welcome to haaywyn !
here, you'll find all sorts of sickfic, tummy trouble, whump, hurt/comfort, fantasy nonsense, and a gratuitous amount of lore for a blog that is mostly about puke and sometimes other gross things! [you can find my little self-intro post here.]
★ for oc information:
click > here < for the main characters,
> here < for the guard squad,
> here < for the medic team,
and > here < for the extended townsfolk ! [ COMING SOON ]
for additional info, use the #character info tag -- feel free to follow any character by character tag or use one of these to narrow it down:
#haaywyn four info
#guard squad info
#medic team info
#townsfolk info
you can also use the regular #haaywyn four, #guard squad, #medic team, or #townsfolk tags alongside any specific character tag to find fics including them.
★ for any information regarding the lore or the setting, use the #haaywyn info tag!
☆ find anything in the modern au with the #haaywyn modern tag!
please feel free to ask me anything or send a dm any time!
★ for the masterlist, please see below the cut! ★
➷ character introduction snapshot: august & ceridwen [ canon, cw emeto ]
➷ character introduction snapshot: jemini & aleksei [ canon, cw emeto, alcohol ]
➷ character introduction snapshot: vince, reese, & remi [ canon, burping/stomach ache but no emeto ]
➷ malika is introduced to the group: vince, mal [ canon, cw injury, fever, no emeto ]
a little discouraged because i don't see a lot of love for magic whump. can i get some cheers in the chat for magic whump? can i get your prompts? this is a sharing circle now, i want to see!
Question about the Haaywyn 4! Could be for the other groups but I wanted to know what physical thing about another person do they like? Like not a thing like what’s their type but what are things that they notice first about someone’s appearance that they like. Also what is something they like about themselves physically?
interesting ask! i'll take this to be referring to what they like about their significant others (or adjacent, for aleksei and jemini.)
for august, i'd say the first thing he notices about ceridwen is probably her eyes. maybe a cliche answer, but because the maghrichaij people don't have visible irises/pupils from afar, i think he finds them to be very entrancing. i do think this is the first thing he looks at in most people he meets who are not maghrichijan, though. as for something he likes about himself, i guess he liked his physique okay at a time? i'm not going to say he hates himself, because he doesn't really, not enough to adamantly dislike everything about himself. but i think he doesn't really think about himself enough to have a distinct characteristic he'd confidently say he enjoys or takes pride in. he views himself as pretty unsubstantial.
for ceridwen, i think she loves august's markings. she would be the kind of person to notice any unique thing about another person, and his markings stand out pretty immediately. at a time, this was from a perspective of judgment or even disdain given her sheltered upbringing, but she's grown to find uniqueness and authenticity to be very beautiful. she could trace the lines on him for hours. for herself, it's not necessarily one aspect, but i will say she's very confident in her body. not in a haughty or pretentious way, but because culturally, ebraians are very forward and open about sexuality and the beauty of the female body and all that. again, in her past, she looked down upon herself and disdained her body because of her perceived faults with it. she grows to love and accept it. that's the best way i can summarize it without divulging a whole ceridwen backstory here.
for aleksei, i think it's jemini's smile. initially perceived to be taunting, teasing, and utterly infuriating at times, aleksei will grow to find it comforting and warm in ways that aren't intimidating or too intense. for himself, again, i'm not sure he has anything just yet. he and august shared the kind of upbringing that navigated their thinking away from themselves.
for jemini, i think it's aleksei's hands. i feel like the alluring thing to him about aleksei specifically, once he gets past his own angst, is his gentleness. aleksei has dainty, pretty, ring-model sort of hands, and his touch is cold but gentle. for himself, i think he takes pride in his hair. it is very nice hair. he's a little superficial sometimes.
hard question to answer without giving an unrequested haaywyn 4 Lore Drop, but i hope this made sense! thank you for asking!
you should do a deep dive on the fauna species!! super curious! how’re they born, what species are more common and where, etc!!
hello anon !!
fauna are kind of a complicated species, but i'm going to try to make it make actual sense beyond just the realm of my brain where whatever i say goes! LOL.
fauna are a race of shapeshifters that are born initially as animals, most commonly those that live in large packs or herds. the only creatures that fauna generally cannot take the form of are those that produce asexually or abandon their young entirely because fauna learn their forms through mimicry.
from the time of their conception, fauna are responding to external stimuli and examples of life. starting at birth and lasting until they reach the age of sexual maturity unique to their initial species, fauna are capable of mimicking aspects of all sentient creatures they encounter; this is why they are most commonly found in packs or herds. being surrounded by their mother species, like a mother tongue, keeps them engrossed in that form until the age of sexual maturity where they're capable of learning their human form, which is again, a process of mimicry. once their human form has been established, they can no longer absorb traits from other animals; they exclusively have their animal, or primal, form, and their human form. the one they exist in most commonly depends on the nature of their environment, as fauna can be found in several contexts throughout the continent, including:
in the wild, continuing to live as a pack animal and sparingly invoking their human form,
within society, primarily in a human form, and holding a normal job/existing as an otherwise humanoid individual,
within certain societies on a lower level than full humans or elves, used in place of livestock or as a source of income (like breeding dogs or horses. a few of my characters have an origin like this!)
basically, fauna stand in the place of animals in a lot of circumstances while still being able to maintain human lives in other circumstances. each kingdom/region is prone to its own perspective on fauna. the western half of the continent is more progressive, therefore consisting of several towns and kingdoms where fauna are integrated into society the same as anyone else, though they are also very scientific and pursuant of knowledge for which they are not above using fauna in experimentation (like animal testing.) meanwhile, the eastern side of the continent, which is very traditional, is more inclined to hold fauna as below the humans/elves or as a race intended to serve those above them. the most notable example of this is the kingdom of fallholt, where fauna are continuously used in place of or to mind livestock with little or no reimbursement and are societally considered to be destined servants to the forest elves who live there.
i hope this answered the question and made some sense! thank you for popping in and sending this ask!
In which Reese makes a grand escape from his own date and runs into a familiar face just in time to suffer the consequences of his actions.
☆ OCs: Reese, Mal
★ CW: Alcohol consumption, emeto/vomiting, some burping
☆ Word Count: 1679
Night in Haaywyn comes cold, clean, and dry, and Malika has never been more grateful for fresh air and working legs than she is right now, because that clinic room gets awfully stuffy. And even a girl like her has a limit for how much talk and smell of blood and guts she can withstand. So that’s how she finds herself wandering, embraced by the unfamiliar, quaint quietude of this strange little town. She had figured this would be the best time to do it, with no persistent strangers to bother her or get in her way.
Not for the first time in her life, it is apparent that Mal thought wrong.
↓ read more under the cut ! ↓
This crosses her mind for two reasons. First of all, she hadn’t accounted for the chance of running into any inebriated tavern-goers. There are not many, but there are certainly more stragglers than she’d bargained for. And secondly, she was wrong to be so naive as to think she could ever shake Reese’s incessant ass, because among the stragglers is him. He’s hobbling away and looking strangely guilty, with a rip in the side of his shirt and a trail of feathers following him.
She considers turning the other way. In fact, she really wants to. But there’s a part of her that cannot be described as anything other than masochistic as it inclines her to go up to him. She deliberates on it a moment too long, because he spots her first. Reese waves to her, stumbling along in her direction with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Maaaaallll!”
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, shaking her head and trudging over to meet him if not just to get him to stop yelling, and calls back, “Yeah, I hear you! Yes.”
He just about falls into her arms once he reaches her, swaying dangerously. She resists the urge to reach out to him. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Of everything Reese could possibly respond to her with, the last thing Mal expects is for it to come in the form of a hiccup and a mouthful of vomit directly at her feet.
“Fuck! Oh, gross–” she takes a step back, looking heavenwards and taking a long, regrettable breath. The smell of alcohol assaults her senses and from the sheer potency of it, she realizes maybe the vomiting was not the least reasonable response for him to give. “Gods, Reese.”
He reels back in return, turning to the side and bracing against his knee with one arm, hugging himself with the other. He groans and spits and burps again, bringing up more dark liquid. And then again. And again, like a fussy baby or a–a bird.
Mal huffs. Fitting.
Against all of her stronger instincts, Mal leans in and puts a hand on his back. Reese coughs and splutters, leaning some of his meager weight against her as he continues to throw up, an almost constant stream of little gags and hiccups spilling from him. A few other people, definitely no less sloshed than Reese is, peer over. They’re on the side of a path beneath a streetlight; it’s not like he chose a particularly discreet place to do this.
One person in particular looks on with a level of judgment that is definitely not warranted given that they came from the same place. Mal glares at him and flips him off.
“Hey, Reese.”
Reese whimpers.
“Dude. Reese. Stop puking for a minute–fucking swallow it or something.”
Reese tries and nearly chokes. Mal swears under her breath. This guy is beyond pathetic.
She rubs his back as he burps and coughs again, and then she gives up hope that it’ll end anytime soon and accepts the potential of getting puked on as she shoves him off the path. He stumbles, so she takes his wrist and opts to drag him along with her. “Come on. Let’s get behind a–a building or a bush or something. Anywhere but here. So you can stop fucking embarrassing me.”
Reese gives her a thumbs up with the hand she’s guiding, other hand cupped over his mouth. A noise comes out of him and it sounds like he almost certainly throws up directly into that hand, but Mal chooses not to acknowledge it and carries forward. She’s almost gotten them situated between two shops, long shut down for the night, when she hears a noise from him she can’t choose not to acknowledge: a sniffle.
“What–are you crying?”
“N–hic-huuRRRPP!–no.” Reese sniffles again.
Mal drags him into the alley and pulls the hand away from his face, predictably sullied with sick and snot. He really is crying. Given the fact that he still reeks of booze, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. And it’s not that she is surprised, really. But that doesn’t mean that she has a lick of a clue what to say.
“Why are you crying now? You’re so fucking hammered.”
Reese gags emptily, spitting at the ground and whimpering. He gulps a few times, burps. And then he takes a long, shuddering breath. “Dunno. M’sorry to…embarrass you.”
Malika has spent the entirety of the time she’s known this guy berating him, insulting him, threatening him, and fully prepared to bite, and somehow that’s the comment that does it. Even worse, for some reason, hearing him actually seem hurt by her, seeing him cry like this, does something funny to her heart. Before she can come up with anything to say, he’s fully barrelling forward with an empty retch. It sounds painful, and she cringes, hand going back between his shoulderblades.
“Alright. Shit, Reese.”
“Sorry.”
“Shut up.”
“O–hic!–okay.”
Mal rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything further. They share the silence for a while, save for the sound of Reese’s hiccuping breaths. Malika searches around for something to say as this whole situation catches up to her and she finds herself wondering again if this is some twisted limbo fever-dream. Standing around and looking tenderly upon another person, especially by her own free will, isn’t necessarily in her nature.
Reese’s breath hitches for a second and she thinks he might start getting sick again, but he makes a sad noise and slinks away from her, sliding down the wall like he’s deflating. He puts his head in his hands. Mal wishes she was half as drunk as he is now, even after all the puking. Maybe it would give her some ease of dealing with this situation or cajole her into some spur of kindness. Maybe it would push off the urge she has to walk off and leave the sad sack here, or even greater, the feeling of obligation she feels for him and all of his persistence in looking after her. She takes a deep breath to steel herself and sinks down beside him.
“What’s going on?”
Reese sniffs. “I–I–” he makes some incoherent noise of distress, “nothing. S’nothing.”
“Bullshit. Tell me before I hurt you.”
That gets a giggle out of him. “You’re being sooo nice to me.”
“Don’t push your luck. Now why’re you like this?”
“Well…don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Who the fuck am I telling?”
“Yeah, okay.” Reese picks his head up out of his hands, crossing his arms around his knees and wrapping his wings inward and around himself like a blanket. “Well, I invited Vince out to the tavern with me tonight…for a few drinks.”
“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re in love.”
“Well, no. I mean. I don’t know, but I should probably get over it or something now, ‘cuz I kinda started blurting stuff out about how he shouldn’t like me and then I tried to go home and he’s so nice, Mal, he’s so nice–”
“Get to the point.”
“--anyway, he’s so nice but I kind of stood him up at my own date by freaking out a bit and sneaking out the bathroom window and I ripped my shirt and I told him I’d be right back and I never came back, so…”
Mal heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Sweet fuck, you’re an idiot. And dramatic.”
“I am such an idiot, Mal! And now I’m gonna be so lonely.” Reese pouts, nose all pink from the crying and the cold, and wipes at the snot running across his upper lip. “It’s a good thing you’re my friend now.”
“I wouldn’t go that far–”
“Come oooonnn, Mal. We’re friends. Face it with your sad, sorry ass that you have a friend now, cuz you probably never have in your life with that attitude…”
Mal whips around to look at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Reese jumps, blinking at her. She pushes herself up to stand.
“You know, I could just fucking leave your sorry ass here for Vince to find you and fucking kick you–”
His eyes well up with tears all over again, and the anger starting to well up in her resolves just as fast.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Mal slaps a hand across her face and shakes her head, completely exasperated. She drags it down. Takes a good, long look at him, and it’s then that she notices he’s shivering. Even with those big bird wings wrapped around himself, he’s trembling like a leaf. “You’re cold.”
“I mean, a little…”
She heaves a long breath out and reaches out her hand. “C’mon. Get up. Go home.”
Reese makes a funny face, something akin to a pout but a little more sincere and a little more pathetic. “Are you gonna come with me?”
“No. I’m gonna leave you to fall flat on your face in the dirt and die. Now take my hand.”
He smiles, reaching up for her and wrapping long, cold fingers around the back of her knuckles. She pulls him up to stand, and he wobbles a bit, but he manages to get upright now. It’s a slight improvement from his condition earlier, but it’s an improvement nonetheless. She doesn’t let go of him as they begin the trek to the guard barracks.
Reese and Vince do some catching up -- and then get a little lost along the way.
☆ OCs: Reese, Vince
★ CW: Alcohol consumption, bar/tavern setting
☆ Word Count: 1231
The tavern is bustling tonight. The air is thick with heat, people, and drink, loud with music and conversation. Tangerine firelight licks up the walls from the fireplace, fending off the autumn windchill outside. At a table tucked away in the corner, Reese and Vince sit across from each other. Reese, on his third cup of spiced mead, is in his element.
Vince, nursing a pint of ale, is not.
↓ read more under the cut ! ↓
But Reese invited him, all eager smiles and dancing eyes. And for much of his life since coming to Haaywyn, and twice as much before, Vince has kept to himself. So he figured going out once couldn’t hurt and accepted Reese’s offer. The place is crowded, and although Vince has himself tucked up in a corner and out of the way, a few people have bumped into him on the way out. Whether it’s more a result of his stature or their state of inebriation, he hasn’t really been able to tell.
Reese sways from side to side to the music, wearing an easy smile and an effortless comfort to him that Vince is still trying to figure out. There’s a handful of things Vince is still trying to decipher about Reese, and a good chunk of them find him coming to wonder why Reese chose him to cling to in the first place. Since shortly after Reese and Remi were stationed here in Haaywyn a handful of months ago, the two of them have hung around the barn near-daily. Remi seems to come by for the animals more than anything. He’s a quiet guy. Vince reckons Remi isn’t too keen on talking to people sometimes and finds more comfort in the unsaid, which is just fine by him. Animals can be leagues better than people.
But Reese seems to come around for Vince, specifically. Reese invites him to things. He notices what he does and notices what he doesn’t, and he notices when there’s a shift in either one. Reese takes note of what he likes and what he doesn’t, and Reese seems to love being all up in his personal space, and Vince just can’t place why. It always seems like something is going on behind his eyes even when he acts like there’s nothing but air between his ears.
“So Vince!”
Vince almost jolts, broken out of his stupor by Reese’s voice cutting over the din surrounding them. He gives a hum of acknowledgement in turn.
“I think I deserve a round of applause. Because!” Reese drums his fingertips against the table, grinning. “I finally got Mal to eat some soup.”
“Wow,” Vince nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Congrats, birdy.”
“Thank you, thank you. I know, I’m amazing. It only took me like a week, a lot of persistence, plenty of pouty lips and eye-batting, and of course, my incredible charm to pull it off…” Reese pauses to hiccup, closed-mouthed. “But I did it.”
“Atta boy.” Vince clears his throat, staring down at the table for a minute before committing to the thought of what he wants to say. “What’s your thing with that, anyway?”
“What thing?”
“With Mal and the soup or whatever. Why try?”
“Well, you see, sweet Vinny, when someone doesn’t want friendship or kindness – hic-urp! – I think…they need it more than anything, and who better to give it than I?” Reese laughs a little, waving his hand as if shooing off a thought or a pesky fly.
Vince huffs a laugh back, though he doesn’t get what they’re laughing at. He takes a long swig of the ale and it pools warm in the pit of his gut, like he’s sucking up the heat of the fire. And then he wipes the back of his wrist against his mouth.
Reese runs a fingertip around the rim of his cup, still half-full. Vince figures it’s probably for the best that Reese doesn’t finish it. Unlike himself, Reese is small and slender and always buzzing with energy. There’s no reason why he’d be any good at holding his liquor. And Vince also figures he should’ve considered that before accepting the offer to come out to a tavern of all places, but maybe it’s better off if Reese gets himself messed up in capable company rather than the alternative.
“You wouldn’t get it. But I get it,” Reese continues. “I get it so much. But you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t?” Vince leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Why’d you reckon?”
Reese gives a half-hearted shrug. Something contemplative comes over him, but a wave of mead washes over it, dismantling inhibition. “There’s nothing more inspiring to me than the word no. S’probablyyyy…why I like you so much, Vin.”
Vince snorts. He’s almost taken aback. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Well, I’m sure you don’t want me around so much, but you don’t seem like you want anyone around so much so I’m jus’ thinkin’ maybe–hic!”
Vince grunts, unsure of how to respond.
“I’m just thinkin’ maybe–I mean. That just makes me wanna be around you sooo much more, c’z you’re all mean and tough n’big and why would you wanna be around me? Buuut like, you hang around me now, so m’have to be doin’ somethin’ right.”
“Hell. You’re sloshed, bird.”
“No,” Reese shakes his head, resolute. But a look crosses over his features like his brain has finally caught up with his mouth. “I’m good! I’m so good. So, so good. Um.”
Reese stands abruptly, chair skidding back with a squeal. A couple of heads turn, but a lot don’t. Vince raises his brows.
“This has been so, so fun, Vin. Thank you so sup’r much for comin’ out with me, but–y’know, it’s late, and I think maybe I should go back to the…to the grind.” He sways. Vince reaches out a hand to him, prepared in case Reese topples over.
“Well, alright. I can walk you back, or–”
“No!” Reese shakes his head again, firm, so firm it looks like he’s dizzy after. “No–hic!--no need, Vin. I got it…”
Vince is already standing. “You’re real messed up, Reese. Let me make sure you get back to the barracks safe.”
Reese pushes Vince back down, and it’s not a hard push, but Vince isn’t expecting it and obeys before he processes he’s doing it. Reese surveys the room, eyes flitting about with a weird sort of franticness, though the alcohol has his gaze all hazy and slow.
Just as Vince is about to get back up, Reese takes a few steps back and says, “M’gonna go to the bathroom, actually! Just the bathroom. I’ll be–right back! Be right back.” He turns and adds a “don’t follow me.”
Vince opens his mouth to answer, but by the time he’s gathered himself to leave, Reese is already gone, swallowed up by the crowd. He sighs under his breath, resting his elbows on the table. Another thing to add to the list of all that Vince still needs to decipher about Reese: whatever the hell that was.
But he knows he won’t find out tonight, not while Reese is in the state he’s in, so he sits and waits and gives Reese his privacy. He’ll get up in a few to go find him if he doesn’t come back, but for now, Vince takes in the atmosphere, enjoys the music, and finishes his pint of ale.
Reese and Vince do some catching up -- and then get a little lost along the way.
☆ OCs: Reese, Vince
★ CW: Alcohol consumption, bar/tavern setting
☆ Word Count: 1231
The tavern is bustling tonight. The air is thick with heat, people, and drink, loud with music and conversation. Tangerine firelight licks up the walls from the fireplace, fending off the autumn windchill outside. At a table tucked away in the corner, Reese and Vince sit across from each other. Reese, on his third cup of spiced mead, is in his element.
Vince, nursing a pint of ale, is not.
↓ read more under the cut ! ↓
But Reese invited him, all eager smiles and dancing eyes. And for much of his life since coming to Haaywyn, and twice as much before, Vince has kept to himself. So he figured going out once couldn’t hurt and accepted Reese’s offer. The place is crowded, and although Vince has himself tucked up in a corner and out of the way, a few people have bumped into him on the way out. Whether it’s more a result of his stature or their state of inebriation, he hasn’t really been able to tell.
Reese sways from side to side to the music, wearing an easy smile and an effortless comfort to him that Vince is still trying to figure out. There’s a handful of things Vince is still trying to decipher about Reese, and a good chunk of them find him coming to wonder why Reese chose him to cling to in the first place. Since shortly after Reese and Remi were stationed here in Haaywyn a handful of months ago, the two of them have hung around the barn near-daily. Remi seems to come by for the animals more than anything. He’s a quiet guy. Vince reckons Remi isn’t too keen on talking to people sometimes and finds more comfort in the unsaid, which is just fine by him. Animals can be leagues better than people.
But Reese seems to come around for Vince, specifically. Reese invites him to things. He notices what he does and notices what he doesn’t, and he notices when there’s a shift in either one. Reese takes note of what he likes and what he doesn’t, and Reese seems to love being all up in his personal space, and Vince just can’t place why. It always seems like something is going on behind his eyes even when he acts like there’s nothing but air between his ears.
“So Vince!”
Vince almost jolts, broken out of his stupor by Reese’s voice cutting over the din surrounding them. He gives a hum of acknowledgement in turn.
“I think I deserve a round of applause. Because!” Reese drums his fingertips against the table, grinning. “I finally got Mal to eat some soup.”
“Wow,” Vince nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Congrats, birdy.”
“Thank you, thank you. I know, I’m amazing. It only took me like a week, a lot of persistence, plenty of pouty lips and eye-batting, and of course, my incredible charm to pull it off…” Reese pauses to hiccup, closed-mouthed. “But I did it.”
“Atta boy.” Vince clears his throat, staring down at the table for a minute before committing to the thought of what he wants to say. “What’s your thing with that, anyway?”
“What thing?”
“With Mal and the soup or whatever. Why try?”
“Well, you see, sweet Vinny, when someone doesn’t want friendship or kindness – hic-urp! – I think…they need it more than anything, and who better to give it than I?” Reese laughs a little, waving his hand as if shooing off a thought or a pesky fly.
Vince huffs a laugh back, though he doesn’t get what they’re laughing at. He takes a long swig of the ale and it pools warm in the pit of his gut, like he’s sucking up the heat of the fire. And then he wipes the back of his wrist against his mouth.
Reese runs a fingertip around the rim of his cup, still half-full. Vince figures it’s probably for the best that Reese doesn’t finish it. Unlike himself, Reese is small and slender and always buzzing with energy. There’s no reason why he’d be any good at holding his liquor. And Vince also figures he should’ve considered that before accepting the offer to come out to a tavern of all places, but maybe it’s better off if Reese gets himself messed up in capable company rather than the alternative.
“You wouldn’t get it. But I get it,” Reese continues. “I get it so much. But you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t?” Vince leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Why’d you reckon?”
Reese gives a half-hearted shrug. Something contemplative comes over him, but a wave of mead washes over it, dismantling inhibition. “There’s nothing more inspiring to me than the word no. S’probablyyyy…why I like you so much, Vin.”
Vince snorts. He’s almost taken aback. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Well, I’m sure you don’t want me around so much, but you don’t seem like you want anyone around so much so I’m jus’ thinkin’ maybe–hic!”
Vince grunts, unsure of how to respond.
“I’m just thinkin’ maybe–I mean. That just makes me wanna be around you sooo much more, c’z you’re all mean and tough n’big and why would you wanna be around me? Buuut like, you hang around me now, so m’have to be doin’ somethin’ right.”
“Hell. You’re sloshed, bird.”
“No,” Reese shakes his head, resolute. But a look crosses over his features like his brain has finally caught up with his mouth. “I’m good! I’m so good. So, so good. Um.”
Reese stands abruptly, chair skidding back with a squeal. A couple of heads turn, but a lot don’t. Vince raises his brows.
“This has been so, so fun, Vin. Thank you so sup’r much for comin’ out with me, but–y’know, it’s late, and I think maybe I should go back to the…to the grind.” He sways. Vince reaches out a hand to him, prepared in case Reese topples over.
“Well, alright. I can walk you back, or–”
“No!” Reese shakes his head again, firm, so firm it looks like he’s dizzy after. “No–hic!--no need, Vin. I got it…”
Vince is already standing. “You’re real messed up, Reese. Let me make sure you get back to the barracks safe.”
Reese pushes Vince back down, and it’s not a hard push, but Vince isn’t expecting it and obeys before he processes he’s doing it. Reese surveys the room, eyes flitting about with a weird sort of franticness, though the alcohol has his gaze all hazy and slow.
Just as Vince is about to get back up, Reese takes a few steps back and says, “M’gonna go to the bathroom, actually! Just the bathroom. I’ll be–right back! Be right back.” He turns and adds a “don’t follow me.”
Vince opens his mouth to answer, but by the time he’s gathered himself to leave, Reese is already gone, swallowed up by the crowd. He sighs under his breath, resting his elbows on the table. Another thing to add to the list of all that Vince still needs to decipher about Reese: whatever the hell that was.
But he knows he won’t find out tonight, not while Reese is in the state he’s in, so he sits and waits and gives Reese his privacy. He’ll get up in a few to go find him if he doesn’t come back, but for now, Vince takes in the atmosphere, enjoys the music, and finishes his pint of ale.
i have two things left to post (reese getting really drunk and ditching a date he invited a certain someone out to + an emeto-centric part two of him being cared for in the aftermath) and then there’s a part 3 for that in progress.
if there’s anything you’d like to see or any character that catches your eye, do let me know! i’ll happily take requests, always 💕
In the early evening hours as the coast winds down, hazy sunlight bathes the world in gold. The tall grass tickles Reese and Remi’s ankles as they walk up to the barn. The scent of hay and sun-warmed leather greets them in familiar welcome.
“Vince, I mean. Doesn’t he seem…"
“Uncomfortable.” Remi nods.
“Yes! Uncomfortable. Tense.”
Out in the field past the worn fenceposts, Vince stands up halfway and leans against the rake, swiping the back of a hand against his forehead and pushing hair off his face. He looks tense – more so than usual, even, which says something. All 6-foot-much of Vince tends to be a bit locked up and drawn in sometimes, tough and sturdy. Reese usually just figures he’s still warming up to them. Vince is something simple and kind and closed off all at once. But now, it seems a bit more than that, like something’s bothering him.
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As they come up to the posts, Vince’s ear twitches. He always picks up on them being around. He turns to face them, dropping the rake and fixing them both with a nod. He saunters over to meet them, wiping his hands off on his work pants. “Howdy, folks.”
His brows are pinched in a furrow. His cheeks are flushed, though his complexion is pale. Thick dark waves of hair fall stringy in his face. Overall, he looks wrong – not quite sick, but not quite right, either. Reese and Remi exchange a look. Reese squints.
“Howdy yourself,” Reese chirps. He leans in against the wood between them. “You good, Vinny?”
“Huh? Yeah.” Vince’s answer is immediate even as his chest jolts with something akin to a hiccup. He looks aside, pressing a fist to his lips for a moment. His throat bobs with a swallow. “M’fine. Why, you alright?”
Reese’s look turns skeptical. “I’m great. What was that, though?”
“Was what?” Vince rubs at the back of his neck, and then across his ribs, looking for something to do with his hands.
“That. Y’know, that whole thing you just did.”
Vince cocks a brow, shaking his head in confusion. “No whole thing. There’s nothing.” He clears his throat, changing the subject. “What’s up with you guys? Need something?”
Reese clearly isn’t satisfied with the redirection. For a long moment, he stares at Vince, trying to pick apart what might be wrong with him. He seems a little breathless, but in early autumn on the water, it’s far too cool for a heatstroke. He doesn’t look quite sad. He doesn’t seem angry. Vince keeps his gaze, resolute in playing stupid. Reese can’t place a finger on it and gives up the staring match.
“No,” he runs a finger along the top of the fence, picking at the grooves in the wood. Beside him, Remi shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “We just came to visit you! Like usual, because you love our company.”
Remi hums his agreement with a nod.
Vince gives a noise of acknowledgement, smiling a little. “Okay,” he says, though his face screws up in discomfort shortly thereafter. He presses one big hand beneath his ribcage, dragging it across his torso. He presses a fist back to his lips to muffle a long belch; neither that nor his closed mouth does much to quiet the noise, and his expression turns apologetic. “Oof. Sorry.”
Reese perks up immediately, alert. Remi tilts his head.
“Is your stomach upset, Vince?” Remi asks.
Vince huffs. “No, it’s–bruuRRP–mmph,” he covers his mouth again, too belated to hide the deep belch that interrupts him. “M’okay. Sorry.”
“No sorry,” Reese chimes in. “That doesn’t sound okay, Vin.”
Vince’s fuzzy ears flick back and he looks away. “S’nothin.’”
“Doesn’t sound like ‘nothin.’” Reese mimics Vince’s accent, smirking towards him.
Vince gives him a deadpan sort of look in turn, swallowing a sigh.
“You are damn persistent, birdy.” Another raucous belch slips up Vince’s throat, and he coughs after, cheeks going a bit pink. “Good gosh. ‘Scuse me.”
Both Remi and Reese have their eyes really trained on him now, and Vince looks between the two of them once, then twice. He blows out a sigh.
Not a moment later, a long, churning gurgle comes from his stomach, and he pushes a hand back square in the center of his gut, leaning forward. Reese resists the urge to reach out for him for a second, and then decides he can’t really keep it up. He puts a hand on Vince’s bicep, feather-light. “Why don’t you come and sit down? Come take a break and hang out with us.”
“It may help to sit. Perhaps you could use some water?” Remi adds.
“Y’all don’t gotta fuss,” Vince mumbles. He drops the hand at his waist, trying to straighten up. His stomach makes another unhappy sound about that.
Reese grips a bit harder on Vince’s bicep, supportive. “Please?” And, because Reese has started to grow familiar with Vince’s stubborn temperament and even more stubborn devotion to being polite, he throws in a, “we’re technically your guests now, sooo…”
Evening color is starting to breach the horizon, turning the sky pink and blue. The night lanterns come alight, almost as if agreeing that it’s time to turn in for the day. A chill comes on the breeze. Vince opens his mouth to oppose, and then shuts it in consideration. He frowns a little. Furrows his brows. And then he exhales a long, slow breath through his nose, heavy enough to move the gold ring in his septum, and he rubs a hand down his face.
“Fi—huuur-ouuurRRRP!--” Vince dips his chin for this one, tail flicking side to side in displeasure behind him. “Fine, fine. Hell, ‘scuse me.”
Reese beams, turning towards the barn. “Great! Let’s go hang out in the stable with the horses. Remi loves the horses.”
“I do love the horses,” Remi seconds. “And I’ll get you something to drink.”
Vince grunts, already making his way out of the pasture and towards the barn himself, waving them off.
Reese rolls his eyes, turning to Remi. “He loves us already, I think.”
“Yes.” They watch as Vince picks up his rake. He gives one of the goats a pat on his way out. “I think he does, too.”
Mal becomes begrudgingly acquainted with a Haaywyn local.
☆ OCs: Mal, Reese
★ CW: Clinic/hospital stay, otherwise N/A (pretty much just fluff!)
☆ Word Count: 885
Suffice to say, there’s no universe in which Malika would have anticipated any of the past couple of days. Part of her is convinced she must’ve died when she passed out in that field and now she’s stuck in some limbo between dream and nightmare. Part of her wishes that she had.
She swears she’s never felt more pathetic in her life, laid out on some clinic cot. This has been the reality of her life since she came to; this strangely comfortable bed and strangely homey wooden walls, constant surveillance, concerned eyes looking over her, people trying to touch her and soothe her and get to know her. It doesn’t seem to matter how hard she tries to fight it. Nothing deters these people – especially not the stranger at her bedside now, a cup of piping soup between them.
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“Say aaahh!~”
And not just any stranger. He’s special. He must be the most annoying stranger she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting in her entire life crammed into the shape of the biggest taunt she’ll ever have the misfortune of enduring. He’s insufferable, and he’s loud, and she’s learning that his sense of personal boundaries teeters on lacking on the best of days. But he’s so familiar in a way that hurts.
“I’ll bite your fucking hand off.”
“Malllll.”
“Don’t whine. You sound pathetic.”
The spoon is shoved in her face. She glowers at him.
“Give it up, bird. I’m not eating your damn soup and I can’t emphasize enough how much I wish you’d go the fuck away.”
Reese pouts at her. His wings droop. Those big green eyes bat at her in pleading. She hates that it’s almost effective, and she hates why even more. He reminds her all too much of her losses. He reminds her all too much of the reason she left Tarnovik to begin with. If she were anyone else, she might think that him being here, lingering around her with this devotion, is divine punishment and a lesson in the futility of running.
But Mal refuses to think that maybe it’s just him all over again, coming back to meet her here, like some sort of childish dream come true. That thought turns her stomach more than the damn soup, close to dripping on the blanket over her lap. Again. Because this is the third day in a row Reese has shown up to her bedside with soup despite her insistence and threats. He’s almost worse than the fever itself; in fact, her fever broke two days ago. He’s proven himself harder to shake.
“You know,” Reese looks down at the cup of soup, stirring mindlessly. “You’re pretty rude. Especially for someone who was just laying out in the pasture like a lame horse a few days ago.”
“You’re fucking annoying.”
“Touché, I guess. But I think most people would appreciate having a body guard feeding them soup.”
Malika scoffs. “Body guard my ass. I wish someone would guard me from you.”
Reese goes quiet for a second, and for almost a moment, she thinks she broke him. And then he smirks at her. “I mean I could get some other guards in here for you if you’d rather.”
Malika buries her face in her hands with a groan. “I wish all of you people would stop being so far up my fucking ass!”
“You chose this destiny when you wandered here.”
“I’d like to go back in time and shove myself right back out.”
Reese stands up to put the soup cup on the windowsill, crossing his arms. “You don’t mean that. We saved you! You’re indebted to us forever! All I personally request is the small price of friendship.”
Malika peers up at him, crossing her arms right back. “You make me want to puke. Should’ve just left me to fucking die.”
Reese laughs. He really laughs, completely undeterred, and Malika thinks he’s got to be insane or something. “Consider me your punishment for being such a negative nancy. Fate brought you here to learn a little about positivity and fun!”
Fate, Mal decides, is a sick and twisted beast. This is a fact she’s accepted since childhood in a kingdom wrought with the looming presence of it. Destiny is a myth, because life inevitably ends in death. Malika has never doubted that. The only hope she’s ever held out is that whatever comes after death is better than a lifetime of futile hope and abandonment.
And yet somehow, Reese and this town and this fever-dream of an experience have made her wonder if life could be anything more. She hates it. She hates even more the way Reese is still standing there, twiddling his damn thumbs. He’s a nuisance, she tells herself, and so is the rest of this too-nice town, and as soon as she can get back on the road she’s leaving.
“Don’t you have anything better to do? You’re a guard, for godssake.”
Reese huffs, playing with the collar of the undershirt peeping out beneath his armor.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, I’m going.” He adjusts the sword on his hip. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Eat shit.”
“Great idea! I’ll spoon feed you some.” Reese shuts the door behind him, laughing to himself.
At the very least, Mal’s certain death would be better than this.
In the earliest hours of day, Vince makes a discovery in the horse field.
☆ OCs: Vince, Mal, Reese
★ CW: Feverishness, Vague Description of Injury
☆ Word Count: 1293
Not five steps over the fenceposts, Malika’s knees buckle and give out beneath her.
It’s almost taunting. Miraculously, she’s managed to make it this far, if only by the grace of luck or sheer willpower. And yet, just a few steps short of the very precipice of her journey, Malika has fallen down the metaphorical mountain. And now she finds herself belly-up and sprawled out beneath a sky full of fading stars swallowed by oncoming dawn. It would be peaceful if not for the ill-healed wound on her thigh, or the exhaustion settling bone-deep, the pain spreading rampant within her, or the pinpricks of hot and cold across her skin. She scoffs, shaking her head. The world spins above her.
At least she’s alone.
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A funny thing to find solace in, she finds, given how alone she’s been the whole way here. But at least she’s alone and at peace, and she figures this is a better place to die than anywhere else she’s been. Morning dew soaks into the tattered remains of her clothes. The air is clean and crisp. She’s embraced by silence infiltrated only by the sporadic chirp of waking birds.
Interrupted only by that and – the crunch of grass beneath a boot-heel. But she’s alone, and on the ground, so it’s not hers, and yet another follows, and–
“Oh–woah, hey.”
That voice definitely isn’t hers either.
Malika jolts upright, or attempts to, but the pain spreading into her hips stops her short. She falls back with a gasp. The footsteps in the grass pick up the pace, and there’s a sound like something dropping and hitting the ground. Again, she tries to wriggle, to turn and get away, but she finds herself paralyzed.
A tall, looming figure, with a pair of big brown eyes and horns peers over her, and for a moment she wonders if this is the delusion of Takaz himself; the God of death, coming at last to stake his claim.
“Hey, hey. Y’alright?” He crouches beside her, and the thing is, Malika never took the God Takaz for having a Fallholt drawl. Or a golden ring through his nose like a damn cow, or–
“Where’re you hurt? Can you talk?”
The hand that comes to grab her by the chin and move her to look upright is far too real and far too warm to be the hand of death. Malika snarls and reels back.
“Easy. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just tryna help.”
Malika tries again to wriggle away, but as she rolls to her side and forces herself up on her forearms, the world goes spinning and heat blooms across her face. Black spots dance around the edges of her vision.
“Oh hell – alright, hey.” Two big hands come up beneath her armpits and she throws an elbow backwards.
“Get – get the fuck off me,” she growls, voice hoarse from unuse, “get the fuck away from me!”
“Woah, hey, listen–” He has a cadence like he’s consoling a spooked horse. Again, he tries to grab at her. She kicks and it lands, but the man only grunts. “Damn, you’re feisty. Would you relax? You’re gonna hurt yourself more.”
“Fuck you! Stop fucking touching me!”
“You’re burning up. Listen, I’ll stop tryna pick you up if you stop tryna hit me. Let’s talk instead, now I know you can.” He pulls his hands away and takes a step back, leaning backwards to sit flat on his behind in the dirt. And then he huffs a long breath. “Okay? Yeah?”
Malika turns to look him in the eyes, or to try, considering she’s seeing double of him now. She pants, ragged. And then she spits at him.
He watches it hit the ground. Clears his throat, unfazed. “Righty then. Think we got off on the wrong foot,” he starts, though he mumbles a “granted, you ain’t standin’ on either of ‘em,’” more to himself than anyone else.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem? Hell–” he sighs. “M’kay, I’ll start. I’m Vince. I’m the guy who cleans horse shit ‘round here. Right now, you’re layin’ in my pasture, and you don’t look like no horse to me, less I need to get my eyes checked out.”
Vince shifts in the dirt, crossing his legs and bracing palms on his knees. He’s big and broad, tall as a tree even sat down beside her, but he’s not scary. Well – Malika would say she finds nothing scary, but if she were to, it wouldn’t be him. She can’t place why, but something about him feels safer. Maybe it’s a consequence of her current state, mind addled with pain and, apparently, fever. Even so, she doesn’t drop her scowl.
“You’re in rough shape. And even if you don’t let me be the one to do anything about it, I sure as hell ain’t gonna leave you here. Don’t think you can move yourself real well, either.” He sniffs, looking at her expectantly. “Gonna tell me how you got here?”
A long moment of silence.
“How ‘bout just your name, then?”
Malika stares at him, weighing her options, but she finds her thoughts feel like molasses and can’t stray far from focusing on the way even the breeze hurts her skin. And now that her peaceful solitude has been disrupted, she figures it would be pretty pathetic to die here in the horse pasture. So reluctantly, she obliges. “Mal.”
“M’kay, Mal. Wanna tell me what happened to you, or you want me to just haul you to the clinic?”
Something about his tone riles her. It’s like he’s mocking. “It’s none of your fucking business,” she spits, “I’m fine.”
Vince doesn’t budge. He stares at her. Flicks his cow tail behind him. Rests his chin in his palm.
Malika tries to move again and sees stars, howling in pain. “Fuck, okay. Okay, okay, fine. I came…from far,” and she pauses to catch her breath, to lay back on the grass, “from Tarnovik. I made it out, but…”
“But you got a nasty gash doin’ so. I dunno too much of a ton about people, but I’d call it infected on any animal all the same.”
“Don’t call me a fucking animal, you’re a beast! What the fuck even are you?”
Vince grunts. “Didn’t call you an animal. Meant I know more about animals than people. You ever listen ‘fore you talk?”
“Alright, big guy–”
“Mal,” Vince says, and his voice drops into something gentle. “I think we gotta get you some help. Clinic ain’t far and they won’t ask too many questions. But you’re in bad shape.”
Before Malika can make any sort of retort back, another noise calls her attention from across the field. It’s some sort of clanking, like metal on metal. Daybreak blooms overhead and the sky lightens; the town is waking up. Malika tries to crane her neck to see, but Vince stands in reaction before her, blocking her view.
“Vince! Hey!”
A new voice sing-songs across the field, fitting in right alongside the choir of chirping birds. Vince walks off to meet up with it. With morning light warming her now, Malika finds herself tired. There’s some unfamiliar pull in her chest as Vince walks away from her. He’d kept her up and talking. Now, conversation goes on across the field and she can’t make out a word of it. Everything sounds drowned. Mal closes her eyes.
The last thing she hears is the pound of footsteps running back towards her, that clanking of metal. And the last thing she sees as she’s hauled up into Vince’s strong arms is his brow all furrowed up and, beside his shoulder, a pair of bright green eyes, almost familiar.
