#maybe even ask whether he WANTS a rabbit hunt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tieflingtareon · 1 year ago

Text

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 28 | Words: 8.4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Tar'eon wasn't sure what to do with himself. He had two options. Tell everyone he was a Bhaalspawn and hope they'd look past it, or keep it a secret, and hope it wasn't found out in a particularly bad way. On one had, if he managed to keep it a secret, he wouldn't lose his friends and would hopefully find a way to cure his urges anyway. But, if he was found out, they'd draw their own conclusions to why he kept it a secret in the first place. If he told them, they'd either promise their support, or try to kill him, and worse, they'd be divided and he'd have to watch a bloodbath nobody wanted.

He sighed and hung his head. He was starting to get a headache now. He didn't have to tell them right now. He could...give it a day. Really think about whether it was important enough or not. There was so much at stake...

When they left, waving to the others, Tar'eon focused on exploring, getting to know the town. He found a Ilmater temple, and seeing as he had prayed to him before, he decided to check it out. Hearing the priest had been killed, and a tiefling assumed the problem, he decided he could look into it, if only to help the refugees. If he could prove that it wasn't their fault, they may still get refuge from the temple. Which led him down a rabbit hole, a wall, and to a bunch of shapeshifters. They were plaguing the place, but he couldn't find anymore evidence despite his searching. Not in the temple at least.

He appeared outside a cave mouth, and once he stocked up on fish for dinner, he made his way to explore the shores, which lead him to another fight. He hadn't meant to start this one, to be fair. It just...happened. Apparently he was rude, but Astarion had a good time stealing everything, including more tadpoles. He wasn't sure how many they had so far, but it was slightly concerning the amount they had back at camp. Better in their hands then others though.

He felt like he had made a breakthrough when he stumbled upon a Gur camp though. The shocking part was seeing the Gur again.

"We...we did kill him, didn't we?" Astarion asked him, looking a little horrified to see the man again.

"Apparently not."

"No, I definitely did."

"Maybe another Gur found him and revived him."

"I didn't smell any other Gur." Astarion bit out before the man gave a jovial greeting.

"My friend from the hag swamp? You join us as we honour our fallen dead - you are a bright light on a dark day. Even you, my erstwhile quarry."

"...Maybe you scrambled his brain when you gouged out his eye." Tar'eon whispered.

"Shut up. Act natural." Astarion gave a charming smile and a smile wave as he wavered himself through a greeting. "Oh, eh...Hello again?"

"Isn't this the guy-?"

"Shut up, Wyll." Astarion cleared his throat. "I feel we're intruding, we should leave. Quickly."

"Calm yourself - you will not be harmed." Astarion grimaced just as Gandrel did. "Our leader had called off the hunt. She wishes to speak to you." The elder woman finished her prayer - chant? - and approached as Gandrel stepped aside.

"So, the impossible spawn walks amongst us in the blazing sun. We have been looking for you."

"What do you want with Astarion?" Tar'eon stepped forward to put himself ever so slightly in front of the vampire on instinct, just as he had when Gandrel met them in the swamp.

"The last time your friend came to our camp, he stole our children. Our future." Tar'eon looked at Astarion in shock, wondering if it was true. The vampire wouldn't look at him, glare focused on the woman.

"When I was hunting you, I was to bring you back here. To interrogate you, discover how to save our children, and then destroy you." Gandrel said it like it was simply a matter of fact.

"But things have changed. You have changed." The woman tilted her head. "Is it true you left your master? That you broke the spell that binds you to him?"

"Well, I mean...kind of? It's a long story, honestly." Astarion looked nervous. He wasn't fond of Gur, and perhaps being surrounded by them was making his danger radar ping like crazy.

"Yes. Astarion is free now." Tar'eon answered for her.

"Free? Not while his master still lives. But he has, perhaps, earned a second chance." Astarion looked pleased to hear that, unfolding his arms. "We have tried to save our children already, attacking Cazador Szarr's palace at first light. Even then, it was too well defended." She admitted bitterly.

"But, if his own spawn approached? Someone he thought he could control? He would throw his doors open and welcome you in. And once inside, you could do what we could not. You could save the children you damned."

"You don't know Cazador like I do - he's merciless. You want me to march into the lion's den and save your children, but I promise you, they're already dead." Astarion didn't exactly sound proud of it either. He likely brought Gur children on Cazador's orders. Or perhaps children in general. It wouldn't surprise Tar'eon to know Astarion picked Gur children over regular children, given his hatred for them.

"How can you be sure?" Tar'eon asked, and Astarion gritted his teeth.

"I spent two hundred years bringing him victims!" Astarion snapped, like it wasn't obvious he would know Cazador's ways. "Each and every one was whisked away to be fed on that night."

"But you never saw him feed yourself? He could keep prisoners for days before killing them." Ulma pointed out.

"I know our plight is grim, but if there is even a chance to save them, we must take it." Gandrel near pleaded.

"If our children are truly gone, then we ask for blood. I know you can understand that, spawn." Tar'eon grimaced at her tone. If what she said was true though, then Astarion had to make this right. To damn child to Cazador...they couldn't let that be. If they were already dead? Then blood would spill as the Gurs asked.

"You owe them revenge, Astar. If nothing else, you owe them that."

"I suppose...Yes." He sounded a million miles away before he smirked at Ulma. "Yes, revenge I can do."

"Thank you, from me and all my people. If you can do this, we will be in your debt." She smiled at Tar'eon before turning her hardened gaze to Astarion. "You have lived a life of violence and sin. You have stolen lives, broken families, and caused immeasurable grief. Doing this will not right those wrongs."

Astarion gave a half-laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"If you're trying to encourage me, you're failing abysmally."

"But it will be a start. You may still be redeemed." She smiled now, and Tar'eon found himself agreeing. He liked her outlook. Perhaps he could adopt that himself. He had done so much wrong in his past but...perhaps he could still be redeemed, if we killed the elder brain and made all of this right again. It wouldn't bring the dead back, but it would be start.

"Please, go. Time is short, but we will see you again when it is done." Tar'eon bowed his head to her and lead Astarion away. The vampire looked worlds away.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm? Yes, yes, I...Just lost in thought." Astarion cleared his throat. "I suppose we have even more reason to kill Cazador now."

"Did we need more reason?" Tar'eon mused and Astarion laughed.

"No. No, we truly didn't." He smiled and they made their way back into town, where Tar'eon found himself truly looking at the posters on the walls now. He frowned as he looked at Enver's face on the printed page.

"Lord Enver Gortash..." He mumbled to himself. Personally, he thought he looked better in person than on paper. Then again, he shouldn't have an opinion on such things to begin with. His stomach turned, churning with nerves. He knew he needed to kill Orin. He needed Enver's stone too. Gortash's stone. Fuck, what was wrong with his head? Referring to their enemies so casually in his mind?

He hadn't realised how long he'd been staring until Astarion stood beside him, tilting his head.

"Is there something...interesting about this or...?" He quirked a brow at his lover and Tar'eon sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"I...You know when you know you know somebody, but you can't remember anything about them outside their face or name?"

"Are you telling me you know this...Lord Gortash?" Astarion wrinkled his nose at even referring to the man with such a title.

"Well, no, I don't know him but...I think I used to? Maybe. Everything's all...scrambled up in there."

"Well...If you knew Orin who works with Gortash, then perhaps that's all it was. He's an arms dealer right? Maybe you bought some stuff from him. Not everything had a deeper meaning, you know?" Astarion was attempting to reassure him, but Tar'eon shook his head.

"I don't think it was like that. I think it was..." He thought back to the memory of that dark office, of the hand around his throat, and he swallowed hard. "I think we were close. Friends even."

"Friends?" Astarion frowned, looking thoughtful. "I suppose. If he's working with Orin in this Absolute business, despite their current possible falling out, and Orin seems to have ties to you, it's possible you had ties with both prior to their plans of world domination."

"I just don't know what to do about it." Tar'eon admitted. "Karlach hates him, and she has every right to, but...Something is stopping me from wanting to kill him as much as I do Orin. If he knows about my past, I might be able to learn something from him. Something that isn't all just...blood and guts."

"Blood and guts is fun though." Astarion patted his shoulder. "Look, if you ask me very nicely, I could always see about kidnapping the man and forcing him to answer all your questions."

Tar'eon grinned. It was a touching sentiment from Astarion.

"Thank you. But it's alright. I'll figure out what to do when the time comes. For now, I just want to get rid of Orin. She's the most dangerous out of the two of them."

"In time, my love." Astarion assured. Tar'eon finally pulled himself away from the poster and made inside the building. It looked like a postal service. After a chat with the man behind the desk, he promised to check on the missing pigeons. It was a merger thing for him to do, so it didn't hurt to look around. If they found something, they found something. He glanced off to the side and his eyes widened at the poster on the desk.

A coronation? Gortash was becoming Archduke? He picked up the paper and slipped it into his pocket. It even told him where the coronation would be. If he wanted to talk to the man, that might be his chance...

He spoke to some pigeons, but that didn't help him much. He was surprised to find messenger dogs in the yard though, in their cages, but only one whimper from Scratch at the woman in charge made him want to slit her throat. Her insistence on taking Scratch back...He could see right through her.

"I'll break every bone in your body before I let you hurt my dog." His sudden threat made her stagger.

"You- you'll do no such thing."

"It's not just Scratch. She's always hurting the dogs." Dringo spoke up and Tar'eons hackles raised with a glower, crossing his arms.

"Shut your mouth, Dringo." She raised a fist as if to hit him, but hesitated before looking at Tar'eon. "Last warning."

He would cave her skull in before he let her hurt another animal.

"You know...Lord Gortash and I; we're quite close." He thumbed at the poster folded up in his pocket besides the prism. "I know for a fact that he abhors animal abuse. Perhaps I should report you to him?"

"Fine. You think you can do a better job without me? Be my guest. They're a useless bunch of mongrels. You're welcome to them!" She stalked off with that and Tar'eon glanced at Astarion. The vampire quirked a brow and Tar'eon nodded him off towards the woman. Astarion's eyes lit up and he winked before slinking away, no doubt using the shadows and the illusion of the eye to slit her throat around the corner, lest she be a repeat offender. Tar'eon could tolerate much - but animal abuse? Not ever.

"You- you got rid of her." Dringo sounded so shocked, like he hadn't realised it was possible. "I'll do a better job looking after these dogs than she ever did. I promise."

"I know you will." Tar'eon smiled. "Because if you don't, I'll break every bone in your body." Dringo laughed nervously, like he wasn't sure if Tar'eon was kidding. He wasn't.

"Okay...Bye." He went back his duties with that and Astarion came back, wiping his dagger on his pant leg.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all."

"Did you just sick Astarion on that woman?" Gale asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Astarion smirked. "I took great delight in her little whimpers as she died."

"Gods...Well, I suppose she deserved it." Wyll shrugged.

"...I want to say she didn't, but she definitely did." Gale agreed.

"Good, we're in agreement. Let's go." Tar'eon beckoned them all to follow him out of the postal office, looking off towards the giant robot at the gate. He frowned.

"What on Toril is that?" Tar'eon asked. Wyll grimaced.

"The Steel Watch. I heard some citizens talking about them. Lord Gortash is the one who makes them and they follow his orders."

"I see..." Tar'eon frowned, looking around the gate. "I don't exactly want him to know we're here yet, or for his Steel Watch to kill us so...we'll find a way around."

"I think I see one. A few scoundrels are using it themselves." Astarion smirked as he pointed out a ledge and a ladder.

"Lead the way." It took some grunting and heaving, but they managed to find themselves on the other side, activating another portal so the others could follow. "Well...time to explore I suppose."

"Oh, you'll like this side of town." Astarion laughed.

Tar'eon didn't ask.

****

He should have asked. He was not expecting to be dragged into a brothel. The name should have given him a hint, he knew that, but on the plus side, he found out that their favourite - note the sarcasm - devil was present. The talk with him hadn't lasted long. Tar'eon was not offering that cambion any more power than he already had, even if it meant a way to free Orpheus and ease the guilt over leaving the man in his prison. Raphael assured him that he'd be back, but he didn't intend on it.

"Oh look, an entertainment area." Astarion sounded almost giddy as he guided them past some curtains in the lobby. Tar'eon felt his cheeks warm as he watched a woman dance on the stage, an upbeat tune playing around them. "A den of heathenism. I feel right at home." Astarion laughed, a haughty laugh that lacked any real truth to his statement.

"I...do not." Tar'eon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ah, yes, I- I agree with Tar'eon." Gale scratched the side of his neck, looking uncomfortable as his eyes roamed over the people in the room.

"I won't say I've never indulged in my youth, but...it's not my preference to pay for that kind of intimacy." Wyll pursed his lips. A woman brushed a hand over his shoulder and he jumped a little, giving a charming smile that didn't really reach his eyes, taking her hand off him and guided her away to the next, more willing patron. She managed to graze a hand along one horn though, admiring, and Wyll's brows pinched.

"I feel like they assume I'm staff rather than a patron." Wyll frowned.

"This place is all about the exotic from what I'm seeing. You look the part." Gale informed and Wyll gave him an unimpressed side eye. "Uh, in the most - in the nicest way possible. They even have drow!" He gestured to a pair of twins in the corner.

"How observant, Gale." Astarion drawled. As if they could tell they were the topic of discussion, the two drow siblings in question turned their way, the woman's eyes gazing over their party, but lingering on Tar'eon. It was hard not to focus on him, being the largest of the part.

"A new face! Looking for another chapter of dirty lore for your biography?" The male drow smiled at Tar'eon, seeming to appreciate the whole package before him. "Sorn." He introduced himself with a wink.

"I can tell you're a special one from a single glance." The female drow stepped closer and smiled, demure and sweet. "I am Nym. You have but to ask, and we can grant you a moment of pleasure. Don't be shy."

Tar'eon blinked slowly, taking a moment for the offer to sink in. His eyes widened.

"What...kind of service do you provide exactly?" There was no way he was being propositioned right now. Astarion? That would make sense, he's gorgeous, even Gale had an almost rugged charm to him, and Wyll? Well, Wyll had a body to die for with his strict routine to keep in shape. Tar'eon was...well, Tar'eon. He knew he had his appeals, he was in shape, and Astarion assured him he was attracted to him, but he was more...useful and mildly terrifying, than attractive in his opinion. What with his unsettling glowing eyes and looming figure, the scars across one side of his face not exactly pretty, and the patches of discoloration on his skin not leaving him with a smooth, even complexion.

He was more beast than lover in appearance, though maybe that was the bigotry getting to him about his tiefling heritage. Sorn chuckled at his naivety.

"What do you think, silly? Love, of course! Hot and vulgar with me, or sweet and sincere with my sister." He was selling himself a lot more than her by his tone, and Tar'eon wasn't sure if that was sweet or if he was just really horny. "Trust me, you don't want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick."

"I see...and you enjoy this work?" He felt the need to ask. He was constantly coming across people who needed help. He'd gladly assist them if he could.

"There are so many that come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them...and never will again. A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Everyday. What could be better?" He seemed to really believe it. "In this field I can be myself boundlessly. We could easily take up other work if we wished, but we're quite happy here."

"Well, I can't judge you if you're happy." Tar'eon smiled. Astarion tilted his head at the drows, stepping a touch close to Tar'eon who still looked a little uncomfortable.

"Is that your partner with you?" Nym asked. "What a gorgeous couple...perhaps we could come to an agreement?" Tar'eon frowned.

"What are you interested in my partner?" He could understand, he supposed. Astarion was beautiful, but she seemed to know he was taken and was still propositioning them both. Was that normal in brothels?

"Well, there are two of us, aren't there? Use your imagination."

"Oh." Tar'eon took a moment. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'." Nym chuckled, amused by the tieflings shyness. Astarion cleared his throat.

"I- Sorry, love, I'm not quite comfortable with doing this again just yet." Astarion admitted, looking a touch upset with himself, like he was depriving Tar'eon of something because of his lack of desire to entangle with another - or anyone for that matter.

"I wouldn't ask such a thing of you, Astar. Not ever." Tar'eon assured. Did he think him so callous? The vampire made a sound of disgust.

"Don't be so nice to me! It makes me want to be," He looked pained. "Nice back."

"Is that such a crime?" Tar'eon asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he turned back to the twins. "I apologise, but I'll have to decline."

"Well, we'll be here if you change your mind." Nym smiled, peaking behind Tar'eon to Gale and Wyll. "Perhaps your companions might be interested in my brother and I?"

"Oh, no, no thank you, that's- you're both gorgeous, there's no lie there. I'm just not comfortable with that sort of thing." Gale smiled tightly.

"I- I agree. I want romance, not - not debauchery." Wyll fiddled with his gloves. "I value affection over fun, a lasting memory over a passing fancy."

"We're in agreement there." Gale chuckled, glancing at Wyll for a moment before he bowed is head to Nym and Sorn. "It's all a bit much for me. Thank you for the offer, but we'll pass."

"A shame. It's rare we see a man more exotic than us." Sorn chuckled and Wyll gave a thin smile.

"Temporarily exotic, I- Can we go, please?" Wyll turned to Gale who nodded quickly.

"Yes, I think- we've overstayed our welcome, we have much to do, much to explore." Gale placed a hand on Wyll's shoulder and slipped away past the curtain. Tar'eon frowned. Wyll was obviously not taking kindly to the spotlight, and this place attracted all the wrong attention.

"I wish you both the best luck in your endeavours."

"Do consider coming back. I would not mind showing the wonders of a drow lover." Sorn winked, voice sultry.

"He needn't a more wondrous lover than I, thank you." Astarion smiled wide, showing off his fangs as he lead Tar'eon out of the lobby. Tar'eon felt like he could only breathe properly once he was outside. "This wouldn't happen if you weren't so gorgeous, you know?"

"I- I wouldn't call myself gorgeous." Tar'eon blushed. "I think you fit that title much better than I."

"Please, you're six and half feet worth of pure muscle, yet you're as cozy as a fur blanket. Who wouldn't want you?" Astarion smirked. "It's good thing I got in first. Would have been a pity to not have you wrapped around my finger."

"I am very much wrapped around your finger." Tar'eon chuckled, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. "And I don't mind it one bit." His tail gave a happy flick behind him. With Astarion, it was easy to forget everything that troubled him.

"Yes, yes, I'm magnificent - we should go check on prince charming and his wizard."

"Worried?"

"Not even I enjoyed being gawked at when I started luring prey to Cazador. It's something you become accustom to over time. Doesn't make you feel any less disgusting about it." Astarion made a face like he smelt something rancid, moving ahead to approach the pair who were talking outside another establishment.

Wyll had his arms crossed over his chest as Gale spoke in a low voice, a small smile on his face as he traced a scar that travelled along Wyll's cheekbone, the warlock's eyes downcast. Slowly, his arms unfolded, smiling at the wizard in return. Whatever he had said, it worked like magic. Gale grinned, obviously pleased to have reassured Wyll enough for him to relax. He pressed a short kiss to his lips, the swordsman's expression full of fondness.

"Well? Everything sorted then?" Astarion mused and Wyll looked bashful before he stood straighter. Gale gave a boastful grin.

"Dandy as a dandelion! Where to next? I've heard there's quite a few shops around - perhaps we'll stumble upon a bookshop? I'm starting to run out of good books."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Wyll agreed. "Perhaps...we part ways for a couple hours? We can meet back here. I think we could all do with a wander."

"Alright..." Tar'eon frowned slightly. "Just be careful. We don't know what's awaiting us at any corner of this place. If things get messy, portal back to camp and we'll meet you there if you're not here by sundown."

"A good plan." Wyll agreed. "Well...We will reunite at sundown." Wyll offered his arm to Gale. "Shall we?"

"Oh, uh...of course!" Gale hesitated before taking the arm, obviously not used to being the one who took up romance gestures rather than gave them.

"You've lived most of your life in Waterdeep, I'm to assume? Allow me to show you my home." Wyll smiled fondly as he led Gale down the street, lips moving in idle chatter that Tar'eon couldn't make out. He smiled at the pair.

"Those two just wanted to go on a date." Astarion shook his head. "Gods, it's almost too sweet."

"Didn't you also want to show me Baldur's Gate?" Tar'eon chuckled.

"Well...I'm more familiar with the Upper and Lower cities than Wyrm's Crossing, but they do have a few things I enjoy. Good tailors for one." Astarion's eyes drifted to the building in front of them. "Ah. I've been here before. I wonder..." He frowned thoughtfully and took Tar'eons bicep, pulling him along to follow him inside.

"What's this place?"

"Fraygo's Flophouse. I've been here a couple hundred times, but I preferred the Elfsong Tavern. Better booze, and a continuous rotation of fresh faces who hadn't been warned off not to stumble into my bed. After all, all my lovers were just so heartbroken after a night of passion with me they fled the city before dawn." He sighed dramatically before smirking. That had been a reoccurring rumour he thought quite funny. Much nicer than the reality of what he was doing with his victims.

"I see." Tar'eon looked around the lobby curiously, but Astarion beckoned him up the stairs. He wondered if it was still the same old place he remembered it being, even if it had only a couple months since he last saw it. Just as he predicted, his siblings were in their usual hunting ground. Seeing them still out past dawn was strange though. Considering they were staying in the shadows of the room, curtain drawn tight on their side, they were obviously still cautious of burning to a crisp.

"I want someone there, ready for me. And once the Mass is done and our lord grants us our freedom, I can celebrate by drinking them dry."

"Cazador promised you your freedom? And you believed him?" Astarion laughed in their faces as their stupidity. Two centuries of torture and they learned nothing. It was pathetic how gullible they were. "You were never burdened with intelligence, Petras, but your load seems especially light these days."

"Astar..." Tar'eon sighed. Must he rile up everyone they happened upon?

"Astarion? It- it cannot be..."

"That's no way to welcome back a brother, Dal. Didn't you miss me?" Astarion asked, feigning hurt before he smirked, gesturing to himself in all his new glory. Let them envy him. It would be a nice change from the pity they once bestowed upon him, being Cazador's favourite screamer.

"Why would you come back? You got out - you were free." Dalyria couldn't fathom it. If it had been her, she would have made herself disappear for good, never to be found again.

"We're here to kill Cazador. That's the only way you'll truly be free." Tar'eon explained. It would be better to have them on their side rather than against them.

"You- you can't mean that."

"He's playing mind games. He can't raise a hand to the master, let alone kill him." Petras barely restrained a scoff at the very notion. Astarion had always been the jester amongst them, making up for any lack of charisma with humour, which worked just the same.

"You have no idea what I can do." Astarion's eyes grew dark, much like that of a predator as he stepped forward and grabbed Petras by the throat, dragging him over to the sunlight coming through the opposite window.

"Astar-"

"No!" Dalyria didn't make a move to come any closer despite the anguish in her cry, terrified of burning away like Petras was beginning to, his skin becoming grey and cracked, ashen beneath the sunlight.

"Where is he hiding?" Astarion rasped, a scowl marring his features as his 'brother' struggled against his hold. "Tell me!"

Petras cried out in pain, unable to speak through the agony.

"Brother, please!" Dalyria's begged, and Tar'eon pursed his lips. He didn't like watching this either - he didn't like the way the Urge stirred in delight at the sight of Astarion's chilling cruelty.

"Astar, stop." He spoke firmly, and Astarion sneered, glaring down at Petras before he relented.

"Fine." He threw him aside, out of the light, and Petras stumbled back to his sisters side, his hand clamped around her wrist like she might be able to save him from the wrath of the eldest. "You owe your wretched life to my friend. Now tell me what I need to know."

"The master is preparing the Black Mass. Beneath his palace. There's a defiled chapel - it was hidden there the entire time. Hidden from us all." Dalyria broke, not wanting Astarion to take back his mercy. "Do you really think...you can stop him?" The wisp of hope in her voice broke Tar'eons heart.

"I'm the only one who can. The sun can't harm me, Cazador can't compel me. I don't need to fear him anymore." Astarion smirked. "Now go, before I change my mind about roasting you, brother."

"This isn't over, Astarion." Dalyria assured. Tar'eon reached into his pack and withdrew a healing potion, offering it to Petras who looked surprised.

"I'm not sure how much it'll help, but...it looks painful. Please - don't give up hope. You won't have to fear Cazador any longer once we're through with him." The vampire spawn took the potion, Dalyria's eyes widening ever so slightly at the compassion being shown to them by their brothers companion.

"I...thank you. Goodbye, brother." Dalyria whispered and the pair vanished.

"You're really too nice to them. They've killed just as many as I have." Astarion scoffed.

"I don't care for their misdeeds of the past. They didn't have control over themselves - and neither did you. Sometimes one act of kindness can change someone's life forever."

"They're fools. They actually think Cazador will save them..." Astarion frowned, hands on his hips.

"I'm glad you spared them." Tar'eon smiled. "You didn't have to. It probably would have done us more good to get rid of one of them, if only to ruin the ritual. But you didn't."

Astarion laughed.

"You sound surprised," Astarion's eyes were full of mirth. "I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time."

"I know you are. Still - I'm proud of you."

"They're no threat to us, and they have no choice but to do Cazador's bidding. I pity them. Worst of all, they don't know their fate is already set. They're doomed." He let out a small laugh. "The only question is whether their lives will be sacrificed to a monster like Cazador, or serve a...greater purpose."

Tar'eon scowled. He knew exactly where this was heading.

"You really can't let it go, can you?" He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Those sacrifices are your brothers and sisters. Are you really ready to doom them for your own gain?"

"Trust me, I'd rather slaughter someone else's family but...if that's what it takes." His words left a bitter taste on Tar'eons tongue. "And it's not like they're sweet innocents; they brought Cazador just as many victims as I did."

"Exactly. And you got the chance to be free of him. Don't they deserve that much as well?" Tar'eon challenged, and Astarion gave a loud sigh. This wasn't getting anywhere. They were going in circles.

"Never mind that. Now that we know he's skulking beneath his palace, we can take the hunt to Cazador. Now let's go. This place stinks of rat blood and despair." Tar'eon frowned and sniffed.

"You're right...I do smell blood." He looked upwards. It wasn't below them, or around them though. It was above. With a bit of sneaking about, they managed to find another room with help from the flower key they found in the temple, and of course, Astarion saw the blood first. The keen senses of a vampire, always drawn to the red stain.

Tar'eon pulled the body out from under the bed and frowned.

"Well...I have a good feeling this is connected to the murders."

"Shall I speak with him?" Astarion offered.

"Do you even know that spell?"

"Well, no, but...I did steal that lovely little necklace a while back from your pack that gives me the ability."

"I- I should have known." Tar'eon sighed and stepped back as Astarion closed his eyes, allowing the power of the amulet to run through him, the body rising. After a few questions, it was obvious these murders weren't just coincidental. Tar'eon swallowed when he heard the man speak of Bhaal cultists. No doubt Orin was behind this. All the more reason to sweep her off the board.

"Well then...I suppose we better talk to that flying elephant detective." Astarion mused. "I should have expected that Orin was going around with her own little murder cult. The woman is unhinged."

"Agreed..." Tar'eon could tell him now. Could tell Astarion the truth. That he had once led the cult himself, that he was a Bhaalspawn, but his throat clamped up shut. He couldn't do it. He was scared to admit it out loud. It would make it so much more real, especially if Astarion knew.

"Let's go speak with them. Then after...maybe we could go for a wander ourselves?" He offered and Astarion's eyes lit up.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"I'm offering to pay for a visit to the tailors." Tar'eon smiled as Astarion laughed, clapping his hands.

"Oh, I knew I kept you around for a reason, darling." He saddled up to his side and took his arm, smirking up at the tiefling. "A new outfit is long overdue, I think. I know just the place; not as good as the Upper City tailors, but close enough."

If he was honest, the nicest things he ever wore were stolen, off bodies or from stores, or hand-me-downs from the favoured spawn Leon. He always got the nicest things - he was pretty sure it was only because he let Cazador sleep with him. Astarion could never go through with it, and he was pretty sure Cazador wasn't interested in him screaming in that sense. Strangers, he could manage, but Cazador? He would have puked on the man before he even undressed.

Most tailors were shut by the time he could leave the palace, so he only ever really got to admire fine fabrics through windows or on others. He had taken up embroidery after ten years with Cazador, so he could finally feel less like a wretched slave and more like a...well-dressed servant. It didn't matter the quality of his clothing; Cazador and Godey would bloody it or tear it eventually anyway. So, fixing his outfits himself had become habit. Now though, he could walk right into any tailors shop and pick the finest fabrics he desired without concern of them getting ruined. Outside of battle at least.

Astarion wouldn't say he enjoyed being on anyone's arm, he was not some damsel or courtesan, but he'd admit, seeing others envy him on the street because Tar'eon had offered his arm to him...Well, it was stroking his ego. Perhaps he was a possessive bastard, but did he not deserve only the finest things after everything he'd been through?

Tar'eon was by far the finest thing around, from what all the staring was telling him. He supposed with how tall he was, it was hard to miss him. Broad shoulders, his horns making him appear even larger and more devilishly charming, the scars on his face telling tales of bravery and battle - he was a hunk. Even if he didn't realise it himself. The slimming magical armour didn't ruin the appeal either.

Astarion hadn't really ever had a type from memory. There had been a few souls he brought back to Cazador that swayed his heart just a bit, but most of the people he brought back had been criminals or wretches, people who wouldn't be missed. They were usually terrible in bed, generally rude, and arrogant beyond belief. He'd been fucked with a blade to his throat or a hand around it more times than he could count. Tar'eon was a delight in comparison.

And he didn't mind that Astarion didn't want to fuck him. Or, well, couldn't for the sake of his mental health. He wasn't in this for his body. For some unfathomable reason, he actually liked him for his personality. Astarion's standards were getting higher, sure, but Tar'eons? They had to be on the floor to entertain dating a vampire with two hundreds worth of trauma and complete disregard of others. Even with their current disagreement on the ascension, Tar'eon did not withhold any affections from him.

It only made sense that he didn't want others to look at his devil. He'd scored something that was rare to come by. Thankfully, Tar'eon didn't seem to be looking at anyone else either. Not even lustfully. He did wonder how long it would be until Tar'eon decided he wanted to participate again in carnal pleasures, but Astarion wasn't sure when he'd be ready for that. Sure, he could suck it up and lay with the man occasionally, if only to keep him by his side, and it wouldn't even be completely horrible. Hells, it would likely be enjoyable for them both, but...he knew he wasn't ready yet. That all the disgust and loathing would crawl up on him the moment they were finished.

He couldn't betray himself like that, and he knew Tar'eon would beat himself up if he knew he was only doing it for his sake. So...he supposed if the time came, and Tar'eon did need that sort of thing, he'd allow him to bed another. He only worried that Tar'eon would discard him if he couldn't give that to him himself. If someone else could give him love and lust, why would he hang on to him, the wreck he was?

"Do you like it?" Tar'eon asked, drawing him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times and turned to look in the mirror. He couldn't see himself, but the outfit he was wearing was...gorgeous. Hand picked by Tar'eon, and suited to a prince from a story book. The suit was white, with golden embroidery travelling down the jacket, the collar high on his throat with lace cradling it to avoid the itchiness of the stiff fabric. To piece the look together was a red cravat.

Tar'eon reached around from behind and adjusted the red fabric, his eyes following his own fingers as he loosened it and retied it so it was straight, fluffing it out. He rested his hand on his shoulders and smiled softly. He wasn't looking in the mirror, but instead at Astarion.

"It suits you."

"I feel very...Lordly." Astarion admitted. "I like it. I just wish I could see what I look like in it."

"Turn around." Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to look at Tar'eon. The tiefling stepped back, standing at the bottom of the two steps, his eyes travelling over his body before closed them. Moments later, Astarion saw himself through the others eyes. The cravat was the exact shade of his eyes, and the white of his suit only made his curls seem brighter. Sunlight from the window behind him shone off the golden embroidery, and he practically glowed.

"You look beautiful." Tar'eon smiled, the connection fading. The back of Astarion's neck burned as he tucked his hair behind his ears.

"Yes, well...When aren't I?"

"Well, I might be biased, but never."

"Good answer." Astarion's eyes twinkled with mirth as he slipped his arms around his lovers neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was one of the rare moments where they were of equal height, if only because he was two steps higher than usual. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any gold with me..."

He pretended to be apologetic about it, looking away like he was saddened he wouldn't get his lovely new suit because of his 'forgetfulness', and Tar'eon laughed, more of a rumble of amusement than an airy sound.

"My treat. It's a gift, ph myirz."

"I do quite like your gifts." Astarion smirked, tugging gently on the ruby dagger dangling from his earlobe. "Careful now. Spoil me too much and you'll be stuck with me."

"Sounds perfect to me." Tar'eon squeezed his waist and kissed him again, lingering for a few moments before he pulled away. "I'll go pay. Don't forget your armour in the dressing room."

"Are you getting anything for yourself?" Astarion queried.

"Not today. I prefer to always be prepared for the inevitable battle." Tar'eon shrugged.

"Oh, come on. We're on a date. You should dress nicely." Astarion chuckled, picking dirt from under his nails.

"You look nice enough for the both of us, ph myirz." Tar'eon assured, kissing his cheek before departing to pay the tailor. It was pricey, sure, but well worth the smile on Astarion's face. He had a lot more gold than he let on. When weapons and jewellery were constantly being dropped at his feet after killing enemies, and books continuing to pile at their camp from the shelves he raided, well...sellers always wanted weapons, jewels and knowledge. They were willing to pay well for those things.

Astarion didn't wait for Tar'eon to offer his arm before he was taking it, an impish smile on his lips as they left the tailors. He stood taller now, dressed regally like he was from the Upper City. If Astarion thought they were getting stares before, it was nothing compared to now. He fed off the envy of the citizens around them, smirking to himself.

"You know what I could go for right now?" Astarion mused. Tar'eon hummed, waiting for him to continue. "A full-bodied red." He purred and the tiefling quirked a brow.

"I have a feeling you're not talking about wine."

"Why would I want that when you're just as sweet, darling?" His eyes gleamed, predatory, and Tar'eons heart skipped a beat.

"Well..." He bit his lip, looking around. "If you can find somewhere a little less crowded-"

"Perfect." Astarion grinned, dragging Tar'eon out of the street and into the shadows, his vision warring between greying out and keeping the focus on the colour of Tar'eons cheeks. He could hear his heart pumping harder, his blood rushing faster in excitement. It made him salivate.

"Are you sure this is-?" Tar'eon began, but Astarion cut him off before he could get consumed by his anxiety.

"The worse we'll be accused of is public indecency." Astarion chuckled as he pressed Tar'eon against the wall of the alleyway, pressing his body to his with a low purr of satisfaction, enjoying the heat that pulsated off his skin. It felt like far too long since he got to tease his beloved.

"As long as you're certain you can talk your way out of it should a guard see us." Tar'eon warned and Astarion almost giggled.

"Might be the highlight of their day - it would certainly be the highlight of mine." Astarion slipped his hand into the strands at the base of his skull, brushing the white ends out of the way of his throat as he guided his head back with a single thumb against his jaw. Tar'eon followed his touch, leaning back into it and baring his throat to his lover with practised ease.

"Good boy," Astarion praised and pressed a kiss to his throat, nuzzling the length of his neck. "You're surprisingly submissive, you know? Considering you look so domineering." He grazed his fangs over his pulse and delighted in the way it jumped.

"I...I like making you happy." Tar'eon tail swayed, brushing Astarion's leg before it wrapped around it loosely. Keeping him close.

"Well, you're doing a very good job, darling." Astarion purred before sinking his fangs into his neck. Tar'eon sucked in a sharp breath at the initial pain, the icy prick mellowing out into a hot sting, Astarion's cool lips soothing the pain away. He groaned softly and closed his eyes, one hand against the wall to keep himself steady, and the other hand on his back as Astarion drank greedily.

The first few gulps were always taken with greed, with fervour, like he was a man who had been dying for a cup of water after a hot summers day. Then, it slowed, the vampire savouring the taste with a low moan, his sucklings feeling more like kisses, smearing blood over his collar and licking up the steady fall as it trailed down his neck. He was being messy with it today, and Tar'eon couldn't help the way his breath caught and his stomach pooled with heat the more Astarion lavished his neck with his tongue.

His hand slipped up his back, cradling the back of his head, and Astarion swore softly against his jaw, nipping at the faintest hint of stubble. Tar'eon tried to keep himself clean shaven, he preferred the look, but the way Astarion nuzzled against his jaw like an affectionate cat made it tempting to let it grow out a few more days. He hissed when Astarion bit down again, higher than before, lapping at the wound. Not even his hair would be able to hide that one.

He had a feeling that was Astarion's goal.

The vampire licked his lips and pulled back, blood smeared across his lips and chin. His eyes were almost black from how blown out they were, licking his bloodied teeth.

"I don't what it is today, but you taste divine, darling." Astarion leaned back in and licked the blood from his throat, a pink stain on his skin, but that wasn't exactly avoidable now.

"I can tell. You bit me twice."

"Oh, did I?" Astarion hummed, playing dumb. "Apologises, my love." He thumbed at the blood on the corner of his mouth and sucked it off. "I'm terribly dirty; do you have a cloth?"

"I do." Tar'eon chuckled and put his pack down, ignoring his less than holy reaction to Astarion's feeding. He was a little woozy, but it was something that could be fixed with a spell later, or a long nights rest. He took out a carter of water and a rag, wetting it and wiping his neck off before he took Astarion's jaw in hand and cleaned him up too. The vampire pulled a face at being manhandled, but allowed it seeing as he just drank half of the man down. He wasn't naive either - he knew he riled Tar'eon up with his frivolous feeding. He wasn't going to say anything though, not unless Tar'eon did.

"There. How you managed not to get it on your new outfit is a miracle." Tar'eon remarked as he chucked the rag aside and put the water back in his bag.

"Well, I can't go ruining my new gift so soon." Astarion chuckled, looking up at the sky. "Ah, it'll be sunset soon. Best not to make the Blade and his wizard worry."

"Well, we found out where Cazador is, what Orin's cultists are up to, got you a new outfit and you had your dinner so...I'd say it was an eventfully afternoon."

"It really was, wasn't it?" Astarion laughed as he led him out of the alleyway. Tar'eon was hoping nobody would remark on the twin pin pricks on his throat, but he knew immediately when he saw Gale, Wyll, and surprisingly Jaheria, that they all knew and were judging him. His cheeks flushed.

"Would you like me to restore your blood, solider?" Jaheria sounded amused.

"Oh yes, it'll serve me well when I go for dessert later tonight." Astarion grinned.

"Your outfit is quite lavish, Astarion." Gale noted. "Did you pay for that yourself?"

"Well, with how much I do for this party? Practically paid in labour." Astarion inspected his nails and smirked at the wizard.

"Our leader is quite generous." Wyll chuckled.

"How did you like the town, Gale?" Tar'eon asked, wanting to change the subject before he became as red as the devil.

"Well, the shops were nice, nothing grand - I think once we get into the city, I'll have much more to explore. I see you two enjoyed your time out, but I'm afraid we were dragged into another battle with shapeshifters, the shifty bastards."

"We met Jaheria while shopping; she was on her way to meet her fellow Harpers, but unfortunately, only one fellow was left after everything."

"I should have expected them to be infiltrated." Jaheria sounded bitter nonetheless. "The boy - I was ready to let him go, but Wyll made some good points. We need all the allies we can get with Red Orin getting her bloody hands in our business. I will tell you more back at camp."

"I leave you lot alone for a couple hours and you pick a fight." The tiefling mused.

"Trouble finds us even without you around, you know?" Gale chuckled.

"Come on. I'm starved - what're you making tonight?" Wyll asked and Gale laughed.

"What do you feel like?"

"Ah, a man after my own heart." Wyll shook his head with a wide smile. "I'll see you back at camp." In a flash of ancient magic, he disappeared, Gale chuckling as he vanished as well. Jaheria gave the couple a nod before following, leaving Tar'eon and Astarion alone.

"Let's hope for a restful night. Especially for you. I know you haven't been sleeping well."

"It's all the usual stuff. Don't worry about me." Tar'eon squeezed his shoulder.

"How can I not?" Astarion tutted and flashed away. Tar'eon huffed out a chuckle and looked over into the distance. He pulled out the poster from his pocket and read over the details. The coronation would be tomorrow, in the Fortress. There, Lord Enver Gortash would become Archduke.

Tomorrow, he would finally face the man who plagued his thoughts and dreams.

Tomorrow, he finally got the answers to his questions.

#astarion x dark urge #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x male tav #bg3 tav #astarion bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate tav

13 notes · View notes

ravenrose18 · 6 months ago

Text

Crossbow Love

Chapter 1- The Stranger

Raven is in the woods, leaning against a tree in front of a, cooking some squirrels and a rabbit. Raven was on the road without shelter, hunting for food and looking for water. She ran away from home from all this when she was 17, then she ran away from her abusive family, no one even tried to stop her, but it's not like she cared. They did nothing but torture her and hate her. So as soon as she escaped with her backpack, knife set, and crossbow she knew she would survive this apocalypse. Daryl at the same time was stuck between Alexandria and Hilltop when his motorcycle broke down.

Furious at his lack of attention and the fact that the sun was setting, he decided to set up camp before it got too dark to go alone. Accustomed to traveling alone and surviving in the woods, he hides his motorcycle in a ditch and enters the woods with a crossbow slung over his shoulder with two knives at his belt. Raven stares into the fire and keeps her legs close to her chest with the crossbow right next to her, the knives in her belt, and her pistol with a few rounds in its holster. She has been in this area for so long that she soon has to move on and head a little further north to be somewhere else. As circles the woods, he notices a flame in the distance and stops in place. He slides the crossbow off his shoulder, pulls the bolt, and looks around. He wouldn't want to meet someone in the middle of the forest, but he didn't feel like fighting. He just wanted to rest for a while.

Raven hears the quiet snapping of twigs in the distance, one of her knives in her hand. She hadn't had any human contact since the beginning of the world hit, and it wasn't a good experience. She had her hood pulled up, the fire only showing part of her face. Daryl moved as quietly as he could, but fatigue was getting to him. He walked closer to the campfire, leaned against one of the trees, and looked around. He tried to hear anything in the forest that would indicate danger. The darkness did not make it easy to find any tracks, but he knelt on one knee and looked for any sign of people. Unfortunately, despite his keen eyesight, he was unable to see anything. He rose from his knees and listened to the forest around him. Raven lifted her gaze, seeing the man not noticing her right away, she slowly stood up, holding her crossbow in her hand, and slowly aimed it at him, seeing how exhausted he was, but she knew he had to defend himself. She put the crossbow to his back. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?" She asks cautiously. Daryl's body stiffens at the contact with the metal on his back. His muscles tighten and his mind chastises him for not hearing her actions behind him. He struggles with himself, whether to tell her the truth or lie, or maybe fight. "I'm not looking for trouble." He says finally.

Raven looks at him and walks over to him, still aiming his crossbow at him and looking him up and down "There won't be any trouble. As long as you don't move and put the crossbow down. Who are you and what are you doing here?" She asks again. "If you're counting on me putting my crossbow down, you're wrong." He snorted under his breath and looked at her. He measured her from top to bottom, trying to locate any of her weapons in case he had to fight. Raven growled quietly and looked at him "I'm just being cautious. I don't know if you're going to hurt me, rob me, rape me, or kill me." She says pointing her crossbow at his chest.

She is serious, not playing around when she doesn't trust anyone. And she knows how to kick ass knowing martial arts so she can take him if he gets tough. He raises his eyebrows high, then furrows them in response to her words. His crossbow gently drops down, loosening the tension on the string, something in his body telling him that he shouldn't aim at her. "Are you alone?" He mutters, trying to see her eyes. Raven looked at him, lowered her crossbow, and sighed. "Thank you. I'm sorry, but I need to make sure you're not a threat to me. And yes, I'm alone, I've been alone all this time." She says grabbing the crossbow and putting it on her shoulder. "So are you going to tell me who you are?" She asks. "Is that relevant?" He snorts under his breath "After all, I'm not going to stay here." He says

He looks around among the trees, searching for any sign that the girl is lying, that she is alone. His body still tensed, every muscle in his body aching after hours of pushing a heavy motorcycle. Raven shook her head and went back to the campfire, sat down in a tree, removed her hood, and held both crossbows next to her. She picked up a stick and poked the rabbit she was cooking, and when she realized it was ready, she took it off the stick. She stared at him with her icy blue eyes. "Are you hungry?" She asks. "No," He says as shakes his head, but he needs a moment to rest. He hesitates to sit next to her, so he finally sits down on the other side of the fire, watching her and biting his thumb. "You know it's dangerous to be alone." He mutters to her. Raven looks at him and takes a bite of the rabbit. "Not really. I just hunt, stay awake, and go to a nearby town for supplies. I've been doing it since I was seventeen. I'm just surprised I'm still alive and that I haven't killed myself or died yet." She says simply looking down and keeping her legs close to her chest. He stares at her, recognizing in her tone his behavior when his father is beating him and Merle isn't around. "I have a group." He finally speaks up. Raven suddenly looked at him staring into his eyes. "What are you trying to say?" She asks. Raven doesn't know if he's trustworthy or not, he can't even give his name away, how can he trust anyone? She was at least nice enough to offer some of her food. "And what does it sound like to you?" He snorts under his breath.

He looks around, looking for danger in the form of walkers. the, allowing him to see everything in his surroundings. Raven looks around seeing how the moon makes the forest so beautiful and looks up at the stars. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, then looks up at him. "If I tell you my name and give you your crossbow, will you tell me your name?" She asks him. He tilts his head looking at her, turning his gaze back to the forest. She's fighting a battle in her mind, but in the end, it's the damn apocalypse, and if she wanted to she probably would have kicked his ass long ago "Ok, that's fair" Raven looks at him, and sighs, and grabs his crossbow and walks over to him and hands it to him. "My name is Raven Rose and I trust you not to use that crossbow against me," She says softly, smiling gently. Daryl rises to his feet and straightens up, grabbing the crossbow. For a moment their hands touch, but he quickly pulls his hand away with the crossbow. "Daryl Dixon" He mutters under his breath.

Raven smiles softly and keeps her arms crossed close to her, she returns to her backpack on the ground and starts packing her things and digging dirt on the fire to put it out. She walks towards the bushes next to the tree to reveal her motorcycle. Daryl looks at her curiously "I'd rather wait out the night in the woods" He says "My motorcycle won't start, and I'm not leaving it here" Daryl catches himself talking more to the stranger than to his own family. He growls to himself under his breath. Raven looks at him and smiles softly, nodding and sighing. "It's okay, Daryl. Maybe I can help you with the motorcycle in the morning." She says, sitting down in the tree across from him. She's not sure if she's ready to be with a group or not, she's never been with other people, but maybe if he takes her back to his group she can feel safe again. Especially after the hell, she went through even before the world went to shit. Daryl nods and sits down with his crossbow in his lap. "I need to ask you some questions before I take you to my group." He says. Raven looks at him and nods "Oh, of course, ask, "She says. Raven is surprised that he was talking about how quiet and reserved he was at first. "How many walkers have you killed?" He asks "Too many to count." She says. Daryl looks for any sign of a lie in her demeanor, or perhaps more of a secret she wants to hide. "How many people have you killed?" He asks. Raven looks up at him and sighs, looking down she holds her knees close to her chest. "Four," She says knowing at least two of those people would steal, rape, and kill her, to begin with, but the first two people she killed were her abusive parents Daryl furrowed his brow and looked away for a moment, then looked at her again. He noticed her change in attitude. "Why?" He asks.

Raven looks up at him slowly and tearfully wipes away her tears quickly and sighs. "Because they wanted to kill me." She says quietly and there is a rubber band on her wrist and she begins to snap it. She does this to keep from hurting herself with the knife. "What kind of shit have you been through in your life?" He nods towards her wrist. Raven looks at him with tears in her eyes. She just shakes her head. "It doesn't matter." She says simply, knowing that he can keep asking, sooner or later he will eventually know her and her past anyway.

She nods slightly in confirmation and leans back comfortably against the tree. He tries to relax without closing his eyes, despite everything he doesn't trust the girl in front of him. He has only known her for a few hours, but somewhere inside he feels that they have something in common, even though she doesn't say much. Raven doesn't stop playing with her wrist, she looks at her knife and feels like cutting herself again, she hasn't cut herself in a long time, and she has a lot of scars on her hands, but her tattoos help cover them up, especially on her back, scars her parents gave her, they were drug addicts and alcoholics. She was lucky to make it out of that hellish house alive. Somewhere in the middle of the night, Daryl fell asleep for a few hours. His body was thankful for it, tired from pushing and other things. He snored quietly, with his arms crossed over his chest and his crossbow resting on his legs. Raven stays awake, looking up at him and smiling softly. She realizes that he looks cute when he sleeps. She never sleeps, she stands leaning against a tree, gazing up at the sky, loving nights like this. She always starts to think too much, even though she is always alone, but she is glad he showed up. She doesn't want to get attached, knowing that everyone dies in this world.

Chapter 2

2 notes · View notes

fairydares · 1 year ago

Text

Ice and Igni (Chapter 2)

Pt. 1 (definitely read this first) ; AO3

Rating: M (suggestive content especially in this chapter but no smut, though there will be some if I choose to continue with this story. I also want to do a Nalu/Gruvia stone age omake to precede this one maybe but we'll see).

See AO3 for tags and stuff please.

Summary: It isn't the first time Nasha has gotten lost while hunting, but it is the first time one of the males who abandoned her tribe long ago is the one to find her...and it just had to be while she's bathing. All she wanted was to become a stronger huntress than Erza!

I don't own Fairy Tail, only this silly little plotline.

~~~

Chapter 2: Igni Faces Ice

The second her tribe had settled into their new encampment, Nasha had run off, waving goodbye to her family and pretending she couldn’t hear her mother screeching for her to come back.

It was probably selfish of her to ditch her mom, her little brother Luke, and the flying cat Harley, to set up camp by themselves. But she hated setting up camp! It was sooo boring.

Besides, she wasn’t really being selfish; she’d scooped up her bow and spear before she left. Their tribe had been walking as far as they could every day for weeks. They’d already been hungry, but now, several tribe members had meat cravings. Nasha would get a saber-boar or a long-tailed moose, something big enough to fill everyone’s bellies before Erza could beat her to it.

It was only when she realized she was lost that it occurred to her that she maybe, possibly should have stopped to listen to her mom…because she might have said something about the unfamiliarity of the area and needing to be careful to keep track of how far she’d gone.

Usually, Nasha would use her sharp sense of smell to find her way back, but there were so many new and unfamiliar smells around here—plants and animals she’d never seen before! She kept getting distracted which, in turn, made her get even more lost.

Once, she could’ve sworn she caught the scent a person, but even that was strange. Her instincts told her it was definitely human, but on the other hand, it was nothing like the scent of anyone she’d ever met.

Stronger. Deeper. More pungent.

It was so old and faint that she could only catch a wisp of it the once.

She wondered, briefly, if it could be a male. But she quickly dismissed the idea. The women’s tribe had been wandering for years, mostly in search of their men and boys. So far, they’d turned up squat. How likely was it they’d really find them this time?

The males had vanished years ago, when she was just a little girl. Even her dad. The only reason Luke was with the women’s tribe at all was because her mom hadn’t known she was pregnant when her father vanished. If Luke had already been born, the men would have taken him, too. And no one knew why.

Nasha had stopped asking her mom about her dad long ago. Talking about him made her mom too sad. Secretly, though, Nasha was determined to find him and the other men, one day. She’d demand answers regardless of whether he wanted to give them. She’d beat them out of him, if she had to. She wanted to know why she wasn’t good enough for him to stick around and watch her grow up. Nasha was strong. She was one of the best huntresses in her tribe. She always protected her family.

She’d inherited his igni.

“Ooh, what’s that bunny!” she gasped, chasing after a crazy looking rabbit with horns and a purple, spiky tail. It got away, leaving her pouting in the strange woods. She could’ve used stealth to try and kill it, but she knew better than to keep hunting now, no matter how bad she wanted to surpass Erza. The acceptability for risk went way down the second she got lost. Carrying around bloody, stinky dead prey she couldn’t even be sure was edible while lost was a bad idea.

She still acted without thinking sometimes, but Nasha wasn’t as reckless as she’d once been. She’d gained her holy mounds and come into her blood years ago. She’d even grown taller than all the women in her tribe except Cana. With age came experience. With experience came wisdom or death, and Nasha had no plans of croaking any time soon.

It wasn’t long before her head thudded in pain from sniffing so much confusing, new stuff. Her feet hurt, too, and she was sweating like crazy. It was strange for her to be hot (or cold, for that matter) with her power over igni, but the air was humid, sludging through her lungs and making the back of her neck itch. She’d drunk all her water long ago.

The sun blazed near its highest point when she pushed through some bushes with weird, swirly, blue leaves and found a spring. She cried out in relief when she dipped a toe in the water and found it cold. Her pelts and necklaces were still soaring through the hot air when she vanished under the surface with a huge splash.

“Thank Mother Mavis,” she moaned, floating on her back and closing her eyes. As the aches ebbed from her head and feet and the water cooled her sticky skin, she started to worry about how she’d get back, tears forming in her eyes, but she quickly shook it off. Panicking wouldn’t help. She’d refresh herself, fill up her skein with some buried water from over near that limestone she’d spotted while undressing, user her igni to boil it, and then figure out what to do.

She only wished she knew which plants she could use to clean herself, but she didn’t know any of these ones. So Nasha used her hands to scrub water against her scalp, neck, and more pungent bits, ending with the folds of her blessed valley. She flushed slightly as her fingers rubbed that spot that always made her breath go funny and her skin feel hot. The older women in the tribe spoke of such things, at times, but those conversations always came back around to the males and their “sacred rods”, which were some kind of shape-shifting snake they had where their blessed valleys were supposed to be.

At that point, women like her mom, Wendy, and Erza always blushed and forced everyone to change the subject, not that Nasha really cared. She knew some things. She knew the males were sorta like them, but bigger overall. She knew that just talking about them and their sacred rods made the older women act weird. They’d blush and smile and their eyes would get all dark and they’d generally act like freaks.

They’d giggle about the power they claimed to hold over the sacred rods. To Nasha, it seemed pretty obvious that it was the males who held some kind of power over them (except Wendy and Cana…although Cana got flushed and weird when it came to discussions of sacred rods and blessed valleys, truthfully.)

Nasha didn’t really think about it much. She was curious enough to listen a bit when they spoke on it, but not enough to ask about it like her best friend, Jeela, often did. Then again, Jeela was a lot like her mom, Levy; intensely curious even about things she’d never seen.

Nasha was the opposite. Who cared about whatever weird tumors the males had growing out of their blessed valleys? They weren’t around so it didn’t matter. At least not as much as tonight’s meal, tomorrow’s journey, the scent on the breeze, or the shape of the moon.

The only reason she even believed the stories was because she trusted her mom and the other women in their tribe. Plus there was Luke, who never denied the existence of the sacred rods, which meant he must have one. Not that Nasha had ever seen it or had any desire to. She did know he could pee standing up, which was so not fair!

Quickly withdrawing her hand from the folds of her blessed valley, she shook off the weird thoughts and waded out until the water came up to her knees. Turning, she squinted up at the sun and tried to gauge its lean, lifting an arm to cover the peaks on her holy mounds as the hot breeze tickled them distractingly.

There was a rustling sound behind her, making her heart slam into her throat. She whipped around halfway, eyes wide as the rustling grew louder.

A tree branch was pushed aside.

And then he was there.

The male’s scent hit her the second her eyes landed on him. He was downwind so she hadn’t caught it sooner. She knew, then, that the scent she’d caught earlier had been a male’s—not his, though. His was much nicer than that one. Cleaner, with something cold and fresh about it, but the two scents shared a quality she’d never encountered on any female’s scent or even Luke's, though he was only ten.

The older women had not lied about the males’ height and strength. Nasha was by far the most visibly muscular woman in her tribe, but this male’s shoulders, arms, and stomach were just ridiculous. He was also much taller than her or even Cana, still slightly ducking under a branch Nasha had easily walked under when he stilled completely. She wondered how he could even teeter and totter around like that.

A shocked expression consumed his unusual, angular face. A pair of wide blue eyes dropped to her legs, then climbed up.

Meanwhile, Nasha blinked. There was a woman in their tribe with clear, strange blue eyes like that. Juvia, who held such power over izu that rain fell whenever she spoke of her missing male, “Gray-sama,” and son, “Rage-chan” (or something…it was hard to understand what she said when she always sobbed and wailed). The other women would groan whenever her anguish called the izu, but Nasha kind of thought it was awesome. Juvia was so powerful, she called on her element without even meaning to.

Plus using her igni in the rain was good training, so Nasha often used Juvia’s despair to get stronger, standing near the wailing woman and roaring as she generated a blaze from her skin under the downpour until she couldn’t any more. Her mom sometimes yelled at Nasha for it, accusing her of being insensitive, but what was better? Leaving Juvia crying alone in the rain just because you were a baby about getting a little wet?

Other than Juvia, she’d never seen anyone else who had eyes like the ocean under a clear sky…

Except the first male she’d ever seen.

Nasha’s dumbfounded attention stayed on those eyes even while they clambered over every inch of her bare body, barely even noticing how they lingered in certain places—her rear, her mounds, her hair. Then they locked onto hers.

Her lips parted on a gasp. A powerful feeling she couldn’t fight or place swept through her. If familiarity was the sun, then this feeling was the moon. I don’t know him, her mind insisted, almost panicked. But something deep inside her, deeper even than the instincts she always relied on, disagreed. I always have.

The feeling was blown clean out of her head when the male’s cheeks suddenly went bright red, his expression twisted in pain, and he dropped his spears to clutch the spot between his legs. “What…the…hell?” he gritted out in a voice so deep, she nearly flew through the forest canopy. Then he collapsed to his knees.

#fairy tail #nalu #stone age omake #stone age omake fic #gruvia #grasha #is that what we're calling that idk #fairy tail fan fiction

9 notes · View notes

purposefully-lost · 1 year ago

Text

There was a gun in his hand. It felt right; the cold metal, the weight, the power it held. Alex had taken three lives in his life and he knew that should be enough for anyone, but he couldn't shake the thought that he might need it again one day. Someone would find his photos or his tapes, or they'd see right through his little story about being taken hostage on the night that Jonathan Stone died, and someone would come hunting. He thought about David Mckinney, the angry young man he'd met at the memorial that'd been held for the dead. His parents died in those woods, he'd said. He wished he could've killed the Jack Rabbit himself. He wished Alex had taken his time, let it be a slow death. He had a lot of fire and Alex couldn't imagine that his home wouldn't start burning if he was ever found out.

So he bought himself a gun. The weapon he'd taken Rabbit's life with had likely gotten wrapped up in evidence, but the pistol in his hands might as well have been the same exact one. The only difference was that the serial number hadn't been filed off. Alex turned it over in his hands, resting his finger lightly on the trigger, toying with the safety, peering down the barrel. For a moment he thought about Rabbit with a gun to his temple and his hands wanted to mirror the action- not to shoot, but to know what it had felt like. Slowly, he lifted it, closing his eyes when metal met skin. He sat with it for a long moment, wondering what would've been going through Rabbit's mind.

He'd asked Alex not to look. He tried to picture how that would've played out, if his eyes had squeezed shut moments before the gunshot sounded, if he'd looked up again to see Rabbit's brains scattered across the forest floor. He wondered if it would've looked anything like the officer he'd killed with an axe. He wondered if it would've hurt as badly as the shot in the chest. He wondered if Rabbit had hated him, just a little, for stealing his chance to go out by his own hand.

"Kinda wish I could do it," he said outloud, to no one. He was sitting criss-cross on the wooden floor of his new living room, still bare of furniture except for an end table he'd taken from the apartment and a number of boxes still being unpacked. There was a couch at the furniture store down the road he thought he was going to have delivered tomorrow, but maybe he didn't have to. It wouldn't be hard to let it go. The barrel was still pressed to his temple, his finger still on the trigger. He couldn't remember if the safety had been on or off the last time he switched it. He closed his eyes again. "You made it look so easy. Just point and shoot. Just like taking a picture." His lips quirked just slightly towards a smile. "You know, that's what I was thinking about? When I fired? I- I thought, it's like a camera, and I've got good aim, I won't miss... not only was it bullshit, it was.. dorky. Can you imagine? Knowing I was thinking shit like that when I killed you?"

For some reason, he never had trouble saying that part outloud, even though it made every bone in his body ache with something deep and weary. Maybe it was that it was almost funny. It would've been funny, if Rabbit had been here to laugh with him. Alex heard his own breath hitch.

"I was gonna tell you, you know?" He asked, his voice a little quieter and carrying a rough edge. "I wanted to wait until we'd left. I- I couldn't tell you just for it to get taken away again if we got caught. How stupid." Alex trembled. He could feel the gun shaking against him. "How fucking stupid! I should've just.."

His hands wanted to squeeze and he realized how dangerously close he was to just to pulling the trigger on accident. He held it there a moment longer, his heart in his throat, unsure even to himself as to whether or not he was considering it. And then he slowly lowered the gun down, checked the safety, and tucked it into its case. Pressing his face into his hands, his breath hitched again like he wanted to cry, but he couldn't get the tears to form. He made a frustrated, angry noise. There was more he had to say, but no one to say it to. He sat still for a long time and wished he could at least have cried about it instead.

#drabble #hunted // rabbit #alex prescott #cw suicidal thoughts #suicide mention #😔💔

3 notes · View notes

applepi00 · 2 years ago

Text

Because I’m not done talking about it, here’s some meta nobody asked for about When the Sun Goes Black

I’ve probably mentioned before that it was originally conceptualized as a Chuuya centric fic, but as you all probably know by now I have a thing about guilt so writing this story from Dazai’s perspective just came so much easier to me. It just felt more natural to be writing from the observer position, unable to actually do much but watch and note and feel about it.

I’ve also mentioned that part of the hospital scenes, particularly the first one with Dazai crunching himself in a chair was inspired by some fanart. Further more the repeated image of lying awake next to some one was inspired heavily by Famous Last Words by MCR, particularly the bridge: “I see you lying next to me / With words I thought I'd never speak / Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead / 'Cause I see you lying next to me / With words I thought I'd never speak / Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead”. Though on that thing about keeping watch, and how it does come up a few times, I thought it would be a really nice touch for care without it being too touchy-feely? Because it almost comes off as practical, but it’s so firmly entrenched in motivations that it does feel like something skk would do for each other: Dazai, private as he is, would want his privacy maintained should he be unable to uphold it himself, likewise Chuuya would want his autonomy in place wouldn’t want to be poked and prodded at more than necessary, and because they know each other so well this is a thing they do for each other: Dazai watches that nothing more than necessary is done in hospital, and Chuuya watches that nobody sees any of Dazai’s private moments of weakness.

The fic itself was written with the intentions of being gen/platonic, because I don’t think knowing someone is inherently romantic and I don’t think intimacy whether physical or emotional has to be romantic either, however I did tag both the platonic tag and the ship tag when I actually posted because I know some people would be inclined to read it as slash or pre-slash, which is their prerogative and I don’t particularly mind. (And also maybe I hoped it would boost interaction, I’m well aware that gen fics don’t often get as much attention as ship stuff, as of yet that may have been a good call considering the stats). So however you want to define the relationship in this fic is I suppose based on your perceptions, I define it simply as partners but whether you want to call it friends or QPPs or romantic or whatever else is up to you the reader.

I also realized while writing it that I have kinda conflicting thoughts in my head of Dazai with medical stuff: there’s old headcanons rattling around about medical based traumas that I don’t really vibe with as much now that we have more canon to work with, another marble thinks it’s funny if Dazai doesn’t know anything medical —like doesn’t even know how to take blood pressure doesn’t know— despite being fostered by a doctor, and a third part (the part that reared during this) was that Dazai just has medical terminology rattling in his skull with no actual use for it (hence, listing phenomena by proper terms in the fic, a specific bone being where he lays his head by habit, etc). That last marble is entirely because I had to take anatomy for three years as part of my animation program and then fell down way too many medical rabbit holes and decided to make it everyone else’s problem. I kinda like the flavour of it though! I might use a bit of it in later things too, like the vampire fic or Tattoo, but we’ll see.

I think the vampire fic would be a good fit, it’s gonna be whack because I never write anything set in the current canon or later because I don’t know what I want to do with the Rats or Decay of Angels or the Hunting Dogs or any of the other factions we have running around now. (Probably I’ll not deal with it at all and just do a little one room, two man play for the vampire thing, look guys I have no idea how they’re going to resolve this current arc and I’m very stressed that the British are going to be even worse somehow and bigger stakes and as much as I think Agatha’s design is nice I’m SCARED)

Anyway. I’m really happy with my gen fic even if it took me multiple years to remember to actually write it (thanks Savvy for listening to me ramble in 2019 —I hope you see this because I can’t recall if you have a new account and your old one is deactivated, and thanks @feralrookie because I definitely rambles at you about it too and I appreciate you a lot)

#emi rambles #emi writes #when the sun goes black

4 notes · View notes

esamastation · 1 year ago

Text

They do get out of the Grand Temple - thankfully it doesn't turn out to be that hard. Desmond sort waves his hand at the firmly sealed door and it opens, just like that.

"What was it that you said?" he asks, uneasily, looking down at his mismatched hands, one tattooed and one ashen black. It's not so different from the vault under the Coliseum, back then he could wave his hand at a thing too and it just sorta worked, but, still… "Piece of Eden infection?"

"Yep," Clay agrees, craning his long necked head to look up at Desmond. His eyes are grey and gleam like silver in the sunlight. "More important thing here is whether you can open the door from the outside now. Because I figure we might want to get back here, at some point."

"I - probably?" Desmond says and squeezes his hands into fists before lowering them, looking back at the door. Even slightly ajar it looks pretty damn solid. Definitely not something they'd be able to force open without a key. And it will definitely close the moment they leave. "Maybe we should prop the door open somehow, just in case."

Clay considers the door and then hums, also a little dubious. "Good idea."

They roll a hefty rock between the ancient door and its stony frame, and then step back to watch as the door begins to close, stalling as it comes to rest upon the rock. The rock snacks and buckles alarmingly under pressure and the doorway groans. A moment later, the rock snaps clean in half and the door smoothly closes like it wasn't even there.

There's near perfect silence afterwards. And it turns out that, no, Desmond can't open the door again.

"Well. Guess that's that," Clay finally says with a scoff and looks up at him, his narrow tail whipping back and forward. "Oh well. How about some food now? Think you can find me something to eat? Something nice and… lively?"

"Guessing you're a carnivore now," Desmond muses, sizing him from snout to tail. Shouldn't take that much - a rabbit or two ought to fill Clay up. Looking away, Desmond squints down the hill and at the forest. Man, it looks old - the trees got to be over a hundred years old. There's definitely not going to be any shortage of game around here. "What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"Wait," Clay says and spreads his wings out awkwardly. "I don't really know what to do with these things yet. Figure I'd just get in your way."

Desmond hums. He probably would, yeah. "Well, if you want to be any use at all, you can scrounge up some wood."

"Wood?"

"Or do you want to eat your meat raw?" Desmond arches his brows. "I mean I guess you're… a dragon now so, I suppose it makes sense - "

"No, no, I'll… find firewood," Clay says, making draconic faces at him and then ruffling his wings, tucking them back in. "Always loved a good barbeque. Do you have a lighter? Something to actually make fire with?"

Desmond sighs. He doesn't. "I'm sure we'll figure something out," he says with a shrug and nudges Clay's side with his foot. "Hey, maybe you can breathe fire."

"Maybe I can - " Clay starts mockingly and then looks down at his talons, flexing his - hands? - thoughtfully. "Maybe I can breathe fire. Huh."

"Just - don't cause a forest fire," Desmond says quickly, not quite liking the interested gleam in his eyes. "That would be bad."

"No shit," Clay says and sits back on his haunches, taking a strange sorta breath and then huffing out an experimental exhale. Nothing happens, not even a bit of smoke. "I'll figure it out," he says decisively and nods at Desmond and then at the forest. "Go get me some food."

"Yes, sir," Desmond says, shaking his head, and takes out a dagger. He doesn't have Connor's tools and hunting without so much as a proper throwing knife - never mind a bow - doesn't seem very efficient but, hell. He's worked with worse odds. And weirder ones.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, at Clay who's still trying to huff and puff and produce a flame, Desmond lets out a breath. Definitely weirder ones.

Thankfully his assessment on the forest is pretty much spot on - it's teeming with game. It doesn't take a master tracker to find some cottontails and though Desmond can't take them down cleanly at distance and doesn't have much to make traps with, it turns out fine. Nothing beats a good air assassination when it comes to hunting.

… bit of an overkill on a couple of poor bunnies, though.

Desmond cleans and dresses his kills in the forests, automatically cleaning his traces as much as he can before heading back - to find that Clay has got them no firewood. He's still busy wheezing, apparently.

"What? I was practising! Being able to breathe fire would be such a tactical advantage and I think I almost got it now," Clay says, guilty and defensive and then perks up. "Is that for me?" he asks, eying the skinned rabbits hungrily.

"Yep, and I guess you're eating it raw after all," Desmond says flatly and throws the rabbits at him. "Have at it."

A whining dragon is a pretty funny sight, and almost makes the whole thing worth the effort. Almost. Sadly it turns out Desmond is a complete sucker, and in the end it's up to him to make the fire and cook the meat too. Clay is not much help - and not only does he demolish what took well over an hour to prepare in about four bites, but the food knocks him right out immediately after, leaving Desmond with a dead weight of a dragon and all of the clean up.

It would end up being something of a theme, in the following weeks.

lil bit of AC x Temeraire

"Translation error," is Clay's verdict.

"Translation error," Desmond repeats dubiously, staring down at him.

"Yes."

"Uh-huh. And that means what, exactly?"

So many things that he doesn't understand, it turns out. Stuff like how Animus code works and how badly it was originally designed, Abstergo trying to derive from the First Civilisation's work and how it was bungled up. Add into the mix human DNA - Clay's - being translated into Animus simulation which was then translated into whatever the Grand Temple had going on for itself which was then translated yet again into the background processing of the universe, plus the delightfully unstable addition of stray thoughts and the fact that Desmond has slight Piece of Eden infection and apparently the placebo effect is actual fucking magic -

"What?" Desmond asks helplessly.

"Stalk it up as a glitch in the Matrix, times a thousand," Clay concludes. "And don't worry about it."

"Um. No, I don't think I can," Desmond says, emphatically, and motions at him. "Clay, you're a dragon."

Clay looks down at himself, at his sinuous body of pale gold and burnished bronze. He's not a very big dragon, about the size of a big dog maybe, but he's still very clearly a dragon. Wings and tail and talons and all.

Clay looks up at him, and his voice is sardonic. "Wow, your Eagle Vision must be levelling up, Desmond, your observational abilities are off the charts!"

Desmond folds his arms. "I'm also observing that there's something wrong with the Grand Temple," he says flatly.

Clay swings his long necked head around this way and that, taking in the ancient volcanic cave around them. "Looks the same to me."

"All our stuff is gone, Clay. And I seem to recall that part having collapsed. It looks pretty uncollapsed to me. Also, the barrier is up again," Desmond points at the glowing Isu-tech barrier between them and the device Desmond is pretty sure he just activated. "Are you seeing the barrier, Clay, the barrier I spent the last week's of my life opening?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Seventeen, you're not dead yet."

"Clay," Desmond says, even flatter.

The dragon blows out an acrid smelling breath. "Okay, fine, I did maybe attempt a little bit of time travel," he says defensively. "You would've too if you realised what the Grand Temple could really do!"

"Which is… time travel?"

"Pretty much anything that your little mind can come up with, actually."

Desmond gives him another one over and folds his arms. "Like turning you into a dragon."

"Manipulating probabilities is one hell of a thing," Clay agrees and nudges his side with his nose. Snout? "But the dragon bit is definitely a translation error. I was trying to recode myself into an Isu," he adds, very quickly under his breath. "Not a winged reptile with an upset stomach."

"You - what?"

Clay avoids looking him in the eye and huffs out an embarrassed breath. "Also you're not dead. You're welcome for not being dead," he says pointedly.

Desmond stares at him for a long moment before letting out a sigh and letting it go. "Thanks. You have an upset stomach?" he then asks.

"It kinda hurts, yeah," Clay murmurs, shifting his weight a little, and just then there's an audible gurgle from somewhere within him, his draconic belly rumbling.

Desmond lets his hands drop to his sides. "You're hungry?" he asks incredulously.

"I haven't eaten anything in almost a year, Desmond, have some sympathy."

"Yeah, well, you were dead," Desmond says, making a face, and then hesitates. "I should be dead."

"That's what Juno wanted to happen anyway," Clay agrees and unfurls his wings tentatively. "Again you're welcome."

"Right. You… saved me. And brought us back in time," Desmond says slowly and frowns "When exactly are we?"

Clay spreads out his wings and shakes himself. "If I didn't mess up the calculations, maybe two hundred years back in time."

"Uh. Why two hundred years?"

"It's enough time to fast forward industrial revolution without breaking history too badly," Clay says almost flippantly and gives him a look. "And all your major ancestors have procreated and died and so if we mess up time, there's still a good chance you will be born."

Desmond blinks. "That's," he starts to say and then isn't entirely sure how to continue. It's not exactly comforting, not exactly worrisome. It's something in between with a little bit of existential horror thrown in. "Okay," he settles on saying, feebly. "And what are we going to do? Just cause an early industrial revolution?"

"That and some other things. I have some plans," Clay says, not quite modestly.

Desmond isn't exactly reassured by his tone. "And how does becoming a dragon feature in those plans?"

Clay hesitates and looks down at himself, shifting his weight on his taloned claws. "Well," he says and his stomach grumbles again. "I think it might change the first step. Get food, instead of find riches. Do you think we could get some food? I'm really hungry, Desmond. You know how to hunt, right?"

Desmond eyes him for a moment and then hums. "I know how to hunt, yeah," he says slowly and looks away, towards the entrance to the Temple. Or rather the exit from their point of view. "But, uh."

"What?"

"You know, we needed Minerva's Apple to get in here. The door was pretty well shut - and had been for tens of thousands of years." Desmond points out and nods at the sloping cave, leading away from them. "How do you suppose we're going to get out?"

Clay stills and then tucks his wings back in. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah. Oh."

What if Travel Winds but with Clay and more crack?

#Guess i got some writing juice after all #Fanfiction #Crossover #assassins creed #temeraire

458 notes · View notes

jillianfahey · 2 years ago

Text

Evil Donnies Love Interest

This starts when they are both nineteen. So they are adults!

Okay, I have seen a few things for an evil ROTTMNT Donnie called Adams Donnie where he has prolonged living experiments. AKA kidnapping beings like a Salamander Yoki and keeping them captive to do experiments on. So I was thinking, who could possibly attract someone more interested in cutting open everyone around them than in "normal" activities.

So I thought that Mercury (I have this character as she/her because its more fun for her to hunt things down than worry about sexuality and she was born female)would be someone who did not care whatsoever about life either. And by giving her the occupation of a bounty hunter is a perfect outlet for it. So she meets Donnie by getting a job to capture some of his escaped experiments (Ralph no longer has alone time privileges with the experiments).

So Mercury grabs the escaped experiments and drafts them back to Donnies lab a quarter of the time he set aside for that. Putting them in their cages she turned to where he was sitting at his desk. Noticing that he was testing nerves of a different long term experiment she grabbed the tool he was holding, "That's not the sweet spot." And then stabs directly into a hidden nerve center behind a elbow joint.

After the experiment on the table screamed for almost a minute she pulled out the tool and handed it to him. Over the muffled sobbing he asked, "Who are you?"

She grinned fiercely, "I'm A bounty hunter." Cutting herself with a knife she swabbed the spot and put it down. "I'll be back for my payment this time tomorrow." With a challenging glint, "Lets see what you found out in the meantime."

Latter that day when Donnie was wrapping up his planned experiment time he saw the swab with blood and remembered her challenge. Picking up the swab he went to his computer. He had to astound her.

The next day Donnie had Mercury's name, number, adress, and almost a full life history. She gave him a smile, "Very good Donatello." Patting the box next to her, "You win the prize."

Inside the box was a Hare Yoki, one of the very few Hooks that Donnie had no data on. Even better, "She's pregnant."

It was a statement, not a question. Mercury nodded, "Due in five months." With a fierce grin, "So even if you kill her the experiments will continue."

This was all Donnie ever wanted. Someone to give him the best experiment. And Mercury had provided INE with the perfect conditions.

A question was out of Donnies mouth before he could stop it, "Would you like to check in tomorrow?" Looking at his newest toy, " And see how far I've gotten?"

The glint was back in Mercury's eyes, "Yes, I'd love to." Then looking around, "Same time?"

Donnie nodded, "Same time". With that Mercury left and Donnie was alone with his experiments again.

As the clip shows he would realize his attraction to a person. More that they were useful for certain thing. Maybe even helping him see the vulnerable spots in the experiments.

So when Leo added Mercury to the list of people he was stalking, the blue turtle was surprised at how adamant his twin was. Donnie saw Mercury as his, no one else's.

Mercury would occasionally bring another experiment for Donnie. Whether they were long term like the rabbit or short term like a Guinea Pig he loved each one.

They were happy this way for close to a year. Until one day they were seeing how an experiment was decomposing and another one tried to escape. Mercury slashed off its arm in a quick motion.

Luckily or unlucky that Yoki healed itself automatically, but an arm took a while to grow back. While it was shocked the pair watching reinforced the cage and monitored the regrowth.

When it was an hour later and the limb was grown back they cleaned the blood off of the lab floor. Making sure to keep some in vials for Donnie to test the different stages of growth.

With the floor cleaned Donnie saw that there were still blood splatters on Mercury's face and started to clean them off. The next thing they knew the cloth had been dropped and the pair, bounty hunter and scientist, were making out.

The first time it did not make it to the cot in the lab, but it marked a change. They were silently more if a couple with Mercury in the lab and Lair more. At the end of the second year ahe had nearly moved into his room. Upon Splinters insistence they got married before Mercury officially moved into the Lair and Donnies room became A co-occupied space.

As for Donnie and Mercury as a couple...

They would almost be the perfect couple with always supporting each others interests and enjoying seeing the other happy. They genuinely enjoy time together, but also have time apart with their own interests that they tell each other about.

The problem, they have dark interests. Donnie kidnaps people to hold hostage and experiment on. And Mercury loves the levels of the hunt these human level minds give her. Sometimes they let one of the experiments run just so she can run them down when hunts are not as fun.

So great as a couple. But terrible people.

#rottmnt #tmnt donatello #tmnt #tmnt 2018 #tmnt au #tmnt Donnie x oc #tmnt oc #I went a little over board #Okay #More than a little #its so long

1 note · View note

munsonownsmyass · 2 years ago

Text

Let's just breathe

Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Still on the road to Jackson, another brush with death makes you realize how you truly feel about your savior.

Warnings: fluff, angst, that smooth voice of Joels should be a warning in itself, fingering, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it irl), creampie.

Authors note: I wanted to make a part two for my Joel fic and what better way then to cramp in a kinktober prompt? Anyways, enjoy. Unbeta'ed and barely edited.

A special shout out to @mindidjarin for awakening my Joel thirst. These wouldn't have happened without you.

The next few days of traveling were hard. If you walked to much, your leg would ache and if you sat too much on the horse, your butt would hurt. Still, Joel thought the latter was for the better, so he often let you sit on Ol’ Beardy while he walked beside the two of you.

As the days progressed, you got to know him better. There were still things he wouldn’t talk about. You could tell by the way he would look to the ground, if you talked to much about family. How he touched his watch and got silent that time you asked if he had any kids.

But even with the wall he still kept up to protect himself, you could feel the guard being let down slowly. You didn’t tear down any walls, but at least you got a few windows to open. Another thing you began to notice already on the second day, was how he smiled more. Whether it was because of you or just that he had some company, you didn’t know. But you certainly hoped it was you.

You felt at ease around him. He was kind, calm and softspoken. But he could turn on a dime and be smart, protective and strong when you faced danger. Always a dreamer at heart, you couldn’t help but think he was meant to save you that day.

On the third day was when the real trouble began. At first it was just a little flutter in your stomach. Caused by laughing too much, you thought. But when it happened again as Joel talked about something as simple as cleaning a gun, your mind started racing.

Didn’t you feel your heart flutter, whenever he called you darling? Wasn’t there a warm feeling spreading whenever he would talk in that low, deep voice of his? You could even swear you had bit your lip one time he let out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, followed by a strained groan.

How could his voice do all that to you? It was just a voice. A deep, smooth voice, almost like velvet, coming from a very handsome man with the most beautiful eyes you’ve-

“You alright there, darlin’?”

You look down to find Joel looking at you, frowning in concern. His hand is resting on your leg, and you hate how flustered it makes you.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You lie with a fake smile, hoping he doesn’t see right through you. “Just a little hungry, maybe.”

Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, turning his gaze up the road, looking for a safe place to hide Ol’ Beardy as you search for some food. Most places are picked clean by now, but sometimes you could get lucky. Leaving you with a gun to search through some houses, Joel tries his luck with his bow, hunting a bit.

Roaming through the cabinets, something catches your eye. Looking out, you see Joel sneaking around in the bushes. For a moment you just stand there watching him. How his broad frame moves silently, closing in on the rabbit. The way his arms flex as he pulls back the bowstring, aiming the arrow. How his muscular back dance under his worn shirt.

You drop a can, the noise bringing you back to reality. Okay, girl. You need to get it together. You should focus on gathering food instead of lusting after a man you cant’t have. Well, at least you thought so. There was no way he saw you as more than a friend, right? Well, maybe even friend was a stretch since you barely knew him.

Sighing, you pull yourself away from the window and search through the rest of the cabinets. Your quest is fruitful as you find some cans. Not even caring about the date, you put them in your backpack, cause who could afford to be picky these days?

Suddenly someone pulls you backwards and before you can scream, a huge hand covers your mouth.

“Be quiet.” Joel whispers before removing his hand. When your eyes meet, you see the horror on his face. That’s when you hear it. The unmistakeable sound of a clicker.

You freeze on the spot, blood running cold. Gesturing for you to remain quiet, Joel takes your hand and lead you out of the kitchen. You barely move, afraid to make a sound. Trembling, your breathing comes out in rapid hitches as you try to move.

A pair of hands gently cup your face, forcing you to look up into Joel’s eyes. There are no words, but his eyes says it all; Stay with me, darlin, don’t lose it now. Breathe. Keep looking at me, focus on me and forget everything else.

And you do just that. Focus on those chocolate brown eyes of his, pretending they’re all that exist. Slowly, you make your way out of the kitchen, barely out in the hallway before you hear the clicker get closer. Looking over his shoulder, Joel looks to a closet. It’s not much, but it would have to suffice.

The fit is tight, barely enough room for you both, so you’re pressed up against Joel chest. He closes the door in the last second, the hallway filling with clicking noises. There in the darkness all you hear is the deafening sound of your rapid heartbeat. Almost as if Joel hears it too, his hand once again cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing in soothing circles.

Thankful, you lean into his touch as the minutes tick by. The room feels smaller by the minute, your shared body heat making the close quarters almost unbearable. You know you should be thinking about the clicker just outside the door, but all you can focus on is Joel’s hand on your cheek, the other on the wall behind you. His broad frame caging you in.

You can’t see much in the darkness, but you feel Joel’s eyes on you. Feel how he searches for yours in the darkness. His breath ghost over your skin, his lips mere inches from yours. How easy it would be to just lean forward. How easy it would be to just give in.

In the distance you hear a gun shot. A death sentence for someone else, but it’s your salvation. The clicker moves away, soon leaving the house in silence. Breathing a sigh of relief, Joel touches his forehead to yours with a soft smile.

“We should get away while we can.”

Joel opens the closet, quickly checking if the coast is clear before waving for you to come. Disappointed, you follow. You know your mind should be focusing on surviving, on getting to Jackson alive, but right now you’d give anything to be trapped in that closet with Joel again.

But you still gather your things quickly, following him as he guides you away from the house, away from the gunshot. Eyes and ears on full alert, the two of you run back to Ol’ Beardy as fast as you can. Once there, you get on the horse and ride as far away as possible.

As the sun sets, you finally stop at an abandoned farm. As you set up a makeshift camp in the back of the barn, Joel takes care of Ol’ Beardy. Never once in your life having skinned an animal, Joel preps the food, while you poke at the flames, waiting. Maybe you should learn, one day. Lucas always did it and never once had you thought that one day, he wouldn’t do that anymore.

Catching you looking, Joel pauses, gesturing for you to come closer. “Want me to teach you?”

You scoot over to him, taking the knife. Patiently, he tells you what to do, his smooth voice once again causing you to blush. Not very skilled with the knife, Joel takes your hand in his, guiding you. You sigh, it’s all too much. His calloused hands dwarfing yours, his broad chest pressed against your back. That voice of his engulfing you. He invades all of your senses until there is nothing but him.

“There you go. Well done, darlin’.”

Still trapped in your little daydream, you don’t even notice Joel taking the rabbit from you. You can feel his eyes on you, filled with worry. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Mhmm.” Is all you manage, afraid your voice will betray you if you try to speak. Joel leaves it be, skewering the rabbit on a stick before putting it over the fire.

Later as you lay tossing and turning, you find it hard to find rest. Looking over your shoulder, you see Joel staring at the ceiling, awake too. “Joel?”

“Yeah darlin’?” he drawls, turning to look at you.

“I can’t sleep. Can… Can I come over to you?” your voice timid, expecting a no. But he just extends his arm, fingers motioning for you to come closer. Taking your blanket with you, you crawl over and lay down in Joel’s nook, feeling safe as soon as his arms close around you.

“Thank you. I just… I just didn’t wanna be alone.” You whisper, embarrassed at how it sounds. Looking up, you see a faint smile on Joel’s lips. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It ain’t stupid.” He reassures you, one hand gently caressing your shoulder. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

You sigh, nuzzling closer into his nook. For a minute you just lay there in silence, content in each other’s company. Felling your eyelids getting heavy, all you can think about is to fall asleep listening to his voice. “Joel, tell me something.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Anything. I just wanna hear you talk. I love the sound of your voice.” you say sleepily.

“Do you now?” he chuckles, almost like he already knew that. “Well then. I… I could sing you a song?”

You look at him with a huge grin, surprised. “You can sing?”

“I’m no Eddie Vedder, but someone told me once that I don’t suck, so…” he chuckles, his eyes lighting up at the memory. You want to ask more, but don’t want that beautiful smile of his to go away, so you just lay back down, waiting for him to sing.

Yes I understand

That every life must end

As we sit alone

I know someday we must go

Oh, I'm a lucky man

To count on both hands

The ones I love

Some folks just have one

Yeah, others they got none

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

He stops, running his hand through his hair, before looking down at you with a smile. “I can’t remember the next part.”

“Practiced on our sins, never gonna let me win.” you say confidently, earning a proud look from Joel. “My dad loved Pearl Jam.”

“Ouch” he feigns being hurt, clutching his chest. Laughing, you put your hand over his, before looking up at him. Still with a huge smile, you don’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful. Before you can stop yourself, you lean in and kiss him softly.

For a moment Joel just stares at you and you’re afraid you took it a step too far. But then he pulls you closer, his hand coming to rest behind your head, gently pulling you closer. When his lips claim yours, it’s gentle at first, almost as if he’s afraid to break you.

He pulls away slightly, breathing already strained. Letting out a nervous chuckle, he looks into your eyes. By now you’ve learned to read what he’s saying, even when he doesn’t speak. Are you sure? Is this really what you want?

“Please Joel.” You beg, your lips capturing his in a passionate kiss. He reaches for the hem of your top, slipping his hand underneath, his touch waking up every nerve ending in your body. As his hand brush against your breast, you moan out his name.

Within no time at all, all your clothes are on the floor. His touch is gentle, yet firm, as he explores every inch of you. His fingers gliding over your skin as if storing you to his memory in case this is the only night he gets with you.

When he moves his hand down to your aching core, he finds you already soaking wet. It doesn’t take long for him to make you fall apart, moaning out his name.

“You sure you want me, darlin’?”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

He pushes you down gently, kissing you softly as he repositions himself between your legs. Just as the tip of his cock is at your entrance, he looks to you a final time for confirmation.

And with a nod, he finally pushes into you. Slowly at first, the stretch of him is delicious as he lets you adjust to his size.

He starts thrusting into you at a slow and steady pace, but soon Joel pushes a little faster, but still very soft. It’s unlike anything you’ve tried before. So caring and tender, whispering small praises in your ear, yet fiery hot as each snap of his hips makes his cock push against that sweet spot inside you.

“Please cum for me.” He begs, snapping his hips harder. A few more drags of his cock is all it takes, before you clamp down on him, screaming out his name as you come undone.

It’s not long before Joel follows, grunting as he fills you with his cum. He thrusts a few more times, riding out his high as he claims your lips in a tender kiss.

His breathing slows and he pops up on one elbow, looking into your eyes. You have a blissful smile on your face, your breathing still heavy. “You okay?”

“Yes.” You answer truthfully, smiling. If anything, your blissed out face must tell him everything he needs to know, cause he returns the smile. Joel leans in and kisses you softly, before laying down on the floor, pulling you into his embrace. You place your head on his shoulder, feeling happier than you have in years.

Thank you for reading. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️

Tagging: @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @missbeewrites @e-dubbc11 @lucy-sky @iamskyereads @writerwoed @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @scorpio-marionette @stilllivindue2spite @macabre-mangled @chasingdreamer @kirsteng42 @impala1967666

#kinktober 2022 #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #worth fighting for universe

211 notes · View notes

barrysbaby · 9 months ago

Text

She’s getting good at it; shooting.

And, by consequence, hunting—killing, even though she hates it. She hates how, the more she does it, the more used to it she becomes, the less bad she feels for the animals.

The first time Moira skinned a rabbit (or tried to, rather), she threw up almost on the spot. Had no appetite to eat anything the rest of that day. But now she can skin a rabbit in seconds with her eyes closed if she wants. Without a grimace or a complaint. Hell, sometimes, her mouth starts watering at the thought of cooking the rabbit before she even shoots it.

She could do with some seasoning, but… bland food is better than no food, and she’s learning not to be too picky. When she gets back home, she’s never complaining about her mom serving them pancakes for breakfast five times a week.

If she gets back home.

The truth is, living on this island for months now, Moira is starting to wonder if this is really temporary. If… maybe this is what the rest of her life will look like. The old man isn’t doing too hot. Every day that passes, he seems to be getting worse. Whether it’s sickness or just old age getting to him, she’s unsure. And he doesn’t really talk about it with her no matter how many times she asks him. Regardless, he won’t live forever, and one day she’ll be all alone here. Is it even worth living at that point, without having anyone by her side?

Her thoughts are interrupted when the man comes to a sudden halt and he gestures for her to be quiet.

“I wasn’t even talking?” She huffs, though she does as told and crouches beside him holding his gaze. The mention of “luck” has her eyes rolling at him. “Oh, yeah? Are you finally gonna stop bossing me around? Cause that’d be my lucky day, guarenteed.”

She looks in the direction he points. Moira has definitely gotten better at spotting the animals hiding about, noticing every little movement in the bushes or trees. It doesn’t take her long to spot today’s haul. Rabbits, rats (still gross), birds—and jackpot. “Holy crap.” Her eyes pop. “A deer?”

They don’t come by deers often. And if they can get their hands on it, they’re gonna be stocked for a while. What with them slowly running out of food. Moira’s starting to think they’re better off breeding rabbits at this point if they want a consistent source of food. But then they’d have to worry about feeding the rabbits too.

“I’ll take it,” she whispers to him, confident. “But just a headsup, I am not dragging it all the way back by myself.”

@cannonfullofcanons

The last few days' hunting had been- what was the English word? Shit? The kroshka used that word a great deal. That seemed correct. The monsters were getting stronger. More bold, coming out in the daylight, no longer remaining hidden. It made the hunts more dangerous, and it led to less game. This hunt in particular would be crucial; they were completely out of food, and would go hungry tonight, if they did not find something edible.

Evgeny had chosen one of his old favorite spots for this. A clearing in a thicket of trees, one wherein he had never failed to find some animals - usually rabbits, the occasional deer. Anything would suffice. He would rather eat rodents than starve.

He could do without further pain. Pain brought memories. Memories he was more content not focusing on now.

Upon their arrival at the clearing, a hand raised, calling for a simultaneous silence and halt to Moira's movement. He crouched down, shifting his rifle to his other hand, held by the grip; glanced back to the American, a small smile forming on his weary face. "Kroshka. We have luck today." His free hand lifted, a bony finger pointing towards a thicket of bushes.

Rabbits darted in and out of the brush, but they were not all. Birds, perched in a tree; rats close to a crumbling structure; a deer at the far end, grazing. They had their dinner, but would they continue to have such luck? Would it last? For the kroshka, he hoped it would. Whether his did or not, made no difference to the old Russian. He lived well. He would die well, too, in his home, on his island, in SPITE of all that had happened here. In the end, he would rejoin his Irina.

They would not take that from him.

{ @barrysbaby hit the starter call! }

#cannonfullofcanons #cannonfullofcanons - Evgeny Rebic #⌠ V. SEJM – I just wanna go home. ⌡#crying sobbing on the floor #this is perfect #sorry i got carried away i've been wanting to write with Evgeny for ages #you don't have to match length #food cw

8 notes · View notes

rebrandedbard · 3 years ago

Note

Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...

Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!

Witcher's Brew

wc - 2476

Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.

Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?

A song.

Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.

That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.

There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.

“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”

Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.

“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”

Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.

“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”

“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.

Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.

“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”

“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.

Jaskier nodded, silent.

“What was that song just now?”

Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”

“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”

“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.

“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”

Geralt blinked.

“All of them?” he asked.

Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.

“Sing it to me.”

The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.

When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.

“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”

“But you could put it to music, I bet.”

Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.

“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”

Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”

“Sing, then.”

It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:

Before one fights vampiric beasts

Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts

And if there’s acid on the rise

First taking Bindweed would be wise

When fighting something swift and cruel

Down Blizzard quick before the duel

And if the brawl takes place at night

Take Cat to see in dimmest light

Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.

When fighting wraiths one cannot spy

De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye

And wolves will howl in perfect tune

When given life by the Full Moon

At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.

The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.

But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say

Oriole takes the sting away

And when one bleeds, to stop the aches

A simple Kiss is all it takes

If long the task you must endure

Then take a dose of Maribor

And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff

Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff

If one cannot avoid a hit

The vengeful Shrike takes care of it

And if you’ve time while under cover

Swallow aids a slow recover

If the battle leaves you tired

Tawny Owl may be required

And while weak one cannot parry

Thunderbolt will make foes wary

When hope is lost and at its end

White Raffard’s revives your friend

And if while brawling stunned you be

Then Willow is the remedy

For power in your every blow

Take Wolf to strike against your foe

And though it makes one wobble blind

With Wolverine their fate is signed

Remember this what else you do

White Gull is base for every brew

And when the potions start to strain

White Honey lets you start again

“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”

“And you know how to brew it.”

“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”

Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”

Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”

“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”

“Alchemy.”

“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”

“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.

“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”

Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.

“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”

Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”

For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”

“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.

“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”

Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.

“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.

“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”

Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.

“I …”

“You killed a slyzard for me.”

“Yes.”

“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”

Jaskier nodded.

“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.

“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”

But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.

I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.

“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”

“I don’t think I ever really did.”

#asks #my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #you know i wish that i had jessi's tag #actually let's tag this as a ficlet too it's a bit longer than usual #ficlet

815 notes · View notes