#medieval foot path

[cripplecharacters]

What might be a good way to design a wheelchair in a medieval fantasy setting? The issues being that it seems to generally be a no-no to make a walking chair with legs as a wheelchair replacement, and the fact that terrain in that kinda setting is not all that friendly to wheelchairs, with dirt/mud paths, cobblestones, etc.

Hello, thank you for your ask! Please note I’m not a historian, just someone who’s done a lot of research. If anyone on Tumblr wants to add anything they know about the subject that I didn’t cover, feel free!

I’m going to start with the terrain before I get into the wheelchairs, and to start, a wheelchair can definently get over dirt and cobblestone. Even back before paved roads people needed smooth roads in order to transport carts, and even Rome had very well maintained cobbled roads in 300 A.D. to make transport as efficient as possible. There are, of course, uneaven or poorly maintained cobblestone paths, and those would certainly be an issue. If your story takes place in an area with uneaven stone roads, I’d recommend looking into manual hiking wheelchairs for design inspiration. Dirt paths shouldn’t pose as much of an issue either, unless they’re like covered in roots, plants, mounds, etc, but a well traveled dirt path should be packed well enough to not be an issue. Mud can pose an issue, but even dirt roads with hard-packed dirt from heavy foot traffic should have much more shallow puddles and less loose mud than regular loose dirt would. If your character likes in a particularly wet/rainy area I’d recommend looking into beach wheelchairs and manual all-terrain wheelchairs. Otherwise, your character should be fine on ancient roads! Now, onto ancient chairs.

The medieval ages span quite a long time, from the 5th century A.D. to the 14th century, and wheelchairs have been being created for that entire time. While many other disability aids were also being used during that time, I’m going to focus on wheelchairs and wheeled aids so I don’t make this too long, and because that’s what was asked. A quick note is that the first self propelled wheelchair was made by a watchmaker named Stephan Farffler in 1655 [pictured below], so if you want your character(s) to be able to propel themselves you’re going to have to take some creative liberties. [Note: Stephan’s chair was probably very useful for getting over uneaven terrain, with its three wheels and low center of gravity making it harder to tip.]

Records show that Greece was one of the first countries to develop wheeled-aids. The first instance of the Greeks using something similar can be found on a vase from 530 B.C. depicting a child on a bed with wheels being taken outside. Now there isn’t much surviving evidence of ancient Greek mobility aids, but there have been Greek temples found with both stairs and ramps, which imply people were being wheeled into temples fairly often [source]. There have also been vases imagining Triptolemus on a wheeled chair since 400 B.C., though it seems like imaginative work rather than something accessible to the public considering the chair doesn’t look like it could stand upright? But then again I’m not a historian and it’s possible a wealthy disabled person at the time took inspiration for what their chair would look like, or vise versa.

The first record of a wheelchair in China is found on a stone carving from 525 A.D. showing a wealthy man in a custom chair. For those with less money, records show they had been using wheelbarrows to transport disabled people since 200 A.D., and this form was definently more common for the average person who didn’t have money for a custom chair. [I unfortunately couldn’t find artwork depicting someone being carried in a wheelbarrow during this time, every picture I found was from the 1900’s and sooner, but feel free to look them up for inspiration.]

Wheelbarrows were then brought from China to Europe in the 12th century and were also used to transport people, as well as having the design changed.

In 1595 King Phillip II of Spain received the first clearly recorded wheelchair after becoming bedridden with gout. Unlike the other chairs it had the ability to have a reclining headrest and adjustable footrest. This chair was definently designed more for confort than practicality, as the king probably wouldn't need to travel any unkept roads like a poor person would.

Wheelchairs developed way more during the 18-19th centuries, and you can always look there for ideas if you want your character to be more independent.

I hope this was all helpful!

Mod Rot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 25

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: 😁.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen snores in her bed. At last, peaceful. You leave her as she is, piled in bedclothes amid the glow of the low-burning fire. You emerge into the corridor, silent, and the door drags closed with a scrape at your cautious pull. The shadow by the pillar shifts.  

You glance over at the guard. Gilles has been relieved of his watch and another man stands in his place. You think you recognise him. He must’ve been one of those which helped the queen seize your cart. The road feels so very long ago and yet there is still much ahead of you. 

“Hold,” the guard warns and gives a whistle, the noise echoing along the high ceilings.  

There’s scuffling further down and you turn to face another silhouette, this one slender and lithe like a wraith. Ezme steps into the light of a lamp and stare at you placidly. She beckons with a hand. 

“Come, maid, I will show you your quarters,” she says. 

You bow your head and go to her. It is unusual you wouldn’t be left to find your way to the servants wing yourself, likely near the kitchens, and yet you are much too weary to question any of it. She turns and you walk at her side. The promise of sleep, even if only a little, has you aching to recline. 

The corridors are quiet but for the soft pad of your footsteps. Fewer lamps light the way than in the daytime and the path grows black. You follow the stirring of the women next to you as she carries on. She touches your arm to stop you, nudging you to the right. You wait and listen as she lifts a latch, the metallic noise cutting through the din, and hinges creak loudly. 

She guides you into the dark chamber by your wrist. It is lit only by moonlight and a brazier burning at the foot of a broad bed. The door clanks shut and you shiver. Ezme moves around you, her skirts brushing your own, and she goes to the low mattress. You squint, these are not servants’ rooms. The bed frame, the brazier, the space swathed in darkness; more often, bodies crowded over bags of hay or on the scant tatters of blankets. 

“You will sleep here,” she says softly, “with me. You will be safe.” 

“Safe? From what?” You croak and rub your cheeks as they burn with fatigue. 

“Need you ask,” she replies knowingly, “it is much too late for those questions. Come, lay, the morning will be upon us swiftly.” 

You don’t argue. She is right. You go to bed and remove your apron and cap. You fold them and put them to the foot of the mattress. She moves a dark square over the blankets towards you. You pause and reach to touch the obscured shape as the dim light offers only vague outline. It’s soft, furry. You feel around and find the familiar rough patch sewn into the lining. It’s the king’s cloak. 

“You will want to keep that close,” she says, “the soldier made certain to leave it for you.” 

“Bryce?” You wonder aloud, “is he your friend?” 

“He is a familiar face,” she shrugs and pulls her dress over her head. “The Lord of the Castle likes him well enough.” 

You shift the cloak over your apron and strip off your outer layer, standing only in your shift. You mirror the maid across from you and slip beneath the thick blankets. A sigh escapes you as your muscles finally release the tension of the day. She is still on her back as you lay upon your side, staring at the low flicker of the brazier against the wall. 

Curiosity nips at your exhaustion. How does a servant come upon a room like this? Is it simply at your expense? For whatever reason Bryce has bid her to keep you close. Certainly, the old soldier is overly cautious. 

Your eyes close before you can think very much on the unexpected resting spot. The day has been turbulent and full of many surprises. You only dread those that await you on the morrow. 

⚔️

Ezme wakes you from a heavy slumber. You both dress in the morning hue, rinsing from a basin before you face another day. You leave the cloak on the assurance it will be waiting for you. A thought glimmers of what the king might think should it go missing. Would he blame you? 

You emerge and part from your nocturnal companion. You procede to the queen’s chambers to find them open and the corridor a titter. A pair of servants, themselves dozy, carry one of her chests through as her shrill cry careens through. You approach as the steadfast guard with the fiery hair watches you with narrow eyes.  

You peer within and find the Queen Jazlene digging through the contents, tossing fabrics without a care, in a desperate search. You are stunned to find her awake with the sunrise but not disheartened. It might be a good omen. 

"Where is it?" She throws her hands up and scowls as her eyes skim around, "you," she points in your direction, "where is my blue dress? The one with the silver lace? It must be here!" 

"Your highness, perhaps another chest," you step inside. 

"You did remember to pack it, didn't you?" She accuses as she stands, "I did bid it." 

"Yes, your highness," you affirm, though it was Merinda who would've taken the order. "Shall I go look in the luggage?" 

"Oh, yes, you shall," she struts toward you, "I will not be dressed as some northern wench for the banquet." 

Banquet? You withhold your curiosity and bow your head. You have a task and it is always better to tend to it without question. 

You spin and hurry from the room. You nearly collide with another servant, a tray in their hands. Another chore you needn't attend. You press on and find your way through the kitchens to the rear of the castle.  

The luggage remains mostly in the stables which entails a venture into the wintry without. You mourn the cloak upon the foot of the bed but it would be worse to flaunt the king's patch so heedlessly. You tuck your hands into your sleeves and put your chin down before you push through, the door resisting your strength as the wind blows against it. 

You stagger through and the heavy wood slams just as quickly as you clear its breadth. The gales are strong but the snow has relented. You see dark bodies speckled amid the white as powder dusts up in heaps. The servants work to clear away the thick piles and make pathways around the castle's yard. 

You cross to the stables and delve into the stink of horses and hay. The beast nicker and neigh as you pass as others doze without notice. You find the luggage, chests still upon carts as others litter the unswept floor. If you find the dress, it might just reek of horse. 

You recognise the crest of Debray upon a chest and the painted sides of a few others. You unstrap several lids and raise them, the cold nipping but sweat rising nonetheless. The longer you sift through the contents, the number your hands and fingers become, the clumsier you are. 

A patch of blue, so pale and shiny it's almost white, gleams from beneath the heaps of cloth. You yank upon it, bringing out several other gowns with the effort, and claim victory. You do not neglect to suss out a pair of slippers and a hair net you think might go with it. You set it aside and pack away the mess you've made, breathless from the expense. 

You hug your lot and curl around the next row of horses, searching out Daisy as she leans her head against Chestnut's dark neck. Their eyes widen at your approach and they huff almost in time. You pat their noses before you apologise that you must leave them. 

Once more, the violent gusts greet you in the open, sending a spiral of snow around you and dusting you with the chill. Your teeth chatter as the wind pushes you from behind and fill your skirts. You can hardly aim your steps as you end up against the castle wall, sidling along until you're at the door. 

Within, the cold follows and lingers in your bones. You flit through the kitchens, pots steam as the large ovens blaze and bodies cluster and clash. You barely avoid a collision as you pass into the corridor. As you step around one figure, another appears. 

“Aye, there the mouse is,” Bryce greets as he folds a leaf around his finger, readying it to pop in his mouth, “I see she’s got you at work already.” 

“Sir,” you stop before the soldier, “how was your night?” 

“Eh, dark,” he shrugs, “and you? The other maid saw to ya?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very good. If ye can, stay close to that one at the feast,” he girds, “she’s wise. She knows well how to bide the shadows.” 

You nod and hug the fabric, another shiver flowing through you. He tilts his head as he continues to play with the leaf between his fingers. 

“Don’t tell me you were outside without a cloak,” he accuses, “where’s yours, then?” 

“Sir, it was only for a moment--” 

“This cold does not soften for summer maids,” he tuts and shakes his head, “you will make yerself sick and who should have to deal with it, hm? Who should have to hear the king rant of it?” 

“Apologies, I was only in a rush,” you pout. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he steps closer and touches the dress in your arms, “in a rush for flimsy gown. These halls are too cold for satin.” 

“The queen bids it--” 

“Oh, I would expect,” he chortles. 

You purse your lips, slanting them one way then the next, as you recall your task. You watch him pinch the silk before he rescinds his reach. He puts the leaf in his mouth and chews. 

“You said feast and the queen said banquet? Is that this evening?” You wonder. 

“Certainly, is,” he sucks on the sweet leaves, “Lord Vesemir would celebrate our departure most fervently but as any good winter lord, he would not send his guests out in the cold without full bellies.” 

“Oh,” you utter thoughtfully. 

“And I suppose, it will appease the queen,” he adds, “for a time before she is once more miserable in the wildlands.” 

“And we are to leave on the morrow?” 

“Aye, by the nightfall,” he crosses his arms. “They must clear the pass and ready the horses and carts. It will be a labour but best we move on.” 

“I believe so too, sir,” you teethe your lip. 

“Aye, you are prudent, as ever,” he lowers his gaze to the floor, “mouse.” 

You shift on your soles and exhale solemnly, “I must...” 

“Yes, very well, go on to your queen,” he steps aside, “I must find our king. I suspect he might be hounding the lord of this castle, if not sparring with him.” 

There is a reluctance between you as you carry on your way; Bryce to one wing and you to the other, as if to mark the divide of king and queen. You come up the stairs and hurry along, the queen’s doors still ajar. Her voice carries still and servant scuttles out as a plate is hurled after them, crashing onto the floor as it narrowly avoids their foot. 

You slow and cautiously peek into the room. The queen shakes her head and pinches a morsel of brown meat on her plate, eyeing it with scrutiny. For a moment, her face twists, then she forces herself to shove it in her mouth. She chews as a battle rages across her features. 

Her gaze is drawn by your movement and she gulps down her mouthful. She stands, nearly overturning the stool upon which the tray rests. She brings her hands up as she storms over to snatch your armful. You back away as she lets the dress unfurl and you bend to gather up the slippers and hairnet as they fall. 

“Ah, wonderful, a proper attire for my first proper appearance as queen,” she beams and dances around with the dress, “oh, my hair, my hair. You must braid it for me.” 

She lays the gown on the bed and gives it a longing touch before she retreats. She clammers to the plain wooden table upon which she’s had a looking glass propped up. She leans forward as you stand behind her. Her hair remains in the braids she’s worn for some time, looking wilted and ratty from neglect. 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“I suppose the king feels horrid for his display yesterday,” she preens at herself. “He must realise he cannot keep a lady like me cooped up.” 

You think to mention that it is more send-off than anything. That is on Lord Vesemir’s whim, rather than King Geralt’s. At least that’s how you have it. Yet, you know well not to argue. Let Jazlene believe as she well and the world is always a bit more pleasant. 

You set to undoing her hair, gently as you notice how dry it is, whether from the cold or the air. She snaps her fingers and demands another servant bring her the tray off food. She picks at it as you unwind her hair and let it free. 

She looks at herself one way then the other. She smiles and wipes her mouth with her sleeve.  

“I am still pretty, aren’t I?” She asks, “I will be after the child comes, won’t I?” 

You swallow and nod, “yes, your highness.” 

“Gilles, Gilles,” she chimes and waves a hand, “come, come,” she turns in her seat and you pull away from her, not wanting to tug on her locks. “Tell me, how pretty am I?” 

The man steps into the doorway and clears his throat. He looks as sheepish as you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Jazlene as she poses and bats her lashes. 

“You are beautiful, my queen, as the summer sunsets,” he avows. 

There’s a click in your head, a wriggle in your chest, and a churning in your stomach. No. No, it can’t be. She wouldn’t betray her marriage. 

Yet you thought the very same of her husband. That’s different. The king rules all, even the queen. And that she so garishly flaunts her fleeting affections. But how can you judge, when your own folly looms over you like a cloud? 

You think of the king’s story; Cerrill and Wynifred and their forbidden romance. It tints in a different effect now, it aligns more evenly, for you do not see this ending well for either queen or guard should they stray. Just as you don’t see yourself faring any better. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Medieval Beasts

for your next poem/story (pt. 1)

Aeriophylon - a bird seldom seen because it flies above the clouds; if it is captured while still young, it can be trained as a hunter, and will stay with the person who raised it without being confined

Barnacle goose - grow from trees; the young birds hang from their beaks from the trees; when the birds are mature enough, they fall from the trees; any that fall into the water float and are safe, but those that fall on land die

Caladrius - an all-white bird that lives in the king's house; if it looks into the face of a sick man, it means that he will live, but if it looks away, the sick man will die of his illness; to cure the sick man, it looks at him, and drawing the sickness into itself, flies up toward the sun, where the disease is burned up and destroyed

Dipsa - a serpent so small it is not seen before it is stepped on, and so poisonous, anyone it bites dies before he feels the bite

Echeneis - a fish, half a foot in length, that clings to ships and delays their passage; when this fish attaches to a ship, even in the high winds of a storm the ship will not move, but seems to be rooted in the sea; found in the Indian Sea

Goldfinch - a bird that eats thorns and thistles

Hercinia - a bird that serves as a beacon for travelers because its feathers glow so brightly in the dark that they light up the path

Isida - a small bird with beautiful green, blue, sapphire and red feathers; it is said that if you remove the bird's skin with the feathers still attached and stick it to a wall, the feathers will continue to change as though the skin was still alive

Jaculus - a serpent that can fly; hides in a tree until an animal passes underneath, and then it throws itself down on the animal and kills it

Kingfisher - a bird that calms sea storms; at mid-winter, when the sea storms are strongest, the kingfisher lays its eggs in the sand on the shore. For 7 days it hatches the eggs, and for an additional 7 days it nourishes them. During those 14 days the sea remains calm, unnaturally for the season. Sailors know that during this time they will not be threatened by storms, and call this the "halcyon days" after the Latin name of the kingfisher, "halcyon".

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References ⚜ More: Medieval Period

[thetownsendsw]

Today marks the premier of #Pathfinder’s Triumph of the Tusk Adventure Path, so I’d like to take a moment to discuss a relevant topic near and dear to my heart.

ORCS!

While Tolkien was drawing on some linguistic antecedents, Orcs in fantasy originate from The Hobbit & Lord of the Rings, where they’re brutish soldiers of various forces of evil.

Initially lacking redeeming quality, Orcs have become a darling of pop culture, their thuggish nature explored from many angles across TTRPGs, video games, comics, novels, and more.

Now, when you picture an Orc, you no doubt imagine something akin to the Warcraft or Warhammer franchises: statuesque, green skinned humanoids with protruding underbites and looming tusks, often locked into a primitive, itinerant lifestyle, eschewing technology beyond what they pillage from other races.

Interestingly, none of this is in Tolkien.

In Tolkien, “Orc” was essentially another word for “Goblin,” or perhaps unusually large Goblins. Far from statuesque, Gollum (a (former?) Hobbit) could easily be confused for one. The Uruk-hai, a new, stronger Orcish offshoot were described as Orcish in appearance but only as tall as a Man, not taller.

Tolkien’s Orcs are described as deformed, but nothing as specific as green skin or tusks is specifically mentioned (Tolkien saved in-depth sensory detail for trees, and occasionally beards).

Far from being savages, Tolkien’s Orcs were–in his grand Romanticist narrative–stand-ins for industrialization. They were destroying the forests to build grand weapons of war, and soot-covered Mordor evoked the smokestacks of 19th century london.

In many ways the conflict of LotR can be interpreted as Tolkien pitting the noble myths and tales he studied up against his real experiences in WWI.

(the thought amuses me of a firmly medieval fantasy setting, except when we zoom in on the Orcish Badlands they’re all shelling each other from the trenches)

But while none of these traits are in Tolkien, there is a source where they are central.

The Green Martians, or Tharks, first appeared in A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, published in All-Story Magazine from Feb-July 1912, well before any of the kids Tolkien decided to tell a fairy tale to were born.

The Tharks are described as 15 foot tall nomadic savages, favoring mighty beasts and weapons salvaged from the more civilized races of Barsoom. They have green skin and tusks, as well as six limbs (interestingly, the middle limbs are described as functional as either crude arms or secondary legs, but art always just depicts four arms)

Culturally, the Tharks are clearly meant as extensions of the Apache raiders encountered in the early chapters of the book set in Arizona; i.e. some California ranch-owner’s idea of wasteland savages. Nomadic, inhuman raiders redeemable only when breaching their primitive traditions.

The parallels are almost uncanny, and I’ll admit I’m honestly not sure where the crossover occurs. Early editions of D&D–another driver of fantasy trends–depict orcs as pig-people, which is probably how tusks became so iconic. They later added gray skin, which persisted officially until the current edition.

Somewhere between there in ‘74 and Warhammer in the early 80s is when the pseudo-Barsoom look took over in broader culture, and at this point there’s no getting around it. Even the more recent Tolkien film adaptations can’t entirely escape the expectation of modern Orcishness.

Turning back the clock a bit, Tolkien notably was never entirely sure where Orcs came from. His first idea was that they were molded from clay by Morgoth, a dark mirror to Adam, but being a Catholic at heart, he disliked the idea of Evil being a creative force.

He flip-flopped for the rest of his life, whether Orcs were corrupted men/elves/hobbits, uplifted beasts, even (according to one post I saw) soulless bodies remotely piloted by demons. He could never quite square the need for unfailingly evil mooks with his own feelings on Good & Evil.

Personally, I find particular resonance in the parallel between what D&D used to call an “always chaotic evil” race and the very Catholic concept of Original Sin. Was Tolkien merely dancing around the idea that the Orcs only needed to be Saved?

I can’t say what Tolkien would think of modern Orcs, either their merging with an earlier, American space alien, or our attempts to humanize what was supposed to be fundamentally inhuman. But I think his insecurity speaks to the same source as our fascination.

Who among us hasn’t struggled with what it means to be good? Or to be evil? And if we are made to be evil, what does it mean to strive against that purpose or to surrender to it? Can we abandon the precepts of predestiny? Or do we reject that they were ever there?

Stare deeply into that Jungian shadow and tell me…

Is it green? And do you want it to be?

[lady-ashfade]

What about medieval Percy Jackson? Literally anything. I just like the idea

-£ Medieval Percy Jackson x reader

-£ warnings: short, being chased, Percy getting into trouble as usual, just really for fun.

passing through the streets he tried not to knock anyone down but the path was so packed with people, of course he had to run through the market streets. the guards behind him shouted for him to stop and didn’t care who they pushed to catch up to him. classic.

the kings men always thought they were better then the common man.

his eyes found a stall with clothes on it and he noticed a regular black cloak. running by it he quickly snatched it from the table and yelled his apologies to the man running the stall.

for what felt like years he finally passed through a bigger crowd of people. he thanked the gods above and pushed through to lose the guards. he made his way through and he could hear the men’s voices slowly drown out. throwing on the hood to disguise himself he made his way to the alleyway between the building. 

once get got into the shade he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. he was getting sick of running away every day. even though he never did anything wrong.

a sharp point carefully pressed against his back and his body stiffened at the familiar feeling. “got something for me Jackson?” he knew that voice as well as being held at blade point. the same person who always took his missions from under his fingertips. always one step ahead.

“not really. I have a bad apple on my bag if you want that.” he cracked a joke that made the them huff out in amusement too.

“where is it?” He looked around to find half of their face. if only he could know what’s underneath that mask. “don’t give me that look, give it.”

the blade pressed harder but he knew they wouldn’t do anything or at this moment at least. they liked to play with their pray. “can’t you just let me have this one?”

he saw them smirk under the mask and roll their eyes, dropping the blade from his back and step back. “that’s the thing,” they sighed and kept their eyes on him. something about their tone made him confused…

“I’m actually not here for the cup.”

their foot hit his stomach before he could react and he dropped to the ground only to get tackled down. he struggled but they were clearly skilled in tying up someone. the ropes tugged against the skin of his wrist as he groaned in pain.

“I can pay you double if you let me go.” he tried to bargain with them. they chuckled again and leaned up after finishing up with the ropes.

“no you can’t.” They stated. he knew he couldn’t but it was worth a try. he was pulled up and forced to stand as they held onto him. “where are taking me?”

his worry struck him and who they had been paid by. the king, the monsters he haunted, many people wanted him. “luckily for you, you aren’t going to die. but I think your dad wants a visit.” they said. he was pushed and almost tripped but he caught himself. he groaned at the mention of his father.

“let’s go pretty boy.” the nickname made his ears ring and his cheeks flush.

[bladeweaver-if]

Cut the Heavens.

Link to the demo: here

Orphaned at birth beneath the dim light of a new moon, your fate seems sealed.

In a stroke of luck, you are soon adopted by two Masters of the Bladeweavers' Order - an institution of elite warriors and weaponmasters as ancient as the very cities they are based in. When cataclysm strikes, the Order is left scattered and broken, and you are left aimless, without purpose in a hostile world.

In your search for it, what else will you find?

Bladeweaver is a text-based grimdark fantasy interactive fiction game developed in Twine, focusing on your customizable player character, The Bladeweaver, as they grow up and navigate their way through a crumbling world wreathed in esoteric magic, dark secrets and murky morals, loosely inspired by the late medieval/early Renaissance periods, with a heavy touch of fantasy/steampunk influence.

Grow from child to adult, learn unique skills and master a weapon of Empyrean steel, a unique metal with otherworldly properties. Make friends (or perhaps more?) and enemies along the way as societies rise and fall, as alliances strengthen and collapse, and loyalties are strained to their breaking point.

It won't be easy, but you might just soar. On wings of Empyrean.

Bladeweaver is a mature game with heavy themes and content, including but not limited to violence, strong language, possession, mental issues, drug use, kidnapping and abuse. Due to this, the game is only recommended for those over the age of 18.

Feel free to ask me questions about the game or characters if you want!

Customise your character; their gender, physical appearance and relationships with the cast of characters are yours to change. Choose a unique weapon, with a selection of 6 options available.

Grow from a young child into adulthood in the safety of Sola, a floating city enwreathed in ancient magic. Your skills as a warrior are yours to develop.

Embark on a crushing, dangerous voyage across the fictional continent of Phanol, a land of debts and daggers, and navigate the complex social and political problems that curse this land - and perhaps find their true source.

Romance one of four characters, and develop intimate platonic bonds with any or all of them. Alternatively, shrug them off completely.

Discover your true purpose as the past and present merge when cataclysm strikes.

You, variable pronouns - The Bladeweaver

Hours after you were born, your parents were slaughtered and, in a sequence of rare acts of kindness, you land in the care of two Bladeweavers: Callen Edros and Sonia Wierszy. The three of you make for an odd family of warriors, living in Sola, one of the twelve Risen Cities of the Gods. The relative peace you know will not last. Your unsung song may yet be the most famous of them all - or the most feared.

After your life is ruined and your Order is scattered to the winds, all hope seems lost for you. All that remains is a mysterious letter, guiding you to a place where those like you go to die. Only, you'll not find death there. It just might be worse.

A blood-paved road lies ahead of you; a road you may choose to walk proudly, battling inner and outer demons alike.

Or, perhaps you might struggle, paving your own path in a world that will do its damndest to bestow you with the same fate as your long-forgotten forebears.

Will you lose yourself and the principles your adoptive parents instilled in you throughout your childhood? What else will you lose, or gain, on this road?

Main characters:

Callen Edros, he/him - The Lonely Wolf

Tall, bulky and surprisingly quick-footed, Callen is a Bladeweaver Master of the poleaxe, a lethally versatile weapon.

His presence and weapon of choice are contrasted by his cheery, jovial attitude. He's an excellent teacher, and focuses on mastering discipline and one's fundamentals over all else. He is afforded a good deal of fame in the Order, partly due to his noble background - something he rarely speaks of - and is quite popular, even for a Bladeweaver.

Many who know the man would never have a bad word to say about him, but those close with Callen know there's a deep, enduring sadness behind his laughter.

He is one of your two adoptive parents.

Sonia Wierszy, she/her - The Rising Hawk

Leanly muscled and opting for a brutal combat style, Sonia is a Bladeweaver Master of the falchion, a single-edged blade that favours strong chops over quick cuts or stabs.

Loyal, stubborn, brash, and just arrogant enough for some to find it charming, Sonia will often sneer in the face of propriety despite her conflicting love for the finer things in life borne from a childhood in poverty.

Some would even say that her just being as she is, a woman rising through the ranks of an institution rife with men, is a challenge to the Order. Sonia takes glee in pushing boundaries, in proving herself capable and beyond, and expects a similar ambition from those she knows. As a teacher she is exacting, employing unorthodox methods to help find your special skills as a fighter.

It's not difficult for some to wonder if Sonia's coarse exterior is simply a front, obscuring a deep-seated rage and fear, sparked long ago.

She is one of your two adoptive parents.

???, he/him - The Cargo

He will accompany you on your journey across the land.

Four romantic or platonic options to choose from:

Samuel Alban, he/him - The Boy Next Door

Tall and skinny with curly blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a giddy smile, Sam moves to the same street as you with his father when you're both children, hailing from the disrant but powerful Abrian Empire.

He's endlessly good at making new friends and seems to never lose energy.

Sam comes to struggle with knowing exactly what he wants from life, paired with the difficulty he faces from his own nature. Will you be one of many friends to him, or will you catch his eye in a deeper way?

Caitlin Clary, she/her - The Inventor

Tall, broadly-built and muscular, with ginger hair and wide green eyes, Caitlin is a fellow student at the Bladeweavers' Academy, but she takes a much more keen interest in engineering and gadgets. You meet her in your first year, as she struggles with bullying from other students.

As a girl from the southern warlike nation of Vengard, she is not expected to become a fighter, nor is the practice encouraged among her people. She faces ostracization from her countryfolk, despite having her parents' shared blessing to join the Order.

At odds with what her culture expects from her, and feeling isolated in a strange place with only her elder brother for company, Cait is shy and closed off when she comes to Sola. She might appreciate a source of comfort during this tumultuous time.

Lucas del Varro, he/him - The Prodigy

Lightly muscled and average height, the black-haired, grey eyed third child of the prestigious del Varro family transfers to your academy in your third year. He's instantly popular, but seems to shrug off any and all affections from his peers, although he's not actively hostile to it.

As a fighter the young man moves like water, all flowing moves and poised grace. He favours counter-attacking, turning an opponent's assault on them in a split-second to win decisively. He is a marvel to watch, and a terror to face in a duel.

Lucas seems to be singularly focused on bettering his own skills under the weight of his father's scrutiny, and only accepts your presence if you prove to be a sufficient challenge to him. Will you step up to the call, or even exceed his expectations?

Talia Maren, she/her - The Bastard

Curvy and considered a great beauty yet sharp beyond her years, tales of Talia's venom and scheming follow her when she arrives in the city. She is the legitimised bastard daughter and heir apparent of Lord Darion Maren, a political titan of the nation of Telfrin.

She is known to be constantly at odds with her so-called family, who quite publicly disagree with her ailing father's choice to claim her as part of his lineage, making her, as his new eldest, heir to his estate. He had sired the girl before meeting his wife, in secret.

With few allies in her own home, she seeks them elsewhere. Talia wishes to claw her way to the top of the social heirarchy, willing to step over anyone who gets in her way.

Are you capable of standing the brunt of her vicious veneer? She can't be all thorns like she's purported to be, can she?

Find out more about each option by clicking on the link in their title.

Current size of demo: 242k words

Genre: Grimdark fantasy

Last Update: 21/09/24 (Chapter 2 additions)

Discord server for game discussion and feedback: here

[mikobeautifulheart]

Intervention

Sukuna x reader

Mentions of kidnapping ig and arranged marriage.

like 700 wordsish (Correct me if u want idc)

NOT EDITED

Synopsis: You were going to go get married off to the Gojo clans strongest, how ever you disappear when your marriage is announced. The only clue anyone has to your disappearance is the monster lurking in the near by woods.

(Set in medieval times with Sukuna's true form)

You sat before your parents respectfully as you were taught, these times were so unfair to a woman.

You were just told that you were going to be married off to the Gojo clans heir and that its an honor to be his wife.

In all honesty, you didn't care. Since the day you were conscious you were reminded not to get attached to anyone because in the end you would always be married off in the end with no say.

You did remember those days where you didn't bother as much with life, the ones where you snuck out and hid in the woods not to far from your family's estate. You went there because no one would go look for you there.

There was a rumor around that there was a beast, a hideous killer hiding out in those woods, one with blood red eyes and a violent nature. You were convinced that it was just another way of scaring kids out of the woods so they wouldn't run away or play in the woods anymore so it never stopped you.

Offten you would get fed up in the day and escaoe in the night, crying silently as you ran into the woods. This was almost every night as a child because of the harsh reality hitting you.

Learning that you couldn't play with other kids because of their status? Crying in the woods.

Being taught hard complicated etiquette lessons as a child? Woods.

Brothers getting better treatment AND getting acknowledged at dinner? Woods.

You learned that the world was unfair and that it would stay that way. Would it?

The night when you were told you had an arranged marriage you thought you would handle the inevitable news fine, but something in your heart throbbed. Something about not even knowing the man you were to marry killed you. You slowly walked into the woods trying to keep your eyes clear so you wouldn't trip over something.

"How do you even marry a man you don't know?" You hicced before stopping at a rock in the middle of the woods and breaking down on it.

"I though I would be okay." You said not even trying to wipe your tears anymore.

The woods were silent until you heard an abnormally loud crash, a whole tree had crashed to the ground. Your head peaked up from your curled up body. In sheer disbelief you saw a tree cut at the stump and something, someone, standing behind it.

You stared waiting for it to move, as it stood still you noticed that it had 4 piercing red eyes and four arms as well as its abnormally large frame.

A chill ran down your spine. This was the monster that they warned you about all those years ago, it really wasn't a myth. Looking at it now you could say they even down played it.

Not even willing to stay any more you slowly turned your back to it and ran off the rock. You tried to munover yourself between all the trees but the forest was to dense. You heard swift wind cutting noises behind you speeding up and it made your adrenaline kick in.

You started to push through the smaller trees and shrubbery but they just ended up slowing you down, you went to finally reach the dirt path out but your foot got hooked on a log.

Just before your face hit the ground you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist and hold you up above the ground.

You opened your mouth to scream for help but a large hand covered it. You struggled tirelessly kicking and muffled screams but it was no use.

"Shush brat, I can help you." A low voice practically growled into your ear. You tried to turn your head away but the hands grip was to strong.

"All you have to do is close those pretty eyes of yours and all your problems will go away." This only made your eyes widen, what could he mean? Was he going to kill you? Rip you to shreds and eat your raw body? Torture you to death?

You struggled even harder but still, no use.

"I said I can help you, are you even listening?" It growled.

You only let out muffled sounds, digging your nails into his arm. He didn't even notice.

"You'll thank me later." He said before he started to carry you away.

Half way there you gave up on escaping but that didn't mean you weren't afraid.

You came to a hult abs saw a large shrine like place that you were being taken into. You were more amazed at this point, you were never told what was in the forest let alone what structures hid in the trees.

As soon as he walked under the large gate the strong smell of blood, it was so strong it almost made you gag.

The crunching of bones under his steps were sickening, but it just made him smile even wider.

Eventually he carried you inside where he dropped his hand and practically dropped you, the sheer size of his torso was inhuman.

"Wha-what do you want from me?!" You said moving away from him.

"I'm sure I don't taste good, I mean I'm like old, 20 is pretty old"

"And I'm 530 years old, I'm sure your blood is delicious."

Your eyes went white. Were you actually going to die here? No way in hell were you going to let that happen. But what if you went back? Would you still be married off?

"Why were you so loud today, you usually don't cry that much."

You froze, usually? What dose he mean usually? How long had he watched you?

"I-I didn't want to be married off..." You said.

"I dont even know the man so how can I marry him?" You looked at the mosters face.

Forget it this was not the time, you needed an escape.

"Then don't marry him." He said stepping toward you.

"You-are you serious? You just took me! You kidnapped me and I don't even know you either!" You said walking backwards until you were stopped by a wall.

"Now thats not true, I'm sure the towns people have talked about me." He said with a smirk.

"Yes, that you're a cold blooded killer and cannibal!" You jumped as he put his 4 arms either side of you.

You ducked down and ran past him deeper into his estate. You didn't even know where you were running you just stopped when your lungs felt life they were going to crush.

The strong smell of blood made you fell like you were going to throw up. You put your hand over your mouth to stop yourself before you looked up and saw a pile of bones. Lots of bones. Some of them still had flesh on them and were dripping blood.

Your eyes widened when you looked down at your feet and saw a human arm before your eyes trailed closer into the pile barely just spotting a human face under the bones.

You were about to focuse you attention on the body infront of you before a large hand covered your eyes.

"You weren't supposed to see that" he said in an almost sympathetic tone.

He stood still as he felt warm tears touch his hand.

You removed your shakey hand from your mouth.

"I-I don't want to die" You said unable to stop yourself. This-thing that took you is a murderer, everything they said was true. You were sure he was going to kill you, eat the flesh off of your very bones.

Thinking that this was it you made little attempt to come to peace with yourself.

"I should have just got married off. At least I could pretend to be happy."

The room was silent, all you could hear was the blood dripping. You felt your body being picked up and carried out of the room, but a hand still blocked your view. As if it mattered, you didn't really want to see how you died or know when it happened.

You felt your body being lowered on something soft before there was a sinking feeling on both of your sides. The hand moved off your face slowly to reveal just a tiered you. The tears weren't sad, they were frustrated and now you had no reason to cry as it came to an end.

"You don't have to pretend. Tell me what you want, i'll give it to you, i'll make you happy" The large body said as it hovered over your own.

You tried to cover your face with your arm but his hand held it away.

"I just want to be happy, I just want to be free." You said feeling the tears falling again.

"I can't set you free." He sighed

"But I can try make you happy, you just need to stay here forever."

It was a long shot but you already knew there was no escaping.

You just looked up at him and nodded ad he wiped your tears away with one hand.

"Fine, I'll stay."

It's not like you had anything to lose anyway.

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGG ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: I hate how its only good at the end, maybe that means I need a part 2. Well...yeah. Have a good what ever time.

[sanjoongie]

ℓα ɠεɱɱε εƭ ℓ'εאƭαรε

🧁First submission for the Dragon Collab hosted by @flurrys-creativity

🧁Pairing: Crystal Dragon! Hwang Hyungjin x Baker’s Daughter! Reader (f)

🧁Genre: fluff, smut, angsty beginning

🧁Trope: s2l

🧁Au: historical au, medieval au, fantasy au, dragon au, baker au

🧁Rating: 18+, MDNI

🧁Word Count: 3,053

🧁Warnings: chubby reader!, oral (f), fingering(f), nipple play, biting, penetrative sex with no barrier

🧁Summary: for a crystal dragon, who's treasure trove is filled with sharp angles and bright jewels, your soft curves and wet tears appeal in a way he never knew they could.

🧁1- La Gemme at l'extase with Hyunjin {fantasy dragon} | 2- ??? with Heeseung {modern dragon} | 3- ??? with San {sci-fi dragon}

There once was a baker’s daughter, a spoiled girl, who lived in a sleepy village at the foot of a mountain. The baker’s daughter was spoiled because her mother died giving birth to her, so her father sought to keep her happy and fed with all the delicacies he could bake. The baker’s daughter grew up and her body matched the happy life she led. She was plump and happy, and in love with the shepard’s son, Jisung.

Often, they could be found together, eating sweets, on the top of a hill, Jisung’s sheep bleating softly as the sun set. They’d whisper their hopes and dreams to each other. That is where our story begins, with you as the baker’s daughter who was about to give her heart to the shepard’s son.

“I’d like to see what’s over the horizon,” Jisung sighed, hand holding his face up.

Your eyes wandered to his chubby cheeks. You wished you could pinch them. “I’d like to get married.”

You gasped as the words left your mouth, and you knew you had been caught. But Jisung was completely oblivious to your feelings.

Jisung sharply dug a finger into your side. “Maybe if you stopped eating so many of your father's pastries, you'd be married by now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the sudden attack. Shame washed through your body, and your throat tightened with emotion. “Thank you for your insight, Jisung. I think I'll be going now.”

“Wait, Dumplin!” Jisung began to protest as you walked away but you couldn't stop.

The tears started to fall and you needed to get out of here. Your feet carried you out of your village and up through an old goat path. The walking turned to running. Soon, your breath was ragged and tearing through your throat. You fought between sobs to gasp in some air. When you finally collapsed, you realized you had fled to the caves behind your village, in the mountains.

You sniffled, looking around at your bearings. In your need to get away from Jisung and his cruel words, you had fled deep into the mountain. You weren’t sure you had ever explored this deep into the caves, even as a child.

“Stupid Jisung,” You hiccuped. “I'll become the baker and you'll see.”

Your tears were hot and still streaming down your face and neck. You attempted to wipe it up by dabbing at your cheeks with the sleeve of your dress. Your eyes were still blurry with tears when you saw the first flash of brilliant light.

You gasped when you caught the second one. Suddenly, there were crystals throughout the cave you were sitting in, glowing with their individual colors. You clapped in delight, your heartache temporarily forgotten.

Will you stop crying now?

You looked around wildly, but you couldn't see who was speaking to you amidst the glowing of the cave. You had heard of the myth of a dragon living under the mountain, but no one in a few generations had ever seen this dragon.

“I…” Your throat tightened up again. How could Jisung say those words to you? He was your supposed best friend. “I'm fine.”

You heard a resounding crack and then a soft tinkle. You saw a crystal lying on the ground in front of you.

For you. To keep the tears away

“I…” You wiped your tears away from your cheeks, still sniffling. This odd moment of kindness healed your heart a little. “Thank you,” you whispered.

You picked up the crystal, and it shone, glowing softly. It rippled through lovely colors of blues, purples, and pinks. “I will treasure it.”

As I will treasure this moment together

You let Jisung apologize profusely when you go back to the village, but your mind wasn't on your babbling best friend. You kept replaying the smooth-as-molasses voice in your head. What exactly had gone on in the caves?

As your days carried on, your father complained when you kneaded the bread too much. You started over two more times until he dismissed you from his kitchen. You couldn't focus enough even on the temptation of mixing the frosting in order to taste the test, of course. That's when you knew you had to go back to the cave.

With your hair braided neatly, and pulled under a kerchief, you made your way back to the cave in the mountains. You kept one hand trailing along the caves wall until your eyes adjusted and another in the pocket of your apron, where you had stashed a rolling pin. You couldn't come completely unarmed. You weren't that enamored with the voice…

“Hello?” You called out cautiously.

Your eyes had adjusted, so you took your hand off the wall and clutched the crystal you had been given. It still blinked and shone but at shorter instances with longer wait time in your room. But it seemed, as you put one foot in front of the other, the crystal shone brighter and for longer.

“I don't wish to intrude!” You called out again, head swinging back and forth, in search of the kind soul who gave you the crystal. “I just wish to see who gave me this.”

Your crystal began to shimmer, casting waves of light against the cave walls.

You'll scream

You pressed your lips together and swallowed. “I won't.”

Was it a monster who had given you a moment of gentle kindness? If so, was it truly a monster then?

Don't say I didn't warn you

Your hands flew upwards to cover your mouth as a beautiful rainbow pearl scaled dragon stepped into the cavern.

Its lovely pale blue eyes blinked at you as it lowered its head to view you.

There, now you can brag to your friend about having seen the dragon

With a saucy whip of its tail that sang over your head, it turned around to leave.

“Wait, please!”

You called out, hand wrapping around its tail in an attempt to stop it. You cried out when a tail spine sliced open your palm.

The dragon trumpeted in distress. One moment, its entire body filled your peripherals, and then, with a bright, blinding light, there was a handsome man with sharp light blue eyes and shockingly white hair in front of you.

“Humans are so thoughtless,” the man scoffed.

His quick thinking had him ripping a strip of the silken robe he had on. He grabbed your injured hand and wrapped it around your hand. He finished the makeshift bandage with an impromptu knot, making you wince with the tightness of it.

“I didn't mean to impose on you,” You said in a dejected voice.

What kind of impression could you have made on this dragon shifter? You bawled like a baby in your first encounter and then acted like some stone-brained imbecile the next. Jisung was wrong. It wasn't the pastries that made it so you weren't married; it was just the fact that you were you.

Tears fell unbiddingly onto your injured hand. The dragon-shifter’s eyes widened in surprise and immediately his voice turned sweet and soft.

“Nonono, sweetheart, don't cry.” The man cupped your cheeks, and his thumbs banished your tears. “I'm happy you came, truly. I would be fortunate to have a gem as bright as you in my collection.”

You smiled, your face heating up at the compliment. The shifter mirrored your smile, his eyes almost disappearing with joy. “That's much better. Your smile only brightens up your face.”

“What's your name?” You inquired simply.

“Hyunjin. But to you, please call me handsome.”

You giggled nervously. “I would call you beautiful. In either form.”

Hyunjin's eyes flitted flirtatiously from the ground to your face. “Do you really think so?”

“You're more breathtaking than one hundred crystals,” You said in awe.

Hyunjin giggled merrily to himself. The cave lit up with his glee, causing you to clap your hands.

And that's how your budding romance began with the crystal dragon.

Your father wasn't too keen on Hyunjin. The village had been terrified the dragon was here to steal a bride. Until you met him at the field and brought him to the bakery to taste some strudels, hot out of the oven. Your father quizzed him with questions of honor, loyalty and priorities in life.

Hyunjin answered as any dragon would. His loyalty was to his treasure trove. His priority was to always add to it. And his honor was his treasure; if he swore on it, you knew it to be true.

The only thing that truly melted your father's heart was seeing the dragon dote on his only daughter. Hyunjin spoiled you with gifts from his trove. Soon you acquired square cut emerald earrings, a fiery opal necklace, the size of a goose egg. He could tell that Hyunjin simply wanted to make you happy, and that's when he finally gave his blessing.

Hyunjin spent so much time in your village, visiting you, that when your father finally allowed Hyunjin to officially court you, Hyunjin allowed you further into his cave--into his treasure trove. He watched you with curious eyes as you took in the grand crystal gate that he kept his treasures behind.

“You live here?” You asked, tipping your head back to take in the wall and door that towered over you.

“It’ll be your home too,” Hyunjin offered tentatively.

You pressed your lips together, your emotions getting the better of you. “Hyunjin…”

Hyunjin’s haughty expression melted into a soft one. He tentatively reached out, and when your hand met his, he giggled. His fingers curled into yours, and although the gesture was adorable, you felt electricity shoot through your body.

“I want you to be mine,” Hyunjin whispered.

You swallowed hard, your throat getting tight. “Why?”

Hyunjin’s eyes became fiery, and you took a step back. “I know how you view yourself; how the villagers speak of you. They are fools. Your soft curves are what make you beautiful. They don’t understand how it is to live with sharp edges. You’re a gift, in my eyes.”

Your body heats up at Hyunjin’s words. You feel tears again threatening to escape, but you don’t want to upset Hyunjin, so you dash them away and smile happily at the dragon. “I want to be yours with every bone in my body, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin smiled, and your heart skipped a beat. He pulled a key from under his robe, strung across a chain and around his neck. He pulled it off and offered it to you. “This is your key now.”

“Oh…I’m not sure…” You fumbled over what to say. Having a key to Hyunjin’s treasure trove seemed… forward considering…

Hyunjin grabbed your wrist and poured the chain into your palm, closing your fingers over the key. “Please. It will give me peace of mind that you can come here whenever you want.” Hyunjin’s eyes grew sharp at the reminder of the first time you had come across him. “It’ll stop me from going to the village and snatching you back to my cave.”

Your mind raced with the image of Hyunjin in his beautiful dragon form, his talons carefully wrapped around your middle, soaring above the village, kidnapping you from the world you grew up in. You shook your head to come back to reality. “Thank you.”

Something flipped between you and the crystal dragon after Hyunjin gave you the key to his treasure trove. The first hint of it came when Hyunjin had come to visit you while you were working in your father’s bakery. Your father hadn't been feeling good that day, so you had banished him to his favorite chair by the fire and then went to the bakery yourself to make some bread.

By the time Hyunjin had found you, you were in a loose dress, apron and hands covered in flour. Your hair had long given up to the heat of the kitchen and you had sweated enough to perspire through your entire dress.

When you spotted Hyunjin, his jaw was on the floor. You patted your hair with your flour-covered hands. “I probably look a mess, I’m sorry.”

Hyunjin launched himself over the table you had been preparing the bread on and swept you up in his arms. Your body was pressed against his and you felt your face heat up. “Hyunjin?!” You squeaked.

“You look delectable,” Hyunjin said lowly.

Hyunjin caught his tongue between his teeth, and you moaned, eyes zoning into his pretty pink lips. He smoothed his hand over your hair so that he could lean in to speak into your ear. “I can see your nipples through your dress, sweetheart.”

“Oh sourdough,” You cursed.

Hyunjin attempted to hold in his laughter but it came out like a snicker. “Let me give you more reason to sweat?”

You pulled back, bewildered, to look into Hyunjin’s eyes. “But Hyunjin! We aren’t--”

“Dragons mate for life. We don’t do that before being with each other carnally.”

You swallowed as Hyunjin traced the shell of your ear with his tongue. “In the kitchen? What about the bread?”

Hyunjin licked his lips. “I’ve got you sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Hyunjin put you up on the table, in order to push your legs apart and kiss up your thighs. You gasped and moaned as he nipped and sucked and licked along the flesh. He squeezed and griped your thick thighs, moaning himself. “You’re so soft.”

“Isn’t it…”

Whatever self-depreciating comment was about to come out of your mouth was gone because Hyunjin chose that moment to softly kiss your labia. His lips touching the sensitive flesh there made you shiver.

“I’m going to eat you up, sweetheart,” he groaned before plunging his tongue into your pussy.

Your hands dove into his hair, yanking on it harshly. You whined his name, bucking your hips into his thrusting tongue. The messy noises that were coming from between your legs brought even more heat to your neck and chest, embarrassed and turned on at the same time.

“Feeeeels soooo goooood,” you groaned. You tossed your head back in pleasure of the moment, being loved and desired.

Hyunjin began to make noises, as if he was eating the most delicious chocolate cake. “Hyunjin, you can’t sound like--oh god, what are you doing now?”

The dragon had started to slowly suck on your clit, light eyes directly on you. He sucked and sucked until you came for him, breathy moans for his name only. When he came up for air, his face was smeared with your wetness.

“That was only the beginning,” Hyunjin promised, a smile on his face that made your heart skip a beat.

“I think you’re going to get me in a lot of trouble, sir,” you whispered.

“Need to mark you,” Hyunjin breathed out. He stood up and wriggled his hips between your legs. He pushed two fingers into your gushing hole and ate your cries as he stretched you. He curled his fingers inside of you just as his teeth settled on the nape of your neck, biting down on the skin there.

Next he pulled his pants down past his ass, and wrapped his hand around his curved, long cock. “I need to fill you up,” Hyunjin growled.

Your hole was aching, and something inside of you knew that Hyunjin would complete you. “Make me yours, Hyunjin.”

You brought the head of his cock to brush against your entrance. Hyunjin simply rolled his hips and then he was filling you out more than his two fingers had been able to. Your gasps and groans intermingled with the crackling of the fire from your wood stove. In no time at all, Hyunjin had the neck of your dress pulled down so that he could suck on your nipples. He played the tip of his tongue against your stiff peaks, unsatisfied until he was sucking and fucking you.

“Oh god, you’re sucking me in,” Hyunjin gasped. “I don’t know… I’ve got to spill inside of you, sweetheart. Take my love.”

Within moments, the two of you were tipping over the edge. Your cries, deep and high, folded into each other. You felt teeth on your nipple but it just mixed in with the climax you were coming down from. Hyunjin kissed up your chest, along your neck, and then captured your lips. “You were amazing,” He said breathlessly.

“Hyunjin?” You gasped as he continued to stir inside of you.

“Yeah?” The dragon grinned, running a hand through his messy hair from where you had tugged it.

“I think I love you,” You laughed.

Hyunjin’s eyes grew wide, and then his face split with a happy smile, his eyes getting lost in his happiness. “I love you more, sweetheart.”

Your marriage wasn’t far after that. Hyunjin had to have you in every way. He could barely stand letting you sleep in your father’s house any longer. He was sure someone else was going to steal you away, always ready to glare a warning at Jisung.

Although your marriage was a joyous occasion, you still shed tears for the life you let go. You let go of your dreams of being with Jisung. You cried for leaving your first half of your life behind living with your father as a happy child. You cried for the most important moment of your life happening without your mother. You cried for your old sad self who didn’t believe in her own beauty.

Hyunjin didn’t let any of those tears hit the ground, however. His fingers brushed them away and then he played with the first crystal he had gifted you with that hung around your neck still. “I don’t want to see you cry ever again. I’ll do everything in my power to always make you happy. You’re the greatest gem I have in my treasure trove, after all.”

You giggled at Hyunjin being overly corny. You smushed some frosting onto his gorgeous face, the cake your father made for your wedding; the most delicious thing you had ever had the pleasure of eating. “And you’re better than any sweet pastry I’ve ever made.”

Hyunjin glowed brighter than any of his crystals at the compliment. And you promised yourself that you could only hope to make him this happy every day of your lives.

1- La Gemme at l'extase with Hyunjin {fantasy dragon} | 2- ??? with Heeseung {modern dragon} | 3- ??? with San {sci-fi dragon}

[elodieunderglass]

Hi. I just saw your post about the Camino while and proceeded to spend over an hour reading various things about it. Suffice to say I am extremely interested in making this happen for myself; do you have any more specific advice beyond what you already talked about in your post?

(In reference to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/739798088656502786/hey-looking-at-the-notes-theres-a-lot-more-oh)

(Referring to: The Camino de Santiago, or Way of St James, a medieval Christian pilgrimage route that leads to the Spanish city of Santiago. The most common pathway starts in the mountains on the border of Spain and France and proceeds across the north of Spain, a route that takes about six weeks for most people on foot. There are many non-Christian reasons to hike the Camino, which is scenic, safe and has excellent infrastructure; you only need to be doing the hike intentionally “in an attitude of search” to be a pilgrim. Pilgrims on the route are eligible for extremely cheap lodgings and meals, and are equipped with pilgrim passports to collect unique stamps at scenic points. At the end of the pilgrimage the stamps are checked, and those who have completed the required distance are issued a campostela, or special certificate, conferring the benefits of pilgrimage; for the religiously devout, this is often an absolution from sins. There are other traditions, such as bringing a stone from your home to place on a pilgrim shrine that has become a mountain of stones. It’s generally held to be one of the things you remember all your life, and that the fellowship and company of interesting people on the Camino is a standout experience. Given how many people on tumblr say things like “I wish I could do a real life pokemon journey” or “if only real life gave you video game quest awards” and so on, it’s actually a surprise to me that more people on here aren’t Camino dreamers.)

Anyway, unfortunately, although my Camino de Santiago has been deeply/realistically planned since I was 20, various startling events have meant that I haven’t started it yet. I have slightly spoiled myself for some key parts of Spain already, but I’m keeping that separate from actually walking the Camino. I’m afraid it’ll be in the 2030s before I do it, because I now have small children (too young to come with me or leave alone for 6 weeks.) I’m not worried - it’s a medieval hiking trail, it’ll keep - but I’m also not a lived-experience expert, just an armchair fan for now!

However, among the many benefits of a well-trodden path include the huge amount of information available about the Camino de Santiago. There are books, blogs, forums, a subreddit, lots of self-filmed YouTube documentaries from every flavor of influencer, from the insufferable to the admirable; and plenty of proper travel documentaries. the oldest guidebook is a thousand years old; the oldest traveller advice is found in gilded medieval manuscripts. It has multiple smartphone apps.

I wish you the best of luck on learning about this. I think it’s a very healthy kind of dream.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

So we’re all trans?

Barbie dolls: t4t!Jegulus x genderfluid!reader

Word: 3.3k ish

Summary: James and Regulus are nervy to tell you they’re trans while you are nervy to tell them you’re genderfluid and hilarity ensues

Warnings: Lightning McQueen, Shrek, Spiderman, and Peter Pettigrew mentioned, James is a kale freak, I talked like a lot most of which was not necessary, mentions: shots (testosterone), getting vaccinations, cheating, domestic homicide, medieval torture, your experience with genderfluidity(it’s going to be a word for today) might not align with mine but i kept it as vague as possible, a bit of a Disney channel moment but just like ignore the cringe baby it's fine it adds character, you place your hands on your hips but it's not like “you place your tiny baby girl hands on your voluptuous hips in girly frustration” yk so it works for whatever gender you're feeling🩷, insecure feelings in gender identity, everybody is worried the other is going to break up with them bc they’re trans so it's like hypothetical transphobia, you wear pants, jamie used once, yeah i think thats it please read the author’s note i want to cover all my bases to make sure this doesn’t have unintended messages right okay cool

A/n: I'm going to use the small text bc I'm going to be yapping a lot so I apologize to all the bad vision freaks(I can't see two inches in front of my face) right so I just wanted to say that both James and Regulus had medically assisted transitions (that feels like a right phrasing) reg had top surgery, James takes puberty blockers, and they both take T I just wanted to say that you do not have to take anything or do anything to be valid in your trans identity some people can’t afford surgeries and some people don't want them and everybody is valid (except for those people who are like “me when the trans guy with triple d’s gets mad I mess up their pronouns” they can suck my 12-foot long dick) I just wanted to say this because I didn’t want someone to read this and feel like they don’t count because they didn’t follow these two rich boys’ paths okay awesome

request: right here dickhead

James and Regulus have been dating for years. Strangely enough, they had been taking care of each other since day one. It was truly simple, once they moved in together their acts of service quadrupled. Suddenly James was sitting with Regulus on the edge of the bathtub, gently removing his chest tape. Regulus decided chest tape wasn’t enough, and James was reaching the shelves over Regulus’ elbow height for him. James became a supreme master at making soup while Regulus was in recovery from his top surgery. Eventually, Regulus was healed and extremely joyous. He was wandering around the house with his shirt off just for the hell of it. Regulus was prancing down the porch stairs to get the mail in only his James’ plaid pajama pants and cat slippers.

James was lucky enough to have loving accepting parents. He started puberty blockers early on and eventually, he swapped them out for testosterone so he neglected the want and or perceived need for a top surgery. James, after having years of practice, lost his uneasiness towards the injections. Regulus, however, was extremely terrified of needles. As a kid, he was practically breaking Sirius’ hand from his grip when he needed to get his vaccinations. Before he met James, Sirius would do them for him. Now, Regulus would stand in the kitchen covering his eyes with his forearm and turning away as far as he could. James would inject the shot as fast as possible, rewarding Regulus’ bravery with 80 kisses on his cheek and ice cream.

They were out to their friends, but it wasn’t exactly something mentioned frequently. It didn’t really matter all that much. Barty would call you a dickhead no matter what was in your pants. Marlene was similar but her go-to insult was ‘ bitchey-bitch-bitch-stupid-face’, friends only of course. You can’t have that insane unfiltered language out with strangers. Lily loved everyone, closing off every single phone call with ‘I love you’ even if it was customer service.

Peter was similar although instead he thanked people by saying ‘I appreciate you’. He once mentioned how he was working at a restaurant having a horrible day. He was yelled at more than thrice in a row, and he was certain if someone called him one more bad name he’d burst into tears. Then this woman came in, who appeared to have met the first dinosaur, and she was so kind to him. When she left she said ‘Thanks, baby. I appreciate you.’ And he sobbed in the freezer. Peter immediately engraved it into his dictionary. All their friends knew, but it was like knowing their favorite letter; it’s nice to know but that information doesn’t really come into play very frequently.

Then they met you. Regulus had dragged James to the bookstore. James loved going to the bookstore with Regulus. Regulus liked wandering for hours. He liked scanning the backs and summaries inside the front cover. James liked the bookstore mainly because Regulus liked it. He also liked looking through the cookbooks and workout guides. Sometimes when the story was empty he’d head towards the kid section, squeeze himself into one of the tiny plastic chairs, and do the puzzles. Eventually when Regulus would finish looking, a hefty stack in his arms, he’d find James. Usually, James would brag about how ‘those dumbasses’ had nothing on him. He finished eight puzzles in under a minute. Regulus would remind him the puzzles had six pieces each.

That time was different though. James had looked through all the cookbooks, finding one he liked. James looked at a few of the workout books, getting bored when they said something he didn’t agree with. He finished all the puzzles made for toddlers, and yet his boyfriend still wasn’t done. It was odd. So James went on a search for Regulus. He checked the poetry section first, no Regulus. He went to the fantasy next, no dice. James stalked up and down every aisle. His ears perched up at the sound of Regulus’ voice. It was a bit strange, Regulus didn’t usually volunteer to socially interact with anyone. James assumed he got trapped into small talk, rushing to his boyfriend’s rescue.

James found Regulus actually grinning with a stranger. James didn’t even know he could do that. Regulus was holding a book open, letting you lean to look over his shoulder. You both looked more than excited to finally meet somebody you could talk to about your favorite book. The more James looked at you, the more he understood why Regulus was so happy to talk to you. Delectable was a nasty word to use to describe a person so James opted instead for extremely stunning. Eventually with Regulus’ book opinions and James’ cheesy flirting, their couple grew into a throuple.

Your relationship is a little fresh now. In the way that you had no idea what either of their pajamas looked like but you knew exactly where their spoons were. James and Regulus weren’t entirely sure if you would accept them with open arms if they shared every part of them, including their favorite letter. They stayed silent for the most part, letting you stay ignorant just this once.

You were harboring your own skeleton in the closet. You haven’t told them you are genderfluid, and you haven’t told them how many frustrations that caused. You love who you are but for fucks sake could it be just a smidge easier? Your secret was weighing on you. It was all you could think about while you were out with your two amazing boyfriends. If you told them they could disprove and break up with you on the spot. They could also accept you but an overthinking mind never seems to be optimistic.

Your boyfriends seemed to notice your mood change, worried now you might’ve put together a couple of context clues and realized maybe they aren’t cis. What if now you were disgusted by them? James squashed that idea when Regulus voiced it, though it still lingered with him. Regulus knew James was just trying to relieve him of his worries but Regulus still appreciated his attempt.

Finally, the camel’s back broke and you were heading straight to their shared home. It was edging towards their bedtime the sun had set a couple of hours ago, fully relying on their warm lamps. They both had changed into their matching pajamas; plaid pants and Spiderman t-shirts. Regulus had slippers with tiny cat ears on the top and little cat faces on them. James however had Lighting McQueen slippers that lit up when he took a step. They were cute when he first got them but the novelty wore off rather quickly and now Regulus complains that James’ shoes give him a headache. Regulus settled into the barstool behind the kitchen counter with his reward ice cream. James leaned against the counter across from him, slurping very loudly on his smoothie. James jutted it out to Regulus.

“Want some?” Regulus looked up at James with a raised eyebrow.

“James, if I ever say I want some of your kale and banana smoothie, I give you full permission to assassinate me. Preferably quickly.” James pouted, pointing the lip of his glass back towards himself. Regulus rolled his eyes and took another bite of his ice cream.

“You could’ve just said no, also what did we say about suicide jokes?” James said, pointing over his shoulder at the small whiteboard on the fridge that said ‘6 days without a suicide joke’ in James’ handwriting. Regulus dropped his spoon back into his bowl, feeling particularly peeved at the unjust accusation.

“No, no. That’s not suicide, that's homicide. Two entirely different things. You can’t dock my streak just because you didn’t find the joke funny.” Regulus stuck his finger at James. James pushed Regulus’ finger away, leaning forward to steal a kiss from him. James pulled away, taking another sip of his smoothie as Regulus took another spoonful.

“No offense, babe, but I’m not sure if I know anyone who would find domestic homicide funny,” James added, with his straw still in his mouth. Regulus scoffed.

“That’s because you have lame friends,” James’ jaw dropped in offense at Regulus’ words. “Barty would find it hilarious, and Dorcas would find it mildly amusing.” Regulus retorted, grinning like he won their game. James pressed his lips together in disapproval. As he was opening his mouth to continue the verbal play fight, a knock on their door interrupted him. They both shared a look of confusion. James shrugged, leaving his smoothie on the counter to get to the door.

“See but Barty finds The Pear of Anguish funny,” James argued, his slippers lighting up on his way to the door.

“Barty’s a masochist, I’m not sure what you were expecting when you took him to that museum,” Regulus muttered into his bowl as James peered out the peephole. James hummed in a confused tone, opening the door to find you. You were not in pajamas and you looked rather stressed.

“Hey sweetheart, you okay?” James asked, worry lacing his words. He moved back letting you step into their foyer. Regulus looked up at James’ words. He doesn’t usually greet the door-to-door salesman like that. Regulus quietly joined you two at the door, he understood James’ greeting now but didn’t understand why you were visiting them looking so frazzled. You looked them both up and down, slightly pausing at James’ shoes. You shrugged your coat off, placing it on their coat rack. James found it at a thrift store and Regulus repainted it.

“You two look dashing.” You muttered as you straightened your shirt. Regulus glanced down at his pajamas, suddenly feeling slightly judged. He crossed his arms over the very large print of Spiderman.

“James picked it out,” Regulus whispered, trying to ignore the stinging on his cheeks. James’ chest puffed out, taking a wider stance and pulling at the end of his shirt so you can see the picture better.

“Aren’t we cute?” James said, confidence making him smile brighter. You nodded.

“Yeah, gotta love Spiderman.” You squished your lips together. Even with your words seeming relaxed your nerves were spreading to Regulus. James seemed to taste the uneasiness in the air.

“Are you alright? If this was planned I would’ve gotten you a shirt.” James reached over, rubbing Regulus’ shoulder to give him silent support. You nodded, staring at the ground to take in a deep breath.

“Right yeah. Sorry to drop in on you guys, but I think we need to talk.” You said, giving yourself a breath to steady yourself. Regulus felt his stomach jump into his throat. It felt tighter now, his heartbeat reaching his ears. Regulus glanced over to James, finding he was already looking. James gave him a tiny smile that Regulus could tell was forced.

“Yeah absolutely.” James brightly said, gesturing towards the living room. You lead the way. Regulus moved his hands to the back of his neck, trying to soothe himself. James noticed, grabbing both of Regulus’ shoulders to rub them, waddling behind Regulus. James kissed Regulus on his temple. Regulus reminded himself that even if what he thought was happening was happening, he’d still have James in the end.

Regulus and James settled on the couch, holding onto each other for emotional support. You started pacing in front of them, walking from one end of James’ favorite rug to the other. James intertwined his fingers with Regulus’, letting Regulus fiddle with them in his lap. It was better than biting his nails. ‘I should get a whiteboard for nail biting’ James thought to himself before zoning back in on your rapid pacing. Regulus’ eyes were following you with panic behind his head movements. Your anxiety was dripping out through your hands, slapping them together over and over again. James was starting to worry that Regulus would get hypnotized moving his eyes back and forth like that.

“You know, darling. I learned the hard way that anxious thoughts are like burps; better out than in.” James offered, hoping it would soothe you a little. You paused your pacing behind the coffee table, turning to face James.

“Did you just quote Shrek?” James clenched his jaw, feeling caught. James saw Regulus turning his head slowly to look at him out of the corner of his eye. James let out a nervous and breathy chuckle.

“It’s good advice,” James muttered, slipping further down the couch. You sighed and faced them both. You held your hands behind your back. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Right okay so I need to come clean to you two, I’ve been hiding something for a while now. It’s been stressing me out a lot and I think I would rather risk our relationship than have to go through this alone.” Regulus squeezed James’ hands tighter. James had flashbacks to Regulus getting a shot at the doctor's office.

“Is there another person?” Regulus abruptly said, cutting into your steady breathing time. You looked up at him shocked, quickly shaking your head.

“Oh, no, no, no. No. I would never do that. I would never cheat on you guys.” You quickly rushed out, like Regulus might implode if you didn’t get it out fast enough. James moved to make a fast joke, pushing a small bit of the thick tension out the door with a broom.

“I haven’t been cheating. Have you, Reg?” James asked with a pained grin. Regulus knew his tactics, joining in to shove some of his anxiety behind a potted plant.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Regulus felt himself let out a strained laugh that came out more like a cat hacking up a hairball. You looked at them both with a worried look. Regulus wanted to settle your nerves, giving you his shining smile. Which was just him showing his teeth with dead eyes. You took a step back, holding both your hands up.

“Okay well don’t do that.” You whispered. Regulus relaxed his face. You shivered, shaking out your worries through your hands.

“I’m just going to say it. It’s a lot of words so maybe just sit quietly and let me spill.” You looked up at them both for their agreement. James sat up straighter, giving you all of his attention. Regulus kept his wide, slightly unsettling, eyes on you. You gave them both an awkward smile.

“I’m genderfluid. Which if you don’t know means my gender kind of flows through like all of them. I’m kind of worried about telling you this because I’m not entirely sure if you’ll still think of me the same.” Your voice cracked. You let out a breathy chuckle wagging your finger towards the ground.

“Oh you cheeky mother fucker, pull it together.” You whispered to yourself. You pushed your shoulders back, speaking again. “And it’s just a little frustrating and confusing because the whole time I’m just second-guessing myself. I just feel like no matter what I do I’m never a hundred percent confident in myself. It’s like I’m sitting there wondering-“

“wondering if you’re valid or if you made it all up?” Regulus asked, somehow making his eyes wider. You looked away from your fiddling hands to stare at him quizzically. You whispered the tiniest agreeance, James was shocked he still heard it. James decided to speak up and comfort your frustrations.

“It’s alright that you feel that way, darling. You’re entirely valid. We’ll love you no matter what, unless it’s murder-“

“Well-“

”No matter what. I want you to be your happiest, whether that be doing naked cartwheels in the backyard or making a fort under the kitchen table. Man, woman, something else, a nice mixture of both, I’m here for you. Confusion and frustration happen all the time it's alright. I think it’s important to just make sure you do whatever makes you happiest for that moment or day.” James explained. As he talked Regulus watched your shoulders sink with relaxation. Your anxious eyebrows slowly retreated back to their resting place, the worry lines on your forehead dissapeared again. James let out his own sigh, glad he got to relax his partner again.

“And on a different note, I’m trans myself so I support you on extreme levels,” James added, giving you a bright smile. Regulus scoffed next to him.

“Oh, you’re trans? Not we’re trans?” James clutched his pearls, reeling back to look at Regulus.

“Well, I’m not going to come out for you. I don’t know if you’re comfortable doing that. It’s not my story to tell.” James said, shaking his head at Regulus. Regulus muttered a few choice words at James under his breath as he turned back to you. You looked to have a million math problems in your head.

“So if we could just wrap back around, you’re both trans?” Regulus and James nodded at your question in sync. You sighed, looking around the living room. You placed your hands on your hips in exasperation.

“Just to clear everything up for those at home, I’ve walking around for weeks anxious up the wazoo for absolutely no reason?” Regulus and James glanced at each other.

“yeah.”

“it appears that way, yes.” Regulus watched you groan and drop your head in your hands.

“To throw my two cents in, it’s totally valid to feel a little discombobulated. Gender is hard and often it’s difficult to figure out what you’re truly feeling, it took me years to realize I wasn't nonbinary. It’s entirely okay that you feel like this.” Regulus said, releasing James’ hand from his grip. James’ shook his hand out, finally getting feeling back in his fingers. You gave Regulus a small smile.

“Regulus, love of my life, can I please eat your face?” Regulus smiled at you, nodding his head. You quickly made your way around the coffee table to lightly peck Regulus’ lips. You moved past Regulus to kiss James as well. You squeezed yourself between the two of them. Regulus rested his head on your shoulder, moving your hand to play with in his lap. James pressed himself against you, smushing his cheek against yours.

“I'm the love of your life too, right?” James asked, his words rolling onto your cheek. You hummed.

“Yes, Jamie.” Regulus interrupted your sweet moment.

“James, do me a favor and go get my ice cream.” James let out a loud gasp, jumping out of his seat and jogging towards the kitchen.

“My smoothie!” You wrapped your arms around Regulus, kissing his temple.

“I wasn’t insulting your shirt before, by the way.” You whispered into his hair. Regulus nodded against your arm.

“Is his smoothie worthy of stealing?” You muttered as quietly as you could so James didn’t hear you. Regulus let out a snort.

“Oh fuck no.” Regulus said before adding “I’ll give you a few bites of my ice cream.” You gasped, smacking a kiss to the apple of his cheek.

“You’re so kind.” Regulus groaned at your words.

“Not really being kind. It’s my reward for being brave, as James said. And I know that was probably scary for you so technically speaking you do deserve some of it. It has nothing to do with me it's just like the rules.” Regulus said, trying to cover up that he might actually have a heart.

“Right, the rules.” Regulus hummed. James soon returned with his smoothie and shockingly two bowls of ice cream. He handed one to you and one to Regulus. You three sat on the couch as you finished your sweet treats and smoothie. Even though technically speaking your reward was already given to you, Regulus’ spoon would randomly stick out toward you. You thanked Regulus with a peck on his cheek after each spoonful. Eventually, when his bowl was empty your spoon would jut out towards him, he was quite brave coming out to you today. James seemed to notice the food sharing, offering up a sip of his smoothie. You and Regulus both grimaced at him in sync before turning back to your bowl.

[luxe-pauvre]

If you haven't started on the path to your ambitious goal, your accomplishment, you need to do it now. You know what you want to do, you know how you intend to do it; now you have no alternative. You hesitate? Perhaps. It's going to be very hard work. But listen to Katherine Swift, someone who combines a love of medieval books with a passion for gardening: “Prime is the hour ... I like digging. I like the rhythm of it - foot shove, arm heave, shoulder turn, one pace sideways, start again ... The rhythm is one of satisfaction and then there's a sense of achievement … I like the satisfying look of a newly dug bed at the end of the day. I stand up and lean on my spade to ease my back, estimating how much done, how much more to do, and I watch the birds: a robin and a female blackbird with her bright round golden eye, come to see what I'm up to.”  Pick up your spade. 'Prime is the hour.’ Get started.

Michael Barber, Accomplishment: How to Achieve Ambitious and Challenging Things

[readyforthegarden]

When the Nightingale Sings - Part One

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 3424

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, brief depictions of murder, angst, anxiety, fight or flight emotions.

A/N: It's here!! I am insanely proud of this story and all the work I've done on it. It wouldn't be anything like it is without the help of some good friends. A big thank you to @earthlysorrows for beta-reading and editing and helping me along the way! And @joshsindigostreak for always hearing me out when I text her saying 'i have an idea 👀' and always playing dialogue off with me. Love you both so much!

You had always disliked riding in carriages, the juddering and shaking motions of them as they traveled down worn paths between villages, towns and cities always making you feel ill. Today was no exception. You were currently on day three of a two week trip across the country, and a soft rain had fallen in the early morning, ensuring muddy tracks and sinking holes along your path. You rested your head against the wall next to your seat, closing your eyes and wishing sleep would take you. Perhaps death would even be better than the pounding in your head. 

“I imagine you’ll have much finer carriages after you marry the prince, my lady.” your handmaid smiled, trying to ease your discomfort. “I hear he has one that’s lined with fur.” What a comfort that would be on such a cold journey. The foot warmer between your feet had already begun to grow cold, the embers refusing to be stoked with life again in the late fall air. 

“That would be something to see, Marta.”  the handmaid’s eyes glittered at your response. She was young, only a few years younger than yourself, and the niece of the maid that had helped take care of you most of your childhood. Though there should have been a stronger boundary between lady and servant, you had found a form of friendship in her, though it was stiff and formal. 

“And imagine all the beautiful gowns and jewels, I cannot wait to help you dress for royal banquets.” Marta slipped into a diatribe about how the balls your family had held would pale in comparison to the ones the royal family had, how glittering you would look in the crown jewels. The unease in your stomach grew. Your parents had worked out a strenuous match between you and the sovereign prince of Farrynden. It was an effort you had no part in, nor wanted. Unfortunately, you had no say in the matter, and after exchanging a few letters back and forth, you were summoned to travel across the country and marry the prince. 

It was just you, Marta, and two coachmen making the journey. Your family was well-off for the most part, but could not afford for all to travel to the nuptials. Their presence would not have been a comfort anyway. Your father was too proud of the match he had secured for you, and your mother was far too happy to lose you and gain a title in court. You wished for your older brother, though he had been long gone at this point, to try and talk sense into father. He might have listened to protests coming from him. 

The carriage jostled roughly, making you place a hand over your mouth and groan, preparing for the back wheels to follow suit, however, the carriage was stopped. Sharing a confused look with Marta, you glanced out the window. You were surrounded by woods, the path cutting through a dense, large forest. The confusion set in further until you heard the horses whining, the coachmen shouting. Moving back from the glass you glanced at Marta, who met your wide eyes with her own. 

The door was ripped open by the same large, grimy hands now reaching into the carriage. Your shriek matched Marta’s, both of you pushing away from that side of the carriage as much as you could. You cursed the large foot warmer, it’s bulk making it difficult to move. Marta’s wrist was taken by one of the hands, it pulled her harshly, yanking her screaming figure from the carriage. Another set of hands entered the carriage, grasping at the hem of your dress, your ankles. Kicking you tried to fight them off, but only succeeded in the assailant grasping your ankle and tugging you closer before grabbing your arms. 

You fought against the hands that held you steady, twisting and turning your body, stomping your feet in the mud. Marta’s screams were flooding your ears, and as you looked around for help,  you could see why.

The two coachmen were dead, blood pooling around their bodies. One was lying face up, his throat slit, blood still pouring from the wound. The other was face down in, a dark stain on his light blue coat, the blood mixing with mud beneath him. 

Tears began to run down your face, the inevitability of your own death coming to light. You thrashed further as the man holding you gripped tighter, bringing you towards the front of the carriage. 

“Oi, make that one shut up!” the man’s voice was hard and gruff, sending fear shooting down your spine. He spoke to his accomplice, a younger, greasy looking man, his teeth dark as he grinned. 

Marta’s screams were silenced as your own sobs echoed out into the forest around you, unable to look away from the blade that dragged across her throat. You saw the light fade from her terrified eyes, the image burning itself into your memory. You would be next. Oh god, you would be next. 

With everything you had in you, you braced yourself as the man holding you turned you in his grasp. 

“What a pretty little thing you are.” he smirked, his breath blowing across your face, pungent and sickening. “Maybe we should keep you, have some fun.”

“Lookie here,” the younger man caught both of your attention. One of your trunks was opened, and with his soiled blade he lifted up a nightdress. “She could be our little dolly, dress her up and strip her down.” Bile rose in your throat, and the next thing you knew, you had wrenched your head back, and brought it forward, cracking it against your captor. 

The man dropped you, startled from the impact and you slipped in the mud as you realized your chance to escape. Gathering up your skirts as shooting pain rippled through your skull, you bolted, dashing for the forest. You could hear both the men behind you, shouting and giving chase as you hastened through the dead leaves and twigs on the ground. 

Your lungs were burning with every breath you could take. You cursed the corset you’d been laced up in, knowing you could run faster without its hindrance. Not daring to check behind you, you kept going, not caring if you could hear them or not. Stumbling, you cursed, getting back up, though your legs were screaming at you. Cold tears whipped down your cheeks and from your eyes, the image of the coachmen and Marta flashing every time you thought about stopping. 

Time had escaped you. You knew that at some point you felt a soft flurry of early snow, but didn’t know how long you’d been running. The forest was thicker here, and you began to slow down. It was quiet now, and you glanced around. There was no sign or sound of the men following you any longer. You still kept a quick pace, checking for them behind every tree and branch. Watching over your shoulder, you pressed forward, stumbling but continuing to go. 

“Stop! Stop!!” you froze, whipping your head around to see a tall man standing a few yards from you, his hands thrust out in front of him, palms up. He didn’t look like the men that had chased you, he was clean, his dark, curly hair shining in the sun that broke through the trees. Fear still shot through your veins and you started to run, but he yelled again. “Stop! If you move you’ll step in a trap!” freezing again, you looked down. Right in your path, hidden under a few scattered leaves, was a metal contraption, meant for hunting large beasts and animals. You would have stepped right into it, maiming whichever foot landed in it. 

The man moved towards you, and you moved back. He took in your pale face, the only color your cheeks and nose tinged pink from cold and tears that were sliding down your cheeks. Your wide, scared eyes regarding him like a monster as he regarded you like a feral creature, scared and confused. 

With a breath, you bolted, darting off to your right before he could come closer. You would take your chances with any other traps, refusing to be held captive again. 

You had lost the sun, the trees looming overhead blocking out any of the sunset. You were staggering around, a painful stitch in your side mixing with hunger pangs. The headache you’d had earlier reappeared, and you slumped against a tree. The cold was creeping in, your sweat coated body chilling faster. 

The bark of the tree scratched against your coat, small bits flaking off and catching on the wool. Surely death by cold and hunger was a better fate than what had been in store for you, whether earlier or with the prince. 

The shaking shivers that wracked your body wouldn’t cease as the sky grew darker. Nestling into the tree trunk as best you could, you let your eyes fall closed dreaming of the warm fire in your old bedchambers, and the cozy bed one a few feet away from it. 

The sound of twigs snapping jolted you from sleep. Your eyes looked around, but instead of a dark forest, you were in a small, homely cottage. The sound of twigs was not that exactly, it was larger pieces of chopped wood, crackling in the hearth. And instead of a tree trunk, you were nestled into a large, warm bed. Furs were laid over you, their warmth making you feel slightly delirious. 

Sitting up, you inspected yourself, raising the blankets. Your dress, though dirty, was still intact. The only thing removed had been your shoes, though long, thick wool socks had been put on you in their wake. Glancing around the interior, you saw few items in the small space. A stack of firewood next to the fireplace, a small kettle hanging over the fire. Two wooden chairs and a small table, seemingly handmade from the rough edges of the items. A rack with various pelts draped over it was in the corner, drying. 

Finding you were alone in the cottage, you peeled back the furs on top of you, placing your feet on the wooden floors, you moved to get up from the bed, just as the door opened. A large figure lumbered in, the door slamming shut behind them. They were cloaked in a large coat and hat, both made of dark fur. Scrambling back into the bed, you pulled the blankets over you, clutching them to your chest. Your heart rate spiked as the figure turned toward you, his eyes regarding you anxiously. 

“You’re awake,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You backed up, further in the bed when he stepped forward, pausing as he took in your move. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He watched as your hand shook, clutching the blanket, your eyes darting up and down his tall stature. Sighing softly, he reached up, his movement slow, and took off his hat, allowing his curls to bounce back to life. It was the young man from the forest earlier, that had stopped you from stepping in one of his traps. He put it on the small table, then unfastened his coat, lowering it from his shoulders and draping it over the back of his chair. Glancing at you, he put his hands on his hips. 

“My name is Daniel, by the way.” he paused, waiting for you to reply. When you didn’t, he glanced around the cottage. “This is my home. I found you in the woods while checking my traps. You were turning blue, so I brought you here. Have you been hurt?” This pause was met with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. “Good. Can you tell me why you were running in the woods like that?” Silence. Daniel sighed, watching your eyes cast down to the floor. 

Turning, Daniel moved away from you and to the fire, grabbing a small bowl from the mantle, and opening the lid on the kettle, stirring the stew inside with a ladle that had been hanging from a hook by the hearth. The smell of cooked meat and herbs met your nose, and your stomach growled loudly. Daniel chuckled under his breath and ladled some into the bowl, his own stomach softly rumbling as the aromas wafted up to him. Grabbing one of his few spoons from an old tin on the mantle he walked back over to you. 

He held out the bowl to you, raising his eyebrows, idly twirling the spoon between his fingers on his other hand. You looked from the bowl to him a few times, before shifting on the bed, letting the blankets go and reaching for it. Daniel pulled back slightly, making you gasp softly in surprise. 

“I’d rather not have rabbit stew spilled in my bed,” he explained. “Come sit at the table.” you hesitated, but Daniel moved back, setting the bowl down on the small table by the fire, and plopping the spoon gently in. He sat down on the other side, and waited. 

Feeling a spectacle, you slowly climbed from out of the covers, your feet on the hardwood floor again. The socks slid against the smooth wood as you stood, and you brushed down your skirts. Every step you took toward the table, and the man sitting there, was timid. You were afraid that he would pounce at any moment, finish the job of the other two bastards before him. 

Yet he sat still, his eyes wary but kind as you gripped the back of the chair, pulling it out somewhat before taking a seat. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as you tucked in closer to the table. Eyeing the stew, you spied chunks of lean rabbit, potato and carrot, a beetroot or two also mixed in. Your mouth watered, but what if he did something to it? What if this was all a trick?

Seemingly reading your mind, Daniel shook his head. 

“Go on, eat. I wouldn’t poison my own stew.” he rolled his eyes, but the gentle smile was still present. Still, you hesitated. Daniel moved, his chair scraping the wooden floor, making you jump in your seat. You braced yourself, ready to endure another headache if you had to headbutt your way to freedom again. 

Daniel only moved to the fire, taking another bowl from the mantle and ladling himself a serving, grabbing a spoon and sitting back down. He kept his eyes on you, dipping the spoon into the stew and bringing up a steaming spoonful. Blowing gently on it, he raised the spoon to his lips before taking the bite. He did this a few more times, you were sure the food was still too hot, evident by the wince he did on the last before he spoke. “See?” 

Your hand raised from your lap, grabbing the rustic spoon. It had been worn over the years, no polishing, showing slight grooves where fingers had held it. Yours fit snugly into those grooves, and you stirred the stew a bit, releasing more steam before taking a bite of your own. 

It was delicious. You had to hold yourself back from slurping and sloshing down the meal as your tongue was coated with savory warm broth. The meat was soft but a little stringy, but it was a fine supper. Daniel continued his own meal, the two of you eating in silence until he spoke again, half-chewed bite in his mouth. 

“Do you have a name?” glancing up, you nodded, and supplied it to him quietly. “Are you from around here?”

“Where is here?” you asked. 

“I take that as a no, then.” he sighed. “Here is my home, in Timberhill. Where did you come from?” 

“Indigwall.” you answered. Daniel let out a long, low whistle. 

“You’re a long ways away from home,” he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What are you doing all the way out here? And running through my hunting grounds?”

“I-I,” you stammered, trying to think of a lie. Just because this man seemed kind, didn’t mean he wouldn’t hold you ransom for money, from your father or the prince. As you glanced up to his eyes, you realized how soft they were. Amber flecks hiding in splashes of green mixed brown sparkled in the firelight. You could see no malice in his eyes, and suddenly the truth spilled from your lips. “I am betrothed to the prince of Ferryden. I was traveling to the castle for our wedding.” Daniel stared at you, mouth slightly agape as you continued. “This morning, our carriage was stopped, and these two men-“ you choked on a sob as the images of Marta and the coachmen flashed again in your mind. “They killed them, they killed Marta!” Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Daniel stood, going to a small hutch and rifling through it before coming back with a handkerchief. You accepted it, dabbing your eyes and wiping the tears away. 

“I am sorry,” Daniel murmured. “I understand why you were so afraid of me earlier. You do not need to speak of it, if you do not wish.” nodding you tried to compose yourself as he sat down across from you again. The silence fell between the two of you again, but this time there were fewer questions, fewer anxieties weighing on it. 

Picking up your spoon, your hand trembling after the images, you continued your meal, swallowing down the stew, your appetite still fighting your nerves. 

“I thought from your coat and dress, you must have been a lady of some sort.” Danny cleared his throat. “I have a few things I must do before I can take off, but in a day or so, we can start the journey to the next village, see if we can send word to your prince.”

You knew better than to protest. If your own parents didn’t listen to your pleas not to be shipped off, not to marry the prince, a stranger wouldn’t either. 

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” you gave him the best smile you could muster, feeling it barely raise the corners of your lips. “But I don’t have money to pay you. All of my things were in that carriage and with…them.” Daniel didn’t need you to elaborate on whether your belongings were stolen by the murdering bandits or left behind with the bodies laid across the path. 

“No need for formalities.” Daniel instead chose to break the ice further. “You can call me Danny. My friends call me that.” he had hoped the more casual nickname would help ease the tension of formality.

“Danny, then.” Nodding, you sat back in your chair, a little easier now that your belly was full and you knew the name of the man across from you. “How far are we from the next village?”

“That depends on the method of travel.” he answered. “Tomorrow after I check my traps, I’ll see about finding your carriage, and if the horses are still there, we can ride those and it would only be a few days. Without them, we’ll be on foot, and that could take about a week.” as he finished his sentence, a large yawn stretched your face. “Go on back to bed. You need to rest after all the running you did.”

“No, I can’t take your bed again,” you shook your head. 

“I insist.” Danny got up, walking over to an old, worn cloth that was strung in the corner of the large room. With a jump, he climbed up into it, swinging precariously with a smile. “See? I don’t mind sleeping here.” 

Rising from your seat, you moved to the bed, and took one of the furs from it. Folding it over your arms you walked over to him, smiling as you raised it up. One of his large hands reached down, grasping the soft material and pulled it into his hammock as he returned your smile. 

“Thank you Daniel-Danny,” you corrected. He merely nodded at you, fluffing out the blanket over his long body, settling in. As you crawled back into the bed, you pulled the blankets back over you, finding its warmth and your full belly already lulling you into sleep. 

“Goodnight, princess,”

“I am not yet a princess,” you mumbled, slightly offended by the unwanted title. 

“Goodnight, all the same.”

“Goodnight, Daniel.”

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[medusapelagia]

Seeds of Dreams, Seeds of Truth 1\11

This is my fic, written for @steddiesummerexchange based on @penny00dreadful's prompt!.

I was super excited when I got the confirmation email and I hope they'll like my story!

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Magic, Regent Prince/King Steve Harrington, Knight Eddie Munson, Prison, Sick Steve Harrington, Vomiting, Attempted Murder, Poisoning, Double povs, Panic Attacks, Magic,

Read it here or on AO3

Part 1, Part 2, (soon Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11)

WC: 939

Steve is standing in front of the Sacred House.

Just a few steps and he will not be the Prince Regent but the King.

It doesn't matter if, in the last three years, he acted as the King, after his father was declared officially dead, and now, just a few days ago, his death was celebrated with a big funeral putting an end to King Richard’s reign and getting the entire kingdom ready for his new ruler: King Steve.

All he has to do is cross the threshold, head bowed in submission to the old gods and the new, and accept the regalia, the scepter, and the sword, from the cleric. A warm hand gently stops on his back, pushing him forward without a word. For a moment Steve turns toward the guard at his right; even under the helm, he can feel that he is smiling at him, encouraging.

Steve gives a little nod that goes unnoticed by anyone apart from the man at his side and steps inside the Sacred House.

The air is so full of incense that he walks blindly through the mist, one step in front of the other. He has been inside the Sacred House so many times that he knows the path by heart.

The cleric is waiting for him at the altar, and at the man's side there are two young boys holding crimson pillows with his regalia: on his left the sword engraved with wildflowers, on his right the scepter.

The Sacred House’s wooden door closes with a loud grinding sound and for a moment no one moves.

The cleric stares at Steve from the altar, while the nobility shares a worried look: isn't the cleric going to proclaim the new king? After all, King Richard's body was never found, and being crowned after a King that nobody knows if he is really dead or not is certainly a bad omen. Steve himself tried very hard to postpone the coronation, but three years had passed since the last letter was received from the King and even the Prince Regent had no more excuses to leave the kingdom to live with uncertainty.

Every instinct in Steve's body is screaming at him to lift his head and glare at the man who is mocking him in front of everyone, but deep inside he knows that this is just a test: will the child king be able to respect authority or will he lash out? Steve takes a deep breath and he keeps his eyes glued to the floor, counting the stones on the ground to occupy his mind until finally the cleric starts to sing.

That is his cue.

Steve finally lifts his eyes and the cleric is staring at him with his deep eyes, pupils blown due to the ritual he undergoes the night before to purify himself. Still singing, the cleric asks him if Steve's soul is pure, if he undergoes the ritual with a pure spirit and is ready to devote himself to his kingdom, and Steve confirms every sentence: he has fasted for three days, given alms, and made confession. He also undertook a pilgrimage on foot from the castle to the rock where his ancestors poured their blood and declared the land theirs, freeing it from the malevolent influence of dark magic ages ago. Eddie, Steve’s faithful guard, was at his side at every moment, preventing him from falling when he felt too weak, making sure that not once in three days Steve spoke a single word, always ready to offer him water and quiet comfort.

The cleric hums and then starts to pronounce the oath that Steve must take in front of their gods and their people.

The words feel like ashes in Steve's mouth, while he tries to remind himself that nothing will change, that he already acted as a king for the last three years, and that the entire ceremony is just to give him formally the power to rule. It's just a ceremony, nothing more.

The cleric nods to the boy at his left. Steve immediately recognizes little Will Byers, the cook’s son. Despite his young age, he seems to have some deep connection with the spiritual world already, and Steve’s not surprised to see that the cleric asked him to be part of the ritual. The future king gives him a little encouraging smile and the kid smiles back, getting closer to Steve, and offering him a long sword whose blade is engraved and gilded, far too delicate to be a real weapon. Steve grabs it, tilting his head as a thank you, and for the first time in three days, he speaks. He swears to protect his people from every danger, tracing a cross in the air pointing to the four cardinal directions: the North, where the winds will blow to bring them clouds and rain and good harvests, the Est, where the sun will rise bringing its shiny light blessing the new king and protect him and the kingdom from the darkness, the South, where their ancestors came from all those years ago, and the West, where the king’s soul will walk to rest peacefully when his time will come, but when he turns toward the wooden doors on the west side of the building the doors slam open and a colorless face, so similar to Steve’s own, glares at him.

"Father..." Steve whispers, so surprised that he lets his arm fall and the blade screeches on the ground.

"Usurper."

This is the first word his father tells him after three years of silence.

And then the chaos explodes.

[dragonfly0808]

Snippets of the next chapter…

I’m really excited for the next chapter so, to build up hype and cause I’m just super excited here are snippets of chapter 28:

Roxy’s Interlude: Crossroads of Destiny

—————————

Helia smiled gently as he joined her, “What do you think?”

“Somehow… it’s both exactly what I was expecting and not at all what I thought it’d be like.”

He chuckled, “That’s Magix for you. A strange culmination of dozens of different planets and cultures and all that good stuff. You’ll never find anyone who’s straight up ‘from Magix’ you know? Everyone has some planet they or their parents are originally from.”

“I’m straight up from Magix.” Timmy protested from the control panel.

Helia rolled his eyes, “Aren’t your grandparents from Gader?”

“…that doesn’t count.”

“Sure it doesn’t.” Helia made a face at him and Roxy chuckled.

—————————

Red Fountain was huge, all red and silver metal and golden stone and falling water.

It was also a floating island. The boys had seemingly forgotten that little detail when telling her about their school. 

—————————

“Oh, this is one of my favorite spots.” Naten guided them past a threshold, which guided them to a platform open to the outside air, ancient stone with red runes beneath Roxy’s feet, the jagged ending giving way to the long fall.

“Whoa.” Roxy approached the ledge cautiously, crouching to inspect the old runes with clearly old scratches that did not match the rest of the building, “This… is a lot older than anything else.”

“That’s cause this particular floor,” Alexa said as she tapped her foot on the stone, “is a part of the old Red Fountain.”

“…what do you mean the old Red Fountain?”

The others suddenly paused, trading glances as they clearly realized she didn’t know what they meant.

“Well…” Shirley hesitated clearly unsure of how to explain, “This technically speaking isn’t the first Red Fountain. They had to rebuild.”

“…why?”

—————————

Cloud Tower was a bit more like what she’d expected. Despite Shirley’s previous rants about the perception of witches, their school was all fog, shadows, bats, spiders and medieval architecture in shades of blacks, greens and purples.

—————————

“Maude?”

Shirley, perhaps for the first time since they’d met, blushed lightly, “It’s my middle name. Riven’s is worse though, his is Knox.”

Roxy gently nudged her, “I like Maude. It’s really pretty. Fits you.”

She ignored how, over Shirley’s shoulder, Alexa had opened her backpack just in time for Naten to fake-puke in.

—————————

Alfea was somehow more impressive in person, the building was a pale pink with accents in sky blue, whites and creams. Vines growing over certain columns.

She wasn’t quite sure how to describe the aura the building held, but it somehow felt almost ethereal. She could just barely see small motifs all over the walls and arcs, in the stone of the fountain, in the cobblestone of paths, everywhere she looked there seemed to be hidden tiny paintings of wings and butterflies and clovers and bells and pearls and crystals and fungi.

It was really quite something.

—————————

“Sure thing, and- oh! Hold up,” Naten suddenly turned around, yelling at the boys to get closer, “After we give Roxy the tour can we take her to a cafe in Magix? She hasn’t seen the actual city.”

Timmy grimaced, clearly disapproving, “I don’t know…”

“Pleaaaaseeee?” Alexa pleaded, “We won’t go far. And we will not split up for even a second.” She finished making puppy eyes at the boys.

“You can go.” Helia told them, “Just update us when you leave and… don’t take the bus, you can call your Windriders.”

—————————

Roxy carefully turned the computer on, glancing around. The others were nowhere in sight, she’d left Chimera and Naten looking at a history book on Zenith, Naten telling Chimera stories and myths of his hometown and the villages around.

Alexa had said she’d check if there were any technical books on archery or Earth since she was curious about her brother’s mission. Shirley had gone straight for the potions section.

She was alone, unwatched.

Roxy stared at the search bar for a long moment. A part of her feeling guilty.

But she had to know.

She just had to.

————————

“What is in Lake Roccaluce?”

Chimera blinked, surprised, “What?”

“I was gonna look it up cause Sky was clearly lying or avoiding but… I wasn’t sure how to spell it.”

Chimera sighed, gesturing for her to sit down, carefully adjusting her velvet skirt, “Do you… do you know about Daphne?”

—————————

“It was our pleasure, now, we gotta show you the best part, actual Magix city.” Alexa told her as they stopped in front of three of those motorcycle-like machines that didn’t have wheels and hovered in the air.

“Are those… safe?”

“Oh yeah, Windriders are standard for every Specialist.”

Roxy tilted her head in silent question as to why there were three.

Shirley smirked, “My brother is off-planet, someone has to take care of his windrider.”

“And you were kind enough to take on the burden.” Roxy teased.

“Precisely. Now come on, you can ride with me.”

Damn her. What gave her the right to also be a motorcycle girl? Roxy hadn’t even known she apparently had a thing for motorcycles until Shirley casually threw a leg over it to get on, the way she flipped her hair as she did it had to be intentional.

Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one as Chimera was a shade of scarlet as she went to hold on to Naten.

Alexa sighed heavily, “Strike me down now.” She implored the sky above her.

————————

Ogron chuckled in a low tone, Gantlos and Anagan appearing behind him, “Impeccable invisibility spell. Moon fairies are quite rare,” he looked in Chimera’s direction, clearly somehow able to see her despite the spell, starting to reach towards her, “but I’m afraid you have yet to master the art of fully cloaking your very essen-”

Chimera used the staff like a baseball bat, hitting Ogron right across the face, the other Wizards freezing in momentary surprise, “GO!”

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 10

Tensions frayed, the ghouls try to move forward.

An upload in under a week? Its a miracle!

Rating: M Content: Words: 5255

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

With a new day came new struggles. The tension between Rain and Dewdrop was palpable, and even beginning to rub off on the others. Rain had gone back to barely speaking, only giving monosyllabic answers when he was asked a direct question. Dew had assumed his position at the rear of the pack for a second day. 

The ghouls trudged forwards, the light-hearted chatter of the previous day long-evaporated with the morning dew. They walked almost in single file, Mountain ploughing ahead as though he could outrun the sour mood that followed them. Aether had attempted to stick with Rain, but the already tall water ghoul sat high above him, staring straight ahead and ignoring every concerned look and word thrown his way. 

Similarly, Swiss had attempted to start a conversation with Dewdrop when they paused to refill their waterskins along the way. His skin had started prickling from the negativity floating about, and the sullen temperaments of his packmates was feeding a gnawing discomfort in the pit of his stomach. 

“Is everything alright between you and Rain? You've both been very quiet toda–”  

“We're fine.” Dew bit back a snarl. “Rain still blames me for everything, but it's no big deal, I only saved his life.” sarcasm licked at the edges of his words like flames devouring paper. 

Swiss slunk off, fearful of poking the bear any further. 

By late afternoon, they had reached a fork in the road ahead. Mountain dithered, visibly uncertain for the first time since they set off. Ahead of them the path narrowed and wound through dense trees which sapped the light from the sky. Off to the right curved another path, this one wider and continuing to follow the river to the east. Neither he nor Aether had explored this region before, so the river was on none of their hand-drawn maps. If it continued east rather than curving back north, they could completely lose their way – and precious time. On the other hand, the forest could go on for miles and camping inside its deep emerald walls was opening themselves up to all manner of predators living inside. 

Fed up with his knowledge of the route – even if not totally comprehensive – being ignored, Dew decided to put Mountain out of his misery. 

“It’s not that big a forest, I made it in half a day on horseback both ways,” he interrupted, “the path widens up after it, but you lose the river for a bit longer.” 

“We’re not on horseback though, are we,” Mountain snapped back, “we’re on foot so we’re far slower, and if we get caught in there at night there could be all sorts of animals or bandits or anything!” 

Dew scoffed, but was expecting his reaction. 

“I was just trying to help. It’s not like I’ve made this journey twice in the last week or anything.” 

Mountain grumbled under his breath, but made no further move to argue and instead reverted to pacing back and forth at the junction. 

Dew was annoyed, although unsurprised, that Mountain was still holding a grudge against him, and by extension his input: Earth ghouls were known for their stubbornness after all. He was also annoyed at how easily Mountain and the others had forgiven Rain – they had never even blamed him in the first place. Rain caused the floods that got them into this mess, thought Dew, and yet everyone was acting as if they were something that had simply happened to him rather than something he played an active role in. In fact, Dew thought, he himself had done nothing but try to help his pack since that fateful day, yet here he was: the only one getting chewed out, for doing exactly that. 

Sensing the tension was about to overflow, Swiss interjected. 

“Why don’t we camp where we are for now? This looks like a good place, and Satan knows I need a drink and a bath from that river.” 

“This would be an ideal spot,” agreed Aether, jumping on the chance to de-escalate, “and with the pace we’re making now, we should just about be able to get through these woods in a day, if we start early. Some proper food tonight would do us good too.” 

Mountain huffed and nodded sullenly, but eventually they were all in agreement that a good meal, an early night, and a similarly early start was the best plan. Given Dew’s estimate, they should be out of the woods by nightfall. 

All five ghouls bathed in the gentle flow of the river, the slight chill was refreshing as they washed away the grime of the road and the miserable cobwebs infecting their minds. Dew stayed as far away from the others as he could; the brisk temperature of the water was washing away the stormy mood of the morning, and even Mountain had become talkative again much to Swiss' crystal clear relief. Dew didn't want his apparent feud with Rain to pull the clouds back down around the others, determined not to be the cause of yet more misery for them, and so he kept his distance.  

When the cold became too much, most of them clambered back up the shores of the river to dry off in the warm afternoon sun. Rain refused to leave however, most happy to continue floating around completely in his element in more ways than one.  

Before the soporific effect of the sun on their skin became inescapable, Mountain and Swiss left to go foraging for berries. Swiss had been keen to learn how to distinguish edible plants from inedible ones, and Mountain was eager to teach him. Their ghoulish digestions meant the stakes were low – even the most poisonous berries and mushrooms would not harm them beyond a stomach ache – but the ill effects would still be unpleasant. They pair wandered back in the direction of the road and the thickets either side, chatting quietly as they went about the task at hand. 

Meanwhile, Aether lurched to his feet and stretched his arms high above his head, his spine popping loudly as he stretched like a cat.  

“Right, let’s get to work. Chuck us any fish you see, Rain?” 

An answering splash came from the river, followed by the wet slap of a perch hitting the ground beside him. It thrashed wildly, stunned at its sudden change in environment. 

“Yup, that’ll work!” He chuffed, as Rain popped his head above the water.  

Dew watched on, scowling. Rain was apparently well enough to act cute and silly for Aether, yet he hadn't so much as looked at him since their fight yesterday. 

While Aether set about fashioning spits to roast the growing collection of fish haphazardly tossed their way, Dew found an outlet for his frustration by focussing on making a fire. This was at least one thing he knew he could do better than any of the others. Methodically setting smaller twigs alight and coaxing the flames to lick at the larger branches was therapeutic, calming the inferno that raged in his mind. Soon he had a perfect blaze going, despite the lingering damp. Aether nodded in approval, before calling out with a chuckle to the blue-tinged blur that seemed determined to decimate the population of aquatic life in this portion of the river. 

“That’ll do Rain, we’ll start growing scales if we eat any more than this!” The water ghoul paused his frenzy to flash a grin with too many fangs for his mouth at the pair on the shore. He snapped them once more, and made a big show of swallowing the small minnow he caught in them whole. Dew couldn’t help but feel slightly threatened. 

When Swiss and Mountain returned, they found Dew crouched by the fire. All his concentration was now going into not burning the fish that he was carefully turning over the flames, watching it with an eagle-eyed glare. Two piles sat nearby: one of uncooked fish Aether had expertly gutted, and one of cooked ones being kept warm just out of the fire’s reach on a hot rock. Aether was keeping a close eye on the progress, all too familiar with Dew's previous attempts at cooking, but Dew was determined to not be distracted this time.  

Satisfied that their dinner would not turn to charcoal, Aether had begun making snare traps to set overnight in the woods. Maybe if they were lucky they would catch a squirrel or a rabbit, something to break up the monotony of soups and stews made from dried meats and plants for tomorrow. Mountain and Swiss joined them on the ground as Dew triumphantly added his latest success to the stack of cooked skewers before starting on the next one. The pair seemed to be in a vastly better mood than earlier; the frown lines in Mountain's forehead finally beginning to smooth out, and the stony look on his face eroded away. 

“Where did you two learn to do all this?” Swiss asked, as he watched Aether expertly loop and twist a length of wire. 

“We used to be nomads,” Aether explained, “back before you arrived, even before Dew, we were like most ghouls without a clan. We wandered wherever the fates took us, living off the land and everything it provides.” 

Swiss gazed up at Mountain, intrigued. All the ghouls were cagey about their previous lives, so he wanted to absorb every shred of knowledge. 

“Have you two always travelled as a pair?” He asked, curious. 

“Definitely not!” Aether snorted a laugh. “If Mount had had his way when we met, we’d have never crossed paths again!” 

Mountain smiled slightly at Swiss’s open-mouthed stare of astonishment, before explaining.  

“We first met years before you joined us. I smelled a lone quint ghoul in the woods and started tracking him before he could track me.” 

“He caught up with me eventually,” Aether smirked, “but not before I sensed him coming.” 

Both ghouls shared an apologetic, wry smirk at the memory of that first encounter. 

“We ironed out our differences eventually.” Mountain continued. “I wanted us to go our separate ways, but someone thought it could be fun to try travelling as a pack.” 

“We made a good team,” grinned Aether, slinging a large, miraculously fish-free arm around the reluctant Earth ghoul, “so much so, that we decided to try life in a permanent settlement!” 

“Our hunting skills have gone a little soft since then.” Mountain admitted, shrugging out of Aether’s grasp and resuming his position conspicuously close to Swiss, knees bumping together. The low, quiet purr subconsciously emitting from Swiss’ chest developed a possessive and self-satisfied ring to it that they all chose to ignore. “We used to go on hunting trips for a few days every full moon, to keep ourselves sharp in case things went south with the villagers, but that all fizzled out when we found Dew.” 

Dew had been half-listening, having picked up the general idea of their history early on in his time with the pack, but tuned back in at his name and the pang of guilt it brought. He knew the regular excursions the pair enjoyed had ended because of him and his ineptitude, and the reminder that he had been a burden since day one stung now even more than it usually did. Once he had recovered his strength back then he had tried to join them on a trip, only for them to have to turn back days early. Dew was by far more a hinderance than a help, and as no one wanted to leave him alone in the farmhouse for extended periods, the hunting trips had stopped. 

“Of course, by the time you got here Swiss, they were ancient history,” Mountain finished, “we didn’t need to be on the ball all the time, we could focus on other things.”  

A sour smell, akin to Dew's current mood, rose from the fire. 

"Shit!” he hissed, the forgotten – and now thoroughly cremated – fish smouldering up at him. He snatched it from the flames, stalking off to dispose of it before he had to hear the inevitable sigh of disappointment from Mountain. 

Still floating in the river, Rain watched the four ghouls reminisce while Dew cooked his fish. Rain had caught them dinner, they were practically feasting tonight, and the uppity fire ghoul still believed he was dead weight? He sunk down under the water, leaving only his eyes visible. He felt stronger like this, but watching his pack sitting together was a glimpse at what their life had been like before he appeared. He had tried hard to ignore Dew's comments, but the niggling thoughts that maybe they would have been better off without him leered their ugly heads from the shadows.  

Rain continued sulking in the shallows until Aether called to him, several times. 

“Come on Rain, time to come out and dry off before dinner!” 

He blew a huff of bubbles out through his nose but finally slouched out of the river to sprawl himself and the sopping wet underclothes he was wearing by the fire. Only after a pointed glance from Aether did Dew kick up his own warmth from his position opposite. 

That night, they went to bed warm and finally full for the first time in over a week. They had feasted on their relative banquet of fish and mushrooms, all washed down with handfuls of sweet wild berries. His anger burnt out, Dew now tried as hard as he could to tamp down the ashes of guilt that still lingered in the recesses of his mind. He’d done well today, helping to feed his pack and keep them warm. Mountain was still smarting slightly from his leadership being challenged, but Dew was confident they would make it through the forest tomorrow, and save themselves a detour. Besides, he only knew his way if they stuck to the woods, having meandered through them in reverse all those years ago and then again last week. In hindsight, he had been lucky to make it through unscathed that first time on foot, only having one scary near-encounter with a wolf. 

Dew and Rain shuffled under their shared blanket again, staying as separate as they had the day before. The heated emotions from the previous night had finally fizzled out, quashed by the weight of warm food in their bellies, but a lingering awkwardness hung in the air. Despite this, they both fell asleep quickly in anticipation of the early start they would have the following morning. For once, the pair slept soundly through the night. 

The journey through the forest the next day went smoothly, just as Dew had said it would. Rising early, alongside the sun, they collected in the few snares Aether had set. They had caught two rabbits overnight, hopefully enough to stretch their rations a bit further. 

Progress was fast with all of them feeling renewed after their much-needed break the day before. Rain had even declared that he felt well enough to walk for some of the journey, so the ghouls had gratefully offloaded more of their luggage into the mare’s saddlebags, making them even swifter. The conversation flowed far easier today, the tense undercurrent finally dissolving. Around them, the trees pressed oppressively close as though they were eavesdropping on the trespassers in their midst, so they instinctively spoke in hushed voices. 

The sounds of the forest were a mix of familiar and unfamiliar; the rustling of animals in the underground had been a constant occurrence so far, but the volume here implied a creature much larger than any they had met so far. Unlike the usual, wary animals along the road, this beast didn’t flee upon hearing the ghouls’ footsteps or smelling their unholy scent but instead seemed to stalk them in their progress. Likewise, the light sounds of twittering birdsong overhear were replaced with low, baleful calls. It was clear that darkness still lingered here: ancient magic they had no desire to interfere with. 

By the time they paused around midday for a drink, Rain was beginning to tire again. Dew gently stroked the horse’s nose as they reshuffled, her discomfort with standing still in a place like this manifesting through stressed snorts and stamps of her feet. She had spent the morning trying to pull ahead and move at the speed Dew had encouraged her to on their previous journeys. 

“C’mon girl, we’ve been here before and it was fine,” he cooed to her, “we just need to go a bit slower this time.” 

She whinnied nervously, but accepted the chunk of slightly limp carrot from Dew’s pocket. 

During the following few hours, the atmosphere within the pack changed in a way none of them had been expecting. The looming threat of their surroundings seemed to be pushing them closer together rather than pulling them apart, the ghouls knowing they would need to rely on their collective senses to spot any incoming danger. Luckily no such dangers arose and, despite their fears, the trek through the uneven ground of the dark woods was almost entirely uneventful. 

Eventually the sun began to fade, the light that filtered down to them cut through with flashes of red that turned everything a golden hue. Above them, the trees were finally starting to thin out as they reached the edge of the forest. Another mile or so later, when the sky wrapped the world in a velvet blanket of cornflower blue, the ghouls found a suitable place to make camp.  

The first priority was to make a fire to ward off predators: they might literally have been out of the woods, but figuratively they were not. They were getting further north with each day now and it was becoming progressively colder at night, so it’s warmth was immeasurably appreciated by the pack of exhausted ghouls. The full day, from dawn until dusk, of hiking through the woods had sapped all the strength they recovered the previous night, but they took comfort in knowing the hardest part was over. Dew was certain they were about halfway now, and the terrain should be simpler to traverse from here on out.  

As they sat and rubbed sore leg muscles while eating the rabbits caught the previous night, they all allowed themselves to relax slightly and savour the warmth of both food and flames. Even Mountain seemed calmer; the temporary relinquishing of his leadership position lifting a burden from his shoulders he had not realised he was carrying. They were past the hard part of the journey, at last, and finally learning to work as a team in a new environment. While Rain was still physically weak, he seemed to be recovering mentally and his progress allowed his packmates to finally feel more at ease. With this additional stressor removed, the frayed tensions of the pack could finally start to heal; they were all in this together after all, and the current in-fighting would not do anything to help. 

Mountain had one large weight still resting heavily on his shoulders: his undeniably foul attitude towards Dewdrop. He was self-aware enough to know he was in the wrong; he had been unnecessarily taking all his frustrations out on Dew, but not aware enough to know how to fix things. Despite the more rational part of his brain saying that Dew could not have known that his comments could have pushed Rain over the edge that morning – no one could have predicted that – the part of him that needed to assign blame was too stubborn to admit that he had been equally wrong with his own inflammatory behaviour towards Dew since. 

The fire ghoul still had a lot to answer for; starting with his antagonistic attitude towards Rain who had, to Mountain's knowledge, never done anything to directly upset Dew. Someone should have addressed it sooner, realised Mountain, and that someone could easily have been him.  

As he sat beside his packmate's expertly crafted fire, he wondered if they real reason he was having trouble forgiving Dew was that it involved accepting some responsibility for his own actions. He had sensed Rain's hesitance that fateful morning, when Swiss first proposed the job up at the farm, but he hadn't offered to go with him or help him practice. Rain had clearly been tired, and yet Mountain hadn't suggested that he wait until another day. In fact, he felt in hindsight like he had dragged Rain along to his own jobs so many times, that he had inadvertently pressured him into thinking that it was his duty to accept any work put his way. Likewise, he had snapped at Dew when he mocked Rain, without ever checking in on either of his young packmates to see if Rain was truly as unaffected as he acted, or why Dew was quite so volatile in the first place. 

Mountain sat stewing in his own guilt for a minute longer until he reached what he realised was the only conclusion: he needed to apologise to both of them, especially Dew, before their relationship became damaged beyond repair. 

Sat across the fire, Dew was having similar thoughts of his own. All his anger at Rain had dissolved and was now directed squarely at himself. His comments the night before last had been unnecessary, given that Rain had been sobbing and was clearly already blaming himself enough for the both of them. Before they could both move on with their lives, whatever they would look like from now on, Dew needed to speak to Rain and clear the air between them. With the determination fresh in his mind, Dew scrambled inelegantly to his feet, and made to walk over to where Rain was stood gently stroking the horse as she ate her own dinner. 

Before he could make it more than a few steps, he found himself face-to-chest with Mountain. The bigger ghoul put his hands on Dew's shoulders to steady him. 

“Dew, can we talk?” 

Dewdrop looked up, suspicious. Other than Rain, Mountain was the one ghoul who seemed to be holding an insurmountable grudge against him, and he had no desire for another lecture on responsibility when he had finally worked up the courage to speak with Rain. He shrugged, and Mountain took the hint to release his shoulders but made no move to let him past. 

“It's about Rain.” Mountain added, following Dew's eyeline to the water ghoul. 

“Fine.” huffed Dew, and he let himself be led out of earshot of the rest of the pack. 

Almost before they were fully sat down, Mountain burst out the words that had eluded him for so long. 

“I'm sorry.” 

Dew stared at him, not fully comprehending what he was hearing. 

“I'm so sorry, Dew,” Mountain continued, “I've been so angry at everything the last week, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you.” 

If Dew was shocked at Mountain wanting to talk to him, he was floored at receiving an apology. Now that he was properly sat facing Mountain for the first time since everything happened, he could see the haunted look in the earth ghoul's eyes. The desperation in them scared him; it was a familiar look. 

"Rain's safe now, Mount,” he said, addressing a different point but one he felt was the underlying cause of all of this, “we're all safe.” 

“I hope so...” Mountain trailed off. 

“And I'm sorry too,” added Dew, determined to get this uncomfortable conversation tackled in one go, “I was awful to Rain because of my own issues, without thinking about how it affected him. You told me over and over not to and I didn't listen, it's my fault he lost control and we're in this mess.” 

“Don't think like that,” Mountain said, no stranger to the blame game Dew was also trapped in, “we could all have done something different, but we can’t change the past. Now we need to think about how to move on.” 

They sat in slightly awkward silence for a while, neither one entirely sure how to end the conversation. 

“I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you,” Mountain finally said, “I couldn't save Rain, it seemed like you'd abandoned us, and Swiss's visions were bouncing between gone or making him scream with the pain.” He shuddered. “It felt like the whole pack was falling apart and I couldn't do anything to stop it.” 

Dew winced at the reminder of how much his departure had hurt them all. 

“Then you came back, and you saved Rain all by yourself,” Mountain continued, “I wasn't needed at all, and it felt like I'd failed the pack.” 

“You know you aren't responsible for our screw-ups, right?” 

Mountain shrugged sheepishly. 

“Yeah, I know. But ‘cause me and Aeth have been here the longest it feels like I should be, sometimes.” 

Dew nodded, remembering what Swiss had said about Mountain feeling like the de-facto pack leader. 

“And now we're going to a place only you know, and everything is completely foreign and unknown and totally out of my ballpark, and I'm scared because I can't control it and I don't know how to not be the one in charge.” Mountain spoke in a rush, the vulnerable words spilling from his chest before he could stop them. 

Dew hummed in understanding. 

“I get it. I'd be acting the same if you were suddenly making me move to live with a bunch of strange ghouls and humans only you knew.”  

Mountain's shoulders, which had been creeping up towards his ears, lowered in relief as Dew acknowledged the crux of his apprehension. 

“I promise we’ll leave if you hate it,” Dew said earnestly, “as soon as Rain is better, we can move on again. You don't need to worry about being trapped there or the pack breaking apart if they want me to stay. They know you come first.” 

Hearing his worries addressed put Mountain further at ease. 

“One more thing though,” reluctantly, Dew figured if they were clearing the air they should raise all their issues and not leave any resentment simmering, “I do know the way on from here, and it hurts that you keep ignoring that I've made this journey twice in the last week. I might not be an expert in anything related to keeping five ghouls alive in the wilderness, but I know what I'm talking about with the route.” 

Mountain looked suitably chastened again, but he saw Dew's point. Things were going to be different between the pack for a while – it was all but inevitable given the events of the past week – but maybe giving up some control didn't have to be a bad thing. If they wanted to rebuild their fragile trust, they had to start somewhere, and being his usual inflexible self in a situation as volatile as this wouldn't help any of them. 

“You're right, and I'm sorry for ignoring you before. I guess I should learn how to give up control a little.” 

“Not completely!” Dew tried to make a joke, sensing Mountain's discomfort growing again.  “We'd all starve without you!” 

Mountain chuckled weakly, and Dew considered that a success. 

“You do need to apologise to Rain though,” Mountain added, “I don't know what happened between you two the other night, but he's hurting and confused right now and needs your support.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” Dew made a mock salute. “Where did you think I was going when you stopped me just now?”  

“Thanks Dew,” Mountain clapped him on the shoulder as they stood up, “and I'm proud of what you've done for our pack, y'know. I'm sure it wasn't easy.” 

Dew mimed gagging at the praise, and the pair snickered as they went their separate ways, balance between them restored. 

The chat with Mountain had gone well, Dew told himself. It had gone so much better than expected, as to be almost miraculous. How much harder could talking to Rain be? 

Quite a lot harder, it turned out. Dew psyched himself up on the short walk over to where Rain was hovering with the mare, almost spinning on his heel and returning to the fire with every step. 

“Uh, hi Rain…” tried Dew, unsure what to say. How should one start a ‘sorry I goaded you into murdering several people then blamed you oh and now we’re technically also married” conversation, anyway? 

“Hello Dewdrop,” sighed Rain, briefly looking up before turning back to continue fussing over the horse, tucking stray tendrils of her mane back into the loosening braid, “can I help you with something? It’s been a long day and I’m not in the mood for another fight.” 

Dew stuttered, not expecting such assertive behaviour from the water ghoul, who once upon a time had let himself be walked all over like a wet rag. 

“I– uh– I wanted to talk to you.” He finished lamely. Rain levelled him with a weary stare. The silence stretched out until Dew realised he was expected to continue speaking.  

Dew took a deep breath. The bitterness between him and Mountain had been washed away at last, and the relief of the aftermath felt so sweet. He needed to try and do the same thing here. Mountain was right: they couldn’t erase the past. That was set in stone, but the future was as intangible as water, as unpredictable as fire. Dew dug his claws into every speck of inspiration he could take from the earth ghoul’s courage, and started talking. 

“I'm sorry for what I said the other night, it's not your fault we're here, it's mine. I'm sorry for being a bully ever since you got here. You're not useless, you deserve to be here and I'm so sorry I ever said otherwise.” 

Once Dew opened the floodgates, he couldn’t stop. 

“This is all my fault, I was angry at you for things that were my fault and now you're upset with me and so are the others and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I don't know how to make things better.” 

Dew gasped for breath, and Rain regarded him with a curious look. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d heard Dew speak as much in one go, especially about anything so emotionally charged. He stayed frozen in place for a long moment, unsure how to respond. 

“Thank you.” He said finally, face strangely impassive. 

Dew looked at him, stricken. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting: anger, tears, acceptance? A simple and cold thank you was definitely not in his list of possible outcomes, and Dew had no idea how to respond. 

“This isn't entirely your fault though Dew, I can't let you think that.” Rain broke the strange, icy tension by addressing the one part of Dew’s spiel he hadn’t expected him to argue with. “There were plenty of other things messing with my head that day.” 

“What do you mean?” Dew asked, confused. Rain shook his head quickly. 

“It doesn't matter right now.” 

Curiosity burned within Dewdrop, but he clamped his lips together, afraid to disturb the fragile truce that was forming between them. The pair descended into silence again, but a less awkward one this time as they both pretended to be engrossed in the horse next to them. 

“Is there something else I need to apologise for?” Dew eventually begged. “I don’t want to leave anything unsaid.” 

At last Rain smiled, and shook his head in amusement. 

"Just give me a damn hug, Dewdrop.” 

[midnight-moth-musings]

The Butcher's Boy, Part 2: The Alley

John "Soap" Mactavish x reader, medieval au

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

---

In the following days, I find myself lost in endless daydreams of my meeting with him. Blue was previously a least favorite color of mine--one would say I almost despised it. But now? Now I find myself evaluating any shade of blue to find a color matching those captivating eyes. No shade of fabric in my wardrobe, nor in my home has managed to match it. Perhaps the sky has come closest? Over time, I find myself yearning for a dress made of the same blue--something to tie me back to what I felt in those brief moments with him.

I awaken one morning with a sense of purpose. Quickly, I dress myself in the first dress and cloak I find in my wardrobe. I carefully tip toe down the gaudy stairs of my home--which are far too endless for my taste. I reach the end and carefully look into the foyer for the presence of my mother. I mentally clap myself over my back to celebrate my luck as she is nowhere to be seen. With a wide grin, I pull my cloak over my head and leave my home quickly.

I enjoy traveling by foot and walking among the common people in town, even if it was forbidden. My mother has always shown distaste for interacting with those she deems below our family--even turning her nose up at the possibility of walking among them. Even as a child I have always enjoyed running along the stone paths and interacting with shopkeepers. I suppose I understand why mother is often exasperated with me. Ladies do not run, ladies travel by carriage. Rolling my eyes dramatically at the voice of my mother replaying in my head, I continue walking along the path until I find myself lost in an alleyway. I pull my cloak down as I look up at the stone walls surrounding me. I mentally pinch myself in frustration as I turn to continue finding my way to the seamstress.

"What is a pretty creature like you doing 'ere?" I am snapped away from my thoughts by the gravelly voice of a man stumbling closer. My eyes narrow and my nose scrunches as I inhale the pungent smell of ale increase with his approach. Taking a step back from him, I find my back hitting the stone wall behind me. The man comes further in view and I feel my heart drop at the sight of him looking up and down my form with a vile grin.

"I am sorry sir, I only took a wrong turn." I try to smile kindly while moving to step past him. I gasp as I feel his large hand envelope my wrist, tugging me to a stop.

"Leaving so soon?" The man leans closer and I feel bile rising in my throat at the stench of him. "Pretty lady like you shouldn't be left all alone." I begin to tug my arm away, kicking at his shin as he only holds me tighter.

"Let me go!" The man groans in pain as I hit him with my other elbow. His grip loosens and I immediately step past him--only to be pushed down to the ground as he shoves me down roughly. I mumble a string of curses as my palms hit the stone and I hurriedly scuffle backwards. "Please..." I let out a whimper, looking up at the man fearfully.

"Aye!" My head snaps up as I hear the loud voice of another person booming from the end of the alleyway. Before my eyes can focus on the figure, they come rushing down and quickly tackle the man. He is knocked down in a series of loud punches, and the unknown figure stands up in a huff. I begin scooting my body away from the scene. Large hands reach out to grab me and I instantly kick my leg out in defense. "Easy, easy lass." I wipe at my glossy eyes and look up as my brain begins to register the familiar accent.

"Johnny?" I whisper quietly, meeting the blue eyes of my savior. He takes a step closer and grabs my arms to help me stand. I rest my hands on his forearms and let out a sob of relief. He quickly pulls me in for an embrace, holding me tightly against his chest.

"Shh, bonnie. It's alright." I grasp at the cloth of his shirt tightly as I bury my face against his chest, breathing deeply as I try to calm myself. I expect to be met by the scent of raw meat, blood, and steel--instead I'm met with the comforting scent of grass and firewood. After a few moments of standing in his embrace, I realize my actions. I quickly pull away, wiping at my tears hurriedly.

"I--sorry." Johnny looks down at me incredulously and only shakes his head at my apology. I suddenly feel silly by my words, turning away from him with reddened cheeks. He grabs my wrists softly, tracing over the skin of my palms with a frown. Only then, I register the stinging, bloodied skin from landing harshly on the ground earlier.

"Let's get ye cleaned up, bonnie." I find myself lost yet again in his kind eyes and only muster a nod of agreement. He leads me silently out of the alleyway and down the cobbled streets. I'm instantly comforted by his presence--his bulky frame towers over me and provides a sense of protection as we walk. Our walk ends at the door of a small home and he opens the door for me with a grin. "Welcome in." I walk inside carefully, looking around the interior carefully. The home is small--made of cracked stone walls and left with mild decoration. However as I take several steps inside, this small abode begins to feel more of a home than my own. Warm blankets and small trinkets strewn about show insight in the life of its owner.

I turn back to look at Johnny as he stands almost nervously against one of the walls. "It's perfect." His demeanor transforms as he smiles widely over at me.

"Glad ye like it, lass. Now let's get ye cleaned up." Johnny walks away into one of the rooms in the home and comes back with a wet towel and bandages. "May I?" He gestures to my hands and I raise them up. Johnny quickly sets to work, cleaning my palms carefully. His brows furrow in thought and I barely notice the stinging of my palms as my gaze lands on him biting his lip. "Lass?" My eyes flicker up to meet the blue of his eyes staring down at me.

"Hm?" I mumble, before realizing that he has finished wrapping my hands. "Oh, sorry." I feel the burning of my embarrassment and pull my hands away. He only smiles in response and I swear I notice his cheeks darken--although I tell myself it is the lighting.

"Would ye like a cup of tea?" I nod and he motions for me to sit on his sofa while he disappears in the small kitchen. I take a seat, pulling my cloak further around my body as I mentally berate myself for my staring. Johnny reenters moments later with two cups and takes a seat next to me. He watches me take a sip and smiles when I hum at the relief of its warmth. "Yer lucky I found ye earlier, what were ye doing alone anyway?" Johnny looks at me worriedly and I set my cup down next to us.

"I...wanted some fresh air." I lie. I was definitely not on my way to the seamstress to find a fabric the color of your eyes.

"Well, ye ought to let me walk ye back home. I won't let ye go alone." My heart flutters at the protective tone of his voice and I nod.

"It is not necessary, but if you insist..."

"I insist." Johnny cuts me off from continuing any further and I meet his gaze once more. I can only nod dumbly as I am again lost in his eyes. Johnny reaches a hand out to brush a stray hair behind my ear and I silently pray that he cannot feel the warmth of my cheeks.

"Thank you for helping me." I whisper softly.

I feel his thumb brush against my cheek to wipe at a stray tear rolling down and I am once again lost in the sensation. "I never want to see ye hurt. Please be careful for me, alright? The streets aren't safe for a dove like ye."

"I just...need to get out of my house sometimes." Johnny looks over at me with a frown before nodding in understanding.

"Well, if ye insist on walking about then I insist on accompanying ye." My eyes widen and I carefully watch his expression for any sign of discontent--however his gaze never wavers.

"I suppose...I might enjoy that." Johnny lets out a sigh of relief at our agreement.

We spend the next several hours talking over tea until I realize I will be late for dinner, and he walks me home. Arm in arm, we walk along the cobblestone together as we continue talking. I find myself laughing more in one evening than I have in my entire life. After we reach the gates of my family manor, I pull away from him hesitantly. "Thank you for accompanying me home." My hands fiddle with the skirt of my dress as I smile up at him.

"Of course." Johnny's crooked grin beams down at me. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his pants and looks down at his feet for a moment. "Would ye like to walk about tomorrow?"

I nod almost too quickly and reply eagerly. "Yes!" Johnny smiles once more before grabbing my hand and kissing it gently.

"I'll see ye tomorrow then, lass." He continues to hold my hand tenderly and I feel our bodies drift closer. His eyes flicker quickly down to my lips and I begin to pray for a kiss on more than my knuckles tonight.

Our silence is broken by a sudden shout. "Lady Y/N! I have been searching for you all day!" Clara runs up from behind the gate with a huff. I quickly step away from Johnny and tug my hand away from his grasp to look at Clara. The older woman shoots me a mild glare before noticing Johnny standing beside me. "Oh! Mr. Mactavish, what a surprise." Clara's steely grey eyes flicker between the two of us and I can almost picture the gears turning in her head.

Johnny waves at her with a smile. "Hi lass." I quickly open the gate and slip through, grabbing Clara by the arm before she can begin her questioning. I wave to him quickly and tug her along back to the home. My heart continues to beat rapidly as we walk up the steps of my home.

"What were the two of you--" Clara begins, looking at me in disbelief.

"Nothing!" I squeak, pulling her inside. Clara only narrows her eyes in response as I walk quickly up the stairs to my bedroom. I shut my door and fall on my bed in a heap. Hugging a pillow against my chest I close my eyes with a wide smile--the endless possibilities of what tomorrow will bring playing through my head.

---

-P