#imagine me touching your shoulder with the flat of a sword

[zorangezest]

Hi hi!!!! I’m sooo sorry to bother you, but since I first found your personality swap comics, I’ve been completely obsessed!!!!

So, I was wondering if you’d be ok with me writing a short fic based on it? Specifically Starscream and Thundercracker in part 3!!! Following this, I was wondering if it would be ok if I used the dialogue from it in the fic?

Feel absolutely free to refuse both of these!!!! Have an amazing day!!!! <3

[justwinginglife]

I've been deepdiving the hoshina tag and you are definitely one of my favourites to read from with the way you portray him 😭😭😭 so I'm wondering how it'd be with him and a reader that's always portrayed as the elegant and forward type... (kind of like shinobu kocho? if you're familiar with her) and on a rough mission he finds her like... heavily injured and he's thinking that it's the first time he's seen her so different from how she usually acts

this is my first time requesting ever.... so if there's some kind or etiquette I'm missing please don't hesitate to tell...........

THANK YOU SO MUCH! This means a lot to me! And, my dude, I just portray what I think of him- that he's the biggest freaking green flag EVER lol. And don't even worry about requesting etiquette, I just joined tumblr a couple weeks ago so you're totally fine, I wouldn't even know either. I'm just glad I could be your first request! Hope I do it justice, thanks again for your support. Also sorry for the wait. Also there were so many different ways I could've gone with this prompt so I hope the one I chose turns out okay.

Honest

There was always a line out the door of officers looking to train with you and today was no different.

Besides the fact that your technique was utterly flawless and you made combat look as graceful as ballet, you were also just stunningly gorgeous. Any man would die just to get a glimpse of you, let alone spar with you. Taking a punch to the face or a kick to the abdomen was an honor if it was from you.

And you were always the same with every man, you never showed any favoritism. You'd give them the same small smile, giving your honest advice when asked, but nothing more than that. You never even blinked at someone longer than you usually did with anyone else.

But even though it seemed like no one had caught (or could catch) your particular attention, there was in fact one man that you had to actively try to subdue your feelings for. You were thankful that no one had noticed that every time a certain Vice Captain walked into the room, your eyes always somehow wandered in the opposite direction of him. And when you'd hear him laugh or even just give out orders, your teeth would clench together to keep from smiling at his voice.

You weren't one to give away parts of yourself easily, having lost all of your family, but one day you'd suddenly found that it was much harder for you to not want to just give everything to him. Especially when you had realized that he was into you too. No matter where you were on campus, he'd make it his mission to find you, to be near you. He'd tell you his best jokes, trying to get you to crack more than just your usual small smile. He'd fight all out with you during training sessions, trying to get you to break a sweat for once, claiming that it did something to him watching you all worked up. It had become quite the strain on you, trying to treat him the same as everyone else when you were dying to just push him up against a wall and kiss him. You'd settle for even just holding his hand or brushing your shoulder up against his. But this wasn't like you- to want such immature, naive things.

You were someone who was wanted, you did not want. You were someone who was needed, you did not need. In fact, you were so hesitant to rely on anything, that if you could've figured out a way to live without oxygen you would've so as to not be indebted to the air filling your lungs.

Your skill and your independence were your swords and you wielded them with grace, distancing yourself from the crowds, but making yourself into a pretty show for them to watch. You were fine if they watched you, as long as that was all that they did. You couldn't imagine someone actually courting you, touching you, loving you.

But you did imagine Hoshina- it was more often than you'd like to admit and it irked you. You thought about just flat out ignoring him, turning down his requests to spar with you. But then he'd be different than everyone else. He'd be someone who spurred enough emotion in you to warrant unnatural behavior. And you refused to give in to emotion, especially emotion so childish and needy as something like love.

So you spent the day the way you always did, giving every officer a proper amount of time to train with you, and ending each session with a curt smile and a nod, gesturing for the next combatant to approach.

But then the alarm went off, signaling a kaiju attack. You thought you'd handle this the way you always did, no mess, no fuss, just efficient and effortless. But this was no ordinary kaiju and tonight was no ordinary night.

You had let all the lower ranking officers handle yoju duty and you had gone straight for the daikaiju. That was not abnormal behavior, you were always confident in your skills and they always served you well. But not tonight.

Tonight, you were humbled in the most brutal way possible.

Your fight had drawn you away from the rest of the squad, and now you were glad it had because you were ashamed to be in such a sorry, gruesome state. You had sustained heavy damage and for the first time in your life, you genuinely considered you might die here.

You thought of all the friends and family that you'd lost to war, kaiju, sickness. You wondered if you were ready to join them. It would be easier to let go.

"But I'm not done yet... I haven't..." You spit up blood, and shakily rise to your feet, groaning at the effort. I haven't even told him how I felt yet, damnit, you think to yourself, unable to speak the words aloud. Without meaning to, you being to cry. You don't have a free hand to wipe the tears away, as one clutches your dripping abdomen trying to stop the flow of blood, and one clings to your gun, aching as you attempt to raise it again. You fire a weak shot but your combat power is high enough that it distracts the kaiju for a moment.

And a moment is all that you need.

"Hey there, princess. You look like you could use a little saving. Don't worry, I won't tell the guys."

Right before your eyes, the beast suddenly splits into little dissected pieces and they rain down on the pavement, pelting the ground.

For the first time in years, you smile a real genuine smile as the Vice Captain holds his hand out to you. You're relieved to be alive to make it to another day, and you're shocked at how relieved you are. You don't remember when life began to feel so precious to you.

Maybe it was when you'd accidentally overheard a conversation where Hoshina was telling another officer that you'd be the one to bring hope to future generations.

Maybe it was when you'd forgotten your lunch one day and he'd sacrificed his lunch to leave it in your locker for you to find when your growling stomach had sent you hungrily ravaging through it for any snack you might've left behind.

Or maybe... maybe it was when your last living relative died and everyone whispered to each other about how cold you were for not shedding a tear and keeping your chin up when all you wanted to do was curl up and cry, but he alone told you in passing (not wanting to make a scene) that it was okay to grieve in whichever way you pleased.

And now he was holding a hand out to you. And you thought if you took it you might never let go. You might want to know where this led, what your feelings felt like when you let them roam wild, what he felt like in your arms.

Before you can decide if you truly want to take that terrifying step, his hand clasps yours and he pulls you in for a hug.

"You did good." He whispers in your ear.

You shake your head but you don't pull away from him. "I didn't. I almost died. You had to save me. I wasn't good enough."

"You're enough. You did well." He repeats, firmer this time.

You sigh against him, exhaling every pent up feeling you'd been holding on to. "Th-thank you, Vice Captain."

He pulls back a little and grins at you. "It's Soshiro, actually."

You bite your lip, trying to force down the warmth that's started to flood into your cheeks.

"You know I've never seen you like this before. It's a good look on you." He teases.

"Shut up, Soshiro."

He grins even wider at you using his first name so soon. "You get your butt kicked for the first time, you actually blush, and then you raise your voice at me? What is going on with you today?" He chuckles, nudging you playfully.

"I think... I think I might want to try something. Something different." You say finally.

He raises a curious eyebrow at you. "And what's that, princess?"

"Being honest with myself for once."

And with that, you pull him in and kiss him.

[backtothefanfiction]

Just some quick Aramis fluffy angst…

A/N- just a little sword fighting teaching, a bit of sass and a bit of lip locking.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asked, placing his hat back atop his head with a small shake.

“What?!” You cried out indignantly, turning your head back towards him. “What did I do wrong now?!”

“Everything.” He said, staring you down.

You frowned. You hadn’t thought you were doing that badly. When you had asked him to give you some sword fighting lessons, you had never imagined it would be this hard.

This was your third lesson now and apparently you were still doing everything wrong.

“Drop into your stance again.” He said, stepping forward to you as you spread your feet apart, one set slightly in front of the other, your body at an angle. You held up your left arm for balance, whilst the right with his sword in your hand, rose up behind you.

“Of course when you’re not moving you stand perfectly.” He sighed, lifting the front of his hat up and wiping the sweat from his brow, exasperatedly. “Okay, now move into your second position- and no.” He immediately said as you swiped your arm forward through the air, the tip of the sword now tickling the tops of the long grass of the meadow.

“You’ve let your arms go all floppy.” He sighed, “And look at the way your body is now angled.” You rolled your eyes. “You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?” He questioned, eyebrows raised, as he caught your sass filled gaze.

“I just didn’t think it was gonna be this hard.” You whined.

“You want me to teach you how to defend yourself properly or not?” He huffed, arms folding across his chest as you relaxed your stance.

“Yes.” You said, looking to the ground and shuffling your feet across the dirt. “But, isn’t there a quicker and easier way-“

“If you don’t want me to teach you-“ he cut you off, his hands lifting, shoulders raising, as he began to turn away.

“No. NO!” You said, stopping him and he slowly turned back to you. He lifted his eyebrows at you expectantly. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry. Please teach me.” You said, eating humble pie.

He smiled. “Okay. But only because I am so merciful. And because I can never deny a pretty woman of knowing how to defend herself.”

Your eyes narrowed, “You think I’m pretty.” You teased.

“Oh, shut up.” He said. “Back to your first position.” He instructed. But as his fingers brushed against yours, his body pressing flush to your back as he guided your body in how it should move, his breath tickling the exposed skin of your neck, you couldn’t deny- that if this is what it took to get him to touch you, you’d pretend to be bad at sword fighting everyday.

THREE WEEKS LATER

“You sure you’ve got this?” He asked as you circled each other.

“Oh, I know I’ve got this.” You challenged.

“Okay then.” He smirked, as he made the first move; charging forward at you, his sword cutting through the air towards you.

You quickly blocked it with you own and when he lifted it for a second sharp blow, you narrowly dodged it, letting it swing wide.

“Is that all you got.” You teased, as you continued to dance around him.

“Oh, you want more, I’ll give you more.”

He charged at you again. You met him blow for blow, ducking and twisting around, stepping side step, after side step. Although he had more experience, you had lightness and agility on your side from years of dance practice. You toyed with him like a cat would with a mouse, batting back and forth, circling around and around until he was dizzy. Until you were able to hook under his arm, your leg tripping his as you knelt at his feet and he fell flat on his back in the dirt. You seized the moment of his surprise to disarm him with a quick flick of your sword, before pinning his body under your own, your sword held teasingly to his neck.

He chuckled and smiled. “I do believe the student had become the master…. Almost.” Although you were agile, he had more muscle to throw around than you. He quickly rolled you both over, his hand jabbing at your bicep and you reflexively released the sword in your hand for him to take.

He loomed over you, a devilish and teasing look in his eyes and in his smirk. You rolled your eyes in defeat, but were caught off guard by the sound of the sword hitting the dirt beside your head and his lips smashing against your own. “Always such sass.” He said when he pulled away.

“Well, when it gets a reaction like that from you…” you teased and he merely smiled and let out a small breathy chuckle that seemed to say ‘touché’, before he once against fixed his lips to yours.

[beesneedswords]

Blade to Duke

Duke Wyll Ravengard ending. 🪷

Masterlist

You wake up and wander the halls of the Ravengard estate. It was given to Wyll after Ulder Ravengard realized all the sacrifices he'd made to keep the city safe. The late duke thought he would be the best thing for the city. You fidget with the acorn Wyll had proposed with, its place now taken by a beautiful ring. The ring was passed down by his mother, a silver band with a purple topaz.

You make your way to the office and see Wyll asleep. His forehead against a stack of ledgers and a stack of loose parchments against the back of his head. You gently shake him, trying not to disturb the massive piles spread all around.

He stirs a bit, "There is food in the dinning room, do you want me to bring you some?"

"No, no." He finally lifts his head, indents of the books very clearly seen, "I'll join you. I have to get out of here." He stands and stretches.

You smile as he takes your hand and leads you to the dinning area. Beautiful dishes and a bottle of wine sit on the table. His father is already sitting at the table, as Wyll pulls out one of the end chairs for you and sits himself in the other.You help yourself to the food as Wyll and his father start talking about the estate. That's all they've been discussing the last several weeks. Ulder gets up and excuses himself. He said he is going to take the day off of the estates ledgers. Clean up is finally done and now rebuilding has started. You and Wyll finish your meal in comfortable silence.

He walks with you back to the office and tries to say goodbye. However before he is able to pull away you kiss him and ask him to take a break from the papers. He sighs and agrees, he pulls you into the room with him and grabs a book off the desk as well as a quill and pot of ink. You grab a book from the shelf and the two of you sit in silence on a soft sofa.

You set your feet on Wyll’s lap, getting comfortable. He rubs your feet occasionally taking the quill to write something down. As you both continue reading his hand slowly drifts upward. His hand wraps around you ankle, calf, rests on your knee, before stopping on your thigh. It rests there for several minutes before slowly moving upwards again. He stretches himself out to lay on top of you. Kissing anywhere he can reach before claiming your lips with his. The two of you are entangled in passion for what feels like hours. His touch is desperately looking for warmth, the cold air breezing through the window fueling his need for yours. He grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa as clothes meet the floor and the cold wind becomes more noticeable.

You never go too far, he still wants to do things properly and you've agreed. So all the two of you do is kiss and touch. Lips are always touching skin somewhere on each other's bodies. His hands never stop finding new places to touch.

After a while you both notice how dark its become. You move out of his arms and into your clothes. Slowly, he joins you. That's when you notice how hungry you are. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted potatoes fill your nose. You and Wyll walk hand in hand to the table. no one else in sight. He takes a basket from the floor and begins filling it with food. He grabs a couple of thick blankets and almost drags you outside into the large yard. The yarda once green grass has now become a sort of yellowish since winters taken hold. Beautiful shining stars above you and crisp winter breeze pushes you into his back. He places a blanket and the basket on the flat, hard ground. You join him as he lays out some of the food. He wraps a blanket around your shoulders and another around himself.

As you eat Wyll asks, "I wonder where I would be if I hadn't taken over as Duke."

"I imagine you'd be doing what you had been before. Killing devils, keeping the sword coast safe." You laugh, "Probably change your name."

"The Blade of Avernus." he laughs.

"Of course, I would be there, joining you in beating devils. Karlach would be helping too.”

"You really think so?"

"Yes, we are such a great team. I mean Karlach is already on her way to killing devils, we'd be unstoppable."

He smiles, seemingly unsure of the decision he'd already made. You take his hand trying to reassure him that both decicions are helping the city, its people, and the coast. He smiles at you, sadly, but you can see the wheels turning.

"After we get the city and people back into better shape, maybe I can be the Blade of Averus. Only take over as Duke when its done or my father has gotten too old. Or passed."

You smile bigger, its a good idea and besides you already miss the thrill and danger of adventure, "I'll join you every step of the way."

[aizawaorkuroo]

a little bastard knight!choso x noble fem!reader drabble

(1 use of “my lady” but other wise gn)

to the anon who wanted more from like the dawn, here's a small excerpt that im not sure i'll use hehe

like the dawn masterlist

sfw but mdni!

“A sword?” Choso asks, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

You nod solemnly, as he stares at the space next to your reclined form on the small bed.

“We can share a bed, however, a sword must separate us for honor’s sake…” you trail off, watching as his lips curl unpleasantly.

He makes a noise of contempt before turning to draw his blade. He steps towards you, sword held up in the dim light of the fire.

The black steel flickers, the red gems embedded in the hilt wink at you, and your lungs fill with air slowly as you watch him gently place the blade next to you.

It’s massive. A hulking thing, that makes the bed dip next to you. A small ember burns in your lower stomach at the thought of the strength required to wield such a tool.

But laid flat, the steel loses its gleam. And while it’s clearly well cared for, you can’t help but imagine the amount of blood this blade has drawn.

You feel a little nauseous.

As if reading you’re mind, Choso snatches it away, his back facing you as he sheaths his trusty weapon.

“It’s not right,” he mutters. “Such a foul weapon next to someone so…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, frozen in thought. You wish you could see his face.

“I suppose it’s a crass and gross thing to have in bed,” you concede mindlessly, eyes drifting over his frame. He hums in agreement before his shoulders tense.

Before you get the opportunity to ask, he spreads his cloak out on the ground next to the bed and lowers himself, back facing you.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

Your brows pinch together as you sit up. He’d been fine with sharing a bed until you brought up that damn sword.

Biting your lip, you slide yourself off the bed, and onto the ground behind Choso.

He stills again, holding his breath.

Slowly, you lay down behind him, scooting as close to him as you dare. With more courage than you’ve ever dared to have, you reach up to pull his hair out of his signature knots.

You comb your fingers through his hair watching as his breathing begins to regulate again.

“I don’t think you’re crass or gross,” you whisper, praying your hunch was right.

He sighs, flipping to face you.

Oh. He seems much closer like this.

His hair falls into his face slightly, lips slightly parted as he mulls over what to say. You wonder if one day he’d let you kiss him. Or let you kiss the wide mark that stretches across his nose. Your stomach flips at the thought.

You’d be embarrassed if this was anyone else, honor and dignity demanding propriety.

But this is Choso, and the self-loathing that bleeds out onto his face makes your chest ache.

“I’m no better than my wretched blade. How could you let me sullen your bed?” he mutters, dark eyes boring into you.

“It’s not as if we would…” A warmth spreads between your legs at the thought, but all Choso gives you is a small humorless laugh.

“Even then…”

You sigh, resting your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the tips of your fingers. “Choso you are the most honorable knight I have ever met. I would be honored to be in the same bed as you.”

Choso’s eyes soften, a light flush spreading across his cheeks. He looks so gentle like this, so warm, so in love. It fills you with a desire so strong, it almost makes you regret saying anything. Almost.

“Otherwise I will be glad to join you on the floor. Even though it’s a little cold,” you say, scooting forward to press your body flush against his.

You feel his body rumble as he laughs quietly. “Well, we can’t have that.”

He stands, offering his hand to help you up and back into the bed.

He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t cling to you or wrap his arms around you, but as you drift into the darkness of sleep, his back brushes up against yours, and it’s enough for the both of you.

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[nyxsoot]

↳ OF HOME & HEART |

[ summary · you and your lover have come to odds on the battlefield ]

[ pairing · c!technoblade x reader ]

[ word count · 1.5k ]

[ extras · some angst in the time of the pogtopia vs manberg war - contains flashbacks ♥ ]

You had a choice to make and you knew it would break you.

With the thick plumes of smoke touched by the Withers scourging the L’Manberg skies, your lungs burned and eyes stung with unshed tears. Aching arm outstretched, the violent delights of your lover reared their ugly head as you tilted his chin upwards with the flat of your blade.

“Come home with me,” he said, elegant hands stained with dark soot and blood.

Dwelling on the choices that lead you here somehow you wouldn’t change a thing.

You had been the one that held Pogtopia together, the glue between Wil and Tommy; exile had not been kind to either of them deep in the heart of their ravine base. Sly in your rebellion, you had kept close to Schlatt and Tubbo back in Manberg, avidly renouncing old alliances and everything they stood for. He had believed you too, that horrible man, inviting you to stay under his watchful eye in the city. Despite his faith, it seemed Schlatt didn’t want to risk losing you.

In the dead of night under the guise of invisibility potions and a starless sky you slipped through the cracks, peeling back the carpet in your cottage and slinking under the city to make your escape. Invisibility was your superpower. Yes, it came from a bottle the majority of the time, but the ability to stand in a room and hear everything unfiltered without anyone so much as batting an eye was crucial. Your arrows in the Battle of the Lake came in handy, a rain from above with no actual source, but it was your information that was truly valuable.

Stepping into the ravine, your skin began to shift from gone to translucent until it became entirely opaque under the lanterns in the damp cave system. Tracing your fingertips along the stone walls, they bumped occasionally over a button or two, the beginning of what seemed to be a collection by Wilbur. You didn’t question it.

“Y/N.” Wilbur smiled at you, clutching your bicep in one hand and shoulder in the other in some sort of half-hug, a show of comradery if nothing else. “Tell me what news have you brought from L’Manberg.”

And so, you did. Relaying plans, gossip, and rumours, the whispers of others not brave enough to leave themselves or those trapped by nefarious forces. Nodding in quiet contemplation, Wilbur sat in pure silence listening, the quietest the ravine had been since they’d cleared out the mobs.

“It’s getting bad, Wil,” you said, fidgeting with the fabric of his coat, a familiar texture that you missed in Manberg.

He grimaced. ”I can only imagine.”

“And speaking of bad,” you stood up, eyeing his chest with concerned eyes, “Let me see your wound.”

The scowl etched on his face deepened and he nodded once more. Peeling off his torn shirt, you knelt down to examine the scar tissue, eyebrows knitted in pure focus. Here you were yet again, piecing together the broken bits of these war-torn boys as easily as sewing up a flag or tapestry. If you couldn’t mend their souls, you could be the seams holding their skin shut, the buffer between the boys, because that’s what they were.

As you leaned over him to examine the exit wound, a near silent step disrupting your train of thought. In one sleek movement, you were blocking Wilbur’s entire body with your own, crossbow primed in front of you. Your target stood in dirty slacks and an open collared shirt, sleeves rolled up the forearms, soil under his fingernails. His face was frustratingly bemused as his arms raised in faux surrender, hands long and calloused, elegant and obviously used. You were unmoving despite Wilbur’s shuffling to put his shirt on, rising to your side in a too relaxed manner.

“Surely you know The Blade.”

Yes, you had heard of ‘The Blade’ in all his anarchist glory. Said warrior tilted his head down in greeting, peering up through his lashes as he kept your gaze. Huffing, you lowered your crossbow, nodding curtly.

Oh, how far Techno had come from humble potato farmer to full-blown terrorist. In the time between your meeting and his betrayal – all of their betrayals – you had grown to become begrudging comrades in the revolution against Schlatt and his tyranny. Perhaps everything had come to a head when he murdered Tubbo at the festival. Tommy had been ready to fistfight Technoblade in the dark corner if the ravine and you hadn’t let him. You had rolled up your sleeves, removed your rings, and beckoned the piglin hybrid to fight.

Wrapped hands met his chest and face in fast succession, ears ringing deaf to the jeering of your peers, only filled with the blunt pounding of pure violence. A final swift kick to his ribcage ended the fight, caught in his hands as he flipped you onto your back, your dominant hand pinned over your head, leg caught by the thigh.

You could have flipped him if you wanted, brought your head up to collide with his concaving his skull. You didn’t. Struggling under him for a moment, you yielded in your stillness, eyes boring into his, burning brighter than the hanging lanterns above. Pulling himself up, Technoblade held his hand out as an offering. Chest heaving and body quaking, the ravine became vertical once more. His hands were rough, fingertips ghosting over your palm as you disconnected. Tongue darting over chapped lips, you cleared your throat, Wilbur hoisting you out of the pit with a grin that scared you.

Slipping into the darkness, you found respite in the potato farm cultivated by the anarchist, massaging the aching pain out of your limbs. Hearing him before you saw him, a surge of blind rage overtook you and you had him pinned this time against the stone wall.

“He’s just a child,” you hissed, eyes narrowed as he seemed all too complacent under you. “You might be on our side, but they’re both kids and they come first. If I even get a hint that you’re going to hurt either of them again- “

“What, bunny? What could you ever do to hurt me?”

Grip moving roughly to the back of his neck, your lips moved together in a second battle far more intense than the first. You supposed that had been the start of it.

“You want me to come home? With you?” Your voice was hoarse, almost wavering. “This is my home and look what you’ve done to it!”

Technoblade barked out a laugh, bitter and completely amused. “Wilbur did this, Y/N! He was the one who blew it all up, I’m just finishing the job.”

Everything felt numb – heavy. Sword falling to your side, the sword he had made for you, you swallowed back the acid and tears, gut twisting with grief. In the eye of the hurricane the chaos surrounding you seemed irrelevant; the shrieking of your friends, the clashing of their weapons, all fell on deaf ears once more. It was just you and him. A tender moment passed between you as he reached up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Come home.

Moving painfully slow, you began to sheath your sword. How bad would life be with Technoblade? How bad could life be with all of the riches and potions you could ask for, the seclusion of being fugitives. Building a life wouldn’t be so bad, and nothing like this would happen again surely. Retirement beckoned you – he beckoned you.

“Y/N!”

Whipping your head around, you saw Tommy and Tubbo pinned under his shield, the final Wither closing in and the Badlands soldiers not doing anything to get them out.

“You knew who my priority was from the beginning, Technoblade,” You said, voice catching in your throat, tears streaking through the ash built up on your face. “Come with me. I forgive you, everyone else will, just come with me.”

A moment of silence permeated the space between them only broken by the cries of your boys. “Bunny, you know I can’t do that.”

A watery smile took over your face. “Then don’t come back.”

Turning on your heel, you sprinted away before he could grab your shoulder, pick you up and carry you away – before he could change your mind. The Wither was low you could see that; no longer under the guise of invisibility, you charged the monster, driving your blade through its centre. It dissipated into ash underneath you, staining your skin and clothes with thick black soot. Picking the boys up from the ground, you positioned them behind you just as you had many times before with them and with Wil, priming yourself to protect them against Dream and all the other anarchists.

You may have made your choice, but so did he and you both knew he would regret it.

[wherethewordsare]

Till the Fever Breaks

A very happy birthday to @unremarkablegirl I hope you enjoy this!! <3 <3 <3

“This place looks like it hasn’t seen a living being in a century,” Jaskier whispered, following close behind Geralt.

“Just about. But it might have some records Vesemir has been looking for.” He held the torch a little higher, turning slowly. Around them, shelves with crumpling scrolls and molding books flanked work benches and long dead potting plants.

“Don’t touch anything,” he growled, carefully stepping over a pile of shattered glass. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice. This place gives me the creeps.” Jaskier held his own torch a bit higher, letting the light throw the table in the center into a mess of shadows and grimey reflections. 

Geralt scanned the shelves, kneeling to try to make out the old ruins on the side of one volume as his hand braced against the shelf above him. It barely took any pressure but he felt it as it went under his weight. 

“Jaskier, get out!” he barked as there was a crash of glass and wood. Dust from the shelf fell into Geralt’s face and he coughed, struggling to get back to his feet for a moment as the taste of ash flooded his nose and mouth. The shelves around him seemed to fall apart as he scrambled out after the bard. 

They both hunched over, gasping for fresh air, blinking into the bright morning as the cacophony of collapse rang out behind them. 

“Don’t touch anything?” Jaskier looked over, smirking. 

“Shut up, Jaskier.” But there was no heat to it. Geralt felt like his lungs were burning and his vision couldn’t seem to focus. He looked out towards where he had left Roach and blinked hard, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what had been in that dust but it couldn’t have been good. 

They paced back to the road and Geralt found that Jaskier was easily pulling ahead of him, his strides even and sure where Geralt was starting to have trouble navigating the ground. 

“Hmm.” He stopped, looking back at the building and finding that the stone looked unfocused and hazy, as if a fog had been put between them. He turned and found that he could no more make out Jaskier, even as he drew nearer. 

“Fuck.” He felt as though the ground had shifted under him and his legs were quickly losing the battle of keeping him upright, his armor and swords feeling heavier against his frame than they ever had. 

Then Jaskier was there, his arms under Geralt’s holding him up, his face only inches away. Geralt had only a moment to think how strange it was that he couldn’t quite make out Jaskier’s eyes the same way he had that morning. 

“We got to get you to a healer. Something’s wrong.” Jaskier half carried him towards Roach as the world seemed to shift and crumble under him. “Shit, Geralt. You’re burning up.” His voice hitched with worry and he pulled Geralt a bit closer to support him. 

“I’ll be fine Jaskier.” Geralt tried to reason but the ground was swirling now and everything seemed too hot, too much. 

“Of course you will be,” Jaskier promised. “Of course.”

Geralt wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more. It didn’t seem to matter as he felt his body finally give out and he collapsed.

-

When he came to, he was tucked into a warm bed with the covers to his chin. He could feel the trace of fingers against his scalp and all he wanted to do was lean into them. So he did, groaning as those same fingers brushed his hair out of his face.

His whole body ached, a headache pounding behind his eyes as he tried to look around. Jaskier was sitting beside him on the bed, a book balanced on his knee while his hand still idly brushed through Geralt’s hair. 

“Jask?” Geralt croaked. He made an attempt to sit up but he could not seem to find the strength in him. 

“Well hello there,” Jaskier said simply. He pulled his hand away and Geralt thought he might have whined at the loss. Before he could make any verbal protests, Jaskier was sliding the book into his lap and sighing. 

“Mages,” he explained simply. “They must have been some of the first to help create the witchers. I think they were trying to find ways to undo it. Why, I can’t tell, but,” and he pointed to a set of ancient ruins that Geralt could barely make out, “Whatever that dust was that hit you, they made.” Jaskier’s leg was bouncing under him, an anxious tick. “I think they only tested it on younger witchers.” 

Jaskier twisted his hands for a moment before leaning in and helping Geralt sit up, piling the pillows behind him and readjusting the covers. 

“Where did you get this?” Geralt let himself be propped up on the pillows, wincing at how stiff and frail he felt. 

Jaskier cleared his throat, not meeting his eyes directly on. “Might have gone back in and found the shelf the powder was on.” He rubbed the back of his neck before glancing at Geralt. “Good way to brush up on my elder?” 

Geralt only glared at him. He would cross his arms were he able but he hoped the scowl would be enough. 

“Oh, scary witcher!” Jaskier chuckled. “Try again when you’re not laid out flat, darling.” 

“The powder was supposed to do what?” He struggled against the blankets around him to bring his hands up in front of his face. Even as his vision seemed to fail him, Geralt could still make out the firm muscles and calloused pads that he knew to be his. 

“Drains them- you? Makes the witchers men again.” Jaskier’s hand came up covering Geralt’s and squeezing gently. “I think only temporarily?” he plucked the book back from Geralt’s lap, flipping through pages. “They never fully succeeded it seems.” He showed the next page of ruins, splattered ink and water damage. 

“And if the witcher was a few decades older than that?” Geralt dropped back against the pillow. His body shook for a moment but there was that hand again against his scalp, steadying and firm. 

“Temporary, Geralt.” Jaskier nearly snapped but his hand remained gentle. “You’re going to be fine, remember?” 

“Hmm.” Geralt gave in, pressing as much as his weak body would allow up into the hand, marvelling quietly as it came down and cupped his cheek. It was warm and slender and it was all he could do not to turn his face and nuzzle into it. 

The powder had to wear off soon. Geralt realized that not only had it drained his strength but every ounce of his carefully maintained control seemed to have vanished with it. 

~

Jaskier never left his side, only long enough to bring back meals and water. He was constantly hovering over Geralt, his hands never far from an easy touch. And with every touch, Geralt could feel his determination slipping. As weak as he was, there was no other weakness he knew greater than the one against the gravity that was Jaskier’s casual affections. Part of him wished that the powder would simply drain him so completely so that when this was over, at least he didn’t have to face the bard. 

For days, Geralt laid there, his strength gone though his body did not show the same betrayal. He found that his senses had all been dulled as well. He was no longer able to catch the steady rhythm of Jaskier’s heartbeat or hear his footsteps on the stairs as he went for broth and ale and fresh linens. 

All the while, he burned, his skin feeling as though it were on fire. He had tried to pull the covers away, just managing to do that only to find that the air around him was freezing. Geralt groaned and turned restlessly in the bed. 

“You’re worse than my sisters when they catch a cold,” Jaskier teased, pulling the covers back up over Geralt’s shoulders. 

“You could just give me one of my potions and we could be done with this,” he groused but shifted, chasing after the tips of Jaskier’s fingers with his shoulder. The touch was back, easily given and Geralt all but melted under it. It felt like he was duping Jaskier into the contact but he couldn’t find the strength in him to care. 

“No witcher powers, Geralt. It would be over because you would be dead.” There was something distressed and anxious in Jaskier’s voice and then he was hovering again, pressing the back of his hand to Geralt’s forehead, fingers cool against the burning skin. 

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier made a soft sound in the back of his throat as he let his fingers slide into Geralt’s hair, pushing it back from his face, tucking loose strands behind his ears. “The powder’s going to wear off any time and you’ll be back to your old brooding self in no time.” 

“Hmm, wouldn’t mind you keep doing this too,” Geralt sighed, letting himself settle into the comfort of Jaskier’s attention. 

He remotely registered the press of a fresh cloth to his face, damp and cool and gentle. Cracking an eye he could just make out Jaskier’s face. He wondered if it was a trick of the light or his dulled senses that had made that look feel like it was just for him. He thought maybe it was best not to know and he tucked the image in the far back of his mind. The fever would break soon, his strength would return and he would lose those caring hands. 

~

Jaskier was slumped over the edge of the bed, his doublet discarded and his hair rumpled. Geralt could make out his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of the cook below preparing the stew. He had to squint against the light that flooded into their room but he was able to sit up. He felt exhausted but there was strength in his own hands again.

So he used that strength, leaning forward and letting his own fingers card into Jaskier’s hair. It was softer than he had imagined, finer hairs at the nape of his neck brushing against the side of Geralt’s hand. 

Jaskier stirred and for a moment he thought about snatching his hand back. Maybe he hadn’t returned to his full self. Not quite at least as he found that he no longer cared to restrain himself. Under his fingers, Jaskier turned his head to look up at him, a sleepy smile on his face. 

“Good to see you’re feeling better.” He sat up slowly, almost careful not to dislodge Geralt’s hands as he pressed the back of his own fingers to Geralt’s forehead then his cheeks. “The fever broke.” There was something small and sad about the smile he gave him though. “Guess the training is going to need a bit more time to catch up, hmm?”

Geralt slowly pulled back his hand, flexing it for a moment before it dropped back into his lap. There was a pang in his chest he was having a hard time ignoring. He felt as though he had been caught out somehow. 

Jaskier slid into the bed next to him, checking him over slowly the same way he had over the past few days, waiting for the magic to wear off. His touch was still careful, turning Geralt’s hands over, squeezing and waiting for Geralt to squeeze back. When he did though, Geralt didn’t let go. He squeezed back at Jaskier’s fingers and then held on, letting his thumb brush over the back of his knuckles. 

He found that he wasn’t ready to let go of this. The thought that the touch Jaskier gave him while he was sick was only temporary churned his stomach and made the need to cling only stronger. The consequences were coming for him, he knew, but he was still too weak still to stop himself.  

Maybe that had been the problem. Maybe he had always been too weak when it came to Jaskier. The bard had stayed far longer than Geralt thought he would and for all that time he had struggled to maintain that last distance. Now he found himself buckling under the weight of of a need he had no right to. If he pushed, he knew he was going to lose Jaskier. 

“Love how you just sit there and brood,” Jaskier chuckled as he bent down, sliding off his boots. He shifted under the covers, his hands tugging at Geralt’s shoulders. “Come on then. You’re not quite up to snuff and I desperately need a nap.” 

It was all the explanation he gave Geralt before rearranging them to where Geralt’s head was resting on his chest, Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him. 

Slowly, Geralt let himself slip back off to sleep, realizing that those touches weren’t lost, he just had to be strong enough to let them stay. 

[airplanned]

All the Trashy Novels Part 22

Part 1...Part 21

***

Nine out of every ten people at the castle were overly-proud and overly-pleased that Link had a townie girlfriend.  "He's so happy lately.  I didn't know he could smile."  "That boy deserves it with all the work he puts in."  "Sure hope she's good to him."

He did look happy lately.  It was unnerving.  His stony face had softened and there was a light to his eyes and an easiness to his step.  Instead of looking as if he wished to completely remove himself from interacting with everyone, he now looked like he was having a quiet, good time over there by himself.

It made no sense.  He didn't really have a girlfriend.  He was taking his lie much too far.

The other one out of ten people were furious that he wasn't dating them.  Jealousy was strong with some of the court ladies.  And weirdly some of the Sheikah techs.  And a disproportionate number of cooks in the kitchen.

There was no in-between: everyone was either thrilled or bitter.  No one was ambivalent.  

Zelda was the only person who was not happy for him and not blindingly jealous.  She was annoyed, but not because she was jealous.

Unfortunately, their agreement to temper their loathing of one another in public meant that she couldn't round on him and tell him how ridiculous he looked smiling vaguely into space.  She suspected that he only did it to annoy her.

"Where's the book I had?" she asked, looking up from her table in the library and shifting everything about to find it. (A month ago, she wouldn't have asked him.)

"Which one?"  (A month ago, he wouldn't have answered.  He just would have let her talk to herself.)

"Novel Methods in Guardian Programing?"

He shifted her other books about as well, holding it out to her when he found it under a pile of sketches.

"Thank you."

He smiled at her.

She gave him a distracted smile back, then remembered herself and frowned at him.  They weren't pretending to be friends.  They were pretending to not hate each other.

His smile turned soft, and she rolled her eyes and opened her book.

Everyone in the castle was talking about how they were getting along so much better.  Because Link had a girlfriend.  Which put him in a good mood.  Not because Zelda was working on being nice.

It was beyond frustrating.

When she went to bed that night, she pressed a pillow over her face and screamed.

She was distracted by a tapping at her window.  She stilled, certain it was a bird or a tree branch or her imagination.  But then it came again, and she remembered that there was no tree outside her room.  There was also no ledge, so it couldn't possibly be a person.  She sat up and crossed to the window, startling at the silhouette of a figure clinging to the wall.  She nearly screamed when he flicked back his hood.

She opened the window and hissed, "What on earth are you doing there?"

Link's eyes darted past her to her door, where the night guard was stationed, listening for any sound of distress. (Not screaming into pillow distress.  That was commonplace.) Then he flicked his hood back over his head and adjusted his grip on her window sill.  She leaned out and couldn't tell what he was using for footholds.

"I need your help," he whispered.

"Now?"

He nodded.

She frowned at him.

"I'll meet you in my study," she whispered.  Then she closed her window.

She tied the belt of her robe tighter and patted at her hair.  If Link needed help, it must be important.  If he needed help from her, it must be dire.

She walked outside and across the bridge to her study tower.  Should anyone see her, they wouldn't think it strange.  Well...not unusual.  They, of course, thought her strange.  As soon as she shut the door, Link dropped from the ceiling.

"What is it?"  She hurried to light a lantern.  What could she possibly help him with?  He must need her to cover for him while he ran off to do something outside the castle, or need her help with a guardian part gone awry.

"It's about my fake townie girlfriend."

She gave him a blank look.  "You snuck to my window and woke me up and acted horribly inappropriately because of your fake townie girlfriend?!  I thought you were in trouble."

"I am in trouble."

She narrowed her eyes at him.  

"Some of the guards are starting to doubt me."

"They doubt the veracity of your completely fictional story?  Imagine that."

"If they find out I don't have a townie girlfriend, what are they going to think?"

"I don't know.  And I don't care.  And I don't know what any of this has to do with me."

"I was hoping you could--"  He gestured at his neck.

She stared at him.  Then she exploded.  "You want me to give you another hickey?!"

"Yes?"

"No!"

"Please?"

She huffed.  The mark she'd left days ago was starting to fade.

"Fine," she snapped.  "Take off your shirt."

He startled.  "What?"

In exasperation she explained, "Your fake townie girlfriend left an obvious mark last time.  She wouldn't make the same mistake twice.  Take off your shirt."

He unclasped his cloak.  "I thought the point was to be obvious."

She rolled her eyes.  "You go shirtless enough that this will hardly count as hidden.  And if you want my help, you can trust that I know what I'm doing."

He frowned, unbuckling his baldric.  "You know what you're doing?"

"I will throw you from this tower."

He nodded, setting the Master Sword on her desk.  Then he pulled his Champions tunic and its undershirt over his head.

Suddenly, there was a lot of boy in her office.  She tried to consider it a logistical challenge and tuck her emotions aside.

"Alright," she said.  "I'm going to bite you."

"Shocking."

"Get out."

"Sorry.  Sorry.  Okay."

"Okay."

She nodded to herself, then stepped forward.  Even without touching him, she could feel the warmth radiating off him.  He held very still, which made it easier to stay calm as she lowered her mouth to the fleshy part of his shoulder.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let herself imagine it.  She would be on her back, with him on top of her, his skin as warm as it was now.  She pressed against him so she wouldn't have to imagine it.   He sucked in a breath, and she used that--the feel of him moving against her, the sharp sound of his breath--to fuel her fantasy.  Her fingers dug into his sides, dragging up, over tensing muscles, until she could cling to his shoulders.  

And that's what she would be doing: clinging.  Holding onto him for dear life as he pounded away, as her control unraveled in raw, aching strips, as she lost herself to bliss.  His hips twitched, and she whimpered, and she muffled the sound by sinking her teeth into his shoulder, clinging, clinging, her nails scrambling at his skin, scratching into his shoulder-blade, digging into the small of his back to pull him closer, deeper.

He made a noise halfway between a hiss and a grunt, and his hands came to rest tentatively on her back, wanting to cling to her as well, but uncertain if that was alright.  

Because this was a ruse.

She soothed the scratches with her hands and released him from her teeth.  She couldn't help pressing the flat of her tongue to the mark, couldn't help pressing her lips gently to his flesh.  Then she pulled away and wiped her mouth with her wrist.

She surveyed her work.  The bite was a red and angry circle of dents.  The very edge would peek from his collar.  Just a hint.

She swallowed hard so her voice would sound normal when she said.  "There.  That should do it."

If she looked him in the eye, she'd have to see the look he was giving her.  She knew the heat that would be there.  She could feel it in his skin.  If she looked, she'd do something foolish.  Something very foolish.

"See yourself out," she said, and left.

***

Part 23

[minor-character-in-this-story]

Marked (Tommy Shelby x Reader) Part 2

I meant to get this out wayyyy sooner than now-I deeply apologize. Hope you enjoy! Also-for all those who asked to be added to a taglist-I dub thee *waves styrofoam sword* tagged. If anyone else wants to be tagged in a further installment of Marked, just ask :)

Also-Trigger Warning for sexual assault. Discretion is advised.

The Thomas Shelby that left for France at the beginning of the war and the Thomas Shelby that returned are two very different people.

The old Thomas Shelby was but a boy: slight with rosy cheeks, a crooked smile, and a love for horses. He was small and quiet, but not to be underestimated. He was dangerously clever, always had a trick up his sleeve, and a bit of a smart-ass.

The new Thomas Shelby is tall, thin, well-dressed, and observant. His big blue eyes are now cold and searching, the spark inside long gone. His soldier’s helmet is thrown into the Cut and replaced with a flat cap that has razor blades in its peak. He’s cunning, fiery, and has nothing to lose.

Under his pressed suit and cool manner, along his ribcage, a second word takes shape: runaway.

**

“Y/N? Are you well?” You snap out of your reverie to face your best friend, Edith. She’s looking at you across your kitchen table, plump lips pulling into a frown. You sigh in response, running a hand through your hair.

“Yeah, I think. I just really need to score well on tomorrow’s exam,” The two of you were lucky enough to attend the local college together: for a certain amount of money from the right families, the school was allowing a handful of women to attend classes. Because your father was a wealthy horse breeder, you were sent to “make the family proud”. The problem was, you were terrible with math. You were lucky to have even gotten this far in the course, but tomorrow’s test will bank on you staying in university. And you couldn’t go back to father and mother empty handed-they would never forgive you.

“Hey,” Edith places her hand on top of yours, “you will succeed. We have been studying for weeks. All will be well,” You look up at her and smile. You didn’t deserve to have this awesome of a best friend. Edith has always been there for you, and you can’t imagine life without her.

“Thanks. Now how do I factor a polynomial?”

**

You hand in your final with shaky hands and begin to make for the door of the classroom, right behind Edith. You’d failed, you just knew it. There were too many questions that you blanked on, too many that you just wrote the first number that popped into your head as an answer.

“Uh, Miss Y/N,” Your professor’s voice sounds, “Hang back a moment,” You look desperately at Edith, who had turned around too. She gives you a sympathetic look, mouthing, ‘I’ll wait outside,’ You nod, slowly turning around to face Professor Lewin.

He had always given you a strange vibe, especially because he made it clear he hated you. He called on you a lot during his lectures, and when you’d stutter out a guess, he’d shrug and look at the male members of the class: “Women, eh?” He’d say, before moving on.

You put on your most confident smile, “Yes, Mr. Lewin?”

Mr. Lewin stands, putting his hands on the top of his desk, “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing towards the desk closest. You obey, sizing him up. He’s a portly man, with slicked back salt and pepper hair and stubble that tries very hard to be a mustache. His dark eyes glare at you as you smooth your skirt.

“You are quite an interesting pupil, Miss Y/N,” Professor Lewin sidles around to the front of his desk. A sick feeling curls in the bottom of your stomach. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Regardless, you keep your cool.

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see, Miss Y/N,” Mr. Lewin walks closer to you, looking as if he’s stalking prey, “I just can’t seem to figure out how your head so pretty yet so very empty,” He’s invading your personal space now, leaning over your table to put a strand of hair behind your ear. You clench your teeth, trying to lean as far away from him as possible. His breath smells disgusting-like old cigarettes and tuna.

“Mr. Lewin, I-” A meaty, chalk-smudged finger is shoved hard onto your lips.

“Don’t speak,” Mr. Lewin grabs your wrists in a death grip, and with astonishing strength, pulls you out of your chair and against him, “Just spread those delicious legs, and you may be able to pass this class,” Oh, no. The feeling in your stomach crests, your blood running cold. This wasn’t worth a passing grade. Despite your paralyzing fear, you fight hard against his grip.

“Let go of me,” You snarl, trying your best not to appear absolutely petrified. He doesn’t respond, instead moving one of his hands to gather your skirts. Your newly freed hand scrabbles at the desk behind you, trying to find leverage. You open your mouth and begin to scream…only to have his palm slap over it, silencing you.

“I told you to be quiet, bitch!” He mutters menacingly, tearing at your skirts. Your desperate left-hand closes around something long and sharp on the desktop. Without hesitation, you jam whatever it is hard into the closest part of Mr. Lewin’s body-which happens to be his neck. It sinks in surprisingly deep, and you feel his grip on you loosen. You wrench away, watching in horror as blood spills out from the side of his throat. Mr. Lewin looks at you with what can be best described as astonishment before staggering forward and collapsing face-first on the ground. Warmth rushes against your feet as your math professor’s blood pools around your shoes. He’s dead. You just killed him. You just fucking killed him. Bile rises in your throat, but before you can act, the door to the classroom slams open.

“Y/N! Are you alrigh-” Edith rushes through the door, then stops in her tracks. Tears well in your eyes as your wet, red hand flies to your mouth.

“I didn’t mean it-he just-he tried to-” You choke out. Oh, dear God. You’re so dead. You just killed a man and now you’re about to spend the rest of your life in a cell. A warm hand touches your shoulder, shaking you.

“No now, stay with me Y/N. It’s going to be alright. We just have to leave now,” Edith’s voice is surprisingly calm, her hand on your shoulder comforting and steady. Somehow, you summon the strength to nod.

“I know some people, and I have an uncle in Birmingham. Come along now, we mustn’t linger,”

**

It’s almost midnight when you board a small boat stacked with pallets of textiles. Your elegant-bloodstained-dress has been traded in for brown, baggy slacks and a tan button up. Your hair has been sheared to your chin and covered up with a large, floppy hat.

“Your job before has been to impress, stand out, yeah?” Edith is saying while fussing you’re your new headwear, “But, now, your job, my dear, is to blend in. My uncle will take care of you, let you help him with the horses, but you need to be able to disappear in a crowd. Your family thinks you jumped from Tower Bridge. Y/N L/N is dead. You’ll go by Marion now. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You look at Edith, awestruck but nodding.

“How-How do I repay you?” You stammer. You have no idea why she’s doing all of this for you.

“Oh darling, you already have. Your friendship has meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” Edith pulls you into a warm hug, kissing your cheek, “Now stay safe, yeah? Give this to Uncle,”

She presses an envelope into your grasp before climbing out of the boat and waving to the captain. With a groan, the vessel begins to glide along the surface of the canal, leaving your old life behind. As it does, the skin on your right hip begins to burn. You shift your clothing and watch as a blotch of ink slowly forms into a word: troubled.

**

A portly, nervous looking gentleman meets you in Birmingham. He shifts from foot to foot, giving you a small smile.

“Ello. My Edith says you’ve come to give me help with the horses,” You dip your head, handing over a small envelope. The man opens it, scratching the back of his head as he reads. Soon enough, he straightens with that same nervous smile.

“Right then, Miss Marion. I’m Curly, and if you would follow me, I’ll show you to my horses,”

Taglist: @fireghost-x @octaviareina @captivatedbycillianmurphy @screemqueen

[jimlingss]

Hi hi. Just a random idea I thought I would share in the case it might interest you. But sort of like a parallel universe or time travel thing. There's a forest/meadow on earth that is suspended in another time or world. You happened upon it by chance and meet someone there not realising that your lives can only cross in this one place.

inch-resting.....

↳ Snow White and the Park Ranger

2.4k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

Once upon a time—

“Please, let me go!”

—you were birthed as Princess of a marvelous kingdom, as fair as your mother and beloved by all who breathes. But tragedy appeared when your mother passed. Your father remarried a woman and after he, too, passed, your step-mother became Queen.

She was consumed by her jealousy and banished you from the castle.

And now, you were fleeing.

“I beg of you!”

The leaves of the Enchanted Forest crunch beneath your quick steps. A twig snaps as a cry befalls your trembling lips. You continue running, grasping fistfuls of the yellow shirt of your dress as you weave between the grandiose trees cloaking the sky with their canopy. The darkness is thick, shadows that whisper with beasts lurking amongst the wooded thicket. 

But you are far more fearful of the Huntsman trailing after you.

He brandishes a sharp knife, gripping it at his shoulder. You turn at your shoulder to find him close and you shut your eyes as you brush past another tree. Someone save me! Please!

Bring me away from this!

As if the magic of the Enchanted Forest answers your desperate pleas — suddenly there is a man standing in front of you. 

You are unable to slow your steps and you run into his firm chest. Yet, luckily, his strong arms reach out and he grasps at your shoulders, so that the two of you don’t collide or fall. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Are you alright?”

You look up at your saviour. The person who has rescued you. 

And your breath is stolen away from your lips. You wonder if this is what your mother always described to you when she used to read those bedtime stories back when the castle was still your home. You wonder if this is it: love at first sight.

The man has plump, pink lips, sheepish eyes and a sharp nose. He is without a sword, white horse or silver armor. Rather, a flat hat the colour of sand on top of his dark hair. His clothing is strange as well, a shirt of the same shade with an emblem on the sleeve — perhaps his kingdom’s crest — and his long pants are much darker. 

But still, he is your prince. 

“Are you alright?”

“There is a Huntsman chasing after me!” You turn around, still within his embrace. But as your breath catches up, there is no Huntsman. Have you lost him in the forest?

“I don’t see anyone,” your prince says.

“He must’ve gone when he saw you here.”

You turn back to your prince as he steps away from you, gazing down at your dress. 

You feel shy. Your red cape is torn from being twisted by branches and your yellow skirt is dirtied from the mud. You never expected to encounter your prince in the Enchanted Forest. You always thought you’d meet him at a ball. But this dress, although dirtied and not as beautiful as the ballgowns the Evil Queen has, it was sewn by your mother. You cherish it deeply. 

“Are you cosplaying?” he asks. “Or filming something?”

“Pardon me?” Your brows lift, unable to understand him.

Your Prince frowns. “Are you here alone?”

“Why, of course, I am. I was trying to get away.”

“You said someone was chasing you? Who?”

“I already said, it was the Huntsman.” You sigh. “Oh, goodness, I do not know why he would do such a thing, but it was quite frightening. I had no choice but to flee as quickly as possible!”

“Al-….right then.” He takes a black rectangle from his pants and you watch inquisitively as he squeezes the side. You’re startled when a noise comes from it. Yet the prince speaks into the rectangle. “Hello? Can we get a medic? We have a lost and distressed...unstable female down just off of the granular trail by the Marshall Springs, west of the river. Hello?”

You’re startled once more when he suddenly hits the rectangle with his hand. “Hello? Can anyone hear? Goddammit, why is it not working?”

You wonder if this is a magical contacting device from his kingdom. Perhaps he’s calling his knights. “Is everything alright, my prince?”

He looks up at you. “Huh?” 

“I’m quite alright,” you reassure your handsome prince as a bashful smile comes across your features. “Now that you’re here.”

He’s silent for a few beats and then he sighs, placing the rectangle to hang off the top of his pants again. “Do you know what your name is?”

“It’s Y/N.” Your lashes flutter. “May I know yours?”

“I’m Seokjin, Park Ranger of Wood Buffalo National Park.” He points to the emblem on his sleeve. You’ve never heard of such a kingdom before, but it sounds absolutely splendid.

“Seokjin,” you murmur the name of your prince to seal it into memory.

“I’ll be able to help you. You don’t need to be scared,” he promises and you’re sure you must be dreaming. He is perfect. “Do you know how long you’ve been out here for?”

“Half a day, perhaps? I’ve been wandering the forest for quite some time.”

“What was your last memory?”

“Well, I was picking flowers and singing to the birds, but then I heard footsteps and I turned around and saw the Huntsman and started to flee. It was such a shame as I had to leave my daisies behind.”

You sigh softly, not noticing his incredulous expression and how he takes another step away from you. “Why won’t you take a seat, Miss Y/N. I’ll try my best to contact some help for you and get an assessment done.”

You’re not sure what he means but you nod, deciding to rest at a tree stump. Prince Seokjin tries to speak into his rectangle again, but there is little answer. It goes quiet as the beautiful forest sings, birds twiddling their song and the leaves rustle. 

Your prince breathes out and then he looks at you, mustering a smile.

“You must really like Snow White,” he comments passingly.

But you gasp. How does he know the nickname of what the Evil Queen calls you?

No one else knows. Could it be that he’s working for her?

You stand, careening back from him. Seokjin’s eyes widen. “Are you alright?”

“Stay back!” you shout. You can’t believe you were almost tricked!

“Miss—!”

You flee from him.

“Wait!”

You turn around, tears welling into your eyes as you look at him. You don’t notice the rippling effect in front of you, like an invisible wall only visible to the eye if close attention is paid. You don’t notice it until you step past the boundary line and Seokjin suddenly vanishes from sight.

You slow to a stop. What.

You step back and as if the world ripples, he appears again. Right on the spot you last saw him.

You step forward and he disappears. You step back and he reappears.

Seokjin’s mouth has drawn open. He’s as bewildered as you are. 

The magic of the Enchanted Forest is wondrous in ways you cannot and will not ever understand. Your mother once told you tales on how the trees are more ancient than mankind. That the fairies and elves, creatures and beasts, living inside have added to its mystic magic that have both answered pleas and punished wrongdoers when harm is done to the forest.

You are sure this is part of the Enchanted Forest’s magic too. 

When you cross a certain point of the area, Seokjin vanishes from your sight and you do from his and when he crosses, you vanish from his sight and you no longer see him as well. It’s as if it’s a doorway and this place crosses between both of your paths.

You quickly learn that Seokjin is no prince of any kingdom. He belongs to a different world entirely.

“...and they lived happily ever after. The end.” You close the storybook he’s given to you, stunned at how your entire life has been simplified in these measly drawings and short sentences. “I...have to live in a small cottage with seven small men?”

“They’re dwarves,” he says.

You look up at him. “And I’m given a poison apple by the Queen?”

“Well, you’re saved by a handsome prince who gives you true love’s kiss…?”

“This is awful!” You sob out and the book falls to the ground. “I don’t want to return!”

Seokjin is wide-eyed, not sure what to say.

“I don’t want to live in a house with, with, with—”

“Dwarves,” he finishes.

“—or be poisoned and brought to an endless sleep, waiting until a prince’s lips touches mine, so I can wake up and live in his kingdom as his!” Hopelessness makes tears well in your eyes.

You were waiting for someone to rescue you — your prince and one true love. But now that you know what will eventually happen, you’re heartbroken. You thought once you were banished from the castle, you could live a peaceful and happy life. But there was still so much waiting for you.

You never return home. Yes, you meet your true love and the Evil Queen dies. But all that misery for a happy ending? The end doesn’t justify the means. It was still frightening. You’ve been chased by the Huntsman already and that fear is enough to make you tremble now. You can’t imagine living with seven small strangers, being poisoned, and brought to a deep sleep while not knowing when you will wake up again.

“I won’t leave,” you decide, placing your foot down.

It seemed like no one could enter this place except for you and Seokjin. The Huntsman couldn’t come when he was right behind you, so you’ll be safe from the Evil Queen and her henchmen.

“What?” Seokjin looks at you, blinking.

“I’ll stay here.” 

He looks around the empty forest, appearing at a loss. His mouth opens, closes and then opens again. “I can’t in my good conscience leave a young woman to fend for herself.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, unable to understand his concern. “I may not be able to defeat my evil step-mother and her magic, but I know the forest well enough and can still fend for myself.”

To prove it, your lips part and you start to sing. 

At once, the birds hop from their branches and fly over to your feet. The squirrels emerge from their homes, rabbits from their burrows and a doe peeks out from the thicket. Seokjin is startled, taking a step back at all the animals and forest creatures emerging. Perhaps if he did not truly believe you were Y/N, Princess of your kingdom, and also Snow White from his storybook, he does now.

The creatures scurry away in disappointment when you stop singing.

Seokjin appears surprised. “Your voice is lovely— but I know this place might be your….your…”

“Enchanted Forest.”

“It might be your Enchanted Forest, but it’s also the Wood Buffalo National Park. It could have bears, wolves and bison. It’s dangerous. Especially at night.” 

You look at Seokjin. Seokjin looks at you.

He ultimately sighs.

Throughout the next few days, Seokjin brings you supplies. He teaches you how to set something up called a tent and it’s absolutely wonderful to sleep in with the makeshift bed he calls a sleeping bag. He teaches you how to start a fire, brings you a chair that you can easily open up and a lantern for the night.

It starts to become a wonderful place, filled with knick-knacks such as the box that makes a fantastic drink called coffee to a bigger box that’s cold and holds in snacks he brings to you. He tells you these things can run on ‘solar power’ which is power from the sunshine. It’s magic.

Seokjin might not be a prince, but he is a kind man. 

You also learn his job is a noble one. He walks through the forest and protects the creatures and heroes that wander in it. And while you may be from vastly different worlds, if there’s one thing you both have in common, it’s how much you cherish and love nature.

“I would like it if you could possibly bring me a shield or perhaps tools of some sort. Any scrap materials that you have no need for.”

Seokjin frowns, seated next to you on the log as he roasts the sweet treat called a marshmallow. His face is warm and glowing by the light of the fire. The forest is quiet but it feels peaceful. You find it’s always peaceful when he’s by your side. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I think I’m going to train and defeat the queen.”

“What?”

You roast the white puff until it’s golden on all sides. “I’ve been thinking that while I want to stay here, I don’t know if it can hide forever. I am not truly free until the Evil Queen has been defeated and I do not want to wait until she poisons me.” Your gaze meets his. “I want to protect myself.”

For the weeks that follow, you fashion sheets of metal into shields and weapons. Seokjin brings you a bow and arrows, and shows you how to shoot. You practice without rest on apples that you collect from the tree by the boundary line. That fruit has become your one true nemesis.

The arrow spirals out and thunks straight into the middle of the apple. It smacks into the trunk of the tree.

“Nice shot!”

You set your bow down, smiling widely at Seokjin who’s been watching you fondly.

“What are you going to do after you defeat the queen?” he asks in a murmur later that evening whilst helping you prepare dinner. He’s been coming to visit you every day now, after his work he says. You’re thankful for it — his company is something you’ve grown to yearn for.

You hum pleasantly. “I don’t know. Perhaps I will return. Don’t you think a cottage would be pleasant here?”

Your face lifts to find his softened gaze. He looks away just as quickly, yet he still murmurs, “Maybe I could bring you supplies.”

The two of you shyly smile to yourselves.

Seokjin may not be a prince, but he might just be the one you love.

[obsidiangst]

Congrats on 100 followers! Could you do a thing for #47?

47: “How many more innocent people have to die?”

WARNINGS: Manipulation, vague nudity, non descriptive sex, body horror(?), stabbing, and open end.

Part 1 | Part 2

Zelda had to get out of this. The longer she stayed there, the more she realized she couldn’t just pretend that everything was so hopeless that there was no point in trying. She couldn’t abandon her people- Link didn’t die for her to do that. Though every plan she thought of to do something about her captivity was riskier than the last. If she was the last thing standing between Hyrule and mass destruction, she had to try to find something that wouldn’t kill her.

First thing: She needed to recover the Master Sword. Which would be difficult because the demon was keeping the sword in his quarters and despite being allowed to wander through the fortress, though she hardly did, she imagined she wouldn’t be allowed into his room for no reason. How would she manage to retrieve the sword then? What would come next when she did manage it?

While she sat in ‘her quarters’ deliberating internally about her plan, she looked over as the door opened, the demon entering as he did just about once every day. Whether he was checking on her or just coming to taunt, Zelda had no idea, but she kept her face flat. Link’s skin had long since turned a deep shade of charcoal grey and his hair was entirely silver. If his face hadn’t been the same and she hadn’t witnessed the slow transformation into this new appearance, she wouldn’t have known it was her Link at all.

“What do you want?” Zelda bit out, looking back down at her hands resting on the empty table before her.

“Well, that’s an awfully hostile way to greet someone who came to offer you a way to save the scraps of your kingdom.” He said dryly and Zelda looked back up at him sharply as he made his way to the chair opposite from her.

“You mean trick me into giving you something you want?” Zelda asked and the demon laughed.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” He said, pulling the chair back and taking a seat. “I have Castle Town under siege. At any moment I can say the word and have it razed to the ground.” He said, giving her a look like he’d just locked her into a checkmate in an invisible game of chess on the table before them. Zelda glared at him. “Or- I could call it off entirely.”

Her heart both sang and dropped into her stomach at this. So he was here to trick her. Wonderful. But- If it meant saving her kingdom, she would do whatever it took. Even if he wanted her head on a platter, she’d do that if he promised to end the attacks on villages and innocent people trying to live their lives.

“What do you want from me?” Zelda questioned, less harshly this time. Escape be damned, if she could at least do this one thing for her people-

“Marry me. None of your people will respect me as a ruler without a legitimate claim. If I marry you, then I will gain the right to rule.” Zelda stared at the demon dumbfoundedly. Was he serious? Just like that? When he had quite literally just admitted that he was doing so as a grab for power? As if she would-

She could trick him into allowing her into his quarters if she agreed. She would have easy access to the Master Sword then. She’d just have to lay with him- The thought almost made Zelda want to retch right there. If she gave herself to him under the guise of giving into his advances she could take the sword while he was asleep. It- Wasn’t the best situation, but- If she closed her eyes it could at the very least be Link in her head. And then she could kill him with minimal fuss. Zelda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, struggling with the idea of this plan. It seemed simple and yet-

“Think about it, Princess. I get what I want and you get to save your people. And you’ll get to be married to the person you love in a sense.” He edged her on, trying hard to convince her to accept his proposal. Oh- He really wanted this didn’t he? The demon who hadn’t even bothered to tell her his name since he had taken over Link’s body all those months ago-

“That’s-” Zelda stopped, unsure what to say still. She wanted the violence to end, but- She also didn’t want to use her own body in such a way. It was low and manipulative. But she had been being manipulated this entire time, so why should she care if it was or not?

“Come on, Princess. How many more innocent people have to die before you swallow your pride and submit?” He taunted her again. Oh, she wished she could slap him again right then- Her unease was cut through with anger. How dare he question her loyalty to her people- She’d show him.

“Fine.” She answered finally. “On the condition that you stop all violent activity against my people by this afternoon, I will agree to marry you.” He grinned wickedly.

“Consider it done.”

The demon was beyond pleased with himself and his guards had celebrated loudly for the rest of the day and well into the night at this ‘victory’. Oh, if only they knew the hell they would pay when Zelda got a hold of the Master Sword. Of Link’s sword. She’d make them wish that Link had killed the demon when he came to the fortress in the first place. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and she was a goddess and was fucking livid.

It was late the next evening when Zelda exited her chambers, padding her way barefoot down the hallway to where she knew the demon slept. Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears as she approached the door between her and the demon. Was this really about to happen? Would he be rough with her? Would she bruise? Would he talk down to her like she was nothing but a whore or would the tiny remnants of Link that remained in his behavior towards her come through and he would be gentle with her during her first time? She steadied herself before opening the door to the demon's chambers.

His crimson eyes fixated on her from where he was laid out over his bed that was much like her own. Odd that it wasn’t more lavish, but she supposed that wasn’t important.

“Oh? And to what do I owe a visit from my wife-to-be?” He teased her, propping himself up on his elbow and draping his other arm across his midsection. Damn him- He knew that was something LInk would do when she got his attention. Zelda slipped in and shut the door behind her.

“I’m- Tired of resisting.” She said, making sure that her voice had a tiny whine at the end of it. Like she was close to tears. Lady Impa would have been proud of her acting skills right now as the demon was eating it up. He raised a brow at her and smirked, gesturing her closer with a curl of a single finger.

“Are you now? Well, it’s about time.” He said, sitting up and watching her as she made a show of hesitantly locking the door behind her and ever so timidly making her way to the bed. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite… Not that hard at least.” He teased, chuckling darkly and Zelda blushed.

Holy Hylia above, she was really about to do this. She didn’t have to fake the nerves as she crawled into his bed and let him touch her and disrobe her. The tremor in her hands as she started to touch him back was as real as the situation she was in. For all the demon’s aggression towards her in the past, he made sure to at least attempt to soothe her nerves, but every thought she had was plagued by the knowledge that this wasn’t Link like she was trying to pretend it was. This was a demon.

Thankfully, Link, or at least his physical body, was also inexperienced and wasn’t able to last too long. It had felt… Alright. Zelda would have been much more relaxed and emotionally fulfilled if she had been with Link instead of this spirit piloting his form.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” THe demon rumbled into her ear when they were finished. He laid against her back, holding her naked form against his own. “I even made you finish~” He had, in fact, not done so. She had faked it to stroke his ego a little bit more into relaxing. She had been trying to focus on anything other than the demon the whole time: her plan to escape, going home and celebrating the end of the war, mourning everyone they had lost, mourning Link- But it was done now at least, she could turn her attention to her next step.

Of course, he didn’t make it easy.

With his arms around her waist and his face pressed against the back of her shoulder, it would be very hard for Zelda to get up out of the bed without waking him up. Especially because the way he held her wasn’t just a loose hold, he was gripping her firmly. Fuck, this may have been a mistake.

Though- She did have time to look around the room now. She didn’t know where exactly the sword was located or hidden, so she glanced around the parts of the room that she could see. There were weapons and baubles everywhere, but finally, Zelda was able to make out the golden triforce on the scabbard of the Master Sword in the corner of the room, concealed partially by a few other weapons.

Zelda shifted once. Then twice. Then a third time to see if the demon was awake or not. When he didn’t respond to her shifting in any way, his grip even loosening unconsciously around her, she knew it likely was safe to try and get up. If he woke up she could say she needed to use the bathroom or to… clean up from their activities. Carefully, Zelda squirmed and twisted from the demon’s grasp, finding the dress that she came in, not liking the bite of the cold air on her bare skin before picking her way carefully over to the corner where the Master Sword was.

There was no way this was going to be this easy- Surely this demon wasn’t so oblivious to think that she would just- Sleep with him without an ulterior motive. She had resisted doing it for months now, that wasn’t just going to change overnight.

She gripped the hilt of the Master Sword and carefully tried to move it from behind the other blades trapping it against the wall. Finally, Zelda was able to pull the hilt from behind the other blades and then carefully extracted the scabbard and blade from the tangle of weaponry.

That’s when a movement caught Zelda’s eye and she looked at the stack of blades on the wall. One of the swords crossguards caught on the Master Sword’s own crossguard as she freed it and it tilted precariously to one side, then started falling, falling- And clattered loudly on the ground, hitting two more on the way down, adding them to the noise as they also clattered against the stone floors.

Zelda whipped around to face the bed- Sure enough the demon’s eyes were open and fixed on her in a dangerous way.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing Princess?” The demon questioned as he got up, not bothering to put clothes on as he put his feet on the ground and began making his way to her. This was bad! Very bad! But she had the sword! She had no idea how to use a sword, but! How hard could it be??

Panicking, Zelda yanked the blade out of its scabbard and sent a quick prayer to the Goddesses to help her as the demon paused in his advancements. Then he started to chuckle.

“Ohoho, is this really what you want to do, Princess?” He taunted, narrowing his eyes at her. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Kill him?” He said, edging around her, trying to circle so that he was between her and the door. Zelda stepped closer to the door, keeping her back to the wall and the point of the Master Sword towards the demon’s chest.

“You think this is all a game. You want to use me and him like pawns. It’s going to end. Tonight.” Zelda said. The demon tilted his head to one side and scoffed.

“Perhaps it will.” He said, raising a hand as a myriad of shadows congealed into the form of a blade not unlike the Master Sword but pitch black. “I should have guessed that you weren’t going to concede that easily, but- You put on a convincing show. You were rather determined to do this, weren’t you.” He said, gripping the blade tightly. Oh shit- Oh shit, they were really about to fight weren’t they? Oh this was bad- This was a horrible plan, oh goddesses help her-

The demon swung and by some divine fluke, Zelda parried the strike. How? She wasn’t entirely sure. She’d never used a sword in anything other than formal ceremonies before, by all means he should have just stuck her like a pig- Another strike and she parried again, her feet taking her back half a step, but she wasn’t dying yet so that was fine.

“What-?” The demon furrowed his brow and eyed her, clearly seeing the surprise on her face. “Stop doing that!” He snarled as he struck again. Once again, Zelda blocked. The demon snarled at her now and began rapidly trying to strike her. And as if the Master Sword had a mind of its own and control over her feet, Zelda blocked, parried, and pivoted away from each strike, much to the annoyance of the demon.

When Zelda thought that there was going to be no end to this cycle of strikes and deflections, she saw an opening. The demon raised his sword up as if to bring it crashing down upon her head- and left his entire abdomen open. Zelda pointed the tip of the Master Sword directly at his stomach and stepped forwards, putting her weight and everything she had in her behind the thrust.

The sickening sound of the blade cutting through flesh and sinew was far louder than Zelda had been anticipating and she let go of the sword, staggering backwards as she processed what she had- somehow managed to do. Waves of nausea overcame her as she heard the noise on repeat in her mind. Goddess above, what did she just do? The demon stared at the hilt of the sword as it stuck out of his midsection. The sword was buried so deeply into him the tip was also sticking out of his back.

Then a barrage of disturbing noises and gargles exited Link’s mouth as the demon shuddered, dark black liquid beginning to drip freely from his mouth, nose and eyes and then evaporating quickly away into the air like black little puffs of smoke. He dropped the jet sword, which also faded into smoke before it hit the ground.

“Damn, you- No! I-” The demon gargled out and more and more of the shadowy smoke began to leave Link’s body. Zelda watched in horror as Link’s charcoal grey skin lightened and his ash colored hair grew golden brown again and as his body wretched the last of the shadows out, crimson eyes blinked shut and finally opened blue once more.

Zelda could have cried seeing that beautiful blue.

“Link!” She cried, overjoyed that he seemingly was back for a split moment before a pained grunt left him and he went down to one knee, clutching at the Master Sword lodged in his abdomen. Zelda blanched as she realized that she now had to save Link a second time from something a lot more dangerous than a demon piloting his body. Oh- Oh shit-

[deiliamedlini]

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 5

I’ve Got Red In My Ledger

betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Yiga complex was… well… complex.

All of the halls looked the same, and Zelda backed up against her destroyed door and tried to remember which way she’d come in days ago.

But she was drawing a blank.

“Which way did you come in?” Zelda asked.

Link shook his head and fiddled with his staff weapon, his blue eyes trained on the ground by the tip of the staff where there was a sharp point tied onto the end. It wasn’t even a staff. It was a makeshift spear.

Some rescue party he was a part of.

She stared at him for a long moment. Was he even real? He didn’t know where they were, or where to go. He had a sword on his belt, but he was favoring a giant stick.

Goddess. She was going to die on her way out of here.

“Okay,” she muttered, looking around again. She had to remember something.

The cells were in a long hall. She’d gone through several other small hallways. She’d come out into a large room. She’d been thrown in here.

“Were you in a series of hallways to come in here?” Zelda tried again.

“No. We came from a large, open room.”

Helpful. Finally.

“Okay, which direction? That way, I can rule out one of these paths.”

Link sighed and ran his hand along the wall until he reached the door, and then slid his palm around until he touched the handle. Jerking his head to the left, he turned. “We came from that way.”

Skeptically, she looked between him and the door. Did it just tell him that? He didn’t even look at the room. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Okay, come on. Your guy should be this way.”

Zelda took a few steps that echoed through the large room, steps that were alone, and unfollowed. She turned to see Link, unmoving.

He sighed. “Urbosa and Daruk. We need them.”

“Who?” Zelda asked.

“The woman who was with me, and a man we’re with. We can’t leave without them, because once we get Revali, we have to move quickly.”

“Are you saying we should just stand here and wait for them? We could get killed.”

“Can you fight?”

Zelda crosse her arms indignantly. “If I have to.”

Link reached for his sword and held it out by the hilt. “You’ll have to. Take it.”

Zelda made her way back towards him. “I fight with a bow, so I don’t know… besides, isn’t this yours?”

“It’s for emergencies.”

“You trust a stranger with your weapon?”

He smiled, soft and gentle before calmly shaking his head. “Not much other choice though. I’m going to have to.”

“You can keep it, you know? Just use it on me if I’m evil.”

He kept his arm out. “You’re making me trust you more and more, Zelda. Take it.”

She reached out and took it from him, the heavy metal dropping her arm quickly before she adjusted to the weight. “Do you fight with that stick or something?”

“If I have to.”

“I don’t understand. Are you a pacifist? Do you only attack doors?”

Link chuckled and spun his staff around in his hands before tapping the point on the ground, the point with the makeshift spearhead tied on. “Doors are terribly dangerous. You should always be ready to attack them.”

“Goddess, you don’t give straight answers, do you?”

Walking ahead of her, he simply grinned. “You’ll get it eventually.”

She was going to follow him before remembering that she was the one leading the way, so she hopped in front. “Get what?”

“Hey!” a new voice called. It was familiar, and Zelda turned to see the tall woman from before returning with an older man in tow. “Where are you two going?”

“Urbosa, she knows where Revali is.”

The tall woman, Urbosa, turned to Zelda. “Is this true? Where?”

“He’s this way,” she said, gesturing back to the hall.

“Nice! Let’s go get ‘em!” the older man said, a bit more excited than Zelda imagined he’d be. He had a white beard that tipped up, wrinkled brows scrunched in excitement, and a toothy grin. He halted when he saw Zelda, and pointed at her. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

Link scoffed. “This is Zelda. She’s a prisoner here, and we’re getting her out too. Zelda, this is Urbosa and Daruk.”

Urbosa gestured to the path. “Pleasantries can wait. Lead on, Little Bird. Show us the way.”

Slowly, carefully, Zelda took the lead and began traversing the winding corridors, trying to remember her last trip through with Ganondorf. The problem was that everything looked the same here! Every hall, every corridor, everything looked the same, even the people in their silly costumes and indistinguishable masks.

“Why did you give her your sword?” she could hear the man asking Link in a hushed voice meant for a private conversation. “She could be one of them.”

“My instincts are better than yours, Daruk. She’s not. Does she look like one of them?”

Daruk sighed. “No. But it doesn’t matter. Under the masks, they’re anyone.”

“So are we.”

Zelda didn’t dare turn around, lest she give herself away. They spoke soft enough that she was straining her ears, and there was an annoying, rhythmic tapping that she couldn’t figure out that kept throwing her off her eavesdropping game.

“Here,” Zelda said, pushing open a door. She peered inside, breathing a sigh of relief to see it empty, and then stood aside to let everyone else through. “Straight down. You’ll see him.”

It was the right room for sure. Even being in here gave Zelda the creeps, and her throat hurt with phantom pain from days before.

She followed the group as they glanced inside each cell before stopping.

“Well, it’s about damn time!” the man said, standing up. “I’d think you almost forgot about me but… that’s just not possible.”

“No matter how hard we try,” Link muttered.

“You brought him?”

“I can leave,” Link offered, gesturing to the door.

But in doing so, he gestured to Zelda, and the blue haired man stuck his head through the bars while Daruk worked on the lock with Urbosa over his shoulder.

“You? You didn’t die. Good for you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Zelda murmured, rolling her eyes, earning a snort from Link.

There was a loud clack, and the lock sprung open.

The man burst out and hurried down the hall past everyone. “Come on!”

“Wait, Revali!” Daruk called, struggling to catch up.

“Ass,” Link breathed, and Urbosa hummed in agreement. “He has no respect. Let’s go.” She grabbed his arm and they ran down the hall, leaving Zelda to catch up with all of them.

Revali seemed to have a better sense of the Yiga hideout than Zelda did. He brought them through a few rooms, ducked around patrols, and ended up in a room with several crates.

“I stashed it all here.”

Daruk, Urbosa, and Link all opened up backpacks that were flat against them, and pried the crates open, reveling packets of rations and emergency on-the-go medicine. They stuffed their pockets full with as much as they could carry before Revali led them back out.

Literally.

Out.

Standing in the middle of a rocky plain, Zelda breathed in the fresh air she’d so desperately been missing.

“Where did you park?” Revali asked.

“Down the road a ways. We’ll have a little hike.”

“Good. I have a little surprise for these assholes.”

Zelda watched on, curious. Revali took something out of his pocket and flashed it to the group.

“What is that?” Urbosa asked.

“A detonator. Before I got caught, I set everything up, and hid it with our things. Let’s clean this place out.”

“No!” Link called, stepping forward, his hand out. He wasn’t quite near Revali, but the man got the message regardless and stopped. “If you do that, we become targets. They know who we are. They’ll find us, and they will kill us.”

“They can’t do that if they’re dead, can they? Ganondorf is in there. Astor. Kogha. All of them. We have to take it down.”

“And what if they’re not? What if they aren’t here? Then we’re the targets. They’ll target home, Revali. Don’t. Don’t hit that button.”

“It’s a switch. And killing hundreds of Yiga in one fell swoop? That’s a win, no matter how you want to swing it.”

“No!”

But Link’s final protest went unheard, because the only sound in the entire valley was the deathly ringing of a chain of explosions, leaving smoke to rise into the air.

Zelda covered her mouth. Dorian was in there. As much as she hated him, he had been her friend for years. And years worth of respect and friendship and history didn’t disappear completely in a matter of days.

“Oh Goddess, Revali,” Urbosa whispered. “What have you done?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 VIII

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, noncon, trauma)

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are overwhelmed by your imprisonment.

Note: I wasn’t expecting to get this done today but I did!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You left as you came; in the servants’ cart wearing clothes that weren’t yours. You had a cap over your hair and apron across your front as you huddled down beside the chests with the rest of the royal staff. Your guardian was ever present as he marched in borrowed armor which served as a poor disguise.

You rocked with the roll of the wheels and as the night came, Magnus tore you away from the others and secreted you to the king’s tent. He was silent, perturbed, but as demanding as ever. You woke early to resume your place among the servants and carry on the final leg of the journey back to the capital. To you, it was no homecoming, rather the closing of the prison gates behind you.

It was night when you neared the palace, the walls rose up around you, a looming sentinel of your fate. The cart jolted to a halt behind the train and you waited for the others to hop off before you slunked out the end. As your feet met the ground, you were seized and dragged away from the storm of bodies suddenly looking for tasks.

Magnus’ heavy boots stomped through the dirt and his armor jostled loudly as he led you from the procession. He directed you towards the south end of the palace as he kept his chin down, his hand squeezing painfully on your arm.

“No chances this time,” he growled, “King’s given permission that I break your leg myself if you run again.”

“How kind a master he is.” You sneered.

“I could do it now and say you did try, bitch,” he wrenched open a door and forced you through ahead of him. “What I could do to you…” He shoved you so that you stumbled against the opposite wall and the door slammed behind him. Only the flicker of the torch hung feet away lit the space. “I wonder what intrigues the king so.” He caught you as you turned around, his hand on your skirts. “I wouldn’t mind a taste of the royal delight.”

“Get off of me,” you pushed against his mailed chest. “The king would do more than slap your snout, you dog.”

“Or perhaps he would tire of a used toy,” Magnus cupped your ass through your skirts, “If there was anything left to play with.”

You grabbed at his belt and your hand settled on the pommel of his sword. His gauntlet closed over your hand and his other shot up to your neck. 

“I’d like you to try,” he dared you, “I doubt you could even lift the blade.”

He pushed your hand away and parted from you gruffly. He cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back. He nodded down the corridor and waited. Slowly, you stepped away from the wall and began down the stone floor.

“I’ll take enough pleasure in hearing your pathetic mewls as he takes you again,” he chortled, “And imagine how you should weep if it were me.”

You were silent. You were afraid, truly, and revolted. You didn’t dare to look at the beastly guard and instead watched his shadow ahead of you as you neared the winding staircase. You ascended ahead of him and his hand strayed to your skirts but just as swiftly retracted. When you reached the top he ushered you on to the king’s chambers.

“He wants you ready for him. He must greet his people.” Magnus declared. “Perhaps I might help loosen you up.”

“You’re repulsive,” you shuddered as his hand settled on the door handle. “You truly think he would not castrate you for the act.”

“You are no wife, no queen,” he opened the door and let it open, “Only a whore.” He grabbed your shoulder and forced you inside, quickly following and slamming the door. He crossed his arms over his mailed chest. “I must take your garb so you do not stray again.”

“You’ve been ordered to or you--”

“I’ll rip it off myself,” he stepped forward and you shied away. “What I should do after the trouble you’ve caused.”

You edge away from him and gulped. You averted your eyes as you removed your cap and untied your apron. You threw them at his feet and kicked away your slippers, your stocks slid down your legs and added to the heap. 

As you strained to unlace the dress, he huffed and pulled you to him. He spun you and tore the laces loose and forced the fabric down your arms. He continued to undress you gruffly, your shift shredded by his touch and his hand lingered before he finally collected the rest. You covered yourself and stumbled away from him.

You turned as he snickered and hugged the bundle of clothing. His grey eyes glimmered with malice.

“How brave you are until you are naked,” he taunted, “If you... require me, I will be without, wench. Waiting, watching.”

Your nostrils flared as you quickly retreated to the sofa and shielded yourself with a pillow. “You will remain without, sir.” You hissed. “Keep watch, doggy.”

His grin fell and he scowled before he turned away. He left you but the fear didn’t. You quaked as you sat and waited. For the guard to lose his restraint or the king to retire for the night. Neither was welcome.

🐍

When the door opened, you were still unprepared for the king, but it wasn’t him. Two servants streamed in without acknowledging you and went through to the bath chamber with pails of steaming water. You watched them silently as they filled the tub over several trips, the slosh of water and their footfalls the only noise. When they finished, they were gone just as soon. 

Moments later, Loki appeared. Hal accompanied him and kept his eyes to the floor as your nudity shamed him. You sat, stony and dazed, as the king was undressed by his attendant. He said nothing as he drank from the bottle of wine directly and ordered the boy away. The door closed and ended your trance.

You looked over as Loki wore only his undershorts and grabbed the bottle by the neck. His skin still bore the marks of competition and his face the lines of his agitation. He didn’t look at you as he neared the bedchamber.

“Mouse,” he beckoned you with a finger.

He strode through the door and you stood cautiously. You listened to his lithe steps and took your own wary ones across the room. As you entered the bed chamber, you heard the clunk of glass on stone, and followed it to the bath chamber. The bottle of wine sat on the flat brim of the tub as Loki rolled his shorts down and stepped into the steaming pool of water. He lowered himself with a sigh and stretched his arms around the lip.

“Come. You smell of the road.” He bid as he closed his eyes.

You took a breath and neared the other end of the tub. You lifted your leg over the side and dipped into the water carefully. The basin was large enough for at least four body’s, a round crater carved in marble. He took another swig and the bottle made another thick thump off the stone.

“Closer,” he demanded as he stirred his fingers in the water.

You stared at him, hesitant. His silence was disconcerting. The man loved his own voice and his monologues were much preferable to nothing. He was mad still; he would be for some time. You knew, by his relationship with his brother, that he would hold a grudge.

You pushed yourself away from the side of the tub and waded through the water on your knees. His eyes opened and focused on you. As you neared him, you were suddenly plunged beneath as his hand snaked around the back of your neck. Your mouth and nose filled with water as you struggled against him and he turned to hold you under. He pulled you back up only as you were certain you would drown.

You coughed and sputtered as the water erupted from your lungs. He kept hold of you as he angled you against the wall of the tub and pinned you there. You blinked in terror as his green eyes stabbed you like daggers.

“You realise I hold your life in my hand?” he slithered, “That I would have you killed for your disobedience if you were any other. That I will if your use does expire.”

You nodded frantically as he leaned in, his nose close to yours as you smelled the wine on his breath. “I do, your majesty,” you croaked.

“You will not have another chance, mouse,” his hand slid around to your throat, “You are not the only woman with a cunt.”

You pressed your hands to the bottom of the tub as you stared back at him. He moved his knee between yours and slowly parted your legs. His hand went to your chin and he held you against the tub as he lowered his head. His lips tickled your neck and you shivered as the water swirled around you. You cried out as he sank his teeth into your skin and began to suck. You squirmed as the pressure built to unbearable. He pulled away with a pop and admired his mark.

“Remember who you belong to. Who has given you your life.” He snarled as his thighs pushed against yours as he slid against you. His member pressed to your folds as your legs hung over his. “I have given you purpose.”

He reached between your bodies and rubbed his tip along your cunt. You trembled as he found your entrance and poked, teasing you as he drew away several times, marveling at your reaction as you bit your quivering lip. Finally, he prodded you more firmly and slipped in an inch at a time. Your legs tensed around him and he crushed you against the tub as he impaled you. He kept himself at his limit as he shuddered.

“Do you still ache, mouse?” He squeezed your chin as his other hand fondled your chest. “You do fit me well.”

You let out a whimpered as your defiance threatened to break. You clenched your jaw as he thrust and your entire body jerked. You reached up and grasped the brim of the tub as you body slid against the marble. He rocked into you slowly as his breath mounted. He tweaked your nipple as his grip threatened to crush your jaw.

He sped up as he folded your body against the tub, your legs splayed around him as he rutted into you. He grunted loudly as his eyes never left yours. He watched the play of pleasure and pain across your face as he fucked you harder each time you murmured. 

You slapped your hand against his shoulder as you felt the singular pang. That rise which would send you over the edge of sanity. Your fingers curled against him and you hugged him with your thighs as your lips parted in ecstasy. Your eyes rolled back as you came and he slapped you harshly before clasping your chin again.

“Look at me,” he growled. “Don’t look away.”

You whined through bared teeth as the waves flowed through you. You twitched wildly as he was egged on by your reluctant orgasm. He grabbed the tub behind you and clung to it as he moved even closer. You were trapped between him and the marble, painfully so. He poked his thumb into your mouth and his hot breath washed over you as he pressed his forehead to yours.

He spasmed but did not slow. You felt him spill inside of you as he let out angry snarls. He only stopped as his body recoiled at the overstimulation and he buried himself to his hilt. He exhaled slowly and wrapped an arm around you as he turned to sit against the tub. He held you in his lap as his heart raced and he framed your chin in his hands as he made you sit up.

“Show me why I should keep you, mouse,” he tilted his hips and you whined. He trailed a hand down your arm and grasped your hip. “Go on and fuck me, whore.”

Your lashes fluttered and you bit back your anger. The wine, his wrath, his pride; it was a dangerous mix and you knew it was not the time to test it. You moaned as you rocked and he gasped at the friction. He began to harden again and you felt him grow inside of you.

“Mmmm,” he purred as kneaded your ass, “Faster…” you sped up as his other hand tickled your back, “That’s it, pet. Obey your master.”

🐍

Your night wore on by the king’s hand. When you thought he would sleep, he riled again and by the morning, you were tender and worn. You were tired, drained of all strength, all resistance as you body overrode your mind. As Loki used it against you.

You didn’t move as he finally parted and dressed in the early dawn. He uttered some cloying words about his inevitable return but you could only lay paralysed across the sheets. You feared he had broken you entirely. It was enough to use your body but you felt your wits scattered beside you. There was safety in his desire; not only from his own cruelty but the man on the other side of the doors. Loki was evil, but the lesser of many.

He left and you did not move. You were plummeted into a black sleep, so deep and void that it felt as death. You did not wake as the sun reached its peak or even as it began its descent. You woke only when you were disturbed by the touch of your tormentor. As Loki moved between your legs, uncaring of your fatigue, and again made his will your own.

Time blurred as glimpses of the morning were shrouded by the deepest dusks. Your hours were marked by hollow sleep, pierced only by the unrelenting hand of the king, and the mindless sustenance of your body. You were a puppet and you had no choice by to let him dangle you from his string.

It wasn’t until you felt a different touch and saw a different face that life seemed to call to you. That you recalled where you were and who you were. Birger, the silver-haired man with the face of a crow, sat on the edge of the bed as he moved your head and felt along your chest. You looked at him dopily and took his hand. You squeezed.

“She is senseless, your majesty. She has no physical malady but her mind…” He untangled his hand from your and pulled the covers up to your chin. “I would never question your deeds but she must rest. She must be nurtured unless you prefer a husk.”

You giggled. You couldn’t quite grasp his words but as another voice rose, you choked and lashed out. The blanket fell away as you cried out.

“Nurtured?” The king echoed. “And what would you recommend particularly?”

Your arm was caught and folded over your chest. Birger replaced the cover over you and hushed you as he rubbed your cheek. “Be calm, girl.” He drew away and you listened to a subtle rustle. “I will treat her today with a sedative and you will leave her be.”

“And tomorrow?” The king asked as the clink of glass sounded beside you and you felt a slender rim against your lips.

“Just a little, dear,” Birger tipped the vial and the glossy tincture coated your tongue. “Well, your majesty,” the man stood straight and you closed your eyes. The bitter taste turned sweet as your sight began to darken again. “You might offer her more than your own company. You might do more than play with her like some toy.”

The voices mingled as you sank down again, floating on a breeze that carried leaves and the smell of pollen. The void was gone and you were free, running in the fields toward the sunlight.

🐍

You felt a soft stroke along the back of your head. The song of birds filled your ears and your lashes slowly lifted as your vision cleared. You were clothed in a crisp nightgown, the blankets rolled beneath your arms as your chest rose and fell. You finger twitched and you groaned. A hand closed around yours.

“You’re awake,” the familiar voice sang, “Hey, it’s me.”

You turned your head back and forth as you grumbled and blinked away the fog. You focused on the figure beside you. Gilla wore a yellow dress as she sat on a stool and cradled your hand. She smiled back at you.

“Gilla?” You rasped. “What’s--”

You coughed and she let go of you. She reached for a crystal glass and held it out. “You should drink something.”

“How did--” You looked around. You were still in the king’s chambers though they were markedly brighter as the curtains had been drawn and the windows were open to let in the air. You tried to push yourself up and fell back heavily.

“Shhh,” she grabbed your arm as she balanced the cup in her other hand and helped you sit up. 

She handed you the water and pulled another pillow behind you to prop you up. You took the glass and drank deeply, more thirsty with each gulp. You handed it back shakily and glanced around furtively. “Where is he?”

“Who?” She asked, “Oh, the king?”

“I…” you twined your fingers together, “Yes. Where is he?”

“He is at council.” She said. “He said he would return to check on you after he finished.”

You were confused. You couldn’t recall how you’d woken thus. “I don’t understand. What’s happening? Why are you here?”

“The king said you missed me and you were sick.” She pouted. “I missed you. I thought… I thought you were dead. And because of me.”

You sighed and a sudden surge of anger went through you. You grimaced and pulled your hands apart.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-- I never--” She reached for your hand, “I was foolish. Selfish. And you saved me.”

You looked at her. You wanted to smile but couldn’t. You shrugged. “It cannot be undone.”

“You… seem well off now. If not a little weakened.” She looked around the chamber. “A king’s favour--”

“Favour?” You recoiled. “Are you that shallow? This is no favour. This is prison!”

“But… he has clothed you, fed you, and kept you from the dungeons--”

“Is that what he says? He may have plucked me from a cell but he did throw me down there first.” You hissed. “Gilla, you don’t know. You can’t.”

“I don’t know. You’re right. How could I? It was a king’s man who came to me to tell me you were alive. Barely. And that you needed me. Your own uncle still thinks you dead, if not imprisoned and fated to be so.”

“What do you think this is? Do you think I am the king’s amour? Hmm?” You spat and the effort made you dizzy. “I am nothing but a whore. He made me that! I did not want it.”

She hung her head and shook it. “He did say you might be delirious.”

“You--” you gathered your strength and threw the blankets aside. You turned your leg over the edge and she gasped. You faced her and scowled. “You think he would ever tell the truth!? To you? A peasant?”

“You are still a peasant too,” she countered. “Please, I did only come here to see you well and the king, he has made sure to keep you well.”

“No, he has put me in such a state. Do you not understand? I live a nightmare every day.” You stood and stumbled as she rose in a fright. You nudged her aside and unsteadily made your way to the window. “I will never run through the city square again or play in the tall wheat before the harvest. I will only ever be his and when he disposes of me, I doubt I will be alive.”

She was silent as you leaned heavily on the sill. You did not look at her, you could not. You gazed out at the palace wall and beyond. Why had the king bothered at all? You were better to him as you were; weak and oblivious. Better for you that you had remained such.

You flinched as you heard the doors through the next chamber and Gilla moved behind you. “Your majesty,” she said meekly as you heard the footsteps pass over the threshold of the bedchamber.

“Is she...well?” The king asked.

“I am awake so you might ask me,” you sneered as you did not move. “I am not.”

He exhaled deeply. Your eyes clouded with tears as you watched the clouds. There was a new bite in the air. Summer was ending.

“Gilla, might you excuse us for a moment?” Loki asked. You scoffed, he was not one to ask of anyone.

“Your majesty,” she allowed and you listened to her slippers on the stone before the door closed between the receiving chamber and the bedchamber.

“You are angry.” He said.

“What does it matter to you?” You spun sharply and stumbled. He caught you as before your knees met the floor.

“You are weak,” he led you to the bed and sat you down. You shoved him away. “You should not be up.”

“You did this to me,” you huffed. “Why did you not leave me as I was?”

He looked down his nose and crossed his arms. “You were close to madness. I kept you from that.”

“You would drive me to it.” You snapped. “Why bring her here? Why have your physician feed me sour oils? As you said, I am not the only woman with a cunt.”

He sniffed and his brows drew together as a line formed between them. He stared at you and slowly his lips curled. “I brought her so that you might realise what I could do to her if you continue to behave thus.” He warned. “And I did see to you so that I might have a toy worth playing with.”

You scoffed and grasped your knees to keep from slumping over. Despite your anger, you couldn’t help the disuse of your body which had you so drained.

“I see. A torture more cruel has never been known,” you mulled. “Well, you can send her away. She is no friend of mine. Not anymore.”

“You would toss her away for your self-pity?” He wondered. “You would spurn all courtesy I allow you and for what?”

“Courtesy?” You snickered darkly, “I have nothing. You have allowed me nothing and I will not allow you to wave bait before me and snatch it away.” You clutched the nightgown in your fists, “Have you not done enough?”

He considered you. His cheek twitched and his jaw clenched. Slowly, he approached you and bent to look you in your eyes. “Your majesty,” he corrected, “You do forget yourself.”

You squinted at him and repeated those venomous words; “your majesty.”

Loki smirked and touched your cheek. His green eyes fell down your body and he shoved you so that you fell onto your back. You closed your eyes and braced for him. He laughed and retreated. You opened your eyes and watched him back away.

“You will gird yourself or I will have that girl lashed.” He warned, “Or perhaps I shall give her to my guard. He does like the innocent ones.” You lifted your head and struggled to sit up. You watched him as he neared the door. “You care for her still. It is obvious. Let us keep that in mind going forward.”

His grabbed the door handle and twisted. You seethed as he peered over his shoulder at you.

“You’re awful.” You uttered.

“Oh, I know,” he said and pushed open the door, “You might keep watch on her,” he called to Gilla, “She is still very sickened and your company would do her well.”

You listened to him go and Gilla appeared in his stead. You laid back on the bed and turned your back to her. 

“Do be quiet and let me rest.” You muttered.

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

then came the morning (aka: the post - canon cuddle fic)

The work in progress is finally done! I’ve been chipping away at it for the past couple weeks now, and it’s gone through many drafts / iterations, but I think I’m finally happy with it. :)

Title from an album by the Lone Bellow. 

The first time the two of them “shared a bed” was about as awkward as one might imagine. The initiating circumstances were hardly any better.

 The heating apparatus in their quarters had given out a week or so back in a spectacular fit of dust - laden wheezing. The engineering crew called in to inspect it informed them that it couldn’t be fixed until they could pick up the right parts at the nearest trading post (which was naturally thousands of klicks away on the ragged edge of nowhere). With the ambient heat from the nearby engine room seeping through the wall, the conditions were deemed “unpleasant but survivable.” They were issued two extra threadbare blankets and told in tersely formal military - speak to deal with it. 

 And they’d dealt with it really well for a while! They grit their teeth and carried on like a couple of champs: Harrow, having been thoroughly warned against using her magic too frequently, layering on spare cloaks and sweaters until she almost disappeared under a mountain of black fabric; Gideon curling up close to the engine room wall and wincing when the cold sent spiteful twinges shooting through her still-very-busted knee. 

 But then one night their grand flagship of the revolution chugged through a particularly empty sprawl of space and began to slow down. The heat from the engine room guttered like a candle flame. Frost spiderwebbed across the thin plex of their window. Harrow’s breath showed in thin wisps of vapor as she huffed, glaring down at the pages of her book like she wanted to reprimand the cold for daring to interrupt her studies. 

 Gideon had half a mind to encourage her to try (that glare could stop a full - fledged Lyctor in their tracks, who knew what other horrifying powers it possessed?), but thought better of it when she saw the genuine exhaustion in the other girl’s eyes.

 “You doing alright over there, my vulturine vicar?” she asked. “I know it takes some time to absorb all that good bone knowledge, but you haven’t turned a page in like half an hour.”

 The thunderous look on Harrow’s face darkened further as she set her book aside with an exasperated thump. “This is ridiculous. I studied in the depths of Drearburh for years without any issue, and yet here I am struggling to focus like a novice. It isn’t even that cold.” She bit her lip as a shiver ran through her at the words. 

 “Evidence seems to suggest otherwise, o mistress of melancholy. Do you want me to go ask that guy in the supply room for another blanket? He still owes me for his son’s fencing lesson.”

 Supply room guy didn’t really owe her anything, but she knew that mentioning it would make Harrow feel better. If she could believe that the nice things Gideon did for her were actually for Totally Self - Serving, Debt - Settling reasons, she could accept them without feeling guilty.

 (Guilt had haunted Harrow more than ever upon returning to her own body, making it hard to breathe on good days and leaving her shaking with sobs on bad ones. 

It was one of those fun little things they had in common.)

 From the way Harrow’s shoulders stiffened, though, it seemed that Gideon Nav’s patented Guilt Workaround wasn’t going to be as effective as usual. She shook her head - a stiff little gesture that made her earrings rattle - then sighed. 

 “No. Thank you, though, it’s kind of you to offer.” 

 The thank you was sincere, and that was admittedly pretty nice, but all the sincerity in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Harrow was still  very obviously shivering. She looked miserable beneath her usual mask of face paint and stoicism. The dark red bead of blood-sweat trailing down her temple indicated that she'd probably tried using some kind of homeostasis theorem, but it wasn't working well enough. 

 There had to be a solution to this problem somewhere. Harrow's stubborn pride meant that she wouldn't accept help outright - she would sooner set her books on fire than admit what she thought of as a weakness - but if Gideon could play it just right, maybe she wouldn't have to. It would need to be done carefully - too sappy and she'd be uncomfortable, too straightforward and she'd balk.  Casual, Gideon decided. Nice and casual was the way to go. It would just be a matter of execution.

 "Soooo," she said at length, leaning back against the wall all cool and easy. (She folded her arms up behind her head as an afterthought, appreciating the way it made her still-atrophied-but-getting-there muscles stand out through the thin fabric of her shirt. Confidence boosts were going to be scarce and sorely needed in the conversation to come - she’d take them where she could get them.)

 Naturally, Harrow did not appreciate the change in tack or the cool-and-easy-ness. She did, however, manage to muster up a look so steeped in wary disapproval that it cut through her earlier frustration like a hot knife through bone marrow. “So.”

 “You sure about that blanket? Because really, it would only take me a second -”

 “I’m sure. Thank you.”

 “Then, um, did you want to borrow mine?”

 Harrow blinked. “You need yours.”

 “Yeah, I know! I meant that we could maybe - share. Pool our resources.” She patted the edge of her bunk gamely, then instantly regretted it when Harrow’s eyes narrowed even further. 

 “You want us to sleep together?”

 "No? I mean, technically, but no. In the literal way. Not the other way.” Well maybe the other way sometime if you wanted to but that’s a whole other weird conversation that we probably shouldn't touch with a ten foot pole or we might explode. 

 "How exactly would that work?" The caution was still heavy in Harrow's voice, but some of the disapproval had ebbed away. 

 "I mean. We'd probably need to use my bed, since my sheets aren't covered in gross bone gobbets, but you could bring your blankets over and layer 'em over mine and then we'd have twice the blankets! And, you know, body heat. Which has its perks." Even Gideon's cool-and- easy-ness faltered at that, but she bravely soldiered on. "The point is, we'd both be warm."

 "And it won't - make things weird?" 

 "Nope! Not weird. All perfectly chill, my shivering scion."

 Harrow paused for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'll get ready for bed," she said at last, clipped and decisive. "And I'll think about it."

 "Take your time. I'll be here."

 Moments later, after the shivering scion had swept grandly out of the room, Gideon's Thinking Brain crashed unceremoniously into her Talking Brain. Things were not, in fact, going to be perfectly chill. There were going to be some logistical problems with this arrangement. Big logistical problems.

 Big logistical problems namely revolving around the mutually exclusive facts that the midnight monarch was not especially comfortable with touch, and Gideon Nav, space - bee slayer and resurrected badass, was a sleep cuddler.

 Or, well, she was in theory. She didn’t have much (any) “real world” experience to go on, but she’d woken up many, many times back on the Ninth with a bundle of blankets wrapped up in her arms or nestled close to her chest. The habit had never really embarrassed her back then - she actually kind of liked it. She felt warmer and less lonely when she had something to hold, even in the frigid emptiness of her cell. 

 But that was back then. Things were different in the here - and - now. Harrow was in the here - and - now, and Gideon would never forgive herself if she ruined things with Harrow right when their relationship was on the upswing. They were actually talking, slowly figuring out how to work together again. The furious, tearful intensity between them in the wake of their reunion had calmed and warmed into something almost like real friendship. 

 After all that had happened - everything that had gone wrong over the past year and a half - they’d found a fragile sort of peace. There was no way in Hell she was going to ruin that peace now.

 So while Harrow swished about getting ready for bed, Gideon leveled with herself and laid down some ground rules. Don’t make this weird, Nav. Make sure she’s comfortable, give her her space, and don’t think about cuddling with her. 

 ...even though it would probably be warmer, and she has shitty necro circulation and essentially no body mass so she needs all the warmth she can get, and she gets that kinda soft peaceful look on her face when - no, fuck, see? You’re doing it already. Even if she did like you like that, which she absolutely doesn’t because she’s got a good old-fashioned frostbite girl back home, that’s not what you’re here for. You’re her cav. Her sworn sword. You’re here to do your job and make sure she doesn’t get her thumbs bitten off again. That’s it.

 “You’re staring.”

 Harrow’s voice cut sharp as a bone shard through Gideon’s nervous thought - spiral. Having apparently completed her grim evening rituals, she’d settled lightly on the far edge of the to - be - shared bed, countless dark layers poofing out around her like the feathers of a posturing crow. Her face was flecked with dots of gray from scrubbing off her paint, and her short hair stuck up in messy licks of black fluff despite her increasingly irritated attempts to smooth it flat. 

 It shouldn’t have been endearing. It really, really shouldn’t have. 

 It was.

 Gideon was so screwed.

 “Shit,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face to ground herself. She glanced over to meet Harrow’s eyes (and wow, was that a mistake, they were as mesmerizing a swirl of black and gold as ever), then forced a smile like she wasn’t screaming internally. “Sorry. Zoned out a little. You good to go?”

 The wryly exasperated glint in Harrow’s eyes made them glow even brighter in the dim light. “Yes, I’m ‘good to go,’ thank you. Are you, though? You look … troubled.” 

 Shit. Shit. Shit. Think nice, normal thoughts. Don’t let her know. She cannot know. 

 “I’m always good, my chthonic countess,” she lied, smooth as could be, throwing in a roguish wink for good measure. That was distractingly stupid enough, it was bound to work.  

 Harrow frowned. “Why are you blinking like that?”

 The roguish wink apparently had not worked. 

 “No reason! Just dust. In my eye. Lots of very rude dust landing right in my eye. Anyway. How are we doing this?”

 A flicker of genuine, anxious concern ghosted over Harrow’s face as her frown deepened. 

 “Gideon,” she began, in that slow, reluctant way of hers that heralded Incoming Indignity. “I know that you were the one to suggest this, but I want to impress upon you that if you aren’t - certain about it, there is another possible solution.”

 She cast around the room for a moment and reached for a massive, dusty tome at the top of a nearby stack, flipping determinedly through the pages. “I've had the idea for some time, but I only just managed to convince our commanding officer that I could use theorems 'responsibly' without their constant supervision, so I haven't been able to test it until now. Small - scale thanergetic fission reactions produce sparks of flame that, if handled extremely carefully, could give off enough heat - "

 “Wait.” Gideon held up a hand, her own anxious brain jolting back online at the word flame. “Wait, wait, wait. Harrow. Seriously? The concern is sweet, don’t get me wrong, but your other solution is death - fire?”

 “I said that it was a possibility,” she snapped back, that old brittle defensiveness calcifying over the vulnerability in her voice. Her posture straightened with a great rustling of robes: shoulders back, chin high, eyes gleaming with disdainful pride as the bones scattered about their room twitched to life. Looking for all the world like she had when they were ten - twelve - fourteen - sixteen, bitter and vicious and spoiling for a fight. 

 She seemed to realize it right when Gideon did. Her eyes widened, then closed. The bowstring tension in her shoulders slowly ebbed away as her half - formed constructs clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” she said at last, her voice a threadbare murmur. “I’m sorry. That was - uncalled for.”

 “It’s a reflex. I get it.” And she did - she’d done the same thing countless times, had a hand on her sword and a barbed insult on her tongue without even thinking about it. 

 Another one of those fucked up things they had in common. 

 An uneasy silence settled between them, broken only by the rumbling hum of the engines, the thud of footsteps in the hall. 

 “I meant it, you know,” Harrow said, after a long moment. “About other options. It was a half - baked and immature attempt, but I wanted to give you an out if you were uncomfortable.”

 “Yeah, I know, my sepulchral sage. I appreciate it. Half - baked immaturity and all.” She bumped her shoulder gently against Harrow’s, then flopped back on the bunk to stare up at the low ceiling. “Are we, like, committing to honesty hour tonight? How deep into feelings do you want to get?”

 “As deep as is comfortable.”

 “That’s what she said.”

 “It’s a reasonable thing for her to say.”

 Another hush fell over them, marginally more comfortable than the last, as Gideon worried her lip between her teeth and counted the cracks in the ceiling above her. There were nine of them in total. Go fucking figure.

 A bony finger poked her in the side after a few cycles of counting. “Were you going to elaborate, or was that all just a set - up for one of your charming jokes?”

 “I can’t believe it took you eighteen years to finally admit that they’re charming, but no, that’s not why I said it. I’ll lay bare my tender squishy heart for you, penumbral lady. Because you asked so nicely.” 

  Because I think you might already have it. 

 No avoiding it now. Might as well bite the bullet and dive in. 

 “I was on board with the cuddle thing from the beginning, but I felt like you wouldn’t be, and I panicked. You probably already knew that because you’re way more creepily observant than you have any right to be, but there it is. Out in the open.” 

 She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just run away and hide from the other girl’s piercing gaze. “I just don’t want to fuck things up with you, Harrow. I feel like we’ve got a kind of good thing going now. You haven’t called me a useless halfwit in forever, and I haven’t called you a heinous bitch in forever, and I haven’t wanted to. That’s unheard of for us. I don’t want it to go away.”

 Her voice cracked, and the most damning words burst forth like flowers through concrete: “I don’t want to give you a reason to shut me out again.”

 The memories of those nine months flashed in fragmented mosaic through her mind - the slick stone walls of the well, the freezing churn of the water, the burn in her muscles as she desperately thrashed up toward the surface and reached for someone who didn’t even know she was there. The gut - wrenching loneliness that defined her entire fucking life coalescing in that pit of brackish darkness. The chant rattling on loop in her mind as the water pulled her under: Harrow, what happened, what did you do, why the fuck did you leave me here, I had a purpose, I threw myself on that goddamned rail for a reason, was that not enough for you? 

 Was I not enough for you?

 A cool, fine - boned hand laced with hers and squeezed, just once. The memories blurred. 

 “Gideon,” the voice that had haunted her all that time said. “You know - you have to know that isn’t why I did it.”

 “Why did you, then?”

 A tiny hitch of breath. A soft, almost incredulous laugh. Then:

 “Because I loved you.”

 The words hung heavy in the frozen air. 

 “You - what?”

 “I loved you.” She said it so simply. Like it was something she’d come to terms with long ago. “I loved you beyond reason, and for once in my life I wanted to do right by you and keep you safe as you did me. The motivation doesn’t justify a moment of it, I won’t pretend it does, and I can’t even begin to erase the hurt it caused you. But I need you to understand that it was never because of something you did wrong. You are good, darling. Good to the core. You always have been.”

 Bright spots bloomed before Gideon’s eyes as her reeling mind fought to catch up. Three thoughts sprang unbidden to the forefront:

 Mmf.

 And: Darling?

 And:

“Loved. You said ‘loved.’ Why the past tense?”

 She sat there, staring blankly up at the ceiling, half - expecting a don’t be presumptuous, Griddle or something even remotely normal, at least. What she got instead was another laugh, halting and shaky and suddenly deeply bitter. The hand in hers went rigid and drew away. 

 “I came to my senses. I remembered the countless awful things I’ve done. Saw myself for the leech that I am. I’ve taken and taken and taken from you, over and over again, torn away at your life like a scavenger, I can’t steal anything more  - “

 “Who said anything about stealing?”

 For the first time since the grand awkward commencement of honesty hour Gideon felt a genuine smile bloom across her face. “Come on, Nonagesimus, give me some credit. You honestly think I would have stuck around this long if I didn’t know what I was giving you? If I wasn’t getting something out of it too?”

 “What could you possibly be getting out of it?”

 “You. I like you. Like, a lot. More than I ever thought I would. And I know the brain weasels are going to start yammering about how that’s impossible, and you don't deserve it, and we've still got a mountain of baggage left to work through, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I really mean it. Having you with me has made this whole shitty thing infinitely less shitty."

 With a surge of sudden bravery and dizzy emotion, she reached out to take Harrow's hand again and, giving her ample time to pull away, pressed a feather - light kiss to the back. “If you want me here too, sunshine - as your cav or your friend or something else - then I'm not going anywhere."

 Harrow closed her eyes, took a deep shuddering breath, and - smiled. A real one, slow and hesitantly sweet, lighting up her careworn face. "I need to think about it - we both should think about it. But I do want you here, in whatever way you want to be."

 "Yeah? Cool."

 "Cool."

 Silence settled upon them for the third time that night, but this time it was different. It was soft and tentative, fragile and new, like budding grave - flowers reaching for the sun. First flowers, the both of them, clawing up out of the grit and finding a way to bloom.

 "Should we go to sleep now?" Harrow asked at last, her rasping voice low and quiet. "It's getting late."

 "We probably should. Cam and Pal are gonna kill us if we're not up by 6:00 tomorrow. Are you still up for this, though? Like, the whole 'two girls, chilling in a military bunk, zero feet apart 'cause they're freezing and also maybe like each other' thing?"

 "Yes. On one condition."

 "Anything."

 "This might be difficult for you."

 "Seriously, Harrow, just tell me. Name it and it's done."

 "No sex jokes."

 She heaved a sigh, mock - exasperated and so stupidly fond. "As you wish, my dearest darling death omen. As you wish."

 It took a while to get comfortable - with Harrow's knobby elbows jabbing Gideon in the stomach, Gideon's clunky knee brace getting tangled in the sheets, the blankets collectively giving up and puddling on the floor at least ten times - but eventually, like everything else, they made it work. They fumbled through the sleep - cuddling confession with an admirable lack of panic on both sides, culminating in a firm agreement that they would let each other know the moment they were at all uncomfortable and an "I trust you" from Harrow so pure in its sincerity that it would be ringing through Gideon's mind for at least a myriad.

 Harrow was the first to fall asleep, curled up tight in a cocoon of black fabric, the dark crown of her head just barely brushing the sunburst scar on Gideon's chest. Her shallow breaths fell into an even, steady rhythm, interspersed with whistling snores that Gideon was definitely going to tease her about when her heart was less of a melted puddle of goo. 

 The minutes slipped by warm and slow as drops of honey as her own eyes grew heavier, fluttering closed. She gave her necromancer - her Lyctor - her beautiful baneful bone empress one last sleepy smile, and drifted off.

 (When Camilla went to shake her sparring partner awake the next morning, she found the two of them still sound asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms and looking more peaceful than she'd ever seen them. She huffed a laugh, muttered "finally," and let them be.)

[thefloorisbalaclava]

oh my god i got a neighbor!frankie idea! he comes over late at night after you called him that you’re scared because you thought you heard something and he starts with you a while and then offers to sleep at your place if you’re still scared and it’s juts all so cute and sweet and he’s so caring but also like protective mode! sorry if this is not interesting just ignore it pls. love you and your work so much!

thank you!

[neighbor!frankie masterlist]

--

You feel so silly. You are an adult calling your neighbor because you heard something go bump in the night. Frankie answers almost immediately and it makes you feel better knowing that at least you didn’t wake him.

“Everything okay?” he asks. You can imagine he’s looking at his watch. “It’s pretty late for you.”

“Yeah...well...no. I think I heard something and I’m scared.” You feel even sillier saying it out loud.

“You, uh, want me to come over?” he asks. He’s already at his door putting his boots on.

“I don’t wanna inconvenience you or anything...”

“Not at all. I’m on my way,” he says and a few moments later there was a knock on your door. You peak out your room before sprinting to the door to open it.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly and Frankie steps inside and kicks off his boots. You immediately wrap your arms around him and he grunts from the force of the hug. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and rubs your back. “No problem. What did you hear?” he asks as you pull away and walk to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

“It sounds like something is moving around in the attic,” you say. “Want something to drink?” you ask but he shakes his head.

“Want me to go check it out?”

“No!” you answer a little too loudly. “I mean...have you ever seen scary movies. Something bad always happens when people move toward the sound.” Frankie makes a face then bursts into laughter. “What?”

“You know it’s probably just a rat or a raccoon or something, right?”

“It could also be a serial killer,” you say. “Remember a few years ago when that family found out someone had been living in their attic for like...months? What if that’s happening to me?”

“Okay, you know what? We’re gonna go watch some TV and relax until you fall asleep.” Frankie takes the empty glass from you and walks over to the sofa.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” you suggest and he freezes.

“The...what?”

“The bedroom,” you repeat, walking down the hall.

“Your...you mean...there...of course,” he mumbles as you turn into the room. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before following you. It’s neat and cozy just as he expected. You climb into bed and turn on the TV. “Uh...” He looks around for a chair or something to sit in.

“You can get in the bed, you know? I don’t bite.”

“Uh okay.” He walks over to the bed and climbs in stiffly, making sure not an inch of his skin touches yours.

“You want me to put a sword between us?” you tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Very funny but that’s just an extra weapon for the serial killer in your attic to use,” he jokes and you give him an exaggerated pout.

“Not if I use it on him first.” You feel so much better with him here and he can sense that. It fills him with a certain amount of pride knowing he makes you feel safe just by being there. “Will you relax?”

“I am relaxed,” he argues trying to show you how he’s lying down. Suddenly you both hear a noise above and you scramble to move closer to him.

“Frankie...,” you cry.

“It’s okay,” he says, putting his arm around your shoulder. “Probably just pipes or the house settling or something.” He looks up at the ceiling as he rubs your arms. When he looks back down at you you’re looking at him. “Everything will be fine.”

“Okay,” you say, lost in his eyes. You kiss him. He kisses you and you forget what you are afraid of in a flash. He pulls away and you sit there in a daze. “Okay,” you repeat. “Yeah...” Your words come out like little breathy sounds.

“Want me to stay ‘til you fall asleep?” he asks and you nod. “You got it.” He lies flat and you rest your head on his chest. He rubs your back gently and you can already feel your eye lids getting heavy. “I’m right here.” You let your eyes close to the sound of his voice.

*

When you wake up in the morning, Frankie is still there. He’s still holding you and you move your head to look up at him. He looks so relaxed and peaceful that you refuse to wake him just yet. He mumbles something then holds you even tighter before settling down again.

“Thank you,” you whisper.