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The best ship dynamic is actually just. "I love you and it terrifies me. I'm terrified how much I need you and how much I want you to need me. I'm terrified I'm no good for you and I'm going to hurt you and ruin you and I'm terrified of how I feel when you're around me but I can't bear to push you away completely because I'm terrified to be without you so now we're stuck in limbo and that's terrifying too. I'm terrified that if I lost you now it'd destroy me and I'm terrified that it's too late to do anything about it. I love you. And it's terrifying."
A surprise for my very good friend @crash-bump-bring-the-whump! This was supposed to be a birthday present but I write slow. Mariano is his!
No one had seen it coming.
The shadowguard had been sent away to deal with an emergency to the north- some rogue bandits with the skills of assassins who were slaughtering citizens.
They weren't here when the foreign prince threw down his gauntlet.
"Choose your champion."
The foreign prince had spoken those words thrice previously, in three different kingdoms.
"If your champion prevails, I will leave you in peace." Thrice previously, what was supposed to be a small diplomatic convoy had turned out to be an army.
"If my champion prevails, your kingdom is mine, though I encourage you to try to stop me from taking it." The warmongering prince flashed a grin. "Or you're welcome to ignore my challenge and try and cast us from your lands, if you want thousands to die."
Three different kingdoms had been razed to the ground, their resources taken, their people broken.
One had rejected the challenge and tried to drive out the invaders.
One had accepted the challenge and fought back when they lost.
One had accepted the challenge and accepted their defeat.
No one had beaten Prince Kolben's champion.
War was at stake. The Ortiz House did not take that lightly. They needed Dimitri, or Laredo, or even Izan- no one would expect a chef to be so lethal. But the shadowguard were gone. Archer suspected that was orchestrated on purpose-- he'd never seen anyone beat Dimitri in single combat. Prince Kolben only wanted to fight battles he could win. House Ortiz had to defeat an undefeated champion.
Archer watched Prince Mariano lean in and murmur something to King Ramon and Queen Lucia. Surely they were going to pick Dame Elana as their champion in absence of the shadowguard; her strength was unparalleled. They needed the best warrior in the kingdom to face this threat.
Three royal sets of eyes turned to Sir Archer.
~
Prince Mariano fastened the sabatons on Archer's feet and leaned over to grab the next piece of armor.
Faintly, Archer could hear the roar of a crowd waiting for a fight. Waiting for blood. The barracks were empty save for the guards waiting by the doors to escort them both back to the battlefield. To escort him back to the battlefield, Archer amended to himself. His prince would be safely away from the action where he could watch, surrounded by guards to make sure this wasn't all a smokescreen for an assassination.
Neither of them said a word as Prince Mariano kept working.
Greaves on his shins, cuisses on his thighs. His prince knelt next to him, carefully tightening each strap and securing it. This behavior was beneath his prince. A squire could have done this, Archer could have even done this part himself. But there was something about Prince Mariano's demeanor that Archer recognized.
Prince Mariano couldn't do anything about this fight without invoking war. He certainly couldn't enter the battlefield himself. He couldn't do anything but watch and hope he wasn't sending Sir Archer to his death.
But Mariano could help Archer put on his armor. He could make sure every piece was carefully secured. If he was sending Archer to his death, he could at least make sure he was as protected as possible when he stepped onto the battlefield.
Both of them knew this might be the last time that he helped Archer with his armor.
His prince straightened, reaching for the carefully arranged armor waiting to be slotted into place. Archer was only a few inches taller than him. Their faces were very close as Prince Mariano secured his chain mail, his gauntlets, his breastplate. Archer stayed very still. Archer could feel his prince's breath.
Archer didn't think about that.
The weight of his prince's gaze was heavier than his armor. Prince Mariano was always difficult to read, but Sir Archer knew him. Sir Archer knew the look on his face when he knew he had to be unreadable. Sir Archer knew what Prince Mariano looked like when he was scared.
A pauldron settled on his right shoulder, carefully weighted to counterbalance the heft of his prosthetic on his left side. The left pauldron followed. All that remained was the helm, delicately engraved with the crest of House Ortiz.
Archer genuflected before his prince, head bowed to receive his helm. In a moment of pure, blinding impulse, he reached for Prince Mariano's gloved hand and brushed his lips over his knuckles.
"I won't let you down, your highness."
Prince Mariano looked down at him, and Archer's heart stopped for a moment. Had he gone too far?
"I know you won't, my knight."
His hand lingered in Archer's for what felt like years before he pulled it away. When he did, he didn't reach for the helm, but rather lifted his hand a few more inches so the soft fabric of his gloves caressed Archer's face. The touch seemed to linger even when Prince Mariano turned away to pick up the helm.
Archer didn't think about that.
The helm came down over his head, carefully shaped to accommodate and protect his glasses. There was a weight to it, a sense of finality.
Sir Archer rose to his feet, looking down at his prince. The hilt of his sword was slipped into his hand. No longer did he wear the spare armor from the storage room that he had been lucky to find in the first place. This armor was custom-made, commissioned by Prince Mariano himself to Sir Archer's measurements. The metal was embossed with green and gold, the colors of House Ortiz. This armor fit like a glove. This armor denoted that he was Prince Mariano's personal knight. This armor would protect him.
Prince Mariano stood before him, looking him over, adjusting and readjusting straps that didn't necessarily need to be adjusted. Was he- fussing? It was only a few moments before Prince Mariano dropped his hands and stepped back. To anyone else, his voice would have sounded normal, but Archer heard the slightest quaver to it.
"Go save our kingdom, Sir Archer."
His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. He bowed to his prince, perhaps for the last time. His heart hammered in his chest. "I won't let you down, my lord."
As Dame Elana escorted Prince Mariano away, Archer couldn't help but notice that Mariano wasn't looking away from him.
Archer couldn't think about that.
He hefted his sword and stepped out onto the battlefield, walking steadily towards Prince Kolben's champion. When he dared to look back, Prince Mariano's eyes were still on him.
Ok, I just finished reading the latest whumptober oneshot and... booooooooy! I have thoughts! But mainly this: since I know you love to ramble about your ocs do you want to go into detail about Archer and Luis' different methods of protecting Mariano? Because what stuck out to me the most in the last oneshot is that Luis is right in the sense that stuff like this did happen again. Not even Archer could be vigilant enough 24/7 to protect Mariano despite his best efforts. But the solution obviously shouldn't have been torture resistance training.
It seems to me that Archer is more "I will always try to protect him no matter the cost" and Luis is more "I know I can't always protect him so I need to prepare him for every eventuality" neither of which are full proof methods
HI omg I was hoping to hear your thoughts on what drove Luis to committing the horrors in the royal AU c: I consulted with @that-one-thespian on Archer's POV bc we deserve the most accurate and best information! Also they're so so welcome to reblog and add on bc we both just love to chatter!
Di Thoughts:
One of my favorite things about the story we've ended up telling is that Archer and Luis are so similar. Both of them have clockwork minds, trying to prepare for every possibility. I think the biggest difference between them is that Archer is much more aware that he can only control his own actions.
He prepares himself for every consequence and outcome, because he needs to be the one between his prince and any danger. Archer knows on a level that he's not infallible, though. He can't protect Mariano from everything but by god can he try. And by god will he feel so consumed with guilt whenever Mariano gets hurt or taken (but he won't let that keep him from his duty)
Sir Archer is Mariano’s sword and shield. Even if he can't always keep Mariano safe, he will fight like hell to try to protect him. And he will always come for him. His dependability is another way that he protects Mariano, in a sense.
Even if Mariano is captive and tortured, he can take a small semblance of comfort in knowing that his knight is coming for him. Whether it's being sneaky and clever and slipping past defenses to get Mariano out without being seen. Or raising hell and charging head on through bad guys to get to his prince, cutting them down like wheat with a scythe.
He can only control his own actions, he can protect Mariano physically or he can give him the comfort of knowing he's coming to save his prince. They're ABSOLUTELY right that Archer is "I will always try to protect him no matter the cost". Because the few times that Archer can't protect him don't warrant being constantly tortured in preparation. They're outliers!
Luis has hurt Mariano more than all of his captors combined. And Luis as a Duke is the only thing that Archer can't protect Mariano from, despite everything he tries. The frequency, the severity, no matter how you measure it, if you look at it cumulatively, Luis is responsible for like 90% of all of Mariano's suffering over his life.
And not all of that damage was physical. He fucked up Mariano's perception of the world with this training! He really just ratcheted up the paranoia, and he normalized pain for Mariano, which is the most horrifying part.
A little excerpt from our RP book club this morning bc Di has so so many good thoughts. c:
As for Luis, he's very much the equal and opposite of Archer. He's such a deeply traumatized man who has never learned how to process grief, and so he goes too far and too hard on the methods he thinks will stop him from losing people. He's watched and listened to his war mages/shadowguard die, including Valentina, and has seen his beloved nephew almost die a few times.
He knows he might not recover if he loses another person younger than himself to something he could've prepared them to survive.
Because of this, he teaches Mariano a lot of shit that other royalty just...doesn't need to know, bc they just aren't as high-profile as a to-be mage-king that will rule for a millennium with a diamond dragon at their side. How to endure torture, how to survive in the wilderness if alone and warded, how to hunt and clean and prepare a kill, how to read and manipulate a captor, how to hide or blend in somewhere, how to take care of his own wounds or illnesses if he's in the wild, how to fight for his life if needed (whether or not he's armed or warded). And I'd even argue a measure of torture resistance is important to know!
He just...goes too far, and does it improperly. He doesn't know the proper method, because he was never really taught the proper method himself. He learned how Mariano did, under the blade and whip and torch and hands of someone who also cared about him deeply.
He sees a lot of himself in Archer too, to Archer's horror, and he really really likes that. Even if they wind up butting heads, even if Archer is ultimately the reason Luis loses everything in this au, he does respect what he sees in Archer. The dedication, the determination, he knows his nephew couldn't be safer.
He doesn't lose respect whenever Archer can't prevent something, because he gets it on such a deep level. He was Ramon's bodyguard, he knows what it's like. If someone really, truly wants something, they'll find a way to do it. Sometimes all you can do is hope your charge is prepared and able to survive until you get there. So he won't ever be convinced to stop training Mariano how he does, and he's had his claws in Mariano for so so so long that Mariano is so deeply conditioned to believe it all has to be for something.
Because the suffering has to mean something, right? It's for a purpose, right? His uncle wouldn't just torture him out of paranoia, he simply knows better, right?
Yes to ALL of this, I love how Luis and Archer organically set themselves up to be perfect narrative foils.
Archer can see the similarities between them, and it scares him to death.
Luis sees the similarities between them, and it vindicates him.
When Sir Archer and Prince Mariano get married (spoilers), Luis kidnaps them both to get his revenge and to secure his freedom and safe passage, because the whole kingdom is searching for him now.
And he makes Archer hurt Mariano under the threat that Luis will hurt Mariano so much worse if Archer does not comply. Luis makes Archer follow his script in a twisted way of validating what he's done, to tell himself that anyone would have done it.
Me and @that-one-thespian have a delightful little modern war mage AU where Archer is a rookie with Mariano and They Are Roommates And Pining :) They're both just like nineteen here!
TWs: gunshot wound, military whump, panic, blood, main character death (he gets better), fainting/passing out, the relief of knowing that someone is finally okay
“It’ll be for nothing.” | Cardiac Arrest | Sacred Place | Withholding Medical Treatment
There was nowhere that Mariano felt safer than in Archer's arms. He was warm, and solid, and steady. His hands were gentle, even towards someone who had never deserved it. In Archer's arms, Mariano found salvation.
It made the agony worth it.
"Lumen--Firecracker, eyes on me." Archer sounded frantic as he hauled them both to cover. The way he hovered, the way tears brimmed in his eyes, he was almost vibrating. "Stay with me."
A gunshot had rung out, the crack of a sniper's shot that you only heard when it was too late. Mariano couldn't feel his legs. He hoped Manuel was close by.
Archer ripped both of their casting masks off, tossing them to the side as he lay Mariano out on the ground. He whistled the quick chirpy trills of the emergency signal. The sky behind Archer made him look angelic.
"I--I c..." Mariano tried. His voice failed. He took another attempt to get it working again. "I'm going into shock."
He could feel his vision swimming, see the sounds wavering in the air. He felt his heart skip a beat, dread ripping through his chest. He reached for Archer, getting the steadiness of his titanium hand around his fingers. Archer's other hand pressed to his stomach to try to staunch the bleeding.
"Okay, that's okay. Just don't close your eyes." Archer forced his weight down, squeezing a whine from Mariano. "Keep looking at me."
Manuel's answering trill was echoed by Izan. They both responded to emergency signals, usually. Between Izan's electric magic and Manuel's healing, they could handle almost anything.
They were getting closer, Mariano knew they were running as fast as they possibly could.
"S'not hard." Mariano wheezed. His mouth tasted like pennies and the ground pitched underneath him. Archer looked so pretty, even then. "Well...sorta hard." He corrected himself. "Definitely going into...into shock."
The world was disappearing, swallowed up into a dark tunnel. Mariano's chest hurt. He realized belatedly that he wouldn't get to talk to his parents again, or taste his mom's jalapeño-strawberry jam. He wouldn't be there to help Archer after the next time he had to go in the training room and was forced into the dark.
Archer was shouting. His face was twisted up. Water kept dropping down onto Mariano's face.
Mariano didn't mean to close his eyes. He didn't mean to let go of Archer's hand. Manuel's whistle, his voice, his quick commanding orders, they all sounded miles away.
Everything disappeared at once.
Darkness was bliss. The quiet was peaceful. It felt like being underwater in his favorite swimming hole back home, but with no need to surface for air.
He still needed to show that spot to Archer.
He wished he could. Mariano still had so much he needed to do. He needed to figure out a way to stop the war mage program. He needed to hug his mom and dad again.
He needed to hold Archer.
Archer was going to be so fucked up after this. He tried so hard to keep everyone safe and to keep the peace. Mariano's death was going to haunt him, like how Dimitri and Laredo were still haunted by their former teammates.
Selfishly, he was grateful that Archer had held him one last time.
Mariano could almost still feel him. Warm and soft, strong and dependable. He was sweet. He always held Mariano after he had to go to the training room. He knew how much the basin scared Mariano.
Sometimes he'd just talk while Mariano trembled his way through the aftershocks of his panic. They were both always reading, so it was always easy to talk about the books they'd gotten into. He could almost hear him.
"Come back to me, Mariano." Archer's voice was hoarse. Mariano didn't know why he was thinking about how Archer sounded after he'd been crying. "It's okay. You're okay now, you just have to wake up."
Mariano opened his eyes to darkness. Darkness, cut by moonlight and a lamp turned to its dimmest setting, just like Archer preferred. He was in their room. His chest felt like it had been shattered and healed. He could feel his legs. His back tingled like a blizzard had ripped through his spinal cord.
The ghost of pain he didn't remember was too strange and familiar to belong to the afterlife.
Archer lay beside him, face a mixture of delight and relief and terror. "You..." He started. "Mariano."
Archer cautiously tucked Mariano up under his chin, like he was made of tissue paper. Like he'd actually died. With the way Archer's shoulders began to shake, maybe he had.
Mariano looped his arms around Archer, hugging him back as best he could. "I'm here." He whispered, not quite able to speak louder. "You saved me."
It felt like a safe guess, at least.
Archer's hug tightened, and Mariano felt Archer's glasses shift as he buried his face in his hair. Archer trembled as hitching sobs began to rock them both. "You're alive, you're--" His voice shattered.
Mariano reached up as he was clutched to Archer's chest, becoming surrounded by him. Despite the unease and chill that always lingered after Manuel's healing magic tore through him, Mariano felt himself settle a little more. He cupped the back of Archer's head, trying to hold him in return.
"I'm here." He repeated. "You and Manuel and Izan made sure I didn't die." He sounded like he still had one foot in the grave. He wasn't being terribly convincing.
"You di--" Archer cut himself off, as though he couldn't bring himself to say it. The hand in Mariano's hair tangled deeper into it. Archer dissolved into wordless cries.
Mariano didn't ask him to elaborate. He'd felt oblivion swallow him up. There, in his own bed, surrounded by blankets and moonlight and Archer, he couldn't look directly at what he knew had happened.
Later, when he spoke to Luis, when he spoke to doctors, he wouldn't get a choice. He'd have to talk about everything. But right then, he could stroke Archer's hair and relax into his hard, uncomfortable mattress. He could focus on Archer for the moment. He could focus on still being there.
Okay I don't know if you take requests but I adore Mariano and Archer and I personally believe that Mariano should watch Archer be hurt in the royal au
You are SO right Anon, @that-one-thespian your boy Archer just hurts so pretty
Whumptober 2025 - Day 6
TWs: kidnapping, captivity, impalement, gore, blood, beatings, rescue, burning, murder of captors, royal whump AND knight whump
“No grave can hold my body down.” | Caught in a Net | Medical Restraints | Pinned to the Wall
Mariano's eyes flicked to the door as it swung open, kicked so hard it slammed into the opposite wall with a clatter-bang. The men surrounding him, their fists black with Mariano's drying blood, turned. There stood Sir Archer, haloed by the glow from the hallway.
His gold-and-green accented armor shone, splattered with the blood of everyone he'd had to kill to get to where his prince was being held. His eyes were dark with fury. "Step away from Prince Mariano." He said, voice low and even.
Mariano met his eyes, only held up by the blade pinning his shoulder to the wall.
Sir Archer charged, swinging as he dove into the fight. One soldier fell with a yelp, only to be replaced by two more. Mariano tensed where he was pinned, trying to get to his knight.
Another man crept up with the butt of their sword raised while Sir Archer's blade was locked with another. "Sir Archer, behind you!" The man swung, the hard pommel connecting with Sir Archer's skull.
Mariano's chest went tight and icy as Sir Archer's knees went weak. A fourth darted close, with a fifth right behind. Their knees rammed into Sir Archer's side and chest, denting his armor and making him shout. They kept swinging, striking, stomping, each one seeming fueled by the loss of their comrades.
"Leave him alone!" Mariano spat, a growl rising in his chest. "I'm who you should focus on!"
They had him warded, yes. They were looking to rough him up to ransom his parents, yes. And Sir Archer was trying to stand between them and that goal, certainly.
But as someone's boot connected with Sir Archer's face, snapping his glasses and breaking his nose, it was clear to Mariano that they'd forgotten their goal. They wanted to hurt Sir Archer, now.
They ignored the bound prince.
Someone's heel came down on Sir Archer's wrist, snapping the fragile bones beneath his armor. It pulled a strangled cry from him, Sir Archer's face twisting in agony. They stomped on his heel, twisting his knee viciously. They wrenched his arm to its limit, his shoulder threatening to give.
Hazel eyes bleary with pain and the promise of safety met pitch black ones, burning with anger.
These men were hurting Sir Archer. He'd be bed-bound for weeks, for days even if he allowed Doctor Manuel to heal him. He'd feel so guilty for being overpowered.
He was exhausted from his initial fight--teetering on the edge of magical exhaustion. The whine of a mage's magic ramping up, just barely able to be perceived by the human ear, rose. It grew, indicative of the growing heat in Mariano's veins, of the steady cycle of push-hold-push-hold that every mage learned as their casting grew stronger. The ward held tight.
To break a ward, it wasn't wise to throw everything you had all at once. You had to find the limit. You had to brace yourself up against it. You had to gather your strength first, because you usually only had a few chances to shatter it. He surged his magic forward again.
These wards were strong. These wards were made for mages who were dangerous. These wards were made for someone that you couldn't afford to look away from.
The pop of his sudden success, as delicate as thin glass shattering, was swallowed by the jeers and laughter of Mariano's captors.
Mariano's right arm dangled uselessly at his side, but he didn't need both hands. White fire roared at his teeth for just a moment. Dragon-casting was never recommended without protection, but most fire mages could manage it in a pinch. Luis had made sure he knew how to do it, just in case.
The plume blew his own hair back, making the air shimmer and dance as it shone brighter. It shrunk down, the flames no longer licking at Mariano's lips. Down, down it went, from a terrible dancing burst to a pinprick, held perfectly between his open teeth. Snarling, with plasma popping and hissing at his mouth, eyes wild and hair whipping as his knight's beating halted, Mariano knew he was a sight.
Sir Archer needed him. Sir Archer needed help. Sir Archer would not be denied that.
Mariano gripped the blade in his shoulder and with a roar, he wrenched both it and himself free from the wall. The metal slipped inside of him sending hot blood dripping down his skin. Launched plasma met helmeted heads, gnawed clean through metal-cased chests, melted swords and gauntlets. Most of them didn't get a chance to scream.
It was over in seconds.
As Mariano's magic fizzled and popped, flickering out as the burst of panic waned, he dropped to Sir Archer's side. His poor, dazed knight looked up at him, worry and wonder warring for his expression. "Sir Archer, can you hear me?" Mariano asked, his working, bloodied hand cupping Sir Archer's cheek. Just because his eyes were open, it didn't mean that he was aware.
Sir Archer's eyes met his, and he blinked. That awe never left his face as he eased himself up to an elbow, wincing. "You...your highness, you're hurt." The room was silent, except for their harsh breathing.
Mariano laughed softly, new burns along his mouth stretching terribly. "...I am. This is very, very painful." He offered his knight his good hand, helping him onto unsteady knees. The sword ground against one of his bones in the worst way. "But it can stay until we're able to get some supplies."
"There's an infirmary just down the hall." Sir Archer said, taking a deep breath as he heaved himself up and on to unsteady feet. "Lean on me, I can still walk. We can take their lesser dragons and leave once we're stable enough to travel."
Mariano accepted the steadiness of Sir Archer's titanium hand, as gentle and unwavering as ever. "That sounds perfect to me. Doctor Manuel would have a fit if I showed up like this."
Leaning against his knight with the prickling fever of magic overuse creeping in, limping down silent hallways and past bloody corpses, Mariano had never felt safer.
You have to be careful with your knight. They’re not used to gentleness, and it might take some time for them to accept it. The first time you remove their helmet, they may not be able to meet your gaze. This is normal. There’s a lot more of you to take in than through a visor, and it can be overwhelming. Don’t expect them to make eye contact immediately. When you undress the rest of them, go slowly. You’ll be forced to because of the very nature of the armor they live in. Make sure you pause after every piece and allow them to get used to freedom once more. It’s especially important for them to breathe deeply once you’ve removed both cuirass and gambeson. Place your hand over their heart to ensure they take a few deep breaths from the chest before you continue. When you are finished playing the part of squire, be sure to give them something else to wear. They’ll feel far too exposed at first. Make sure it’s something light, they don’t need any more weight on their shoulders. Do not be surprised if their hands tremble when you take them. The feel of your hands is a far cry from that of their gauntlets, and it may take some time for them to adjust to the softness. Reassurance is your friend with a vulnerable knight. Encouragement can also aide you, but be cautious to avoid overuse. If your knight feels pressured, they will revert to their training, and you will never know their true self. If it is your wish to have a knightly lover, do not glorify the shell, but rather, cradle the creature within.
when character a is barely conscious and being princess carried by character b and when b goes to put them down a whimpers and fists their hand into the fabric of their shirt and b goes shhh shh shh and takes their hand in theirs while gently cradling their head oughhhhhh oughhhhh………….
the dynamic between two people who love a third person so much and come to understand each other because of that is so important to me. you would put them first, and so would i. you understand why we have to save them from themself. i trust you with their life, and so, that means more than if i trusted you with mine. the love doesn't have to be the same, but it's powerful enough that you understand why you're not the only satellite drawn into their orbit.
Jim freezes in place, hands around the curtains, back to the bed where Ty sits propped
half-upright on his pillows, splinted fingers resting on his lap.
“No light right now?” he asks, his voice steady and light. “That’s okay.” He turns, hands
dropping down. He fixes his eyes on the glass of water by the bed, still mostly full. “Let me
freshen up your water.”
He avoids Ty’s gaze as he grabs the glass and exits the room. He manages to hold it
together long enough to get to the kitchen, where he sets it down in favour of bracing both
hands on the counter, head dropping between them.
He’s made four loaves of bread this week. People are starting to notice. Ty’s probably known
for days and hasn’t had the energy to speak.
Pulling his head up, he tips it back towards the ceiling and sucks in a deep breath. The
candle’s been burning at both ends for so long he’s not sure there’s a drop of wax left in it.
Every day is a relentless cycle of taking care of Ty, doing a shift at work, taking care of Ty
some more, squeezing in a shower, and crashing into bed for four to six hours, rinse, and
repeat.
Plus, the ‘bed’ is actually the sofa.
Bibi comes most days, while Jim works, but she’s not able to come every day, and she’s not
always good company. She’s miserable in her own way, with one grandchild returned but
another lost.
Jim’s parents came down two weeks ago, but they didn’t know what to do with Ty so still and
quiet. They hinted that they wanted Jim to have a break but they didn’t have any solutions to
offer for Ty’s care in the meantime.
AJ, in his usual way, said, “What about his family?” That hadn’t been a fun conversation.
Everyone else that would have come were miles away in Leeds or further. It was just Jim
and Ty.
Hands dropping, Jim takes another breath and focuses his gaze back on the glass of water.
He dumps the contents in the sink and refills it. The ruse was transparent and he knows
what is waiting for him when we goes back.
But then, he brought it on himself. He can’t leave Ty without water.
He moves on that instinct, picking up the glass and returning with soft steps to the bedroom,
hoping against foolish hope that Ty has fallen asleep.
Thoughtful, concerned brown eyes hit him as soon as he walks through the door. Jim meets
the stare for a moment, then places the water down and sits in the chair by the bed.
Ty doesn’t immediately speak. He just looks.
Jim sighs, rubbing his face. He knew that expression. “Yeah,” he admits. “I know. I’ve just
taken so many sick days and personal leave.”
There isn’t even a need for Ty to respond to that one.
“I know they can do without me, and it’s not my job to make sure when I have stuff going on.
I know they want me to take care of myself. But they also want me to do my job, and we
need the money.”
That one takes a few seconds. But he knows.
“I don’t like being in debt to people. Even my parents. And I like my job. It’s a nice...break.
From you.”
He glances over, but there is no guilt or apology in Ty’s expression. The honesty is always
welcomed. The truth is always accepted.
“You’d say I should have time for myself without using work as an excuse,” Jim supplies.
“Work isn’t exactly restful. And I do get time, when Bibi comes over. It’s - not a lot, I know.
Not enough. But I could take a day, and then what? It’s back to normal. Back to how we are
now, and it just happens again later, doesn’t it?”
If someone could read minds just by looking, it would be Ty. Jim sighs again.
“And you’d say to that… It’s still worth doing. Even if it only helps for a while. It’s better than
nothing. That’s what I used to tell myself while you weren’t here, and I felt bad for doing nice
things when I knew you were suffering. Still worth doing. Even if I was just gonna get home
and feel exhausted and useless again.”
He glances up, then away. “And yeah, I know. I’m not useless.”
Ty shifts slightly, drawing his gaze back. A bandaged hand opens on top of the duvet, and
Jim gently places his inside it, palm to palm. Ty squeezes.
The hairline cracks in Jim’s composure shatter, all at once, from that light pressure, and he
leans forwards to drop his head onto the mattress with a soft thump. He feels his shoulders
shake. “I’m sorry.”
Ty’s hand slips out of his and tears rush to his eyes at the sensation.
Then, light fingers drop weight onto his hair. One loc is moved gently from his shoulder. Ty’s
hand runs over the back of his head, light but tender.
Hot tears run out of Jim’s closed eyes at a feeling he hasn’t experienced for years. An old,
nostalgic feeling of safety awakens, and he feels himself relaxing, submitting to the care. It is
so rare and special, still, to feel Ty initiate contact, and for him to offer contact for Jim’s sake
has been a poisoned chalice ever since that time he’d been delirious with fever and in his
confusion, had shown Jim a hidden side of his post-slavery self.
But this is being comforted, actively, deliberately, and everyone tried to comfort Jim all the
time about his husband and his situation and how hard he’s working and the loss he
suffered, but none of it is anything close to a gentle stroke of his hair from the man he loves
with his whole life.
Jim is exhausted and miserable, and Ty is too. Nothing is better, but. It is shared.
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My dnd group had a Secret Strahd swap, and this is my gift for @whumpr! Promise is my character, and Fion is his!
Promise sits on her bedroll next to the spectral, glowing figure of Saint Markovia, the guardian she summoned to watch over them. She hopes it’s enough to shield them from all that hunts them in the night.
Her eyes keep drifting to Fion. She knows there are fangs now beneath the mask that he so rarely takes off. Distantly, she wonders if he is having nightmares. She resolves to wake him if that is the case.
Her companion deserves better. He doesn’t know who he is, despite her best efforts. Rictavio, Rudolph, whatever his name is, Fion’s former mentor hasn’t been helpful.
She tried so many times over the last several days. Detect Thoughts wasn’t made to be used in this way. It was meant to probe, to question, not to excavate. Not to retrieve, not to steal. She could only cast it so many times in a day, but it felt so important. It is so important.
Fion is like her, in a way. They’re both outsiders, going through life amidst a chorus of whispers and stares, or, more often, silence and solitude. But Fion is a stranger to himself. His solitude extends inward.
She understands why he so staunchly holds firm to his pacifism, now. If she didn’t know who she was, she would cling to any semblance of a tenet she could claw from the fog.
It was two days ago when she nearly died, when Ismark saved her life. And even in that fight, Fion held tight to his morals. She remembers Garret wielding his weapon, looking near feral as he swiped at Volenta, at the spiders. She remembers her vision blurring as Volenta’s teeth sank into her neck. She remembers Fion doing anything he could other than harming another being. She remembers his guilt, after. His profession that he would never have forgiven himself. And yet, when she thinks back, all she can focus on is Fion commanding the beast of fire and magma that had looked so dangerous, and how he single-handedly saved Davian Martikov from certain death.
It was yesterday when she cast Detect Thoughts for the eighth time and finally, finally got through. It was yesterday when she warped a spell meant to read thoughts and used it to delve deep into her companion’s psyche and search for pieces of himself that were snatched away.
No, not pieces. Pieces are what were left behind. Her companion that she’s come to know, respect, and care for is cobbled together from fragments that were left behind when he was hollowed out and scraped clean.
It was yesterday when she was finally able to pierce through the fog and snatch a stolen memory. It was yesterday when she saw what had happened to Fion, the ritual that had stripped him of himself.
She will never forget how small he was, after that.
It was today when Fion was killed, when she was forbidden to heal him. She should have healed him anyway, Strahd be damned. As she looks over at her companion, she can’t stop guilt from coiling low in the pit of her stomach.
It was today when Fion was forced to betray his values, forced to kill. Forced to feed.
Her purpose is to prevent people from dying before their time. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to Fion, not to Viktor.
A clawed purple hand drifts to the pouch of diamonds at her side, no longer stored in her bag. She won’t chance the precious gems being stolen again. These diamonds are the most important items she’s ever had in her possession. These diamonds are her only chance to reverse the most horrific thing that has ever happened to her companion. To her friend, she amends to herself. She can allow herself to call him that privately.
She has to hope that Luvash will get her more diamonds.
Promise takes a deep breath, looking out into the woods where Rudolph van Richten disappeared, where a celestial, powerful being searches the woods for them. In the gentle golden light cast from Saint Markovia’s shield, her hand wraps around the amulet that they had stolen from the Abbey. It feels like sunshine. It’s… strange.
They stole that amulet because of what it could do to Fion in the wrong hands. Even with an unhinged deva scouring the forest, she can’t regret it.
Slowly, silently, she leans over and pulls Fion’s blanket further up to cover his shoulders. He doesn’t stir. She’s not surprised.
Promise sits back down and begins to attune to the Holy Symbol of Ravenloft. Warmth fills her chest as she slips it over her head and settles the pendent against her holy symbol. She can’t help Fion now, not like this.
More power, more diamonds, more time, and then she can help her friend.
Luis had way too much fun with the renovated basement of the cabin.
Wren was going to make him pay for it.
Jewel kept leading Wren towards a direction, only to come up against a wall. They would backtrack and turn around and come up against a different wall, and Jewel would report that somehow they were further away than when they started.
Laredo's screams echoed off the walls, long and hoarse and desperate. Fifteen years of music lessons caught the sounds, found the rhythm in the agony. It was a pattern- every twenty seconds on the dot, for eight seconds, Laredo was screaming. A harsh, high-pitched beep pierced the echoes whenever the sounds of agony started to fade, heralding the coming of next set.
Another scream made Jewel flinch and clutch at Wren. It was fainter, farther away. A scream Wren recognized. Fletcher.
Wren took Jewel by the shoulders, careful not to touch skin, and looked her in the eye before she signed, "Close your eyes and point. Which way?"
Jewel took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Then she started swaying where she stood, leaning in different directions. Wren knew she was testing her empathy, using it like radar. Their doctor was being barraged by pain, terror, exhaustion. She just had to find which source was the closest. Her empathy had to be on a hair trigger, with all the suffering and fear around them, soaked into the very walls.
She shifted again, towards a wall, and stumbled. "Whoa-" Wren slipped behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing. “That way,” she whispered, lifting a trembling hand. “I don’t know how- this place is a maze, but-”
Wren patted Jewel's shoulder, shifted to maneuver her into a sitting position against the opposite wall, and ran back out to the van, past the slowly-defrosting Dimitri. When she came back, she slammed her trusty crowbar into the drywall, smiling grimly as it crumbled beneath the force. The hoarse sounds of Laredo’s screams grew louder.
She hooked the end of the crowbar into the drywall and pulled, again and again, until she had made a hole big enough for her to fit through. Wren looked over her shoulder at Jewel, still trying to compose herself, and made an easy decision. "Wait here. I'll get him out."
Jewel nodded, and Wren went through the wall.
She wished she could have been surprised when she saw Laredo.
It was a collar, bolted to the floor. Cuffs stretched out his hands to either side, ensuring that his hands couldn't leave the ground. Not warded, Wren noted in the second that it took to cross the room to him. Luis worried more about Laredo's inherent strength than his magic, for-
The force of the shock sent her flying across the room, her ears ringing.
It took another two rounds of Laredo screaming and arching against the restraints for Wren to stagger to her feet. Her mouth should have tasted like pennies.
A shock collar. A timed shock collar.
Laredo stammered something out in a hoarse whisper- he must have been screaming for hours. Her ears were still ringing, but she got the gist. Something about the timing of the shocks- she’d figured that out from the regularity of his screams, but he needed to give her information. Something to help. Something. She pressed a hand to his temple, forced his head down and to the left, tapped twice. Stay down.
The crowbar came down, and Laredo sobbed.
Wren didn't need to swing again. She rarely did.
The pieces of the collar would never shock anyone again, so she turned her focus to the cuffs. She didn't swing the crowbar, instead levering the end underneath each cuff to pry them from the floor.
Incredibly useful, crowbars.
Laredo only understood a handful of sign on a good day, so she didn't even try. She hefted her crowbar and went towards the Wren-sized hole in the wall. A few swings later, it was Laredo-sized.
It took too long to get him outside, even with Jewel helping. Laredo was twitching with aftershocks. His legs were giving out every few steps. Wren wished Elana was here to carry him, but she was facing down Luis, getting Fletcher back, backing up Archer. Jewel and Wren were on their own.
Dimitri and Laredo curled into each other the moment Laredo was set down. Both men were trembling- Dimitri from the lingering cold, Laredo from the aftershocks, and both from the exhausted, unrelenting terror that Wren had seen in their eyes. Wren averted her eyes. Dimitri didn't need to see her notice how he pressed his face to Laredo's chest.
Jewel's expression looked grim as she checked Laredo's pulse, cupped his face, looked in his eyes, slowly moved a gloved finger from side to side in front of his face. "Follow my finger for me, hon, just with your eyes." Her voice was so much calmer than Wren knew she was. "Laredo, your heartbeat is too slow, I'm going..."
Her voice faded as Wren crossed the threshold again, scanning the darkened hallway. She could see the corner where Luis had been lying in wait.
Without Laredo's clockwork screams, the silence was deafening. Wherever the other war mages were, they were suffering in silence.
Mariano, Manuel, Izan- they probably thought Laredo was dead.
Wren saw the look in Laredo's eyes when she lifted him up. It was the same one that was in Dimitri's. The same one that she knew was in Izan's eyes, Manuel's, Mariano's. She didn't have to see them to know that every single mage thought they were going to die.
