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bacidipesca · 10 months

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a weight you choose

Okay guys this one might be a little different. I’m a person who suffers from chronic illness, so I know what it’s like to really feel sick, and I wanted to write a hurt/comfort fic. Peach is sick with a stomach bug and this fic might be a little gross at points. There will be discussion of vomiting and snot, but no, uh, toilet things.

I hope everyone enjoys! It’s a bit of a long one. (Almost 4K!)

Waking up was usually not a difficult process for Princess Peach.

Though she was often up late with her duties and paperwork, Peach was an early riser by nature and usually itched to get out of bed and start her day with the rising of the sun (much to the chagrin of the folks in the castle). It was a rare occasion that Toadette had to come and fetch her, and rarer still that she didn’t immediately jump out of bed once she realized she’d overslept. It took several seconds of Toadette shaking her shoulder and trying to rouse her for the princess to even stir.

“Princess, are you alright?” Toadette said once again, and this time Peach heard it, though it sounded as though it came through a layer of cotton wool.

She scrunched her nose and groaned, turning for a moment to try it bury her face in her pillow. Even that slight movement, however, was enough to send a wave of terrible chills down her body from head to toe. She popped open her eyes to look up at Toadette, squinting a bit even in the low light, and she swallowed painfully. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes grew alarmed before she could utter a word and with more energy than she thought she had, she flung the sheets back and stumbled out of bed.

Her chambers, of course, had an adjoining bathroom and she raced over to the trash bin there to heave, catching herself on her hands on the rim of the bin before she could fall to her knees. It took quite a few rounds of heaving before she felt like she could lift her head again, and when she did she realized that Toadette had come in behind her and tied her hair back from her face.

Peach would have thanked her, but another wave of chills rocked over her and she couldn’t speak as she heaved again.

It felt like that went on for hours, though Peach was sure it couldn’t have been that long. She would get a moment to catch her breath, would start to stand upright, and her stomach would cramp or she’d feel a bolt of inexplicable pain shoot up from her gut to her throat. Sweat beaded on her forehead and in her hairline from the constant effort of coughing and her legs began to ache from the nonstop tension as her stomach continued to try to empty itself, long after she’d lost everything she’d eaten. When the rolling and cramping of her abdomen didn’t stop even still, she couldn’t help but start to cry and fat teardrops slid down her flushed cheeks. After a while she lost the strength to stay on her feet and went down to her knees, leaning on her elbows as she clutched at the trash bin.

I don’t even have anything to come up anymore, she thought miserably, and she bit her lip hard to prevent a whine from escaping from her throat. Her efforts were in vain, though, because when she swallowed it felt as though she’d been eating broken glass. Her throat was shredded from all of her coughing, and she let out a pathetic sound as more tears rolled down her face, leaning on one of her arms. Pressed against her cheek, she could feel how hot and flushed her face still was.

She heard Toadette speaking behind her.

“…like this all morning. She hasn’t stopped, and it’s been about three hours now,” she said, and Peach reeled a little at the confirmation that she had, indeed, been vomiting for hours. Then she realized Toadette was talking to another person.

Oh, she must have gotten Nurse Toadessa, Peach thought, relief sweeping through her. Before she could even really finish the thought, though, it was already proven wrong.

“Dio mio, I understand,” came the other voice, and Peach couldn’t hear anything else after because the shock of it sent the most horrible wave of nausea through her yet.

Toadette had not fetched the castle nurse. She had gone and fetched Mario.

(What she did not know at this time was that Toadette had gone out with the full intention of getting the castle nurse, but Mario had found her first. And once Mario had heard the princess was ill, nothing could be done to prevent him from rushing to her side.)

Peach retched hard into the trash bin, this time seeing stars as her vision darkened around the edges. It hurt, it felt like she was going to turn herself inside out, she couldn’t stop to breathe—and honestly if this was her end she was beginning to welcome it, if it meant she stopped vomiting. Just as she was beginning to truly feel lightheaded, a bundle of cloth was pushed under her nose and her next retch was stopped in its tracks by the shock of the smell alone. She gasped and got another inhale that almost choked her.

When she tried to jerk back from the sharp, chemical smell, she felt a gentle hand on the back of her head and the cloth was kept close, though not close or hard enough to smother her—just to keep the scent invading her nose.

“I know, I’m sorry,” came Mario’s voice from somewhere above her head. Her eyes were still tearing and she could just barely see his hand in front of her face. He wasn’t wearing his gloves. “I know it smells bad, but it’s helping, sì?”

He was right, somehow. As long as she was taking in that burning smell, her stomach wasn’t trying to flip around. She could take a breath, and she did so greedily, coughing on mucus when she let it back out but not convulsing with the need to purge. A low sob of relief pushed out of her and she lifted her head for the first time in what felt like forever.

She felt disgusting. She knew there had to be something streaming from about every hole in her head—tears were still falling from her eyes, while snot ran freely out of her nose like an open faucet, and she was sure there was a strand of spit clinging to her lip and stringing to the side of the trash bin. But Mario smiled at her regardless, eyes warm and kind and sweet enough to have her heart thumping. He kept the foul-smelling cloth close to her nose while he reached into his pocket with his free hand for a handkerchief. Peach tried to back away again when he reached out for her face.

“N-no, I’ll get it dirty,” she said in a wavering voice, trying to turn away.

He chuckled softly at her and shook his head. “That’s the whole point, Princess.”

She didn’t have enough energy to struggle with him, so she let him wipe her face even though she thought it was pointless. It felt as though she would start crying or vomiting again any moment, and her shoulders hitched with an anticipatory sob just at the thought. Once Mario had stuffed his handkerchief away again, he pulled something different from the depths of his pocket, and Peach’s brow furrowed when she heard it crinkling.

“I need you to try to eat this,” he said, holding it out to her, and when she saw what it was she let out another sad little sound. It was a hard peppermint candy.

She shook her head, leaning back and away even as he unwrapped it. “Nooo,” she said, drawing the word out like a child and feeling pathetic even as she did so. “I hate peppermint.”

That caused Mario to pause, and he looked behind her. “Does she?” he asked, and she realized he must be talking to Toadette when she heard the little woman’s voice pipe up.

“No, she’s just being contrary,” said Toadette, in a tone that suggested long suffering on this particular subject, mingled with amusement. “She’s always like that when she’s sick.”

“I’m really not,” Peach tried to defend, but over her head Mario and Toadette were exchanging knowing smirks where she couldn’t see.

Mario made a soft sound in the back of his throat, as if to soothe her, and he lifted the peppermint to her lips. “You can spit it out later if you want, but this will help for now. Please, Princess, just for a few minutes?”

His eyes were imploring her behind the candy pressed to her lips, and her heart thumped again. Why, oh why, had Toadette fetched Mario to help her instead of the nurse? Why was he the one seeing her like this, drenched in sweat and leaking from everywhere? She could feel a bead of snot starting to drip down from her nose, and she parted her lips and allowed Mario to feed her the peppermint before it could touch the candy. He beamed at her, and finally allowed the nasty cloth to drop away from her face.

“The peppermint should help soothe your stomach a little until we can get some proper medicine in you,” he said. He brushed hair back and away from her face, eyes flicking from her soaked hairline to her swollen lips, and he frowned for a moment as he seemed to consider something. He looked her over for a long moment. “Do you think you can stand up?”

Oh. She hadn’t been anticipating that. She felt as though she barely had enough energy to keep her head upright at this point, but she had to at least try, right? She bit her lip and hesitated for a long moment, but eventually she nodded and tried to stand.

It swiftly became clear that she was going to need assistance. Her legs trembled still when she tried to get them to cooperate, and she nearly pulled the trash bin over on herself when she tried to use it for leverage to stand up. Mario and Toadette were quick to her side to help, both trying to soothe her as she mumbled out apologies.

“M’so, so s-sorry, I-I just can’t…” she said, almost losing the peppermint. Toadette shushed her, moving the trash bin out of the way so Peach couldn’t hurt herself.

Mario took hold of her hands, hoisting her to her feet with little apparent effort, and when she proved unsteady he positioned himself under one of her arms, placing a large hand at the small of her back. She was slow to move and Mario was kind enough to let her, matching her pace as she shuffled across the tile. His being shorter worked to their advantage as well, as Peach wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand fully upright if she tried.

“Here, Toadette is going to help you get into a shower,” Mario told her as they approached the steaming stall. The water was already going and a bench had been dragged inside so she didn’t have to stand, clearly the work of Toadette while she’d been distracted with her illness. “The hot water and the pressure will help, alright? But before you do, you need to take this.”

He gestured and Peach saw that Toadette had both a tall glass of water and a couple of medicine tablets in her hands. Peach bit her lip, skeptical.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it down,” she said softly, voice small and scared.

This wasn’t her being contrary, but genuine fear that she wouldn’t be able to stomach the cure for her illness somehow and she would just stay sick. She’d been going for three hours and hadn’t stopped, had hardly been able to catch her breath, could now barely walk across her bathroom. It didn’t feel like there was an end in sight.

“I think you can,” Mario said. He gave her a soft smile, and when he continued she swore it was like he’d read her mind. “I know it seems like it’s not going to stop, but this is going to pass. We got you walking, away from the bin. That’s an improvement already.” There was something a bit beseeching in his eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Of course she did. That was like asking if water was wet, or if Peach’s favorite color was pink. She could see the look in Toadette’s eyes as she glanced between the two of them, the knowing, the smile that threatened to break out on her little round face, and Peach pouted briefly at her before she reached out for the pills.

Mario encouraged her to drink as much of the water as she could, though he urged her to drink slowly to not upset her stomach. Once the glass was empty, he took it and said that he would be waiting for them outside and then delicately handed her off to Toadette’s care.

Despite Peach’s apprehensions, Toadette did not take the opportunity to start teasing her—perhaps knowing the princess didn’t really have the energy for it at the moment. Instead she chose to explain how she’d run into Mario on her way to find Nurse Toadessa. Today had been a day Mario and the princess had been scheduled together, so he’d been waiting and worried when she hadn’t appeared for any of her morning duties. Upon hearing she was sick, nothing would appease him but to see her for himself and offer what help he could, even after it had been made plain what the illness was.

“He says he and his brother were sick pretty often as kids, so they know a few tricks,” Toadette told her, with a tone that suggested she’d been impressed. “And with a bit of rubbing alcohol and a peppermint, he had you on your feet.”

Oh, rubbing alcohol. That was what he’d been holding to her nose. Peach couldn’t help but be impressed herself, now that she had some of her wits back. He’d known exactly what to do to help stop the cycle, he’d even just happened to have a peppermint handy in his pocket. Now that she was out of the shower and into a new pajama set (Peach insisted if Toadette wouldn’t let her get properly dressed she should at least wear something other than a nightgown), Toadette had helped her hobble over to the vanity mirror and was helping her manage her hair. The candy that Mario had given her was nearly gone, and she crunched it away.

Her eyes widened suddenly and a pink blush stole over her face. She lifted a hand to her mouth in embarrassment.

“Did I really say I hated peppermint?” she asked in a little squeak.

Toadette laughed brightly. “Yes! You did!”

The princess buried her face in her hands.

Between the two of them they decided it would be best to just braid Peach’s hair back to keep it out of her face and comfortable to sleep in, and it became clear as Toadette brushed out her hair that Peach wasn’t going to be able to stay awake much longer. All of her energy had been drained by the morning’s stress, and now that the nausea had been tamed to a dull ache and she could finally relax, the weariness was catching up to her. When Peach tried to stand and walk away from her vanity, her legs trembled so badly that she had to take a seat again before she could get upright and she bit her lip hard against the sudden sting of tears. She lifted a hand to her face, covering her eyes. Oh, how she hated this. Hated to be a bother. Hated to need the help.

“…I think Mario might need to carry me,” she finally admitted to Toadette in a little whisper.

That was all she needed to scurry out of the room to fetch him; Toadette knew perhaps better than anyone else just how much Peach hated to feel like a burden—especially to Mario—so for her to say it in so many words meant that she knew she was at her limit. It didn’t take long for her to come back with Mario in tow, and Peach found herself a little surprised by just how solemn he looked until he laid eyes on her, and his mustache curled up in a gentle smile.

“You look like you feel better. Your eyes are brighter,” he said warmly, once he was within arm’s reach. Her heart fluttered a little at the sweet words—he always claimed he wasn’t very good with them, but he managed to say the nicest things to her. “Are you ready to move?”

She nodded, unsure if she trusted her voice not to waver if she tried to speak. He smiled at her again and slid an arm around her shoulders.

It was little effort for him to lift her into his arms and as always Peach was struck by how safe and secure she felt. For all his small size, he was so strong and fast and always, always so careful with her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and fought the strong urge to bury her face in there as well. She barely noticed as he walked her out of the bathroom and back to her bed, feeling like she was floating instead, and it felt like the time was cut criminally short when he finally laid her down. A lump rose in her throat and her hand shot out before she could stop herself, wrapping her fingers around one of his thumbs as he started to back away.

“Stay with me? Please?” she asked. Her voice was starting to catch up to everything that had happened, a bit hoarse and reedy. She shuffled back towards the center of the bed and tugged weakly at his hand, giving him the big, wet eyes that had usually convinced Toadsworth to let her have just a couple more hours to read before bed as a child.

“Princess…” Mario’s cheeks were pink and getting darker. He glanced around them, as though he was afraid of being watched, or perhaps of being caught. “I don’t think it’s very, ah, appropriate as your guard…”

Before Peach could say anything else, or come to her senses about what she was asking of him, really, Mario jerked forward a bit, stumbling against the edge of the bed. He turned and saw that Toadette was behind him, a firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades. The look on her face was no-nonsense.

“Take off your boots, please,” was all she said, and Mario knew that there would be no getting away.

He pulled Peach’s hand from his and gave it a soft squeeze before he leaned down to unlace his shoes so he could join the princess. He sat on top of the bedclothes, leaving what he must have thought was a respectful distance between them, and leaned carefully back as he turned to face her. He’d taken off his hat at some point, she finally noticed. His hair was a bit disheveled, as though he’d been running his hands through it and then hastily tried to comb it into place again. That lump in her throat returned at the thought of him being so concerned.

“I’m sorry I made you worry so much,” Peach said after a long few moments of silence.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Mario said back, almost immediately. He shook his head at her. “You can’t help being sick. It happens to everyone.”

She didn’t say anything back for a long moment, unable to come up with words to express what she was feeling. After a beat, Mario picked up one of her hands in his and she blinked when she realized neither of them were wearing their gloves.

The skin of his fingers wasn’t as rough as she might have expected, but his knuckles were a little hairy, and his nails trimmed. His palms were wide and creased, and he had a scar across his index finger she’d never seen before. Most of all, his hands were warm, and they utterly engulfed hers. She would never get tired of seeing her hands disappear inside of his.

“My brother and I used to get sick a lot as kids,” he said. She looked up at his face again and saw the spark in his expression, the one that always came through when he talked about his brother and made his blue eyes twinkle. “And Luigi would always apologize over and over for needing help, or for getting me sick because I helped him. Do you know what always I told him?”

Peach shook her head slowly, sinking back further into her pillow.

“Un peso che si sceglie non si sente,” he said, and the smooth, melodic cadence of the Italian words felt like it was dancing over her ears. His thumb caressed over her wrist, and her heart caught in her throat when he translated for her. “A weight that you choose is not felt.”

A weight that you choose? Did that mean he was choosing her, too, like he’d chosen to take care of his brother? That he didn’t mind the work, because she was important to him? That he wanted to be here, regardless of if she was sick or not? She didn’t like those kinds of questions—they had jagged corners that dug into her mind as they passed through. They hurt to linger on, like they might burn if she held on for too long, or too tightly. She knew what she wanted the answers to be; her pounding heart and the little zips of electricity from where their skin touched were too telling not to know. But asking them, putting them to voice, was too terrifying to even consider.

“I just…didn’t want you to see me like this,” she managed to say at last, with little energy and a melancholy that no one but Toadette had ever heard from her before. Her tiredness was really beginning to catch up to her.

Mario’s mustache tilted up, one of those smiles where she could hardly even see his mouth because it was hidden behind his thick facial hair. He squeezed her hand again. “Why? You’ve seen me in plenty worse states than this.”

“S’your job, though,” Peach said, and even fading she realized how that sounded. “I mean, not getting hurt, but… oh, you know what I mean.”

Her eyes were having trouble staying open, so she missed the utterly fond look that crossed his face as she scrunched her nose in irritation at herself, as well as how he lifted his free hand to his mouth to contain a laugh at how cute she looked, fussing over her own words.

“I know what you mean, principessa,” he said, once he had control of himself. He could see that she was fading fast, and he reached out to pull the blanket higher over her shoulder. “Just get some rest now. Maybe when you wake up, we can try to have some soup, yeah? Luigi knows this great recipe our nonna used to make…”

He kept going, telling her about how he’d ask his brother to share the recipe with the kitchens, about how it used to soothe them when they were young, about how his nonna used to serve it out of old heirloom teacups for the two of them, until he thought that she was finally asleep.

The last thing Peach thought she felt before she drifted off was a soft pair of lips and a slightly scratchy mustache pressed against her temple, but she was sure she just imagined it.

/fin

#mareach #mario x peach #mario #princess peach #super mario brothers #super mario brothers fanfiction #tw emetophobia #tw vomiting #tw nausea #my writing #i know i said i was going to get a beta but then i finished and the rush of endorphins was too strong and i had to post #also i hope the italian phrase is ok i got it off a list of proverbs and just gave it the Google translate treatment

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2018-01-20 · 2 years

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"i'm going to scream," you miserably groan out, weary as your hands try to reach and grab for megumi's figure. he's smiling amusedly, and you feel like you're instantly better at the pretty sight, watching lazily as he pats your head and moves down to crouch beside you.

he asks, "scale from one to ten?" you grin with drowsiness when he presses his lips to your forehead, checking your temperature. "your fever has gone down."

"certainly doesn't feel like it." your face shifts into a pout, still feeling just as uncomfortable from when you first woke up, even when you had already thrown your blanket across the room. "and i'm so bored here! i would rather go and fight a special grade than stay in bed all day."

"is that so?" he lightly taps the bridge of your nose, motioning for you to properly lay back as he gently places a wet towel down onto your forehead. the new, cold temperature is soothing, and you hum while welcoming the feeling. "but i'm here."

you didn't think it was possible for your face to get even hotter. "t-that's true..."

megumi looks at you with amusement in his eyes again, making you embarrassingly avert your gaze at the rare—but definitely not unwanted—attention that he's suddenly giving you. you can't believe this guy. does he just get more smug whenever you're sick?

your head feels heavy and your throat is parched and dry, even when megumi had previously given you water (in his favorite mug too, nonetheless). yet, when he quietly kisses your temple and rubs slow circles into the palm of your hand, you feel light again—almost as if there was no fever in the first place.

you're fully convinced that all you need is megumi to feel better—and the fact that he's gazing at you with so much love, as if you don't look like a complete, sweaty mess, proves you so.

"thank you for healing me," you sleepily whisper before you have the chance to accidentally doze off. you swear that your heart flips in your chest when he chuckles, smiling right back.

#last week i wasn't sick but i felt like it; and then i remembered my mom always used to kiss my forehead to check my fever :'( <3 #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #tw nausea #tw sick #tw sickness #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #୨୧ — 📖 : boo’s novelties !

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majorproblems77 · 7 months

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ITS OCTOBER!

Let the whumping begin!

Day 1 - How many fingers am I holding up?

Hope you enjoy!

#linked universe #writing #lu twilight #lu time #lu warriors #lu wild #whumptober 2023 #day 1 #tw concussion #tw nausea #linkeduniverse #creative writing #linked universe fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #major does whumptober 2023

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inscrutable-shadow · 3 months

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only then i am human (only then i am clean) - part one

contains: mild horniness, homoerotic blood drinking, minor nausea (no vomiting), swearing, gore, a disgusting amount of gay pining, whumptober 2023 days 11, 20, and 30 (animal trap, "you will regret touching them," bridal carry)

summary: The Culling War is over, and Thanatos is not the same.

Mariano doesn't have a same to go back to.

Bastian just hopes that he won't have to kill Thanatos when the vampire's ravenous hunger finally takes over.

It's been far too long since Thanatos has had a good meal, after all, and he loves getting himself in hot water.

beginning notes: whoo-wee! i started this as a whumptober fill, and it still is that, but it’s also so, so much more than that now. four times the size and now part of a series i hope to continue in the coming months. so many thanks to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump for letting me borrow his characters, fill his dms with screaming and gay shenanigans at all hours, and for betaing! i have so much more planned for our boys after this so stay tuned :)

also available on ao3! even though i've broken the fic into two, this section is 7.3k words so you might enjoy it more there. (plus you get the ending a day early)

Thanatos was rather surprised at how much fun he was having. When Madame Nocta had initially shown him his redistricting papers, he’d had to step out of the room to stop the choking panic from clawing at his insides. The image of his old life, of returning to his job and his apartment and his lover after so long away, had been the only thing keeping him going for so long that the idea of changing that image made him sick. “It’ll be quiet,” she’d assured him. “No one will know what you are. You can relax, recover. It will be good for you.” Thanatos hadn’t believed her, but now, as the damp wind ruffled his hair and sent ripples over the nearby lake, he was forced to admit this world was rather quaint.

He could almost convince himself it was just like home, at least, before the “engine of progress” had compressed every ounce of magic from the land. The countryside was littered with small villages of wood and stone instead of towering metropoles of metal and glass. The air held none of the heavy odour of burning oil; if anything, it crackled and pulsed with magic in the way the ancient forests had when the fae still inhabited them. If it weren’t for the various ruins that evoked to those in the know the aura of an advanced society, he would have believed it was the ninth century again. Wandering from place to place, offering his eyes, his voice, and his stories to anyone who could use him in exchange for a few coins, and flirting with people in taverns, it was quite akin to the way he’d lived before he’d met the Archfey. One could almost call it idyllic.

“Hey, Thanatos! There you are,” a voice called from behind him, and he turned to see Bastian pushing through the market crowd toward him. “Thought I’d lost you for a bit. Crowd too much for you?”

There was one major difference between this world and his own, and here was a prime example of it: one could tell just by looking that Bastian was a dragon. If the prismatic hair and the horns weren’t a dead giveaway, the shimmering scales certainly were. He wasn’t the only one, either. A vampire blended right in among the varying peoples of this world, and Thanatos didn’t even bother to wear the glasses that obscured his eye color and slitted pupils anymore. He still became rather on edge in the market crowds, but even that he was doing much better with than he had a month ago. He’d been able to drift from stall to stall with the crowd for almost an hour before he’d felt claustrophobic.

Thanatos nodded acknowledgement of Bastian’s presence and alighted from the fencepost. “I just needed some air. Find everything you wanted?” If he recalled correctly, they were supposed to be replenishing supplies after an unfortunate encounter with a river (that had not at all been Thanatos’s fault).

Bastian only shrugged. “He’s the one shopping. Weather’s turning. Ought to get back together with Mariano and head out before it gets too bright for you.”

The sun here burned much brighter than Thanatos was used to, and even cloudy days pricked uncomfortably at his skin. The locals had been kind to him, though, and no one had hesitated to offer him shelter or clothing or food that he inevitably had to refuse. The hat that he was wearing and had reinforced with a layer of Shadow had been forced upon him by a kindly old woman who had noticed his discomfort while he was carrying her shopping for her on a not-so-cloudy afternoon. She couldn’t have known that his refusal to put a square millimetre of exposed skin in direct sunlight was an aversion to screaming immolation and subsequent death, but she’d pushed her hat onto his head anyway, and called him a sweet young man who needed to take better care of himself. That sort of behaviour had by far been the norm, and for that, he was grateful.

“That little basket all you’re getting?” Bastian asked, edging a hand under the fabric cover, but pulling it back when Thanatos swatted at it.

“The two of you have been very kind. I thought that perhaps I could repay the favour by taking care of dinner for tonight.” It had been a long while since he’d had to cook anything, but he still remembered some of the things his mother had taught him, oh so long ago, and he felt the need to provide something other than diverting conversation for once.

Bastian walked ahead of him in the crowd, forging a less constricted path for Thanatos to follow as the pair threaded their way back to the meeting point. “You don’t even eat. How’re you gonna know if it’s any good?”

“I’ll just have to have you taste for me.”

“Sure thing.” The dragon grinned in that toothy way of his, and Thanatos allowed himself a small one in return.

He’d come out to the two of them during the second week. Not about his taste for men: the reality of that oozed from his pores and was apparent in every movement. The wistful stares he threw at every young man who looked even a bit like the Archfey left little room for doubt. About his taste for blood. Thanatos had violated Clandestine Accord and clued two mortals in on the fact that he was a vampire. It hadn’t phased them at all. There were very few things that could rattle Mariano, and Bastian was a dragon. A vampire wasn’t a threat, and so he didn’t care. Thanatos had felt silly for even being slightly anxious about it. The way they looked at each other, talked to each other, to him, he just knew. They’d felt safe. Thanatos hadn’t felt safe in decades. Not since the Culling War.

Twenty-five years of paranoia had turned an easygoing, charismatic Thanatos into a nervous wreck of a man who jumped at every shadow. He’d heard Tenebrus and the Council talking about him: the psychological effects of his job had made him nearly useless at it, and they were planning to replace him. The war had ended before they had the chance, but still. He knew he wasn’t the same man his Archfey had fallen in love with. That thought alone made him want to shatter into a thousand porcelain fragments, but living here had started to fill in the jagged gouges the war had left on his soul. The people were kinder, didn’t treat him like a monster even when they couldn’t know he was one. (Not like home. On Earth Four, even the slightest deviation from the norm had put him at risk of discovery.) He wasn’t constantly on the defensive anymore.

The crowd opened up a bit, and he could now see slightly further ahead. Ah, there was Mariano. His dark hair rose up above most of the bobbing heads of the market-goers, and the soft lines of his face were broken slightly by a brow furrowed in concentration. Comparing products, perhaps? He’s rather particular about the supplies. He was still deep in discussion with a shopkeeper, though from the amount he was carrying, it seemed as if he must be nearly done with his shopping. “I’ll be right back, found something I want to pick up,” Bastian leaned down to whisper in his ear, melting into the crowd again before Thanatos could even respond. He felt a bit nervous in the crowd by himself, but he could see Mariano, at least, and the hat would probably make him easy enough to find again. He found a quiet spot between two stalls, where he was offered a seat and an apple by an old woman selling fruit. With a smile, he accepted the former, but of course not the latter.

The market had been set up in the hollow shell of some ancient building, and most of the shops on this side of the square were peddling foodstuffs of some kind, set up on the raised ground on either side of the makeshift thoroughfare created by the terrain. This particular ruin gave Thanatos the nagging sensation that he was late to catch a train. He supposed it’d be a long time before he saw another train, given his reassignment. It would have been strange to go back to his Earth after a quarter-century of war, anyhow, let alone live in the cottage without the Archfey. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to fit himself back into a fast-paced mortal society now that he’d had the fear of other people forcibly drilled into him. There hadn’t been a moment in the last decade or so when he hadn’t been acutely wary of other vampires out to give him a glowing recommendation to the nearest Reaper. Relax, Than. There aren’t any other vampires in this area, he reminded himself. He had a hundred miles of clearance before he encroached on anyone else’s hunting grounds. Anyone who wanted to mess with him would have Mariano to contend with, anyhow. No one had got through him yet.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm?”

The laugh was like birdsong, and it came from a girl, about nineteen, behind the fruit stand, helping the old woman set out more goods. “You were staring, mister. Do you like the hairpin? My mother made it for me.” Like most of the denizens here, her skin was a deep ochre, with matching eyes that held a mischievous smile and an effortless charm.

He had been staring; he realised. The pin was an array of jasmine-like blooms on a fastening of ebony and amethyst. It looked like something the Archfey would have worn, not in the early days of their relationship when they’d been doing the courtship dance of fey prince and vampire, no, this was something ae would have worn to a coffeehouse date or to the cinema, a coy reminder of the power that lurked behind the mortal disguise. Thanatos summoned up a smile and gave a wry chuckle, hoping his expression didn’t seem tortured. “You remind me of someone, that’s all.” Oh. It was easier than he’d expected to become the charming vampire once again. Maybe he really was getting better.

The girl returned his smile. “Someone you like?” She turned away a little, then met his eyes again.

“Someone I love.”

The grief must have shown through in his eyes for a moment, because the girl’s smile turned sad. “What happened to them?”

He hesitated, deciding how much of his pain was worth pouring out to a stranger. “Gone. Said they would return, but, well. I’ve had to move, and I fear we may never be reunited.” His gaze drifted away toward the shifting clouds. Bastian was right. The weather would clear up soon.

“Take it then,” she said, and his brow furrowed as his eyes returned to look at her. She took his hand in hers and pressed the pin into it. “My mother made it as a good-luck charm. Maybe it will bring the two of you back together.”

Why would she give something like that to a stranger? Part of him wondered if it might be some sort of trap, but he pushed the thought away. Humans weren’t like vampires. Every gesture of goodwill wasn’t a secret power play with them. Sometimes they did these things on a whim, or even out of kindness. It was a foolish thing for her to do, though, so he demurred. “Oh, miss, I couldn’t possibly take such a precious heirloom—”

“Surely you won’t refuse a gift,” she countered, and the expression of mischief on her face melted the last of the ice in his heart. Maybe things truly were looking up.

Thanatos bowed. “Then I shall graciously accept. However,” he added, setting his basket down for a moment, “allow me to return the favour. A charm for a charm. My partner gave this to me a long time ago. It, too, is good luck. May it bring you winds of fortune.” He removed the earring from his right ear, a dangle shaped vaguely like a wreath. In truth, it was a ritual sigil, one of the Archfey’s smallest and subtlest protection blessings. Woven directly from aer magic into metal, he’d worn it for almost two hundred years, and he credited his continued existence a significant amount to the Archfey’s protection rather than any qualities he himself possessed. For a moment, he questioned why he would give away something so precious on a whim, but the girl’s gift had struck a chord with him, made him feel as if the dark days might be over. That was worth the loss of the charm.

The young woman accepted the earring and worked into her own ear, and the two of them shared a smile, and a laugh, and a blush. One couldn’t fault Thanatos for finding comfort in the sweet moment, but of course, the universe saw fit to punish him for allowing himself to relax. “The fuck you think you’re doing, dipshit?” a gruff voice called from behind him. And here we go.

He went for his usual disarming smile. “Ah, you must be the boyfriend.”

“Fiancé,” the young lady corrected mildly. Of course he was.

The fiancé in question wasted no time in invading Thanatos’s personal space. “You gotta be stupid to chat up another man’s girl like that.” He folded his arms, probably trying to look intimidating. It was sort of working.

Thanatos’s eyebrows raised. “If that’s what you think flirting looks like, my condolences to your lady-love. I was nothing more than cordial. Aren’t you just the strapping young man though,” he purred. “I cannot fault the lady’s taste.” Now that was flirting. The tried-and-true Thanatos method of getting out of this sort of tight spot was to play up his flamboyance until their discomfort outweighed their indignation. “Baffle them with his bullshit,” as it were. It usually worked long enough for him to work out some method of escape.

“Leave it, Javier. He’s not bothering me. We were just talking,” the girl said, annoyed.

Javier was not dissuaded. “I don’t want random guys feeling like they can talk to you, Violetta. And that didn’t look like talking.”

Thanatos saw this as a chance to cut back in. “I assure you, I have no interest in absconding with your sweetheart. My intentions with her were purely platonic, for my tastes lie elsewhere, if you take my meaning.”

From the way Javier picked him up by his collar, Thanatos got the idea that he might not have understood some of those words. “Are you saying you don’t think she’s pretty? Take it back right now!”

Oh, by the celestial river… Annoyance ignited in Thanatos’s chest, and he was firing back before he could think about it. “I didn’t say she wasn’t pretty, you oaf. I said I was fucking gay! By the Divines, humans grow ever more stupid. I’m married too, if it matters—”

“Is there a problem here?” Oh, thank fuck. Mariano, his knight in shining armour once again. Part of him orchestrated these scenarios intentionally just to have a chance to see the mage work. Bastian was hanging back, presumably to watch the show. He gave Thanatos a little wave and a grin and appeared to have found himself some sort of drink. Typical Bastian.

Javier looked Mariano up and down. Tall and broad, the dark-skinned mage certainly carried his share of scars, from the clearly deliberate burns on his arms to the blade-mark under his jawline. Thanatos thought it added charm to the soft lines of Mariano’s face, especially when he smiled, which was often if Thanatos had anything to do with it. He was not smiling now. Mariano’s default expression was blank, unreadable, which combined with the silver-white pact rings around his dark irises and his subtle but not-insignificant musculature lent him quite the imposing air. Even behind the dark-rimmed glasses, it was clear that Mariano was not a man to be trifled with.

Undeterred, likely due to a lack of basic survival instinct, Javier pressed on. “Sure is. Your friend here’s about to eat shit for fucking with my girl. Unless you’d like to eat it for him?” Now, that was borderline suicidal. If he hadn’t known Mariano as well as he did, Thanatos would have expected a bloodbath.

Mariano looked up at Thanatos, still dangling in the air with an expression that read “I’m sorry, please save me again.” He didn’t speak, just removed his casting dagger from his belt, held it up, and ignited the blade, his war mage’s magic shooting up through the hilt and heating the metal until it glowed. A single eyebrow shifted, challenging Javier to try him.

“You really don’t want to fight him,” Thanatos supplied, helpfully.

Javier looked as if he might try it anyway, but Violetta read the situation correctly. Smart girl. “Let’s just go, Javier. I’m fine, it’s not worth it!” she implored, pulling on his arm.

A moment’s hesitation, then the brute relented. “Whatever,” he spat, and threw Thanatos down. The vampire sat down hard in the dirt, hat askew, but that was better than having his neck wrung on what had otherwise been a fairly pleasant afternoon. His basket was down here too, fortunately undamaged. “Let’s go, Violetta.” Javier stalked off, pushing through the crowd.

Thanatos let out a heavy sigh of relief. He took the hand Mariano stretched down toward him and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “You okay?” Mariano asked, observing his slanted hat and open collar. Thanatos felt the heat rising in his face.

He cleared his throat. “Quite all right, thanks to you, once again. Just in time, too.” He had to stop doing this. As entertaining as it was to be rescued time and time again, the risk to his person was too high. Mariano might save him, but not necessarily before he was seriously damaged.

“You have to stop doing this, I’m not always going to show up right when you need me, you know.” Mariano picked up the basket from the ground and handed it to Thanatos, who suddenly thought he might repeat the whole procedure again tomorrow.

“Oh, but you do it so well! The spectacle, the cinema! You play quite the dashing hero,” he enthused, attempting to distract from how hot he suddenly felt under his silk shirt.

Mariano looked away, probably looking for his dragon in the crowd. It was difficult to tell with Mariano, but Thanatos got the idea he might have said something wrong. Fortunately for him, Bastian returned, amused as usual. “Thought you were going to teach him a lesson. Too bad you let him get away.”

“Wasn’t worth it.” Mariano shrugged. “He was just a blowhard, and I’m sure Than started it, anyway.” He accepted his bag back from Bastian and instinctively sorted through it, as was his habit.

“I’m sure I resent that remark!” Thanatos spluttered, but before he could really get going with his retort, Violetta pushed her way back through the crowd toward them.

“I’m sorry about him. You didn’t deserve that. I should go, but here, take this. For your friend with the pretty eyes.” She pressed a meat bun into his hand and vanished again.

Thanatos blinked in momentary confusion, then held the pastry out to Mariano, who also seemed confused. “Me?”

“I think it’s relatively clear she didn’t mean Bastian. No offense meant, of course.”

Bastian grinned. “None taken. Eat it, Mariano, looks good. If you won’t, I will.”

“But your eyes-” Mariano began, meaning Thanatos’s crimson ones rather than Bastian’s white-silver.

“Oh? Taken your fancy, have they?” It came out more flirtatious than he’d intended, he was having trouble shaking off the performance. “Alluring as they may be, I already have a gift from the lady, and I can’t eat it anyhow. Take the bread and the compliment, mortal mage.” One would have to be blind to fail to acknowledge that Mariano was attractive, in Thanatos’s opinion, but Mariano didn’t seem to process it the same way.

“I- okay.” He didn’t seem convinced, but he always looked like that.

Better to just distract him, then. “Good show, Mariano. Another innocent man rescued, another reward earned. Let’s move on before I am reduced to ash, eh?” That was something he was actually worried about, not just a diversionary tactic. The clouds were moving uncomfortably quickly, hurried on by the wind.

“Wouldn’t want to have to scoop him up off of the ground. That’d take ages,” Bastian joked. Mariano laughed, and all was right with the world again.

As Bastian had predicted, the sky was nearly clear when the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The particular corner of the glade where they had built the fire was sufficiently shaded for Thanatos not to have to focus on protecting himself from the light. Not that he had much else to do than leaf through his well-worn copy of Theogonia, which had managed to survive the war tucked into a corner of his briefcase. He didn’t need to read the pages anymore, so many times had he been over these same words in the two thousand years since this particular edition had been published, but turning the leaves and skimming the familiar passages was of comfort to him, a habit he’d developed to unwind after a long day. The woods were quiet except for the soft chirping of insects and the scrape of Mariano’s knife against the whetstone.

“Is it done yet?” This was the fourth time Bastian had asked in the last hour. Thanatos didn’t blame him. The tantalising aroma of slow-cooked meat rising from the stew pot filled the air and stimulated the appetite. His sense of smell had shifted since becoming a vampire, but if one thing had remained the same, the scent still took him back to his childhood, helping his mother by the stove.

“Not quite.” Thanatos gave the pot a stir and tested the meat with the spoon. “About ten more minutes.”

Bastian groaned. “That’s what you said ten minutes ago.”

“No, ten minutes ago I said twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen,” said Mariano, inspecting the blade’s edge in the firelight.

“Hm?” It was the first time Mariano had spoken in an hour or so. Thanatos hadn’t even known he was listening.

The scraping resumed. “You said fifteen minutes. Ten minutes ago.”

“Did I?” Thanatos couldn’t recall, but if Mariano thought so, it must be true.

“Yeah.” There was a beat of silence, and then the rustle of a page and the scrape of the whetstone.

The pot simmered happily despite Bastian’s impatient scrutiny. “Can’t we just eat it now?”

Mariano laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait, Bastian. We can’t all eat raw meat, you know. Though maybe next time pick something that doesn’t take as long, Than.”

Thanatos gave a snort of mock-indignation. “Genius cannot be rushed, mortal mage. This is an heirloom recipe passed down to me by my mother.” They’d had servants to cook for them, of course. A magistrate’s wife would never have been expected to do that sort of thing, but Thanatos’s mother had loved every part of the process from selecting ingredients to serving. She’d taught him to cut vegetables and to know when meat was tender. It was incredibly rare for him to need to use those skills, but his hands knew what to do. In a way, it was as if his mother was still alive.

True to his estimate, the stew was ready in about ten minutes. Bastian would have been happy to eat the meat before it was cooked, and if Thanatos was careful, he could sip at the tomato base without making himself ill, but it was Mariano’s opinion that mattered.

Fortunately, the mage’s first spoonful earned a smile. “It’s good!”

Thanatos sighed with relief. “I’m glad you find it so. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve had the occasion to cook, you understand.”

“It doesn’t show. It’s just too bad you can’t taste it,” Mariano said, attacking another spoonful. That dispelled the last of Thanatos’s worries that he was just saying it to be nice. Even if that would have been out of character for someone so straightforward, the apprehension was habitual.

“Oh, I remember it well enough. Enjoy it in my stead.”

“Doesn’t it make you hungry, watching other people eat?” Bastian mused, though most of his attention was caught up in finding more bits of tender meat to fish out of the stew, which Thanatos took as a victory.

He shrugged. “Mortal food is, at best, unappetizing to me at this point. My senses of taste and smell are so altered that it doesn’t register to my mind as consumable.” He was hungry, though, he realised. It had been three days since he’d eaten last: though he’d gone out yesterday and the day before, he’d been unlucky and had found no one else wandering the wilds.

House Iuventae contracts rarely came with non-sapient sustenance clauses. The Shadow could tell the difference, and if Thanatos tried to cheat, it would punish him for it with days of nausea and cramps. It was for that reason that he preferred to eat every other day if he could. A human could survive a litre of blood loss much more easily than two or three. It looked as if he’d actually have to kill today if he didn’t want to lose control of himself later, though. He’d made peace with the concept millennia ago — or so he told himself, but drinking only prepared blood during the war had brought back a vague discomfort. Prudence told him to avoid specific details when discussing it with the others, regardless. He didn’t want to know what they’d truly think of him.

Oblivious to Thanatos’s introspection, Bastian had come up with a theory of his own. “But if you dried it out or whatever, made it into flour, couldn’t you make, say, blood bread or some shit like that?”

“Well, yes, actually. House Nocta does extensive research on alternative ways to prepare blood. Whether it’s edible depends on one’s specific contract. I have a special provision that allows me to consume most liquids, but anything solid makes me ill, blood-based or otherwise.” He didn’t regret it. He was happy to never taste cake again in exchange for still being able to drink wine. The stew he was sipping at was still rather flavourless, though.

“It’s so interesting that your people have found different ways to work with your condition,” said Mariano.

Was it? Thanatos had never thought so. “Necessity is the mother of invention. But enough about vampires. Shall I read you out a story tonight?”

This got Bastian’s attention. “Do the one with the king and the wild man. I like that one.”

“Ah, yes, the epic of Gilgamesh.” He didn’t have a copy of that one in his carpetbag, but he could do the first hour or so from memory, and pick up the book from the Archfey’s later if he needed it. (If he could bear it. The sight of the empty house had made him feel hollow the last time he’d been.) He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and when next he opened them, his voice had changed to that of the orator. “This is one of the oldest stories in the world, about two thousand years older than me, even. Translated from the tablets of an ancient civilization, large segments of the story are missing, but what we do have tells the story of a mighty king and his quest to discover the secret of immortality. Let me tell you of a man who had seen everything, whom the god Anu had granted all knowledge, who had seen secrets and hidden things, even from the time before the Flood.”

As usual, his audience was rapt, caught up by his words and taken to a time five millennia in the past, when giants walked the earth. He’d go hunting later in the evening, once the magic of ancient fable faded to that of the sandman’s sleep.

Thanatos leaned against a tree and tied his hair up into a low ponytail. He’d left his travelling jacket back at the camp as well, leaving him in just his silk shirt, tie, and trousers. The less restricted his movement was, the better, and it had the benefit of making him look younger and less careworn. He hated this, really. When he talked and laughed with Mariano and Bastian, he could pretend that he was perfectly ordinary, still fully human, but when he hunted, it was clear that he was anything but. He wasn’t even an ambush predator like Tenebrus or most other hunting vampires, the sharpening of his senses and the way his night vision flattened everything into shades of grey save for outlines of delicious scarlet around everything with a heartbeat was of little use to him. All it did was remind him how little humanity was left in him.

In his element, Thanatos was a honey trap, an attractive, confident, charismatic man whom others would gladly follow into a dark alley for a tryst — with perhaps a little hypnotic encouragement. It fit his personality quite well, and he’d been able to carve a niche out for himself in both vampiric society and back on Earth Four. He was the very picture of a Iuventus, a man of words taken with alcohol and sex and other pleasures of the flesh. Or at least he had been. Before everything. He wanted very badly to return to feeling like that man. (If he thought about it too hard, he’d realise that luring people into the night to be devoured was also rather monstrous, so he didn’t.)

Right now, his priority was to return to the village and civilization. He was still getting back into the rhythm of pursuing prey, hunting instead of being hunted. It felt good to be out at night instead of having to worry about the sun surprising him. He decided to just try to enjoy the sense of freedom. Moving at a vampire’s speed, the wind singing through his hair, the moonlight lightly caressing his skin. All the horrors of the war: the daily grind of waking up, infiltrating a location, and running away that made him feel as if the dust and grime of the road soaked into his soul. That was all behind him now. He was an ordinary vampire now, without obligations or debts, free to eat and sleep and do whatever else his heart desired.

He really should have learned his lesson from earlier in the day. Stay on your toes, don’t stop to enjoy things. Don’t dare believe you’re out of the woods. You developed that paranoia for a reason. It was his own fault he was now lying on his back on the forest floor, his ankle held fast by a metal cord. One moment, he’d been darting through the trees trying to cover distance, and the next his head had hit a tree root and sent stars exploding behind his eyes. How long had he been unconscious? Ten seconds or ten minutes?

The impact alone might have killed a mortal, but Thanatos was merely concussed. Confusedly, he tried to pull his ankle free, and only succeeded in tightening the cable around the unfortunate limb. He would leave this part out whenever he told the story afterward, but in truth, he panicked. The idea of being trapped again, being captured again, was too much for him. His nails scrabbled for purchase in the soft loam, fighting to take him somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here. His vision tinted red, his own too-loud heartbeat overwhelming his heightened senses. It felt as if it were another person who was thrashing and kicking, desperately trying to get away and only tightening the wire until it cut down to the bone.

He flinched at the snap of a branch, close, too close. “Well, well. Look what I got here. You ain’t a cougar, are you, buddy?” The voice was rough and belonged to a banjo-string sort of man now crouching three metres away.

This should have been his salvation. If Thanatos had been in his right mind, he would have turned on the charm and begged this man for help. But no. He’d been hungry too long; his Shadow was too close to the surface, converting his stress response from fawn to flight. He didn’t even know what small indication he must have picked up on, or perhaps he truly was the animal for which the trap had been originally purposed — but before he knew it, he’d drawn back toward the tree, hissing and baring his fangs.

The man only grinned. “Who-wee, ain’t you a feisty one? Hold on, red eyes, dark hair… You’re the fucker Javier was tellin’ us about, tryin’ to muscle up on his girl. Oh, he’s gonna love this. What kind of freak are you, anyway, with teeth like that?” Oh, fucking fantastic. They’d set him up on a world where people didn’t believe in vampires, and here he was screwing it up. “Eh, doesn’t matter. Wait ’til I get Javier and the guys. It’s gonna be a riot! Not like you have much of a choice but to sit, though, huh?” The man laughed cruelly and wandered off.

Alone again. Thanatos was used to how this sort of thing went by now. The hunter would come back with a group of men, and they would kick Thanatos around until they were tired of him, and then they would probably “kill” him and dump his body somewhere. He’d wait until they left and drag himself off to lick his wounds. It would be tolerable. He would just have to endure.

Mariano was pacing again. Bastian watched him for a few minutes, hoping he would come back to bed, but eventually gave up. “Something on your mind?”

“Than’s not back yet.” Bastian had to admit that was strange. Thanatos had never been gone for over four hours before. He’d usually slip away an hour or two after dusk and return just after midnight, blood-drunk and stifling hiccups. He should have been back three hours ago.

“You want to go after him?” Mariano nodded. Bastian had already got to his feet. He knew Mariano well enough by now to know he couldn’t just stand by. “It’s a lot of ground to cover. What if we don’t find him?”

“He probably went back to the village. We can start that way and fan out if we need to. It’s all well and good if he comes back on his own, but if he’s in trouble…” Mariano trailed off, his pensive gaze wandering toward the forest and taking his feet with it.

Bastian doused the fire and moved to catch up. “I’m sure he just fell asleep somewhere,” he commented, but knew as soon as the words were spoken that they were false. Than didn’t sleep anywhere he didn’t feel safe, and definitely not by accident. When they’d first met, the two of them had spent three days in a stalemate waiting for the other to fall asleep first. It had become clear by then that Thanatos wasn’t even slightly a threat, but Bastian had had to be the one to give up on the whole thing. Than hadn’t seemed like he could, even if he’d wanted to. Even utter exhaustion couldn’t convince his body to rest if it wasn’t safe.

No, it was much more likely that he’d managed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t get himself out of. At this point, it happened so often that Bastian wondered if Thanatos did it on purpose just to enjoy the privilege of having Mariano rescue him. Not that he could blame him. Mariano took on the “knight in shining armour” role quite handsomely, all shining blade and “put him down” and “let him go.” If the mage didn’t have such a tendency to hurt himself while taking care of others, it might have been worth trying himself, but he’d seen what lengths Mariano would push himself to in order to save him. If the idiot got himself killed, it’d be much less fun.

Tracking Thanatos wasn’t difficult. The vampire didn’t have any particular abilities that lent themselves to obscure a trail. He’d been moving quickly, but not particularly quietly. They heard the commotion up ahead before they saw it: a group of about ten people, talking and yelling and throwing spears, rocks, and crossbow bolts, all centred on a tree at the edge of the clearing. The place looked like a war zone. Broken branches littered the forest floor, some splashed with dark red. Black liquid pooled in some places and flowed in others, streaming down from holes in the surrounding trees that looked like they’d been punctured with incredible force. A mass of dark hair and torn fabric, stained with blood, lay at the foot of the central tree. The same black liquid guttered weakly into a half-dome in an attempt to stop more projectiles, but couldn’t hold its shape and joined the rest of the dark splatters on the ground. Surely that wasn’t…?

Another rock bounced off of the figure’s shoulder, leaving behind a line of red that spilled down the pale skin exposed by his ruined sleeve. He shifted and some of the hair fell to the side, revealing a single scarlet eye, darting from side to side, searching for an escape. The leader of the pack, recognizable as the brute from earlier in the day, hurled another stone that struck the wounded creature across the temple. A yelp of pain rang out, but then the shape was silent.

“I think I finally got him!” Javier exclaimed. “How much do you think they’ll pay for his head?”

Mariano had already come to his conclusion. “Leave him.” Despite the lack of exclamation point, his voice was clear and cold and had an impressive volume that carried it well enough to make the rabble stop what they were doing.

Javier turned to see who had spoken. “You again? Seems like you really want trouble. Why do you care so much about this monster, anyway? All it wanted was the steal our people away in the night. I did this town a favour by exterminating it.”

“You’ll regret laying hands on him.” A statement of fact, not a threat. Mariano never threatened.

Javier snorted. “I don’t think so. Maybe I should take care of you, too, for protecting that thing. Boys!” At his command, the scattered hunters left off taking potshots at Thanatos and aimed their weapons at the new threat.

Bastian loved watching this part. Mariano fought like a wild thing, with a magic that was hungry, ruthlessly efficient and utterly without mercy. In some ways, one could say he fought like a dragon. Bastian couldn’t afford to be distracted watching his mage work, though. Rescuing Thanatos was more important, and so he refocused, his new objective heavily discouraging any of Javier’s goons from running to his aid.

Mariano let out a deep breath and put his magic away. The smell of charred flesh rose over the scent of the forest at night — more of which was Bastian’s work than his, if he was honest. “We’re all clear now, Than. Are you all right?” The figure by the tree made no sound, and Bastian threw Mariano an inquisitive glance. He elected to approach, wanting to see if that last rock had knocked the vampire unconscious.

Unconscious he was not, and the speed at which he withdrew toward the perceived safety of the tree surprised even Mariano. The curtain of his hair obscured his face, and it was a bit unsettling the way the glowing red eyes watched Mariano through the tangle, pupils narrowed into slits with none of the good humour or charm he was used to seeing in them. If the vampire weren’t wearing Thanatos’s clothes — or, rather, what was left of them — he’d almost believe it wasn’t Than he was watching at all. Thanatos’s eyes showed no recognition, only wary apprehension, as if he were waiting for Mariano to reveal threatening intent. Was he too far gone to realize who they were?

Mariano continued to approach, slowly, giving Thanatos time to track his movements. “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “It’s just me. It’s Mariano, you know me. Bastian’s here too. Let him see you, Bastian.” Bastian approached as he was told, but Thanatos backed away, which pulled taut a thin wire around his ankle. The metal had cut into his flesh to the point that white bone was visible amidst the mess of pink and red. “That hurts a lot, doesn’t it? Let us help you. We’ll get that off of you and get you somewhere we can treat it, okay?” He could only hope that their potions would work on a vampire. It didn’t look at all treatable otherwise.

Thanatos remained silent. That was the weirdest thing about it. The Thanatos Mariano knew rarely stopped talking: his presence was a constant stream of words about everything and nothing, almost as if he were afraid to stop. Right about now, he would usually apologise profusely for needing to be rescued at all and be on the verge of composing an epic ballad about their combat prowess, maybe a little worse for wear but trying hard not to show it. As Mariano approached, all he could hear were the harsh exhales forcing themselves through the vampire’s nose. That it wasn’t broken was a miracle, considering the state of the rest of his face. Thanatos did a good job of not looking like a corpse most days, but the bruising mottling his cheeks and over his eyes appeared distinctly post-mortem. Tear tracks, long dried, were visible under the blood and dirt. And yet, through it all, he looked not fearful exactly, but… vigilant. Distrustful. He hadn’t given up at all. He was just waiting to see what else he would have to endure.

Mariano tried again. “Thanatos? Bastian’s gonna get that cord off of you, okay? And then you can just come to me. We’ll take you somewhere safe.” Thanatos still didn’t seem to hear, but Bastian’s approach certainly got his attention, eliciting a growl from deep within the vampire’s chest.

“Doesn’t seem like he wants our help,” Bastian murmured, slowing, but not stopping.

“He’s just afraid.” This was a sound like a cornered animal, not like a predator, ready to fight if he had to, but wanting to avoid it. “We can’t just leave him like this. He’ll understand once the wire’s gone.” At least, he probably would. “It’s okay, Than. Come to me, you’ll be safe. You trust me, right?” Mariano could only hope Thanatos did. It certainly seemed like it, given how quickly he’d started to account for the mage in his plans. Would that trust be able to cut through whatever was going on with him?

The growl became louder as the distance between Bastian and Thanatos closed, and escalated into a hiss when he got close enough to touch the wire. It was Mariano’s turn to fill the air with words, anything to distract Thanatos long enough for Bastian to do his thing. If Than tried to run again, he’d probably make everything worse. “Eyes on me, Than, that’s it. I know you’re scared. He won’t hurt you. We’re friends. You know that. You remember us. We’re going to get you out of here, and then we’ll make your leg stop hurting.” Mariano extended a hand toward his injured friend, proving that he held no weapon and no ill intent. It was up to Thanatos to believe him, if he even could right now.

Everything happened at once. A rush of dragon fire, the twang of metal parting from metal. Thanatos lunged toward Mariano at lightning speed, covering the distance between them before Bastian could even shout a warning. White-hot pain, a burst of warm blood, wet, lips, tongue, breath, a dull thud, blackness.

part 2 up tomorrow!

taglist: @athenswrites, @albatris, @thethistlegirlwrites

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sincerecinnamon · 3 months

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I'm tired, but naps make me physically nauseous, but I'm already nauseous, so do you guys think it would make no difference or worsen my nausea if I napped?

#i hate naps but ive had a headache all day and am sad and tired so i might risk it lol #tw nausea

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mugenfinder · 5 months

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Hey, this is terrible.

#Ape Escape Pumped and Primed #AE #Party Game #mugenfinder gaming #tw nausea

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exec-proton · 1 month

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[ Against the Kitchen Floor ] [Story post]

Yeah like the will wood song. You'll see why.

I'm very proud of this, by the by! I think it's probably just about the longest (singular) thing I've written, at 2252 words. Keep that in mind, by the way. This fucker's LONG.

Which is why it's below the read more.

Before you read, I want to warn that there are several descriptions of nausea and vomiting, anxiety attacks, as well as NONsexual nudity (Proton takes a bath). Nothing gets too graphic, I think (especially the nudity bit. He just takes his clothes off), but I would rather be safe than sorry with a warning. I have a higher tolerance for this sort of stuff, so please let me know if anything should be tagged, or added to this little warning.

How long had it been since he’d gotten out of bed? He wasn’t sure.

Proton cracked his eyes open. He was clinging to a pillow, another propped behind him. So he wouldn’t roll over. He sat up slowly, ignoring the way his stomach twisted.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. He groaned, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and mind. There clearly wasn’t anyone home.

Right. Petrel was going grocery shopping, and Archer and Ariana were out looking for.. Something. Someone?

No. They’d stopped doing that. Right. He had to stop thinking like that. A hand drifted to his waist. There was no knife to grab. It wasn’t a good feeling.

Dragging his legs over the side of the bed, Proton scanned the room. He was in Petrel’s room. Right. He’d been making him sleep in the bed, instead of down on the couch. His guts shifted uncomfortably. He was starving.

He hadn’t had good food since he’d started losing weight. It was precautionary, Petrel had told him. His stomach was less likely to reject simple food. Proton stood slowly. He didn’t care anymore. He was hungry. He was tired of the crackers. He wanted something. Something actually good. Something other than the bland shit Petrel had restricted him too.

Fuck, he was nauseous. He ignored it. He was more hungry than anything else.

Slowly, slowly so he wouldn’t jostle his stomach and gag, he made his way to the kitchen. He lost focus, though, his movementsquickening as he pulled the fridge open, his eyes darting from one thing to the next.

Cravings. Cravings were normal. That’s what Ariana had said. He listened to her more than Petrel, at this point. She’d had a kid before. Petrel was just-

Just something. Proton wasn’t sure. He scowled at the contents of the fridge.

Meat. That sounded good. Archer had hidden some brisket behind a bag of broccoli (Why had they even bought that? None of them would eat any without Proton to cook it into something else). Proton shoved the greens away and grabbed the Tupperware, opening the lid and throwing it into the microwave.

His mouth was watering, he realized distantly. Like one of Archer’s dogs. He was pathetic. He couldn’t even keep anything down, and he was literally salivating. He leaned over to spit into the sink. Disgusting.

The microwave beeped at him, and he hurried to pull his food out. The cuts of brisket steamed. The fat had bubbled nicely, and delicious oil made the meat shine. His stomach rolled at the smell. Fuck.

Proton grimaced, but reached into the Tupperware and brought a slice to his mouth. It was the best fucking food he’d had in what felt like years. He ate the entire dish before he’d realized what he’d done. Fuck it. He dropped the Tupperware into the sink. That could be someone else’s problem. He was going to go collapse on his couch and go to sleep for a month.

He’d made it to the sofa, carefully laying himself down, when his thoughts began to wander. This was ridiculous. He was famous in Rocket for having an iron stomach. He could eat anything. And now the scent of raisins made him spew his past five meals onto the floor.

He wanted to smoke. He wouldn’t- He couldn’t- but he wanted to. He grumbled mindlessly. If Petrel came back with the smell of cigarettes clinging to him, he would punch the man.

He didn’t know if he could punch Petrel like this. He felt weak.

Fuck.

His innards were quite happily tying themselves into knots. He gagged, sitting up quickly. Wrong choice. The nausea was worse instantly.

Proton shifted onto his feet, throwing himself back into the kitchen before he could vomit on the floor. He succeeded, just barely, and clung desperately to the counter as his stomach emptied itself into the sink.

Fuck. Petrel was going to kill him.

When he finally stopped heaving, he slipped to the ground slowly, leaning back against the cupboards. He was shaking, he realized as he sucked in a breath. He was shaking and crying and fucking pathetic.

He couldn’t protect Rocket. He could barely handle himself now. What would he do when-

Proton let his head drop back against the wood behind him with a quiet sob. He couldn’t do this. What was he thinking? How had he let himself get to this in the first place? He’d been stupid. An idiot. There were so many ways to prevent this, and yet, here he was. What, had he forgotten? How stupid.

He hit the back of his head against the counter again, cursing to himself between his cries. His voice wasn’t even his anymore. He sounded like a girl again. He wanted to scream.

He wanted to scream and throw himself at the walls, tearing at anyone who got close, to be showered in blood. He wanted to hurt someone, because he was hurting, and he didn’t know what else to do.

Somewhere, in the house that was not his, a door opened.

Proton did not hear it, lost in his own thoughts. His cheeks burned with salt, and his throat with acid, but he did not make a noise.

Petrel’s voice, singing some song from the radio, filtered into the kitchen. He slid in on his socks, carrying the groceries he had left to buy.

They lay forgotten on the floor in an instant.

Petrel kneeled in front of Proton, looming over him, something worse than worry guiding his every movement. Proton blinked, his mind throwing itself back into gear. He inhaled sharply, pulling back. He hated this. He hated the look on Petrel’s face. It was something he was far too familiar with, from the looks of so many others, the way they looked at him when he approached with a knife and a grin. Fear. He hated the way he was afraid, too. He hated the way his voice broke, the way it keened when Petrel reached for his shoulders. The way he broke when the man held him so gently, cradling the back of his head like something precious.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, babe, I’m here. It’s okay,” Petrel repeated, rocking him back and forth. Proton wanted to fight. He could not. “It’s okay. I’m right here, Love.”

They stayed like that. It was horrible and comforting. Proton hated it. He tried to speak, to yell and push and scream, but his belly rolled again. He scrambled to his feet before he could heave whatever was left of his stomach’s contents onto the other man. That was the absolute last thing he needed.

Petrel cooed quiet praise and encouragement to him, rubbing his back gently and pulling his hair away from his face. It had gotten longer.

Finally, finally finally, his guts let him rest, and he leaned back into Petrel’s embrace. The man hummed at him, gathering him in his arms. Hugging him. “Hey,” he started, and Proton shivered. “Come on. Let’s go sit down, mkay? Come on,” he repeated, tugging at Proton. Once the green-haired man had started to walk, back out to the living room, to his couch, Petrel let go, ducking down to grab a large metal bowl from the cupboard, and a glass of water. Proton glared at him, opening his mouth to speak, but Petrel quieted him with a loving look. “Just in case,” he said.

Petrel settled Proton down with far too much care. The bowl and water were set aside, perched on the coffee table, as Petrel sat beside him. Proton eyed him warily.

“How’re you feeling, Pro?” he asked, setting his hand on the man’s thigh and rubbing small circles with his thumb. “Whatever happened, I’m not mad.”

Proton winced at the way his voice croaked when he responded, “I’m fine.”

Petrel frowned, had the audacity to look sad, and said “I don’t believe you.”

It was horrible, having someone who could see through you like that.

“I was hungry,” Proton said. It felt like a confession of sin.

“Oh, Pro,” Petrel murmured, reaching out to brush green hair out of his eyes. Proton looked away. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been home.” His voice was so soft, laced with concern and regret, and it was all because of Proton. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Petrel sighed, leaning to pick the glass up and press it into Proton’s hands, guiding it to his mouth. “Come on, you need to drink.” Proton let him. His throat ached. But the water washed away the sting of the bile, and the smell started to leave with it.

The smell.

Proton gagged, and the water was taken away, the bowl positioned in front of him. His body heaved pathetically, but he didn’t vomit. Progress, he thought wryly, spitting the excess of saliva into the metal dish. Petrel rubbed his back.

Little sips, he thought he could hear the man saying. Little sips. He’d tried to drink too much at once. Right. Proton lifted his head. Too much. He leaned against Petrel, breathing shakily. His hair fell into his eyes, across his shoulders. Petrel brushed it away again, a kiss pressed gently against his temple.

Gentle, gentle.

Proton shivered, turning his face into the man’s shoulder. He was quivering, his body on the verge of just giving up. He hadn’t wanted this. He could’ve prevented it. He could’ve prevented all of it. Hot tears pricked at his eyes, and he grabbed Petrel’s shirt. He was being held, now.

“I can’t– Petrel,” he whimpered. Soft murmurs spoke back to him, caressing his back, attempting to soothe him.

“Yes, you can,” Petrel said, “you are so strong, Sweetheart.”

The grip on Petrel’s shirt tightened. “No- I couldn’t- Fuck, Petr, this is all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.”

It was. It was, he knew it. Petrel knew it too.

“I couldn’t hurt him. All of this. I can’t fucking hurt a kid, Petrel, that’s why all of this is happening. It’s my fault!” His voice was rising. Petrel couldn’t hear him. He had to. He had to hear him.

Petrel leaned back, lifting Proton’s head to meet his eyes. Frantic gaze met calm; green met black.

“That is exactly why you’re so strong.”

Proton blinked.

Fuck.

He collapsed back into Petrel’s waiting arms. He wasn’t ready. He never would be.

“It’s in the past now, Love. It’s alright,” Petrel murmured.

Maybe, just maybe, he could believe him for once. He was tired. He wanted it to be alright. He didn’t want to worry anymore.

Petrel hummed, running his fingers through Proton’s hair. “We should get you cleaned up, hm? A bath sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Proton nodded slowly. He was exhausted. He wanted this to be over.

Petrel stood without him, kissing the top of his head and walking out of the room. Proton stared after him.

The sound of running water flooded into the room, drowning his thoughts with a quiet shhhh…

Petrel returned, helping him to his feet and guiding him into the bathroom. Proton stood in front of the mirror.

“I look like shit,” he croaked. Petrel laughed, kissing the back of his head.

“Well, you’re the prettiest piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” he said, and squeezed Proton’s shoulder.

His hair was too long. It laid on his shoulders. Proton gathered it in one hand, holding it back.

“I look like a teenager,” he sighed. He would never miss those years.

Petrel frowned then, his hand drifting to settle on the back of Proton’s neck. “Do you want to cut it?”

Proton thought about this. He did, he wanted it gone so badly. He missed the way it curled over his ears, framing his face. He missed the way it made him feel like a man.

“No,” he decided. “For now.”

Petrel smiled, nodding and kissing his shoulder. He turned away, digging through the cupboards for this-and-that, salts and soaps and things to put in the warm water.

Proton began to strip, taking the last shield from his thoughts off his delicate body and letting it fall to the ground with his clothes.

He stood, naked, staring at the stranger in his mirror.

They looked like him, in some ways. The same eyes. The same hair, though longer. The same tattoos.

In some ways, they looked different. Their skin was paler. Dark bags lay beneath their eyes. The biggest difference, however, was the way their belly had started to grow.

It was finally starting to be obvious. Not drastically so, but noticeable without the overlarge hoodie he’d been hiding in. It was still enough to hide the gentle slope of his stomach. For now. That was the key word. Words.

The worst part was, he did this to himself. His own carelessness. Of course he could still get pregnant.

Testosterone didn’t make you immune to that. Even if he had still been on it, there was a chance. And then, everything had fallen apart, and he lost everything. The hormones left with Rocket.

So, yeah. He should’ve been more careful. But he knew that. He’d chosen to ignore it. Willful ignorance. Blind stupidity.

And now he was knocked up. Yippee.

A warm hand jerked Proton from his thoughts when it settled carefully onto the small of his back. Petrel leaned forward, careful to keep himself from touching Proton anywhere else. “The bath’s ready, Sweetheart.”

Proton nodded, and slipped into the warm embrace of the water.

#pokemon irl #pokeblog rp #pokeblogging #executive decision to start over #story post #tw nausea #tw vomit #// I'm impatient. Posting this now I'll reblog it in the morning /lh

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justanillvampire · 2 months

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The day progressed and so did my demise. I will detail what happened this morning tomorrow. I’m work off thank gods. I’ll say it for the millionth time

I really don’t feel good 🫠

#feeling sick #nauseous #stomach ache #chronically ill #irl sick #irl vomit #emeto #sick #spoonie #bloated #sss complains #sss talks #sick writing #upset tummy #upset stomach #bloated stomach #stomach cramps #tw nausea

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across-violet-skies · 2 months

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Febuwhump day 20: truth serum

Whumpee: Legend

Whump Rating: 6/10

TWs: nausea, delirium, one line that could be interpreted as suicidal intent (but it's not meant to be)

Legend groaned, coughing roughly. He felt sweaty and gross, a chill in the air causing him to shiver. It was morning, or at least Legend thought so. The sun was up, at the very least.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Hyrule stood over him, smiling. “Wild asked me to wake you for breakfast, so… breakfast’s ready?”

Legend grumbled, rolling onto his side away from the traveler. “Not hungry,” he mumbled, pulling the blanket up higher. Hylia, it was cold out!

“Legeeee,” Hyrule whined, kneeling to shake the Veteran gently. “C’mon! Wild made wildberry crepes, and they’re gonna get cold if you don’t come now!”

“Just leave me alone,” Legend huffed, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’m not hungry.”

From behind him, Hyrule sighed. Legend assumed he had won until his blanket was torn away, exposing him to the chilled morning air. “Get up!”

“Hyrule!” The Vet hissed, reaching for his blanket but refusing to get up. “Give it back! It’s cold!”

That had Hyrule confused, lowering the blanket with a frown. “It’s really nice out today. How is it cold?” The traveler narrowed his eyes, examining Legend briefly. “Hm. You’re a little flushed… are you feeling alright?”

Legend scowled, snatching the blanket back from his successor. “I’m fine,” he insisted, snuggling back into his bedroll. “I just want to be left alone.”

Hyrule placed a hand on Legend’s forehead, clicking his tongue. “You’re warm, he noted, shaking his head.

As the traveler went to stand, Legend grabbed his hand and held him there. “I’m not sick,” he denied, staring at Hyrule with determined, yet tired, eyes.

“I never said you were,” Hyrule replied, shrugging. Legend released his hand, allowing the traveler to get up. “But you probably are, since you’re definitely running a fever,” he added, stepping far enough away so the Veteran couldn’t snatch an ankle. “I’ll go tell the others.”

“Hyrule, you little-” Legend broke off into a harsh coughing fit, his entire body convulsing with each rough cough. The force of it all had him dry-heaving, turned hastily so he was hunched over the grass rather than his bedroll. Nothing came out, however, so Legend rolled back into bed with a groan, sighing.

Okay, maybe he was a little sick. But it wasn’t that bad! It certainly didn’t warrant being fussed over, that was for sure.

Hyrule returned with a few items, balanced precariously on his arms as he carefully made his way back to Legend. He set them down in the dirt– two breakfast plates, a waterskin, a small cloth, and a larger bucket of water that was filled about halfway.

The traveler grinned, sitting down beside Legend. “I’ll be your caretaker today!” He exclaimed proudly, eyes crinkling. “I can’t heal fevers, but I know how to take care of them.” He dunked the cloth in the water bucket, wringing it out.

Legend pushed the cloth away as Hyrule tried to lay it on his forehead. “I don’t need to be taken care of,” he huffed, scowling. “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you.”

Hyrule frowned, shoulders slumping as he retracted the hand holding the wet cloth. “I just want to help you,” he murmured, sighing. “And Time said someone has to watch your fever. If you’d rather have Wars, then I can-”

Legend groaned dramatically, shaking his head. “Fuck no.” He sighed, clearly pissed off but too tired to put up much of a fight. “Fine. I guess you can watch the fever, or whatever.”

“Thank you.” Hyrule smiled, reaching to place the cloth on the Vet’s forehead. This time, there was no resistance, only a small huff as the cool cloth hit him. He would never admit it out loud, but it did feel nice against his heated skin. “Do you want your breakfast, or should I save it for later?”

Legend waved a hand, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. He turned over, tugging his blanket up higher.

Hyrule chuckled. “I’ll ask Wild to put it away, then. Sleep well.” The traveler got up, his quiet footsteps echoing in Legend’s mind as he drifted off to sleep.

Hyrule hummed to himself, checking in on Legend. He had been asleep for an hour or two now, and it would probably be good for him to eat something (or at least drink some water).

Crouching down, Hyrule poked the Veteran, shaking his shoulder. Instantly, worry shot down Hyrule’s spine– Legend was very warm, despite the cloth on his forehead that had been replaced multiple times.

“Lege?” He questioned, shaking the Vet more roughly. “Legend? Link?”

“Hm?” Legend turned over, blinking slowly up at the traveler. “Marin…?”

Hyrule frowned, confused. Who was Marin? “No, it’s me, Hyrule. Remember?” He was starting to get anxious now.

The Veteran sighed, closing his eyes. “I’ve missed you. Do you still sing? I’ve always… loved your voice,” he mumbled dazedly.

“Uh…” The traveler tilted his head, confused. “Thank you?” Hyrule was pretty sure he’d never sang in front of any of his brothers.

“I wish I never woke the Windfish,” Legend continued, eyes still closed. Hyrule frowned, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “I’ve met more people like me, but… I still miss you every day.”

“Legend…?” Hyrule called nervously.

The Veteran hummed, sighing. “I wonder what it would be like if I hadn’t done it. Would we be happy together, like Time and Malon? Or could we never be more than just a dream?” He paused, sighing sadly. “I would give anything to go back… even if it kills me. Marin…”

“Guys?!” Hyrule shouted, shocked and confused and a little hurt by Legend’s words. He was clearly quite out of it, but that didn’t mean his words held no weight.

“What’s going on?” Time questioned, frowning.

Warriors knelt by Legend’s head, removing the cloth to check the Vet’s temperature. “We need to get him to a town,” he explained, shaking his head. “He’s got a high fever.”

“Marin… I’m sorry.” Legend went limp, burning with fever. Hyrule gasped, shaking his arm worriedly.

Time placed a hand on the traveler’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Pup, can you carry him?”

Twilight nodded, and Warriors helped to get Legend on the rancher’s back. “Castle Town isn’t far from here. We could make it there in three hours; two if we hurry.”

“You heard him. Everyone gather your things, we’re heading out,” Time decided. Quickly, items were gathered and bedrolls were put away. Wild stomped out the fire while Hyrule and Sky helped to get Legend and Twilight’s things as well. It wasn’t long before all nine of them were back on the road, following Twilight’s lead as he charged on toward Castle Town.

“There’s a doctor in town,” the rancher panted, out of breath from the effort of carrying Legend while keeping pace. “He’s… not the greatest. If he can’t help, then I have some friends who might be able to.”

Time nodded. “We’ll split up. Two will take the Veteran to the doctor. A few can go with Rancher to meet his allies. The rest will go to the inn and get us checked in for the night. Agreed?”

With several murmurs of agreement, they continued on, keeping a quick pace as they transported Legend to Twilight’s Castle Town.

“The doctor is up that way and the inn is in the main square. We’ll be down this way, back in a small alley. We’ll meet up back at the inn before sunset,” Twilight directed, sending his brothers off in all sorts of directions. He took Time and Warriors to the bar while Hyrule and Sky took Legend to the doctor. The rest headed to the inn to get checked in.

Hyrule fidgeted as he followed Sky, clearly nervous. Legend was unconscious. Every time he woke up during the journey had been terrible, spouting absolute nonsense and calling out for someone named Marin. It was distressing, to say the least, to see their grouchy Veteran in such a vulnerable state, and Hyrule knew he wasn’t the only one hoping for some sort of miracle cure.

They stepped into the doctor’s office, sitting down in a chair. Beside them was a young woman with a large gash across her upper arm.

“I can heal that, if you’d like,” Hyrule murmured, pressing his lips into a weak smile.

She squinted at him, glancing up at Sky and Legend as well. She sighed deeply. “Don’t you dare mess this up,” she hissed, offering him her wounded arm.

“I won’t, ma’am.” Hyrule closed his eyes, hands glowing a soft teal as he cast his Life spell, pressing the magic into her arm. The wound closed, leaving the skin unmarked.

She nodded, humming with satisfaction. “Hm. Not bad, kid.” She stood up, flicking a red rupee into Hyrule’s lap. “See ya around.”

As the woman left, Hyrule pocketed the rupee. The doctor burst into the room, shooing an older man out before beckoning them to follow.

“So, what’s wrong with you?” He grumbled, leading them into a small back room.

Sky set Legend down on a bed. “Our friend is sick. He’s got a high fever.”

The doctor sighed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah.” He searched through a drawer, pulling out a small bottle of thick purple liquid. “This should help.” He tossed it to Sky, who uncorked it and fed it to Legend. “That’ll be fifty rupees.”

Hyrule glanced at Sky, offering up the red rupee he had just picked up. The Skyloftian supplied another red rupee as well as a yellow, watching the doctor’s reaction carefully. He accepted the rupees with a grin, pocketing them before ushering the group out.

“Great, come again!” Sky carried Legend out as Hyrule followed, getting the door slammed in their faces.

Legend stirred in Sky’s arms, groaning. “What…?”

“Legend!” Hyrule exclaimed, gasping. “Are you okay?”

The Veteran scowled, huffing. “I’m fine.” He glanced around, frowning. “Where are we?”

“Twi’s Castle Town,” Sky answered, walking alongside Hyrule as they headed to the inn. “We had to take you to a doctor.”

“What?!”

“Your fever was really high,” Hyrule chirped, nodding. “You kept talking about someone… um, Marin?”

Legend inhaled sharply, struggling in Sky’s grasp. “Put me down,” he hissed, jerking back from the others. “What did I say? Did I- no. Tell me!” The Veteran grasped the collar of Hyrule’s tunic, eyes large and angry.

“You were just talking! You said you missed them and their singing, and something about some sort of sky-fish?”

Legend dropped his hold on Hyrule, staggering back a step. “The Windfish…” he whispered, shaking his head. “Who heard?”

The traveler fidgeted, leaning into Sky nervously. “Um, I did. The others heard a little bit when we were walking, but it was mostly just nonsense at that point.”

The Vet seemed to relax at that, still breathing heavily. He held a hand to his head, slumping with a huff of breath.

“Ooookay,” Sky chuckled nervously, scooping Legend up from under his arms. “You need to rest. Whatever the doctor gave you helped, but you still need to recover. We’re taking you to the inn.”

Legend grumbled incoherently as Sky lifted him up, carrying the Veteran down the Castle Town streets and into the inn. They already had rooms set up, with Legend, Hyrule, and Sky sharing. Despite the Vet’s obvious embarrassment, he didn’t argue about the room assignment.

“I’m sorry,” Hyrule murmured, settling into bed between Sky and Legend. “I didn’t mean to hear all of that. It seemed pretty personal.”

Legend sighed, frowning as he stared at his lap. “It’s not your fault,” he finally replied.

“Still, I’m sorry you had to go through that,” the traveler continued softly. “It sucks.”

The Veteran snorted despite himself. “Yeah,” he agreed, cracking a tiny smile. “It does. But I don’t think I regret it because I got to meet all of you. That’s better than existing in a dream world.”

“...Really?” Hyrule wondered, tilting his head. “You think so?”

Legend smiled, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

–> support me on ao3!

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday20 #tw nausea #tw delirium #linked universe #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu marin #lu sky #lu twilight #lu chain #linked universe fanfic #ao3 #riv writes

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