#hey beech

INGREDIENTS

 ☐  a few dozen pearls of wisdom  ☐  1 interest for all things history  ☐  a VERY GENEROUS pinch of pride  ☐  a heaping cup of self doubt  ☐  1 insatiable appetite for noodles

INSTRUCTIONS

 ☐  read the rules  ☐  click the follow button  ☐  have fun !

Name: Mercedes von Martritz Age: Older than you, my darling.  Do you like to cuddle?: Oh, more than almost anything. Especially when my arms are around you.  Can we make-out?: So long as we don’t stop there! I bought some beautiful lilac silk in town the other week, and have been working on a gift for you since.  A night in or dinner out?: Both would be lovely, but I think I would prefer a night in, just the two of us. I’ll cook us something warm and homely, and we can light some candles. Oh, we could eat on the roof, under the stars! Maybe, if I’m on my best behaviour, you’ll sing for me? Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: Can I feed you the strawberries, and kiss the chocolate from your lips? What makes you a good Valentine?: I think only you can decide what makes me good for you. Would you cook for me?: Of course! In fact, should you accept, that’s my full intention.  Would you let me cook for you?: I’m sure that the tales of your cooking skills are greatly exaggerated, but maybe you should leave that to me, just to be safe?

     feeling like a child that’s been gently coaxed out of an admittedly terrible activity, dorothea’s gaze drifts and she closes her eyes, sighing. ❝ ...of course. i promise i’ll get better one day so i can take some of the workload off of you. your hands are meant for prettier things than all these chores, ❞ dorothea murmurs, propping mercedes’s hands on her fingers and admiring them. even if she’s spent her whole life using them to give to other people, they’re still delicate, beautiful things, like the old piano keys in the cathedral, still playing for weary souls. 

The thought of going under anesthesia scares me too, so I can sympathise there :c I hope it all goes well.

Fifty ways to kiss someone // tentatively accepting! | @hallowedcraft29. A promise | 30. A comfort | 39. Because their time is running out.I think I twisted the meme around but you know what? I don’t CARE —

       The  king  was  dying.

       Those  were  the  words  thrust  like  daggers  into  her  facade;  words  she  first  thought  were  rumour  mongering  until  terrified  expressions  spoke  a  truth  she  knew  was  no  falsehood,  and  the  harshness  of  war  was  brought  to  prominence.

       Men die. Kings die. But not him. Please not him.

       A  step  from  the  shadows;  a  flash  of  steel.  Pale  skin  marred  with  blood  that  was  not  her  own,  spelling  plain  a  precise  excellence  that  ushered  her  into  the  Uncrowned, and stray  strands  of  brown  hair  clinging  to  her  face  —  long  since  loosened  from  its  tight  plait. By  all  accounts Tess  Greymane  should  not  be  present  on  the  battlefield,  not  in  sight  where  her  father’s  men  had  eyes  like  hawk’s  ‘pon  her  rabbit’s  heart,  but  such  details  mattered  little  to  her  now.  Not  when  brown  eyes  settled  on  the  sight  before her:  a  nightmare  wreathed  in  reality,  manifested  in  their  failings.

       ❝ Anduin — ! ❞  His  name  caught  on  her  tongue,  choked  out  with  the  dread  that  festered  in  her  gut  and  twisted  the  lining;  giving  pause  to  stare  at  how  he  lay  so  feebly on the dirt  like  the  thousands  of  men  and  women  who  came  before  him.  Such  hesitation  was  fleeting  before  she  rushed  to  his  side,  pushing  away  the  guards  that  dared  to  hinder  her  efforts, and her knees hit heavy on the ground as she collapsed at his side by the healers working desperately to save him.

       She  wondered  if  this  was  how  her  father  felt  sitting  on  the  precipice  of  life  and  death,  watching  powerless  as  the  one’s  he  loved  slipped  from  his  grip,  and  why  cruel  irony  should  see  his  living  kin  repeat  it.  Her  hands  hovered  uselessly  over  the  High  King’s  chest,  fool’s  prayers  cast  to  gods  (  light,  dark,  it  mattered  not  )  to  preserve  him,  whilst  panicked  breathing  mimicked  thoughts  that  swept  her  up  like  a  torrent.  Surely  there  was  something  she  could  do  :  a  potion,  a  spell,  a  prayer.  Something.  ANYTHING —

        The  steel  that  took  her  hand  was  cold,  but  was  little  comfort  for  what  might  lay  beneath.  Tess  inhaled  sharply,  feeling  how  the  breath  shook  in  her  rib  cage  in  a  panic  that  was  so  unlike  her  —  and  yet,  quite  like  him,  Anduin  was  one  of  the  few  that  could  bring  back.  Exhaling,  she  tried  to  ignore  the  water  that  pricked  in  the  corners  of  her  eyes.

       ❝ Must  you  paint  so  bright  a  target? ❞  She  chided,  voice  barely  a  whisper.  It  was  enough  for  him  to  hear  if  the  weakened  chuckle  was  any  indication,  and  even  she  could  not  help  but  smile  at  his  retort.

       ❝ I’ll try to be subtler next time. ❞

       Next  time. Two  words  that  spoke  so  much  promise, but  were  not  reflected.  Anduin’s  complexion  was  a  sheen  of  grey  and  green;  sweaty  from  fever,  marred  with  little  veins  of  purple  and  black  and  dark  circles  beneath  his  eyes.  Lower  still  came  the  source:  a bloody  arrow  lodged  through  the  armour.  Assuming  it  had  not  hit  any vital  organs,  his  body  was  still  infected.  Even  if  he  was  lucky,  it  might  not  be  enough.  She  tried  not  to  look  at it.

       ❝ Don’t  you  think  about  leave  me, ❞  Tess  pleaded  ordered,  as  if  though mere  thought  could  prevent  an  inevitability  she  felt  they  were  careening  towards.  But what  would  it  be  if  he  was  not  comforting  her  in  spite  of  injury?  The  hand  that  held  her  own  pressed  the  back  of  her  palm  to  his  lips  and  she  did  her  best  not  to  wince  at  the  stain  it  left.  At  the  same  time  her  other  reached  for  his  cheek  and  thumbed  the  blood  away  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  rare  affections  normally  given  only  in  private, and she swallowed hard before continuing. ❝ Do  you  hear  me,  Anduin?  The  Alliance  needs  you.  I  need  you.  Promise  me. ❞        ❝ I promise — ❞  he  answered. 

       But  they  would  not  get  another  opportunity  to  speak.  Though  his  guard  had  done  their  best  to  pull  the  king  from  the  thick  of  battle  they  knew  full  well  that  they  had  to  retreat  ‘less  they  risk  the  Horde  pushing  in  further,  and  delay  was  only  in  the  medical  supplies  to  transport  him  proper.  Tess  saw  it  in  the  white  of  the  stretcher  and  grim  faces,  hands that  tentatively  reached  for  her  shoulders  to  keep  her.  She  was  no  healer,  and  therefore  was  no  good.

       Defying  them  for  just  a  moment  she  leaned  in  and  kissed  Anduin’s  forehead,  that  same  free  hand  brushing  blonde  hair  from  his  face  as  the  other  held  hers  weakly.  ❝ I  love  you, ❞ she  told  him,  as  if  though  love  —  much  like  anything  else  —  was  enough  to  save  him. It  was  foolish.  She  knew  the  truth.

       Tess  kept  her  hand  in  his  as  long  as  it  took  for  him  to  be  loaded  onto  the  stretcher.  She  kept  it  longer  still  as  they  began  to  move,  breaking  the  affection  only  when  her  fingers  could  not  stretch  so  far. She  watched  them  leave  with  nothing  but  terror  in  her  heart,  knowing  it  would  not  do  her  well  to  follow.

           For  a  while  her  left  hand  rubbed  the  stain  on  her  right  before  she  broke, reaching to  press  the  bottom  of  her  palms  to  her  eye  sockets  as  if  that  pain  could  steel  her.

       It  didn’t.