#nice and pleasant horse fucking dies

[natequarter]

can you tell us more about your ocs?

sure! in chronological order:

diuset, a celtic leader who died of unclear natural causes. died long before the roman invasion of britain. more or less the first ghost to stay around, but unfortunately she simply does not vibe with robin. haunts button house for at least a thousand years, probably closer to fifteen hundred. moves on in the twelfth century, having seen three separate invasions of britain and having kind of moved on from watching her people disappear by this point. she does learn old english, but she's not the best at speaking it. middle-aged, and dressed in quite a lot of layers for a ghost, because it was fucking cold when she died. pale, light eyes, very red hair.

lucius, the very unfortunate ghost of a young roman soldier. held down and drowned in the lake at button house over roman-celtic disputes. roughly fourth century ad. doesn't haunt for very long, and quickly moves on.

leofstan, an early anglo-saxon peasant - about the sixth century ad. pagan - he died before england converted to christianity, and has a mix of anglo-saxon and celtic family. fourteen years old, and typically annoying - loud, brash, and rude, but a good friend of robin's. how exactly he died is unclear, but it probably has something to do with the cane and the limp. moves on in the mid-1400s, walking into the lake, never to be seen again. he likes to make fun of rich people. ashy blonde, and predictably skinny.

godric, a later anglo-saxon blacksmith - mid-tenth century. had a family and kids before some bitchass carpenter shoved him into an anvil. took damage to the brain stem, stopped being able to breathe, and promptly died. wishes everyone would just calm down a bit, which they don't, or at least be nicer to each other, another thing they do not do. has a thing for robin, more so than the various ghosts who have a thing with robin. one of about two ghosts who is genuinely a nice, pleasant person, and does not have some glaring personality flaw which ruins everything. physically muscular, with blonde curls (because blonde people exist, which i frequently forget). married with kids at the point of death. sucked off at some point before the 1500s.

william, a norman would-be crusader who died in 1096 of tuberculosis. obsessed with holy war - somewhat like a crusading version of the captain - except, well, a massive failure on the soldier front, on account of being incredibly dead. died a slow and agonising death of tuberculosis - despite being surrounded by murder victims, he had one of the worst deaths out of any of the ghosts. cheery, with a painfully optimistic streak, and an unhealthy habit of idolising military figures - even long after his death, as with richard the lionheart. in his mid-thirties; tall, and very unkempt. still has his sword (adhémar) on him, as he died with it, and, especially when he's very stressed/angry/excited, he can interact with the world of the living through it... which frequently causes havoc. sucked off shortly after humphrey died, in the early 1590s. afflicted with a terrible cough all throughout his afterlife.

geoffrey and matilda, the owners of button house during the anarchy and early reign of henry ii. geoffrey died after falling off his horse and then being trampled by it (very gory, very ouch), and matilda died of hypothermia after he failed to arrive home. she spends the entire afterlife freezing cold. they're married, and unlike most of the canon ghosts' marriages, they do actually love each other. geoffrey moves on in the fourteenth century, matilda in the early 1600s. geoffrey has short hair and a short beard, and matilda has braided brown hair. robin makes fun of geoffrey's death constantly, because he is, quite frankly, a bit useless, but he's very fond of both of them.

elizabeth, a late medieval noblewoman who died in july, in 1485. the arrival of a messenger with the sweating sickness infected her household, and she succumbed shortly after. most of the ghosts were conscious when they died; because she died in her sleep, it took a while for the other ghosts to even convince her that she had died. in her early twenties, with dark brown eyes and very dark curly hair. afflicted, much like william, with symptoms of the disease that killed her - easily tired, often dizzy or feverish (someday matilda might stop using her as a radiator). at least she doesn't cough up blood, though. they very gradually warm to each other. one of the few people to actually look out for humphrey - not that there's anyone much else to do when he first dies. robin dislikes her, on account of typical aristocratic uptightness, and her being a bit frosty towards him when she first died, because the older early/high medieval ghosts are by that point a pretty tight-knit group, to the exclusion of others. holds a grudge against humphrey's grandfather, who takes over the house a while after her death, and tries to haunt him. it does not work.

clarence, a victorian gardener, and servant to george button. poor fucker. in his thirties when a teenaged george dared him to go ice skating... you can probably guess how this ends. ice broke, clarence drowned, rip. died of shock and the cold as much as the whole water in his lungs thing. just wants to chill, but did not get that wish in the way he intended. being soaking wet is a miserable way to spend the afterlife... which is probably why he doesn't haunt long, moving on shortly after fanny dies. presumably he didn't like the taste he got of fanny. good but brief mates with robin; not really dead long enough to form close connections with anyone in particular, but it would be nice if thomas stopped trying so hard to bond with him.

[nitewrighter]

Cindy Part 7

Again, to read other chapters, please refer to the masterpost.

Oh hey look Cindy’s back! And Guard Captain Brad’s there, too! Wonder what’s gonna happen?

---

Cindy’s in the market. She likes being in the market more than she’s willing to admit, because it gets her away from the house, and again… the house is all she has left of her parents, so it’s kind of guilty feeling good being away from the house, but the market’s hitting a little different today. After that night, after that taste of freedom, after that sobbing, agonizing realization that her home hasn’t been her home in so long, she likes the smell of the market air more. She’s contentedly swaying like kelp to accommodate the press of the crowd around her. She’s still humming the music she and the prince danced to, goddammit, and she’s running all the decidedly un-glamorous errands the stepfam aren’t willing to do. The stepfam doesn’t like how the soap maker’s hands are all fucked up from years of lye exposure, so Cindy gets the soap. The stepfam doesn’t like how the fishmonger smells, so Cindy gets the fish. The stepfam doesn’t like how the cheesemonger infodumps about goat social hierarchies and tyrosine crystals, so Cindy gets the cheese. The stepfam doesn’t like the tinkerer’s glass eye, so Cindy goes to the tinkerer whenever tinkering needs to be done. She’s always considered them all very pleasant people, oh but today they’re vibing even more. She is walking on air, this girl is still high on the afterglow of the ball. The cheesemonger is in the middle of a fascinating lecture on the impacts of goat diets on cheese fermentation rates when all of a sudden a loud bell rings.

“An announcement from the crown! An announcement from the crown!” The town crier is parading into the market square with a burly guard at one shoulder and a bookish valet clearly from the castle at the other.

The thrum of the market dies down with the ringing of the bell as the town crier hops on the border wall of the fountain, still ringing his bell.

“Hear ye, hear ye! In this, the year of our lord seventeen-or-eighteen-something-something, in our most proud nation of—” The town crier cough-sneezed hard into his elbow, “I bear a message from our most beloved king!”

Cinderella, along with literally everyone else in the market, perks up and moseys towards the crier.

“The prince has found his intended bride!” The crier announces and an excited titter goes through the crowd. Cinderella’s heart sinks a little. Well… whoever she is, I hope she’s nice, she thinks a bit sadly. And like… this is where we get depressing again because like… she likes the prince. Oh boy does she like the prince. By all definitions, she probably loves this guy, because he’s funny and clever and kind and an amazing listener and he talks so passionately about horses and whatever he’s reading and goddamn, he can dance, but ‘love’ is a dangerous thing for her, just like ‘hope’ is a dangerous thing for her. So she’s thinking, ‘Well there was probably a girl from a very politically advantageous family at the ball and probably the matchmaking thing was a whole formality that’s supposed to make whatever this pairing is seem more legit.’ Sure it’s pageantry, but it’s pretty solid pageantry. But the town crier goes on.

“However,” the town crier declares, “Before we were able to identify the young lady in question, she fled the premises!”

‘Oh, hey, I did that, too,’ thinks Cindy. Maybe politically advantageous girl was in a hurry? She’s probably very busy, what with being politically advantageous and all. Even if Cindy felt she really connected with Princey Boy, she’s not… super-strong in the self-esteem department. Y’know, years of being treated like shit will do that to you. So she assumes there has to be someone way cooler who totally has their shit more together and that’s definitely the Prince’s intended bride.

“But not before she left her shoe!” The town crier adds dramatically, “Thus it is declared: Whosoever fits the shoe in question, is the Prince’s intended bride!”

And this is where an abrupt sensation of of ‘Oh shit,’ flares through Cinderella’s body. Because leaving a party early, even abruptly, that’s not that unique, but leaving your shoe? She’s pretty sure that’s not something that would happen twice in one night. A questioning murmur ripples through the crowd. Shoes? Why on earth would the prince only be able to recognize his supposed bride by shoes?

“Fitting shoes… feh!” One villager scoffs next to Cindy and distracts her from her rising panic. He wipes under his nose with his thumb, “Back in my day, you stacked up 20 feather mattresses and stuck a pea somewhere in there and you let a girl sleep on it. If she woke up with bruises, you knew she was a princess. Hemophilia, don’t you know.”

“Hemophilia?” Cinderella stoops a little to hear him more clearly.

“Oh yes, hemophilia. All the royals have it. Bruise like pears, they do.”

“Huh…” Cinderella’s eyes scrunch a little, because she knows the prince mentioned wrestling a couple times when they were hanging out and talking, and that doesn’t seem like a very hemophilia-friendly sport, but then again, maybe this complete rando is an expert on the crown (go easy on her she doesn’t get out all that much). But then she draws herself back up straight as the town crier continues speaking.

“I will now present an artist’s representation of the shoe!” The crier announces, and the king’s valet next to him opens a scroll to reveal a detailed ink drawing of a crystalline shoe. A glass shoe. Her shoe.

The crowd ‘oohs’ at the shoe, because, you know Cindy was right to love the slippers as much as she did, and she was right to ask to make them the only permanent thing about the outfit, because they are fucking beautiful.

‘Oh,’ Cinderella thinks, looking at the drawing, ‘Well isn’t that something.’

And she just… fucking blacks out.

I passed out at the Dickens Fair a couple of years back and like, I was overheating and dehydrated and on my feet for too long, BUT MY POINT IS, even if everyone around you is wearing cute silly period outfits, passing out in public is still embarrassing as fuck.

“Miss? Miss! Miss, are you all right?” The voice comes in muffled in Cinderella’s ears and she flinches hard, throwing up her forearms over her face in a flinch. But a hand is feeling at the back of her head. Gentle pads of the fingers even gently pressing beneath her low bun to feel at the scalp. “Are you concussed?”

“People keep asking me that…” Cindy says distantly, eyes blinking out the sunlight and forearms still crossed. Squinting, she slowly lowers her arms and realizes there’s a hand on her back, propping her upper torso up off of the cobblestones. Her lashes flutter and she realizes the guard who had been standing near the crier is stooped over her, holding her. Several nearby ladies are tittering excitedly because holy shit this guy is a beefcake. Her shoulders bunch up. “Ah…”

“It doesn’t seem like you hit your head too hard…” Brad murmurs.

“I’m fine!” Cindy blurts out. Like she recognizes this guy from the ball (I mean he’s a big guy, he’s kind of hard to miss) and she knows the Fairy Godmother told her a memory charm was stitched into the dress but holy fuck she doesn’t know what’s going to happen if he recognizes her! Like yeah Fairy Godmother said she’d be a white fog but now also the shoe is in royal custody!! What does that mean?? Is she recognizable if she’s seen the shoe after the spell is broken? God, she should have been writing more stuff down the night of the ball.

“You sure?” Brad’s eyebrows raise.

“Mm-hm!” Cindy gives a tight-lipped nod.

“Welp,” Brad rises to his feet, pretty much picking Cinderella up by her shoulders and pulling her upright along with him. Her body goes completely rigid at the combination of physical contact and movement, there’s a brief second where Cindy’s feeling her feet dangle underneath her because holy shit this guy is huge, before he plants her on her feet like one might stick a surfboard upright in the sand at the beach. She wobbles for a second but quickly straightens up. “Er… thank you, sir…?”

“Guard Captain Brad Bradstone, miss,” he gives a shallow bow, “And it was nothing. I am sworn to protect all subjects of the kingdom.” In his bow he notices all of the soot physical contact with her has smeared all over his uniform. It’s all over his sleeves and there’s a significant gray smudge across his torso.

“Oh!” Cindy’s hands go over her mouth, “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine, miss,” says Brad, first instinctively moving to brush it off, but deciding not to bother upon seeing his hand now smeared with ash and soot, “And may I just say, I think what you’re doing is very brave.”

“B-brave?”

“It takes a lot of guts for a lady to break into a male-dominated work field like chimney sweeping, and you can bet you have the crown’s support in your endeavor,” says Brad, thumping his fist to his chest in a salute.

“Ah..” Cindy slumps a little, “Yes. Chimney sweeping.” She clears her throat, “Again, I’m sorry for causing such a fuss.”

“Eh, you’re not the first swooner, and you probably won’t be the last,” Brad shrugs, “Really commendable recovery time, though.”

“…so the prince really wants to marry the girl who left the shoe?” Cinderella fidgets with her fingers a little.

“Well, to be honest, all the ‘bride’ talk is embellishment from the king, but the prince did call her the love of his life,” Brad is preoccupied with trying to brush off all the soot on his uniform in a way that doesn’t make it spread more. It’s not working out too well.

“The love of his life?” Cinderella’s breath falls hushed and trails after him as Brad paces away. She quickly shimmies up behind him.

“Mm-hmm,” Brad rinses his sooty hands off in the fountain and then moves to wipe off his sleeve and—oh fuck that made it worse.

“Does he… talk about her?” Cinderella tilts her head.

“Talk about her?” Brad scoffs, and then leans close to Cinderella in a conspiratorial whisper, “He doesn’t shut up about her! Between you and me? He’s a complete wreck.”

“A complete wreck?!” Cindy’s hands clasp over her heart.

“Oh god yeah, he’s barely eating, he’s waking me up at odd hours with new conspiracy theories about what this girl’s whole deal is, and—“ Brad catches himself, “I apologize, miss, I shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s not appropriate. I would ask for your discretion on everything I’ve just said.”

“Of course!” Cinderella salutes, and then doesn’t really know why she saluted. This guy feels like someone you should salute at.

“It was deeply unprofessional of me,” Brad murmurs.

“It’s fine. It... sounds like a very stressful situation,” Cinderella folds her arms.

“Oh if only you knew,” Brad chuckles a little. He clicks his tongue. “look, you seem very nice, and I’d love to talk more but—”

“Brad!” A call comes across the market square and both Brad and Cindy glance up to see Gabe the valet giving a pointed glance to his fancy little agenda journal before glancing sharply back at Brad.

“…as I was saying,” said Brad, “We’ve got like… 10 more villages to hit up with this announcement today, so I can’t stay.  But—hey—would you keep an eye out for me?”

“For what?” Cindy perks up.

“Just… anything suspicious. The prince may be all lovestruck, but if you ask me? There’s a lot of fishiness about this ‘mystery bride of the prince.’”

Cinderella stiffens a little. “I see…”

“I mean, no one being able to remember a single identifying feature of her? At one of the biggest parties of the year? And then rushing off as fast as she can? There’s something wrong there, don’t you think?”

“I… Um…” Cinderella is fidgeting again.

“Brad!” Gabe the Valet calls again.

“I gotta go,” Brad shrugs and then hits her with a quick finger-gun, “Best of luck with your chimney sweeping, miss.”

“…thank…you…” Cinderella says blankly as Brad rushes off.

[katsukikiss]

I FUCKIN HATE YOU

CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP // MINORS DNI // EREN X F!READER

Warnings: NSFW 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, alcohol use, noncon touching(ish), hate fucking?, creampie m, idk what else

AN: This is a collab for @bordemm bunny’s rager! It had to fit the theme/vibe of a song and mine was ‘IFHY’ by Tyler the Creator! Give it a listen when you’re about halfway through!

Big thanks to @morelikebaku-no for beta reading this for me!

WC: 5.2K

Masterlist

How did you two get to this point? Why did you hate each other? He would always shove you into walls when you got too close to him and you’d slap him across the arm in retaliation. He would mock how eager you were to please and achieve on missions, and you’d scoff at his selfishness. You threw insults and jabs back and forth whenever you two were near, which wasn’t too often anymore. Although, you weren’t the one who started this all. He used to be so nice, asking you if you needed help, giving you his food, riding your horses side by side. You were both so fond of one another, a bond you had shared since childhood. You thought you might’ve even loved him, but something snapped in Eren one day. You couldn’t understand why he changed so much after that day.

Eren remembered the day perfectly. You both got ready that morning before you set off for what would be a horrible evening. Your squad had a relatively easy mission to complete, but something felt off to you. Eren rested a hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that everything would be okay, and that he’d protect you. He always stuck close to you on these missions, fearing that he’d lose you like he lost everyone else.

You set off on horseback together. You were a skilled cadet, well seasoned in using your ODM gear. Eren hated when you’d get cocky and push yourself too far, but thats why he stuck so close, but not this time. Levi sent you and Jean forward in a group of two, despite Erens pleas to be paired up with you. You shot him a reassuring smile before you and Jean pushed forward and to the right. Eren had to stay in the center with Levi and Armin, his eyes trailing off to watch you descend further away from him.

You and Jean easily took out five abnormals, you killing three and him taking out the other two. You were in a state of euphoria, zipping through the trees. Jean admired your strength and confidence, but they all still saw you as someone that needed protecting, and it royally pissed you off. You slung off to the left, Jean quickly losing sight of you.

“Y/N! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?!” he howled out to you. He swiftly maneuvered around to try and follow you. Then he heard you scream.

Your blood curdling screams echoed through the forest. ‘T-Thats y/n’ Eren thought to himself.

“EREN WAIT!” Armin loudly pleaded, but Eren was gone, slashing his way through the trees to where your voice came from. Rage was radiating through his body, how could Jean have lost you, let you get hurt. He swore he was going to beat him half to death for letting something happen to you. He moved at an inhuman speed, frantically looking around for where you might be. Then he saw a 15 meter titan, with a tight grasp on you and your neck. Blood was dripping from your nose and lips, you lacked the ability to scream anymore.

Without thinking, Eren transformed. It was dangerous for him to go into his titan form, with you so close and vulnerable, but his body acted on its own will. He lunged at the titan, his mouth clamping hard onto the arm in which you were trapped in. The arm came tumbling to the ground, with you hurdling down with it. Eren was too blinded by rage that he failed to realize you were about to splatter on the ground. He continued to thrash at the titan that once held you. You looked down and your eyes filled with fear. Why wasn't he going to catch you? Suddenly you heard quick sipping noises and you were caught by Jean. He glanced down at you nervously, his breath heaving. He perched up onto a large branch and sat you down against the trunk of the tree.

“Oh my god y/n are you okay?!” he asked in a panicky breath, cupping your face in his calloused hands. You shook as you looked over his shoulder to see Eren still on a rampage, but now he was running towards you two. You lifted a quivering finger to point to him, your throat bruised and unable to form words, and Jean quickly turned his head. A large hand was coming down at you two. Jean scooped you up and slung the two of you away as the branch snapped. Eren let out a shrieking scream that sent shivers down both of your spines. Jean never let up his tight grasp on you as he navigated his way through the forest, trying to get as far away as possible. Eren hadn’t lost control in so long, and now he was trying to kill you.

You got back to the rest of the squad, and Jean explained what had happened. Armin, Mikasa and Levi all went back into the forest to find Eren. He was in a clearing, sticking out of the nape of his now disintegrating titan form, sobbing uncontrollably. They approached him with caution. He hysterically screamed at them, “I'M A MONSTER, I ALMOST KILLED HER!”

You had spent three months in the infirmary, healing from the broken arm and bruised windpipe you had suffered. Everyone came to visit you regularly, except Eren. He never came by to see you, and shuddered when Armin finally recommended that he should.

“I dont want to fucking see her” he muttered under his breath. Armin stopped speaking, not wanting to push his friend over the edge again. You were finally strong enough to go back to your own room, eat in the dining halls, and train. Much to your dismay, Levi wasn’t going to put you back on missions for awhile.

Your first day back in the dining hall, everyone beamed a smile at you.

“Hey y/n! Why dont you come sit over here?” Jean shouted to you. You smiled and looked away, opting for your usual table instead. You made your way to Armin, Mikasa and Eren with your tray. You plopped your tray down and scooted your way over to Eren. His head was low until you sat down. He looked up at you with anger in his eyes.

He was never angry at you, but at himself. He feared being anywhere near you. You almost died at his hands and he could never forgive himself for that. You were so sweet, never once holding a grudge for what happened that day. He hated how forgiving you were, it made it all so much harder. He made a promise to himself that he needed to stay away from you, make you hate him if it meant you’d be safe.

“Long time no see Eren!” you exclaimed. Mikasa and Armin both looked at Eren anxiously. He slammed his fist on the table, standing up and walking away.

“What's his problem?” you asked the other two who were looking at you with doe eyed expressions.

“Not sure, but I think it's best if you keep your distance for a little okay y/n?” Armin said in an apologetic tone. He could see the pain and worry twist its way into your face. ‘What did I do wrong?’ you asked yourself. Tears flooded down your face as you ran out of the dining hall back into your room. You told yourself this wouldn’t last long and things would be back to normal but you were so wrong.

Six months later and now you and Eren thoroughly hated one another. You couldn’t take his insults and cold shoulder anymore so you threw it back at him, making the divide between you two grow larger with every passing day. You let your feelings from before the mission drift away and all you were left with was resentment and anger. You never understood why he turned so cold but you didn’t care to figure it out anymore, he never wanted to be around you and that was it. But little did you know, someone else had really convinced him to stay away from you. He wanted to try and talk to you one day but Mikasa coerced him out of it, telling him that it would make things worse and that he would only end up hurting you again. He believed her and vowed to stay away from you.

It was a crisp Saturday evening. The regiment was going to be drinking and celebrating a successful mission outside together later that night, even Levi and Erwin would be attending. You made your way over to Sasha’s room to talk and get ready. It was nice to finally have a day to let loose and have fun. You and Sasha decided to take some sheers to old shirts and create sexy twist tops; neither of you had attire for a night out like this. You took an old black t-shirt of Erens that he had given to you one night, looking at it you felt a pang in your heart, before you shook it away and began to cut. You twisted it in the middle, giving your breasts little fabric hammocks to rest in. You pulled the straps up and over your shoulder. You shoved yourself into some high waisted jeans before heading out with Sasha.

It was a lively sight. People hugging and laughing, ignoring the horrible world they lived in for a while. Connie waved you and Sasha over to him and Jean who were seated around a high table. You jumped up onto a stool between the two boys and across from your friend. Jean had a pitcher of beer on the table and four glasses for you all. You finished three pitchers all together in the matter of 30 minutes, talking and cracking jokes the whole time.

You looked around and spotted Armin red faced, blabbering off to Commander Erwin, whose face was also flushed red from the alcohol he had consumed. It was a pleasant surprise that made you smile, seeing the two blonde men letting loose for a bit. Then you saw Eren and Mikasa, sitting at a table together getting belligerently drunk. You were never jealous of her, he always told you she was like a sister to him, but then you shook your head. ‘What? Why would I even be jealous anyway…’ you looked away from the pair, cursing at yourself for even feeling that way. ‘He hates you, you hate him’ you reminded yourself.

Your attention was snapped back when Connie placed four shots onto the table. You were no stranger to drinking, you actually really enjoyed it; maybe too much. You all nodded, tapping your shots down on the table, bringing them up, clanging them all together, then slamming them back onto the table before throwing the clear alcohol back into your mouths. Sasha groaned at the foul taste, begging Connie to go get some food with her to wash it out of her mouth. They headed off towards a table of food, leaving you and Jean alone. You looked back over at Eren, but he and Mikasa were both gone. Your mind started racing, but you kept your calm on the outside. You were pretty drunk at this point, vision a bit distorted, but your words still came out presentable. Jean laughed, he watched you sway in your seat before gripping tightly onto the table almost falling.

“You alright pretty girl?” Jean asked in a flirty voice. He was always super kind to you, especially after the accident, but he also learned not to baby you anymore after that. Sure, he was mad you ran off on your own, but he understood why you did that in the moment, you felt like you needed to prove something. You didn’t mind him taking a coy tone with you tonight.

“Oh yeahh don't worry about me” you said, dragging your words a bit in a teasing voice. You winked at him and he blushed. You were typically sarcastic when Jean flirted with you but not now. He was cute, maybe not ideal but you can’t be that picky when you weren’t dealt a great hand in the Scouts. He slid his hand across the table and grabbed onto yours gently. You looked up at him with a wide eyed, innocent look on your face. You looked to the side to see if Eren came back around, but to your frustration he was still nowhere to be found. You looked back at Jean.

“You know, I’ve always thought you were so beautiful y/n” he confesses, his grip on your hand tightening. You probably would have blushed under normal circumstances, but your drunken state left you smirking at him with an insatiable gleam in your eyes.

“So why don’t we…” your voice trailing off, you nodded your head to the side, signaling to Jean that you wanted to ditch the party and be alone. His entire face flushed red and his pupils dilated. He was so eager to finally have you to himself. He stood up briskly as did you. He held onto your hand, walking forward without saying a word to you. You started to feel a bit intimidated by the tall handsome man as he led you away from the crowd and into the dark of the night. But someone was watching you two, never stopped watching.

He pushed you up against the stables and began ravenously kissing at your neck and squeezing at your breast. Being touched deprived and drunk made you moan at his every touch.

“You look fucking incredible in this shirt” he huffed out. His lips came back to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. He started to move his hand lower and lower. You started to get nervous, you didn’t want to go this far, you weren’t ready to. You grabbed at his arm and whimpered out, “I-I don’t wanna do that right now, okay?” Jean kept moving his hands down. You weren’t sure if maybe he didn’t hear you or was too drunk or was just flat out ignoring you. Then his hand was forcefully pulled out of your pants as he fell backwards into the ground.

“Get the fuck off of her and get out of here. Now” Eren demanded in a fierce tone. He was standing above Jean, looking down at him. Any haziness you had in your head was washed away when you saw the scene unfold in front of you. Jean scrambled to get to his feet before looking Eren right in the eye.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he challenged. Eren was seething with anger. They both burned holes into each other's eyes. You didn’t want to see anyone get hurt because of you, so you spoke up.

“Jean, it's okay, I'm okay, I’ll catch up with you later okay?” you tried to reassure him. He looked at you confused then back at Eren with a grimace before turning away from the two of you.

“Alright whatever” he groaned, disappointed. You looked at the man in front of you for a second, before you lazily lunged at him with a fist. You were so angry and emotional when you saw him leave. Your coordination still wasn’t functioning at its best, he easily dodged and grabbed your wrist.

“What the fuck were you doing back here? Was he trying to..?” he manically questioned before letting go of his grasp on your arm. You were surprised to see how riled up he was over seeing you with Jean. You decided to push your luck.

“Why do you care Eren? And yeah, we were going to fuck until you came and ruined it” you spat at him.

“I heard you y/n, and I saw him ignore you. Don't play tough when I know you aren’t” he hissed back at you.

“What is wrong with you? Why were you watching us, you freak? Weren’t you off fucking Mikasa?” you sneered at him. You were embarrassed that he caught you lying, but even more embarrassed that he watched Jean touch all over you.

“You should be grateful I was here, who knows what we would’ve done” he answered, ignoring your comment about Mikasa. It gave him pleasure knowing you still cared a bit, that maybe you were even jealous.

“Grateful? I have no reason to be thanking you, I can handle myself just fine now leave me alone” you said, shoving your way past him. He grabbed your arm and yanked you back.

“What the fuck Eren. Get off of me…don’t you have another girl to harass?” you scoffed at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he stated in a shadowy tone.

“Don’t play dumb, you and Mikasa left together”

“We didn’t..but why do you care hm?” he asked, slightly smirking. He was lying, but he didn’t want you to know that just yet.

“I don’t give a shit, fuck whoever you want but don’t ruin my sex life too”

“I actually never left the party”

“Yes you did”

“Maybe you didn’t see me, but I was there, watching you,” he confessed.

“Eren what the fuck” you said, afflicted by what he had just said. Over the last year he spent everyday avoiding you, your gaze, your touch, and when you were around he was nothing short of evil to you. But here he was, hands on your wrists, having the longest conversation you two had ever had since the mission. You felt your emotions being pulled in every direction. ‘He still cares. He hates you. He’s an asshole. Does he miss you?’ You couldn’t figure out what to think, but one thing you knew was that you couldn’t forgive him for the way he had treated you.

“I don’t know why you were watching over me, or why you’re even talking to me right now, but I want to leave. I don’t want anything to do with you” you stammered. It wasn’t entirely true. You missed him so much, but that was the old him. You don’t even know who you’re looking at anymore.

“Y/n, I know that isn’t true” he said, inching closer to you. You could smell alcohol on his breath and the scent made you dizzy. You backed up, trying to pull your hands from his grip but it was of no use. Your back was up against the wood of the stables.

“I've missed you so much, you have no idea” he remarked, with a hint of sadness in his voice. You looked up at Eren, finally locking eyes with him. You hadn’t looked him in the eyes in so long. Despite everything, his eyes were the same as you remembered. They looked at you sympathetically, with love and tenderness, the way he used to. However, your fleeting moment of empathy turned quickly back into anger

“How could you?! How could you just cut me out of your life, treat me like a fucking stranger? And you have the audacity to pull this little stunt! ” you screamed at him, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I-Im sorry, I-“ he was cut off by your hand sharply smacking him across the face. He stumbled back and away from you.

“Get the fuck away from me. You don’t get to just walk back into my life, no, fuck that and fuck you” you refuted. Your reply hit him harder than the slap. He couldn’t let you go, never again. The brief compassion he had was gone. He was done trying to be gentle, you had awakened something that had lied dormant for months. He spent so long trying to stay away from you, his thoughts tormenting him, but you were different now. He was going to go easy on you, slowly open up to you to see if you could accept him into your life again, but it seemed he couldn’t take that approach anymore. He slammed you back into the side of the stable, trapping your arms behind your back and gripped your jaw with one large hand.

“I did that all for you. You don’t know how hard it was for me to be mean to you, to stay away from you. But here you are, and I'm not going to hold back anymore” he revealed with a low predatory voice, sending an aching chill to your core. He slipped his free hand under your little makeshift shirt and ferociously clutched at your breast. He aggressively pressed his lips against yours, his heart fluttering as he finally felt your soft pretty lips against his own. A low whine vibrated in your throat. You wanted to be stronger, to push him away from you but your resolve crumbled.

“I don’t want to see you around Jean or any other guy here, do you understand me?” Eren murmured, his throat rasping with the low tone he took.

‘Excuse me, what did he just say?’ You couldn’t just take orders from him, not after all he put you through. You snapped out of the trance he had you under. You looked at him with scalding eyes and spit onto his face. It was risky, but you weren’t thinking straight. Again, you were conflicted between screaming at him or accepting him, hating him or loving him. He looked down at the dirt and slowly dragged his hand across his face, wiping your saliva from his cheek. He creeped his head back up, his vile look tormenting you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are Eren? Trying to tell me what to do with my body? Fuck off” you hissed back at him. You tried to move away from him but his hand was encasing your fragile throat.

“I know you miss me baby, I know you want to let me back in, but you have too much pride, you were always too stubborn. Let me show you what you’re missing” he muttered. You wanted him to be wrong but he was so right. You desperately wanted to forgive him and bring everything back to the way it used to be. His free hand unzipped your tight jeans and tugged them down to the ground. His thick digits started to rub against your folds through your pink lace panties. His other hand moved from your neck to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. He bit and sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, leaving little territorial marks all over you. Your lips parted to let out soft mewls. The last few months suddenly flashed before you, bringing anger back to the forefront of your mind.

“I h-hate you!” you screamed. Despite enjoying the way he was making you feel, you still had so much to let out.

“Don’t say that” he growled. His hands were under the fabric of your panties now, two fingers pumping in and out of you. His thumb reached around to swirl erotic circles on your sensitive nub.

“I mean it” you softly moaned out.

“No babygirl, you don’t. You can’t lie to me” He cooed into your ear. His fingers pace inside you abruptly quickened causing you to let out a pleasurable cry. Something about this new Eren was making your mind go crazy, he had an intense hunger for you and a depraved way of fulfilling it.

“Come back to me y/n, let's start over” he groaned into your ear, and you had a feeling he wasn’t suggesting that, but rather demanding. He tried to reach for your hand.

He desperately wanted you to touch him. You held your arms behind your back the entire time, by choice. You didn’t want to make him feel good, you didn’t want to feel his body, his face, his hair, or you knew you’d completely come undone.

“N-no Eren” you stammered. You were pushing his buttons, seeing how far you could go, how much he could take. He was starting to get angrier, revealing his deep sinful nature. He flicked his two fingers up, hitting your spongy spot every time they prodded back into you. His talented digits made your chest rise and fall quickly, letting short strained breaths and cries out.

“Wrong answer. You don’t get a choice. You will be mine” he demanded. Just as these words left his mouth your walls began to involuntarily clench around his fingers, your juices releasing all over them. You scraped your nails into the wood behind you, desperately trying to offer yourself some comfort. His possessive words should be scaring you, making you uncomfortable, but they only make you long for him more. Something about his controlling nature was truly intoxicating.

“I knew it, you do miss me, don’t you babygirl? I knew I should’ve done this earlier” he insinuated, a shameless smile creeping up on his face. He pulled his fingers out of your sobbing hole and brought them up to his mouth. He lolled his tongue out and slowly dragged his fingers down, savoring your sweet taste. You watched him in the lewd act, but thought about his words for a moment. ‘I knew I should’ve done this earlier’ you want to ask him what he meant but before you could speak his mouth was on yours, lips meeting once again. He gave you a wet kiss before pulling away to look at you. He pet your face and swept your wet strands of hair off your sweating forehead. Even all hot and messy, you still looked so adorable to him.

“Please baby, I can’t take it anymore. Put your arms around me” he begged. You gave the slightest nod of disapproval, pissing him off again.

“When I try to ask nicely you refuse. What is it with you?” he scowled at you. He yanked your arms from behind your back, making you yelp. He put them on his shoulders and pressed his body flush to yours. You stopped trying to fight his advances, wrapping one hand behind his neck and the other snaked through his hair.

His clothed bulge was firmly pressed against your exposed cunt. You began to buck your hips forward into him, forcing a low moan to escape his lips. He placed his hands on your thighs and hoisted them up and around his waist. You continued to kiss and explore each other's mouths with your tongues. You twirled yours around his, as if they were always meant to dance with one another.

He picked up your pants and carried you a few over to a shed. He kicked the door open, removed a hand from your ass to pull a light on. You looked and saw an old steel table with miscellaneous tools and blueprints all over it. Eren used a hand to shove everything to the side and sat you down. He stood between your legs, your neck angled painfully high to kiss the man towering above you. His hands moved down to his crotch as he meticulously unbuttoned his slacks. His throbbing member sprung from his boxers as he lowered them down his legs. Your mind was racing as you thought about what was actually happening. He pressed his cock against your needy hot cunt, sweeping through your puffy lips with it. All inhibition left your body from the touch. You pulled him close to you, the heat radiating between your legs.

“Fuck me Eren, please” you begged him. Your words made his blood hot.

“About time” he groaned. He aligned his cock with your tight entrance. He firmly grabbed your ass cheeks as he slowly advanced himself into your sobbing cunt. Your walls clung onto his swollen tip. He bucked his hips before completing bottoming out inside of you, gently grazing your cervix. His thrusts turned into brutal ramming, the entire table shaking with ever hard pound into you. Your lower stomach was bulging with every assault, your head hanging back from the feeling.

“Do you still hate me now?” he spat at you. His eyes transfixed on your bouncing tits. You couldn’t think straight, the pleasure of his cock hitting you in all the right places scrambled your brain.

“N-No no Eren fu-uck just fuck me, faster please!” you squealed out. He was already savagely slamming into you, but he answered your calls and quickened his pace. He grabbed you by the neck, forcing your head forward to look into his eyes.

“Tell me, tell me you’re mine” he whined into your ear. His eyes looked primal, as if he would devour you if you didn’t answer him correctly. You could tell he was close, his thrusts were getting sloppier and all he could do was let out husky breaths and little moans.

“Ah fuck I’m all yours Eren!” you cried out.

“ONLY mine”

“Y-yess ONLY yours”

Your legs wrapped around him as your orgasm shocked your entire body. You gripped his dark locks and looked up to see Eren’s eyes looking at yours, admiring the way your face contorted with pleasure. His knees buckled as his cock twitched inside you, releasing his warm thick cum all over your walls. He slowly dragged himself out of you, huffing heavy breaths out. Your legs fell down to dangle off the side of the table again. You rested your head onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around you, placing his head on top of yours. You both laid there, chests heaving in unison. You abruptly pulled away, startling him, and you looked up.

“Why d-did you leave me Eren?” you asked, tears welling up in your solemn eyes. He looked to the side, saddened by the question, and trying to find the right words.

“Because, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off away from me after the mission and I-“

“Why would I be better off that way? You hurt me even more by doing that…”

“I nearly killed you y/n! I almost lost you, and everyone made me feel like I would be a danger to you” he whispered. Anguish and hurt flooded his voice when he spoke to you. The once domineering man was crumbling as he gave his confession to you.

“Why did you wait so long? Why now?” you said, pulling aggressively on his shirt. You recalled him saying he wanted ‘to do this sooner’ but never got to ask about it. He rubbed the back of his neck before looking down at you.

“I…well…Mikasa told me to stay away from you too…and I did leave the party before with her..but only for a little and that’s when I realized her intentions…but I came right back to find you and talk to you after that” he said, searching your face for a hint of how you were feeling. Your expression was blank, eyes were now dried and void of emotion. You jumped off the table and started putting your pants on. Eren started to grow worried as you neared the door.

“Y/n? Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find Mikasa”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 5

First

Previous

Tim tipped his head to the side as he considered the woman in front of him.

She had a slightly nervous smile as she pulled one of her earbuds out of her ears. “Hi.”

Her eyes flicked past him and, after quickly glancing back to make sure no one was about to attack him, he realized she was feeling cornered.

… probably because she was currently being cornered.

He hesitantly took a few steps to the side until he could lean against the wall. “I’m not here to hurt you or anything, I just want to talk,” he promised.

Her hand slipped out of her pocket. He was willing to bet that she had some kind of weapon in there.

Which was good, honestly. Gotham was a dangerous place for newcomers like her.

“... so, what’re you here for?” She asked when he didn’t say anything for a while.

He bit his lip as he considered her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 27.

The first time they’d spotted her following them around, they’d assumed she was just another alias of Canary��� but the fourteen aliases they had found for Canary so far had always had one thing in common: despite how far back it may have gone or how many connections she may have had, there was never anyone alive to corroborate her story.

She would have definitely done that this time since there was a 100% chance that the bats would notice her. Canary would have made sure that, no matter what, they couldn’t pop on over to anyone’s house and ask about her.

But Marinette had two parents. They were back in Paris, of course, but they still existed. Babs had spotted them walking to the grocery store just yesterday. They had a consistent call history with them dating back years.

He had entertained the idea that they could be paid actors… but Canary worked alone. She had informants and sponsors, sure, but partners? No. It had been nine years, if she was going to start working with people she probably would have done that already.

Marinette checked out.

… or, at least, she checked out in all ways but two.

“How did you get here?” Asked Tim.

Marinette frowned a little. “... plane?”

He shook his head. “We have footage of you at Roissy Airport, but you never arrived in Gotham.”

Her skin paled. “Must be a glitch.”

Okay. That’s definitely not suspicious at all, no way.

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Maybe you missed me.”

“With our facial recognition scanners? And three people checking it over?”

Her hand was back in her pocket and her eyes were flicking to the exit nervously.

“I’m not going to deport you or anything,” he added quickly. “Lots of people here aren’t documented and that’s totally fine, the immigration system is totally messed up… I’ll shut up about that now, that’s not helping... I just… want to know. Curious.”

“Paranoid,” she corrected with a hesitant grin.

“... cautious,” he said after a few seconds.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“It’s much nicer than paranoid, that’s for sure,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

She rolled her eyes and he smiled as some of the tension in her shoulders disappeared.

“The horse miraculous,” she said after a few seconds. “That’s how I got here.”

He sighed internally. Metas in Gotham. Not good. There was a reason that rule was in place. If metas -- even good ones -- started coming then there was nothing stopping the huge, otherworldly threats from following them over. They’d stick with their overdramatic fucks that need therapy, thanks, their gadgets didn’t exactly hold up against literal gods.

And then Marinette giggled. “You don’t need to look so scared. The weird old guy who holds onto all the miraculous… he doesn’t really use them, he just keeps them locked in a weird box thing. I just…” She shrugged. “I had something on him and he was more than happy to get rid of me.”

… well, that’s a little concerning, thought Tim.

Not exactly unexpected, though. She’d very publicly gotten a restraining order by Chat Noir around ten years prior and, while none of the other miraculous holders had come out against her, many of the ones that had revealed themselves as holders had already denounced her. Tim wouldn’t have been surprised if she had stalked more of them -- hell, she was stalking him and his family, clearly she hadn’t limited herself to Chat Noir.

But this raised his second question: “Why now?”

She cringed. “Well, I’d thought about moving a long time ago. No place in France was going to hire me with the whole ‘stalking one of their beloved superheroes’ thing… but I decided to stay for a while. I didn’t want it to seem like I was running away, y’know?”

He nodded his understanding slowly. That made sense. It wasn’t a decision based on logic, but not all decisions are.

She smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Also, I kind of missed having superheroes, to be honest.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t going to correct her use of the word ‘superheroes’ instead of ‘vigilantes’, English was at least her second language and that would be rude, so he went down a different route: “I thought they still had their miraculous. It’d be stupid if they didn’t. Mayura is still out there and all.”

“As far as I know, everyone but Ladybug and Chat Noir gave up their miraculous. Everyone knows Mayura is just Adrien Agreste even if we can’t prove it. Nothing else makes sense,” she said with a shrug.

He bit his lip. “I thought that the secretary disappeared that day, though. Wasn’t it her?”

“Nathalie Sancoeur? I heard she moved to America,” Marinette said with a shrug. “But America hasn’t had any attacks, so no one in Paris thinks it was her. Adrien is probably just waiting until the miraculous holders drop their guards.”

He nodded slowly. He didn’t realize he was going to be gossiping and discussing conspiracy theories with a person who stalked heroes but, he had to admit, it was kind of fun. Reminded him of the good old days when he was just a kid who followed the bats around for fun.

… but that wasn’t how things were anymore. He had responsibilities now. Which he was currently not doing. Oops.

“I should get back to work.”

“I should get back to watching you work,” she half-joked.

He hesitated. “Is there any way I can convince you not to do that? Gotham isn’t Paris, it’s dangerous here.”

She grinned. “I stalked a guy who had a literal god at his beck and call. I can handle a few odd goons,” she said.

He bit his lip but nodded. “Call for help if you ever need it.”

“Fine. Fine.”

He got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to but he was going to give her the benefit of the doubt just for now.

He pulled his grapple gun from his belt and hooked it around the rooftop.

“See you later.”

“Well, you will see me later, I’ll --,” she began, only to cut herself off with a gasp: “NO!”

He quickly checked over his shoulder but he didn’t see anything. He turned back to her, questioning look on his face, only to see her devastated expression.

“Cedric died,” she said sadly, pointing at the ear with the earbud still in it.

…?

~

Marinette sat in a coffee shop, sipping at a drink as she worked on her computer.

Tim Drake had five coffee shops that he enjoyed. The tiny tweet she’d sent out a little over a week ago ensured that he wasn’t going to be allowed coffee at his place of work. So, he was likely to go and get coffee somewhere else. She was currently sitting at the one closest to WE.

… it was very expensive. She needed to drink her coffee slower.

She squinted at her resume with a frown.

She was pretty sure it was good enough to get in, but…

Marinette sighed lightly and let her head hit the table. Fuck. She hated this stupid job so much.

She heard the chair across from her scrape against the wooden floors and slowly lifted her head. She squinted at the guy in front of her for a minute.

“Hello,” she said carefully.

The brown-haired man smiled at her.

She glanced him up and down. He was clean in a slimy kind of way. He was too nice. His hair was coiffed perfectly, his suit neatly pressed, his face clean-shaven. People who had the guts to dress like that in Gotham were always the worst of the worst.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.

She sighed. “You weren’t even going to ask if you could sit here?”

“You’ve been alone for a while. Figured it was safe to assume you didn’t have anyone.”

Cool. Cool cool cool. Her hand slipped to the dagger hidden in her hoodie pocket. She may not know what kind of bad he was, but he was definitely bad news.

“No, actually, I was just waiting for my friend to get off work so they could join me.”

“Oh! I’ll keep you company until they show up!”

Damn. She hated when people called her bluff.

She forced her most pleasant smile to her face. “No thanks. I have work to do, actually.”

“Applying for jobs, right?”

She paled.

“Sorry, but I was curious so I just peeked over your shoulder a little bit. I actually had a couple of openings at my job, and you seem like a good candidate, if you’d like --.”

“No!” She said quickly.

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed just a little. “I was just offering you a job.”

“I don’t want to get a job this way. I prefer the formal interview process and everything,” she lied.

“Oh, well, my company is having interviews tomorrow and there should be an open spot around --.”

A hand came to rest on the man’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud, she said no.”

~~~

TheBetterCanary: @/BrucieWayne give me a hundred million dollars and ill stop doing crime

BrucieWayne: Done.

TheBetterCanary: i take it back five hundred million

BrucieWayne: Sure.

TheBetterCanary: a billion

BrucieWayne: Alright.

TheBetterCanary: what the fuck

~~~~~

Next

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Canary taglist: @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 6- Betrayer Moon

Summary: Temeria holds a beast that has been said to have slaughtered many. With the sweet sound of coins offered you’re ready for another wild hunt.

Warnings: lil smut we starting out with, gore and blood as per usual, fluff 

Masterlist

Outside the winds are cold and snowy as the night cascades its great darkness over the land of the Continent. But none of that holds any kind of significance as you lay in the warm bed of a village tavern, Geralt's muscular body pressing flush against your heated skin. You hold tightly onto the tousled bed sheets as he thrusts into you over and over again, nothing but the sweet sounds of his grunts and your pleasant moaning filling the darkly lit room but for a simple fire in the hearth.

He deliciously rocks you into the mattress as he gently kisses your sweaty temple, sending bolts of electricity coursing throughout your entire being as you await your building climax. With each new thrust of Geralt's manhood into your entrance, you try and hold back a scream but to no avail. He quickly silences you with a heated kiss, both of your tongues dancing in the dark with one another as he pushes your legs apart even more, his large body taking you all in.

He's a lot to handle but you can take it, no matter what he throws at you. Soon he's a moaning mess as he dumps his load into your clenching walls, hitting your own high just the same, you suddenly claw at his back as he pumps himself into you a couple more times before slowly leaning up to take a good look at your blissfully beautiful face. He gently pulls out of you, falling onto the bed at your side as the both of lay in silence, the only viable sounds coming from your heavy breaths and the crackling of the fireplace.

"So, I heard something interesting today." You begin, turning on your side to lean yourself into his chest as he stares at the ceiling, a satisfied smirk gracing his handsome features.

"Do tell." He quietly mumbles.

"I was conversing with some of the whores by the market today, asking about what interesting creatures have met their eyes and whatnot. When wouldn't you know it, another Witcher had come through this very village." He raises an eyebrow, curiosity catching his interest quick, "Said he fled Temeria with some miners coin when his ass was supposed to be killing their monster. I think foul play." You inquire, absentmindedly running your fingers over his battle scars, Geralt's intrigued by your words but is honestly enjoying himself too much to care about anything else at the moment.

Sighing in deep content he shifts his golden gaze onto you, "Tonight I will blissfully ignore my problems." He muses, closing his eyes as you continue to lightly trail your fingers against his skin, "Just uh...keeping doing that." A drunken smile gracing his sweaty face, as you break out into a grin while your eyes fully take in his glistening muscular form that's laying butt-ass naked right next to you. Oh, how did you get so lucky with a man like him?

The rest of the night is spent inside one another here and there, until you both fall asleep in an exhausted heap of tangled limbs and messy blankets. The next morning you two get dressed and head for Temeria, Geralt wisely leaving Roach with the stable boy until you both come back to retrieve her, whenever that may be.

The hike to Temeria went rather smoothly, no one to bother you and the cold of the winter weather doing nothing to freeze you, considering you're practically immune to feeling cold, another wondrous perk of being half vampire.

As you walk out of the shadowy woodland you look up to see a large abandoned castle stout upon the top of a rocky hill, thick forest surrounding it. Looking ahead you notice as the trail suddenly dives into the earth, lamps held up by steel poles guiding the way in, but before this you stop to read over a poster pinned to a wooden pole.

"Temeria, realm of monsters and cowardly kings." You turn to Geralt with an amused smirk upon your face, "Well it's nice to know they don't hold anything back." You laugh before turning to walk down the descending trail, Geralt smiling as he watches you go.

Your time in the mines was a quick one, the miners and the kings men on the verge of a tiny battle that was stopped by Geralt's calm inquisition. The high guard or whoever the fuck, lead you and your Witcher out of the mines and into the shadowy snow covered woods, you're guessing with interior motives but nonetheless you follow.

As you're walking next to Geralt, with the kingsmen on their steeds to either side of you; all of a sudden you catch the scent of another being lurking in the shadows. Another heartbeat thudding in the night, then not even ten seconds later do the guards fall from their horses, enchanted by some sleeping spell. Geralt quickly pulls out his silver sword as you bare your opened hands, emitting crackling purple lighting from your fingertips, this is sorcery at play and you know just how to fight it if need be.

"You can put down your sword...and calm your lightning. I'm not here to hurt you." Speaks a woman's calm voice, her shadowed silhouette walking into view.

"Says the witch hiding in the woods." Mutters Geralt defensively, sword still held out in front of him as you slowly lower your hands, dissipating away the lightning. You can tell this mage has come with no ill intent, even if you don't adherently feel very fond of such beings, you're wise enough to understand that not all are terrible.

"Sorceress." Corrects the curly haired woman.

"Witch." He growls darkly, you lightly touch him on the shoulder, silently asking him to calm is unneeded anger, he slowly brings his sword to his side.

"Triss Merigold. I serve King Foltest." She serenely replies. A simple mage.

"So he makes a show of kicking us out...then sends his errand girl to slip me some coin so we kill his monster." Proclaims Geralt smartly, believing he's just figured her out.

"Not a very original plan for a king." You add, your brows furrowing in thought.

"It's my plan. My coin. And I don't want you to kill the beast. I want you to help me save it." Assures Triss.

"Save it?" You ask.

Wanting to hear more she takes you both into her area within the castle where she goes into more detail about the happenings in the woods. Geralt leans against a counter as you sit on a wooden table, the both of you facing Triss who stands by a desk and chair directly in front of you.

"Six years ago, stable hands statred vanishing at the castle above the city. Before long, citizens were disappearing throughout all Temeria. Foltest's royal guards soon realized the creature was coming from the crypt where the king's sister Adda is buried. Rumor has it she was having an affair with a young man in town when she died."

oh the drama, you wanted to laugh when she said that but wisely chose against that.

"Was she pregnant?" You finally ask, your curiosity getting the better of you. Maybe that's why this beast is killing people?

"If she were, that would make her child the sole heir to the throne as Foltest never married." Explains Triss as her expression changes to a thoughtful one, "The king fled the castle, ignoring the rising death toll. After Nilfgaard overthrew their king, the Brotherhood couldn't risk it happening again, so they sent me here three months ago to cure the creature."

"Vukodlaks are freak mutations." Says Geralt, mind reeling with what this creature truly is.

"They can't be cured." You add as Triss' brows furrow, "A vukodlak is a type of mutated werewolf, its a beast that conceptualizes in the womb of a dead woman, this woman however must be pregnant. It's rare, but it happens."

"How strange, maybe if I take you to the creatures latest victim then you might have some understanding as to what it actually is."

"Worth a try."

Triss leads you and Geralt through the pre-burial section under the castle where all the dead lay awaiting their final home in the ground. The place reeks of death, spices to mask the dead smell, and too many salts and herbs doing their part to delay the decomposition process.

"Two thousand orens if either of you can tell me what exactly killed these people." Says Triss as all three of you scan over the cloaked bodies laying on wooden tables.

"You didn't want the people to know that it bested a Witcher. And you let them believe that he fled with their coin." Mutters Geralt.

"You two clearly weren't acquainted." At the end of the long cavernous room does she stop at a stone tub of white salt and sand, you can smell the dead man underneath. You walk past both of them before standing in front of the tub.

Taking a breath, you reach down to wipe away the white sand until the caved in chest of the fallen Witcher is revealed. You stick your hand inside the opened chest cavity to gather a mental image of what could be missing. You look over at a curious Geralt, "His hearts missing along with his liver."

"Only one creature I know is that picky an eater. A striga." Explains Geralt while you remove your wandering hand from within the broken rib cage to wipe it off on your pants. You then turn back around to face Triss and Geralt, noting how the mages face begins morphing into that of befuddlement.

"Strigas are old wives' tales." She replies, not completely sure of herself.

You shrug, "They're very rare as are the vukodlak, but they can happen. However the only way to make one is through a curse." You add, crimson eyes trailing over the mutilated body of the dark haired Witcher. So this is really what became of that other Witcher, better him then Geralt, nonetheless he fought bravely.

"Someone wanted Adda dead." Realizes Triss as Geralt hums in agreement.

"But the curse didn't stop with Adda. It turned her daughter into a monster." Triss' head tilts in surprised puzzlement at your troubling knowledge.

"Her daughter?"

"Strigas are female. This striga's a princess." Concludes Geralt with a sigh, his gaze searching for your own perplexed expression as you turn around to face him and Triss who still looks rather disturbed.

"Well then, lets see if this king of yours is willing to let us help." You quip at Triss as you begin leading the way out of the large burial room. "Can't be that difficult now can it?"

——

"Miss Merigold, you were dispatched to settle a family affair, not to enlist a mutant mercenary and a rouge hybrid for a game of sleuthing." Argues one of the kings guardsmen as King Foltest hungrily rips apart a turkey leg, rather disgustingly if you're being honest. He even smells of meat and sweat.

"This is no game, Captain. Tonight is a full moon, Geralt and Y/N have already proved themselves to be invaluable. We believe we can cure the creature." Implores Triss urgently as she vouches for you, Geralt, and her pertinent point at hand. You just lean yourself against the rooms wallpaper as Geralt stands next to you, feeling a bit doubtful that she'll be able to convince any of them.

"You say she's a girl. Then you will refer to her as Her Royal Highness." Directs the kings guard before his other man, who instructed for you and Geralt to leave Temeria only yesterday, walks over to give his two cents.

"Segelin." He says introducing himself before continuing, "I believe urgency warrants flexibility in a court decorum. The Witcher's theory is nonsense. Princess Adda was the people's angel. Who'd wish to murder her?" Implores the man Segelin as his eyes wander over to you and then to Geralt, eyeing you both suspiciously.

"What about her lover?" You inquire, folding your arms over your leather armored chest.

"Seditious rumors. Idle courtesans trading out boredom for jealousy." Quickly replies the kings guardsman giving you a distasteful look.

"Perhaps if you'd call off your guards, if we were able to search the abandoned castle, we could find clues as to who cursed her." Explains Triss, attempting to convince the king. That's not a bad idea.

"Except, these two monster hunters would kill the princess as she sleeps, and collect the miners' coin." Argues Segelin as you simply roll your crimson eyes at the grey bearded man. What's got water up his breeches?

"Call her a princess. Call her a unicorn if you'd like to." Begins Geralt, "She grew inside Adda, feeding on her petrified womb."

"Have you no respect?!" Shouts the guardsmen defensively, the king just continues his gruesome assault on his turkey leg as he listens.

"Mutating. Growing for years till she got so hungry..." Geralt steps closer, the guardsmen laying a quick hand upon the hilt of his sheathed sword as Geralt continues unfazed, "she was forced to slither out. Rotten muscle, bent bones, two spidery legs, claws dragging in the dirt." You watch in satisfaction as the kings eyes flash with disgust. You've got him.

"An overgrown abortion." You add shrewdly, pushing yourself off of the wall as you walk next to the long table, the kings face cast down in deep thought as the other men throw you nasty glares.

"Enough." He snaps, setting down his half eaten leg of turkey.

"Your Highness?" Begins the loyal concerned guardsmen.

"Leave." Growls the king menacingly, his men nodding before making their way for the door, Triss, Geralt, and you following.

Opening up the door first, Geralt politely opens it, offering his hand for the others to follow out, you giving him a wink as you tail the guardsmen who's last to leave. As soon as you reach the doors entrance you quickly shove the guardsmen into the hallway before Geralt quickly shuts the doors on all of them, making sure to lock it as they shout their angry protests.

You listen to the pounding on the wood as you calmly walk past Geralt to the right side of the long table, leaning your hand onto the clothed wood as he casually rests an arm over a great oaken chair, opposite of the king.

"Who's the princess' father?" Immediately asks Geralt with a curious tilt of his head, the king glaring bitterly.

"My men will kill you two, bastards." He warns darkly, Geralt pulls his arm away from the chair to slowly approach him, you standing your ground while he walks past you.

Eyeing up the plump king, you slowly drag your fingers over the wood while taking small steps closer, "Your threats don't shake me, but it's funny...you learn your sister was murdered, and you didn't even flinch." Your sly remark has the king's eyes staring daggers at his roast turkey, while Geralt hums in agreement, walking himself towards a window before turning around to lean himself on a wooden cabinet as he faces the king.

"But the moment I mention the girl's father.." King Foltest purses his lips together, his eyes downcast onto the floor, "Why were you never married?" Questions Geralt smoothly, the king lets out a sigh as he leans back into his chair.

"You are speaking to a king." He proclaims with no heat is in his words, other then something else that he seems to be hiding from you both.

"That's exactly my point. Why not produce your own heir? Why not kill the striga and avoid this revolt? Why drag this all out?" Suggests Geralt, his brows furrowing together at the strange reason for everything that's happened. You walk over closer to the king, his beady eyes following you the whole time, you've already figured out the possible truth. And why must it be so disgusting too?

Raising an eyebrow, you reveal a small smirk to the glaring king, "Between the three of us, and I would dare not tell...who is the striga's father?" King Foltest appears to want to say something, almost willing to answer your question. But instead he looks to the window as he slowly rises from his seat, bringing his gaze back over to Geralt.

"I remember hearing stories about Witcher's when I was a child." He says, voice low and gravely while eying up Geralt, turning his sullen gaze upon you now, "And that of dhampirs. Is it true what they say? That you're neither living nor dead, unkillable but for silver?" Sneers the sweaty king, anger emitting from his every word, "That the mutations that grant Witcher's their...abilities. Also erase your emotions? Must be." He criticizes sharply eyeing the two of you with hate, "Cause only a person devoid of all heart could accuse a brother of bedding his murdered sister while urging him to kill her." Suddenly the doors burst open, a small handful of yelling guards racing in with their weapons bared, you don't even flinch as a second later the king throws a hand into the air, silently commanding them to halt.

He turns to you then back to Geralt, "Leave Temeria. Never return." His command is noted as Geralt gives him a nod before turning to walk out the door. You follow suit and smile at a nervous guard who looks like he might have just shit himself. The both of you silently walk out of the castle, deciding to make a new plan of attack.

——

Crouching on the roof of the abandoned castle as the wind and snow blows past your face, you slowly crawl closer to the front gates. Where two incredibly anxious guards converse about how much longer their post is until they may leave. Quietly you pull out a loose piece of the castles roofing, before chucking it into the direction of a crow where the bird and the ceiling make a loud rackety noise as they take off elsewhere. To your utter satisfaction the two nervous guards yell and book it down the cobblestone pathway and away from the castle.

Well that was easy enough.

Pleased with your harmless mischievousness, you decide to find your own way into the castle while Geralt takes the front entrance. You find a broken rotting part in the roofs wooden beamed structure where you then purposefully slip through, falling down to the floor, catching yourself at the very last moment as you levitate your body the rest of the way for a silent and painless landing.

The castle smells of mystery and dead rats as you walk quietly throughout the gloomy thing, suddenly your ears pricking to the sounds of Geralt and Triss rummaging around in someone's room down the hall. With a smirk upon your lips you stalk closer, listening to them speak about letters from Adda's mother as they both begin walking for the door.

As soon as you catch sight of Triss' oblivious face do you finally make yourself known, turning your skin the color of bluish pale grey, the whites of your eyes turning to black as your scarlet irises practically glow red. You hiss, baring your pearly white fangs, her face contorts into pure dreadful fear as she lets out a surprised scream. Geralt suddenly rushing to her side, his magic at the ready before his concerned face slackens to throw you an amused glare.

Cackling you turn back into your more presentable self, "You two find anything?" You wheeze as Triss gathers her bearings.

Breathing heavily she practically stares daggers at you, "Oh yes, just a fucking heart attack!" She breathlessly retorts, throwing you a harsh glare as Geralt walks past her. The corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk as he catches your entertained gaze, you smiling back at him like a fool in love.

"You're an ass." She mutters, shaking her head at you while she follows Geralt down the dreary shadowed hallway. An enthralled grin upon your beaming features as you tail behind them.

——

Once back inside Triss' lair of sorts within the castle walls, unbeknownst to King Foltest, the three of you let Segelin in on what they found in the ruined castle. He stands, eyes cast onto the letters, "A Queen Mother cursing her own children for their affair." He plops the old papers onto a table, "This could destroy the throne." He says dismally while leaning, both hands pressed to the wooden table.

"Sancia wanted Adda to get rid of the child." Says Geralt, concluding all that appears to be written down in those letters between Adda and her Queen Mother.

"It seems she refused. Repeatedly." Adds Triss while you all stare at the back of the man.

Segelin sighs, "And now she's taken that curse with her to the grave."

Triss clasps her hands together, "You've served the family for decades. Was Sancia involved in dark sorcery of any kind?"

He turns to look at her, "No. Of course not." His expression reveals no faults, yet you feel something is not right here. He's not nearly surprised enough about all of this.

Touching a dangling green plant that hangs out over a wooden cupboard, you raise a brow at him, "What was your relationship to Adda?"

He rests his hands casually against the long desk behind him, "Well, I like to think that she saw me as a confidant." He smiles, "And a protector, even. We used to talk at great length about her troubles. She could be very naïve."

"She ever mention her brother?" Asks Geralt from his place by the wall, a foot or so away from you and Triss' plants.

Segelin looks down at the letters, "Certainly not like this."

"She was ashamed." Says Triss as Segelin turns to face her.

"Or she was frightened. What if the relationship was not.." He pauses a moment like he can't even bring himself to say it, his eyes trail over the three of you, "..consensual?"

Geralt hums in thought at this indeed interesting bout of information, he looks to Segelin, "You think he raped Adda, then cursed the child to cover it up?"

"Well, kings have done more for less."

Geralt's eyes fall elsewhere, "True." He mutters as you mull over everything previously said. This doesn't sit right with you at all.

You take a step away from the plants, "There's only one wrinkle, though." Both Triss and Geralt watch as you stand almost threateningly in front of Segelin, they have not a clue what you're doing. The greying man eyes you nervously, you narrow your eyes at him, "Your scent was on her sheets."

Triss takes a step foreward, "Y/N?"

Your crimson eyes never leave him once, "Old ones...and new ones."

He leans away from you, "What would I be doing in a dead girl's bed?" He accuses, face shifted into a repulsed grimace. You lean in closer so that your mouth remains mere inches from his ear, he's visibly uncomfortable.

"I smelt what you were doing."

You move backwards to stand in from of the conflicted man, he says not a single word as you patiently wait for him to break. The moment lasts a couple seconds more, you can hear how loud his heart is pounding within his chest. His lip quivers, breathing increasing with anxiousness, "Foltest had no right!" Shouts the angered man while you scowl and step away, "He seduced Adda! Abused his position. He was always nagging her for attention. Always nagging! But he didn't love her....I did."

"You cursed the woman you loved?" Denounces Triss like a disappointed mother.

Segelin shakes his head, "I cursed Foltest, not her."

"Countless are dead because of your jealousy."

"Countless are dead because of Foltest!" Protests Segelin, "He spoiled Adda with his seed. He refuses to kill this striga. He lies to his people. And yet you wag your finger in my face."

"If you wanted him to suffer, you could have just exposed the affair." Counters Triss while the three of you stare down the heated man.

"And hurt Adda?" He says softly, "Never. Her memory will not be sullied, not while I'm alive to protect it." Geralt glances from you to him.

"Tell us how to lift the curse."

Segelin pauses a moment before looking defiantly up at your Witcher, "No. Foltest will watch as Temeria turns against him. Just as he turned Adda against me." Geralt hums in response.

Fed up with his excuses you walk up to him, he slightly cowers back before keeping straight again, a snobby expression upon his greying features before you crack him across the temple. Sending him falling to the ground in an instant as he plunges into unconsciousness.

"Y/N." You turn to face Triss.

"What? You were all thinking it."

——

Waiting atop the crumbling castle roof where this striga is soon to be, you watch from above as Geralt and King Foltest speak about how you and him will handle the princess. He gives the king Renfri's brooch as a gift for the princess incase Geralt does not live to see the light of day. You watch the king and his men finally leave, letting Geralt enter the dying castle as he looks up towards the roof for a second before turning his gaze for the wooden doors.

Taking the same route as earlier in the day, you soon find yourself in Adda's room. Segelin tied pathetically to the wooden beams of the dead princess' bed as your unwilling captive. Geralt brooding by the window as he thinks of what to do next, none of you truly having a solid clue as to what should be done about this royal striga. You watch when the greying man glares at you, blood smeared across his lips from your abrupt assault not even an hour ago.

"The both of you! This is madness!" He cries angrily, tugging at his cloth restraints, "What are we doing here? What's happening?" He wonders while searching desperately around the room for a nonexistent answer.

"How can we lift the curse." Mutters Geralt, his leather armored back to you and Segelin.

Segelin shakes his head, "No! This is not right. Foltest must pay for what he did." Whines Segelin once more, you simply fold your arms in irritation as the man looks to you for a sign that you care, which you most defiantly don't.

Rolling your eyes, you scowl at him, "You're already too blind to even comprehend your own faults. This is what you get for your childish actions." You mutter bitterly as he glares hopelessly at you, frustration clearly evident on his dirty face.

"Carry me out. I order you." Demands Segelin as Geralt turns around to face the desperate man. "Tell us how to lift the curse." He orders, Segelin huffs in frustration, avoiding Geralt's intimidating gaze.

In a blur of black and grey your hand is suddenly around his neck as his eyes go wide in stunned alarm, your squeeze isn't enough to choke him, but you're hopeful it's enough to change his mind. "I'd advise you to listen well, your life is already standing on the edge of a knife." You hiss maliciously in his ear before releasing him, he lets out a dramatic gasp as his wide eyes follow your every movement.

He turns his attention from you to Geralt as his mouth opens to finally answer, "Sh-She was hiding from the Brotherhood. She sold me a lamb....Sh-She told me to wait until a full moon, to wait and then to kill it." He stammers, Geralt crouching down to meet his eye level, "And then I recited some silly chant. And then I bathed in the lamb's blood until sunrise. Until the rooster crowed three times. And that is all. I swear. I swear. Now please let us leave." Begs Segelin desperately as he fruitlessly pulls against his constraints, your face falling into a frown, understanding immediately what this idiot has done.

"What was the chant?" Wonders Geralt, his brows furrowing in thought while he stares daggers at Segelin who looks down in frustration.

"Uh..It was years ago." Protests Segelin as he tries to think up the chant, "It was Elven. Um..." Suddenly he begins reciting an Elven curse, your eyes going wide in realization as Geralt shares a quick wary glance with you before racing over to his bag of potions, earning a confused expression from the bound man.

"Wh-what is it? The..I...I've done what's been asked. What more can I do?" He wonders in blissful ignorance as you let out a pissed off huff of air.

"You've done more than enough you perverted fool, unless you can keep a fucking striga out of her crypt until a fucking rooster crows three times." You snap while unsheathing your dagger, his face falling in frightened understanding as Geralt fumbles around with his potions, trying to find the right one to take before the action starts.

Segelin's eyes go downcast, his whole aurora turning to pure dread, "You're gonna have to fight it till dawn." He murmurs softly, staring at the far wall as Geralt downs a potion, his eyeballs turning into two pools of inky darkness. You turn, hastily walking for the door as Geralt quickly follows behind you.

"No. No. Come back here! Please. Please! You'd leave a man bound to die in such indignity?" He cries desperately, pulling on his restraints but to no avail.

"You're not a man." Growls Geralt as he takes his place by your side, the two of you walking down the dreary hallway as the snow falls lightly from outside the nearby broken windows, you catching the scent of the beast on the cool night air.

"Remember not to kill the princess, Y/N" Implores your Witcher with a smirk, you simply roll your eyes.

"We'll see if you can last till dawn my love, I don't doubt it." You retort, a suggestive tone hidden in your voice that's most definitely caught by Geralt.

The hallway breaks off into another section of the abandoned castle, you giving him a nod before turning in that direction, deciding it best to take on the royal beast from two sides if he gets caught up in some trouble. You silently walk down the dusty corridor past rotting wood and broken glass, cracked pieces of stone and the occasional human bones.

The enthralling shriek of the striga bellows throughout the castle walls, it's high pitched scratchy scream sounding like a knife that's stabbed you in the ears. Without another thought you race down the entrance-way towards the sounds of a great messy struggle, the princess has found Geralt, and she doesn't seem too pleased.

Turning round another stony corner, you halt dead in your tracks as your scarlet eyes zero in on the striga who's completely manhandling your Witcher, throwing him this way and that, deflecting every punch he's throwing at her. He suddenly rips a lamp from the wall and uses it to crack her across the side of her grotesque wrinkly head. She stumbles back at the violent impact, pain running throughout her body before she quickly recovers, hurling him backwards with a fiercely strong blow.

As Geralt falls onto his back you swiftly race down the hallway as the striga climbs on top of his armored body. She doesn't hear you coming, or when you electrocute her without warning, sending her flying into the nearby wall as she screeches in pain. You stop to help Geralt up, your right hand crackling with energy as he stands and glances down at the light emitting from it, then over to the pissed off princess. Who almost immediately recovers from her abrupt assault, she stands, her umbilical cord dragging as she stalks over towards the two of you.

In an instant she charges, a piercing scream sending your ears into agony at the frantic noise as Geralt lunges for her, grabbing her shoulders as he throws her against the brick wall.

For the next couple hours would you and Geralt take turns beating on the striga, down this hallway and that, into doors and wooden walls, crashing into cabinets and breaking more cracked windows through the struggle. Every fucking time she would recover and throw it back at you ten fold, like nothing had even happened in the first place.

Racing across the hall to Geralt's aid, you electrocute the royal beast just before she's about to bite into his exposed jugular, she falls back as you get closer, preparing to hopefully knock her ugly face unconscious for a while. You're slowly getting more and more fatigued with every couple minutes that fly by, this fucking striga giving you a real run for your money. No matter how much stamina you have.

But as you get within a few feet from her, she whips around, slashing you across the face with her razor sharp claws. Sending you flying into the wall as a hot stream of blood pours out of your freshly opened wounds. Dazed, you try and raise yourself from the ground and watch as Geralt gets pinned down by the striga once again. You blink back your blurry vision, painfully raising your hand as lightning brightly emits from your opened palm and fingertips just as Geralt uses his magic to break the stone flooring from right out under him.

Himself and the striga immediately falling through the broken floor and straight to the crypts below. Rising to your feet, you can feel as your facial wounds begin to fuse the skin back together again, your injury a thing of the past except for the strips of blood that mark it's path.

You hastily limp over to the hole in the ground, looking down to find Geralt laying in the rubble before slowly getting up. Without another thought, you jump down, landing hard on a pile of rocks as the unconscious striga lays motionless next to you. Pulling yourself up from the wreckage, you tiredly shuffle over to the center of the room as Geralt puts an enchantment onto the doorways so that the creature cannot escape.

"I don't know about you but I could think of ten different ways we could have spent tonight." You jest, breathing heavily as you hold onto your aching side, Geralt hums in reply before turning around and freezing, his face morphing into wariness as he gives you a concerned look. You turn around to see what's bothering him, only to find absolutely nothing, which is most definitely the problem.

"Oh fuck." You whisper as Geralt cautiously walks over to you, the both of you looking around the room as you stand back to back.

You hear a dull rapid thudding of a heartbeat before suddenly the striga jumps down from the crumbling ceiling to pounce at Geralt, she lands, whipping her hand across your chest as she picks him up, throwing him into the nearby stone pillar. You stumble back at the abrupt impact, watching as Geralt gets his ass beat by the pissed off striga, it throws him into another pillar, quickly turning around to race for the open doorway. But before it can get through, the white force field knocks her back, she snaps around once more shrieking in rage, bolting on all fours towards Geralt.

You pull your bruised and tired body onto your feet, reaching your hands out to send volts of hot white lightning into the vessel of the striga, sending her into a cruel stone pillar as she screeches in misery. When you look to your left a beautiful streak of orange sunrise emits from an opened spot in the roof, you breath heavily as the striga and Geralt take notice of the sunlight. Your eyes go wide as the creature races for the safety of her dirty crypt, you trailing behind her as Geralt jumps to his feet to follow.

Your boots pound against the gravely stone of the abandoned crypts as you valiantly throw yourself onto the furious princess while she attempts to launch herself into her resting place, she falls into the wall as your hands smack onto the cracked floor.

"Get in the fucking crypt!" You scream at Geralt as he makes a mad dash for the opened tomb, heeding to your rushed words without a second thought.

You watch as he falls into the stony coffin and shutting it just as the striga launches herself onto the thing, her cries and horrid wails sounding noisily throughout the large drafty room. Picking up a fist sized rock you chuck it at her, cracking her perfectly across the back of her grotesque head.

"Your royal pain-in-the-ass, come and get me." You taunt, lightning crackling from your fingertips as the angry princess snaps her attention to you.

She jumps down and immediately pummels you into the rocks as you send harrowing sparks of electricity into her body that thankfully throws her backwards, your vision going blurry once again. Gods your head hurts. Dark spots cloud your sight as you rest on the rocks in exhaustion, your side most definitely hurting as your eyes flutter closed.

You awaken to the sounds of Geralt as he opens up the tomb and steps out to walk over towards the princess, a concerned and astonished expression crossing over his dirty features. Pushing some ruble from your legs you finally stand and slowly walk down the small stairway as Geralt leans down to see if the princess is actually okay, considering her naked mud covered self is facing away from you both.

You can hear as her heartbeat picks up in pace, but before you're able to warn him, the princess turns around and in a confused rage pins him to the ground just as she sinks her teeth into the side of his neck. She falls back in fear as Geralt's pained gaze finds your own bloody face while you race to his side. Your eyes going wide as he lays upon the stony ground, blood seeping out from his mouth and ripped neck as you try and put pressure on it.

Tears slowly begin building up in your shimmering irises, "No. No. No...Geralt, look at me...look at me." You desperately plea as his golden eyes try and stay open for you, but he's slipping as more blood spurts out from his wounds, "Don't you fucking leave me you prick, not now of all times, or places. Geralt!" You cry as his eyelids flutter shut, his breathing slowing down as you try and cover his bleeding neck the best you can, not sure what to do. If you leave and try to get help he'll bleed to death, but if you stay then his chances are less grim but still uncertain.

Your mind swirls with what's the best course of action when suddenly you hear the rushed steps of Triss coming to your aid, and just in the nick of time.

——

Leaning yourself into the welcoming comfort of Triss' plush lounge chair, you watch as she mixes some more healing ingredients into a marble bowl at her work counter. You touch the side of your torso where a white linen wrap tightly hugs around your aching side where you fell on Geralt's silver sword. It throbs under your soft touch, but due to your immaculate healing capabilities your wounds will not bother you in a couple days time.

Turning your head lazily to the right to find a sleeping Geralt laying on the bed, recovering from his own injuries, you idly smile at his peaceful yet considerably less dirty form. Suddenly his eyes fly open, a puzzled expression upon his handsome features as Triss calmly turns around.

She smiles fondly at him, "Your scars. You heal quite nicely, if not for Y/N's blood you would most certainly be dead." She concludes knowingly as Geralt gives her a confused look, "She dropped some of her blood into your wounds to speed up the healing process. It was more effective then I had first realized." He turns to face you, a relieved sigh escaping from his parted lips.

You smile back at him, "Don't worry about the princess, she'll be fine, Triss has arranged for her to stay with the Sisters of Melitele." You chime in with a shrug, "Also she had her first bath."

"You should know Foltest issued a statement. The honorable Lord Ostrit gave his life to slay the vukodlak. Miners are gathering ore for a statue." Adds Triss with a grin as Geralt attempts to get up, "Anyone else would've killed the princess. You both chose not to." She finishes as Geralt painfully rises into a sitting position, a grimace upon his sweaty face.

"We'll take our coin now. I need to get back to my horse." Grunts your eager Witcher as he sits on the side of the bed, pressing his hand against his wrapped torso. Triss only grins in reply, walking over to hand him the leather sack of coins. He quickly takes it with a nod, Triss turning to flash you a knowing smile before excusing herself from the area.

Turning to Geralt with a frown, you search for his eyes as they glance around the room before landing on you, "Lay down you idiot, I watched you bleed out and go as pale as a ghost." You lightly argue, he sets the coins onto the makeshift bed as he finds your frowning gaze once more, "If I hadn't been there to give you some of my blood...fuck...you'd be dead. So don't you dare try and get up or I'll give you a reason to be in pain."

His stern face suddenly breaks out into an amused grin, "I'd rather not face your wrath my dear, although I wouldn't mind a couple more hours here if you decide to lay next to me." He suggests with pleading eyes, ones that know exactly how to win you over.

Leaning into the soft back of your seat, you cross your arms over your chest, "You're sweating, honestly still smell a bit, and your sheets are stained with blood..." You add with an inquiring raise of your brow, "How could I ever say no to such an alluring offer?" He breaks out into a beaming smile at your humored words, his heart just about fluttering in his muscular chest as you suddenly rise to your feet, walking over to him before crawling over to his other side near the wall. You turn to face him, a hand propped up against your head while you watch him lay down once again. His back touches the mattress as he turns his head to face you, a blissful smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Yes. That's the face right there, the suave steely golden eyes that I've fallen in love with. No matter how beat up you get...you still make me feel things."

"What kind of things, hmm?" He wonders with a lazy smirk as he watches your face break out into a small smile.

Trailing your delicate touch over his old scars, you look over to him with tired eyes, "Things I wouldn't even dare share with the very stars in the sky, nor the moon herself. And I tell her everything." You muse before leaning over to kiss his exposed shoulder. You listen as he hums in delight while you scoot yourself close enough that your whole body is flush against his, "Just sleep for now, love. You've had quite the rough night...and that's putting it lightly. I honestly thought for a moment that...that uh...I might have lost you." He searches for your hand, holding it tightly as a small way to comfort you while he locks eyes with your own downcast ones.

"I wouldn't dare think of ever leaving you alone in this world, not for a second. Y/N you mean more to me then all the coins and jewels combined, more then...uh..."

Laughing you shift your face to gently kiss his bare shoulder before looking up at him once again, "Geralt, there's not a lot of things that you love. That's honestly some short list you've got there...but it matters not, I'm your favorite person in the world and that's all I need to know."

He smiles adoringly at your closing eyes, sleep tenderly calling to you by the second as you hug him closer. He stays silent, wanting to listen to the calming thumps of your relaxed heart beat as your mind drifts into slumber. Closing his own tired eyes, he finally lets sleep take him into darkness where no monsters of any kind wait to hurt him. He's safe in your arms as you're safe in his, the two of you blissfully enjoying one another's company after a taxing hunt.

-

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

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I also believe Theodred was a harmless, pleasant guy who liked fast horses and pretty women, but wasn't much interested in kinging. I think, maybe, when he died, a lot of people in Rohan legitimately mourned him, but were secretly saying 'oh, thank fuck' because they knew Eomer would do a proper job of it.

I’m right there with you! I think Theodred was a bit of a playboy who was nice but you know, not meant to be king. And, exactly as you said, not interested in being king.

Not that Eomer doesn’t have his laddish, bro side - he absolutely does - but I get way more of a sense of duty and intention to be a Good Leader and Protector of his people than what little we know of Theodred.

Thank you for the ask!! ❤️❤️

[sadoeuphemist]

Stories I thought about writing, but didn’t:

my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.

A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.

Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.

I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment 

The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?

There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.

A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2)  to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.

Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.

The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.

“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”

This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?

They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?

They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.

You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.

Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.

Me? A sadist? Hardly.

You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.

They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.

You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!

(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)

He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.

Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.

None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order. 

Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.

When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.

Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)

I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.

After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.

The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.

Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.

Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.

I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:

Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.

They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.

More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?

At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.

After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.

Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.

And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”

[theladyofdeath]

The Ranch {8}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

A/N: We love that you guys have been loving this so much! Please continue to let us know what you’re thinking. We loved writing this fic, and your love means the world to us. 

The Ranch Masterlist

Cassian didn’t see or hear from Nesta for the rest of the day. He saw her in the main house around dinner time, but decided he would let her cook in peace. He didn’t know what kind of demons had reared their ugly heads at her today, but whatever had happened between Nesta and Tomas Motherfucking Mandray had screwed with her so badly that he barely recognized the woman he found in the paint department today.

He remembered Nesta from high school, had known that she had dated Tomas then. But, he didn’t know much. At least, not about Nesta. As for Tomas, however, he and Cassian went way back, and none of their interactions had ever been pleasant. Tomas had always been a self-absorbed little bitch. He hated Tomas.

And he had hated him even more when he walked into the paint aisle and saw how fucking terrified Nesta had been.

Yet, he wasn’t going to push her to talk about it. She would come to him when she was ready. Maybe. Hopefully. Either way, Cassian had convinced himself that it was none of his business. 

Even if he really, really wanted it to be his business. 

As night approached, Cassian made sure all the horses were ready for bed, and all the cattle were where they were meant to be. He whistled for Beau to follow him into the cabin and, the good pup he was, Beau obeyed. Once inside, he slumped into the recliner and checked his phone.

There was a text from Rhys that read, Being engaged is fucking awesome. It ended with three flame emojis. Cassian found the text as a whole repulsive and unnecessary.

There was a text from Azriel, too, that read, Drinks on Friday? Elain is working all night.

Cassian dismissed it, making a mental note to reply in the morning.

Then, he had one last text.

From Nesta.

Thanks for today. Sorry I spaced out.

He read the text once, twice, three times before finding the nerve to reply. Anytime, he wrote. He wanted to write something else, anything else, wanted to add a fucking speech at the end of the one-worded text, but he decided against it.

He pressed send.

It wasn’t two minutes later that he got a reply. You should be sleeping. You’ll have to wake up early to get on the stables, won’t you?

Cassian chuckled to himself. Maybe. But you have to be up early to do your makeup before you finish the landscaping, he replied.

Her reply wasn’t as quick this time, the dancing dots disappearing every so often. But when his phone finally vibrated while he was brushing his teeth, he laughed out loud.

Don’t act like it takes me more time to do my hair than it takes you to do yours. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those man buns are a little TOO perfect sometimes.

He replied with no hesitation. Glad to know you’re looking at my man buns.

He swore that he could feel her eyes roll from across the property. Goodnight, Sexy Ranch Hand.

Goodnight, beautiful.

He sent the text, hoping it would bring her a little bit of joy, a little bit of comfort, but then, when she didn’t reply, he grew nervous.

He felt he was walking a fine line with Nesta, ever since she scolded him for being his boss.

His hesitation didn’t last too long, though, because his phone vibrated the minute he climbed into his bed. The text was short, but it gave him comfort.

A smiley face emoji greeted him as Beau climbed up on the bed beside him.

He slept good that night, smiling stupidly to himself as he snuggled up next to Beau. And when morning came, he felt completely refreshed.

He was up and getting dressed with a cup of coffee at four, and as sunrise approached, Cassian grabbed a bag by the door and he and Beau were walking out into the cool, muggy summer morning. It wouldn’t be long until the sun was beating down, drenching him in sweat.

Instead of heading toward the stables, Cassian went across the grass and the gravel driveway, and up the steps of the tiny, modern house that sat there. 

He pounded on the door and Beau stayed in the yard, chasing his tail. 

No answer.

He pounded his fist on the wood once more.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Cassian kept knocking, and didn’t stop. He pounded repeatedly on the door for at least thirty seconds when the door was thrown open, and Nesta stood there, looking like she wanted to set him on fire.

“What the hell?” She asked, voice raspy, hair a mess, body wrapped in a crocheted blanket. 

“Rise and shine,” Cassian grinned. “Go on. Get dressed.”

Her eyes narrowed as she flipped on the porch light. Cassian lit up as she groaned from the brightness of it.

“You wanted to learn how things are done around here,” Cassian laughed. “Well, I start at sunrise, ever day.”

Nesta rubbed her eyes and snorted. “Unless you’re hungover.”

Cassian grinned. “Fair enough. Alright, go on, get dressed, I’ll wait.”

Nesta sighed but didn’t protest as she took a step back. 

“Oh,” Cassian said, before she could close the door on him. “Here.”

He held out the bag.

She blinked. “What is that?”

“I kept telling you,” he said, shaking the bag until she took it. “You own a ranch. You need a pair of boots.”

“You...bought me boots?”

Cassian shrugged as she took the bag and shoved his hands into his pockets. “With your sisters’ help. Consider it your welcome home gift.”

Nesta was speechless as she slowly went back into her little house.

She didn’t bother closing the door, so Cassian stepped inside as she went back into her bedroom.

He looked around, although there wasn’t much inside. He noticed Elain’s old furniture, that he had helped move in upon Nesta’s arrival.

“Hopefully they fit,” Cassian said as he went to the little fridge in the kitchen and looked at the pictures that covered it. “I may have snuck a glance at your sneakers the other day when you weren’t looking to check for size.”

Nesta’s quiet laughter flooded through the hall. “Creep.”

Cassian grinned to himself as he studied a picture of the girls when they were young, smiling with their mother. Cassian had never met her. She died years before Isaac had hired him.

Nesta came out a minute later, and even in the dim lamplight, Cassian was breathless.

Her hair was pulled back in a high point tail. She wore jeans, a tank top, and an old flannel shirt, which remained open.

And her boots, which fit nicely.

“Okay, stop staring,” Nesta muttered. “I realize you’ve never seen me in boots and it’s shocking.”

Cassian cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded. “They look nice.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and her boots thumped toward the front door. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, let’s do this.”

Cassian allowed himself to watch her walk out the door and down the steps before he followed her out.

————

“Harder.”

Cassian grunted.

“Harder.”

He groaned, but did as he was told.

“Harder!”

Cassian was out of breath, but he said, “This is as hard as it gets, I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, but still managed to roll her eyes. “I want you to try harder.”

He grunted and said, “Okay, okay, put it down. Stop pushing.”

They both moved away from the enormous roll of hay they’d been trying to roll through the south pasture. It had rained overnight, nearly doubling the weight of the hay and Cassian had suspected he needed a little more muscle than what Nesta had to offer.

“I’ll have to call Rhys,” Cassian said, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. Nesta was folded at the waist, her hands braced on her knees.

“No, we can-.” She stopped to breathe. “We can do it. We got this”

He chuckled, “Nes, that hay weighs over 5 times your weight. We absolutely do not got this.”

Her lips tightened as she sized up the roll of hay. “We-.”

“Nesta,” Cassian breathed, laughing quietly. “It’s not a big deal. Your ability to move a roll of hay doesn’t dictate your ability to run a ranch. Well, own it, I run it.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth. “You’re incredibly annoying.”

“I know,” he grinned, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, once more. Nesta’s eyes lingered a little bit too long on his abdomen, just above the waistband of his jeans, which were hanging loosely on his hips. He didn’t seem to notice as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Rhys. “Rhys will be over soon, I’m sure, he has the day off. Unless your sister kept him up all night.”

Nesta scrunched her nose. “No need to reference my sister’s sex life.” 

Cassian’s grin widened as he put his phone back into his pocket. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Nesta stilled, and her hesitation made him howl.

“I meant on a horse, Nesta,” he said, unable to control his laughter. “Calm down.”

“Asshole,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were red, both from the sun they’d been in all day and the blush now tipping her ears as well. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I don’t have a horse. I’m okay.”

Cassian had an eyebrow raised. “You actually have eight.”

“I have-.” Nesta paused. “Oh. You’re right.”

 But not Phoenix.

“Hey.” Cassian’s voice was soft and she looked up, not expecting him to be so close. His hazel eyes were the color of the forest floor. As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “You’ll never be able to replace him, Nes. You’ll never get back that bond with him. But that doesn’t mean you can’t build another bond with another horse.”

He was right, of course, but she hadn’t been on a horse in nearly a decade. The thought alone terrified her. Yes, she was beginning not to mind being back in Velaris, had even started enjoying herself while working on the B&B, but to ride again? She wasn’t sure if she was ready for such a huge step.

And it was.

A massive step.

Yet, Cassian’s eyes were so full of hope, and the way they watched her, so softly, Nesta couldn’t say no.

Didn’t want to say no.

“Okay,”  she breathed. “Fine.”

Cassian slowly shook his head. “I need to hear you say it with a little more enthusiasm.”

Nesta pursed her lips and shoved him in the shoulder, which only made his cocky ass grin return.

“Come on,” she said, heading in the direction of the dilapidated stalls the horses stayed in. She walked about twenty feet before she realized he wasn’t walking with her. “What?”

Cassian chuckled. “You really were tired this morning, weren’t you?”

Nesta blinked. “You banged on my door at, like, three in the morning. Of course I was tired.”

“Okay, first of all, it was four thirty,” he said, laughing. “Second, follow me.”

Nesta wasn’t sure exactly how she’d missed it. He was right, she must have been half asleep to miss the framework nestled back into the trees between their two houses.

But this was not the basic stable and tack room she’d described to him. 

No, this building was going to be massive.

“There are going to be sixteen stalls,” Cassian said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “The tack room is going to be on that side,” he indicated to the right. “And the lodge, will be to the left.”

“The lodge?” Nesta asked, turning to look at him. “Figured it might be nice to have a little getaway out here. If you don’t like it, I can scrap it from the plans, make this a second tack room or storage area.”

But Nesta wasn’t listening, she’d turned back to the massive framework of beams in front of her.

She breathed, “Cassian, it’s perfect.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s going to take me a while to finish-.”

“Tell me what you need and it’s yours.” There was no hesitation to her words. “We can even hire someone to help, if you want.”

Cassian chuckled, softly. “That’s okay. I got it. If I need help, I’ll ask Rhys and Az. They’ll be more than happy to help when they can.” 

“I can’t believe you…” Nesta shook her head, and looked at him. “Put so much thought into it.” 

He shrugged. “You asked for updated stables. I just did what I’m told.”

“You really do love this place, don’t you?” Nesta asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, meeting her gaze. “I had a bad reputation, from a lot of stupid shit I did when I was younger. Your dad really took a chance on hiring me, but I’m grateful every day that he did. He gave me a sense of purpose, when I thought I didn’t have one.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, and did not back down from his gaze as she said, “I’m grateful, too. That you’re here. I’d be completely lost without you.”

Cassian’s eyes softened, and she thought he was going to say something sweet, but then he said, “Yeah...all the other ranchers in this town aren’t as sexy as me, so, you really did luck out.”

“Oh, cauldron boil me,” Nesta groaned and Cassian put his arm around her shoulder and steered her towards the house, towards the shed where the saddles and other tack was kept.

“Ahhh, I didn’t want it to get too sappy.” He said, grinning down at her. “But now, we’re gonna see if you’re really worth your salt on this ranch.” He stopped in front of the shed and unlocked the padlock.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Nesta asked, not so subtly watching the way his back muscles moved under the blue t-shirt he wore.

He turned and Nesta cleared her throat and looked at him. He had a lead rope in his hand.

“Time to go catch you a horse, Nesta Archeron.”

——————

As the sun was setting, Nesta and Cassian walked back from the pasture, laughing.

“I had no idea that you were the one that released the dissection frogs!” Nesta said, locking the gate behind them. “Was it in protest of animal cruelty or something?”

Cassian thought for a second. “No, but if I had gotten caught, that probably would have been a better excuse than the one I would have gone with.”

Nesta chuckled. “Which was?”

He smirked and said, “Because I got bored.”

Nesta froze and watched him walk the rest of the way to the shed. “You let over four hundred frogs loose because you were bored?”

He put the ropes back in their place and locked the shed up. “Yup.” The grin on his face told her he, indeed, was proud of himself. And she was grinning, too.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you want to come have dinner with me?”

Cassian’s eyebrows raised. “Tonight?”

“Tonight, tomorrow night, whenever.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as a casual offer, and not that asking had filled her stomach with butterflies as strongly as it had when she had her first kiss. “We can meet for dinner in the main house every night. There’s no need for us to both cook.”

His smile returned, but it was softer. “I’d like that.”

They headed back around the front of the house, Cassian rattling off his favorite foods, most of which consisted of red meat and starches. When they came around the corner, Nesta froze.

Cassian’s words trailed off as he stopped beside her. A little black truck had pulled up, old and rusty. But the girl that came out of that little, rusty truck was stunning.

Nesta looked over at Cassian, to see if he recognized the young woman.

And, oh, he definitely did.

“Emerie,” he said, uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come by to say hello,” she crooned, grin wide. Then, she seemed to notice Nesta for the first time. “Oh. Who are you?”

Nesta blinked, then realized she was being spoken to. “I own this property.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes growing wide with recognition. “Your Isaac’s oldest? Wow.” She looked Nesta up and down, and the gesture had Nesta seeing red. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Emerie.”

“I’ve heard,” Nesta muttered.

Cassian was fiddling with the hem of his shirt when he said, “You know, we’re a little busy, Em, why don’t you come back later?”

“Later works,” she said, sliding her hands in her back pockets. “I was going to see if you wanted to have dinner, too, but it seems like you’re...taken care of.”

Cassian cleared his throat and said, “Nesta and I were just-.”

“Just finishing up for the day,” Nesta interrupted. She turned to Cassian and the warm, playful nature he’d seen emerging earlier had gone cold. “Thanks for showing me the ropes. I really appreciate it.” She began up the porch steps and Cassian reached for her hand. He gently gripped her fingers.

“Nesta, wait, let me explain. It’s-,” he dragged his hand down his face, the callouses catching on his stubble. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“I fell for that once before,” she whispered, her fingers tightening in his. “I won’t fall for it again.”

A look of confusion crossed Cassian's face, but his hand dropped. Emerie had gotten the hint, had gotten back up into her truck and was backing out.

“Are you jealous?” He asked, and it was almost anger that replaced the spark in his hazel eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not jealous,” Nesta snapped. “But it’s really inappropriate-“

“If you say that word one more time, Nesta, I swear on the fucking cauldron-.” Cassian’s words faded away and he raked his fingers through his long, tangled hair. “Must I remind you that you didn’t want me?”

There it was.

The words hung between them as complete silence consumed them, Emerie’s old truck driving away the only thing to be heard.

Nesta stared down at him, hurt written plainly across her face.

Hurt.

He had expected her to be jealous of Emerie, but he didn’t expect to see pain roiling in the depths of her eyes.

“Nesta, I-.”

She cut him off. “Did you lie to me?”

He blinked up at her, the sunset making her hair glow. “What?”

“That night, I asked you point blank if you had a girlfriend,” Nesta said, voice wavering. “You said no.”

“No,” Cassian said, eyes growing hard. “I have never lied to you, Nesta, I’m not a fucking liar. Emerie’s just a friend. She comes by every now and then. I haven’t seen her in months. She only comes by when she wants something.”

“Sex?” Nesta asked, before she could stop the word from tumbling out of her mouth. 

Cassian shook his head, ignoring the short question altogether. “It doesn’t fucking matter. But, I’ve never lied to you. And, if you think I would lie to you….fuck.”

She could see the anger brewing inside of him, could see the frustration, but Nesta didn’t care, because she was pissed. And yet, she had no reason to be. He was right. She had turned him down. She had no right to care. 

She was hurt, though.

And that hurt grew when she saw the hurt, saw the anguish, in his own eyes.

“I didn’t lie,” he repeated, looking away from her, out toward the pastures. “I’m a lot of things, Nesta, but I’m not a liar.”

She knew he wasn’t, knew it in every fiber of her being.

She hadn’t even been back in Velaris for a month, had just started to open up to the complicated man in front of her. Day and night, he always found a way to creep into her thoughts, into her dreams. But she couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, couldn’t afford to get tangled up with the man she couldn’t get off of her mind, no matter what she may want.

Not when her father's dream was on the line.

So Nesta closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that has silently started slipping down her cheeks.

She turned her back to him, and hurried up the stairs of the main house.

Cassian was calling her name, but she forced herself to keep walking, to open the door, enter the house, shut herself inside.

She leaned against the slab of wood, stayed their as her eyes filled with tears, even as Cassian knocked on the other side.

“Nesta,” he said, voice calm, quiet, broken. “Hey, open up, come on.” He knocked again.

Nesta didn’t move.

She stayed there, leaning against the door, listening to him knock, listening to him beg.

But no matter what he said, Nesta didn’t open the door.

[jaskiersvalley]

This blog is fairly new and you’re one of the first I’ve found that I hadn’t already with an old blog. I love your work. It’s very well written. 💜

Thank you! When you sent this ask, it was a fairly new blog (to be fair, I still think of it as such, it’s not even 6 months old). As a little thank you for being so encouraging so early in the life of this blog, please accept this random little story: Geralt the accidental gardener.

The Path was lonely without Jaskier. Geralt had grown to hate the silence, the way people turned away from him without the buffer of Jaskier between him and humanity. But Jaskier was off on better adventured now, Geralt had to hurt him so he’d realise at long last that there was a better life for him out there than one beside a witcher. It had hurt, Jaskier’s expression had burned into Geralt’s mind, the crushing disappointment and realisation that Geralt wasn’t going to come crawling back. But oh how Geralt had wanted to run after Jaskier, beg his forgiveness. Alas, this was the very act of being cruel to be kind. Maybe one day Jaskier would realised.

Contracts were few and far between but the lands Geralt had roamed of late hadn’t been too hostile towards an infamous witcher. There was even a contract advertised in a lesser court not too far. Geralt made his way to Lettenhove and was ushered into a hall where the Viscount and Viscountess greeted him.

“I’m here about the job,” Geralt announced, not beating around the bush. Nobody ever wanted a witcher in their courts, no matter how small their power was. As expected, he was given a hesitant once over.

“Do you have experience?” It was the Viscountess who spoke up, looking only slightly unnerved.

“Yes.” There was no point for Geralt to prove his worth, they either wanted him to deal with their issue or they would suffer until another witcher graced their courts with his presence.

“Then it is settled. Room and food are part of your contract. Reydan will show you to your quarters and tomorrow he will give you a tour. Your horse will be welcome in the stables of course.”

That was a much warmer and pleasant contract negotiation than Geralt had ever had. Even when he heard the Viscount mutter “you sure about this?” and the Viscountess’ “we owe him this much” which made Geralt frown in confusion. Maybe the Viscountess was one of those who hoped to bed a witcher for the novelty of it. That was Jaskier’s forte though, not Geralt’s, he tried not to tangle with anyone in a relationship.

The room Geralt was shown to was in the servants’ quarters and actually nicer than anything he’d ever had. Even Kaer Morhen paled in comparison. His window overlooked the garden to start with. And the bedding wasn’t torn or moth eaten. In fact, it looked barely used at all. The Viscountess was almost definitely a monster fucker. Geralt would do the job and get out as quickly as possible before things got awkward.

Settled into the room for the night, Geralt was surprised when Reydan knocked for him, inviting him to the servants’ dinner for the evening. It was strangely nice, being surrounded by humans who, while a little wary, were doing their best to be welcoming and friendly. They treated him like one of their own. For the first time in a very long time, Geralt felt at ease amongst humans.

Morning came sooner than expected and Geralt groaned, pulling his armour on, strapping his swords to his back, ready for Reydan to take him to where the beast was. He didn’t expect to be given a baffled look by Reydan but be led into the garden without comment. Various plants were pointed out, rose bushes, a vegetable garden, arches of wisteria and so many others that Geralt had never even heard of. It was all very nice but he couldn’t figure out what this had to do with monster killing. Maybe those were the plants the monster liked? Or the ones he was to avoid while battling the creature that haunted the gardens? The answer came as they walked through the front gardens and stopped to admire an apple tree. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a sign being removed from the front of the property.

Gardener wanted

Oh fuck. Somehow the Viscount and Viscountess had assumed he was there for the gardener position and not the creature killing one. They took one look at him and, despite his inhuman looks, swords and general demeanour, they decided he couldn’t possibly be a witcher but rather an unusual gardener.

“That is about all that you’ll be responsible for.” Reydan finished up and looked over Geralt. “Do you have anything more suitable to work in? Leather tends to get too warm. And we have pruning shears which are more efficient than swords.” Laughing awkwardly, Reydan gave Geralt a small smile. “And I don’t think I ever caught your name, I’m so sorry.”

This was a crossroad in Geralt’s Path. He could either declare this had been some great mistake and he was here for the monster. It would be awkward, he’d be sneered at, ostracised and thrown out for taking their resources, even if by mistake. He’d still kill the monster but probably to take his frustrations out rather than for coin. Or, he could lay his swords down for a while. The world was tiring and disappointing. One evening in the company of people who treated him as an equal had been invigorating and, selfishly, Geralt wanted more.

“I’m Eric,” he said, quietly sending a “fuck you” to Vesemir who had denied him the name.

Gardening, Geralt realised was more difficult than he had ever thought if would be. Knowing what to cut when and how, which trees needed what compost or how much water was beyond him. Geralt tried his best though, tried to watch what everyone else was doing. Thankfully, Reydan had been kind enough to find him some dungarees and a floppy, wide brimmed hat to work in. He had been absolutely right, such work in his leathers would have been worse than uncomfortable.

Miraculously, none of the plants in his care died. Sometimes it looked like a close call, Geralt fretting that he’d cut something at the wrong time or the wrong way but, somehow, the plants survived his inexperience. Even better, the other servants and staff seemed to genuinely warm to him. The few times he encountered the Viscount or Viscountess, they nodded and smiled at him, only once enquiring how he was settling in. As well as food and room, Geralt was granted a weekly wage which might have been meagre but it was more and steadier than he had ever had before. While he was loath to spend it, he found that it built up into a tidy little stash at a surprising speed. Soon, Geralt was going to be the richest witcher in existence.

To keep his skills sharp and also repay the kindness of those around him, Geralt secretly sneaked out at nights and on his days off to slay local monsters. It was both to keep his newfound job safe and also to feel that he hadn’t quite given up on being a witcher. Merely, he was taking an unofficial hiatus.

Months down the line, Geralt was cutting roses for the dinner hall bouquet when a murmur went up around him. He couldn’t see the cause of it but the words were easy enough to hear.

“He’s back!”

“The little master is home!”

“He’ll be so happy we followed his request.”

While Geralt didn’t get a glimpse of the ‘Little Master’, everyone seemed to be cheered by his appearance. In fact, the whole court was in a bubbling upheaval. A feast was ordered and all servants were invited to take part in the meal in the main hall to celebrate. Curious, Geralt let himself be playfully bullied into attending too. He didn’t quite blend in with the rest of the servants but the crowd was almost large enough to swallow him. It was nowhere near enough though when he walked in and sat at the high table with the Viscount and Viscountess was none other than Jaskier who was staring right back at him.

Noting their staring, the Viscountess scowled at Jaskier then rose, dragging what was so evidently her son behind her.

“Julian,” she said, stopping in front of Geralt. “While you’ve been away, we’ve hired a new gardener. This is...Eric.”

“Eric?” Jaskier looked incredulous.

“Yes. He has been with us for a few months. Eric, this is my son, Julian. He’s often away, travelling the continent as a bard.”

Sudden bright, clear laughter broke out from Jaskier, head tipped back, eyes creased and mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “Can we stop this charade. Geralt, what the fuck? Mother, this is the bastard who broke my heart.” Without any warning, he swept Geralt into a hug. “You fell off the face of the continent without anyone knowing what had happened. Eskel and Lambert mourned for you, you bastard.”

At least the Viscountess looked relieved rather than anything else. “You asked us, Julian, that if any witcher ever came, especially one with white hair, we would make sure to give them respite. So we did.” Sniffing daintily, she looked at Geralt. “No offence Eric, Geralt, whatever, but you make a shit gardener. Poor Reydan had to sneak around after you to try and keep the plants you butchered alive.”

Jaskier laughed even more at that and a few of the braver servants crowded closer, listening. Geralt looked at them all, the ones he had been able to call his friends for the last few months. They all knew he was a witcher and yet welcomed him with open arms just because Jaskier had asked his parents to help. All in all, Geralt felt rather foolish.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll leave immediately.”

A hand shot out to grab his arm. “Or you could stay.” Jaskier said.

“Just please, spare the plants.” That was Reydan interrupting, giving Geralt a friendly slap on the back. More of the servants echoed Jaskier’s suggestions that he could stay, at least until Jaskier went back on the road.

There was a bit of an uproar when Geralt didn’t move to the high table to catch up with Jaskier. Instead, Jaskier had moved down to his table and joined the servants. Oddly, Jaskier’s parents only looked on fondly.

As the meal wound down, gossip was exchanged, Geralt laughed at in a friendly way for all his bumblings as an incompetent gardener, it was time to retire for the night.

“Come to my rooms for a nightcap?” Jaskier asked, a hand on Geralt’s arm. “I feel we have a lot to discuss and catch up on.”

Hesitant at first, Geralt accepted the invitation and followed Jaskier to his rooms. If Geralt had thought his room was fancy, Jaskier’s were downright lavish.

“Got something to say to me?” Jaskier asked, a smile teasing at his lips.

“You engineered all of this?” It wasn’t at all what Geralt wanted to say but it was what came out to start with.

“Oh come now, if a witcher comes looking for a job in these lands, it means he’s desperate. My parents know how to keep beasties to a minimum here. I’m thinking we should have Lambert come this way next, he’d excel as a cook for a few months.”

A very good idea, Geralt could imagine Lambert taking to life in the kitchen, experimenting with the spices on offer. It would do him good to have a break too. And Eskel, though he probably would be better in the stables. And Vesemir too, if he could be enticed there, he would excel as an adviser to the household. But that was all beside the point, Geralt had something much more important to say.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing for you.” Geralt hadn’t thought Jaskier would still travel as a bard, had assumed he’d settle in a court. Instead, he’d sought out other wolves and kept them company.

“Never do that again.” Jaskier’s face hardened. “If you have a concern, speak. Don’t make my decisions for me.”

Nodding, Geralt looked a little chastised. It had been so much easier to express emotions recently, around friends.

“Now. I do believe before you so rudely chose our paths for us, we were building towards something quite beautiful.” Jaskier handed Geralt a glass of something rich and smooth. The clinked glasses. A week later, they were leaving Lettenhove together, once more a witcher and a bard rather than a gardener and a viscount.

[mercuryislove]

65 and 79 for Anwei, Yixing, and Ciaran please 😊

i am sorry in advance if none of this makes sense because i am very very very tired to the point that i'm basically delirious. i have transcended exhaustion and entered the third wind of complete insanity lmao

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say?

IT DEPENDS lol. It would be a “how long do they have left to live situation” kind of situation I think. Like Ciaran and Anwei have both lived uhhh 900 or so years and have done basically everything there is to do a thousand times over, so if they were suddenly made mortal again I doubt they would do much different except be like WTF when they got hurt and it didn't instantly repair itself.

If it was more like a “you have one month left to live” situation, Ciaran would go on a fucking bender, burn every bridge, mend previously bridges to immediately burn them again, and like thirty minutes before he dies tell everyone he loves that he's sorry about it all. Meanwhile, Anwei would just DISAPPEAR. She'd leave a letter on her desk or bed or whatever where people would look for her first and just fucking ghost everyone. (and the letter would say something super vague and answer NO questions about where she went or why.) She would at least have the decency to tell Ciaran what she was doing, but everyone else would be on their own. Yixing in the same situation would do several things. First, he would set aside a full day for each person he truly cares about (so like. three or four days lmao) to spend with them and get his last pleasant moments with them. Second, he would find someone to take care of his horse after he's dead. Third, he would get LAID. like a lot. Truly he would fuck anyone that would take him. Fourth, he would give all his money away to people in need. Fifth and finally, he would spent the rest of that last month drowning himself in alcohol. Honestly that would probably be what kills him instead of the timer reaching zero.

NOW. If this was a “you have one hour to live” situation, Anwei would still disappear asap, Ciaran would probably burn a bridge or two for the hell of it, and Yixing would skip all the steps of his plan and just get someone to take care of his horse.

SPOILER ALERT, when Yixing does Actually Die (and yes he does DIE in the book lol) and he is actively bleeding out in the fucking dirt and he makes the connection that oh wait I'm not gonna make it out of this one huh guys, his first idiot thought is like “oh shit where is Songbird? I hope she's okay” like. get your priorities in line. She is his Top Priority in ANY death plan lol

--

79. What do they do when they learn about other people's fears?

This one is kind of tough!! I mean. None of them would be like “oh you're afraid of spiders? Okay I am going to put a thousand spiders in your bed tonight” because that's mean and weird. And they're all mean and weird in their own ways but not like that.

Yixing would try to empathize but internally be like “wtf this person is afraid of [insert common fears here]?? cringe.” He isn't afraid of much, and especially not of existential things like death or being forgotten or whatever, but he is very good at understanding because he also has some really strange irrational fears.

In true deceptive form, Anwei and Ciaran both would tuck away that piece of information to use at a later date if necessary. Anwei has some silly irrational fears and ones that are actually like. rational, so she does have the decency to understand what another person means when they say they're afraid of heights or of spiders or whatever (for the record, she is afraid of being stranded in open water (bc if you can't fucking die and you get snagged on something and sink to the bottom????? bad.) and also of scorpions lol). Ciaran, on the other hand, is afraid of virtually nothing and thinks it's kind of stupid for people to be afraid of things because existential shit simply does not matter and realistic shit can not hurt him. “Oh you want to light me on fire and push me into a canyon joshua graham style??? nice try but I am not mormon and I will just walk that shit off.” Or like “oh you worry about being forgotten or not being good enough? Well I've lived long enough to see the most important names in the world wiped from history and also nobody is ever good enough for everybody so...... get over it.” HOWEVER. He is super afraid of not being loved for the person he really is LMAOOOOOOO so does he have any room to talk?

[blackypanther9]

Part 58 - The Magical book of Death

Warning !: Crossover with another existence !! Long chapter (Over 3 000 words) ! Enjoy !

You and Loki rode for a few hours through villages and a bit of forests. The forests were little and not really big and amazing, but they still looked beautiful. Soon you led Loki into a huge, deep, never - ending forest. You two rode for another 30 minutes, reaching a very deep place in the never - ending forest.

You halted and Loki did the same. You dismounted your horse first, Loki was doing the same a second later.

"Alright...what now ?", Loki asked you.

You pointed at a huge rock. It was so big, that it could make a cave of some sort.

"We need to find the entrance into this rock. Then we can continue our journey.", you answered him.

Loki nodded in understanding and began to search with you. 12 minutes later you found the entrance.

"Loki !! I found it !!", you yelled.

Loki came rushing to you. You pointed at the entrance.

"It is here and I know how to get access.", you told him smugly.

"Well then, how do we get in ?"

"Easy. Give me your hand."

Loki gave you his hand. Not a second later he hissed in pain. You sliced his palm open and then dragged him to a part of the rock, sliding Loki's hand on it and smearing his blood on it. The entrance opened after that. Loki tore his hand back.

"You could have warned me !", Loki hissed.

"I could have, but would you have agreed ?", you asked him bored.

"....No...", Loki admitted.

"See ? Then were was the point in telling or warning you ?", you huffed out.

You snapped your hands and created a flame in your hand. Then you turned to Loki.

"Let's go."

Loki nodded and followed you, creating himself a flame with a snap of his fingers.

"Any traps ?", Loki asked her cautiously.

"Nope !", you said popping the 'p'.

Loki looked confused.

"Why not ? Any tasks ?"

You huffed out in annoyance.

"No Loki. I don't know, Loki. Shut up Loki. We will see, Loki."

Loki fell silent after that. _________________________________________

You came to a dead end. Loki made a frustrated sound and threw his arms up in anger.

"All this walking around for hours, for nothing !! Great !!", he yelled.

You looked around, rolling your eyes at the Diva called Loki Laufeyson.

"You should have been more careful and put traps here ! Or impossible tasks ! Just SOMETHING !!!", he rambled on.

You felt magic in the air and concentrated. After a few seconds you stepped back in utter shock and awe.

"Now we have to search in whole Asgard to find that damn boo-!!"

"A Portal...", you interrupted Loki's rambling, with awe.

Loki stopped and stared at you.

"What ?", he asked in confusion.

You turned to Loki.

"Loki, the helmet and the book aren't here ! They are through that Portal !"

"What Portal ?"

"It is right in front of us ! We just can't see it !"

Loki looked at you in awe. You swallowed and then went into the Portal. As you stepped out of it, you weren't in the cave anymore, or anywhere near Asgard ! You were in another Dimension. And as you looked around and at yourself, you knew where the heck you were at. Let us just say, you were NOT amused.

"Oh, you've gotta be shittin' me...", you mumbled.

"What is this place ? I have never seen something like this before...", Loki's voice appeared.

You jumped up in the air and looked then at Loki.

"Damn Loki ! Don't sneak up on me !!", you huffed out.

Loki smiled at you mischievously. But it quickly turned into a look of utter shock.

"D-Destiny ?", he asked in utter shock.

You looked at yourself again and huffed out an annoyed noise.

"Yes, it is I, Loki.", you answered him.

"Where are we ?", he asked again.

"In another Dimension. Another existence. No Avengers, no Gods, no Nine Realms."

"Does this 'Dimension' have a name ?", Loki asked a bit skeptical.

"It has many names, but its actual name is 'Skulduggery Pleasant'. We are in another magical Dimension...And I am a male in here. Name is Erskin Hollow."

(Character doesn't really exist in the books, owner of them is Derek Landy ! I just lend it for the story.)

"That is why you look and sound like a male !"

"Yeah, well, I left that Dimension just like that. I play with the true Erskin Hollow a game with my Father. Bruh."

You looked around again and then groaned.

"No ! Why the fuck me ?!", you cursed.

"What is it ?"

"We got spotted by Skulduggery and Valkyrie. Fuck...", you cursed.

"Valkyrie ?", Loki asked in shock.

"Not that kind of Valkyrie ! It is just her name, she gave herself. Her full self - given name is Valkyrie Cain."

"Given name ?"

"You have a lot to learn... Just don't tell them your name."

"Why ?"

"I will explain later.", you whispered into his ear.

"Erskin ! I was starting to think that you didn't want to help us.", Skulduggery said.

(For people who don't know about the books and characters, that is Skulduggery Pleasant. Pics don't belong to me ! Just lending them !)

(That is Valkyrie Cain)

You laughed and stretched out your arms.

"Why would you think that, Skul, old friend ? You know me."

He crocked his head to the right lightly.

"I do not.", he said.

You played the hurt person.

"Ouch. Now you hurt me.", you joked.

Loki looked totally pale and looked at you in utter shock.

"I-is that really a living skeleton ?", he asked in horror.

"Yep ! He is Skulduggery Pleasant. Is a skeleton now for a few hundrets of years. He died in a war and came back as they were about to lose the war. Long story said in short.", you explained.

"A new Magician ?", Valkyrie asked.

You nodded and shook your head.

"Kinda and then again kinda not. He is gifted with Magic since childhood and trained with it, but he is...not from around our world, so to say.", you tried to explain.

"Alright, what is going on ?", Skulduggery asked you.

You scratched your neck in discomfort.

"Let us talk in a safe place, please ?", you asked them.

Skulduggery and Valkyrie looked around and then nodded. Skul pointed at a black car.

(Bentley of Skulduggery)

"Let us hopp into the Bentley then. We will go to Ghastly's place.", he said.

"Okay.", you responded.

"Do we have to go ?", Loki whispered into your ear in fear.

"We have to. Do not worry. They are all nice as long as you are not a threat.", you told him.

He hushed you.

"They will hear us. Don't be so loud.", he whisper - hissed at you.

"I can still hear you.", Skulduggery said.

You chuckled as Loki looked at him in utter horror.

"What did you think of a dead man ? He is a skeleton that can talk, move, think, hear and act like a living person. He can hear every little rustle of paper.", you told him chuckling.

Loki was as white as a corpse at that. You laughed at his shocked face, it looked like he will black out any moment. Reminds you on Valkyrie's and Skulduggery's second meeting as she fell into a black out in utter shock. A skeleton was in her house, saving her life from another dangerous man of his world that then soon became her world too. Madness of the finest kind.

You and Loki hopped into the Bentley at the backseats and Valkyrie was in the passenger seat. Skulduggery was the driver.

"How can he see ?", Loki asked you hushed.

"Magic, boy.", Skulguggery answered him.

Loki looked at him weirdly.

"Magic can't do that. Not from where I am from.", Loki told them.

"Well here it can. Thanks to Magic I can do all of this.", Skulduggery answered back simply.

"What are you by the way ? Are you an Elemental Magician, Teleporter, Vampire, Monster, Banshee, Necromancer, Wizard, Warlock or an Alchemist ?", Valkyrie asked Loki.

Loki stared at her in utter shock and then at you.

"I...I don't know...", he mumbled.

"You trained with your Magic since you were a child and you don't know what kind of Magician you are ? That is something new.", Skulduggery mumbled impressed.

"Ever heard of Seidr, Skul ?", you asked him.

"Se...what ?", he asked you confused.

"Seidr. That is his Magic."

He was silent for a while.

"No I do not, Erskin. Interesting...A new kind of Magic..."

"From where I come from Seidr is not easy to have and to use. It took me hundreds of years to be what I am now. Seidr is also choosing the one who is worthy of it. I was worthy of it and my Mother chose to share her knowledge with me about it, because she also owned it. Just me and my Mother own Seidr in my home."

Skulduggery nodded and hummed at that.

"Interesting...", he mumbled.

"Wait ! Seidr ?! That sounds like Norse Mythology ! Wait I will search it up !", Valkyrie said.

A few seconds later she cheered.

"I found it !"

"Then start, Valkyrie.", you and Skulduggery said.

"Seidr is a rare kind of very powerful Magic. The only people who own it are the Gods named: Sigyn, Frigga/Frigg and Loki. Frigga is the Goddess of Wedding and Family, Loki is the God of Mischief and Lies and Sigyn is the Goddess of Victory."

"Interesting...", mumbled Skulduggery.

"Don't tell me that his name is Loki.", Valkyrie said.

You chuckled.

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he will call himself like that."

"That would be cool."

'Don't call yourself that. That is already your given name and would do no help in keeping you safe', you thought to Loki.

'I do not understand what is going on here...'

'You will find out in a few minutes. Trust me.'

Loki nodded and then was quiet. _________________________________________

They stopped and Loki looked around in disgust. This place looked filthy.

"Where are we ?", Loki asked.

"At our destination.", you answered him.

"And WHERE is that ?", Loki asked clearer.

"Bespoke Tailors."

"This place looks awful.", Loki commented.

"It is planned like that, so Mortal's don't plan to explore this little village.", you explained.

"Oh."

"Don't stare, by the way. Ghastly Bespoke is...not really pretty. To put it nicely."

"He is plain ugly. He looks like an absolute horror character.", Skulduggery said.

Loki looked at you scared.

"He is not that bad. Skulduggery is joking. His whole head is covered in scars tho. It doesn't look pretty. It was a curse and nothing helped to get it away from him. His Mother was cursed and it went over to Ghastly."

"Nothing helped ?", he repeated in a question.

"Nothing helped.", you nodded.

"Oh dear..."

They then walked into the shop and you smiled. Ghastly was a good friend of yours.

A man came from the backroom and smiled.

"Erskin, Skulduggery, Valkyrie ! Nice to see you again !", a man, covered in scars, greeted them.

"Heya Ghastly !", you greeted.

(I guess you can read the most important informatons on this picture.)

"What do you need ?", he asked you and the rest.

"We need to talk.", you told him and the rest.

"Alright. Then take a seat."

You and the others went to the couch and sat down.

"Alright. What is going on ?", Valkyrie asked you and Loki again.

"Well...He is from another Dimension. I once told you about the job I have. So you can imagine.", you explained awkwardly.

"He is from another Dimension, another existence ?", Ghastly asked to clarify.

"Yep. Pretty much."

"Why is he here with you then ?", Skulduggery asked.

"We search a certain book and a helmet that belonged to Destiny Andrea Dust."

Skulduggery and Ghastly stiffened.

"She was also doing that thing ?", they asked.

"She did. Now it is me."

'Why are you lying to them ?'

'Because I died here a long time ago and it is not their time to know the truth.'

Loki was quiet again.

"Who is Destiny ?", Valkyrie asked.

"Skulduggery's dead daughter.", you answered.

"What ?! But you told me that you just had a son !"

"I did. Destiny was Genderfluid. She had her days of being she/her and the next day it was just he/him and the name was Heiko. Because she mostly was a he, I decided to stay with the term son.", Skulduggery explained.

'That is...'

'Deep ?', you asked Loki.

'Scary...'

'In every Dimension I am different with the others. Here I am Genderfluid and in your Dimension I am gifted with more than one personality. Easy.'

"So she was kind of a Transgender ?", Valkyrie asked.

"No. A Transgender complains about being born in the wrong body. A Genderfluid has kind of two gender personalities. There are many other words to call such people. But some days they want to have the pronounces of she/her and on other day it is he/him. And sometimes it is none and just they/them. Because both gender personalities are in control.", you explained.

"Oh..."

"Yep. Sometimes they are either gay, straight or lesbian. Sounds weird, but it is like that."

"Oh my god..."

"Anyway ! We drift off of the topic at hand ! The reason I am searching these things !"

"Go on...", Ghastly said.

"Well, in his Dimension we have a lot of troubles and the book, we search, would help us to avoid a terrible fate."

"You need help ?", Valkyrie offered.

"Well, I know where it is already. I just need a lot of skill, to get on it.", you laughed nervously.

"Well then good luck, Erskin.", Skulduggery said.

"Thanks. You too on your case. As soon as I have the book and saved some ass I will return and help. I promise. Bye !"

With that you teleported yourself and Loki away into a forest. You huffed.

"Okay...That was close.", you said.

"Close ?"

"Skulduggery and Valkyrie love mysteries. Finding and destroying artifacts are one of their other hobbies and they are friends with someone called China Sorrows. She is a collector and she would be after that book and even worse, she would try and use its powers. Nope. Not happening. Now come and follow me."

Loki nodded and followed you. The deeper you went into the forest, the more Loki felt watched and in danger.

"Where are we going ?", he asked.

"To a cursed part of this forest. There we will find, what we came for."

Loki's eyes widened like dinner plates on Asgard.

"What ?!", Loki whisper - yelled.

"Just a few angered skeleton ghosts, Zombies and other scary things. You will be fine.", you cheered him up.

Loki laughed darkly.

"Yeah, because I fought such things once before and totally know them !", he said sarcastically.

"Good. Then one more reason to not be surprised and worried.", you said happily.

Loki looked at you in disbelief.

"You know that I wasn't serious, right ?", Loki growled out.

You stopped and turned around, looking at him in shock.

"You joked ? Why would you joke about such a thing ?", you said in mock - shock.

Loki didn't hear the mocking and joking tho.

"No ! I have no idea !"

"Loki, I know. Just stay near me and do the same as I do. You will be fine."

Then you and Loki continued. Loki grumbling behind you. _________________________________________

You were on the run.

(belongs to SMG4 sound Library)

"SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT !!!", you yelled the curse and ran with Loki for your lives.

Everything was chasing you two. Why ? Because Loki had to be an idiot.

"I TOLD YOU TO NOT TOUCH THAT FLOWER !! WHY DID YOU DO THAT LOKI ?!", you yelled at him.

"I WASN'T THINKING THAT IT WAS SOMETHING DANGEROUS !!"

"YOU IDIOT !!!" _________________________________________

You closed the entrance you finally found of the hidden place of your helmet and the book. You turned around and glared at the panting Loki.

"The next time you listen to me !! I know more of this Dimension than you ! I had to face everything here ! You don't know anything about this place !", you scolded him angered.

Loki looked away from you and down at the floor in shame.

"I am sorry... I was too curious..."

"Curiosity here is death. Now let's move. I want to go back home, before you get us both killed by accident.", you told him softer and helped him up.

"Okay...I am sorry still...", he mumbled softly.

You sighed.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we are still alive.", you tried to cheer him up.

Then you grabbed his hand and led him behind you, pulling him along to the helmet and book. _________________________________________

Soon you were in another chamber. A HUGE chamber. A silver light shone onto something shiny. You and Loki went closer and you smiled softly at what you saw.

"My helmet !", you said relieved.

"And there is the book !", Loki cheered.

You looked to his right and then saw it too.

"Yes ! We made it. As soon as we have them, I can teleport us back."

Loki wanted to run to grab the book.

"WAIT !!"

Loki stopped dead in his tracks.

"We have to pull them off of their places at the same time and quickly teleport. Here are traps everywhere. Ready to murder us if needed !"

Loki nodded and ran to the book. Having a hold of it. You grabbed your old helmet and then counted to three.

"1 !"

Loki got more ready, like you did.

"2 !"

You both broke a sweat already.

"3 !"

And you both pulled the item you held to yourselves fastly. The ground began to shake violently.

"LOKI !!! GET HERE NOW !!", you yelled in utter panic.

You both had to leave and that fast ! Loki ran to you, the ground giving in behind him. He pulled you into a tight hug, having a firm grip on the book and you quickly opened a portal below yourselves and you both fell through it. Loki let go of you, without even wanting it.

"AAAAAAHHHH !!!", Loki screamed first.

"AAAAAAAHHHH !!!", you screamed too.

Suddenly there was ground and you turned yourself around and Loki did the same, so you will land on your backs.

You firstly collided with the floor.

"OOF !!", it knocked the wind out of your lungs.

Loki collided next.

"ARGH !!", he yelled in pain as he landed.

You both tried to catch your breath after that and stayed on the floor. Loki hugged the book tightly and you the helmet.

Soon you both got up and you looked at the book. Loki just then realized that you looked again like the person, he was friends with. He and you were back in his Dimension.

"We did it...We got the second book, Loki !", you cheered.

Loki smiled in triumph. Then the smile disappeared.

"Where are we ?", he asked in confusion.

You also looked around. Your eyes soon widened.

"Oh no...", you whispered.

Part 59

Masterlist with all Chapters of this Story click here !  

[rosemary-morgan]

John Marston X F.Reader: The sky in her eyes - Part 5

(pictures found on pinterest, Johns picture is mine 😋)

Hello lovely ones (❁´◡`❁)🌹

Here comes the new chapter of “The sky in her eyes” 😊 Thank´s so much for all the likes, reblogs and comments 🖤🖤 Means a lot to me!!

@fangirl-ramblings​ @gangofgunslingers​ @viiimcmxc​ @justcallmesweets​

(If any of you want to be tagged so as not to miss the latest chapter, let me know 😘)

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, violence, blood

I added a link to a song. I think it fits the atmosphere in this chapter 😋

After dark  

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

(¯`v´¯)                                                      (¯`v´¯) `*.¸.*´                                                        `*.¸.*´ ¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨) (`’·.¸(`’·.¸  ¸.·’´) ¸.·’´)  (¨*•.¸ (¨*•.¸`•.¸ (¸.•´ (¸.•´ .•´ ¸¸.•¨¯`•               •`¯¨• ¸¸ `•. `•.¸) `•.¸) `*.¸.*´                                                       `*.¸.*´

The sky in her eyes - Part 5

The hot midday sun shone down on John without mercy as he did his work on the fields. The sweat ran down his forehead, no matter how many times he ran his hand over it to dry himself off. Sighing heavily, he paused in his work. It was time to take a break. John put the shovel aside to take off his sweaty shirt. A fine sweat film lay on his masculine torso and his strong back. A beautiful sight for your eyes - that was the first thing you thought when you descended the steps of the porch. You had prepared a sandwich, and something to drink for John since he has been busy doing his work. It was time for a break. "You should eat and drink something, John." When John saw the delicious sandwich on the plate, his stomach immediately growled. You giggled softly, handed him his snack, and a glass of lemonade. "Here. Enjoy it." "Thank you very much, Y/N." You really were an angel, and John was very grateful to you for worrying about him. It was a good feeling. John hadn't expected you to still be so nice to him. After all, the truth about him hadn't been a harmless thing. But you seemed to have forgiven him. "It will be a good harvest this year", you said as you leaned down to the plants to look at them. John watched you as your delicate fingers carefully stroked the green leaves. God, you were so tender, so delicate. He had to smile while looking at you, and suddenly, he was no longer interested in his sandwich. Your long, soft hair was much more pleasant for his eyes. The tender shoulders, your feminine neck... John cleared his throat before drinking the glass of lemonade.

The days passed. John was glad that your relationship hadn't suffered. On the contrary, you were still very helpful and kind to him. You worked as hard on this farm as he did. And in the evenings you relaxed together in front of a campfire, enjoying spending time with each other. John had even told you some stories from his past life. You had to admit that his stories were really exciting. The last night, you and John had spent hours talking, so you were very tired this morning. John was sitting at the round table in the kitchen, drinking his coffee. He hoped that the black liquid would keep him awake. You stood at the kitchen counter, filling your glass with fresh milk that you had boiled last night. You wanted to sit down at the table with John, taking a sip of your milk. However, you were so clumsy, that you dropped the white liquid directly on your blouse. "Oh, no..." You sighed annoyed because you had just put this blouse on a few minutes ago. When you opened the first three buttons of your blouse, and John saw the bulges of your breasts, he choked on his bread. The young man had to admit that the sight of the white liquid on your chest reminded him instantly of erotic things. The milk ran between the crack of your breasts, and he couldn't do anything about it, but his cock reacted immediately, pressing against the fabric of his trousers. He cursed silently, biting his lower lip painfully. >>Not now! Shit! Shit!<< "I'm going to change my clothes," you said and left the kitchen, not knowing what John was thinking about this situation. The young man looked after you, his eyes instantly fell on your firm, and round butt, which was hidden under your long skirt. "Christ alive!" John couldn't think of anything else that day than you. He just hadn't forgotten what had happened in the kitchen this morning, and he had to grin when he thought about how beautiful it had been. But of course, he kept these thoughts to himself, enjoying it silently.

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"Off... what a day..." You lay down in bed with a heavy sigh. You had worked a lot today, and therefore, you were very exhausted. The soft pillow and the fresh sheet under your body felt like heaven. With a smile on your lips, you were about to fall asleep until loud shots tore you out of your peace. Startled, you sat up, looking around in confusion. Did you just imagine these shots? But when you heard these loud noises again, you realized that you and John were in danger. Immediately, you jumped out of bed, and grabbed your dressing gown, pulled it over your nighte to cover your skin. When you entered the living room, you saw John pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. He must have been surprised in his sleep too. "John!" The young man turned to you, the shotgun that was always hanging over the fireplace, was lying in his strong hands now. "Y/N!" John wasn't happy to see you right now. He didn't know what was going on outside, and he didn't want anything to happen to you. But one thing John could say with certainty: They were in danger, and those people had no good intentions. "Please! Go back to your room and lock the door!" "No! I'll go with you!" "Are you insane?! No!" John couldn't stand the thought that anything could happen to you, and he knew the dangers a young woman was exposed to. You didn't have any chance to talk to John, because he was stubborn, and he would never allow you to follow him. "Stay. Here!" That was the last thing John said before leaving the house to face the uninvited guests. But you were just as stubborn as John. Immediately, you went to John's room and grabbed his revolver out of a drawer...

"What are you doing on my property? Get the hell out of here!" John saw four men. They sat on their horses and they were well-armed. Whatever these strangers were up to, it wouldn´t be a good thing. "Take a look at this! This farm boy is threatening us!" "Didn't you hear what he said?!" Suddenly, you were standing next to John. Fearless and with a revolver in your hand. John swallowed hard when he saw you. Why the hell weren't you in the house? But at the moment it wasn't the time to argue. "Ey! Look at that lady! Is that your wife, farm boy?! Surely, you won´t mind if we borrow her, don´t you?!" said one of the men, grinning provocatively at John. When John heard that, his eyes became dark, and he immediately stood protectively in front of you. John would never allow them to touch you. Still, John had to remain calm since this situation was very dangerous. John knew this type of man only too well. They were unscrupulous. "Go back into the house, Y/N", John said to you quietly so that only you could hear him. "No, John. I won't let you down." Your eyes were soft, your voice a whisper. You wouldn´t allow that John will be taken away from you! You had lost so much in your life. John was the only thing left to you. You wanted to reach for his hand now, but it was the wrong moment. Suddenly, one of the men aiming the revolver at John, but John acted immediately. He shot the man without hesitation, and he fell dead from his horse. The other three men didn't realize what had happened at first, and that gave both of you time to take cover. "Y/N! GO! NOW!" John pushed you back into the house, and when the door closed behind you, you heard the men shooting wildly again. "JOHN!" You winced terribly each time you heard the bullet hit the wooden wall. You couldn't describe in words how great the fear you felt about John's life was.

The situation was out of control and extremely dangerous. John's only care was to protect you. Fortunately, this was not the first time that John was in such a critical situation. He concentrated, kept calm, and managed to shoot another man. Now there were only two men left, but John was out of ammunition. "Shit..." Sweat ran down his temple. What should he do now? These men were two and armed. He wouldn't survive that. John thought of you and what would happen to you if he died. You were such a brave woman, and he appreciated that you wanted to protect him. But John would never let you get hurt because of him. "What is it, farm boy?! When we're done with you, we'll fuck your whore!" "Let´s get out of here, man! He killed Sam and Tommy, damn it!" "I bet he runs out of ammunition and is now hiding from us!" John heard the man laugh, but his laugh passed the next moment - His friend just rode away. "What?! HEY! YOU COWARD! GET BACK HERE!" There was only one man left now, and he was getting very nervous. He and his friends had thought that they could terrorize another farmer and his family. But they thought wrong.

It was quiet outside, and that worried you. You leaned your ear against the door, tried to hear what was going on. Your heart pounded like crazy, your stomach contracted painfully with fear. "John... oh god, please! Save him! I don't want to lose him...", you whispered in fear. That would break your heart! "John... please, please!"

"Where are you?! Show yourself farmers boy!" John had suddenly disappeared from the stranger's field of vision, and therefore, he was getting more and more nervous. With every little movement that seemed suspicious to him, he shot blindly. Two of his friends were already dead, and he didn't want to be the third victim. "SHOW YOURSELF!" John sneaked up behind him with a hunting knife in his hand. But his enemy noticed him before John could have cut his throat. He hit John's face, and John dropped his hunting knife. "Son of a bitch!" He was about to shot a bullet between John's eyes, but when he pulled the trigger, there was only a loud click, but no bullet shot out. "Shit!" He threw his gun to the ground and John didn't give him time to take another step. John rammed him to the ground, starting to punching his face, but that guy knew how to defend himself. He brought John under his body, and start to beat him. "I´m going to kill you!" "You dirty piece of shit! You will end up like your friends!" John gripped the man's throat tightly, rolled over his enemy, and regained control. But with a skillful movement, the man managed to push John away from him. Without hesitation, the man hurried to the hunting knife, which was thrown several meters away from them in the duel. He immediately reached for it, and it had only been a moment when John had been careless - The stranger rammed the knife between his ribs. John cried out in pain as the cold blade pierced his flesh. "That´s it, boy!", he hissed to John, growling deep like a wild animal. He pulled the blade out of John's body to stab him again. John heard his blood roaring in his ears, he saw his own blood on that blade, and the only thing he could think of right now was you. This animal would rape you, and John couldn't stand that thought. He saw the blade was coming toward him - slowly, as if time was going to stop. John was unable to do anything. Would his life end like this? But suddenly there was a loud shot, and a bullet shredded his tormentor's brain to pieces. He immediately fell lifeless on the dusty floor. John was still shocked.  "Sweet Jesus..." John looked at you with wide eyes, saw that you were still holding the revolver firmly between your hands while looking at the dead body of the man. "Y/N!" He woke up from his trance, feeling the stinging pain on his body. "Ahhh!" The young man reached for his injury. Blood covered his entire hand, dripped between his fingers, and the young man groaned again in pain. John tried to move toward you, trying to ignore the pain. You seemed to be somewhere else with your thoughts. Your shoulders trembled, your hands trembled, and the look on your face told him that you were in shock. "Hey... hey. It's okay..." His voice was gentle, his eyes worried as he slowly reached for the revolver in your hand. "It's over, Y/N." His voice calmed you, the warmth of his skin spread to yours, and you felt yourself slowly awaken from your rigidity. But you also became aware of what you had just done. It wasn't easy to cope with the fact that you killed a man. Again. But to protect John, you would make every sacrifice. John's hand touched your neck as he carefully put the revolver aside, but he didn't take his eyes off your face. "Shhh... it's okay..." The next moment he pulled your head to his shoulder, and you nestled against his strong body. Suddenly, he winced in pain, instinctively reaching for his wound. "Hssss!" You free yourself from his embrace, looking at him with your eyes wide open. "John! Oh my god!"

You had to do something, and quickly! You put your arm around his waist while John placed an arm around your shoulder. "Ahh...! Christ!" The pain was unbearable, and with every step John took, it only got worse. But with your help, he made it into the house, and there he sat down on a chair. "Hold on!" Tears moistened your rosy cheeks. To see how much he suffered hurt you deeply. You would take care of him immediately, and you would do your best. John saw your tears, seeing how worried you were about him. A gentle smile was on his lips, and he reached out for you, gently stroking your cheek with his fingers. You saved his life, and he would never forget that. "I'm so glad nothing happened to you..." John whispered, and those words almost made your heart explode. "John..." His smile grew, and he couldn't take his eyes off your pretty face, nor was his pain very important right now. But at the moment it wasn't the right time to get sentimental, so you hurried out of the room to get the tools you needed to take care of John. When you returned to him, you helped John unbutton his shirt, pulling it over his head. It was very tiring for John, and at the same time painful. He gasped sharply as he leaned back against the chair. "Fuck... ahhh..." You knelt in front of him, immediately got to work. You knew you couldn't spare him any pain, but John took it all in silence. Of course, he hissed now and then in pain, because the injury was quite deep. It had to be sewn. "It'll hurt badly now" you said, and John nods in agreement. There was no other choice. Your right hand began to tremble, and of course, John didn't miss that. He had to do something to calm you down. He reached gently for your wrist. "Y/N... look at me." You looked up at him with worried eyes. You had never done this before, and you were very afraid. "I trust you, Y/N." You nodded slowly, feeling his thumb gently stroking your delicate wrist. "We'll do it together." You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment. "Okay..." You followed John's instructions, and when the needle touched his injured flesh, John bit his lip hard. God, he could hear the needle being pushed through the delicate flesh. But more pressure would be needed. "Okay... hhnngg! Stronger... push it stronger through ... nghh... my skin..."

Every further stitch was the purest torture for John. The only thing that made his pain more bearable was whiskey. "Jesus... hssss, ahh!" John reached for the bottle. He had already drunk half of it. He took a long sip, felt the burning liquid sliding down his throat. When you finally finished your work, John's face and body were covered in sweat. It had been so hard for him to endure this pain. The young man was completely exhausted, and so was you. Your fingers were smeared with blood, which had already dried on your skin. With a pitying expression on your face, you looked up at him, sighing with relief. "It's over, John", you said softly, whereupon the young man opened his eyes, looking at you completely exhausted. With a faint smile on his lips, he nodded to you. "Good work..." God, you couldn't describe in words how glad you were that he was still with you. If you hadn't taken care of him, maybe John wouldn't have made it. This thought was very frightening, and it made you cry. John was looking down at you, his eyes filled with affection. He would like to hug you now, but John barely managed to stay awake. He was so tired. "Hey... don't." You couldn't do anything about these feelings. The shock was still deep inside you. The feeling of fear broke over you like a big wave. He could have died! This wonderful person was almost taken away from you. "it's okay, Y/N..." "John..." You sob softly, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you looked up at him. "I almost saw you die before my eyes. This pig... this pig..." You sob again, this time louder than before. The sight of that animal pulling the blade out of John's body to stab him again... God! That was horrible! "Y/N..." John was touched that you were so worried about him. His stomach started to tingle, and his heart burned. He hadn't felt this emotion in years. "I couldn't stand the idea to lose you, John," you whispered as you slowly placed your head in his lap, closing your eyes. The young man glanced down at you. With his hand he stroked gently through your full hair, trying to give you back the tenderness that you gave him. "Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for having such a good heart."

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Since that night, everything had changed between you. John had lost his heart to you, and he couldn't imagine anything better than spending his time with you. You were an incredible woman. You were brave, strong, and beautiful. You saved his life, and he was very grateful to you. Three weeks had passed since that night, and John had recovered well from his injury. You had ordered him to rest, and you hadn´t accepted any contradictions from him. You had worked a lot for this ranch in the past few weeks, and John had a guilty conscience since he hadn't been a great help. "Can´t you sleep neither?" Your gentle voice pulled John out of his thoughts. You were standing in front of him, in a dark green dressing gown, which looked lovely on you. John's eyes admired you, but he didn't want to be rude by staring at you. So, he closed his eyes for a moment, smiling, and shaking his head softly. "Uhm... yes. Can´t sleep tonight," he replied softly. You went to him, sitting next to him on the couch. "Are you alright?" John smiled, looking at you. "Well, I haven't been helpful in the past three weeks. You worked very hard." "But John, we've already discussed that." "I know, Y/N. But now I´ll able to work again, and I want you to take a break for a few days." "But..." John shook his head when you tried to protest. You deserved a few days off. "You are exhausted, and I can see that you need a break." You sighed softly when John said that, and you had to admit that he was right. Yes, you were very exhausted, and you hadn't taken the time to deal with the events of that fearful night. "Yes. You are probably right." You sighed, but smiling while looking at your lap. John was such a kind person. "You know John, I grew up on a farm. My parents taught me a lot." John turned to face you so that he was able to look into your beautiful eyes while listening to you. You hadn't told him about your past yet, and he would like to know more about you. "Believe it or not, but my father taught me how to cook." John had to smile when he heard that. It was indeed a rarity. You told John about how you grew up, and that your parents were very loving people. They had taught you what was important in life, and you had always taken their advice seriously. Unfortunately, John hadn't been very lucky to grow up with loving parents. He had lived on the street for years until Dutch van der Linde found him. He and his gang, had once been his family, and John had also suffered many losses. He would never get over the death of his friend Arthur.

But John still didn't understand one thing.  How did you end up living on the street? That question would surely torture him all night if he didn't ask you. John wasn't a curious person. He just wanted to understand what had happened to you. "Y/N. What happened? Why did you end up on the street?" You sighed softly. It was a long story, and the memories were painful. But maybe it would be a good thing to tell him about your feelings. "You know John, my parents died in a fire many years ago." John instantly regretted asking you because he could imagine how disturbing those memories must be for you. "Y/N... I- I'm sorry! I...!" But you shook your head, telling him he didn't have to apologize. "After this tragedy, I went to Saint-Denis to live with my aunt and my uncle. But that had been a different life, John. I didn´t like the moral views of that family. Eventually, I ran away to live my own life. Unfortunately, without success." Other things happened after that. Back in Valentine, when this terrible outlaw and his gang showed up, and destroyed the whole town. You hadn't told anyone about it before. You were disgusted with these hideous thoughts of being almost raped. You killed your tormentor. God, it was a terrible night. Your eyes stared in the crackling fire in the chimney, watching the dancing flames. "I killed a man in Valentine, John," you said quietly, not taking your eyes off the fire. John frowned when he heard that and his intense gaze rested on you. You felt that. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes before continuing. "He... uhm..." You bit your lower lip, fell silent again. The memories of that night were painful, and it was harder to talk about than you thought. "He and his gang killed a lot of people before my eyes." Your eyes were sad when you looked at John. John didn't respond, just listened to what you had to say. "I killed him out of self-defense, John. He almost raped me." When John heard these words, he gasped sharply, looking at you in shock. "I was so shocked, and I was terrified of what his men would do to me. I fled from Valentine, John. I had nothing with me. No money, no clothes. Nothing." You felt cold when you thought about what you saw in Valentine. So much violence, so many corpses of innocent people. "I... uhm..." Suddenly, your voice began to tremble. The images in your head started to torture you. God, you just wanted to forget. "I'm so sorry, Y/N." You said nothing, staring into the chimney to see the fire dancing in it, but the view became unclear by your tears. "Y/N..." You felt John's warm hand on the back of your neck, which made you gasped softly. It felt so good to be touched by him. You closed your eyes, and the first tears fell over your cheeks. John gently pulled you to his chest. You heard his calm heartbeat, which made you relax. His body was so warm, and you felt safe with him. That was exactly what you needed right now. Another person's affection and love. "I'm with you, Y/N" John whispered as he placed his strong arms around you, kissing your temple. John was shocked by what you had experienced. "I will never let anyone hurt you, Y/N." John would give his life for you...

[octothorpetopus]

Morning Destinies

By minnesotamemelord (me) on AO3

Description: Geralt and Jaskier get along. Well, they bicker like an old married couple, and there have been several near-fistfights, but they get along as well as a witcher and a bard can. But there are certain things, like stepping in between Geralt and a target, that threaten that careful balance, although not for the reasons one might think...

Under a stifling layer of clouds, which had opened up to pour freezing rain into the road, two men and a marched out of town, already splattered with mud from the soaked path. Geralt patted the horse's flank.

"Almost there, Roach." He slicked his hair out of his face, leaving a streak of mud above his left eye. "Come on, Jaskier."

"Yep! Coming!" Jaskier had to jog to keep up with Geralt's long strides. He hummed a tune quietly to himself, his fingers moving as if playing an invisible lute. Geralt kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road before him, pretending he couldn't hear. It was catchy, he'd give Jaskier that. And his voice was actually quite pleasant to listen to. It was just that Geralt enjoyed taking the bard down a peg or two. Just to keep them even. "So, what are we killing today?" Geralt struggled to keep from rolling his eyes.

"I'm killing a warg. You are staying with the horse."

"Hmph." Jaskier shook his head in a futile attempt to shake the water out of his hair. "Couldn't we have waited until it stopped raining? That inn had a number of nice, warm beds upstairs just waiting for us, but instead, we're out here in the rain."

"You could have stayed. I told you not to come."

"Well, what else was I going to do?" Geralt briefly considered making a run for it and abandoning Jaskier in the middle of the muddy road, then decided against it. Instead, he stopped, looking down at the ground in front of him.

"We're close." He pointed a massive finger at what looked like a large wolf paw print. "That way." Without waiting for Jaskier, he tugged on Roach's reins and turned into the woods. He heard the sound of boots squelching, and didn’t even have to look to know Jaskier had fallen in step beside him. He did give one sidelong glance, still. Jaskier had his arms wrapped around himself and was shivering with a vengeance. Sighing, Geralt unclasped his own cloak and draped it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier nearly collapsed under the weight of the heavy wool, and he had to hold the end to keep it from dragging behind him, but he stopped shivering.

”Won’t you get cold now?”

”I’m a witcher. Witchers don’t get cold.” That wasn’t true, but Jaskier would have given the cloak back if he thought that Geralt would be cold without it, which he was, a little. The trees created a thick canopy of dark green leaves above them, which sheltered them from the rain, but also blocked out any sun that might have broken through the clouds.

”So, what’s a warg den look like?” Geralt held up a fist and pointed.

”Like that.” It wasn’t dissimilar to a rabbit’s den, like a small cave in a shallow hillside, only it was much, much bigger, and surrounded by more of those huge wolf-prints. ”Fuck.”

”What?”

”The villagers told me there was only one, but there’s got to be half a dozen. At least.”

”Really? Where are th-“ Geralt was so distracted by Jaskier’s admittedly stupid questions that he didn’t see the warg rocketing towards him until it slammed into his side, taking him off guard and knocking him onto his back. He’d never wrestled a warg before, and as unpleasant as it sounded, it was even worse in reality.

”Jaskier!” He roared, the warg’s snapping jaws mere inches from his face. “Take Roach and get the hell out of here!”

”Yep! Right!” Geralt turned his attention back to the warg. With a significant amount of effort, he threw it off of him, and watched as it slammed into another. More wargs were leaving their den, and by the time the last one appeared, there were ten. Geralt pulled his sword off his back and prepared for battle. But the wargs didn't move, they just watched him with narrow black eyes. Geralt tipped his head, almost an invitation, and they rushed forward from all sides. Geralt's sword was nothing more than a flash of silver as it whirled around him, decapitating one of the giant wolf creatures and slashing another across the stomach. He was on pure autopilot- killing these creatures came more easily than talking or breathing for him. He tore through the wargs one, two, even three at a time, until all that was left was a pile of warg carcasses, only one still alive by the entrance to the den. Geralt paced towards it, raising his sword over his shoulder to deliver one last killing blow. His vision clouded with adrenaline, it was no wonder he didn't see the flash of maroon silk until it was already in front of him. If Geralt hadn't been a witcher, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself, but he was, and he did. His sword stopped less than an inch from Jaskier's throat. Jaskier's blue eyes were so wide that Geralt caught his own reflection in them. His face was splattered with mud and warg guts. His gold eyes were wide and wild and filled with bloodlust.

"Jaskier-" His throat caught, and he struggled to get the words out over the heavy rise and fall of his chest. "Jaskier, what... the hell... are you doing?" Jaskier, his hands still raised to hold off Geralt, sidestepped, some of the tension in his face dissipating with the distance between his throat and Geralt's sword.

"Geralt. please." Geralt followed Jaskier's eyeline to the final warg. "It's just a baby." Now that his tunnel vision had widened again, he could see that Jaskier was right. This warg was only the size of a large dog, and its eyes were genuinely and legitimately terrified.

"It's still a baby that's going to grow up and terrorize this village. Just like its family." Geralt swung his sword back once again, and this time, Jaskier grabbed him by the arm.

"Wait! Please! Just... chase it off. But don't kill it."

"One of three things is going to happen right now, Jaskier." Geralt hefted his sword onto his shoulder and ticked them off on his free hand. "One: I kill it, and no one in this village or any nearby have to worry about being attacked again in a year. Two: I don't kill it, I chase it away, and it dies because wargs are pack animals and it can't survive on its own. Three: I don't kill it. It lives out in the woods, isolated, and in a year or two, it comes back and attacks the village again, or some other village. And then someone like me has to come in and kill it. So no matter what, it dies. The only question is-" Geralt narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "-do I give it a merciful and quick death now, or do I subject it to a life of isolation until it either starves or gets killed?" Jaskier's chin fell to his chest.

"Please," he repeated. "Give it a chance." He managed a smile. "Besides, if it does grow up and decide to come back, then you get paid again." Geralt couldn't smile back.

"Fine. I'm not going to go through you just to kill a glorified wolf pup." He sheathed his sword, sent Jaskier a brief glance, considering, and turned on his heel, rain coursing down his back. He wrapped Roach's reigns around his leather-clad fist, and started back on the road towards the village without bothering to make sure Jaskier was behind him. Usually, he was sure Jaskier would fall in step, but this time, he wasn't so sure.

He did. Against all odds, Jaskier followed Geralt back to the inn. He hovered at Geralt's shoulder while he got paid, and sat across from him at the table. They drank ale in silence for awhile before Geralt finally spoke up.

"Jaskier, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm having a drink, scoping out the locals-"

"Jaskier." Geralt sighed. "You could've died."

"Yes? And? I've almost died a lot, Geralt, that's sort of the side effect of being your best friend-"

"Jaskier!" The only word Geralt seemed to be able to force from his mouth was Jaskier's name.

"What? What, Geralt? Yes, I could've died, but that wouldn't be the first time I've been rather close to death. In fact, it's been a week since a djinn almost killed me. But you've gotten me out of it every time, haven't you? So I'll keep buying the ale, and you just keep saving my life." Geralt slammed his tankard down on the table, splattering ale.

"Damn it!" He roared, drawing the attention of most of the inn, although they were easily silenced with a laser-focused glare. "Jaskier, it's not just that you were going to died- not that you might have died, you were going to- but this time, you would..." The words didn't come easily, but Geralt forced them out with more effort than the entire fight with the wargs had taken him. "You would have died by my sword, Jaskier. And that- I couldn't-" There were no more words. Nothing else he could say. Jaskier looked up at him from under thick lashes, and appeared to consider briefly.

"Geralt, you express a desire to kill me on a daily basis."

"Maybe. Maybe I do." Geralt swallowed the last of his ale in one go and stood, awkwardly straightening his back. "I'm going for a walk."

"A walk? Geralt, it's nearly midnight, and pouring rain outside!" Geralt-" The inn door slammed behind Geralt, cutting Jaskier off. He tossed his head back, letting the rain wash away all of his discomfort, dirt and shame and blood all mixed together and flowing away. The roads of the village were lit by lanterns that created a gentle golden glow around Geralt, although he paid no mind. His shirt was soaked through in five minutes, but all he had wanted for weeks was one minute to gather his thoughts, which were a whirlwind inside his head. He found himself outside a shop- it was closed this late- but it was quiet. He leaned against one of the walls, pushing his hair out of his face and turning his face up towards the sky.

"Geralt." His golden eyes snapped open.

"Since we've met, it seems you've developed an affinity for following me when I very clearly don't want you to." Jaskier chuckled, but it was laced with nerves. Geralt understood that. "I'm too tired to pretend I didn't mean what I said. So whatever you're going to say... say it."

"I don't have anything to say." Geralt pushed himself away from the wall and stared Jaskier down.

"Then why did you follow me?" Jaskier shrugged.

"I thought you might."

"What would I have to say?"

"I don't know."

”I left because I thought I might find some peace and quiet out here. But you seem to want to make that impossible.” Geralt pushed past Jaskier and stormed off in the direction of the inn. He didn’t look back to see if Jaskier was following him. Usually, he just sort of... expected the bard to be right behind him, ready with a song or his cracking wit. This time, Geralt wasn’t sure he was there. And frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted him to be.

”Geralt!” Damn it. “Geralt, would you slow down? You know I can’t keep up with you when you walk fast!” Geralt walked faster. if he responded, that would only encourage Jaskier. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could lose the bard in the winding streets. But he didn't, and Jaskier caught up to him right as he reentered the inn.

"Why do you insist on bothering me at all times? Was I not clear when I asked to be left alone?" Geralt hissed, turning on his heel so that Jaskier nearly skidded to a stop to avoid crashing into him.

"You say you want to be left alone," called Jaskier as he followed Geralt up the steps in the back of the inn, the ones that led from the tavern on the lower floor to the rooms for rent above. "You say that, but I don't believe it. I've never believed it. You need people, Geralt, you always have, but as soon as they start to get you, you wriggle out of reach. I can't tell if you just don't want anyone to know you, or if you're afraid, or if you really don't believe anyone could, but I know you, Geralt!" For the first time that evening, Jaskier raised his voice. Geralt hesitated at the top of the steps, stopped in his tracks. "I know you, whether you want me to or not! I have seen the very best and the very worst of you. I have seen you fail and I have seen you succeed beyond your wildest dreams. I have seen you, Geralt of Rivia, and you cannot ever take that back." They were standing in the narrow hallway now, the sounds of the tavern below muffled through the wooden floor. Jaskier shrugged helplessly. "I can't say anything more."

Geralt couldn't think of anything to say. Geralt had nothing left to say.

"Hmm."

"Don't 'hmm' me right now. Have you really nothing to-" That was it. Something, some kind of barricade that had built up in Geralt a long, long time ago, snapped, and everything it had been holding back, everything familiar and everything unrecognizable, flooded into his system, overtaking it until it seemed he was no longer in control of his own actions.

But he was in control. He was very much in control, maybe more so than he had been in a long time. And so he was in control when he crossed the narrow hall, took Jaskier's face in his large hands, and kissed him. He kissed Jaskier as a fiddle played beneath the creaky floorboards and rain poured down on the thatched roof. Geralt felt Jaskier's warm hands cover his own, and winced as he felt Jaskier's back slam into the wall. He broke the kiss after what felt like hours, his chest heaving. The air around his shoulders was far lighter than it had ever been, at least within memory, and he teetered ever so slightly, feeling drunk and dizzy and dazed. Jaskier stared up at him in wide-eyed wonder, his hands still holding Geralt's on either side of his face. But then he seemed to blink the wonder out of his eyes, and reality set back in.

"Geralt," he said, his voice constricted and measured. "What about Yennefer?" Geralt didn't know how to respond. He shook his head slightly, a smile forming on the edge of his lips.

"I don't really want to talk about Yennefer right now."

"Aren't you and she... you know, together?" Geralt let out a soft snort of laughter.

"No."

"But I thought- In Rinde-"

"Jaskier." With more tenderness than he had felt in the last several decades, Geralt slipped his hand out from under Jaskier's and placed it gently back on top, lacing their fingers together. "Do you trust me?"

"I do. Of course I do."

"Then believe me. If I wanted to be with Yennefer, I’d be with her right now. I’m with you, Jaskier. I’m here.”

”You know, I don’t know if that was more or less romantic than you meant it to be.”

”Jaskier?”

”Yes?”

”Shut up.” And with that, Geralt leaned into another kiss.

Later that night- or maybe early the next morning, it was hard to tell- after they had stumbled into bed, Geralt lay awake. He had watched Jaskier fall asleep, watched his beautiful blue eyes flutter shut. The sun would be up soon, and then they'd have to face the world and all its eccentricities, but for the time being, it was still dark enough to qualify as nighttime. They were so close now, so close Geralt could feel Jaskier's shallow breaths ruffle his hair, which fell loose around his face, pulled from its bindings at some point during the night's endeavors. He had one hand resting gently atop Jaskier's bare ribs, and the other was slowly beginning to go numb trapped under Jaskier's hip. But he didn't dare move and wake the bard from his slumber. So he let his hand fall asleep, and waited patiently for the inevitable dawn.

Dawn came only an hour or two later, and as the pale sunlight of early morning streamed in through the window, spilling into a pool of brightness onto the bed, Jaskier blinked awake. His hair was a mess, sticking up in spikes at all angles. His eyes, hazy and unfocused, finally fixed on Geralt, and he smiled, a sleepy half-yawning grin.

"You didn't sleep."

"Witchers don't sleep."

"You know, I feel like you're lying about the characteristics of witchers, but I don't actually know enough to tell."

"That's my secret." Jaskier's eyes flicked up to the bright sun coming through the window.

"Morning already?" Geralt mustered half a smile.

"Morning came too soon today."

"Yeah, I would have pegged you as more of a nighttime guy." Geralt, still absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over Jaskier's side, chuckled softly and stared up at the day beginning outside. The rain had cleared. The sky showed no signs of ever having been covered in clouds. If he hadn't seen it last night, he would have been sure that it had never rained.

"I'm not. Not really."

"Really?"

"At night, it's almost always just me." Jaskier reached up to brush a lock of white hair off Geralt's forehead, and Geralt couldn't help but smile. "Me and my thoughts. But in the morning, I get up and I go about life, and I put everything aside until I go to bed again, and the cycle repeats itself. I've spent what seems like a dozen lifetimes waiting for the sun to come up. And now, I can't help but wish it would just go back down."

"Morning doesn't have to change anything, Geralt. It's just like nighttime, only the sun's up."

"Morning changes everything. Always does. Not always for the better. Not always for the worse. But there's always change."

"So." Jaskier looked pensive. "What does that mean now?"

"I don't know. I think it means... we get up." Jaskier nodded, but he didn't look done. Still, he sat up, giving Geralt's hand, which was now fully numb, some relief.

"I, uh- I can't quite recall where my clothes went."

"I think they're sort of... everywhere." Geralt looked around the room for the first time. Articles of both of their clothing were mixed together and tossed in every corner. Jaskier pulled the top sheet off the bed, wrapping it around his midsection. “Jaskier. I did see you naked last night.”

”Yes, but morning changes things, doesn’t it?” Jaskier cocked an eyebrow, a sudden edge overtaking his usually amused tone.

”That’s not what I- Just wait a minute, would you?” Geralt groaned, running his hands through his hair. Was he usually this bad at talking to people? He hoped not. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

”No? Then how did you mean it, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he began to pull his pants back on.

”I only meant... do you believe in destiny, Jaskier?” Jaskier has his back turned to Geralt, but turned around just long enough to fix Geralt with a highly skeptical look.

”That’s a very odd question to ask, witcher.” Geralt winced. Jaskier only called him “witcher” when he was upset, which wasn’t often.

”And that’s not an answer, bard.” Jaskier only raised his eyebrows again. Sighing, Geralt waved a hand, beckoning Jaskier, who eventually gave in and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

”I suppose... I don’t believe there’s anything written in the stars for me, that sort of destiny. I don’t think I’m big enough in this world for that. And I don’t think I have any great fate awaiting me either. I think... destiny is just what happens to us. What else is there? If you make the wrong choice and it gets you off track from your so-called destiny, how are you supposed to know? Well, not you. You still have a child to go claim. But the rest of us, without the prophetic futures, the rest of us would never know. Even if destiny does exist in that sense, it doesn’t matter, because we’re all too small to have any idea.”

“Okay.” Geralt stared up at the ceiling for a moment, considering. “Then what I meant is... morning changes our destinies, Jaskier. As every morning does. Because there’s a thousand paths that can be taken from this morning and the next and the next and the next until one day, you die. And this morning is no different. We just have to choose.”

”Choose? Choose what?”

”That’s the thing about destiny. Isn’t this what you were saying? You don’t know what you’re choosing, because you don’t have all the options. And that’s just life. So-“ Geralt fixed Jaskier with his gold eyes, analyzing him. “-what do you choose, bard? What’s your destiny?” Jaskier turned his head up towards the ceiling and laughed, a warm, bright sound. “Why are you laughing?” Geralt asked, but he couldn’t keep himself from laughing. That was it about Jaskier. He was infectious.

”I’m laughing because...” Jaskier quieted, and he stared straight back at Geralt. “Because I choose you. You, Geralt, are the destiny I choose this morning.”

”Oh.” Geralt had to admit that he had not expected that. “H-“

”If you’re about to ‘hmm’ at me, don’t,” Jaskier warned, but he was grinning.

”Fine. I won’t.”

”How about you? What’s your destiny this morning?” Geralt laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in a long time. It seemed there were a lot of things he was doing for the first time in a long time now.

”Do you have to ask?”

”Of course I do. Who would I be without a million annoying questions?”

”A slightly better version of yourself.” Jaskier looked mock upset.

”Take that back.”

”Make me.” Jaskier shook his head and leaned over in one smooth motion to kiss Geralt.

”You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured, his lips still pressed against Geralt’s. “What is your destiny, Geralt?”

”I don’t know. But whatever it is, you’re going to be there with me, and you’re going to write a song about it, and then we’ll go to bed and the sun will come up and we’ll choose a new destiny.”

”Not me,” Jaskier said, breaking the kiss. His hand still rested on Geralt’s cheek. “I know what my destiny is, now and forever.” With that, he rolled off the bed and began collecting the rest of his clothes. Geralt did the same, until they were both finally fully dressed. “Geralt?”

”Hmm?” Geralt responded, strapping his armor on, his back turned to Jaskier.

”I love you.” He choked on his own breath for a moment.

”You do?” He asked, not quite prepared turn around and face that kind of declaration.

”No, I’ve followed you around for nearly two decades because I love getting ridiculed and getting paid shit playing in rowdy taverns every night- actually, that part’s kind of fun- but that’s not the point. The point is, I’ve loved you since I was 18 years old, and now that you know, we can get on with our lives.”

”I-“

”You don’t have to tell me you love me, Geralt.” Geralt felt the lightest touch on his shoulder. “I don’t expect that from you. Because for all your protests and all your insults, I know you’ll stand by me until you can no longer stand. That’s how you can tell me you love me.”

”You’re a strange man, Jaskier.” Geralt leaned back into the touch, and a small smile spread across his face.

”My real name is Julian, actually.” Geralt whipped around, eyes wild.

”It’s what?”

”Never mind. You can call me whatever you like, witcher.”

”So I shall, bard.”

Under a sun-flooded sky, two men and a horse left town, off to find the next adventure. They walked side by side, in perfect step with one another. It seemed to any passerby that they were no more than a witcher and a bard, two relatively uninteresting faces in the crowd, but the truth is that they were so much more. They were two men that had finally discovered the true meaning of destiny: it’s not the things you’re meant to do. It’s the things you choose to do. And every morning, a new destiny awaits you with the rising of the sun.

Destiny isn’t in the stars, it’s in yourself.

Destiny isn’t fate.

Destiny is you.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

soulmate au?????

Soulmate Au where things that people love/hate appear tattooed on their soulmate’s body. If they love it it’ll be on their front, and if they hate it it’ll appear on their back. The more important it is the closer it is to the heart. They can also move around/disappear over time.

Tim Drake is two years old when he receives his first soulmarks. There are two: the names Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain are found in elegant script over his heart.

He was alone when he’d found it, attempting to learn how to button up his shirt, and they’d sprung from his skin. He didn’t bother crying. He’d long since lost hope that someone would come for him if he did.

Instead, he’d waited for a maid to come into the room on her rounds and called her over.

The woman had smiled kindly as she explained soulmarks. How they were actually a good thing. How they meant that he was going to fall in love one day and one day he could get married! Like his mommy and daddy!

He’d seen how his mom and dad were sometimes. He wasn’t all that impressed.

Tim decided that the whole ‘soulmate’ thing could wait. He had a shirt to learn how to button.

~

On the other side of the world, however, Marinette Dupain Cheng is born without any tattoos on her body. Her parents don’t think much of it. She was just older than her soulmate, then. Or maybe she didn’t have one. That was fine.

But then, three years later, a computer appeared over her heart.

Marinette didn’t even notice until she was pulling off her shirt for a bath.

She hadn’t been shocked or scared like Tim had been, instead she’d beamed and waddled over to her mother with the widest grin on her face.

“Maman! Maman! Look! I have a soulmark!”

Sabine had smiled and turned to look but, much to Marinette’s confusion, it quickly morphed into an anxious expression.

Then her mother brought the smile back and she figured it must have been her imagination. The woman had reached out to ruffle her hair.

Marinette had finished getting ready and gotten in the bath, and her mother looked her over for a soulmark as she cleaned her. But there wasn’t one. There wasn’t one on her back and, outside of the one that had just formed, there wasn’t one on her front.

Then what was going on? Even abused kids tended to have their parent’s names somewhere on their bodies. But there was nothing.

The next guess was that her soulmate’s parents were dead. Usually, orphans had their housemates’ names on them, so the kid would have to be on the streets. Could a street kid really get enough access to a computer that it appears over their heart?

Sabine finished toweling off her daughter and pressed a kiss to her head after pulling her shirt on.

“Want to watch Pere bake some?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up and she nodded.

~

Whoever Tim’s soulmate was, they were really good at making friends. His chest was littered with names by the end of their first year of school.

And then there was one name on his back, right over his heart: Chloe Bourgeois. He frowned when he saw it.

For the first time since his first soulmark had appeared, he found himself curious about what was going on.

He pulled out his computer and looked up the name, not expecting to find much.

But, it turned out he did. After running an article through google translate (which didn’t work great) he managed to gather that she was the daughter of the mayor of Paris.

So... his soulmate was French.

(Unless they just had a vendetta against a random 3-year-old. Unlikely, though.)

He pulled up a new tab. It never hurt to learn a new language.

~

Their likes and dislikes slowly cropped up on their bodies as time went on.

Tim had smiled despite himself when he saw the pictures cropping up. A whisk was found on his shoulder, and then a video game console popped up on his stomach, and then a sewing needle and buttons could be seen under their parent’s names. On his back, he could find what appeared to be homework and broccoli. Whoever his soulmate was, their life seemed quaint and pleasant.

Marinette had been happy to see all the little things popping up over herself as well. A circus tent on the sole of her foot, a skateboard on her neck, a camera by the computer. On her back, she could see what looked like playing cards. She thought all their hobbies sounded cute (if a bit random). She was just concerned about the distinct lack of names on her body; she hoped that they were at least getting enough social interaction.

~

When she was twelve, it finally happened: a name appeared!

She stared at the script that had displaced the computer and her eyebrows knit together.

Batman.

Maybe a pet’s name? Human names tended to give a first and last name, so...

She typed it into her phone to try and translate it to French and her eyes widened when it actually gave information on someone in this place called Gotham.

A vigilante?

She laid back in her bed and frowned to herself.

In order for a person to show up as a name, there had to be a personal connection. If there wasn’t, like a celebrity crush, it would show up as a picture. But this was text, so…

Well, she hoped that her soulmate was safe.

Over time, more names appeared. They were all just as odd.

Nightwing?

Batgirl?

A simple google search showed they were vigilantes, too. She frowned slightly.

As long as they were okay, she supposed she should just be happy that they were talking to good people.

Besides, being friends with vigilantes seemed kind of cool. She could understand the appeal. She wished that Paris had something like that.

~

When he was fifteen a polka-dotted yoyo appeared over his heart, displacing their family’s names slightly. He stared at the yoyo for a minute in the mirror and then snickered to himself.

“Damn. They must really like yoyos.”

He laughed to himself and glanced at his back to see if anything changed, and was surprised to find that Chloe’s name had been moved away to make room for…

Was that a butterfly?

“And hate butterflies, apparently.”

~

She stared at the tiny bird over her heart.

Computers, skateboards, circuses, photography, and… birdwatching?

Whoever her soulmate was, their hobbies had range.

~

Tim had been changing out of his Robin costume when the names started disappearing.

Panic filled him. He’d heard before that, when your soulmate dies, your tattoos start to disappear.

But a few stayed, as did their hobbies.

He looked over the remaining names.

Their parents were still there, right next to the yoyo. Their family life was okay…

He stared at the other name and his eyebrows knit together.

Who names their kid Chat Noir?

He shook his head slightly. Maybe his soulmate had a black cat and wasn’t good at naming things.

Tim checked his back, mostly out of habit more than anything, and frowned to himself.

The butterfly had disappeared, and in its place were two names:

Lila Rossi and Hawkmoth.

~

She grinned as she twirled around in the dress she’d made. She was rather proud of it, it had a nice red and black color scheme.

She started taking it off, only to realize something.

Everything was gone.

She looked over her skin, running her fingers over where all the tiny tattoos had once been and felt tears form in her eyes.

Her soulmate was…

And then, slowly but surely, something appeared on her chest.

She wiped her eyes and looked at it, only to frown.

A gag gun that said ‘BANG’.

Nerves rattled around inside her. Something was definitely wrong, she could tell. But how could she fix it?

Maybe she could convince Master Fu to give her the horse miraculous? She could drop into Gotham as Ladybug for a little while and check up on them? Sure, she had no idea who her soulmate was, but she knew who they hung out with. She should at least make sure they’re okay.

A few hours later she was dumped unceremoniously onto a Gotham rooftop.

She looked up at the portal Master Fu had dropped her through and made a rude hand gesture, then pushed herself to her feet. She walked to the edge of the roof, dusting herself off as she went, and looked over the side.

Wow, this place definitely looked like the most dangerous city in the world. She could see a guy holding a gun while walking an old lady across the street it was so bad.

She pulled out her phone and looked up a picture of the vigilantes that she’d seen on her chest. Nightwing… Batgirl…  Batman…

Man, did they have to wear such dark colors? It was night! How dare they do the smart thing and make it hard to see them!

Fine. Time to wonder around and pray, she supposed.

She had been considering detransforming and seeing if she could buy a coffee when she heard a click behind her head.

Ah. Fuck.

~~~

Part 1/21, 34k words in all

Next

The version on AO3 was edited by me to make it better (in my opinion) but this is the original version if you'd prefer that

You didn’t really give me any specifics so I’m sorry if this didn’t turn out like you wanted. You were probably expecting fluff but uhhhhhh,,, don’t know why you were asking ME for that --

[kleml]

Geralt’s Curse

Title: Geralt’s curse

Ship: implied OMP/Geralt

Prompt day: 3 Curse, 1 Ostracism

Medium: Netflix, Books

Warnings: verbal abuse

Summary: My take on book Geralt's lifestory, as if he'd look like Henry Cavill his own life. Blaviken is based on the books too (where I'd say Renfri was kinda just as evil as Stregobor).

Timeline is all wrong, witchers are not hated per se, Kaer Morhen still stands.

Geralt is around 30 during Blaviken.  

Word count: 2698

Author’s notes: Planned as crack, turned out more serious. Please criticize :)

@geraltwhumpweek

...

They loved to call him pretty.

Other wolves.

People in the villages.

Partners he took to bed, smiling and tracing his face features.

And as much as it should have been great to be considered beautiful, it was a big obstacle in his life.

All the kids brought to Kaer Morhen underwent the Trials. Trials of Grasses took place as soon as they got strong enough.

From the "before" Geralt remembered lots of food. That it was nice and cozy to sleep among the other kids, even though many kicked under the blankets or snored, catching runny nose in the cold castle corridors. He remembered there were many of them, so many they had huge kid tables, and that they were washed in groups by adults who promised to cut their hair if they continue to complain about the process.

He remembered thinking his mom will return and take him back. Same did the others, telling stories about their parents. How they loved them and read stories to put them to bed.

It was a blur.

Geralt didn't remember much.

The white hair, the heightened senses, quickened reaction and constant hunger - all of it came after the Trials. But he was sure his face stayed the same. His hands looked just as they looked before too, and the scars on his knees were still there, even though he wasn't sure how he got them. He also didn't feel like he himself changed in any way.

When he lost all memories so terrible his mind couldn't stand to keep them.

When common big beds became smaller, and suddenly there was only a handful of them sitting at the table.

When they made them eat sickening mushrooms and drink strange juice before they were allowed to eat normal food.

When he started his life as a witcher.

And it wasn't all bad. There was a lot of training. They learned how to fight, how to survive, how to recover. They studied all the creatures big and small, writing, reading and some manners.

He was ten, when he woke up with hair gone all white at the roots, paler skin and sense of smell so sharp his head got dizzy.

Some teachers treated them harshly. Others knew how to make studying exciting.

Autumns were the best time of the year. Traveling wolves returned home, bringing sweets and stories, laughter and tons of food, more than Kaer Morhen's fields and gardens could ever provide.

It wasn't until he turned fourteen that he got called pretty for the first time.

Extra Trials meant he had to be better. Meant he was better at many things, mastering challenges faster than others. It was all fun and games until the other

boys started to hate him for it.

"Ksemir! Hold your stance! You're doing it again!"

They were sparring with training blades, circling each other in the yard. Geralt huffed his hair that started falling out of the tail onto his face, and waited while the teacher explained things again.

"You cannot do that. You just cant, you don't have enough speed nor strength to pull it off. You should be staring less at the adults' training. Concentrate on what I'm telling you. Hey! Are you even listening?"

Ksemir was, indeed, staring at older wolves, dancing with proper swords further from them. Varin, the second fencing instructor who prepared to the Trial of Medallion, screamed at them every single time they made a mistake, and Geralt silently wished to stay fourteen for a little longer. Vesemir was on the Path this year, taking his time off teaching, and they had a replacement, Lestek. He was trying to kick some sense into Ksemir, but failed because of young age and compassion.

"Geralt did it but a minute ago!" another boy screamed. It was Ivur. Geralt didn't like Ivur and Ivur didn't like him back.

"You're not listening again. Geralt is faster, he can do that without getting hit. For the rest of you, it's too risky, hence, don't fucking do it!" Lestek was getting angry.

Geralt raised an eyebrow to Ivur and shrugged.

"Why is he always so fucking special?!"

"I'm not special, you just suck at fencing," Geralt got offended.

"Oh excuse me, and you suck at making potions. Do you think you'll stay this pretty long if you don't know how to treat your wounds?" Ksemir pointed back.

"What?" Geralt knew he looked fine, but what it had to do with anything? Why call him that as an insult?

"He's not gonna be a witcher, he's gonna be a whore like his mother. Look, he even grew his hair like a girl," Ivur jumped over and tried to jerk the tail Geralt's been growing for several years to be more like Vesemir. Vesemir was swell and ladies liked him a lot.

"Kids, shut up! What are you even talking about? Ivur, sit back!"

Geralt didn't pay any attention to that, stretching out to hit Ivur in the face.

It was ugly and quick. Ivur managed to rip off some of Geralt’s hair and received a slap across his cheek and nose.

"Look, he even fights like a girl!" Ivur cried out with a nosebleed.

Geralt got even angrier. And his head hurt. He threw his blade without looking in the direction of Ksemir and rushed away, heading to the tower.

"Geralt, come back at once. You're grounded!"

"Fuck off!"

Maybe he was pretty. Maybe he was special. He didn’t ask for that, nor he asked to be grouped with Ivur and Ksemir today.

Eskel said Ivur was jealous because he himself was ugly as shit, and his mother actually was a whore. Eskel also told Geralt he did sometimes act like he was better than all of them.

It took him time to think it over - during the punishment was as good as ever. He decided he wanted to be not only better, but the best. Learn potions. Learn to braid his hair so no one would be able to touch it. Learn to fight so good no one will ever get in his reach.

Felix got back the next autumn. They had sex on the very night he returned, and it was so much better than jerking off alone. Felix kissed him and fucked him and called him pretty. And Geralt didn't mind, because Felix was beautiful too. He maybe fell in love with him, lighting up with a smile every time he spotted familiar red hair in the halls, and that love lived in him for several years. They stilled called him pretty and special. Felix rubbed his nose over Geralt’s neck and asked “so what?”

"You'll make it. They trained you well, didn't they?" Felix said, and Geralt believed him.

Trial of Medallion only left four of them alive. Ivur died. Geralt didn't feel sorry.

They started to study signs after that, their medallions humming on their chests warm and pleasant. Eskel suddenly turned out genius at it.

Geralt forgot about potions and started to spend more time in the library, reading Monster books and History. He copied the stories about knights on their writing classes. Kaer Morhen only had so many books in the library because witchers wrote them themselves, page after page. Geralt did it well enough they even let him copy a small bestiary with drawings.

He trained more. Got good enough they let him enter their annual fighting contest, with witchers of all ages competing in front of others. He had learned enough potion recipes to survive. How to help wounded people and wounded witchers. Funnily, he also got excellent at scything, making sure Kaer Morhen's horses always had enough grass for the winter.

The first time he's been to a contract with a mentor, it went well. The first time he went to clean a wyvern in the mountains, he came back with not a drop of blood.

When he turned seventeen, Geralt met Felix. He had no idea why they never spoke before. Felix was five years older and has already spent his first year on the Path. They spent evenings on the castle walls, talking about everything, starting with the stars and ending with the upcoming Trial.

He could not make a Quen just as steady as Eskel's, but his Heliotrope worked well, and it's not like there were many bruxas out there.

With a newly chosen name (sadly not the one he wished for), he was ready. Or so he thought. Because aldermen had different opinion.

"Alderman Mislaw? You've written you have harpies nesting nearby. I can..."

"Do they have girl witchers too, now? Get out of my sight! Thank god a normal witcher already took care of them."

Maybe he had to break his nose of something. 

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm here about your contract. It says you have a wraith. I can help."

"Sorry, boy, I guess I wasn't clear enough. Get the hell out of here."

"But it's a wraith. You need a witcher for that, I know how to deal with them. You are the contract issuer, right?"

"And a witcher we'll wait for. You are no witcher."

"I am! You see my medallion?"

"I don't care who they give those to these days, but you look younger than my son, and he's fifteen. Get out and stop wasting my fucking time."

The son was taller than Geralt and had a small beard. At fifteen. Kids these days...

"I've killed a cockatrice just a mile away from here. Is there a reward for it?"

"A cockatrice?"

"Skoffin? Kurolishek? I don't know how you call it, but it's there, too big to carry here. I have its feathers and claws with me, if we could just walk..."

"You say you killed our skoffin? Sorry lad, don't believe you. He's a tough one, our skoffin. And you should better go ask for a place in a brothel. All better than to try and portray a witcher. Feathers, huh. I can take those from my chicken and say I killed a skoffin too!"

He had to buy a horse. Absolutely had to. Or get better knives, suitable for ripping off cockatrices' heads.

It took time, but he got there. Started to be recognised around Kaedwin. Used connections other witchers had, spreading their tale about people the same way people talked about them. Geralt had a good reputation and almost felt he became a bit of a knight from those tales he loved once.

And Blaviken stayed that way. Even with the massacre that happened on the market, people were safe. Stregobor left, Renfri was dead as well as her henchmen. People will bury them, clean the blood off the streets, forget it ever happened and live their life in peace, as earlier.

But it all changed so much after Blaviken. So much he never thought it could.

Blaviken used to be a nice place. A place with friends, with good folk who were friendly on the streets and treated wounded witchers well. Caldemeyn, the alderman, knew him thanks to several contracts and always made sure he had a place to stay. It was a peaceful town. No serious monsters around.

There were no real monsters in the world. Only the ones created by humans and humans themselves.

Geralt trailed away, deeply affected by the turn of events. He didn't care about Stregobor's fate. He didn't care that Caldemeyn despised what he had done. But Renfri, the Shrike, and her choices... He only had himself to blame, really. Blame the hope, the belief he had in people. He trusted her to leave town, trusted her to step back and be reasonable. And now he had blood all over his hands, hers and of those murderers, she brought with her.

It wasn't his fault. She had her chance to leave. She was the once making the wrong decision.

Roach got left in a nearby village. He walked there, buried in his thoughts, happy that all the potions and possessions were there, and that he had a paper about that donkey will be returned with him. Getting problems in the village as well would have been a nightmare.

It felt like a dream. The cozy evening they had a night before with alderman and his wife, Marilka asking stupid questions five-year-olds asked. The sex. The morning, the realization.

Snow was late this year, so he made it in time. The castle met him with familiar noise, hugs, warm bathhouse, cellars full of grain and wine, and children, jumping around in excitement. His story about what happened only got one reaction: advice to stay the fuck away from humans, Geralt, when will you learn. It was home, warm evenings, the silence of the land covered in snow and nights not so silent. When the spring came, he almost forgot about it, pushed far enough away not to think.

Eskel, Emir and Geralt left together. They took a contract together too, taking care of a huge and mad troll near Ard Carraigh, and split up, deciding to meet in several months in Tridam, to make a run for Kovir with its never-ending gold.

It was a good year. Until Geralt got to Tridam, as planned.

Roach, his good old Roach, smelled familiar and grounding. Geralt explained the donkey cart situation, thought about everything for a moment, collected his stuff and rode away, now to Holopole instead of Yspaden. After Blaviken, he wanted to spend the winter home.

The nickname followed him from a town to town. Ironically, he was now known as a Butcher in the northern part of Nothern kingdoms, the areas surrounding Kaer Morhen. In Temeria, Lyria and Cintra people didn't care much. Maybe Vesemir was right all those years ago, and saying he was from Rivia was indeed a good choice. He now spent most of his time further and further from home, avoiding the villages who's managed to learn the word of mouth. Only fifteen years later he passed by Blaviken, heading up to Kovir. Rode his horse cautiously and listened carefully to people murmuring around.

"Geralt! You're here too. Come over, join. Lech, this is Geralt, Geralt, Lech is a genius in gwent. You need to play with him. I lost twice already, and his cards aren't even good! Come."

It was good to see Emir again. The Path was lonely, but with other witchers around, it was easy to feel included. Normal.

Lech was already drunk and sent Geralt a wink.

"How bout strip gwent?"

Geralt smiled, unsure of what to answer. He set his saddlebags down, planning to sit down next to Emir on the bench, when someone pushed him forward. The push was strong enough that the table shattered, making Emir's ale fall on the floor.

"What the fuck," Geralt muttered and turned around.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? I payed for that!" Emir raised to stand.

"We don’t want him here."

"What do you mean?" Geralt held Emir's shoulder.

"I mean, we don't want your kind here!" the man, who appeared sober and pissed, spit on the ground between them. It attracted attention and the tavern turned almost silent, deafening after the noise it usually produced.

"What do you mean, our kind?" Emir has met some witcher-haters, but he wasn't in the mood.

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to him," the man pointed to Geralt. "He killed half a village in Blaviken. Everybody knows that. A witcher with white hair. He's a monster! A butcher!" the man screamed.

The murmur around got louder.

"Hey, it's my brother you're talking about! Geralt is a decent man!"

"But I haven't... I killed the Shrike. Blaviken was safe," Geralt muttered.

"I've heard that too!" a woman from the crowd screamed suddenly. "My son was there, he helped to bury the bodies. It was a massacre!"

One by one, food started to hit them. The man pushed Geralt again, and suddenly the whole tavern became a pitfall. Geralt grabbed his bags and squished through to the exit door, followed by Emir screaming out blusters back. They had to run to their horses, axiing them and as many people around as they could, and abandoned the Tridam on full gallop, hearing the screams thrown their way.

"This is the Butcher of Blaviken," the village boy whispered to a girl who looked like his sister.

"Are you sure?" the girl whispered back.

"Yes. It's him. White hair, you see, pale as a witcher, and the two swords."

The girl's eyes went round as she blushed.

"Oh. I just didn't expect him to be so pretty."

Geralt hid his smile by lowering his head. Well, maybe it wasn't a curse after all.

There was a man standing behind him with a determined look on his face.

[johnmarstoned]

Could I request Micah and Elizabeth just spending time together having some SFW fun (that could possibly lead to NSFW fun) together?

Thanks for the request! This is very much Micah’s idea of fun, fair warning. This got way long because I’ve also posted it on AO3.

NSFW content ahead! 🔥 💕 

Micah and I have gotten into the habit, when we can get away with it, of setting up our own little camps at some remote location and meeting there and staying for a night or two, when we can think of a good enough excuse to be gone for so long. It can’t be too often, because we know people will start to notice if we are both gone, together, at the same time.

For Micah, it’s easy, he can say he’s following a lead, robbing some folks, whatever he wants - there are only so many times I can pretend I’m tracking down some speedy mare before they start to wonder why I never come back with more than a flush on my face and bruises on my knees.

On this particular day, we don’t bother with a camp, we take a chance on a town and hope no one else has decided to make the long ride from Clemens Point to Valentine for some reason. I doubt they will, the boys seem to be too busy with that business in Rhodes to bother with that kind of a ride. As pretty as our current camp is, I do miss it the fresh air, as I am not a lover of the heat. 

We arranged to meet in Smithfield's, and I find him there, leaning on the bar and working on a whiskey. It’s busy, it being the evening, the tables full of folks drinking and eating, the piano playing jauntily in the background.

“Not drunk already are you?” I ask, leaning beside him. He looks down at me with a little look of surprise.

“Not many people can sneak up on me, ya know?” He says, and rests an arm gently round my waist. “Coulda slit my throat and I would never have known.”

“More likely to have picked your pocket.” I say, enjoying his closeness and the leather smell of his jacket.

“Nice girl like you? Not some kinda outlaw are ya?” He smiles down at me, clearly feeling playful.

“No, but I know a couple.” I catch the busy bartender’s eye and mouth the word ‘bourbon,’ to which he nods.

“Bad men?” Micah squeezes my hip a bit. “Scary, mean types?”

I fight the urge to laugh and reach up to touch his moustache.

“They like to think so, but I think they’re all soft as teddy bears.”

“Hmm.” He looks down my body, the opening of my blouse, holding me a bit too close for polite company as he likes to do when he can get away from it. “Can you hurry up and get this woman a drink?”

At Micah’s order, I get my drink quick enough, and we find a table in a quiet corner of the saloon, getting pleasantly tipsy and laughing so much you could almost mistake us for a real couple.

“Y’see, I get so used to seein’ you with them horses I forget that you ain’t as innocent as you look.” He says, after I tell him a story about slipping the watch out of the pocket of a man I was speaking to face to face.  

“Well, it’s been a while since I got myself in trouble, I could forget as well.” I sip my drink. “Not that I think I’m so innocent looking.”

“Of course you are.” Micah says, leaning forward on his elbows. “With that pretty blonde hair and those big ol’ eyes.” He reaches across, completely unabashed, and puts a hand on my jaw. “Only giveaway that you’re a bad girl is these lips, they were just made for sin.”

“Micah…” I feel my cheeks flush and I shake my head. The way he looks at me leaves no question what he’s thinking about sometimes, what he wishes he were doing to me. It makes me tingle and think just as filthy thoughts as I’m sure he does.

His hand leaves my face and he looks amused that he’s managed to make me blush.

“Am I going to be regaled with any tales from your rough and tumble teenage years any time soon?” I ask, because although I’ve heard him mention his father and brother in passing, he’s never really gone in to more detail than what I’ve heard him telling the men round the campfire. His father does not sound like a pleasant man. 

A look crosses his face, rather serious, before he breathes out a small laugh and shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t wanna ruin the mood, be honest with ya.” He says. “Not nearly as fun as your stories.”

I nod in understanding, choose not to push it, and finish off my drink. I suspect that there’s good reason Micah doesn’t discuss his past with me directly - it makes me wonder just exactly how nasty it was. 

“You want me to get us another drink so I can tell you about when I stowed away on a train for a week?”

“I very much do, you little reprobate.” He says, and hands me a dollar bill for the drinks.

Micah watches every move I make, and I like it, he’s the only person whose scrutiny makes me feel good rather than on edge. I go to the bar and make our orders; I don’t think we’ll be here much longer, even after all the time Micah and I have been doing this, it still doesn’t take much to make us need to have each other.

I make the order at the bar, and wait for our liquors to be poured.

“Fine lady like you shouldn’t be paying for your own drinks.” A man leans on the bar beside me, wearing nice clothes and a bowler hat. “Let me get that for you.”

“Actually, I-”

“No, no, I won’t hear anything about it, you put that money away, pretty girl.” He’s standing a little bit too close to me. A young man, fairly handsome, I suppose, but not one I have any interest in, especially when I know Micah will be watching this whole interaction very closely. 

“Sir, I’m quite happy to pay for my own drinks, if I could just-” I try to get the bartender’s attention, arm outstretched, but he blocks me off with his body and looks me up and down. He seems a little bit drunk, and doesn’t seem to notice my increasingly annoyed expression. Or care about it. 

“Look, just let me buy you a drink, okay? Ain’t seen anyone who looks like you come in here before.” He puts a hand on my waist, and I feel myself freeze, torn between batting it away and most certainly catching Micah’s angry attention, and telling him straight where to stick it.

When I open my mouth to speak, he shushes me, and his hand slips from my waist to my ass and squeezes lasciviously. My blood runs cold with shock at the horrible intrusion, and I feel the rage beat in my chest. 

“How fucking dare-” I begin, but I don’t get to finish, because no sooner is Micah’s hand on the man’s shoulder than he his clocked very hard across the face and falls heavily to the ground. I jump back out of his way, shocked, and Micah pulls the man up by the shirt scruff and punches him again with a meaty thunk.

“Hey! Take it easy!” Someone yells, as everyone backs up out of the way of the fight. If ‘fight’ is what it can even be called, Micah isn’t letting the groper up while he lands punch after punch on his face, his nose and lips bloody.

“Touchin’ someone else’s woman you little fuckin’ shit?” Micah sounds wild, enraged, probably more than I’ve ever heard him. “Fuckin’ kill you right here.”

I’ve never seen him fist fight before, and he’s just as vicious as I’ve been told. 

My shock wears off enough or me to realise that people are definitely running to get the sheriff, and Micah beating this guy to death in the middle of the saloon cannot end well. I catch his arm on its swing back, and do my best to hold it firm.

“Micah.” I say, hopefully loud enough for him to hear my voice over his rage. “He gets the message.”

For a beat, he tries to pull his arm out of my grip, but then he looks at me; it seems to take him a minute to recognise me, but he loosens his hold on the man’s shirt and lets me step between them and put my hands firmly on his chest. “We have to go.” I say, making him keep his eyes locked with mine to ground him to reality.

“He touched you.” He says, voice harsh.

“And now he’s unconscious and we have to go before the Sheriff comes.”

“Get that madman outta here!” The bartender yells, and I don’t give Micah a chance to respond, I take his raw hand and pull him towards the door with all my strength, hope to god he can just leave it at this.

I’m stopped though, by one of the very lawmen we are trying to avoid, who has just walked through the swinging doors.

“What the hell is going on in here?” He yells to the room, adjusting his white hat.

“That guy beat the holy hell out of this one!” The bartender points between them, and I look back at the scene. It doesn’t look good, splashes of nose blood on Micah’s shirt, bruises on his knuckles and a man lying on the ground with his face beaten to a pulp.

“Woah, woah, woah, I’m sure we can figure this out.” Micah holds up his hands, voice changing from raw rage to light amusement.

“We can talk about it in at the jail, come on now.” The lawman grabs Micah’s arm firmly, and starts to tug him away. Panic sets in my stomach - I absolutely cannot explain to Dutch how Micah managed to get locked up in Valentine when we were supposed to be all the way down south, and why I had been with him in the first place. Why I had lied to Dutch about where I was going to be. 

“Sir, you don’t have to take him in.” He drags Micah out of the saloon into the night and I follow. I really hope Micah doesn’t reach for his gun, a dead lawman would not help anything. “Please, he’s my husband, things just got out of hand.”

“Can’t be causing trouble like that, ma’am, man could have died. Might still die.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I say, thoughts racing with what I can actually do to stop Micah being locked up or doing something reckless, as I know he can tend to do in these situations.

The plan isn’t the best, but it’s the only one I can think of at short notice. I size up the lawman; he’s not very tall, doesn’t look particularly muscular. I pick up my pace so I’m facing them and he stops walking.

“Get out of my way please, ma’am, your husband can wait in the cells until we find out if that poor guy’s gonna wake up.”

“I just wanted to apologise, in advance.” I say. A confused look passes his face before a land a knee to his balls that sends him doubling over, enough so I can punch him with all my strength and knock him into the wet mud.

It has been a while since I’ve punched someone, so the plain runs from my knuckles to my wrist immediately, but I am glad to know I haven’t completely lost it. 

“Come on.” I say to Micah, who is looking down at the lawman with a stunned expression. 

We don’t have time, I take off running to the closest horse, Baylock. “Micah, come on!” 

His dark laugh follows me as we make a run for the horse, shouts ringing out as people realise what I’ve done. He gets on first and pulls me up after him; adrenaline runs through my body, pulsing in my neck. I put my arms round his waist and hold on for dear life as he sets off fast pace.

The shouts ring out behind us, with my fingers in my mouth, I whistle my horse to follow. Micah’s still laughing, whooping even, but I can hear the sound of hooves on the dirt behind us that aren’t just my own horse.

Heart hammering in my chest, I look back over my shoulder to see the lawmen following us on horses, 

“Fuck, Micah, we’re being followed!” I shout over the sound of the whipping wind and the gallops. My hair obstructs my face when I look back again, but I can see two men on horseback on our tail as Micah rides out of the town.

“I know, don’t you worry sweetheart.” He sounds entirely unfazed, kicking up speed and whipping round a corner so fast I feel like I’m going to fall off. My fingers dig into his leather coat and I press my forehead into his back, barely daring to look back.

We leave the road and ride into the trees, and I have to close my eyes because I have no idea how he’s a good enough horseman to avoid us smacking into a single one. 

The sound of those following us recede, until all I can here is the steady gallop of my own horse behind us. 

He rides for a bit longer, until we have definitely lost them, and stops up on a grassy hill somewhere near the river. The sun has set now, and the landscape is cast in the eerie white glow from the moon. 

“Fuck!” Micah yells when we finally stop, my hair a blown out mess and absolutely out of breath. “Fuck, that was good!”

Micah is hyped up in a way I haven’t seen him be before. We don’t ever go on jobs together, but this is what everyone tells me he’s like. Crazy, out of control. I’m still in a daze, so he lifts me down from Baylock and grabs my arms.

“Now that was fun.” He says, and laughs that chesty laugh again. “You were…” He shakes his head like he can’t find the words. “You were a fuckin’ dream.”

Micah puts his hand on the back of my head and kisses me hard, looping the other arm around my waist.

“I am hard as a rock, watchin’ you do that.” He puts his hands on my ass and picks me up, clearly fuelled by adrenaline himself given how easily he does it. I can feel that he wasn’t lying, pressing against me while my legs are wrapped round his waist.

“Don’t you feel good? Just goddamn alive?” His voice is a growl.

He’s right, I do. My pulse is hammering and my knuckles hurt, but when I get my breath back, I do feel good, I feel great. Energised, excited, just the right amount of scared.

“Who knew you could throw such a punch?” He kisses me deep and I tighten my legs around him to press myself against his erection. “I - shit I gotta have you right now.”

Micah falls to his knees, and drops me clumsily on my back, making me laugh. He’s laughing too, breathlessly, as he pulls my skirt up to my waist and puts his hands on my thighs.

“We gotta do this more often.” He says, voice a rough grumble. “Like seein’ you as a bad girl.”

“I can tell.” I say, pulsing between my legs and nipples pressing against my blouse. It’s almost too much, I’ve barely gotten my breath back from the escape and he’s already looking at me like I’m his next meal. 

Micah pulls off my bloomers over my boots, wasting no time. I am fully aware that we are absolutely in the open, in the middle of a field in the moonlight where anyone could ride by, or spot us through their binoculars.

It feels animalistic, to have done violence and now to be doing this, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been so turned on.

So what if someone did see us? Rutting like hounds in the wild? I know, really, I should be horrified by the idea, but I’m not, I quite like it. 

Micah doesn’t immediately unfasten his trousers like I think he will, instead he bunches my skirt up around my waist, takes off his gun belt and lies on his stomach to put his face between my legs and my knees on his shoulders.

“Shit!” I call out into the open, and my hands scramble to grab handfuls of grass. He buries his tongue inside me, making an obscene noise, before sucking on my clit hard and making me moan desperately. My head falls back and my back arches so I press against his mouth. 

“That’s it…” He licks me a few more times before moving back up my body and working on his belt buckle. I shudder, desperately needing to have him inside me. I look at him, his eyes glazed and his chest rising and falling in deep breaths.  He looks so amazed by me, it makes me surge with pride.

With his belt and trousers open, he lays back over me and kisses me deeply. His hat is till on, ridiculously.

He teases the tip of his cock against me just for a moment before pushing all the way inside, and I feel winded, a shocked moan leaving my mouth at feeling of being so instantly filled.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel so good every damn time.” He says through his teeth. Micah buries his face in my neck and thrusts in and out of me; I knock his hat off with one hand and knot my hand in the back of his hair.

“So do you.” I moan, completely surrendering to the pleasure of the way he fucks me, harder and faster than usual. I cannot get enough, it feels so good. His hair is dry in my hand, I pull it a bit and listen to him grunt and groan in my ear.

Somewhere in my dizzy pleasure, I look over his shoulder at the starry sky, and wonder if this is actually the best I’ve ever felt. Micah makes me feel so damn... Special. He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m real and he touches me like it too. 

I might love Micah.

And this is how I realise I might love him. After running from the law, while he fucks me on the dirt with our horses waiting at the nearby tree-line. Micah puts a hand on my knee and spreads my legs wider so he can get even deeper.

“Don’t stop.” I whine.

“Ain’t gonna.” Micah grunts. “Wish I could fuck you every damn second of the day.”

“Mmm.” I moan, and I can already feel myself getting close; his voice is running through me, rough and lusty.

The heel of my boot digs into the back of his leg; his jacket arms must be covered in grass stains with the way he’s holding himself up over me.

“Micah, Micah.” I release a handful of grass to lift his head from my shoulder to make him look at me. I’m close to the edge, and I want to feel his tongue on mine and his moustache against my lip. He groans into my mouth, slurs my name, and it pushes me over, the climax hitting me hard, making me shudder. I clench around him, it almost makes the fullness too intense; all I can do is hold onto him as the pleasure wracks through me, while I pulse around him.

“Shit,” he curses. His forehead presses against mine and a hand reaches up to cup my jaw. Micah’s thrusts are stuttered, clumsy, so I know he’s close. “Fuck, I fucking love you.”

His eyes screw shut when he comes inside me - mine fly open, distracted from the feeling of his grip and his come filling me up by what he just said. He grunts out his release, cock hitting deep, and doesn’t loosen his tight hold on me until it’s over.

My breath is shaking and my heart hammers in my chest. I’m not sure if he even knows what he said. When he opens his eyes, panting, I fix my face into one that isn’t so shocked and give him a peck on the lips, my cheeks glowing.

“You tired out yet?” He asks, pulling out with an almost pained grown and fastening up his trousers. I sit up on my elbows and try to figure out exactly how I feel. Certainly not tired out - if anything, I feel more energised then I had before.

“Not yet.” I say, with a smile and a shake of my head. ‘Do you know you just told me know love me?’ I want to ask, but I don’t. A man is liable to say a lot of things when he’s about to come, even if that had never come out of his mouth before.

“Good, me neither.” He chuckles a bit and finds his hat and gun belt on the ground while I pull up my bloomers and fix my skirt. “Saw a camp of O’Driscoll’s on my way here, not far off.”

“Oh yeah? And what about it?” I raise my eyebrow, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Thought we could rob ‘em… Or just kill ‘em. Anything you want.” He seems to find it hard to stand still, not at all exhausted and wrung out like he usually is after we fuck.

“Why, you wanting me to go on a little tear with you?”

“Ain’t we already started one?” He grins, taking my hip in hand. “Night’s still young, sweetheart.”  

I consider him for a moment. It has been a long time since I’ve done this kind of thing, had this kind of wild night. Said wildness dances in his eyes and the smirk on the corner of his mouth, like he’s daring me. This is Micah’s favourite kind of entertainment, I can tell, and it draws me in, my soul be damned.

“You got a gun?” He asks, and I shake my head. Micah makes a small grumble of disappointment.

“Could borrow one of your revolvers…” I suggest, looking down at the two guns holstered in his belt. Micah looks surprised for a moment, and he considers me for a long time, that penetrative stare that I can hardly handle.

He takes one of the revolvers and twirls it round his finger, second nature, before nodding at me to hold out my hand. I do, and he places it in my palm; his fingers linger on my skin.

It’s heavier than it looks, as guns always seem to be, well-worn with a painted red skull on the grip and the words ‘Vengeance is hereby mine’ messily carved into the barrel. I run my fingers down the metal, reverently, almost, because I know what these guns mean to him and I can’t believe he’s actually letting me hold it like this.

“Pretty.” I say, sending him a small smile. Micah is watching me very closely, a look on his face I can’t quite place.

“You-“ He clears his throat, which sounds a bit dry. “You look good holdin’ it.”

I breathe out a small laugh, even though he sounds very sincere, and to break the tension in the air, I pose with it, holding it out with my arm outstretched and pointing it at the tree-line with one eye shut.

“Do I look like Black Belle?” I ask, thinking about that cigarette card I’d seen a while back.

Micah looks at me for another long moment again, before shaking his head.

“No, sweetheart, you look like a whole other level of trouble.” His voice is a low rumble, and even in the dark, I can see the intensity with which he looks at me. 

I lick my lips before bringing the revolver to my lips and gently kissing the tip of the barrel. In the feet between us I hear the shaky, raspy breath he breathes. “You love trouble.” I say. 

After another beat, he steps closer to me, but doesn’t touch me again yet.

“I absolutely fuckin’ do.”