Hushed Willows [m] Blood on your knees, outside in the cold

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Self-harm, references to past abuse, some internalized grossness

Maaaybe @Boone? Just one joiner, please! Will set this to read only in about a week if no one joins <3

She woke with the sun, as she often did. Dawn had brought with it an icy downpour, and a morning like this should have seen her tucking herself closer to her husband to hide from the chill. But Reverie felt less and less deserving of Boone's love lately. So she slipped from their den in silence, and headed for the lake she spent so much of her free time by.

It was late summer when she'd fled The Gilded Sea; still a gangly adolescent just shy of her first year, her steps haunted by what had surely been one of the last fires of the season. Reverie had known nothing of the world then. She'd turned her paws east and ran for miles, rarely ever stopping to rest or to drink. By the time Riordan found her she'd been a ragged thing, half-feral with fear and hunger. But he'd been kind to her.

It'd scared her at first, the attentions of an older man. Riordan had always called her mature beyond her age, but for all that Reverie had still felt like a child. She certainly hadn't been a woman then. But he hadn't quite treated her as such, either. Most of all Riordan had treated her like a possession. And she — she'd felt that she understood it.

That need for absolute control, the white-knuckled grip on the notion that something could be yours, only yours, forever. He'd hurt her. But maybe that was what she deserved, because some part of her wanted that possession; to be gripped so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Boone was far too good for her.

Reverie turned a rock over with her paws idly, shivering under the cold rain. She ran her pads over the jagged edges of it and wondered if what she really wanted was to hurt. A surge of wild energy shot through her then; she pressed her foreleg against the sharp edges of the rock until it bit into her skin, and gasped softly, and immediately regretted it. She kicked the rock away from her, into the lake, and tucked her bleeding leg against her chest. Maybe it could have been a metaphor or something, but Reverie was too miserable to think about it just then. She cried instead.

why the fuck was he up this early?
perhaps his body merely felt like it. perhaps his brain knew there was something wrong. either way, he wasted no time as soon as he felt the coldness begin to settle in the space reverie typically took up.
the slope of their den was slick with ice and rain; the already half-melted snow pelted at with more of winter's disdain. it took him longer than usual to get down and to blink the grogginess away, but once he did, he was already on her trail.
and it took him to the keep, where the metallic tang of blood was the first thing he noticed. the second thing was the sound of her cries. shock, panic, something mixed with anger that toiled inside of him, but the only thing he could get out was one tiny, soft yelp:
babydoll?

She could run. She could leave, and no one would ever see this, no one would ever know. She could go to the sea, and then —

Reverie flinched at the sound of Boone's voice, clutching her leg a little closer as she turned to look at him with a wild fear in her eyes. I - She felt as if she might be sick. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm so - fucked up. Her last words broke into a sob and she stood shakily, taking a step back. She could run. If she ran, she would never have to see the hatred in his eyes; she wouldn't have to watch him realize that she deserved nothing else from him.

she had done this.
she had done this to herself, she — he could see it now, the crimson that now rippled across her forearm. but he was not angry. he wanted to vomit, but he was not angry.
hey, hey, look at me, his voice instinctively lowers to the tiniest he can muster, tenderness pooling in the oakwood eyes. it's okay. i'm not mad at you, okay? you-- please, okay, don't be sorry, it's-- he was starting to cry now too, and he could feel it in the way it tugs at the corners of his mouth and the muscles in his chin. c'mere, let's-- we'll clean this up. c'mere.
he didn't need to, and yet he scoops her up into his arms and dips down into the lake himself, gathering what he can with his paws and his tongue.
it was all he knew how to do.

He wasn't mad at her. He didn't hate her. But her heart was still pounding in her ears, and her guts still felt twisted and tearing to shreds. No, I - Reverie didn't fight him, never him, but she shook her head even as he took her into his arms, still crying. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you.

I'm sorry, And she tucked her face into his fur in spite of herself, clinging to him, letting him clean the blood from her. Boone deserved better than this. He could find someone so much better than this. You should leave me. Please don't leave me. Please.