he could do.

This, the cruelest punishment of all in the whole, entirety of his life. Not the pain he’d lived with for years after murdering Fontane. Not the claw marks on his chest. Not the bruises, the welts, the infections and blades that cut him; not the magic that scorched and blasted him. Not the years of traveled hardship and not even the fading of himself; his mind, knowing he was less than half of who he once was; even if that once-was was hardly a worthy man to begin with.

No. This was his true punishment.

To love so deeply, so completely, with all of him. Everything in him. Every tiny bit; from the harsh edges, the coarse hands, the broken pieces to the gentle gaze of his eyes; the gentleness he could still find inside himself. Once so far away; almost withered to dust, until she came.

To love; feeling no pain at all, and have to suffer watching it all unfold on that sweet love. To sit and watch her eyes roll back; feel the burning fire of her silken skin now slick and wet and hear her cry out as the smell of sweat barely registered in his clogged throat and nose. To taste the salt of her tears and her flesh as he could only just kiss her sweetly upon her face and hold her to him. To hear those grating, unnatural, growling gasps for oxygen and the putter of her heart fade and rise with her breathes.

He would give up everything to take away her pain.

But no matter how much he begged for it to be gone; for it to be transferred on to him instead, nothing silenced her hoarse, wretched cries as she wept weakly into his chest for what seemed like an eternity, before exhaustion claimed them both. All but for a spell, before he would wake to her weak shaking frame and burning fever once again. So far away from him; in another realm, with wordless shapes of her lips moving.

No gods would help her. No one seemed capable of saving her.

But he would.

He would protect her; his fondest love and closest friend. His hands tightened with tenacity around her.

He would see to it, for her.

Day 21

It was raining outside. The windows left ajar, letting the coolness seep into the stuffy room and washing out the stale air of sweat with it.

Upon the edge of the bed sat a cleric. Words spun from her mouth in a chorus of hums and pretty unrecognizable tones. Even with the overcast sky outside, there was a glow in the room cast from the strange woman. It washed over her chocolate brown skin; radiating from golden strands of white-light upon Essätha’s chest where she barely rested her fingertips.

From the reaction upon Essie’s face, it appeared to be doing little to nothing for her. Still lost in the fog of pain. Her eyes moving behind her eyelids, a few unsteady gasps on pale lips as she wrung the sheets.

He hated being away from her. Even just a few inches felt like far too much, and these feet were torture.

But he had work to do.

Four doctors; three ladies to a gentleman, closely observed the healing preacher’s work. Two were scrawling out notes. Another occasionally leaned over to murmur changes in appearance, temperature, and so forth. The fourth was busily taking samples; stealing a few strands of hair, bloodletting from a small incision to collect, scrapping tissue of flaky skin and sweat off of various areas, and so on.

A man off in the other room came in. He scaled a few measurements and left abruptly to the room over. Murmuring softly to keep figures in his head, the man pressed by a robbed figure that moved in after him.

The shawl covered witch carried an astonishing array of herbs in a woven basket. She scooted carefully around those already hovering on one side of the bed with her bundle to nestle the a wrapped bundle beneath Essie’s neck.

No one dared step between the other side of the bed, though there was plenty of space.

Doing so was like moving between a pair of wolves. A great, disastrous sin committed only once by one of the scientists who no longer was allowed into the house. Amon’s fury had been too great; his mind too unraveled to think as he moved to protect. Unable to see her face. Only seeing the angular frame of a man, between him and his wife, and it was all it took for him to snap into a rage most unsettling and befitting of his once more sensible calm nature.

He was strung tight. A child’s toy wound to the point of straining; on the edge of breaking.

The chair he sat in was immensely uncomfortable on his back and rear, so he shifted in hopes of elevating some of the agony. It did not. Thus, he grumbled, trying to place focus back on the table in front of him and the two alchemists moving between his workdesk pressed near the bed and theirs, only feet away.

His vision blurred in and out of focus tiredly. Trying to absorb the words in front of him in the book, but finding it increasingly hard to do so. Had he added the mandrake root? A glimpse into the softly boiling concoction made it impossible to remember. It had been so long since he had tried brewing anything, and his wayward mind wouldn’t concentrate for more than a finite second…

Amon looked over to stunning figure struggling in the sheets.

Like the beacon of radiant light she was, she brought him home again. A sense of peace as the shores came into view, hugging to the contour of her silhouette and bringing him to steady ground.

He’d added the mandrake root, of course. He needed to dilute it with the purified water now, that was it.

A gruff noise in his chest, and he tore his eyes from Essätha. It was worse to do so. Even when it pained him to see her so weak and fragile, it was disorienting. Turning him from man to hollow shell in seconds.

His liver spotted hands, wrinkled with time, sought out the jug of water on the far side of the work desk. The angle was terrible on his back as he refused to stand. Straining, a ripping pain scorching into his side-

He jerked forward, feeling the sear of the fire briefly sweep across his hand from the burner.

Cursing, Amon jerked his hand back.

He’d hardly managed to sit back when the cleric was part of the way around the bed, and the alchemists moving to his side.

“I’m fine-”

“It’ll only take a second,” the cleric disagreed. “Hold still, Lord Amon.”

Mumbling, he reached up to rub the edge of his palm into his face. His fingers scratched along his scraggly beard in desperate need of a trim as the healer took hold of his wrist.

The handful of faces in the room watched him. The creeping tiredness in his eyes; the way he wavered where he sat.

A delightful memory steeped in his thoughts. Soft chest pressed to his. The concentration in those eyes he adored. Nurturing him; shaving his face with elegantly gentle strokes. She never smiled; not until she finished. Always so focused, careful not to nick him. So kind and thoughtful, his beautiful Essätha…

He was shaken back to reality, grunting.

The burner to his rapidly boiling elixir was turned down by one of the alchemists. The other alchemist was adding in the cleansed water to his potion.

No, it wasn’t them. It was one of the housemaids shaking him.

When did she get there? A glimpse, and he spotted the cleric already situating themselves on the other side of the bed once again.

“Lord Amon,” the woman spoke carefully. “You need to sleep.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“My lord, I… I must insist. You are practically asleep as you are. Please; everyone could use some time to reflect on their work. Let them continue later. The cleric is spent, the rest have most of the experiments and novels worth of notes to share with scholars and collect over the books. The decline in your health would not add to the situation; it only hinders you and Lady Essätha.”

“She needs you, my lord,” the young maiden stated carefully. “Should you let your wellness decline, it would trouble her greatly. Go; rest, slumber for a while. Everyone is doing their best, but their best can not be achieved if they’re stressed and tired.”

Fleeting glimpses around the room, and he could clearly see the bags beneath the eyes of his hired hands. The circles of black. The eyelids dragged partially down.

He too, was tired.

And the empty space on the bed; his spot on the bed, looked increasingly comforting. Not because of how it shaped to him or how it felt; Pelor knew there was no real relief there anywhere, but because of that captivating shape.

Amon was itching to hold her. A desperate pang echoing in his chest. Taking in her slumped over, sprawled out shape. She was only shivering now. It wasn’t any easier for him to accept than her convulsions, knowing that she was only in this state because she was too fatigued in her body to do any further tossing and turning.

Impulsively, he moved to stand and go to her.

The muscles in his legs were stiff, and he knocked into the poor miss. She grabbed at him as he did her, a startled gasp as most everyone in the room raced over to his side.

“I’ve got this!” he snarled viciously, humiliated.

“Amon?”

Eyes turned to the tired voice.

Shoving away the gentleman on one side as the servicewomen released him from the other, Amon hurriedly shuffled the last section of space to the bed with surprising ease. Feeling none of the needles of pain darting through him, his swollen knees hitting the edge of the bed he practically jumped to climb in. Leaning over her; hovering just above her enchanting frame.

“Ess’?”

A pained sigh on parted lips, her eyes closed.

“M’lord…”

“I’ll get her some water,” the maiden’s carrying voice stated, darting out of the room.

Like flies, the entire team moved in to swarm.

The Illiad heir struck the first hand to dare coming towards her, leaving the individual to gasp.

“Lord Amon,” a firm disapproval in the tone of the lady physician. “You can not expect us to sit back and not evaluate her condition. In this state, we can ask questions and gain new levels of information previously-”

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.”

“My lord-”

A sharp clearing of a voice called everyone to attention.

“Please leave the room immediately and with haste,” the youthful maiden snipped, holding a pitcher and glass in her hand.

“Gather your materials, turn off all equipment, and leave. Lord and Lady Illiad need their rest.”

A man pointed a threatening digit to the house maid, inhaling sharply as he spoke: “Young lady-”

“You will leave,” the young woman spoke firmly. “Lady Essätha is in no condition for questions. She is ill and you have all spent the day poking and prodding her with Lord Amon’s anxious consent on behalf of his wife. That consent is now revoked. Now please leave, and do not make me request you do so again.”

No one seemed capable of finding a place of argument. The carefully poised confidence; the tone of authority and resolute, it made all eyes uncomfortably stare from the young lady and to the floor.

In a silent shamble, the entourage began to collect their things and make for the door.

With his eyes still resting on the delicate, shivering frame resting beneath his hovering silhouette, Amon could only offer his gratitude in a far-away murmur to the woman: “Thank you.”

“You’re… welcome, Lord Amon.”

The maiden sounded faded and grief-stricken with worry. Even as she stepped closer, placing down the pitcher of water and empty glass on the nightstand, she sounded distant.

Nevertheless, there was no dispute or altercations between anyone as the room emptied of all but two occupants. The door left open with just a crack, and the whispers of the chilled breeze fluttering in as rumbling echoes of thunder rolled in the distance. Billowing the curtains; washing the frigid air over them.

She was still shiny with perspiration. A thin veil of it coating over ghastly skin.

“Essätha, my dear, my fondest desire,” Amon breathed, carefully taking hold of her cheeks in a gentle grasp.

Panted, shaky breathes raggedly escaped her parted lips. The blazing heat of her internal struggle with the sweltering fire coating his fingers along with sweat as he held her softly, stroking hair from her forehead.

“My love,” he hardly managed in a warbling voice. “My sweet, my beauty, my darling Essätha. The keeper to my heart. The apple of my eye. The light of my soul.”

“What can I do for you, sweetheart? I heard you, calling for me. You know I’m right here, don’t you? I’m always near. I’ll never leave your side again, I promise.”

Deafening silence. Her labored breathing his only company. Rattling, whining; shaking in a way that wasn’t natural.

He placed a kiss to her brow. Tasting sweat; tasting the salt of his own tears.

He shouldn’t be crying. It wasn’t his pain, it was hers. It was selfish to cry.

Weak, sudden bursts of her pulse fluttered against his palms held close to her neck. It plunged into nothingness, and quickly elevated under his shaky touch.

“s’burning,” she managed; her voice broken and frail.

“Ess-”

Mouth opening, she drew in a slow grasp for air.

The most unholy scream tore through Essätha seconds later, and split him in two.

He grabbed her. Roughly; a bit too inconsiderate in his haste. Terror in his face as Amon slipped a hand through the midnight locks of the back of her head to support her as he pushed her face into his shoulder. Feeling her lifelessness; the limp lack of response as she dangled in his grasp.

Another, sickening howl into his skin. Goosebumps breaking out over him from the notes it held; dry and scratchy. His other arm anchoring to her back, cradling her to his chest.

“No no no no please. Please, please, please. Please don’t scream; please don’t cry please- please relax it’s okay. It’s okay, I have you. I’ve got you Essätha. I have you you’re safe; you’re safe here in my arms please, please, please-”

As she muffled another cry into his shoulder, he wept. An unforeseen set of tears spilling over the dam and out of his eyes as he squeezed them shut. His own heart hammering against hers, the sound of his breathes growing short and pained.

He was powerless. He could do nothing. No amount of years spent in the heat of battle prepared him for this. No training with his mind; no carefully placed blow to take out this demon.

“Please I’ll do anything you ask,” he begged, choking on tears. “I’ll do anything if you only just help her. Anyone at all, please. Please she doesn’t deserve this.”

Her weak sobs droned against him. Disturbingly fragile, just as her body.

All the good and gentleness in the world she offered, and it still took from her.

Amon swayed them slowly, back and forth. His chest quietly shaking with his bawling, disgusting sobs. Shattered moans dragging through him from her; puncturing his sanity and piercing his heart. Equally broken up whimpers obstructing his throat; suffocating just as much as the tightness that enclosed and restricted his breathing.

He kissed the top of her head as she coughed and keened. Lurching in his grasp faintly, with her form shaking against him desperately. Mumbling incoherent slurs at times; other times the muffled remains of his name dragging from her in frightened, agonized, fractured whimpers.

Still, he rocked them slowly. Blind and silent, as his vision grew obscured by the tears clouding over them and spilling over his weathered face into her hair.

He would not fail her.

She would be better, soon.

Day 23

He faked sleep. Curled around the trembling, thin frame of his wife; with arms and legs wound around her to try steadying her shakes. The sound of his own sleepless breathing; far from lax, was easily masked by her own, frantic gasps. His eyes closed, nestled into the crook of her neck where one of the many cold, wet cloths lay; scented with rosemary and lavender.

The sound of the doctors was hard to pick up against her dreadfully painful breathes. Through it all, Amon’s hands held to hers. Their fingers locked together even as her own set twitched as though to escape his careful, loving grasp.

“… the progression of the rot is swift.”

“And the countermeasures?”

“None are taking hold long.”

A drained exhale from one of the physicians. A nearly inaudible grunt of gratitude as the sound of a pair of glasses temples were folded.

“In every article I read, I’ve never heard of Graveshadow’s taking hold this suddenly, and this late in life.”

“Radulf has a theory on that; though there will be no proving it, most likely. The disease is going extinct with the rest of the people that carried its strange origin in the first place.”

“What’s the theory?”

Another sigh, and the clip of temples reopening as shoes fidgeted against the floor.

“He suggests that due to Essätha’s lifestyle; the years spent harnessing and using her magic constantly, that it kept the illness in check. Whether it was active until now, we’ll probably never know. However, Randulf believes that she expended enough from her core source of magic flow; however that anchors to the body, to keep the disease from festering up until later in life. When she had no reason to use her Shadowplane gifts with frequency anymore, it gave the infection all the energy it needed to feed on to grow, from her dark magic.”

A pause.

“It’s too late now to test the theory.”

“Agreed. She’s much too weak and… hardly lucid and stable enough to work with.”

The sound of their footsteps carried towards the door.

“I wouldn’t give it much longer.”

“Hush,” the other scolded. “If one of the damn maids hear you, they’ll chew us out for sure.”

The creak of the hinges as the door was pulled to an almost-closed stop.

“He really thinks she’s going to get better, doesn’t he?”

Amon raised a shaky arm, pressing his hand over Essätha’s ear in an effort to block her from their foul language.

“Seems that way,” sighed the other. “Delirious old chap.”

His chest shook with emotion, but no tears came.

There was no longer time left for tears.

If they would not put their belief in action; into trying to save her, he would do it all himself.

Day 24

The witch offered out a handful of ingredients as he gestured with a silent curl of his fingers. The odor of some of the herbs and spices proved delightful; while others were closer to offensive carcass meat than anything else.

He placed them neatly upon the table without comment. Pulling leaves from steams, Amon dropped them into the beaker of gently rolling liquid carefully. Leaning over his seat, watching the rise of colored smoke move from the top of the hissing liquid to swirl around his head like a wreath.

“Not too much,” a hesitant voice urged.

His jaw tightened. Grinding his teeth painfully, the Illiad lord took hold of the next plant in the pile to begin defiling it of it’s leaves and nettles as well to add to the concoction. It frothed and bubbled from the additional ingredients, crackling and popping.

Clicking off the small burner, he wrapped a thick cloth around the bottle and moved it into a flat pan of cool water. Steam blossomed instantaneously from around the water and the glass. It rose around him in thin tendrils as he quickly dripped in a few drops of the red adamant algae oil. One hand clutched to the other hand; knowing too many drops of the rare liquid would be toxic.

The hue from the potion began to turn a satisfying shade of purple.

Dropping in the dried petals, crushed roots, and pulverized steams of the other plants, Amon scrapped them in and added a dash of the gold-tinted powder offered to him by the hovering alchemist. The contents disappeared into the rich hues that grew darker and darker; almost a state of twilight in the vile now.

“You’ll want to drain it now of impurities,” the man urged. “Slowly; the liquid will still be hot.”

“I remember what I read,” Amon snapped with annoyance, placing the thin strainer over the larger container meant to catch the liquid.

Lifting the bottle carefully from its tempered bath, he tilted it over the screen to allow it to catch all the steams and roots that had not fully dissolved. The precious liquid drained out below into the clean bottle in cascading waterfalls. It smelled awful, but looked like a starry night sky.

As soon as the last drops of liquid fell, the alchemist pulled off the screen and offered him a cork.

“It’ll need to-”

“- sit for at least twelve hours, I am aware,” he muttered, stuffing the cork in.

“Twenty-four, actually.”

An irate grumble worked its way through Amon. He barely resisted the urge to argue out of fatigue. His eyes longed to drift shut in rest and his posture ached. Every shift he made on the cushioned seat was nothing short of anguish. With pillows and added blankets, his rear and cracking spine were not gratified in the least by the aid of such soft things.

Leaning back with a wince, his gaze looked upon the other chemist in the room. They were swirling the contents of vile thoughtfully, musing upon it in the light. It’s contents caught in the sun; a dark maroon section of blood no more than a few milliliters swishing around with a clear substance and upon that, an orange liquid displaced.

The top came off of the thin glass with a loud pop. Most of the people in the room flinched, staring as the blood clotted into a thick mass along the edges of the cylinder. The other liquids fizzled out around the edges, dripping on to the table now tinged an unsettling red.

“Dear gods man, what have you done?” the man before him cried out. “Do not move, we need to decontaminate the area now.”

For half a second, Amon had a recollection of displeasure that he was actually paying these people a salary.

And one of them was actively creating a venom much in the likeness of a snake as it coagulated blood.

Immediately, he ruled out any desire to have that man’s items tested on any human being without first going through a rigorous screening on any other life forms. They could start with organic plant life first. Anything, anyone but his wife would be trying that before he allowed it anywhere near her.

By Pelor’s name, what a disaster.

His eyes were brought to the figure on the bed. Her shallow breathes and scarlet face gasping for air as she otherwise lay motionless.

A lurch in his heart reached for her. Clawing his fingers into the arm of his seat, he refrained himself from going to her. Longing to nuzzle his face into her throat; listen to the charming peels of laughter that she would give to him as she threw her head back and ran her fingers through his hair. The softness of her smooth skin; the taste of her as he’d kiss her and she would squeal and giggle and wriggle against him. Taking in her elegance; absorbing the aroma of her hair and bodywash. Light and floral, with the occasional hints of vanilla or mint mixed in.

If he allowed himself to bury his grief and sorrows, all of his concerns, into her failing body now he would not save her.

He had to focus.

“Lord Amon?” a shy voice called out, tapping against the frame of the doorway.

Gritting his teeth to the supernova of pain that rippled through his spine, he turned his attention to the maiden calling his name.

What was her name again? Isabelle? No that… that wasn’t right…

“You have visitors,” the young miss stated calmly with eyes void of life.

“Who are they, and what do they want?”

“It’s miss Cackle and miss Adela, my lord. You sent for them and your other comrades a few weeks ago, as well as the help of these people.”

Cackle? What sort of name was Cackle? He didn’t recall asking for anyone with that sort of affiliation. And Adela… that name seemed incorrect. Didn’t he knew someone by the name Adison? Or was it Aeowyn?

Grunting, he raised his hand in the air. Fingers trembling with age, he gave a short wave.

“Send them in.”

A small curtsy, and the servicewomen was gone.

Exasperated and exhausted, Amon brought his hand on top of his face. Sighing deeply into the flesh of his rough palm, he dragged it down to drop in front of his lap. Blankly staring over to the pale appearance of his wife as she stretched out beneath the thin sheets, her hands wrapping into the fabric as she shivered and mumbled nonsense strings of words that were not words.

The tonic he had crafted would need to be tested first; just to be safe, but he sent an internal prayer to Pelor that it would work. No spells or potions thus far had halted the grotesque decomposition feeding on her insides. If he was lucky…

Lord Amon Thomas Illiad, you are a cursed man.

No- no he couldn’t think like that. It didn’t matter that his elixir might save the lives of people with horrendous gangrene infections. It didn’t matter that the beginning of zombie-infliction might be cured with whatever the market price of his brew could offer.

He didn’t need the fame and fortune, then or now.

He just needed her.

A startling caw jolted the elder nobleman in his seat so that he cursed and jumped. His knees hit the table, jarring him and causing an entirely different set of pain in his creaking old bones and aching muscles.

He shot the molting avian that hopped slowly at his side a look.

Who was this specimen? It looked like a rather aged raven with plumage not nearly as shiny and lustrous as a young birds may appear. Black little eyes moved over him beneath a hood that concealed much of the creature’s face, and a massive beak clicked close to his face.

“Lord looks ready to sleep,” the bird noted. “Years have not been kind. Some time since last saw Lord.”

Something in the back of his head nagged at him. Giggle? No. Chortle? No… It was right there, on the tip of his tongue…

With confusion, he looked to Essätha for answers.

Her state of being hit him like a brick wall all over again. But something in her face jogged his memory…

“Cackle?”

The bird looked faintly amused, and nodded slowly.

A strained smile, and he muttered, “What are you doing here?”

All clatter and noise in the room ground to a stand still. Ominously silent.

“Lord does not remember,” Cackle sneered. “Broken mind. Cackle is cleric, Lord Amon. Powerful cleric. Essätha is old friend that Cackle would be happy to help save. Gold not necessary. You paid Cackle back… well over the years.”

There was a sorrowful note in the bird’s mixed voices and tones there in the end. She appeared for a moment to be lost in time. Even though it was harder to read her expressions than a humans, it was obvious there was a shard of sadness in that comment.

She continued; her voice carrying strong: “Sully is out in search of Fire Flower elixir Lord requested. He brought Pen, Rava, Aylin. Cackle has brought Devil’s Bloodleaf, and Adela. Adela talking to wait staff.”

On a slip, he vaguely recalled just enough to dare ask: “What of sir… Abraham?”

A deadened, empty look.

“Dad?” Cackle spoke with unease. “Abernathy is… gone, Lord. Funeral years ago. Do not… remember attending?”

He hadn’t the foggest idea of going to a funeral since Fontane and Marie’s.

Abernathy… Abernathy… The name sounded wrong. He couldn’t place a face to it, but he could vaguely recall white hair. It had been such a contrast compared to Essie’s; more like his own now.

There was no avoiding the looks around the room. An icy cold shame running into his veins from their uncomfortable gazes. Naked and vulnerable were his inadequacies; his disconnected thoughts and shattered memories lying out for all the view. What remained of his brain and of himself was all in question now.

Nothing could salvage his self-respect. What they thought of him would… would simply have to do.

“You said you brought a Devil’s Bloodleaf?” he echoed faintly. “And what; by the name of the Gods, is a Fire Flower?”

“Devil’s Bloodleaf good for vitality. If used properly,” Cackle explained while ruffling her feathers.

“Cackle use in potion to rejuvenate weak-” she made an odd noise; like rattling bones and mist, while nodding to his wife’s form. “-Essie. Fire Flower liquid is Lord’s request. Herb Lord discovered in books. Book’s good friend to Lord and Cackle.”

With that statement, the raven tapped a slightly worn looking bible resting on her hip.

Exhaling through his nose loudly, Amon pressed his thumb on one side of the bridge of his nose, and his pointer and middle against the other side. Stalling for a moment to regain his thoughts and steady the flare of his temper that dared to lash out.

It wasn’t Cacciatore’s fault his intelligence was in shambles.

“Why did I request the elixir of this herb?” he invited in a soft-spoken murmur.

Patiently (far more patiently then she may have offered thirty some-odd years ago) the bird explained: “Fire Flower elixir is ten-year process. Flower blooms every ten-years. Supremely rare. Single drop of aged liquid said to cure all things. Never fail. Has cured all ailments and sickness. Only has not regrown limbs, which Cackle find reasonable. Not every species like lizardfolk.”

A hopeful shiver passed through Amon’s aged frame. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall reading up on such a powerful plant.

But at this rate, he was willing to try anything.

“Where did S… Sul go to find this?”

“Rumors say that far-Lord has concoction, according to Aylin sources. Rest when to seek truth, and bargin for a few drops from vile.”

Amon dare not hope to wide or too large. He stood on unsteady ground; unsure if he could trust the ability of others to help his Essie. After what he’d overheard, he wasn’t sure anyone was daring or as convinced they’d be able to help her at all.

If word came that this Lord had the Fire Flower nectar, even without knowing the results, he would lay down all that he had for the chance. Anything for hope. Anything to bring back her smile; to bring the laughter back into her gaze and the sweet sound of her voice calling to him. Anything to take away her discomfort. Anything at all.

“What will you be needing for your Devil’s…” he faltered, waving his hand slightly in the air towards her as his mind tried to grab at any functional breeze of thought moving through him.

“Cackle will find remaining supplies for antidote,” the cleric offered reaching out to touch his shoulder with thin digits. There was a sad bit of perception in the way she looked him over. Erudite of his condition through some means as small eyes glinted beneath the crisp folds of her hood upon him.

“Now, Lord should get some food and rest. Speak with Adela later. We see to friend-Essätha now. Lord can give himself moment to breathe.”

“I do not need to rest; I need to work.”

Clicking her beak, the avian shook her head. “Overworked mind makes mistakes. Does Amon wish to make mistake on Ess’?”

Little to his knowing, his already pale complexion only grew more paper-white.

“Thought not,” Cackle stated firmly. “Take advise, Lord. Eat and nap, and discussions later on next measures. Appropriate steps to take.”

Amon swallowed roughly. His hand; shaking, raked through his thinned hair a moment. Every other word felt scrambled. Melded into a soup of his thought process so that crafting a single sentence felt like such a frustration.

Why couldn’t anyone understand? He could not rest. He was not hungry. Stopping for anything took precious, precious time away from his goal.

Each day she grew thinner. Weaker. More delicate. Further away from him; the sound of her voice drifting to unknown places as she would call to him rarer and rarer. Lapsed into silence; sinking into this state of paralysis.

“I will eat and have something to drink,” he relented; hoping it would both warm him and aid in his concentration. “But after that, I will be going back to my studies.”

Solemnly, the Kenku nodded with understanding.

“As Lord wishes,” she crooned.

Little to his knowledge, the bird dropped her clawed fingers from his shoulder to clutch something behind her back.

He would be sleeping after nibbling on his meal. A sleep potion slipped into his beverage, and he was carefully escorted’ groggily, to the bed by those on hand to sleep. Curving into the slender edge of Essie’s body, with an arm placed over her waist.

His hip and spine would be in immense pain later for sleeping on his side.

But it would be worth it, being so close to her.

All of this would be worth it, for her.

#eci artz #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #i'm nowhere near being done with this au but i need to be done with this doc and start a fresh one #it's too painful looking over this massive textwall of agony every time i go to work on this again i'm hurt

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