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bitethedustfools · 7 months ago

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New World, New scars (pt 3)

The exam month had come. Yuu was in the living room with books and papers scattered on the table.

His injured hands, which were finally healed by a healing potion, held a pen in a strange manner, slowly dragging it across the paper, stopping for a few seconds before continuing. The hands noticeably became shakier and stiffer.

It seems that the healing potions don't heal everything. The crooked fingers are proof of that.

Still, Grim watched how Yuu struggled before the boy sighed and decided to abandon it to read the notes instead. In Grim's opinion, the writings were pleasing to his eyes, and he could understand them in one glance in comparison to the scrawling from before.

It goes without a doubt that Yuu was very smart and also hardworking. Even that two-toned haired teacher praised Yuu, occasionally giving him candies.

Grim looked at Yuu's hands and decided that he didn't want Yuu to ruin their first exam, so Grim would take the lead. They both are, after all, two-in-one student. It would be awful if Yuu didn't manage to score anything with those hands.

Grim noticed Yuu roaming around the room where he was at like a ghost haunting the place. Yuu usually doesn't stay in the same room, and if he does, he usually tries to erase his presence.

So therefore, him hovering around and gazing at him from a certain distance became annoying.

"What are you movin around for? You're botherin me," Grim huffed, looking away from the notes he obtained from a certain someone.

Yuu kept looking at him nervously, his sweat dripping and fidgeting with his fingers lightly.

"Are you sure you're going to do the exam instead of me...? I can do it," Yuu said softly, almost carefully.

"No! I can do it. I'm not that dumb! If anythin, you're goin to make us fail with those hands of yours."

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

Grim saw Yuu glanced at his hands for a short moment before hiding them behind his back, expression down as though he's shameful.

"So sit down! I'm gonna ace this exam all by myself!" Grim huffed once more after he said those words as if it would calm Yuu down.

Despite not doing anything troublesome like the exam, Yuu grew even more nerve-wracking just watching by the sidelines, fearing that Grim would mess it up, to which Grim assured confidently and exasperatedly that he won't.

His confidence only soared higher when he received high scores and he shoved it to Yuu, who flinched at the sudden action.

Grim dismissed it. After all, he did a very good job of it, so Yuu will definitely be impressed by it, so he held it up with pride.

"85...?" Yuu's voice trembled, and his eyes widened with horror. Grim heard Yuu mumbling from underneath his breath how the teacher won't accept this and will be angry.

Yuu began to shed tears when he saw Ace's and Deuce's marks but not from happiness as he expected. His expression looked frightened and alarmed.

"Hey, it's closer to 100. That's fine, isn't it?" said Ace, trying to comfort Yuu, who is not participating in the exam yet was unusually upset at their marks. "That's not a terrible mark at all!"

"Yes, it is... Master Crewel is going to get angry..." said Yuu with certainty and fear.

Grim thought that the three of them definitely have the same idea in mind at that time, but none spoke them out loud.

Contrary to Yuu's words, Professor Crewel does not punish them, but he does look at them all suspiciously.

And now, it's their turn to be scared. Grim didn't expect that all of them actually made a deal with Azul, that scammer!

Upon learning of this fact, Yuu's expression turned to be even more horrified. He hugged himself, and he began to bite the flesh between the thumb and the wrist, almost piercing through them and drawing blood.

Yuu seemed to be in his own world that his words became incoherent, but some managed to understand a few of what he's saying.

"Cheating, lies, not allowed, punished, beaten, angry, apologize..."

A story formed in their head in an instant, but Grim doesn't understand why they would get beaten for that alone?

His question remained unanswered because everyone who managed to strike a deal with Azul sprouted an anemone on top of their head and began to march to the Octavinelle dorm.

Yuu, despite trembling like a shaky leaf, remained still amongst the moving crowd, looking hesitant, as though he will end up in a terrible situation if he followed them.

Grim, Ace, and Deuce didn't see Yuu that much after they started working in the Mostro Lounge. Grim did meet Yuu at the dorm, but he hardly gave any attention and just dropped on the spot and snooze.

He had never worked so hard in his entire life, and that made Grim think that it's not worth making a deal with the devil.

But then he thought of the reason why he accepted, and he can only grumble loudly as his tiny paws washed yet another dirty dish.

Surely... this isn't as hard as...

He yowled as the water splashed on his face.

They met again during lunch after who knows how long, but Grim is exhausted that time seemed to blend together. The same thing goes for Ace and Deuce as they all dragged their feet to find their table, resisting the urge to sleep.

Yuu, who is somehow accompanied by a very decent Savanaclaw student by the name of Jack, easily spotted them and carefully sat right next to them. His eyes flitted across all three expressions as though he's looking for something, only to slacken the tension in his shoulders.

It did not last long when the Leeches twins invited themselves in, but Grim no longer took notice of this the moment the twins suggested that there is a way for them to be free.

Yuu needed to make a deal with Azul.

It did not last a minute; Yuu buckled instantly under their pleadings to save them. They all cheered, ignoring Jack scolding them.

"You know, for the first time, I think I'm ready to recognize you as our prefect," said Grim, feeling elated at Yuu for the first time.

The smile on Yuu's face immediately went strained, and his gaze was lowered. Grim saw his still injured fingers clenched tightly on his pants as though it wasn't hurt days ago.

"I'm... glad I'm useful," Yuu said.

Maybe Grim should have shut his mouth.

Grim still stayed on the bed, and Yuu on the floor.

Grim slept to the scent of salt and the quiet sobbings accompanying the cold night.

Grim sneaked out of the kitchen to the VIP room on the day Yuu came to make a deal, a trail of wet spots formed on the carpet as he made his way over there.

He heard voices, and he, who at first wanted to recklessly barge in, suddenly out of character, stopped to lean on the door so he could listen in.

"...You see, prefect, my understanding is that you have no innate magical power." Came Azul's voice.

"You're not gifted with a beautiful voice, nor are you heir to any kingdom. You also do not possess any outstanding and useful skills. You're an utterly run-of-the-mill human in every possible way. Considering the big ask you're making of me, I would need considerable collateral."

It was insults, no matter how many different angles and how many times he tried to listen. If it was Grim whom Azul had told that face to face, he would no doubt be blown up with rage and yell back.

However, Yuu only replied with two words, spoken softly and without stuttering as though he had known that a long time ago and had long accepted it.

"I know."

Since Yuu had put the ramshackle dorm as collateral, they both were kicked out of their only shelter into the cold night.

Ace, Deuce, and even Jack offered to help them. The Adeuce insisted Yuu go with them instead of Jack; after all, Jack is from Savanaclaw, and Yuu and that dorm don't mix well together.

Except that didn't happen.

Yuu followed Jack, and he let Grim follow Ace and Deuce.

His sleep that night was filled with snores, the rustling of someone moving in their sleep, and a faint smell of roses that was enough not to irritate his nose.

It felt strange that Yuu was not here.

He was awake for hours and he doesn't remember what time it was when he had fallen asleep.

Grim does not know what happened to Yuu that same night. But the next day, he spotted bruises blooming all over Yuu's body that Grim suspected some of his ribs might have broken. There were also a few band-aids here and there, and even the face was not spared.

Grim suddenly went mad over this, yelling at Jack, who followed Yuu guiltily. Even Ace and Deuce joined as well, occasionally scolding Yuu lightly for even choosing the place where most students beat him up.

"I'm sorry... I... didn't want to bother you," Yuu murmured, the injuries making him look even more pathetic.

Their anger didn't last long upon seeing this and told him to come to their dorm instead.

Yuu merely shook his head, "I won... fair and square. I'll do my part well."

Nobody knows what he meant by this.

They cornered Jack when he's alone after their attempted to steal the photograph failed.

"What does Yuu mean?"

"Why is he hurt like that?"

"What did you do?"

Plenty of accusations were thrown at him that Jack's stern expression twisted into something complicated.

What left his mouth only stunned them even more.

In exchange to live there, Yuu had to be a gopher and also fight and win. And win he did, even as his body is blue and black and his form is close to a deathbed.

There's no benefit in living there and winning said fight if being beaten up and being a gopher awaited him there.

Grim was right when he said that Yuu was a coward and an idiot.

A coward because Yuu cannot say no so he does what Leona said and an idiot for not realizing that there's nothing good that will bring to him in that place.

Despite everything, Yuu still went there.

But Grim supposed that there's another reason why he needed to get what Azul wanted to get the ramshackle dorm back.

Yuu came up with a plan on the last day when everyone is starting to lose hope. It was simple. Too simple just like the time he came up with in the Dwarf mine, yet it proved to be effective.

The day they initiated the plan also went smoothly that not even the closed museum could ever obstructed said plan with the help of Ace.

Grim rather liked a smart Yuu rather than an idiot, but it is too bad that this showcase of intelligence is very limited and not available most of the time.

But it was on this very same day that Grim realized just how truly smart Yuu is.

Grim had learned Yuu had done something to Leona for him to join his plan, a second plan that no one in the group knows. Yuu and the rest were simply bait, but who would have thought that both plans succeeded anyway.

Grim wondered why it's only time like this that Yuu started to take the lead when he's usually the one who is following and endured.

Azul overbloated after that; his lower half became that of an octopus and Grim thought that everything can be handled since they've beaten Riddle and Leona before.

This proved to be a bit difficult seeing as Azul had stolen half of their magic and used it against them. Offensive and defensive, he had it all much to Grim's displeasure.

Azul, just like Leona before, reached out to Yuu with one of those octopus legs the moment his eyes laid on him. Eyes dilated with anger and hatred, only to replace with malicious glee when he caught Yuu who stood still like a sacrifice.

Again with that.

Grim thought he imagined it last time but he really did it again.

Yuu cried and gasped for air as Azul choked the life out of him while everyone is screaming for his name.

Grim thought Yuu hated being beaten up, thought he's scared of it.

So why is he smiling?

Grim never got his answer, feeling quite lost and confused with how Yuu acted. The others seemed to know, seemed to understand what Yuu is thinking even if it's just snippets.

But Grim is not as smart as Yuu, so Grim could never understand what goes through Yuu's mind.

The moment the monster got defeated, Grim quickly ate the black magestone the monster left behind to distract himself.

Yuu was currently knocked out cold on the floor, surrounded by his friends who have disheveled appearances. No doubt, they will scold him when he woke up later.

They did scold him when he regained consciousness.

Yuu apologized pathetically and said that he was scared he couldn't move his feet. He shed tears and trembled upon being stared upon.

But that's not what Grim saw earlier. Yet, he kept his mouth shut anyway.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst yuu #everyone loves yuu #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #Pitiful and Pathetic! Yuu #ace trappola #deuce spade #leona kingscholar #jack howl #azul ashengrotto #twst floyd #twst jade #Am I doing Tsundere Grim right?

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lostinforestbound · 5 months ago

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Can I ask for HCs of Rolan with a partner who's big on surprising him with gifts? Not the 'getting him the most expensive and lavish stuff' but the 'takes notes of all the stuff he likes and gifts it to him even without any big occasion' kind

YES YES YES I ABSOLUTELY CAN!!! This idea is so sweet and I am in desperate need for Rolan fluff!

Giving Gifts to Rolan

Rolan, outside of Cal and his mother, never receives gifts from anyone. When he became the new master of Ramazith's tower, he was given gifts by the people in celebration. Potions, Tapestries, all these lavish things he never cared for. He usually puts them in a closet and forgets about them.

When Tav and him finally get together officially, he's not sure how to react when they start giving him gifts out of nowhere. He's confused by it even; why would they get him something out of nowhere? What did he do to deserve it? He didn't earn this.

He will start reciprocating, giving gifts in response to the ones he's receiving. Surely they're expecting something back? He would be a fool to not try and match them, but gift giving isn't something he's good at.

When Tav eventually asks why he's also getting them gifts, and he responds with "well, it's a nice exchange, is it not?" and they'll quickly realize that this man thought he had to give something back every time.

They explain that this is their love language. They love giving him gifts, without expecting anything in return. He immediately asks why if he hasn't earned it: "Well, I love you, and I love getting you things. It makes me feel good to see you happy."

He doesn't argue it further, but it still feels strange to him. Though he can't deny his heart flutters a little when they get him something thoughtful, like an item he was looking at in the market and they got it for him in secret.

Some gifts he ends up loving: Magic books (despite his infinite library in the tower), peerless focus elixirs, a sweet baked treat, horn jewelry, earrings, new robes, nice smelling shampoos for his hair, and facial care ointments.

What he would find so sweet (or funny depending on context) is the certain gifts coming with enchantments on them. He loves having small magical items in collections. Earrings that give him a boost in charisma, rings of protection, and scarfs that keep him extra warm in the cold months.

Funnier magical items he has received thus far: Sweater of Calming, a Ring of Rock Eating, Seal of Approval, Book of Mispells, Cookie of Hunger, and a Giggle Dagger.

Sometimes they give it to him directly, but he's always delighted to see when wrap it in a bow or they put it in a little box on his desk. It makes it a little extra special and he adores it. It's an instant mood lifter for him!

It takes him a while to realize his tail visibly flicks about happily when he sees that he got another gift. Tav never says a thing when they see it since they find it both adorable and endearing. The secret is revealed only when Cal and Lia tease him about it, and now he actively tries to control his tail.

Rolan starts responding to the gifts again, but in his own way outside of gift giving: spending time with them, cooking them breakfast or dinner, setting up more romantic dates, and anything he can to show he appreciates them. That he loves them dearly, and they are the true gift to him.

#forest-writes #rolan x tav #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3 #rolan nation #rolanites

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mylittlesecrethaven · 5 months ago

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Twst Kinks And Shit They Like To Do During Sex: Teachers

Let's freaking go.

I've kinda been excited to do the teachers even though I have no idea what to do for them.

Crowley:

I'm sorry, but this mans has a Master kink type thing. Loves being called master. Instant boner as soon as you say it, no matter where he is.

Likes to cover your face during sex. He doesn't take off his own mask, for whatever reason, and he likes to either put a mask on you or just cover your face with his hands. Won't explain why. Just says it gets him off for some reason.

Crewel:

Also sorry about this one, but Crewel has a piss kink. Maybe I'm projecting, but this man likes to either piss on you or inside you (but not in the mouth. I draw the line there.) Says it's cause you're his "little puppy." (I didn't like that last line much....)

Tries out a bunch of different (but safe) potions on you during sex. Oh, this one makes you wetter/harder. Oh, this one makes you orgasm harder. Oh, this one makes you feel like you're floating on a cloud. He says he's just trying random stuff, but you always feel like he made these with a recipe or something.

Trein:

*sigh* I'm just making the teachers nasty. Age play..... Yep. Look, Trein's not young, and you might not be either. Please, just play a younger role, it'll make him very horny. And if you're already super young? (creepy, but) He likes it. (just.... forget he has a family here....)

While you're being fucked out of your mind, he likes to ask you history questions. If you get it wrong, he stops what he's doing until you get it right. If you get it right the first time, he rewards you. You kinda hate it, but you're really good at history now.

Vargas:

Straight up, impact play. And it fucking hurts. Have you seen this man's muscles? He leaves dark marks on the first fucking hit! Just a reminder of how much he loves you.

He pretends it's a workout. He literally counts how many thrusts it takes for you and him to cum. He records it. He's literally got an average and a goal he shoots for every time to make it last longer. He's a fucking beast.

Sam:

Hmmmm..... I guess gagging. It's either his fingers or his underwear. Your choice. But it's there the entire time. He makes it his goal to make you so loud he can hear you through his underwear, or fuck you so hard you're drooling all down his hand.

So.... while he's fucking you, he gets undressed really slowly. And while he's undressing, he's putting his clothes on you. It's the slowest fucking process ever, and he doesn't make you cum until you're fully dressed like him. You ruin so many of his outfits, but he still loves doing it.

I tried..... I just made the teachers nasty....

BUT I GOT A FUCKING PISS KINK IN THERE AND I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY!

So, we'll see how the next one goes I guess.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland x reader

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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 1 year ago

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Always There - Chapter Eight: S.Snape

Summary: Y/N Potter was left with a baby to care for after her brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Voldemort. One person was there for her, a person she didn’t expect but soon became her comfort person, Severus Snape. During Harry’s third year at Hogwarts and her third year as Herbology professor, a few old friends come around again. Y/N has to handle the feelings of these old friends being around again as well as handle her feelings for a certain potions master all while she tries to hide these things from her godson.

Series Masterlist

My full Masterlist

Pairings: Severus Snape x Female Professor Reader, Potter!Reader x friend!Remus, Sister!Reader x James Potter, Potter!Reader x Friend!Sirius

Chapter Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader(No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, Harry growing up in a loving home, Happy Snape, sappy Snape

Series Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader (No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, OOC Snape, Harry grows up in a loving environment, mentions of death and murder, poorly written angst, Remus is a shitty friend, poorly written pining,

Please let me know how I can improve my writing and being more inclusive to POC as I am whiter than white. Please also let me know if I have to add more to the warnings! My messages are open as well as my asks!

I am starting a taglist so leave either a comment or something in my asks if you would like to be tagged in any of my works or just this series!

Author's Note: I am going through a bit of a writers block at the moment so please bare with me. If anyone has any ideas they can give me I will gladly take some to see if I can get over this writers block.

Please let me know how I can improve or if you find any errors! Correct me, don't be afraid to! I want to improve my writing and become a better writer so any feedback or advise is welcomed!

Word Count: 1784

My asks are open for questions, suggestions and feedback!

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

It was the day of the first task, Y/N was a nervous wreck for her nephew, Harry himself a nervous wreck knowing he had to go up against a dragon. She sat anxiously next to Severus as they waited for Harry to begin his task. He was up against the Hungarian Horntail, they were a very aggressive breed of dragon, knowing that made her nerves so much worse. She knew dragons were misunderstood creatures like most magical creatures out there but there were a fair few that were quite intimidating and aggressive.

As Harry entered the arena with the dragon, it immediately tried attacking which made her heart drop to her stomach, it made her feel sick. A dreadful feeling washed over her as she watched her nephew just barely dodge the attacks of the dragon. “I’m gonna be sick,” She said, covering her eyes and pulling at her hair. She finally heard a spell come from Harry after Herminone yelled at him to use his wand.

“Accio firebolt!” Harry yelled, once again dodging an attack. Everyone who cared about the boy watched with anxiety and anticipation waiting for the broom to come. When it finally did, Harry got on and flew off, the dragon breaking off the chair and following after him.

“Severus! He’s gonna get hurt! I don’t want him to get hurt!” She panicked to her partner who tried his best to comfort her to no avail.

“He’s a smart boy and a good wizard, he will be okay, I promise you he will be okay, love,” Severus replied.

“Honey, I feel sick.”

“You need to take a deep breath, you’re too worried. Harry will be okay my love. He will pass the task. He will do well.” Just as Severus said that, Harry flew back to the golden egg and scooped it up. He held it up in victory causing his aunt to jump up with joy, the sick feeling going away in an instant once she saw that he really was okay. That he did well, that he succeeded and tied for first.

Y/N ran down to meet her nephew, pulling him into the tightest hug she could manage. “My boy! You did so well! I’m so proud of you!” She exclaimed to her nephew. Once she heard the boy wince when he hugged her back, she started fretting and worrying about him. “What hurts my love? Why didn’t you say anything? Show me,” She insisted as she pulled away from the boy, she looked at his arm before calling over Madam Pomphrey to help heal her nephew’s injuries. Once he was all healed up, she urged her nephew to go back to the common room to celebrate, that the two of them would celebrate the next day. She just wanted him to spend time with his friends whilst he still could.

Severus met with Y/N in her quarters that were slowly turning into their shared quarters. “How’s the boy?” He asked her as she entered the room.

“He’s good, very happy that he tied for first with Krum. He’s off celebrating with the rest of Gryfindor,” She smiled at him.

“I told you that he would be okay, and yet you don’t like to listen to me,” He teased her with a smirk.

“Oh shut up, I can’t help it. I worry about my boys every minute of every day. I love the two of you with all my heart.”

“And I love the two of you with all of my heart.” Sealing the confession with a kiss. As the kiss got more heated, both of their hands began to wander, the two of them had eventually moved to the bed. Both of them getting lost in each other, falling asleep rather quickly afterwards.

The next morning, the couple woke up tangled together, Severus only wearing a pair of sweatpants and Y/N only wearing his shirt from the day before. Severus had woken up and just took in the sight in his arms, the woman he loved, fast asleep in his arms wearing his shirt. Not long after he woke up, there was a knock on the door, Severus untangling himself from her, covering her up with the blanket before going to the door. He opened it to reveal Minerva who let herself right in.

“You two clearly had some fun last night,” Minerva teased, taking in the state of the room. Clothes thrown around, books scattered on the floor that were previously on the table, pillows on the floor around the bed, the lampshade was crooked, the lamp itself hanging on the edge of the side table.

“Yeah, yeah. What is it you need, you old bag?” He asked the transfiguration professor.

“How very nice of you to ask! Y/N told me to meet her here this morning so we can have breakfast together. Obviously, she has seemingly forgotten about, too preoccupied with her new man,” The woman continued to tease Severus until Y/N began stirring in bed. The two voices waking her from her peaceful slumber. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Minerva before she remembered that they were supposed to have breakfast together that morning.

“Oh Minnie! I’m sorry, I forgot about breakfast!” She apologized as she began to climb out of bed, finding a pair of pants on the floor and slipping them on.

“It’s okay, dear. I see the two of you had a good bit of fun yourselves last night, considering the marks on your neck, you quite enjoyed yourselves,” She teased once more. Y/N’s face changed in surprise as she rushed to the nearest mirror, inspecting her neck that was covered in marks.

“Severus! I always tell you, no marks on my neck!” She scolded the man.

“Oh but you can tear my back up like some crazed animal? Where is the fun if I can’t leave a visible mark on you?” Severus retorted, Minerva choked on her tea before excusing herself.

“You two are disgusting! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go bathe in boiling hot water and scrub your sins off of my skin,” Minerva shot a wink at Y/N and a subtle thumb up before exiting the room. As the door closed, the woman did a little victory dance in the hallway as she made her way back to her office.

Y/N and Severus bathed together, wanting to spend some much needed alone time together, the two able to relax together for the first time since the term had started. It was a rough start of the term, it was slowly getting better but the stress of her nephew participating in the triwizard tournament had weighed very heavily on her. Finally able to let it go for a little while until the next task.

After spending the morning together, Y/N and Severus went their own way. She found her nephew and spent the afternoon with him and Severus looking through his private store keeping a list of ingredients he needed and ones that were going missing although he hadn’t used them. That evening during dinner, he brought the missing ingredients up to his partner, she too, was confused as to who was taking the ingredients. She knew it wasn’t Harry or any of his friends because he was good about telling her what he was doing to get answers. She knew he was quite rubbish at potions as well so there was no way he had been able to make the potion himself.

She still had a feeling that someone in the castle was after Harry, she still couldn’t pinpoint who it was but it was definitely one of the newer faces around the castle. She knew there was something off about Moody but she didn’t know what. She was grateful that he had been helping Harry prepare for the tournament but she felt there was something more to it, something sinister but she couldn’t understand why she felt this way. She just had the gut feeling that something was off with Moody, he wasn’t acting the way she remembered when they had first met all those years ago when James and Lily were murdered.

She was questioned by auror after auror about the deaths. Who was the secret-keeper? Who knew where they were hiding? Who would sell out their best friend? However, when it was Moody’s turn to question her, he had asked different questions. How are you doing? Can I get you anything? We will find who did this to your brother. Do you have any idea who could have sold them out? The way he spoke then was much different than now. He always seemed to just cut to the chase, blatantly not follow school protocols, he was so much colder than usual. Alastor had stayed in contact with her through the years yet hadn’t even attempted to talk to her once he had arrived at Hogwarts.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know who she was, the two would meet for tea at least once every two months so he knew who she was and what she looked like. It was just odd overall. However she let it go, just chalking it up to nerves on both ends.

It was the week leading up to the Yule Ball, all of the students getting dancing lessons by their house heads. It was funny for her to imagine Severus teaching the Slytherins to dance; however, he had yet to do so. He had requested that Y/N join him so he doesn’t have to pick on one of the students. She agreed to join him so that night, right after dinner, the pair had met with the Slytherin students down in the dungeons. She stood off in the corner as Severus lectured the students on behaving the right way and making Salazar Slytherin proud of the students that belong in his house.

“Now, instead of me choosing one of you students, I brought our lovely Herbology teacher, Professor Potter, to dance with me. Y/N, may I have this dance?” She walked towards him with a grin on her face.

“You may,” She replied, slipping one of her hands in his, her other resting on his shoulder. His free hand rested on her waist with a firm grip. The music had started and the pair walked the students through a waltz, after demonstrating, they had the students pair up and practice. It was a nice change of pace, getting to dance together and teaching the students the proper way to dance. It was different but a nice different, a welcomed different.

taglist (if your user is crossed out it means I can't tag you)

@acupnoodle @chxelsxaa @fluffyrat365 @fanficwriter5 @atanukileaf @v3lv3tvampir3 @jspidey5 @mija-novella @leo4242564

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smilingbluetiger · 5 months ago

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"No one speaks so beautifully of being afraid of love as you do."

(Severus x You)

I don't know how to tag

Tags: #severus needs a hug #you need a hug #"i love you" #no happy ending

This is the first time to publish such a long text in English. I ask for your understanding. The title is taken from a Polish song. It seems to me that these words are very suitable for Severus. Enjoy your reading.

----------------------

Severus lay together with his companion on the couch. Severus used the woman as a pillow and let her play with his hair in return. It was really nice with music playing in the background and the fireplace burning.

The woman's eyes looked at the man's calm face. His eyes were closed, the wrinkles had softened and he now looked much more his age. The woman, who had not spent the first evening with him, felt that she could have stayed there forever. At this exact moment.

"Severus..."

"Hym?" She got the sleepy reply of a man tired after a whole week of work.

"I think... I think I love you."

"Stop."

In an instant, black eyes looked at her alertly, and wrinkles appeared on his face again. The woman's lips parted because she wanted to say something, but she didn't manage.

"Don't say anything. And if you must, don't say those words." He said firmly and resolutely. He did not take his eyes off her, and the woman felt apprehension to speak up.

"But... Why?" The woman's hand wanted to stroke his hair again. He caught it and squeezed it more than necessary. The gaze of black eyes focused on the hand he held, as if she was the culprit behind his change in mood.

"Because these words always destroy everything." His voice indicated that he was reaching back with his memory somewhere very far. "If you want to continue our arrangement, you can never say that."

Black eyes focused again on the woman lying beneath him. Severus could see the emotions flowing across the face of the woman, who had been a vital part of his private life for some time.

He watched as she yanked shis hand away and massaged wrist. He gripped it too tightly... He moved away and sat down on the couch giving the other person space. The woman did not move.

Dark eyes focused their gaze on the fire. The silence lasted for several drawn-out seconds.

"Even if I feel it? Is it just about the words?"

"... Don't cross that line. It's for the best. It's fine the way it is." He replied still focused on the fire. His hands were clasped tightly together to prevent his fingers from breaking off. He must not show weakness.

Another long seconds of silence.

"Yes... Straight up a dream arrangement." He felt the person next to him rise to sit down and get up from the couch, but he continued to stare at the fire. From hearing, he recognized that she had gone around the couch and was walking around the room. He allowed himself to close his eyes. He prepared to hear the sound of teleportation from the fireplace. So far, he only heard her stop somewhere behind his back. He clenched his eyelids and fists tighter to resist the urge to turn toward her. He also resisted the prompting to use legilimency. The fear of seeing himself through her eyes now was too great, and if she realized.... She would then realize how foolish it would be to even consider a relationship with someone like him.

The music was still playing, but no sound came from the person still standing behind him. The potions master's nails, despite being cut short, dug into his skin in anticipation. Let it happen already. Let him taunt him and leave.

But instead he felt hands on his shoulders. He shuddered at the sensation, but the hands did not retreat and began to massage his tense body. A sigh of relief was unconditional. She knew what to do. The man was aware that he had let her in far enough that she knew his weaknesses. A fool... But he couldn't resist it when her movements and presence gave him a relief he hadn't experienced even during his encounters with Lily.

He didn't even know when he was leaned with his back on the couch, his head resting on the headrest. He felt the top of his head touch her stomach. His eyes were still closed. He let her do whatever she wanted with him.

Pathetic. He was so pathetic in his desire to touch her. She had power over him. She didn't interrupt the massage, but only changed places, mussing his neck, his jaw, until she reached his cheeks. He felt her brushing his hair away from his forehead. He felt her warm hands place themselves on his cheeks and gently stroke his dry skin.

He tightened his eyelids again.

He felt that she was looking at him. He is the center of her attention. Attention he doesn't deserve, but needs. But he doesn't intend to admit it.

He wants to break out of this embrace that gives a feeling of security, peace, attention, a sense of being important and valuable.... Because it can't be true.

The man is stopped by the weight of the pressed forehead against his own. He opens his eyes in surprise and sees the woman's hair. She now has to kneel behind the couch to hold him with her hands and forehead. This can't be comfortable for her.... That's what Severus thinks, but then he feels wetness in his hair.

She is crying.

This thought is enough for him to slip out of the woman's grasp in an instant kneeling on the couch facing her.

The woman withdrew her hands from the back of the couch the moment he did. She lowered her head so that the man could not see her face from his position. But he could see her raise her hands to her face to wipe away her tears.

Severus felt his hands tighten on the back of the couch.

"Why don't you just leave?" He couldn't stand it. He didn't know where he felt anger from now, but he knew it shouldn't be like this. She shouldn't cry, she should go out and be with someone as good as her. SO WHY DOESN'T SHE DO THAT!

The woman was still kneeling. After a long moment, which was surely to make sure her voice did not fail her, she raised her head to look at the man above her.

"Is that what you want?" She asked him, and her voice was unnaturally colorless. Only the wet marks on her cheeks and the redness, betrayed the earlier tears.

Severus' clenched lips delayed the answer. "Yes. That's what I want." He replied withstanding her stare. This battle of glances lasted for a while before the woman began to rise from her knees and stood in front of the man.

Her hands touched his cheeks again. Only by a miracle did he not close his eyes and snuggle into her touch. No, it wasn't a miracle. It was damned pride that prevented him from giving himself that final goodbye. He knew that this is what was happening now.

The language of touch had always been more important in their relationship than words.

"You know Severus... No one speaks so beautifully of being afraid of love as you do." She smiled at him, and the touch became even more tender. Snape's dark eyes looked at her and saw that smile break her soul. That smile must be enough for him. He knew that her image would be etched in his memory.

He did not answer her. He removed her hands from his face and looked away. He rose from the couch and, as if nothing had happened, approached the bar completely ignoring the presence of another person in the apartment.

Somewhere between opening the bottle and pouring the alcohol into the glass, he heard the crackle of teleportation from the fireplace.

He lifted the glass to his lips and let the tart alcohol burn his tongue and esophagus.

After emptying the glass, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the apartment, silencing the gramophone and the music.

#harry potter #hp #pro snape #professor snape #severus snape #snape #pro severus #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #severus needs a hug #you need a hug #severus snape fanfiction #snape fanfiction #severus x y/n #severus x you #no happy ending #no happiness

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whumpsoda · 2 months ago

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*Hands Ad enthrallment potions*

Your creator is bored, torment Dari to make her feel better...

*Hands Nevan blankets and plushes,*

Your masters are busy, go watch shows or something with your friends

Ad force feeds Darius so many potions that all he can manage is a blissful smile while he’d slumped into their lap like a rag doll, perfectly oblivious to the world around him. Ad is absolutely delighted with it, dressing him up however they like, giving him all the pets and kisses, and doing his makeup adorably :3 needless to say, Darius comes to not so happy, but can’t stay mad at Ad for too long :]

Nevan’s hands are filled to the brim with stuffed toys and blankets, astounded by the fluffy, sweet feelings they stir in his belly. He looks at you with glittering, doe eyes. “Friends? I don’t… don’t have friends…” his expression falters, but he jumps back to dazedly smiling in an instant, “but I have Malak! He’s my friend! The best!”

#asks :)#Foresttheblep #darius ask #adrastus ask #nevan ask

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another-lost-mc · 5 months ago

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I am starved of Bathin content, I wanna know more about this little kid please

Bathin. :3

(picrew used)

For the most part, Bathin is your average demon child - full of energy, a chaotic imp capable of all kinds of mischief, and completely unpredictable.

Going along with my primary/secondary sin headcanons, his sin designations haven't been confirmed yet but if you want a hint, there's a good chance he's going to be a combination of Envy and Wrath. He's prone to very sullen moods, secretive and manipulative behaviour, and startlingly angry/violent outbursts. Again, not unheard of for demon children, but it's enough for Mephisto and his parents to guess where his sins will manifest as he grows older.

He's very fond of Mephisto. Protective, even, despite being the younger sibling. Mephisto is a very attentive older brother and there's not much he wouldn't do or give to keep Bathin happy and safe.

Bathin is functionally blind in one eye since birth. Most of the time he only wears the eye patch in public if he feels particularly nervous or self-conscious about it. On his worst days, he will sometimes wear the patch in the comfort of his ancestral home, too. Those are the times where he keeps to himself and his behaviour is the most erratic.

Bathin doesn't attend RAD, although he might when he gets older. Like other young nobles that haven’t completely grown yet, he has private tutors along with his parents and brother that teach him. His spell work needs practice, but he shows promise as a young alchemist or potions-master.

Other demons can be apprehensive around him. There are times when Bathin says or does something more mature or devious than a demon his age ought to, but in the next instant he’s back to his childlike wonder and curiosity.

#jes.replies #jes: oc asks #my oc: bathin

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shearlin · 8 months ago

Text

Word count: 2678

Chapter 7: Time

First || << Previous || Next >>

Happy International Women's Day that was yesterday! As a gift, have a cameo!

Fun fact! I noticed that on average I'm adding 1k words to my "final" drafts when I search for typos and errors before posting. Good thing I put an uploading schedule for myself in place or I would ended up in the editing limbo.

(I also discovered I cannot write accents for the life of me. There was an attempt, but I had to scrap it because I just couldn't do it justice. The accents live in my head and in my heart.)

Enjoy! :D

Another day, another fight, another close call. This time it was… well, Time.

They were on their way to Lon Lon Ranch, landing in old man’s Hyrule only a day's walk away from it. Their spirits were high, the sunbeams bright and the monsters stupid enough to think they didn’t notice them hiding in sparse shrubbery on the side of the road.

The fight didn’t look like anything special. They were so used to working together by that point, it felt more like a choreographed dance routine than a real battle. Legend twirled the ice rod in his hand, wielding his sword in the other, freezing and shattering any monster coming too close, while being covered by Sky with the Master Sword and a whip. Hyrule was dancing around the Darknut with ease giving Wind and Four an easy shot at his back, the two of them making quick work of its armour. Wild was giving them all multiple heart attacks by letting a giant moblin stab the air inches from his face, only to kill it in a rapid fire of blows in a blink of an eye. He would later claim he was ‘training his magic abilities’ and acting all innocent, the madman. Twilight was going after archers, covering the distance between him and them in a blink of an eye as a wolf, coming out of the shift with his sword already swinging. Warriors was taking care of the supposed leader of the pack, separating it from the rest and not letting it bark out any orders or call retreat.

And Time was dealing with a pair of black lizalfos from Sky’s era.

Legend didn’t see how it happened, not that it mattered, only heard the old man coming down with a yell of pain as the spiked metal ball connected with his left knee and rendering him vulnerable and unable to fight.

Twilight and Wars were to his side in an instant, covering him while Time tried to do his best to not move so as to not upset the crushed joint any further. Sky went absolutely ballistic on the monsters he and Legend were dealing with, allowing the veteran to provide additional aid to the old man's defence with his ice rod, allowing Wars to start on the first aid.

They might have been overeager in making sure Time was okay, but to be fair, they were just a few hours away from Malon. They were not going to bring to her doorstep her husband all broken and beaten up.

They defeated the monsters quickly after that, powered by their righteous fury. A fairy that was travelling with them for the past few hours, straight up phased through the glass of her bottle as soon as the last monster fell, so she could heal his leg, despite old man's insistence he would be fine with a red potion, since they were going to the ranch to rest anyway. She had none of that, healing him in a tirade of bells and chimes and then zipped ahead to have her fill of sugar water as a reward.

Legend might not be able to speak with the pink fairies, but by the way Time chuckled as she offered her farewells, he was convinced that that particular one had enough excitement for her life .

Once the injury was mended and Time led them back on the road, the good mood from earlier returned to their group and they started joking around again. Just their local old man being too slow with his reflexes and not being able to keep up with them younglings.

But Legend couldn’t help but feel the uneasiness prickle under his skin once more, as he fell to the back of the group, brushing off Sky’s questioning look and Hyrule’s attempts at conversation. They got the hint easily enough and he was left alone with his thoughts.

The ‘old man’ jokes were all in good fun. The old man himself was often pointing out with humour, how he can’t possibly rival their vigour during training sessions or with the long days of trekking across the lands of Hyrule, no matter his ability to move with deceptive ease and speed when he really wanted to.

And it wasn’t like those jokes were unfounded. He was the oldest. If anyone, Legend would know how years of heroing can weigh on one’s body. Time might have only two (three?) official quests under his belt, but he did spend his teenage and young adult years hunting monsters, clearing and cleansing dangerous cursed places and doing all sorts of work for the crown as the Hero of Time. He might have found peace and tranquillity in the life on the ranch with Malon once he officially “retired” that title, but it didn’t erase years of injuries, scarred tissues or impaired-or-possibly-lack-of vision in his right eye. The entire chain could attest that it would be weird if that life didn’t leave any strain on his body.

Occasional injuries caused by slower reflexes or lingering stiffness was to be expected.

Logically, Legend knew that. But it was happening too often.

Well, not really, it was happening too often for his taste.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu fanfiction #linked universe fanfic #linked universe legend #lu legend #linked universe time #lu time #my writing #a piece of heart

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inkybirdy · 1 year ago

Note

I know this may be a strange question but what is Phantom Ganon's partner named since i cannot find any reference to it. Also Love the art style and your works.

firstly, thank you! I'm very happy you like them!

secondly - thanks for sending this, it actually reminded me of a snippet that I meant to post about the local ghosty grandparents!

The traveling group has dwindled in the last few weeks. Along the meandering path to Eldin Canyon, most have splintered off toward their true destinations in Akkala or Lanayru.

Or, perhaps it’s better to say that the Gerudo prince has splintered off from the group himself on his way to Death Mountain, and coincidentally chosen a parallel path with his fellow straggler.

They haven’t spoken to one another, much. In passing introductions he’s given the half-truth of being a studying blacksmith looking for instruction among the Goron masters. They’ve offered the half-truth of being a traveling apothecary, seeking rare ingredients for medicine among the unforgiving reaches of the continent and using their luck with gambling to fund their aimless trek.

He’d be more surprised if they didn’t know who he was, despite his simple traveling clothes and lack of escort. He’s seen their startling-blue eyes watching his quiet exchanges with the koroks and guardian spirits, the way his magic bends metal in his hands when he’s repairing his tools. In turn, he sees their furtive glances over to the disjointed memories that haunt the greater expanses of the land, the way the koroks shift dice and cards in their favor, the way they hiss desperately to bend their haphazard potions to their will and how their nose scrunches at the mention of the queen.

A sage, he thinks. A new one. They’re anxious, they fumble with unfamiliar magic, they copy letters in their little journal like they’re teaching themselves to write. If he had to guess, he’d say they were unlucky enough to be plucked out of whatever little nowhere village they called home and dumped into the Eastern Abbey, like those before them.

They’re running from her. But, really, the assessment comforts him in a silly kind of way - he is too, after all. He hasn’t been able to make many friends on his path.

Still, despite their unspoken agreement to feign ignorance, the two have yet again settled beside their campfire for the night. He’s pretending to read a book he borrowed from a traveling priest like he isn’t lost in thought, as usual, and they’re mending their overcoat - embroidering little yellow flowers to disguise the tears.

(They’ve long since silently agreed to stop challenging one another to games - he’s got no more money to lose, and they’re quite certain he knows they cheat.)

“You never told me your name.” He offers, like he’s just realized instead of having mulled it over for weeks.

They don’t shift their focus from squinting at yellow thread, past streaks of just-as-yellow hair drifting out of their otherwise dark bun, in the dim firelight. They speak like if they pretended they weren’t paying attention, they could get away without fully committing. Plausible deniability, in all things.

“Chideh.”

Like Korgu Chideh, he guesses. A cursed shrine on an unforgiving island, stripping pilgrims of their supplies and torturing them into repentance. He wonders if the name is meant to be a ward for them, or a rebuke.

Another thing he knows. He’s always wondered similarly of his own name.

“It’s not a very kind one, is it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

As gratifying as it is mortifying, those sharp eyes meet his in an instant. They grow still, appraising him as he blinks back.

“Does it have to be?” They say, finally.

“Not really,” He grasps, “I - guess it’s just easier to make friendly conversation if I don’t feel like I’m insulting someone.”

The silence settles heavy between them, to the point that he nearly keels over when they snort out a laugh. At the very least they seem more startled than dismissive, but his face heats all the same.

“That’s - I mean-” He scrambles, rubbing a hand down his face and forgetting his book entirely, letting his shoulders slump. “Let me try again? My friends call me Dede.”

His sisters, but still.

“Alright then, Dede,” They chuckle, shaking their head as they watch him crouch to retrieve his book from the dust, “Call me however you like.”

Prince Ganondorf Demise Dragmire pauses where he kneels, his eyes caught once again on the golden thread. Tentatively, he looks up to meet his companion’s amused gaze.

“... Buttercup.”

It’s another gamble, but their smile softens into a warm sort of thing.

#adventure boyfriends au #myart #crown of calamity #loz #phantom ganon #ganondorf #demise #my writing #ask #loz au

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feathersofstarlight · 2 years ago

Text

🌠Can We Pretend That Airplanes In The Night Sky Are Like Shooting Stars? 🌠

Name: Stolas Ars Goetia

Nicknames: Princey, Orion, Feathers, Birdy, Birdy boy, Bird boy, Tweety, Tweety Bird

Headcannons

Before he got with Blitz, he had no experience with sex aside from Stella but he doesn't think that really counts seeing as it was only to have a precautionary heir to the Goetia throne. It was an obligation in his eyes.

Despite what many may think, Stolas isn't stupid. He's very naive and a bit ditzy but it's because his parents weren't exactly present in his life. Paimon only paid attention to him when he had to and his mother wasn't really in the picture. And he had no social life outside of the imps that were responsible for taking care of him bc his parents "had other obligations"

Blitz was his first and only friend. The attraction was instant on his part and really wishes Blitz would see him as more than just a ticket to the living world or a bed buddy.

He has so many regrets when it comes to Octavia. He regrets not being there for her enough because of his constant fighting with Stella and is always trying to do better. Though it seems to fall flat most of the time.

He goes to see the stars when he needs time to himself. Occasionally he brings Blitz or Via with him for some quality time but he uses it mostly as an escape.

He has a MASSIVE praise kink. Blitz started it.

Even though he has access to hookers to blow off steam with, he won't. Occasionally, he has Angel over to talk or hang out just to get Valentino to leave him alone.

Stolas briefly had a thing with Valentino a long time ago but he realized his mistake and now wants nothing to do with him.

He makes bird noises when he's angry, excited or very happy. He also makes them when he laughs or when he's aroused.

His beak is sharper than it looks and he's scared he'll accidentally hurt Blitz with it at some point.

He's kinkier than one would expect. He's deeply into BDSM and identifies as a Switch.

He can't cook to save his life. He's never had to but finds it fascinating and is willing to learn.

He doesn't get along with many of the Overlords but tolerates them. Some more than others.

He is terrifying when he's pissed off. Especially in his full demon form.

He can possess people but only when he has to or just feels like scaring the shit out of them.

He loves rom-coms but can't stand horror movies. He's a scaredy cat.

He can petrify anyone, similar to a gorgon. And he can decide if it's a full petrification or only a partial one. It's temporary and he can free them at any time

He can shift between having male, female or both genitals.

He does go into heat because he's a bird and has a cloaca.

He molts every Summer. During this time, he becomes itchy, kind of irritable and super self-conscious about how he looks but it all goes away when his new feathers grow back.

He has quite a few siblings but he's never met them. Paimon had a lot of children.

Stolas is surprisingly jealous. Specifically when it comes to Blitz.

One of the main ways he shows affection is grooming/preening. This might occasionally cause problems 😂

He's into Witchcraft. Stolas is a master potion maker and knows a lot about plants, crystals and the stars.

#✨when words fail 🌠| {mun speaks}#☄️ When Dreams Take Flight 🌠| {Headcannons}#✨Let Me Explain ☄️| {About Muse}#🌠stars and smoke🌟| {ooc}

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archies-litterbox · 3 years ago

Text

Home

Summary: Some times when Douxie called the castle his home, and one time Merlin realized his son saw the castle as his home whether he was ready to process that or not (and he wasn’t).

Words: 2000

A/N: I got this done! I actually challenged myself by making sure each little segment of the fic was EXACTLY 500 words, and I had a lot of fun! hope you like it <3

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nightmares (there’s way more softness in this than the CW makes it look I swear-)]

The typical chatter of the marketplace was overshadowed by Hisirdoux’s skipping steps, and those were overshadowed by the moppet humming a little tune to himself that Merlin couldn’t make sense of. It was one of many things about the little apprentice that didn’t exactly make sense, but when Merlin brought the boy along to finish an errand, what he truly dreaded was that the boy would be insufferable and get distracted at every turn. So, really, endearing -

- “Endearing to who?” Merlin asked in response to his own internal monologue, because the humming from the boy, a sure sign that his apprentice was content at the very least, was most certainly not endearing to him -

- So, really, definitely-not-endearing humming of silly, nonsensical tunes was a more-than-adequate alternative to that insufferability and distraction, Merlin was sure.

“Getting that potion ingredient was easier than I thought!” Hisirdoux said happily, the spring in his step ever-present, “The merchant wasn’t even cross with me, like usual - like when I come here by myself.”

“Have you considered,” Merlin started, “That she’d been cross because of your notorious slight-of-hand? And your pickpocketing and street tricks has rendered her wary of your possible antics?”

Hisirdoux shrugged, rubbed the back of his head in obvious sheepishness, and turned his gaze elsewhere, “Mayyyybe-”

His face lit up in excitement, his eyes widening as his mouth formed an “O” shape when he saw something off to the street’s side.

“Ooooh! Look!” He turned a little to the side, bringing his hands up as he started to wander to a stand selling some sweet treats, “They’re selling-”

Merlin put a hand on his shoulder to still the boy, who was already a handful without the added hyperactivity of sugar.

“Nothing of importance, Hisirdoux.”

He turned the boy forward again, put his hand on top of Hisirdoux’s head, and turned it forward again as well.

“Awwwh.” Hisirdoux whined.

“We have what we came down here for, and Wizards are many things, but they are not frivolous.” he said as he kept walking, a slightly-pouting moppet walking alongside him, “We’re heading straight back to the castle. There are better pastry bakers there, anyway.”

Hisirdoux’s disappointed pout left his face.

“Right, right.” he said, as if he were reminded of how happy he was just to be out here, on what he probably thought of as a beautiful day, although Merlin was rather impartial to the sunny weather.

“Let’s go home, Master!”

...Home?

Did he mean the castle?

Though he kept moving physically, putting one armor-plated foot in front of the other, Merlin’s mind froze as he looked down at the joyful, beaming moppet. To hear Hisirdoux refer to the castle as his home…

Well, Merlin knew he should have expected it at this point, considering the boy’s utter lack of a permanent roof over his head before, but he still didn’t know what to make of it, if there was anything to make of it.

So, he sighed.

“The castle isn’t that far away.”

The dark circles under the boy’s eyes looked darker in hue than usual today, but of course, that was only due to the contrast against the unusual paleness of his face. Said eyes looked up at Merlin with a rather lacking amount of cognizance as the Master Wizard stood over the moppet. Stripped of his bulky leather hooded vest in favor of keeping on only his trousers and tunic, so he didn’t overheat, Hisirdoux’s deep breaths through his mouth were only interrupted by a brief, pitiful sniffle of his nose.

“Mathter, ‘th thith… plague?” He was hoarse from coughing and nasally from his awful congestion. To this, Merlin only huffed - of course, leave it to his ever-dramatic apprentice to leap to the most dire conclusion possible, even though he couldn’t even rightly walk down to the throne room in this state.

“Not unless a rather nasty cold has become the new plague of Camelot.” he answered, “you should have come back sooner from your last errand, Hisirdoux, before it started to pour.”

Hisirdoux groaned, either out of his achy, miserable condition, or frustration with hearing the old man lecture him, or both.

“I know, I know-”

A wet cough cut him off, making him curl up before he flopped back down on the bed.

“Ugh, ithn’t there thome…” he swallowed, as if to clear his throat of sickly gunk as best he could without another hacking, “I dunno, “thickness begone-iuth” thpell, or thomething?”

“I won’t use magic to alleviate your sickness, if that’s what you’re implying.” Merlin denied, “Although unpleasant, your condition is far from serious, and your symptoms should alleviate in a few days, at the most. If I use magic on something so mere, your natural immune system will weaken, and a dependence on magic to maintain your health is dangerous, so-”

“But Mathter-”

“Don’t “But Mathter” me.”

Hisirdoux sighed, a shaky, ugly-sounding thing, too exhausted to even spare a laugh at how Merlin imitated him.

“Magic ithn’t a permithible shortcut…” he started, but he trailed off and punctuated the statement with another little sniffle.

It seemed, remarkably, Hisirdoux remembered a few of Merlin’s teachings, despite his low-grade fever.

Which reminded him…

The Master Wizard sighed and conjured a cold, damp rag, enchanted to not dry out or get tepid. Making sure it was properly folded, he laid it right onto Hisirdoux’s forehead.

“Oh, ‘th nithe…” he mumbled, “thank you…”

“Your plans for today are postponed, of course.” Merlin declared, “You’re to stay here and rest.”

“But-” Hisirdoux’s eyebrows furrowed, “I wath thupposed to go out and do that… that thing… and get the thing… from the plathe…”

Of course, it must have been harder for the boy to think sensibly and make sense than usual.

“And that will wait until your condition improves.” Merlin finalized, “Am I clear?”

Hisirdoux, resigned, nodded.

“Yeth, Mathter… thtaying home it ith, then.”

Before Merlin had anywhere near enough time to be surprised at that word, “home”, Hisirdoux fell right to sleep.

Merlin couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt like this before; when he couldn’t tell if he was more terrified or furious.

But he couldn’t be bothered to try to figure that out - not when, after hours of Hisirdoux being late coming back to the castle, a shoddily-written ransom note made its way to the desk of the Master Wizard’s study.

Thankfully, Hisirdoux’s familiar could trace it by it’s unpleasant scent. Merlin followed Archibald as the cat-dragon followed the scent trail to some disgusting hovel in a forest clearing, with some deplorable men hanging around it’s outside.

When Merlin laid eyes on them... he leveled them with any spells he could remember through his rage at them all; at their audacity.

Of course, it had been some incompetent group of bandits, but only a fool equated incompetency with harmlessness; just because these idiots didn’t know what they were doing didn’t mean that Hisirdoux was safe.

So, he shifted his focus on finding his apprentice, even if he had to reduce every board of this blasted cabin to splinters.

But it didn’t come to that; the second Merlin stepped in, he saw him.

Hisirdoux was curled up in a corner, sitting on his heels with his hands bound behind him, his arms bound steadfast to his torso, and a piece of cloth tied between his teeth. He was unharmed, but terrified.

Hisirdoux’s muffled cry that came out when he saw Merlin shattered the old man’s heart.

He never ran faster in his life.

A small, very precise blast from Archie made the bonds around Hisirdoux’s wrists and torso come loose, and when Merlin got to him, he pulled the cloth gag out as fast as he could without hurting him, letting it lay around his neck.

The instant his arms were fully free and Merlin was close enough, Hisirdoux hugged him, clinging to the Wizard for dear life and crying his heart out against his armored shoulder.

“Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

Merlin felt Hisirdoux shake his head. He could tell he was swallowing to try to get some moisture back in his mouth. It had probably been dried out by that blasted gag, and who knew if they’d given him any water?

“No, just-” he gasped, “Scared.”

Those bandits would soon forget the very meaning of mercy.

For now, Merlin focused on rubbing soothing circles against the boy’s back, seeing that his ankles were bound. Merlin didn’t even notice before, and Hisirdoux was so hasty - so desperate for comfort that he didn’t even wait. He didn’t even seem to care.

Archie started cutting them loose.

“I-” Hisirdoux hiccuped, “I wanna go home.”

The shattered remnants of Merlin’s heart melted.

Home.

His son wanted to go home.

He sighed, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of the poor boy’s head, passing his fingers through his un-bunned hair.

“Please,” he whined, “take me home.”

Merlin nodded, the side of his head rubbing Hisirdoux’s.

“Right… right.”

It was long past nightfall, and the castle was quiet, so Merlin tried to tread the corridors lightly so his armored feet wouldn’t clank against the floor and wake anyone; the last thing he wanted was for any particular moppetish apprentices to stir.

That boy… he had already gone through so much he hadn’t deserved, and for what? To what end? Merlin presumed that before he’d found him in that alley, he’d been treated poorly for being not only a street rat, but a magical one at that. And now, even though he was the Wizard’s apprentice, that treatment hadn’t truly gone away; no, it only shifted onto new grounds: the grounds that... he was the Wizard’s apprentice. Now, much of the animosity sent his way was truly meant for Merlin; directing it at Hisirdoux merely amplified it. Strengthened the blow.

And that blow was strengthened today.

Merlin remembered the note’s creases under his fingertips as it trembled in his shaking hand; the door creaking open with a shriek in its hinges and showing Merlin his apprentice, bound and gagged and terrified in the corner of that hovel; Hisirdoux wailing against his shoulder; the trembling of his son in his arms. He remembered it all.

“Hisirdoux…”

He passed the sleeping boy’s door… and sensed magic from behind it. Unusual magic for this hour. In the little gap between the door and the floor, he could see the blue glow of his magic, too. Unmistakeable.

“...Hisirdoux?”’

He stopped at the door and pushed it open, only to be met with a fretful sight before him (not nearly as bad as the last time he’d pushed a door open to find Hisirdoux today, but it was rather close.)

The boy was thrashing in his sleep - tossing and turning in his blankets to the point where they’d started to tangle around him, which only made his obviously-nightmare-induced thrashing worse. Magic thrummed from his hands as he fought back against… something, and even Archibald, who had curled up on his abdomen to soothe him to sleep earlier tonight, couldn’t quell his night terror.

Merlin knelt down at the boy’s bedside and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “Hisirdoux!”

“N-no! Stop!” he pleaded, thrashing harder to get the hand off him, “Get away! Leave me ALONE! Let me GO!”

Merlin shook him harder.

“HISIRDOUX!” he shouted.

Finally, the boy’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped.

For a moment, he just breathed as lucidity seeped back into him. After realizing he was in the realm of the conscious, he put his hands to the sides of his head.

“Master…” he squeaked, “Where-”

“It’s alright, Hisirdoux. You’re safe.” he assured, “You’re home.”

Honestly, the words just slipped out, for Merlin, shocked by himself, doubted that he would have ever said them otherwise.

And with now-even-wider eyes, Hisirdoux looked just as shocked.

… Well, no good rescinding it now. How could he, really?

“You’re home.”

Hisirdoux nodded, a shaky smile on his face.

“...Home.”

#fic: home #my writing #mine #douxie #hisirdoux casperan #merlin #merlin ambrosius #wizard dad #tales of arcadia #toa #wizards #toa wizards #moppet!douxie #hurt/comfort

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annmarcus63 · 3 years ago

Text

He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

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An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask” said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

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Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

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Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #injury #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 3 years ago

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The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

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The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash.

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her.

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry."

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw.

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..."

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.'

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand."

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...'

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan."

There is a soft chuckle in her mind.

"What's so funny? You love plans."

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile.

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.'

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable.

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last.

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow.

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view.

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--"

"You've done what?"

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--"

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..."

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe."

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword."

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to."

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm.

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that."

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave.

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight.

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things."

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.'

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now."

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.'

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...'

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in.

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd."

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours.

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing.

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to.

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago.

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you."

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again."

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..."

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool."

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead."

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--"

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--"

"You're no family of mine."

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet."

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you."

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?"

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat.

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?"

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays."

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?'

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think."

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..."

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her.

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today."

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail.

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write.

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk.

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this...

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company.

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair.

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case.

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner.

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.'

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.'

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely.

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.'

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man."

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.'

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace.

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say.

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives.

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

#ezmerelda d'avenir #rudolph van richten #curse of strahd #dnd #dungeons and dragons #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #erasmus van richten #ravenloft #gonna take my horse to the old svalich road #tabletop

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