#but still this is actually a slay i love that PURR KING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

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Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 7- Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials

Summary: Jaskier seems full of good ideas, one that brings you and your Witcher into the halls of a prideful Queen.

Warnings: nothing but a good time, mostly

Masterlist

Grumbling in disgust at the messy monster slaying you and Geralt had just endured at the frozen lake nearby, you hastily burst through the wooden doors of the local tavern where Jaskier and the other villagers currently are. He's trying to get the gory details from some man who insisted on accompanying you both on your hunt, resulting in him fleeing the scene covered in chunks of globby Selkiemore blood from a blow you landed onto the creatures opened eye.

Right before the beast swallowed Geralt, his silver sword cleanly slicing through the creatures stomach and finally putting an end to the tiresome hunt. Just like that, done and done. You watch as the tavern goers faces grimace at the gnarly scent protruding from yourself and Geralt, your crimson eyes catching the delighted sight of your laughing bard as he finds you two easily in the crowd.

You walk up to the table that the bard is sitting at, "What's that stench?" Questions the man by Jaskier's side, you glare at him like he's the biggest dumbfuck in the whole Continent. Your body is spotted in splayed monster guts likewise to Geralt who's almost unrecognizable by how much blood and innards coats his face. What else would cause such a scent?

"Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside." Replies Geralt bluntly.

"We'll take what we're owed." You add, the man nods as he quickly reaches into his jacket to pull out the sack of coin. Jaskier taking this time to begin singing his famous Toss a coin to your Witcher ballot, the whole entirety of the tavern happily joining in as he gets out of his seat.

Not caring to join them you turn to walk away from the masses, Geralt trailing behind as you make a beeline for the wooden keg, "Fuck me I need a drink." You exclaim before filling up a mug and quickly downing it like there's no tomorrow, Geralt chuckling as he does the same. When you pull the cup from your lips does the bard make himself known.

He leans against the counter all the while rambling on about how you two owe him for making yourselves so famous now. Wordily explaining how for a single night he'll need you both to watch out for him as he and the two of you attend some princess' banquet, though you're not entirely sure what he's on about considering you're too distracted by the free beer.

Setting an empty mug upon the wooden counter you roll your eyes, done with his excessive disjointed talking, you turn to leave as Geralt follows your lead towards the stairs, Jaskier calling out something of possible interest to sway your minds.

"Food, women, and wine, Geralt!" Shouts Jaskier, stopping Geralt in his tracks as you turn around.

Jaskier looks at him hopefully as Geralt lets out a tired sigh, "I already have Y/N." Grumbles your tired Witcher as you walk over next to him, a spark of interest tugging at the inner adventurer in you.

"I haven't had a kingly meal in ages, nor have I worn a silken dress in almost a decade." You add with a humored laugh, turning your attention to Geralt, "I bet you'd love to see me in silk and jewels, now wouldn't you my love?" You purr into his ear while lightly touching his dirty arm, he looks at you with a telling half grin.

——

You watch as Jaskier paces in front of the two of you with a small cloth draped casually over the side of his shoulder while he contemplates how tonight should go for him, that is if everything goes well and no lords try and kill him. Since you took a much needed bath earlier, you get the privilege of cleaning off Geralt as your talkative bard continues his ramblings about the party tonight. Grasping the small bucket in your hands you crouch behind Geralt, dumping a warm bucket of water onto your grumpy Witcher's gut smeared head, you hold in your giggles as he sputters and wipes his face from the sudden tiny waterfall to his head and face.

"Now now, stop your boorish grunts of protest, you should be grateful to have Y/N as your willing washer." Quips Jaskier as he walks around Geralt's tub and you who's seated behind him with your hands in his dirty hair, "It is one night of you two bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?"

You flick some stray pieces of Selkiemore guts out of Geralt's tangled mane while Jaskier walks around you once again, "Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal." He explains as he picks up some bath salts on the nearby cabinet, "The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier's triumphant performance!" You snort when he throws the salt into the bathtub, tiny crystals landing around and on Geralt as he watches the bard, unfazed and rather quite annoyed.

Taking a cloth from the side of the tube you gently rub the dirt and blood from Geralt's tense shoulders, "How many want your head on a spike?" You wonder with a small chuckle as the bard looks elsewhere trying to think for a second.

"Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes." He replies as Geralt lets out an annoyed huff, suddenly Jaskier stops and sits on the edge of the tub, "Ooh, yeah, that face! Ooh! Scary face!" He looks up at you, "Ah and Y/N, those ruby sparkling eyes of yours paired with your own dangerous royal status. No lord in his right mind will come close if either one of you is standing next to me with a puss like that." Geralt reaches for his cup, just as Jaskier grabs it out of his hand, "Ooh, on second thought...might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best."

Chuckling in amusement you rest your arms on either side of Geralt's muscular shoulders as he huffs in frustration, "I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry." He grumbles while you try to untangle his wintery mess, "We're not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men."

"Yes, yes, yes. You two never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Notes Jaskier as he walks to the front of the tub, you simply shrug your shoulders in reply, he does have a compelling point, "Ugh. Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous."

"Only if your a moody Witcher." You jest, causing Jaskier to snicker as Geralt rolls his golden eyes.

"Actually, I've always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?" Questions Jaskier thoughtfully.

Geralt looks up at him, a frustrated expression dancing across his features, "Yeah. When they slow and get killed." You watch as the bards eyebrows raise at his dismally bleak answer before his lips turn into a mischievous grin, Geralt looking much the opposite as he suddenly turns his head in an attempt at finding his missing clothes, "Jaskier where the fuck are my clothes!"

You squint at the smirking bard, wondering what's brewing in his inquisitive noggin, "I know that look. Jask what the fuck are you planning?"

He throws a casual hand upon his slender hip, "Oh don't fret about the clothing, I sent them away to get washed like Y/N's." Says Jaskier before turning to Geralt, "Anyways, you're not going tonight as a Witcher."

——

You stroll into the large bustling banquet hall, your darkly colored dress flowing as you walk. The material is comfortable and beautiful, it hugs your torso and back as it crawls up to your neck, leaving your arms bare except for the lacy fingerless gloves adorning your hands and partial forearm. The lower half of your gown free of any restraints as it swishes elegantly with each step, easier done with the two slits running up to your separate thighs. A ribbon and jeweled necklace gently hugging your neck as a creasant moon and sun hangs from the material. Your feet are covered by two comfortable black boots laced in a thin mesh that rides slightly above your knees. It appears that Jaskier may indeed shine with good taste with his clothing choices for yourself, Geralt on the other hand, less so.

Your crimson eyes scan over the other party attendees, some of them giving you double takes as you saunter through the room, your whole pose practically screaming royalty. With a small tug at the corner of your lips you walk next to Geralt's left side while Jaskier restlessly glances around the party goers on his right. You can tell how excited he is to be playing tonight, plus very nervous for the possible angry lords trying to seek him out from his past shenanigans.

"Right, so stick to me, look mean and pretend you're mute. Y/N, just don't make anyone piss themselves. Can't have anyone finding out who you two are." Whispers Jaskier right as a short bearded mage wearing green finds you three in the crowd, you recognize him instantly.

His face lights up at the sight of you and your Witcher, "Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher! And of course, Princess Y/N of Alkatraz, the fearsome dhampir!" He beams with a hearty raise of his silver mug, many banquet attendees turning to stare at you two. You can't help but internally cringe after he loudly announces who and what you are, great now half the banquet knows your business.

"Shit." Whispers Jaskier softly, you nervously smile at some ladies who have turned their done up faces towards you, in turn you make sure to keep your fangy grin hidden as you give them a small friendly half grin.

The bearded mage walks over to you both, a smile upon his face and a drink still in his hand, "I haven't seen you since the plague." He jests at Geralt before turning to you, "And the Vampire Queens only heir, it's an honor, haven't seen the likes of since..."

"Good times, Mousesack." You interrupt with a quick flash of a smile, your eyes darkening for only a second, he shakes his head as a laugh departs from his lips.

"I've missed your strikingly unprecedented temperament my dear princess, and Geralt, how I've longed for that famously sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but not the White Wolf and Lady Dhampir are here, perhaps all is not lost." Declares Mousesack as he eyes up Geralt's formal attire, his brows furrowing in thought, "Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?" You could have laughed if not for the watchful wary gazes around you.

Geralt turns to glare at a fidgety Jaskier, who looks at him like a scared puppy. You watch as Mousesack puts a hand to Geralt's broad shoulder, guiding him away to gossip about the royal attendees in line for princess Pavetta's hand. You decide to keep away from their speaking and instead vouch to wander about on your own. Your eyes scanning the crowd as you eavesdrop in on their conversation across the room.

Minding your business by a flaming warm torch, you suddenly hear what sounds to be a very pissed off older lord who's cornering your retreating bard. Without skipping a beat you look up and lock knowing eyes with Geralt who immediately excuses himself from Mousesack to intervene before Jaskier gets his parts snipped off.

With a snicker you watch as Geralt humorously calms the situation, explaining that Jaskier had his balls kicked in by an ox as a child, the lord suddenly going sympathetic and in turn giving the bard a single golden coin. You smoothly bring yourself over to your boys, your dress flowing beautifully as you walk. But as soon as you rest your lace covered hand upon Geralt's forearm does the sound of trumpets pierce through your sensitive eardrums, the familiar scent of blood flowing into your nostrils.

"All rise for Her Majesty, the Lioness, Queen Calanthe of Cintra!" Shouts a nobleman, you turn your sights upon a blood spattered golden armored woman who practically swaggers into the great banquet hall, a smirk upon her blood spattered face.

Leaning a careless arm against a short marble guard wall, Geralt doing the same to your immediate right, the both of you watch with interest as Queen Calanthe saunters past some tables where she snatches a beer in delight. Your bard gone from you once again as he swiftly walks near the Queen, he places himself near a stone pillar as more musicians follow behind him, his favorite lute in hand and a beaming smile upon his face.

Queen Calanthe continues her walking as she boasts of how close-by townships needed reminding of who really is Queen, her people cheer in pride and gratitude, then to your utter amusement she sasses for Jaskier to play a jig as she struts over to the royal table, where a very anxious looking princess Pavetta quietly sits, tears rising to her enchanted blue eyes.

Nonchalantly you reach over and with a cheeky smile take the beer from out of Geralt's firm grasp, he simply lets go as a humored grin falls onto his handsomely clean face. Then to your usual unvexed temperament, you raise an eyebrow as a rowdy lord begins snapping at another about who's actually managed to slay a manticore or not. In the heat of the moment your ears prick to the whispered gossip being spilt by a woman who's just outed yourself and Geralt as her lips brush past the Queen's ear. So much is happening all at once and those fucking lords won't shut the fuck up.

"Enough!" Shouts the Queen, the lords instantly snapping their heated attentions in her direction, just as everyone else does so and now you're dreading what she's about to say next as she eyes your direction, "We have two renowned guests here tonight." The lot of the banquet hall turning in their chairs to face you and your equally as annoyed Witcher, "Perhaps one of them can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth?" She challenges, a smirk forming onto her lips.

Pursing your lips together in irritation, you watch as the displeased lords turn back to the two of you, "Neither." Answers Geralt bluntly, you cringe inside as the first lord accuses him of calling himself a liar. Great start Geralt, really great start.

The lords face grows in aggravation as he throws a disapproving hand in your direction, "Eh, The Butchers of Blaviken, ha, he bleats utter nonsense." Laughs the lord and the other nobleman around him. You keep your mouth shut as a calm aurora keeps about you, tonight you will not cut anyone's head off, or at least you'll try.

Tension sits high on the air as you wait for Geralt's two cents on the matter, "Perhaps the lords encountered...rare subspecies of manticore." He replies, Jaskier sighing in relief, you doing the same.

The lords nod in agreement as you decide to add something to the matter, "I do not doubt it, those fuckers can be ruthless and tricky in their nature...any dead one is better off then alive." You reply, the lords all nodding in agreement once again as the Queen breaks out into an amused smile.

"Perhaps our esteemed guests would like to entertain us with how they slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" She exclaims with bravado, raising her beer into the air, oh right she hates elves with a burning passion, fucking racist.

"There was no slaying." You deadpan loud enough for the hall to hear, turning your glare to the disappointed lords to save the Queen from your displeasured gaze.

Geralt sensing your resentment comes to your rescue, "I had my arse kicked by a ragged band of elves. My lady Y/N here had to reason with Filavandrel, saving me from a sured demise lest I have had my throat cut." He replies with a nod, the Queen grins as the lords cheer on, wondering about the song considering it tells a different story.

You roll your eyes at their jests, "At least when my blade clashed with Filavandrel's silver, I didn't shit myself." You quip with satisfied smirk upon your lips as their faces fall in embarrassment and irritation, "Which is all I can hope for you, good lords. At your final breath, a shitless death." You conclude with a raise of Geralt's mug, "But I doubt it." You mutter quickly before downing the rest of it. Geralt holding in a chuckle at your side as the lords burst with laughter.

"It would have been your blade at Filavandrel's throat had you been there, Your Majesty." Speaks a man as the crowd cheers, "Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field." The Queen smiles at his boastful words, he looks like an important lord to the Queen, wonder who he is?

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night. Same goes for any lady fierce enough to wield a blade like myself. Come, Witcher and princess Y/N. Take a seat by my side while I change." She smirks with a tilt of her head as you bite the inside of your cheek in growing discontent. This is not how you had anticipated for this evening to go, but honestly when does it ever go your way?

——

Sitting at the high table, Geralt by your side and the Cintran royalty to your farther right past Geralt. You sit in silence as you watch the lords and ladies converse and feast at their tables, your ears listening as Calanthe complains about her dress, probably the only thing you could agree upon. She then speaks of how she's pleasantly grateful for yours and Geralt's company tonight as this way you both are granted permission to remove any irritants from the crowd who may disturb the peace. Your Witcher refusing her just as you do the same when the first of Pavetta's royally dull suitors comes to speak his status and point.

The first eligible contender being a smiling Lord Peregrine of Nilfgaard, he steps into the large center of the room with a smackable cheerful face, his long black hair pulled back into a low pony tail. The little man boasting of his heritage right before Queen Calanthe practically shits all over his name and kingdom. She turns down a couple more as the party continues to carry on for another good twenty minutes. Until Jaskier starts playing The Fishmonger's Daughter very loudly for the whole entirety of the hall to hear. At least the music dulls the million conversations happening amongst the bustling chatty crowd.

You lean into the plush cushion on the back of your seat as the lot of the banquet begins clapping blissfully along. Calathe sighs, "How much more of this peacocking must I endure? This...All this because male tradition demands it. If I were a man, I could simply tell the whole lot of them to fuck off, declare outright who Pavetta should marry and have done with it." She scoffs, "Or, better yet, let the poor girl decide her own fate."

Geralt turns his attention to the bored Queen, "Something tells me this isn't the first time you've navigated the vagaries of male tradition. In fact, I'd wage you thrive on it."

She gifts him a bemused grin, "Spoken as one who has navigated his own share of fools."

"Hm."

"Tell me, Witcher, why are there so few of you left?"

You side eye him as he takes a long pause to think on the depressing matter, both Calanthe and Pavetta listening in on Geralt's slow reply. He sighs, just the breath leaving his mouth enough to speak on his behalf, "It is no longer possible to create more of us, since the sacking of Kaer Morhen." He pauses again, eyes set to the marble floor below, "Tell me, Your Majesty, why do you risk your life on the battlefield when you can rest on your throne?"

"Because there is a simplicity in killing monsters, is there not? Seems we are quite the pair, Geralt of Rivia."

His golden eyes trail from Calanthe to the rest of the party goers, "Hm."

"Now you, princess Y/N, how is it that you have found yourself in the company of a Witcher and his bard? That is a story I would indeed love to hear." Says the Queen as you frown, talking to her is not what you wanted, there's a reason you made Geralt sit in between you both.

"I found them wandering the road like a lost puppy. It would have felt like a crime to leave them there all alone, so here we are." She chuckles at your reply.

"Very well. But I must ask, how is it that you came into my court with malevolent origins infused in your creation, did you not think you'd strike fear into the hearts of my honored guests?"

You turn your focus to the curious Queen who no doubt is testing you, "I am what I am, that I cannot alter nor change as there is no cure. Not that I need one...And your guests, well, if I wanted to gift them with the kiss of death. They would have never made it to your front gates."

She raises a brow, face shifting into a satisfied grin, "I could use someone like yourself in my court, it's too bad, if I had a son. Perhaps our houses could have formed an alliance, now that would secure Cintra with all of the north."

"Too bad indeed." You could have thrown up at the idea of such a ghastly concept, you throw on a fake grin instead, "He'd be a little young for me."

"Would he now?"

Geralt holds back a smile as you look at the Queen from across him, "I am almost five hundred years old after all."

She raises a brow, "I didn't realize dhampirs never aged, I was under the assumption that was just elves and powerful mages."

"It is understandable to be unacquainted with the concept, after all, my kind is incredibly rare."

She leans back in her seat, "Fascinating."

Your scarlet eyes scan the large room as you hope she refrains from asking anymore further questions. When all of a sudden you can hear the clashing of chain mail and swords behind the wooden doors right as they burst open, a lone knight breaking forth into the banquet hall. He calls for everyone to calm down as he hastily walks to the center of the stone mosaic floor, you can tell something is most definitely up with this mystery knight in shining black armor, who's quite literally made a royal welcome.

The black knight stands in the center of the cavernous hall, "Please, I need but one moment of your time." He respectfully kneels before the throne, I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald, and I have come to claim your daughter's hand in marriage." Proclaims the armored man Lord Urcheon, voice loud and true.

The room fills with delicate whispers as the Queens heartrate speeds up with growing tension, "Knight..of no reown...from a backwater hamlet, dares to enter my court without revealing his face?"

"I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell."

"Bollocks to that." Says the Queens favorite lord before briskly walking up to him and forcefully pulling off his helmet to reveal the cursed face of a man resembling that of a hedgehog. Oh yes, tonight is about to get very interesting. You share a quick look with Geralt as your scarlet irises trail all over the knights dark grey colored skin, whiskers, sharp teeth, and pointy spikes protruding out of his head in place of where a full head of hair should be.

The Queens dark eyes go wide in shock, "Witcher, kill it." Urges the Queen breathlessly as fearful tears whell up in her dark eyes.

"No." He replies as she glances over to you, your eyes still locked onto the strange looking knight.

"Y/N, whatever the price."

You shake your head in refusal, "This is no monster."

"I order you." She demands, her voice trembling.

You snap your shinning eyes over to her, "This knight has been cursed. Have you not a heart to hear him out?" You challenge.

Calanthe shares a glare with you before facing Lord Urcheon, "You're both bloody useless." She sneers, pointing at the knight, "Guards! Kill him!" In seconds you watch as Lord Hedgehog or Urcheon, fights off the approaching guardsmen, bringing them down easily as he then faces the Queen once again.

"Lioness of Cintra, I have come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise." He exclaims just as more lords and guards unsheathe their swords as they race over to attack the cursed knight. You watch in astonishment as Lord Urcheon clashes blades with numerous men, all going quite well for him until he's punched in the face, where he abruptly falls to the floor as a trail of blood seeps out from his lips and nose. The furious guard standing at the ready raises his axen spear into the air as he prepares to kill the bested knight.

In a blur of red you're at the cursed knights defense, swinging your stolen sword into the air as your blade cuts the wooden staff in two, the weaponized part conveniently landing into the hands of Lord Urcheon. You growl at the surprised guard, listening to the sound of flesh being cut as Geralt slashes down a man from behind you, who'd just as soon seen you dead. A second later the three of you freeze and glance around the room as everyone stares on in stunned silence, the tension in the room at an all time high.

"Kill them all!" Demands Queen Calanthe as she points to you, Geralt, and Lord Urcheon who's now rising up from the floor. An instant later sounds great battle cries emitting from either side of the room as all hell breaks loose.

Deciding to be a little chaotic for the hell of it, as a man swings his dagger at your head do you immediately shift into a hoard of angry black bats. You can see, hear, and smell everything all at once in a perfect mix of dangerous unison. The men below you have no chance as you storm your way through them, leaving a war path in your wake of blood and broken bones while Geralt fights valiantly through the fearsome angry guards.

Shifting back into your original form, you grab the throat of a young lord who was about to plunge his sword into your side, his eyes going wide before you sucker punch him in the nose, breaking it instantly as he then passes out due to overwhelming pain. Another swings his sword at your arm, missing by an inch as you whip around to throw him across the room and into a marble pillar, his arm breaking in two with a dreadful crack.

"Stop!" Shouts the Queen, in an instant you turn your attention over to Calanthe and Geralt who stand, facing one another defiantly.

The room goes silent as everyone remains at ease with themselves, everyone unsure as to where this is all headed. A second later Pavetta runs down the small stairs as she pulls Lord Urcheon into a tight embrace, okay that is indeed strange. They tightly hug as she scolds him for coming here and not staying away, concluding that there is something most definitely going on here between this odd Lord Urcheon and the princess of Cintra. They soon release one another, sharing one lasting heartfelt look before Urcheon breaks away to cautiously take a step towards the Queen, he then falls to one knee, bowing with respect.

"Your Majesty, the dhampir speaks the truth." He slowly rises, "I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from certain death. By tradition, I chose the Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find...would be mine."

Calanthe sneers, "Oh, the stupid bastard. Better you had let him die!"

"You knew he'd come," Says Geralt, "and you pushed me to kill him."

Eyes of the Queen, Pavetta, Lord Urcheon, Geralt and yourself glance between one another at this revelation for her urgency earlier. Her dark gaze falls onto her daughter, "You...carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!"

"Tis' no swindle." Says her favorite lord, "Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself."

"Don't lecture me, Eist."

"It's an honest gamble. As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup Or...a child of surprise." Nods Eist as Pavetta and Urcheon hold hands, "He could not have known. Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta."

"When I heard King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way, I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise. I knew, I knew no woman would ever accept me like this. So I waited. I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse breaks. I never intended to meet her." He explains to the Queen honestly, dark eyes now focused on Pavetta, "Just from afar."

Pavetta smiles up at Urcheon, "Until destiny intervened and our hearts collided."

"And at dawn, I awoke with her in my arms and me..like this." He says soflty.

Sir Eist steps closer to the deeply conflicted Queen, "Who are we to challenge destiny? Life was saved, debt must be paid, or the whole order of the world falls apart."

Mouseack steps into the spread about circle of the six of you, "Honor destiny's wish, or unleash its wrath upon us." Queen Calanthe looks rather dismal as she glances between all of you standing before her.

"There is no us! I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child! Is there no man amongst you who does not cower before destiny?" Tests the Queen as she turns to Geralt, "You, Witcher...who has known monsters of every fang and claw, are you afraid too?" She smirks.

"No. I've seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the 50 other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny....helps people believe there's an order to this horseshit. There isn't." He concludes with a half smirk, "But a promise made must be honored. As true for a commoner as it is for a queen." Calanthe's eyes whell up with fearful tears as she turns to Pavetta who's eyes fall from her mother to the man by her side.

She looks into the knights dark eyes while resting a comforting hand upon his prickly cheek, "I love Duny, mother." She looks at Calanthe, "I will marry him." Enchanted gaze set back to her cursed lover as she smiles brightly, "I will finally be free."

Everyone looks to the Queen expectantly in this sweet rare moment, she slowly hands over her sword with sad eyes as a single hopeless tear falls onto the floor. She shifts her attention back to Duny as she reluctantly reaches her hand out for him to take her blessing, although you're nervous something more sinister may arise at this interaction.

Your inner thoughts remaining correct as Calanthe pulls away from Duny, a fake smile upon her tearful face as she reveals a sharp hidden dagger from her right hand, time stills as she thrusts it towards his throat in one calculated motion. Your ears suddenly pounding in pain as Pavetta let's out a blood curdling scream that magically launches everyone back in a violent burst of wind, you included. You're quickly airborne, but before you hit the hard back wall you suspend yourself in mid-air, floating above the ground as gusts of wind blows your hair and dress every which way.

Lowering yourself closer to Geralt you watch in bewildered surprise as Pavetta and Duny raise into the air, a cyclone of wind surrounding them as she chants something incomprehensible in elfish.

"The fuck do we do now?" You scream over the loud noise, Geralt purses his lips together before pulling out a tiny glass bottle and downing the potion as he forces his way into the circle where he's able to stop Pavetta. The swirling cyclone of chaos and the two lovers falling to the ground in an instant, the room finally going calm once again.

Still casually levitating next to Geralt, you watch a cautious Calanthe slowly walk over to Pavetta and Duny, he leaves her side as the Queen and princess have a moment together while everyone else in this giant hall gather themselves from off of the ground.

You set your feet to the marble floor, gaze trailing around the destroyed area and all the disheveled guests until you land your sights onto the back of Geralt. A concerned hand lays against his forearm that draws his attention to the left, "Are you alright?"

He gifts you a small grin, "I am fine Y/N."

"You hit the marble pillar pretty hard."

He takes your hand to place a gentle kiss against your knuckles, "Don't worry for me, I am uninjured." You can't help the concerned expression crossing your features, you open your mouth to speak when Calanthe pulls everyones focus yet again.

"Destiny has spoken..and I have listened. The Law of Surprise will be honored." Breaths the Queen, heaviness in her words, "Pavetta will marry Lord Urcheon." She concludes, the room whispering amongst themselves.

"React poorly and you won't just face the Lioness, you will be facing the sea hounds of Skellige. Because Queen Calanthe has agreed to my proposal of marriage." Exclaims lord Eist, the three of them holding hands as they stand side by side.

"There will be two vows tonight! I assume that's agreeable." She shouts, everyone silently giving their nods of agreement, "Delightful." She whispers.

——

Standing around in a large circle, you watch as Calanthe blesses and marries Pavetta and Duny, they kiss and a moment later Duny begins convulsing like he's about to vomit. He falls to the floor with a pained grunt before he suddenly looks up once again, this time appearing rather more human like, the curse seemingly broken.

Him and Pavetta immediately embrace each other once again as she looks at him in confusion, "The twelfth bell has not yet rung." She whispers in astonishment, puzzlement clear on Calanthe's face.

"What has happened?" She wonders.

Mousesack steps forward, "I think your blessing of this marriage has fulfilled destiny...The curse has been lifted." He concludes with a grateful smile at the positive turn of events.

"Whew! I think this has the makings of my greatest ballad yet." Beams Jaskier as a high lady of the court touches his arm, her hands all around him.

You let out an amused snort, "If you're alive in the morning." You mutter before turning to leave, not caring enough to stay for any more action.

Geralt gains the bards attention before existing with you, "Don't...grope for trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn." He advises, taking a couple steps as he trails behind you.

"No, wait! Wait!" Announces Duny as he stands up to look at you and Geralt, "You've both saved my life. I must repay it." He says with a hopeful smile as you walk over closer to Geralt's side.

"You've proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same." Shrugs Geralt, "I want nothing."

You nod, "As do I."

"No, please. Please Geralt of Rivia, my Lady Y/N, do not feel like you're doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt." He says with pleading eyes, perhaps he makes a compelling point.

Letting out an irritated huff of air you shrug, "A single prized weapon will suffice as payment, Lord Urcheon...nothing more is needed." His face breaks out into a satisfied smile as he turns his expectant attention back to your Witcher.

Geralt sighs, "Fine. I...um...claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise." The Queens dark eyes go wide as yours do the same, what the fuck is he doing? "Give me that which you already have but do not know." He ends with before turning his back to the newlyweds and the Queen.

"No! What have you done, Witcher?" Snaps Calanthe as he turns a calm face towards her.

"Fear not, Your Majesty, if I am seen in your kingdom again, it'll be to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu.." Pavetta lets out her dinner onto the floor as she abruptly cuts him off, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what that means.

"Fuck." He mutters as everyone stares at him knowingly, you then nod to the royal family, swiftly turning to make a quick exit, Geralt following your lead as the two of you hastily walk out the wooden doors and into the messy hallway. Mousesack close behind, "Clearly the girl has access to immense primal power." He concludes, causing yourself and Geralt to stop and face him.

"Obviously, and she has no fucking clue how to control it." You deadpan as Mousesack gives a tiny grin.

"I will stay. Guide her." He assures, meaning every word.

Geralt nods, "You're a good man, Mousesack."

The old mage grins, "You both should stay too." He quickly advises, his efforts falling flat, you've already made up your mind.

"This has been enough partying for the two of us. We're getting out of here. Alone." Answers Geralt, the mage wanders closer, a telling look upon his bearded face.

"You're bound to this now, Geralt. Whether you like it or not." Shaking your head you touch Geralt's arm, your crimson eyes finding the old mage's.

"This isn't our problem, we're not here to stay or help anyone....you know us better than that." You add, irritation clear in your voice.

"Yes, I do, but you can't outrun destiny just because you're terrified of it. It's coming either way. Not believing won't change that." Argues Mousesack, he's beginning to grow on your nerves by the second, though he means well you'd rather get your hand smashed by a boulder then stick around for this unborn child of surprise.

Shaking your head, you scoff, "Bullshit. This was just a girl using her magic to stop her mother from killing her lover. Nothing more for us to be concerned about. This is the Continent, weird shit happens all the time." You muse with a shrug.

Mousesack hums, "So you say my dear princess, but the bond that will come into being between Geralt and this child...when it is born, will be extraordinary. If you dismiss it, leave without claiming this...child surprise, you will surly unleash true calamity upon us all." You let go of Geralt's arm as he walks closer to the mage.

"We'll take that chance. Mind yourself. True words are rare birds in courts like this. Watch for daggers in your back. Or, more likely, poison." Warns Geralt as he puts a friendly hand on Mousesack's shoulder, "Be careful, old friend." Sincerity clear in his gravely voice.

Mousesack looks down in disappointment before giving Geralt a downcast farewell, your Witcher handing him a curt nod before turning and walking towards the doors past you. Standing your ground you purse your lips together as you frown at the old mage.

"Y/N, you're both making a mistake....this will not end well for you dear princess, and you of all people should understand that." Urges Mousesack knowingly, further pressing on your buttons at his admittedly truthful words.

Scoffing you frown, "Do not lecture me on the ways of destiny and all that fun magical shit...I know it's cost Mousesack, destiny has never done anything for me in all my four hundred and eighty some years on this fucking Continent." You growl, glaring at the wall before finding his troubled gaze once again.

He gives you a small smile, "I believe destiny has intervened more then you'd know, in ways that you do not understand yet...even for as old as you are." You simply roll your eyes at him.

"God all you mages and wizards are all the same, believing in the first signs of anything enchanting and going with it." You argue, stepping in closer to the breaded man, "I've dealt with your people in the past and have suffered for it..."

"I know of your troubles and trials that have given you a bad taste with them, us, but listen, sometimes you must forget the past and move on for a better future." He softly urges.

Shaking your head you find his pleading eyes again, "May you be the only sensible one then...truth be told you're one of the only mages I could ever stand, but that's not important anymore...I do hope you live long and die on your own accord, but one would be a wise fool to think that my old friend, watch for tricksters in the shadows lest you face a grim end. So long Mousesack, friend from.." You pause, not sure what else to say.

He reaches out to clasp your hands with his, "I know Y/N, although I'm wary we may never see one another again."

Letting out a small laugh you smile, "Maybe you're fucking destiny will say otherwise, farewell, and uh....watch out for your kingdom." He lets go of your hands, with a tiny nod do you turn your back on the greying mage, swiftly exiting through the doors where you find Geralt on the other side waiting patiently for you.

The two of you walk in time with one another, "If we're lucky we'll never see this fucking kingdom again. From fun banquet to child of surprise, Geralt you're really on a roll...gods the both of us. Jaskier's right, we do get involved in everything."

He glances at you, "We should really stop doing that."

"We could live as recluses in the woods and hunt bears for sport, or become pirates", Geralt chuckles at your words, a smile coming to your once frowning face, "Or not, you're not really the pirate type..."

"We could live in Alkatraz, your homeland? I'd give money to see your mothers face the second you brought me home."

You nudge his arm playfully, "My mother? The actual Vampire Queen, meeting a Witcher of all people. You'd maybe make it across the stone bridge leading into the castle before she'd be sending death hounds after you. And my love, they are not cute and cuddly by any means, annoying slobbery bastards more like." He pushes open another door as you walk through after him, "We'll find somewhere, or not...if I'm being honest, I quite enjoy traveling with you. Keeps my life interesting, never know what's going to happen next, and best of all. I have you all to myself."

"Except when Jaskier decides to join us. Some nights I contemplate strangling him in his sleep." You laugh at Geralt's blunt comment, "I've thought about doing that too, although I'd miss fucking around with him too much, he's just so easy to scare. I'll probably end up being the cause of his first grey hair." You muse with a smile, Geralt leading the way out the door and into the cool night air.

You turn to him as you keep pace, "And don't you dare make a jest about you and your white hair."

Geralt smiles down at you, "I wasn't."

"You were thinking it."

He hums, "I'm actually thinking something else, and I would like to tell you when we get back to the tavern." His tone is lower this time, the implications obvious as you gasp and smack his arm.

"Geralt!" He chuckles at how he's already got you flustered, the cheeky little shit, "Well, perhaps I may take you up on that offer. It does sound rather intriguing, then you could finally get me out of these silks and jewels...I bet you'd love that." He raises a brow as you practically purr into his ear.

Though this night may not have ended pleasantly at the banquet, you'd be damned if it didn't end pleasurably on your own terms.

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #of monsters and men fic

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puttingfingerstokeys · 3 years ago

Text

A little something I whipped up for @heamatic with her Shinnok in mind.

No timeline alignment stuff here, just pure gift work based on a thread we’ve got on my RP account @bastardsunlight. Ft. Shinnok being creepy because that’s kind of his thing. Shinlao, because we haven’t come up with a ship name and I am appalled at our laxity.

Also like, I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither writer is in any way under some fucked up impression that this is a good, safe, or non-toxic ship. We use the term to describe people who are involved IN SOME WAY. That way is not necessarily healthy.

This story features no NSFW instances.

The dimly lit corridors of the Bone Temple are familiar passageways to Kung Lao as he moves effortlessly toward the audience chamber where he will soon be needed. Shinnok does not often offer his time, but today, he evidently feels generous. It is therefore his favorite creature’s duty to attend as well. Lao has long since stopped thinking of himself as a monk or even a former one, though his spiritual power is still formidable. That life is behind him. Netherrealm is—if not his home—his territory.

Emerging from a massive double door at one side of the infernal hall, he surveys the emptiness of it, the cavernous opulence of the mad god’s particular tastes. Deeper, under vents in the floor—Shinnok appreciates the screams of his captives—is the dungeon proper, though the audience hall very much resembles it. The high pillars are of dark reds, shining obsidian, and shot through with veins of other colors difficult to distinguish in the Stygian light of the realm of dishonored dead. Everything is bone and sinew and suffering here, fire and brimstone and ugly deception.

“You have kept me waiting, little one,” purrs the Elder God of Chaos from his throne. It is, naturally, constructed of bones—not all humanoid. He leans to one side and regards Kung Lao with those inscrutable eyes characteristic of his kind. “Do you wish to bring punishment down on yourself?”

“No, master,” responds Kung Lao, approaching the dais and then ascending to within reach of the massive entity’s long arms. If Shinnok wishes to pull his guts out and toss him back down like a used doll, he may do so from anywhere; why inconvenience him?

“Yet you offer no explanation…” The Elder God’s finger came out and lifted Kung Lao’s chin before sliding down his neck, over the pretty young man’s Adam’s apple, and down to collar bone and chest. He has left this one alive, appreciating the responsive heat and goose flesh of living skin. It bruises so prettily.

“I offer no excuse, my lord.” Kung Lao meets his eyes with an impertinence he loves and hates and oh he has made the right choice in this one. He had known the moment they met upon the field of kombat that Kung Lao would, indeed, make an excellent addition to his collection.

“You are wise beyond your years, it seems, if a bit pert.” Shinnok retracts his hand and waves it about. “Well, get on with it. I’ve better things to do.”

Quan-Chi materializes presently, late as well, though his arrival receives no acknowledgement whatsoever. His dark lord spares not a glance, instead watching the retreating back of the foolish monk who exchanged his own freedom for the life of his friend. Sentiment is worthless in Netherrealm and soon, the arrogant boy will learn this, if the old soul sorcerer must show him the way with his own two hands. His fists clench with the thought, imagining themselves about Kung Lao’s throat, squeezing until something breaks. The pleasure that arises from the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

Meanwhile, Kung Lao, unaware of this contemplation—or if he is aware, he cares so little, he doesn’t bother sparing the man, if a thing like Quan-Chi can be called a man, a single glance—turns to descend the dais. An oversized bone arm which has sprouted from the stone and bone floor of the mad god’s receiving hall offers itself, open-palmed, to the fallen monk. Kung Lao accepts it gracefully, laying his hand in the much larger one, knowing he has not displeased his lord on this day. The dry, brittle-feeling digits wrap gently about the young man’s hand as he makes his graceful retreat to discharge his duties.

Quan-Chi scowls at Kung Lao’s back until Shinnok actually turns his attention on his favored sorcerer—really the only sorcerer who will competently serve him with true, deep loyalty. It really is pathetic to watch, but sometimes a whipped dog is better than no dog. Shinnok has not even had to whip this one. He’s done it of his own accord.

A strange Netherrealm native (as native as anyone can be in a realm of dishonored souls and demonic constructs born of the mad god’s fits of rage), it had been he who had approached the Elder God of rot and chaos to serve him. If Lord Shinnok could be said to be grateful for anything, he might have chosen that moment when Quan-Chi’s power had drawn him to his lord and master’s prison and set about events which would eventually free and embody him. Of course they have greater plans, but for the time being, this will do.

This will do very nicely indeed, he considers, regarding his little pet’s taut backside as Kung Lao makes his way through the hall, the bone arm now sliding along with him, digging a furrow in the ground which seems to knit itself together just a few feet behind the abomination which now has its hand on the curve of Kung Lao’s lower back. Every sensation the bone arm feels, he also feels and the warmth of living flesh is delightful; he wants to grasp it hard, make the boy squeal with pain, make him bleed a little. Just a little.

Perhaps later.

“You have some… news?” Quan-Chi has been scheming—he is always scheming—to manifest his dark, mad god in Earthrealm and he clearly believes he has hit upon something. Shinnok can see it in the sparkle of the man’s eyes. Oh how he loves me, contemplates the Elder God with absolutely no reciprocity of that feeling.

“I do, my lord,” responds the sorcerer, bowing to one knee and standing to deliver his findings. Shinnok listens patiently, mind elsewhere as it must always be. He is chaos incarnate. There is little order to be had in Netherrealm beyond his absolute rule. Not much can hold the attention of an Elder God, in general, but Shinnok in particular has always allowed his mind to wander where it will. Aside from grand machinations of upset and overthrow which delight him endlessly, there is almost nothing of such magnitude in all of existence—no single object or concept which can so fascinate him. What could possibly be of such import that he, a deity, might need to focus his energies on it for any length of time? The boy, some part of his thoughts remind him sweetly. You’re quite captivated with your new toy, aren’t you? Ah but toys come and go. He will tire of this one… eventually.

That boy is now crossing the threshold of the temple’s audience hall, the doors gliding open before him. The dry heat of Netherrealm has ceased to move him and he walks out into it, ushering in the first petitioner, wondering if his lord and master will listen to this one, or slay it on sight. Any creature, demon, or lost soul who is bold enough to approach the Bone Temple and beg favors of the lord of the Realm is desperate, addled, or too cocksure for their own good. An obliteration by the death god is permanent, it is nothingness, non-existence. Somehow, that void is more terrifying by far than the screaming, burning, howling dimness of Netherrealm.

The first demon in line—he is first by virtue of having killed his way up the queue; the corpses of those before him are littered in pieces here and there as a testament to this, all still twitching and flailing as the death he grants is only pain—is a truly imposing figure, easily ten feet in height, with massive, twisted horns like a ram and a maw full of jagged teeth. His eyes ablaze with contempt. This expression does not soften when it lays its burning gaze (with all four eyes) upon the pretty, behatted monk—Kung Lao may not think of himself as a monk, but they do—but rather hardens to something bordering on obscene. The thing licks slavering lips with an exaggerated motion, clearly aiming to upset the small, soft-looking mortal, who does not respond, only gestures to the hall.

“The master will see you now,” he says in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “Please, follow me.”

As they enter, the beast’s three-toed feet hit the ground much harder with each step than might actually be necessary, as if to emphasize his weight. Shinnok leans back upon his throne and assumes a semi-attentive posture. There is no real reason for him to pretend he cares; even the pretense is worthless, but for now, it entertains him. Some of the denizens of his realm wait the Netherrealm equivalent of months, even years, if Shinnok is indisposed and simply does not care. Lately, he has been taking more audiences, but then he has only lately had a… secretary. Kung Lao moves swiftly ahead of the demon, braid swinging tantalizingly behind his shapely back. The boy is an hourglass, upon close inspection, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and thick of hip and rear-end. The demon is inspecting.

“This is far enough,” instructs Kung Lao. “What are you called?”

The demon splutters with indignation. How could they not know him, the greatest general of the northern armies of Khadul, the god-king of the demons, the true creatures of Netherrealm! He has severely overestimated his importance, a grave error in the Bone Temple. The silent hall rings with its silence. An audience chamber ought necessarily to have an audience, but Shinnok prefers the cavernous immensity. It reiterates just how small his petitioners truly are. He eyes the demon, but has yet to speak. A bone arm sprouts near Kung Lao and it makes a twirling motion with its forefinger.

“Lord Shinnok bids you speak,” says the shapely boy through plump lips that look like they ought to be bruised and bloodied and used, in the creature’s foul opinion.

“I will speak,” he snarls, reaching out toward Kung Lao with the intent to brush past, “but with the lord of this Realm, he in whose temple we stand, not you, little slut. There are things I would do with you, yes, but speaking… it is not one of them.” The demon’s laughter rings out boldly into the hall, bouncing off the skulls and femurs and ribs and myriad other bones which make the walls, floor, and ceiling. Quan-Chi flinches minutely, though more at the brazenness of it than the sound. Shinnok is a statue. The bone arm has dissipated, crumbling like ash and ruin, leaving Lao alone. His lord is watching.

“No,” says Kung Lao, the syllable sharp and clear as a pretty bell rung in a mausoleum—and equally as incongruous next to the obscene, guttural speech of the demon. “No,” he repeats, “you do not speak. You bark like a mangy cur begging for scraps. Heel.”

He rushes the demon with lightning speed as it swings for him. There is a brief moment when it seems he might make a try for the beast’s sizeable testes, which swing visibly behind the scant loincloth one might say he is “wearing”. The idea occurs to him and a strange flash of melancholic amusement jolts Kung Lao’s spine before he disappears beneath his hat in a flash of red light and lotus petals. The creature, having never encountered this particular mortal, looks baffled and squats to examine the hat. Quan-Chi’s mouth opens to warn the beast of its insolence in his master’s presence, but a sharp gesture from said master silences him. His face heats with rage. How dare the boy show off this way? He will be punished—perhaps disemboweled or flayed. How delicious that would be!

As the as yet unnamed demon reaches toward the object to pick it up, the flash occurs once more and the deadly piece of headwear flips upward, turning vertically, its far edge held by the owner, the only man in any realm able to master such a strange weapon. The creature barely has time to cry out as Kung Lao draws the hat up its entirety, bisecting the thing and spilling its steaming insides along the floor. Midair, Kung Lao flings the hat, hard, toward Shinnok. Once more, Quan-Chi blanches, but the mad god catches it easily and holds it, bottom facing downward, toward his knees where he sits. This, he thinks, is the most fun I have had in millennia.

Kung Lao’s form plummets toward the gory mess he has made and for a brief, shining moment, Quan-Chi thinks perhaps he will fall and snap his neck and that will be that, one last escape attempt with the final spark of the monk’s spirit left to him. Lord Shinnok has no need of a broken doll. Of course this is a flight of pure fancy. Shinnok will find a use for that beautiful body, even broken.

Alas, rather than crashing to his death—or maiming, at least—Kung Lao’s body dives into a circle of blood, red light, once more accompanied by a flash and flurry of lotus petals. It takes only half a moment for him to repeat the trick, falling out of the hat and into his lord and master’s waiting lap. Shinnok allows the hat to settle upon Kung Lao’s head and once more tilts his chin upward so that their eyes meet.

“Far too impertinent,” he scolds, shaking his head, running his thumb over his little doll’s full, perfect, soft lower lip. Kung Lao is flushed with the pleasure of his accomplishment and hasn’t a spot of blood on his person. “Who are you to decide who I do and do not address, hmm? Is this not my domain?”

“His master would pretend it is not. One cannot serve two lords and you rule this Realm.” This is not a question, nor is it simpering. Kung Lao speaks cold, hard facts. “I merely saved you the trouble of hearing a dog bark.”

So bold, Shinnok thinks. I must curb this. But he does not punish his little favorite. The unpredictability delights him. Quan-Chi senses this misplaced delight and recedes from the receiving hall unseen, glowering over his shoulder and now hellbent on perfecting his machinations to bring his master to Earthrealm.

#violence #cc #cw #mortal kombat #kung lao #shinnok #shinlao #gift work

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dancingkirby · 4 years ago

Text

Finally another Azula Chapter!

Yooooo, I’m all done with the first two acts of the story now! (Except for editing and adding on any new ideas, that is.) And, as promised, here is Azula’s second PoV chapter.

WARNING: Non-graphic incest in the first part.

PAST

Flush with the excitement of the rally and freshly scrubbed, Azula was preparing for the audience with Father that she knew was imminent. It felt good to be back in her armor; the red and pink outfit had been both pretty and practical, but simply didn’t offer the same amount of protection. On the outside, she looked every bit the maiden warrior-princess. However, her inner layers were not nearly as modest.

Shiza made her patented frown as Azula rejected her usual bindings in favor of Daddy’s favorite pair of lingerie. Azula was fairly certain that Shiza had known about their secret relationship for some time; it would be hard for her not to since she was the one getting Azula ready most of the time. However, they appeared to have reached a silent agreement that they would both pretend she didn’t know.

The knocks on the door came at the perfect time, just as Shiza was putting the makeup knife away. So it was Father who wanted to speak with her first, then.

“Are you…will you be all right?” Shiza asked tentatively as Azula turned towards the door. What an odd question.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she replied.

The throne room was empty save for herself and the Fire Lord…just as it had been when he’d sent her on this mission over three months ago. Azula stopped a respectful distance away, knelt, and pressed her forehead to the floor. Even when she raised her head, she remained kneeling with her eyes downcast, only daring to look up when she heard him part the flames.

“The conqueror of Ba Sing Se,” Father said.

Azula would have liked to bask in the praise, but knew exactly what she was expected to say. She made a noise of demurral before responding, “I would never have been able to do it if I hadn’t had such a wonderful teacher.”

“Indeed,” Father replied, slowly walking down the steps. His nearness made Azula quake in her boots, and not entirely out of fear. But she couldn’t think about that now.

“And your brother slayed the Avatar,” he continued, tugging on his beard. “I was surprised. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

How was she going to make this story believable?

“I didn’t either,” she began, trying to stall for a few seconds to think up the details. “I was busy fighting the waterbender. But then the Avatar was preoccupied, and Zuko saw his chance and took it.” Should she say he used lightning? No, that would be stretching credulity a bit too much. “Fire blast straight to the back. It was so precise and powerful that the Avatar never even knew what hit him. And if that didn’t kill him instantly, the long fall to the ground certainly did.”

There. That seemed to be an acceptable enough fudging of the truth. She didn’t mention that they still hadn’t got official confirmation that the Avatar was actually dead, which was making her a little nervous.

“Wonderful,” Father proclaimed. The story appeared to have passed his muster, and Azula made an internal sigh of relief.

“I take it that you received my dispatches about the intelligence I gathered?” she inquired. Father smirked.

“Yes. They’re planning an invasion during the eclipse. How precious.”

Azula allowed her face to relax the tiniest bit, and said, “I have no doubt that they think they’re the first people to ever try such a thing. The Earth King sang like a sparrowkeet about their super-secret plans without me even having to try. I wish you’d been there to see for yourself; you would have loved it.” Those idiots. They would have had increased security measures that day regardless.

Father gave a shout of laughter so loud and sudden that even Azula was startled.

“So do I!” he exclaimed. “But let us discuss that a little later, shall we? There are other matters I would like to attend to first.”

And just like that, Father became Daddy, and Azula adapted accordingly. She knew from years of experience how to change her entire demeanor in the blink of an eye. As she tugged her hair out of its topknot and let it fall freely down her back, she allowed her expression to soften, looking up at Daddy through her eyelashes while biting her lip.

“What a brilliant idea,” she said, voice changed from formal and measured to almost a purr. This had exactly the effect on Daddy, who ran over, picked her up, and slung her over his shoulder.

“Ohh,” she whispered into his ear. “Unhand me, you brute.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to find a replacement for you all those months?” Daddy growled as they left the throne room and began what seemed like an unbearably long trip to his rooms.

Azula really didn’t want to think about who might have been her replacement. Instead, she giggled and said, “I can imagine.”

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The first time did hurt, a little bit, but that was to be expected, and nothing that Azula couldn’t handle. The second time, Daddy wasn’t in such of a big rush, so he could help make it feel good for her, too. After he had been thoroughly satisfied–twice–he was ready to talk strategy again. Azula always felt a little uneasy when he did this, because she wasn’t sure how to categorize this. It was sort of in between Father and Daddy; he expected her to be all business when she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.

“The Avatar may be dead, but his friends will be out for revenge,” she told Daddy. “They should not be taken lightly. The waterbender has improved significantly even in the time I’ve fought against her, and rumor has it that the earthbender has somehow figured out how to bend metal. If that is true, our bunker is no longer impervious.”

Daddy frowned. “That is unfortunate. So you think that those two are our biggest threat? We will put the best of the Royal Guard at the main entrance, then, to neutralize them immediately.”

“Actually…no, I don’t think that,” Azula clarified.

“Then who is?”

Azula felt a smile tugging at her lips as she said, “The nonbender boy, believe it or not. His name is Sokka. He’s the brains of the group, and apparently the one who, um, figured out how to take down the drill.” Maybe not the best idea to remind Daddy of that. She rushed on, “Get into his head, knock him off-balance, and their entire plan will fail.”

“And you believe that you know how to do that?” Daddy asked.

Azula’s smile widened.

“I do,” she said simply.

PRESENT

She was prepared for every eventuality.

Well, maybe not every eventuality. She supposed that perhaps they would figure out how to make a replica of her drill. Or…or maybe they’d make a giant walking suit of armor that shot energy beams so powerful that they could annihilate anything in their path.

Actually, that last one was an intriguing idea. She’d have to remember to write that one down later.

But those were exceedingly unlikely scenarios, and she knew it. Without the Earth Kingdom’s resources, there was no way that they would have the wherewithal to make such powerful weapons. She was still prepared for every plausible eventuality.

Azula was quite confident that the Avatar and his friends would be heading this way. War Minister Qin had been instructed to misdirect them, and that was a simple enough task that she thought even he couldn’t mess it up. Everything was ready. She had her Dai Li as backup, perched in the rafters. (Really, she wished she could have had Mai and Ty Lee with her as well, but they were sheltering in their own homes.) The past several weeks, Azula had been occupied with perfecting her nonbending fighting and evasion skills. She’d had Ty Lee give her some pointers, and even considered getting her lover to chi-block her to mimic the effects of the eclipse (all her research indicated that said effects were not pleasant). However, she had ultimately decided against it. That might set an unfortunate precedent, after all.

Speaking of which, she thought that the effects were kicking in now. It wasn’t so bad if one knew to expect them; mostly a sensation of cold and mild nausea. Everything was muted this far underground, anyway.

Then…footsteps and shouting outside. Qin had succeeded in his deception. She adjusted her posture so she looked exactly the right combination of threatening and casual. As the doors were blown open with a gust of wind, she smiled.

“So, you are alive after all,” she said, just as she had rehearsed in the privacy of her bedroom countless times. “I had a hunch that you survived. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve known about the invasion for months.”

The look of shock on the trio’s faces (the waterbender girl wasn’t with them; too bad) was quite possibly the most gratifying thing that Azula had seen in her entire life. Did they perhaps think of her as some sort of supernatural entity with psychic powers? She was happy to let them continue believing that. The somewhat more mundane truth was, they hadn’t been quite as good as hiding as they thought they were, and she had received intelligence from multiple islands about a group matching their descriptions.

“Where is he? Where’s the Fire Lord?” the Avatar demanded. Did he honestly think she was going to just tell him?

“Mm. You mean I’m not good enough for you? You’re hurting my feelings,” she said as she stood up, letting the barest hint of the voice she used for Daddy seep through. She would do whatever it took to keep them distracted.

“Stop wasting our time and give use the information,” Sokka demanded, gesturing with his sword. He’d caught on quickly, just as Azula had expected. “You’re powerless right now, so you’re in no position to refuse.”

Pfft. Look who’s talking.

The earthbender (her name was…Toph?) added, “And stick to the truth. I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

“Are you sure? I’m a pretty good liar,” Azula answered. Quickly casting around in her head for the most ridiculous statement possible, she said, “I am a four hundred-foot-tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings.”

It took no effort at all. Every successful member of the Fire Nation royal family learned to lie almost as soon as they could talk. When one was in such a high-stakes position, wearing one’s feelings on one’s sleeve could be deadly. Zuzu had learned that the hard way.

“…Okay, you’re good, I admit it,” Toph said. Azula managed to not so much as even flinch as the earthbender trapped her in a column that went up to her chin. “But you ought to consider telling the truth anyway!”

So far, everything was going exactly according to plan; it was almost too easy. By Azula’s mental count, about two minutes had passed since the start of the eclipse. All she had to do was to continue to occupy them for six more.

Azula and the Dai Li had agreed that the latter would make their presence in the room known as soon as Toph tried earthbending for the first time. Right on cue, the column binding Azula crumbled into nothing. Her trio of adversaries looked flabbergasted again; Azula could almost hear them thinking, “Wait…she can earthbend?!”

“When I left Ba Sing Se, I brought home some souvenirs…Dai Li agents!” she explained.

The fight that followed was more an amusement than anything else. At last, Azula got to show off the results of her extensive practice. No matter what obstacle they might throw at her, she could leap, jump, or flip through it. It was rather like what she’d always imagined that airbending would feel like; sometimes, she looked at Ty Lee’s gray eyes and wondered.

Finally, Sokka realized how much time had passed, and told the other two to stop attacking.

“She’s just playing with us. She’s not even trying to win this fight!” he said, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

(If he thought Azula hadn’t noticed how his eyes raked over her body as she flew past him, he was deluding himself.)

“Not true! I’m giving it my all,” Azula informed him. Technically, this wasn’t even a lie, since she didn’t specify what “it” was. They bickered a while longer, accusing her of wasting their time when they were doing a perfectly good job at it themselves. Then Sokka got them back to their senses again, and the three of them turned and started walking away.

“It’s a trap. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Azula said. There were only a couple of minutes left in the eclipse now; she doubted that they’d reach Father in time even if they did know the way. And if they blundered their way into one of the rooms surrounding his…it would not be pleasant for them.

“Ignore!” Sokka urged them as they continued walking.

It was time. She’d been looking forward to this moment for the whole fight.

“So, Sokka’s your name, right?” she began. “My favorite prisoner used to mention you all the time.”

He halted, turned his head back to look at her. She had him.

Azula continued, “She was convinced you were going to come rescue her. Of course, you never came, and she gave up on you!” As his face crumpled, she felt a surge of triumph and…something else?

Had she thought that her trick with the dagger was going to work? Not really. Things would be more convenient for her that way, of course, but it would have put this part of her plan to a disappointingly premature end. In any case, Toph disarmed her and threw her against the rough stone wall hard enough that Azula was certain it would leave a nasty bruise, and Sokka had her pinned before she could retaliate.

“WHERE. IS. SUKI?!” he snarled. Oh, did he think that Azula had tortured his little girlfriend? She was happy for him to continue thinking that. Father would have used torture, yes, but Azula didn’t see the point of resorting to it when there were other, more subtle ways of getting what she wanted.

She continued to smile down at him, saying nothing, and couldn’t help but notice that his Fire Nation topknot suited him well. So did that primitive…thing that passed for a military uniform with the Water Tribe barbarians. That darker blue was definitely his color; he should wear it more often.

“Where’s Suki?” Sokka repeated, interrupting her musings. “Answer me!” The Avatar tried to get him to back off, but he didn’t listen. “Where are you keeping her?!”

Azula simply smiled even more. Making him angry was so…so…wait. Was that just her feeling the eclipse about to end, or was her body responding to him? Daddy had had her against walls, many times, and often as enraged as Sokka was now. That was all it was. Still…if she managed to take Sokka prisoner as well, maybe she could…

No. Daddy wouldn’t allow that. And even if he did, it was a stupid idea. Thankfully, before her hormones could come up with any further less-than-brilliant schemes, Azula was bailed out by the sound of a large explosion coming from the general direction of Father’s room. She could feel her own power resurging as well.

“Oh! Sounds like the firebending’s back on!” she said in faux-surprise. She had herself freed within a few seconds, and generously informed her opponents of her father’s location.

Azula felt elated as she ran out of the room. Her plan had been a complete success; Father would be so happy when he heard. She didn’t have any time to check in with him, though; she had to hurry onto an airship to make sure the Avatar and his friends got out and stayed out.

…Right after she found a bathroom.

#azula #ozai #sokka #fanfic

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mrslittletall · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Dragonkin Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein/Nameless King Word Count: 2.436 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20710400

Summary: Anor Londo's dragon slayer has a rather big secret. A secret that he has to hide every night where there is no moon in the sky. But what would happen if one day someone would see him?

Ornstein hurried to the usual place.

It was almost sundown. And today was the moonless night. Ornstein had intended to head out two hours ago, but this day his silver knights had been very demanding and bombarded him with questions until it was almost too late.

...Maybe they had started to ask themselves why their captain always vanished in the night where there was no moon in the sky.

Ornstein usually told the others, his silver knights, the other knights of Gwyn, even his master, that it was for meditation purposes. And that he wished to not be distracted while meditating.

In fact, Ornstein just feared to be seen by anyone when it happened.

He had finally reached the outer skirts of Anor Londo and with a quick glance he determined that nobody was around like usual. Ornstein worked quickly on removing his armour, neatly stacking it together. He then removed his clothes and put them alongside the armour into a bag he had brought along.

As soon as he had finished undressed, which wasn't a moment to soon, the process began.

By the gods, this did HURT every single time he experienced it. He groaned as bones shifted and muscles stretched into a form that was much larger than his usual one. A nuzzle resembling a beak formed, filled with razor sharp teeth, his arms changed into feathered wings, his nails grew longer and longer until they were claws, a tail grew and spiral horns broke through his skull.

The moment he was finished, there wasn't a knight standing there anymore, but a mighty drake from a blue colour, quietly shrieking, trying to shake off the pain from the transformation.

Ornstein picked up the bag with his clothes and armour in it with his right foot and spread the wings to fly away for the night, waiting it out on some mountaintop as usual, as he heard a voice and froze in place.

“Ornstein?”

He had been seen. And while this was bad already, what made it even worse, this was the voice of the master.

One of the most renowned dragon slayers of Anor Londo had seen him, one of the most famous dragon slayers and his student change in the very being they hunted.

Ornstein shrieked in terror and jumped off the cliff, staggering in the air before remembering to flap his wings to gain height.

“Ornstein, wait.”, the master called and before Ornstein could put a distance between them, he jumped on his back.

Oh damn, this wasn't good. Without thinking Ornstein rolled over in an attempt to shake the master off his back, but when he easily grabbed on his scales and climbed back up Ornstein realized, that the master knew all the tricks of a dragon trying to get rid of a rider on his back. He was done for. The master would be easily able to slay him.

He screeched desperately and flew faster, trying to pitch the master off his back with an erratic flight pattern, something he only could consider a fruitless attempt.

“Ornstein, calm down! I am not here to hurt you!”, the master screamed against the rustle of the wind.

...What? Ornstein's draconic eyes moved to look at the master on his back and...

...he hadn't brought his weapon with him.

Instead, he desperately tried to hold on to Ornstein.

Ornstein took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down and nearly spit fire instead. As he swallowed the embers that already had reached his throat, he could spot the forest around Anor Londo underneath them. The only person they would probably find there at this time of night was Artorias and Ornstein was pretty sure the wolf knight had stayed in the cathedral for today.

Ornstein headed for a clearing and landed with a loud thud where the master finally slid off him, looking rather shaken.

“...You put me through quite a wild ride.”, he grinned, observing Ornstein, walking around him, taking in the whole view. Ornstein felt like curling himself in and he unwittingly complied by tucking his wings in and curling his tail around his feet.

“Why are you hiding yourself? You are... beautiful.”, the master said. “So this is why you never were around on the nights of the new moon? Can you talk in this form?”

Ornstein opened his mouth: ”I can.”, he screeched. ”In the dragon tongue.”

“I can barely understand a thing you say.”, the master laughed. “I guess questions have to wait for later.”

Ornstein had to admit he was confused. He had never let someone see this form. He had hid himself as a dragon slayer, because who in their right mind would expect a dragonkin to be a dragon slayer? As long as he would vanish at the moonless nights and let nobody see him, he was safe.

And now, the master had seen him. One of the best dragon slayers in Anor Londo, his idol and also... his crush. Ornstein had never expected to ever enter a relationship with him. He was a prince, he was a mere knight. And a drake for twelve nights of the year. Ornstein had been content with watching the master at a distance, only being able to dream about them being together, but now...

...now the master was here, having seen his most intimate secret and he even had said that he was beautiful.

Unconfidently Ornstein folded out his wings, bowing down for the master to take a closer look.

“Are these feathers at your wings?”, the master asked, stroking through them. Ornstein gasped. It had been the first time that someone had touched his wings and that had felt incredible.

“...Have I hurt you?”, the master asked, concern in his voice, but a sense of wonder in his eyes.

”No.”, Ornstein answered with a coo, remembering that the master wouldn't understand him and shook his large head.

“I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. May I touch you?”, the master asked.

Ornstein answered by lowering his head, giving the master a huff of approval. The master raised a hand to trail it around one of Ornstein's horns first, a sensation that he could barely feel, his horns were like fingernails, but then his hand settled on Ornstein's forehead, gently stroking the spot between his eyes. Ornstein involuntarily started to purr at this motion and closed his eyes.

“You feel like a big cat.”, the master teased. “No wonder that you chose a lion for your armour.”

The both of them stayed silent like this for a while until the master stopped stroking him and asked: “Ornstein... would you let me ride on you? Without trying to pitch me off?”

Ornstein squeaked at this words. He only had done this because he had thought he had been done for. Never had the thought the master would be so fascinated about his drake form, that he would jump on it without even taking his weapon with him.

Ornstein bent down, lying his long neck on the ground to let the master mount him.

”Hold tight.”, he growled as she spread his wings and flew up in the air, much more gracefully than before. He couldn't feel it, but he was aware that the master was holding onto his horns.

Ornstein, as a dragon slayer himself, knew perfectly which locations to avoid being seen and so the two of them glided over the forest away from Anor Londo to a mountain that was known as Arch Dragon Peak. A place were dragon worship was still actually practised. Ornstein sometimes landed there in his drake form, knowing that the people there wouldn't harm him, but with the rider on his back, who was by poor coincidence not only the heir of sunlight but a dragon slayer himself, he didn't dare to land. Instead, he soared around the mountain.

“How long did it take you to be able to fly like that?”, the master said. From the corner of his eyes Ornstein could see how fascinated he was, he grinned like a little boy who just got the best birthday present of all time.

Ornstein flew farther and quicker as he realized that the master was perfectly holding himself onto him. He sometimes growled or shrieked to turn the attention of the master at some of his favourite views and one time the master asked him if he could spit fire which Ornstein happily demonstrated, earning some applause from the master.

The both of them soared through the sky almost the whole night until Ornstein could see how the morning sun glistened. Gasping, he quickly headed back to the forest, to the clearing where they had landed. He hadn't even noticed how the hours had passed as Ornstein had shown the master all the places he loved to look at from up there.

As they landed, the master hopped off his back at the transformation took place. Just like turning into a drake, turning back into his divine form hurt just as much and was accompanied by the cracks of shifting bones and muscles. After he finished, Ornstein stood there, heavily panting, his legs giving out under him.

Two strong arms caught him and Ornstein's green eyes stared in two hazel ones and a face that had a slight blush on it.

“...Is this normal?”, the master asked and Ornstein realized that he was butt naked at the moment. His own face turned red as his hair and he jumped out off the master's arms and stammered: “...I.. I just don't.. don't want to buy new clothes every time.. I.., uh, ...transform.”

“How about you get dressed?”, the master had picked up Ornstein's back and tossed it to him, which the knight caught.

“Yes..., thank you.”, Ornstein said and went behind a tree to put on some clothes, which probably had been unnecessary, because the master had already seen him in his naked glory.

As he came back, the master sat on a tree stump, looking at Ornstein with a stern look: “We need to talk.”

Ornstein winced, simply murmuring a tiny: “...sorry...”

“We were agreeing to not have secrets from each other. This... is a pretty big secret.”

Ornstein averted his gaze and stared at a particular interesting leaf on the ground.

“I was afraid.”, he admitted. “I thought if this would be known I wouldn't be able to continue living in Anor Londo anymore. Or... worse.”

“You were thinking that I wouldn't think twice to slay you, right?”

Ornstein nodded, face flushing red, even redder than before. How could he have even assumed from his master to be such kind of monster? He, who even showed compassion and respect for the slain dragons?

“It's fine. I probably would have reacted just like you in your place. And I have to admit, I haven't been honest to you too.”

“What?”, Ornstein looked up. The master obviously wasn't a dragonkin or he would have been forced to transform in the night, so... what could this secret of his be?

“Later. For now, let me ask a few questions.”, the master came closer to Ornstein, gently led him to the stump he was sitting on and seated him down before sitting down next to him.

“How long have you been able to turn into a drake?”

“I was 11 when it first happened.”, Ornstein replied. “I was probably the most confused about it. And I was a lot smaller back then. I think I was hiding in a cave in the forest until I turned back... without my clothes. To be honest, the matron of the orphanage knows about my secret. I had to eventually tell her to explain why I was gone every moonless knight. She promised to never tell anyone.”

“You must have looked adorable as a little drake.”, the master said, a dreamy look at his face. “Now, for the more burning question... Why did you decide to join my father's army when you are a dragonkin yourself?”

Ornstein's face felt like burning, being so close to the master. “...Because who would search a dragonkin in an army of dragon slayers...”, he said. “I did it to protect myself... and also...” Ornstein took a deep breath. “Seeing what some dragons did to innocent villages made me feel ashamed to be a part of them...”

“You shouldn't. What they did doesn't have anything to do with who you are.”, the master laid an arm on Ornstein's shoulder which made the dragon slayer flinch from the sudden touch. The master pulled his hand away like if he had burnt himself.

“Oh sorry, I should have asked for your consent first.”

“...It's fine...”, Ornstein replied. “I was just not... expecting this.” Ornstein took a few deep breathes as the master laid his hand back on his shoulder, clearly it had been meant in a reassuring matter.

“...But why haven't you tried to kill me?”, Ornstein asked. “You saw me transform. After all, it could have been that I had been a spy for them all along.”

“Ornstein, if that would have been the case, you wouldn't have tried to fly away but would have tried to roast me on sight.”, the master answered with a chuckle. “Besides, I trust you. There wasn't any reason for me to not trust you after all you have done for Anor Londo. I promise you, your secret is safe with me.”

He rubbed a few circles in Ornstein's shoulder. “And to be honest, I would like to join you on your transformation nights, if you allow. Riding on a drake that didn't try to kill me has been one of the most awesome feelings in the world.”

Ornstein couldn't help but grin about the master's words. It felt truly good. Having someone to share this secret with. Someone who was so excited about it. Who truly accepted his true self.

Ornstein suddenly remembered what the master had said earlier. That Ornstein hadn't been the only one who had his secrets.

“Master... now that you know my secret, what is yours?”

The master came closer and bowed down to whisper in Ornstein's ear.

And what he heard, nearly made him faint.

“Even before I knew that you could turn into a drake... I was head over heels for you.”

And as the master's face came closer to pull him into a kiss Ornstein didn't flinch anymore. (Author's note: So, I had this idea for Ornstein being some kind of werdragon and that spawned this oneshot. Ornstein turns into the King of Storms, if it isn't obvious. I hope you enjoyed the story and if you liked it, consider leaving me a comment. Thank you very much!)

#dark souls #fanfiction #dragon slayer ornstein #nameless king #nkstein #wer dragon au #littlewritesstuff #had to take a break from storm for this #oneshot

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silenceerased · 7 years ago

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The Dragon

Prompt: You’re a dragon who enjoys living a peaceful life away from humans. One day, a princess shows up asking you to “kidnap” her so that she doesn’t have to get married. (At least, I planned for this prompt but the story wrote itself as it went.)

The screams of the men fills the air. Many of them have already dropped their weapons and fallen back, unwilling to go further into the fire, but a courageous few know that the prize for their quest is worth the danger. They wipe the sweat off their faces, put their helmets back on, and continue the trek towards the mountain top.

“How many do you think are left?” a young man with red hair asks his group. His face, usually pale and covered with freckles, is coated in a thin layer of soot. His sharp blue eyes almost seem to be glowing against his soot-covered face.

“We were the last group to leave the town, weren’t we, sir?” another coughs out. The smoke in the air is making it harder to see and breathe. It has already begun to blend into his blond hair, tinting it a dark grey.

“Yes, we were,” the last man responds. He turns his head to watch as another two men run passed them in an attempt to escape the forest. “If I’m right, we might be the only group left.”

The redhead grins the blond man next to him. “That’s great news for us, isn’t it, Eric? The less people there are, the less competition.”

“There may be less competition, Richard, but that also means less assistance,” Eric reminds him. “Based on how everyone’s reacting, we might not be enough to face this thing.” He turns to the last man. “What do you think, Louis? It’s your call. Is it worth it to keep going?”

The last man glances at his longtime friend, contemplating his options. All those men ran from something terrifying. Was he truly willing to let his own men possibly die? “I don’t think it would be fair for me to make this decision myself. You two are the ones risking your lives out of loyalty. I leave it to you.”

Eric clicks his tongue impatiently, already expecting this answer. He turns to Richard. “Well, what do you say, kid? Are you willing to fight for your life for our prince here?”

The younger man lets out a loud peal of laughter. “We’re going to be facing a dragon alongside our prince! I can think of no better way to go.”

Louis smiles at them. They may not be an army, but these two have nerve of steel and hearts of gold. He wouldn’t replace them for the largest armies in the world. “Well, that’s decided then. Let’s go slay that dragon and bring home my bride!”

The two men cheer in agreement and they race forward, fully aware of what’s ahead of them but willing to risk it all anyway.

~*~

They begin to set up their camp a mile away from the cave entrance. The fires seemed to have ceased for the night, but they decided to keep their distance just in case. Richard lays out their sleeping mats while Eric builds the fire. As the fire begins to burn, Louis returns from the river with enough fish to fill their stomachs.

The night is calm and serene, so unlike the hectic, flame-filled day. The three men exchange stories as they eat their supper. Richard, the youngest and least experienced in battle, tells stories of his days before being accepted as a knight of the royal court. He tells stories of a simple farm life with a set of younger twin brothers. He tells them of the first time he tried to milk a cow, not really understanding what to do, and nearly getting stomped by the irate animal. He tells them of the games he played with his brothers, how they would pretend to be knights fighting opposing armies until it was time for him to tuck the two children into bed. He tells them of the conflict within him when he was first chosen to join the royal court, the pride of being a knight but the heartbreaking sorrow of leaving his family behind.

Eric, on the other hand, tells stories of nothing but battle. He had been the son of a member of the royal court, thus explaining the friendship between him and the prince. When he was old enough, he asked his father if he could start training to be a knight and his father beamed with pride. Eric tells them of the first time he met the prince, when they were just little boys, and how they stole mince pies from the kitchen together. He tells them of how it felt marching into battle for the first time, armor on, head high, ready to fight for his king. He tells them how confusing winning can be because how can it be a victory if so many of his fellow soldiers wouldn’t be returning home?

Louis chooses to stay silent while the other two emphatically talk about their lives. He had the usual upbringing of a prince, filled with studying and training. However, it wasn’t as exciting as Eric’s battles, or even Richard’s farm life. Louis hasn’t really had much to be excited about growing up, when everything was centered around learning how to be a prince. However, when his father first introduced him to Princess Helena, his heart was immediately hers. She was beautiful, with kind brown eyes and hair as dark as the night sky. Her smile was soft and a light pink blush complimented her dainty features. When we first spoke, I was immediately enamored by her sweet voice, a voice that even the songbirds would envy. When she spoke, he was often too distracted by her lovely voice to really pay attention. Before returning to his own kingdom, he asked her to visit him and her blush deepened as she turned away and he knew that she was the one for him.

“--s… Louis!” Richard’s voice brings him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He looks up at the two, noting the amused looks on both men’s faces.

“You were thinking about her again,” Eric says with certainty. Louis could already feel the light flush on his cheeks.

“He definitely was!” Richard exclaims. “No one looks that lovesick for no good reason.”

Louis laughs along. “Maybe I was,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m just counting the hours until I’m with her again.”

Richard beams at him. “Only a few more hours, sir! Then we’ll have your dear Helena back!”

Eric raises his cup of water. “I’ll drink to that! To slaying the dragon!”

“To slaying the dragon!” the other men respond joyously.

The night continues on with more stories and more laughter. The fighting can wait till tomorrow. As soon as the sun comes up, they will wear their armor once more and be the knights they’re expected to be. But tonight, they are just men, laughing with their friends under a moonlit sky.

~*~

As the sun begun to set that same day, the large fires from within the cave stop. Two large golden eyes peek out from within the darkness, watching out for movement from beyond the entrance. After a few moments of stillness, the dragon within lets out a strangely-humanesque yawn as it turns and walks further into the cave. The men have stopped coming, as they usually did when the sun set. His job is done until the morning.

The tired dragon would have been quite the sight, had there been anyone to see him. Even in the darkness of the cave, his green scales sparkles. As he walks, he sways slightly as if too tired to move properly. His tail drags behind him, sweeping the rocks on the floor of the cave. He yawns again, all energy drained from a long day of protecting his cave.

“Glykon! You’re back!”

And its inhabitants.

The dragon watches with a fond expression as the young woman jumps up from her spot on the floor to greet him. He lowers his head to allow her to embrace him and lets out a warm huff of air. Hello to you too, the action seems to say.

She releases him from her hug and looks at him sternly. “Are you injured anywhere? You’re more tired than usual. I can tell from how loud your footsteps were.”

He huffs again and rolls his eyes. As if those idiots with their overgrown toothpicks could even come close to hurting me.

The woman continues to scrutinize him until he nudges her stomach with his nose, pushing her to the ground, then resting his head lightly on her torso with his eyes closed. I’m just tired. You don’t need to worry, she could almost hear him say. To most people, having a gigantic dragon pin you down would be terrifying but she had spent enough time with him to know how gentle he could be. Even now, as tired as he is, he is keeping most of his weight off her.

“Okay, okay. I give up,” she relents. He opens one eye lazily. “Let’s go lie down somewhere it’s actually comfortable.”

He picks up his head and follows her further into the large room. His tail sweeps from side to side, accidentally pushing a pile of books onto the floor. He winces as they fall, but the young woman just giggles. “I’ll clean it up tomorrow.”

The two get to a small cot in the middle of a large, minimalistic room. The woman goes to simple wooden table with a simple cotton dress folded on top. She takes the dress and changes quickly while the dragon circles the cot, getting himself ready for a good night’s sleep. She climbs into her bed as he settles down.

“Are you comfy, Glykon?”

He grumbles quietly, sounding almost like a purr.

“Sounds like a yes,” she says, amused. “Do you wanna hear a story before sleeping again?”

He picks his head up next to her and lets out a huff of air.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s see…” she ponders. “I’ll pick up where I left off yesterday, alright?”

He grunts in agreement and she begins to tell her tale as the old dragon listens, finding peace in the calm yet enthusiastic storytelling. The moon rises high into the sky as the night continues, but the two don’t realize this, too wrapped up in the peace that came with their nightly routine. Tomorrow, as soon as the sun comes up, the men will be back to raid the cave to steal the dragon’s most valuable treasure, but for tonight, he will listen to her stories until she starts to yawn and keep watch as she begins to nod off. For tonight, she is safe and that’s all that matters.

~*~

Helena had just left home that day with no intention of returning. All of them were exactly the same, uncaring of her opinion and who she was outside of being a beautiful princess. She would rather live in this cave for the rest of her life than marry any of them. But she didn’t expect her life to end this soon. She had just entered the cave half an hour ago and begun reading to herself when the dragon that seemed to live there decided to come home.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this cave was already taken,” Helena whimpered as she flattened herself against the wall. Her eyes were wide open, staring straight into the golden orbs that seemed to be piercing her very soul. “I-I’ll leave.”

The dragon shifted its gaze to the book in her hand. She lifted the book. “D-did you want this?” she asked cautiously.

He let out a snort that she took to mean yes. She began to bring it closer to him when he narrowed his eyes and let out an annoyed huff of air.

“Uhm, is that a no?” she questioned, some confusion starting to mix into the fear. He pushed the book towards her with his nose and huffed again. “Uhm, do you want me to read it?”

He didn’t move at all, which she took as a yes. She sat down slowly and his head followed suit, plopping down to the ground. She began reading and as she read, she would glance at him often. Every now and then, their eyes would meet and she realized the fear from before had faded and calm had taken its place.

After what felt like hours, she closed her book and put it aside. While she couldn’t see the sun from within the cave, she had a feeling it was already nighttime. She yawned and interestingly enough, the dragon yawned as well. She sank further down onto the floor, curling up into a ball as she readied to sleep for the night.

“Good night, Mr. Dragon,” she murmured. “See you tomorrow.”

He grumbled in response and moved his head closer to her, so he would be able to breathe warm air onto her if the night got too cold.

At the time, they didn’t realize how close they would become, able to understand each other despite the language barrier. She had no idea she would enjoy living with him, sneaking into town every now and then to gather more books to read to him. She had no idea she would worry about him every day as more princes and soldiers came to “save” her. Likewise, he had no idea how much he would begin to treasure the young princess and her wonderful storytelling and her kind heart. He had no idea he would fight countless men every day, risking his own well-being despite his claims of their weakness, just to keep her safe with him.

All they knew was that night felt calm and they would sleep well.

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #prose #writing prompt #medieval #dragon #princess #unedited #or not that edited #june 10

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bound-by-golden-wings · 7 years ago

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POST 8 FACTS ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER & TAG EIGHT OTHER CHARACTERS.

Tagged by: @ofsoulsborne ((Thank you. c: ))

I. The Ornstein and Smough at Anor Londo never were Illusions. They were the real thing. Both of them are strong enough to come up for themselves and fight against the Chosen Undead even if that means passing away in the process. Besides that, both drop their souls if they had been Illusions why did they drop Souls to begin with? Wouldn’t Gwynevere do the same then? Either way, Smough died during this fight but Ornstein barely made it out alive.

II. Ornstein never was really looking for a partner for life, mainly duo to the fact that he continued to lose so many people in his life and already was busy to begin with. If it happens, he will most likely try to deny the feelings at first and once he grows more fond and closer to the person he likes, he will confess. This can take months, even years. However, he does have this eternal fear of losing the person he loves... As what happened to Smough. Love is something that just kind of happens along the line and Smough well... Just happened to become a person he deeply trusted and grew rather fond of.

III. Dark Souls I and post Dark Souls I Ornstein are rather different from how he used to be. He started to open up after Nameless King found him and began to enjoy life again, having friends and he was more open about certain things. However, losing all of his Knights and eventually Smough, slowly closes him down more and more and he rarely smiles nowadays. Sometimes he may even come across as cold and bitter duo to this, but he just doesn’t want to hurt any more people. He will only ever truly open up again if he finds another person he can fully be himself with, only then will he slowly become more happy again. Don’t push him, this will only make him despise or ignore you.

IV. Duo to Ornstein having dragon genes in him, there are some instincts he has deep nestled within him as well. For example, he kind of hoards things he likes, like gems for example, he purrs when he’s content, happy and/or healing, if he were to become a parent he’d try and make some kind of nest, all those kind of things.

V. As a kid he was rather unhappy with who he was and where his life was leading him. One day he tried to chop his tail off and nearly succeeded had it not been for his mother running in to stop him. He has a large scar on his tail and it’s extremely sensitive. Besides that unlike some of his other scars, it’s kind of deep and he still has somewhat of a hole in his tail. Nowadays, he became more accepting of his appearance.

VI. Ornstein will never take his armour off unless he knows that he can for 100% trust you. The only people who he ever took his helmet off for were Nameless King, Smough and Gwyndolin. A small opening in his helmet makes it possible for him to push small bits of food or liquids through. He is very frightened that his appearance might make people mad and try to banish him again, which is one of his worst fears. However, there are exceptions. Sometimes people might accidentally find him without his armour on. Sometimes the person can be trusted with this information and sometimes he will threaten them if they decide to tell other people. He will even go as far as to murder someone if it’s necessary.

VII. Ornstein seriously loves kids and would often spend telling stories to the children in the cities around Anor Londo. He also used to read Princess Filianore stories when she was little. He often tells them about what it was like to slay the dragons or to be a Knight of Gwyn. Deep down he really wants a family of his own, but some things will remain distant dreams for forever...

VIII. Ornstein can actually cast lightning spells on his own, but duo to him being a Drake this deeply exhausts him to a point where he can actually faint. It’s a very dangerous thing and he will only use it when absolutely necessary. His weapon was infused with lightning gems however, which makes it possible for it to automatically cast it. Golden Pine Resins are very helpful as well at times.

#tagged #headcanons

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and1she2will3be4loved · 6 years ago

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A Bad Day

Also, yes, it’s on ao3

The wildest thing about Taako’s two cats is how intuitive they are? Like they know when he’s panicky and needs one of them to lay on his chest and purr his breath back into him. They know when he’s sad and needs both of them to kiss his tears away and bring him toys to play with. They know when he’s anxious and needs to lie in bed with company and Fantasy Netflix for a few hours. Right now, they’re sitting at the foot of his bed and he’s watching them give each other a bath. He doesn’t want to be touched, but he doesn’t want to be alone, and it’s as if they somehow know that.

They aren’t service animals per se – they’ve never been trained. He rescued them both at different times of their lives – Panther when he was an old man and living in a tiny room of the Fantasy Neverwinter Humane Society with thirty other cats who will probably never be adopted, and Princess shortly after she had been hit by a Battlewagon and the Fantasy Vets were going to put her down because she was too small to survive the head trauma. He hated the idea that each of these two cats would die alone, never knowing the full capacity for love and life they could have if he could just take them home.

So he adopted them and gave them every toy and treat he could find – they had cat trees all over the house, an entire room dedicated to soft surfaces and boxes to lay in, a fucking water fountain for their water dish. He learned that Panther preferred chicken and Princess liked seafood so he had separate food dishes for each of them. They lived the most elegant of lifestyles.

And in turn, this must be how they thanked him? With soft snuggles every night and the pitter-patter of their feet down the stairs to greet him whenever he came home.

He sighs and scoots down further into the bed into a laying position, angling his body so that he can watch Fantasy Friends on the TV at the foot of the bed. He’s not really paying attention – he’s seen every episode 10 times. It’s more just background noise to his thoughts.

He pulls the softest blanket up to his neck and sighs into the scent of laundry detergent. The shuffle misplaces the kitties a bit, so they snuggle up to his legs – Panther next to his feet and Princess into the space between his knees and thighs.

He hears the creaking of a door opening into the den and knows that it must be Magnus returning from work. He imagines how disappointed his boys must be to find that he once again has not prepared them dinner and is instead hiding in their shared king sized bed. He pulls the blanket up higher to hide his face, like that’ll prevent them from finding him.

Magnus always arrives home shortly after 7:00pm, and Kravitz does his best to get off roughly around the same time even though time doesn’t work the same way in the Astral Plane. He’d synced a watch to what he calls Taako Time after their second date and hasn’t taken it off since. It makes Taako feel worse to know that he’s put so much effort into keeping up with Taako and why can’t he even just cook him fucking dinner in return – he’s been home all damned day what the fuck is wrong with him.

Taako feels the tears fall over his lashes before he can even realize he’s crying and Panther creeps up to his face to investigate. He ends up burying his face into the soft black fur while Princess presses her body into the nook between his knees, purring loudly enough to vibrate his whole body as if to say “I love you, I love you, I love you”.

He hears the telltale rip that signals Kravitz’ return home and then hears some quiet greeting between his two boys, mumbled through the walls and doors between them. The cats don’t even move from their places to greet their other owners, which should be a sign to the boys in and of itself.

Taako imagines the two of them embracing and asking each other can almost hear them ask how their days went: “Kravitz, how was your day?” “Oh, it was splendid, love, I was able to slay so many necromancers and save our plane of existence for yet another day from the horrible atrocities they were trying to attempt. And how was your day, darling?” “That sounds AWESOME! I had a great day today, too, training dogs and what not! I also left work early so that I could help a local finish building her house by hand! Boy am I hungry, I hope Taako’s cooked us a great dinner!” ��Me too, I am just beat from all of my work today – hey why don’t I smell anything?”

Taako’s ears droop low as he tries to convince himself that the conversation is just in his head – he can’t hear what they’re actually saying, and they don’t even sound like that in real life, why is he just torturing himself by imaging what they’re saying? But instead he drapes an arm around Panther and curls into a ball. Princess gets up to step to his front so that both cats are laying right in front of him and he can curl up into a smaller and smaller being and maybe even stop existing.

He hears clanking from the kitchen and assumes that at least one of the boys has given up on Taako ever cooking for them and is just going to do it himself. The murmuring of voices seems to has dropped to a level he can barely even detect with his elf ears, if they’re even speaking to each other at all. Maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re too mad at him to speak.

Magnus comes into the room first, after what feels like seconds but also could have been an hour. He fumbles around in the dark – he doesn’t have night-vision like his boyfriends do – and sits on the foot of the bed. The light from Fantasy Friends lets him see the lump of blankets that he assumes is Taako’s body.

“Hey,” he whispers quietly from the edge of the bed. Taako doesn’t respond, just closes his eyes tightly. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Can I come cuddle, though?”

Taako ponders for a moment, but decides that there are worse things than having a big lug to share his bed with him. He nods. He feels Magnus crawl up the bed, kicking his shoes off in the process. They thunk onto the floor. Magnus carefully nudges himself under the blanket that Taako is under, sitting up so that Taako has the option to pull himself onto Magnus’ chest or to stay where he is if he’d prefer. It doesn’t take long before he chooses the former.

Magnus starts rubbing slow circles onto Taako’s back, and that combined with the slow breathing help Taako to unclench some of his muscles. He finds he’s able to uncurl and lay more straight as the minutes (seconds? hours?) pass.

As one hand makes continue to make their circles, Magnus’ other hand comes up to run fingers through his hair. Taako winces at that – he’s probably greasy and disgusting – and Magnus backs off immediately.

“Sorry,“ he whispers, and brings his hand back down.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m disgusting”. Taako’s first words since the morning come out scratchy over his raw throat. The feeling makes his eyes well up again. He thought he was done with the crying.

“Baby, you are not disgusting. You are perfect and I love you so much” Magnus whispers back and pulls Taako closer to his chest. Taako’s ear rests right above his heart, and he listens to his heart beat for a little while. It’s soothing all on its own.

After another measure of time, which Taako feels might have just been a few minutes, there’s the sound of Kravitz padding down the hallway and the room fills with smells.

“My love, how are you feeling? I made some beef stew if you’re feeling up for it” Kravitz enters the room with a tray that holds three bowls, each steaming with a big spoon jetting out over it. He sets the tray on the dresser next to where Magnus is laying, picking up one of the bowls.

Taako looks up at Magnus, who is basically salivating like a dog, and chuckles at how blown his eyes are just looking at Kravitz’ definition of “comfort food”. He sits up and gives Magnus his arm back so that he can take the bowl that Kravitz is holding. He takes a big bite, but then almost immediately spits it back. Kravitz looks a mixture of amused and mortified.

“Magnus, that soup is piping hot! Be careful!” he chides, a bit louder than any of the boys had sounded all day. “Yeah, I fucking – I fucking guess so! I burned the roof of my mouth off!” He sputters, handing the bowl back to Kravitz, offended. “Ummm, I don’t think either of us want to eat your spit soup. You’ve claimed it now” he responds without moving to touch the bowl. Taako watches the whole interaction amused, sitting up a bit more and then reaching towards the dresser for a bowl of his own. Kravitz stands again, grabbing another bowl and blowing on a spoonful of soup to lean across Magnus and feed to Taako. “Here, my love. I don’t want you to burn your mouth too” he smiles. Taako’s the master chef in this house, but Kravitz knows how to make a mean Beef Stew. He smiles as the broth hits his palette. “UNFAIR you didn’t blow on my soup!” Magnus pouts. Kravitz sighs, looking at him like he would a child. He begins to blow on another spoonful of soup. “I can feed myself, bubelah, but thank you for cooking,” Taako interjects quietly, moving his hands to take the bowl away from Kravitz. Kravitz hands over the soup and picks up his own meal.

The three of them eat in silence – save for the animal slurping and sounds of delight from Magnus, of course. He finishes his bowl first and moves to get off the bed. “Dude, did you make any extras? That’s shit is delicious” he leans over and kisses Kravitz as a thank you before making his way back to the kitchen. Kravitz watches Taako eat. Taako flushes.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, barely audible over the Fantasy Friends still playing on the TV. “Whatever are you sorry for, my love?” Kravitz asks, setting his bowl down on the dresser and scooting up the bed to be closer to Taako. “I don’t know I just… didn’t do anything today and you guys were out working and shit and I know you come home and expect to have a meal waiting and I just… I didn’t do that and I-“ “Dove, we expect absolutely nothing from you. Where did you ever pick up that idea?” Kravitz hushes, putting his hand on Taako’s knee. Taako’s ears droop. “You are allowed to have days where you don’t do anything. You are even allowed to call me up on my Stone of Farspeech and ask that I come home and do nothing with you” “Me too,” Magnus pipes in from the door, already devouring another bowl of stew. “You are the light of my life – of our lives. We love you so unconditionally” Kravitz finishes, looking into Taako’s eyes. It feels like he’s staring into his soul.

Panther brrps his agreement from the floor, and Taako looks around the room to smile at him and Princess.

“Thank you” he whispers, and Kravitz takes his bowl from him so that he can pull him into a long, enveloping hug. Magnus lets them have their moment, before setting his own bowl down on the tray as well and climbing into hug Taako from the other side as well.

“Okay, I’m getting crushed” Taako mumbles into Kravitz’ shirt, and the three of them laugh and separate.

“How about I draw you a bath, and we can spend the rest of the evening pampering and relaxing? How does that sound, my love?” “Taako is always on board for pampering, my dudes! Hell yeah!” he jumps off the bed and starts for the door, both cats following expectedly.

“Umm… maybe you two can go play for a bit?” He says down at the two of them. He winks up at the boys, and Magnus blushes fiercely and looks away to Kravitz. “Taako’s good now”

#taz #taz balance #taz taako #the adventure zone #the adventure zone fanfic #fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3 #taako #taako taaco #taakitz #taagnus #taagnitz #anxiety #panic attack #panic disorder

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