#of course I draw the line at being awful to my companions

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Hey, my boyfriend saw you across the bar and we hate your vibe.

[emsprovisions]

The Substitute

I couldn't get this cozy idea out of my head and I wouldn't even have this little story if not for @ironheartwriter and I cooking it up last night. So Lana, this one's for you 💕

Carlos hates shifts that run opposite of TK’s. He hates shifts that run late into the night and keep him away from his husband even more. 

Carlos knows TK hates sleeping alone, that even when he tries to fall asleep, he doesn’t sleep well until Carlos can crawl into bed beside him. Carlos understands it. He’s always all too aware of when his husband is absent from their bed. He’ll reach for TK across the mattress in his sleep and wake up when his hands don’t register with anything. He’ll remember TK’s on a 24 hour shift if he’s not home, or he’ll get up and drag him back to bed if he’s having a late night snack.

Tonight though, Carlos is expecting the routine welcome he normally gets when he comes home in the middle of the night. TK blinking as he sits up from the blanket cocoon he made as he tried to wait up on the couch, or TK’s sleepy voice calling for him from their room, or even the sight of TK alert at the island barstool, eating leftovers and scrolling through his phone. 

Carlos is greeted by none of these things. 

In fact, the loft is silent and–save for the kitchen light–dark. 

Huh, Carlos thinks, because it’s strange for TK to not leave most of the lights on for Carlos. He sees TK’s set of keys in the bowl when he drops his own set in, and he knows he saw TK’s car when Carlos parked his own beside it. 

Carlos quietly toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket, setting his things down behind the couch before creeping towards the open doors of their bedroom. 

There’s a large and dark lump on his side of the bed. Frankly, the lump is too large to be TK alone. Carlos quirks a brow at the sight, his mouth drawing into a pinched line. He knows the path to the closet even in the dark, and flips on the switch, letting a soft light spill out into the bedroom and cast over the sleeping face of TK and his companion. 

And whatever annoyance Carlos momentarily feels gives way to complete awe at the sight of TK actually peacefully sleeping while snuggled up with their dog, an Australian Shepherd named Lizzie. 

They adopted her about a month ago, after Carlos took TK on a date to the Humane Society with the promise of “we don’t have to find the one today.” He was wrong of course, which he probably should have known, given his husband’s love of strays. But one look at the good-mannered and sweet-natured Australian Shepherd in the kennel, with her bright blue eyes, and her brown and white fluffy coat, and they were both goners. 

Lizzie has been a great addition to their home. She’s curious when she spots Lou II through the glass of his enclosure, nose sniffing as he scuttles up to the front to inspect her too. She goes to the firehouse with TK on most of his shifts and gets her fill of socialization by being doted on by the 126. And although there is a very strict vacuuming routine to keep the shedding at bay now, Carlos would not trade the happiness she provides them with for the world. Carlos has fulfilled his wish of having a pet to pet, and TK has fulfilled his wish of wanting a dog since he was a kid. 

She’s also definitely way more protective of TK. He often finds her laying on top of him or near him if he’s not beside TK himself. This is probably why he finds her curled up against TK’s chest in bed now. Carlos had set a firm rule that he doesn’t want Lizzie sleeping in their bed, but honestly, if her presence can soothe TK enough that he can actually fall asleep without Carlos, he’s more than okay with dropping that rule. Plus the sight of them really is the cutest thing Carlos has ever seen, and he’s very tempted to pull out his phone and take a picture if he knew it wouldn’t set off the flash.

Carlos quickly strips out of his jeans and button up, trading them for sleep shorts and a t-shirt before heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth. He rushes through the routine, in a hurry to go climb into his warm bed and hold his husband, so he can take over his duties from the dog. 

Carlos sits down beside TK’s hip, reaching forward to brush his fingers through TK’s hair. Lizzie lifts her sleepy head and regards Carlos with a lick to his arm and a yawn, before tucking back in. 

“TK,” Carlos whispers, continuing to brush TK’s hair back. “Baby.”

TK stirs. Carlos hates waking him but he needs TK to shift over so he can crawl in behind him. 

“Baby, I need you to move over so I can get in bed.”

TK’s eyes blink open and he catches sight of Carlos leaning over him. His face immediately breaks into a big smile.

“There you are,” Carlos fondly murmurs, hand running down to cup TK’s cheek.

“Hi baby,” TK whispers back, his voice thick and sleepy. “Sorry Lizzie’s in the bed. I was lonely.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. I’m glad she helped you sleep.” He leans down to press a kiss to TK’s forehead, and before he can pull away, TK wraps his arm around Carlos’s waist to keep him tugged close for a kiss. Carlos has an awkward arm braced over the other side of Lizzie so he doesn't topple all of his weight on top of TK, and he laughs as TK holds him in place. “You have to let me get in bed, babe.” 

“I’ve got you where I want you,” TK says back, his voice muffled where he’s buried his face against Carlos’s neck. 

“Babe, come on,” Carlos laughs. 

At this point, there is too much noise and too much movement on the mattress for Lizzie to stay comfortable where she’s laying against TK. With a targeted huff, she stands up and moves towards the foot of the bed, throwing a glare back at her dads as she completes a few circles and rolls herself into a tight ball, nose tucked aggressively under her tail.

They both begin to laugh harder at the sight of their annoyed dog and then TK does finally shift over, closer to his own side of the bed, to allow Carlos some space to move in beside him. He rolls into Carlos’s arms, nose tucked in against his chest, all warm, soft, and heavy from sleep, and Carlos can’t help the kiss he presses into TK’s hair.

“Lizzie’s good, but she’s not a Carlos substitute,” TK sighs happily, nuzzling his face against Carlos’s neck. 

“I’m glad I’ve not been replaced, then,” Carlos chuckles.

TK looks up at him with a smile in the dark, before pulling him down for a goodnight kiss. 

“Never.”

[amazing-spiderling]

For the ask game: K N O P W X Y Z

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

I think people often overlook how much comic Spider-Gwen grows over the course of her series, but it's one of the reasons I love that run so much. Okay, she's still kind of schlubby and chronically late for things, but in the course of... three years? She does something that Peter Parker took decades to do (and keeps waffling) which is to reveal herself publicly and face the music for any crimes she committed as Spider-Woman (specifically the death of Peter Parker). I think a lot of superhero books are able to keep running on the same drama because they keep letting the hero *just barely* outrun the consequences of their actions, or if they do, they keep going back and forth on who knows their identity etc etc. If being a Spider-Person is about responsibility, I think Gwen really did the best job of stepping up to the plate.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

For Daredevil: Oh man, you don't even know (ok, actually, you specifically probably do know haha) how much I'd like to see more DD crossover with mutant characters, specifically Nightcrawler. I JUST THINK THEY COULD HAVE SOME GOOD CHARACTER BUILDING MOMENTS, and while Nightcrawler is like... a guy pretty much everyone likes, I think he's under utilized in fanfic. HE'S A GOOD DUDE. And boy howdy his recent comic events have made him a very... meaty character. I'm hoping his upcoming stint as Spider-Man gives people more ideas for stuff to do with him.

Maybe comic edits? Serious ones or funny ones. There are some very talented people out there doing neat things with all this classic art and I'm always in awe. I dabble, but struggle a lot with creating wholly new things as opposed to just cleaning up images. I love show edits, but the problem with pretty much any live action media fandom is that you end up seeing the same clips over and over because there's only so much to draw from.

This is a silly one, but people should do more mattfoggy animatics to dialogue from episodes of House. I don't know why the algorithm started pushing clips of that show to me but there have been so many times I was like "is this not just lifted from like... the Bendis run or something?" haha

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

I went to my 2022 recap and picked the 28th song. It's "I'll Still Have Me" by Cyn which I almost feel is a cheat for me because I'm pretty sure I've put this on prompt lists specifically. This song (about losing your loved one either via death or a relationship that naturally came to its end) is so sweet and sad, and it puts me in mind of Foggy from season 3 of Daredevil when he thinks Matt is dead and is still trying to process it and move on with his life.

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

Isekai where Foggy gets transported to a magical land where everyone is convinced he's doing to save the kingdom but it's very clear that it's all of his companions (the Defenders etc) who have amazing abilities and he's wondering how he got here and how long he can keep this up.

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

HMM. Hate is a strong word... I just y'know, don't click on things or block the tag but... I usually pass on genderswap fics? Not really out of any strong feelings (I think art can be interesting because I like seeing how costumes are reinterpreted a lot of the time). I just... don't have the interest. One that is sometimes harder to avoid is when someone drops a full ass song into the middle of a fic (a few lines of lyrics are fine) and it doesn't have anything to do with the narrative, the author was just really feeling their girly bop feels that day. It takes me right out of the story and I pass over the lyrics 99.9% of the time.

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

It's probably because I live in a place that's roughly as hot as the surface of the sun but I go WEAK IN THE KNEES for any story where character A has been in the cold for too long and character B has to help them get warm again. Can be an actual danger-of-hypothermia situation or a "you really thought a snowball fight was a good idea" situation, it's all good.

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (i.e., fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)?

I will send my memes friends for Hannibal, Stranger Things (which I watched and enjoyed, I'm just not in the fandom for it) and the occasional DC property. Things I know just enough about to go "oh that's a funny one".

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go! (Prompts optional but encouraged.)

This is silly, but I'm so happy so many buddies are jumping on the Spider-Gwen panel redraw! It's fun to see how people's styles vary and what techniques they use to get a desired effect. Kind of feels like I'm back in art class and twenty kids are drawing the same bowl of fruit, y'know?

[valdomarx]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

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

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

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

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

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

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

“He will.”

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

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

-

“That went rather well!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ruewrites]

Kinktober 2022 Day 18: Video Call

AO3

Ship: Asmodeus/Solomon

Word Count: 1179

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I am incredibly happy with how this one came out. I hope you all enjoy a little more Solodeus! I know I love writing it!

Comments are appreciated!

“I miss yoooou.”

Asmo purred. Solomon’s laugh crackled across the call. His reception wasn’t the greatest, but it was enough for Asmo. The demon was propping himself up on a pillow and wearing a sheer pink nighty. It was planned of course, and he was more than happy that Solomon could get enough of a signal to have his video working. 

“I miss you too, but it’s only a few more days and then I’ll be done.”

“And I’m not allowed to be beckoned to you?” Asmo could feel the pout forming on his lips. Normally Solomon wouldn’t say no to him, it was rare. But this time-

“I’m sorry Asmo,” Solomon sighed, the screen shifted for a moment as he readjusted, and then that handsome face of his reappeared on the screen, “One of the rules of the retreat is that none of us are allowed to have supernatural companions. They made us swear at the beginning.”

“And you can’t bend the rules just a teensy bit?”

Solomon couldn’t help but crack a smile, “Not even a teensy bit love.You know I’m already quite infamous in my own right, so I have to try extra hard to keep the peace.”

“Peace feels an awful lot like a cold and lonely bed,” Asmodeus’ crackled pout from the other end tugged at Solomon’s heart. Asmodeus always made it hard for Solomon to say no, not that he ever really wanted to deny Asmodeus in the first place. “Are you sure I couldn’t slip into your bed just for a little bit? For the night? I promise I’ll behave. It’s cold.” 

“Maybe you should put warmer clothes on then.”

“Are you complaining?”

Solomon grinned and angled his phone downward to the obvious start of a forming tent in his pants, “Not in the slightest.”

Asmo whined, and both of his feet dropped to kick at the mattress in a mini temper tantrum, “You’re going to touch yourself without me? Unfair!”

“Now didn’t you go through all that work to seduce me? And you’re not satisfied knowing that I’ll be thinking of you later?”

“I was hoping that I might have been able to be there with you.”

That was when the idea struck Solomon. He moved his position slightly and changed the position of his phone slightly so that he could get as much of his body in the shot as possible.  

"Who said you had to leave for the fun part?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then a little giggle, "Oh Solomon you naughty naughty man."

"I'm naughty?" Solomon asked, undoing his pants, "I'm not the one who decided to put on lingerie that I know my partner loves seeing me in in hopes of being summoned even if it meant getting him to break the rules."

"I just wanted to test your resolve a little, is all."

Solomon could see those eyes locked onto him, enjoying every second of the show he was putting on, in a bit hopefully he'd be able to ask for a little something in return. Asmo's nighty had fallen off his shoulder slightly, reminding Solomon of how many of their tender moments started. 

Coy smiles.

Suggestive looks.

A little slip of clothing.

Then a kiss, the touch of hands on flesh, and two bodies becoming one. 

The thoughts alone had Solomon touching himself before he even knew what he was doing. His breath hitched, imagining those wonderfully warm, wonderfully soft hands touching him instead. 

"You make the cutest noises." He swore he could feel Asmo's breath on his neck, "You make such a pretty view baby, it's torture not being there."

"I want to touch you."

He wanted to kiss Asmo's neck and leave his own marks, to draw his own little noises out of his pretty mouth. He wanted to be in between his legs no matter what form he took. After all, in every form Asmodeus was his, and his Asmodeus was beautiful.  He loved when those soft thighs squished his head and when his nails scratched against his head when he gripped his hair. Of course sex with Asmodeus was addictive, but it was mostly because Solomon got to be with him. 

His thighs twitched. The pleasure was taking hold of his nerves, threatening to spill over. He dared a look at his phone screen.  Asmo's hand was between his own legs, the movement was controlled and subtle. He cocked his head to the side and smiled at him amidst the pleasure, "Want something darling?"

Solomon felt his pace quicken as his hips thrust up into his hand.

"You," he breathed, "I want to see more of you."

"That soon? Well you would have been able to touch me more if I were there with you."

Solomon whined.

But Asmo loved it when he got whiny.

"Don't worry, you'll be getting plenty of pictures of me later tonight," he promised, "I do hope you have some self control, I wouldn't want a funny walk to give you away in the morning."

He could only imagine what pictures Asmo had in mind. His demon had plenty of toys to choose from. In any case, he would most likely choose whatever he thought would leave Solomon a squirming mess. He would want to have him begging to see him. Asmodeus would be surprised if Solomon wasn't on him the second they were reunited and alone.

Solomon knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He was enamored with his partner, every line his eyes traced set Solomon ablaze. It was almost too much to handle, and the way Asmodeus was staring-

“Solomon,” Asmo gasped, “Cum for me.”

His other strap fell, and that did it for Solomon. With a groan he jolted upwards and came. He stroked himself through his orgasm, and fell back onto the pillow below him.

“Heyyyy! Don’t just leave me here!” 

Solomon picked up his phone once more and smiled as he met Asmo’s eyes once more. 

“Now I normally love looking at your abs, but I would like to see you before I say goodbye,” Asmo purred. 

“I love you Asmodeus.”

“I love you too, now every time you finish I want a picture.”

“Wha-” 

Before Solomon had the chance to ask Asmo what he met, the phone was hung up. He was just about to place his D.D.D on the counter when a notification went off. 

“Mercy.” His words came out breathy as soon as he laid eyes on the image Asmodeus sent him. Well, his demon was certainly making use of his toys tonight, and the night was far from over. Solomon would have to return a few images of his own. He chuckled, tilting his head back and stroking himself back to hardness as he stared at his partner’s pictures. More photos made their way to him and he was enjoying each image that made its way to him. He had know idea what he had done to deserve Asmodeus, but oh did he love him.

[kstewdeux]

@inukagfluffweek

August 11, 2021 - Touch

Lewd

For the life of him, Inuyasha could not figure out why people were staring at them more than usual or, more unnervingly, why Miroku kept giving him some very uncomfortable glances filled to the brim with amusement. Per the norm when the things made him uneasy, Inuyasha had taken to sticking a little closer to Kagome than he traditionally would have in a clearly hostile village. Not because he couldn’t protect himself, okay? He was perfectly capable of protecting himself and had for over a hundred years. And, to be clear, being around her didn’t make him feel safe. Definitely didn’t need to feel safe when he could defeat these assholes with one hand behind his back. He absolutely did not need Kagome to protect him and she wouldn’t be able to do much on that front in any case. It was just that he felt a little more secure near her. Secure was not the same thing as safe. Not at all. He didn’t need her to feel safe. Just…a little more confident when he was admittedly a little anxious people were staring. At first, it actually wasn’t that bad but the stares just kept getting worse and so…

But he was not staying close because he was scared. He wasn’t scared of anything. Except, well, losing her so…so that was probably why he felt the need to stay close. So he could protect her if shit hit the fan. Knowing that she was safe made his chest less tight and his stomach stop churning. Sure as hell wasn’t because…

Letting out a controlled exhale, Inuyasha distractedly flicked at some crust that had somehow lodged itself in the corner of one eye before letting his hand drop again.

“What a beautiful public display,” Miroku hummed as he sidled up to his companions and gave Inuyasha a mischievous grin, “It’s almost heartwarming to see two young people so in love.”

For some unknown reason, Kagome choked as her heart started beating so fast from fear Inuyasha’s instincts nearly went into overdrive. Why the hell was the wench so terrified?

Glancing around, amber eyes widened at the realization that Kagome might be just as worried about the stares they’d been receiving. Maybe she was staying close to him for….similar reasons he’d been staying close to her.

“You need to shut up,” Inuyasha hissed quietly before lowering his volume more so as to not be overheard - somehow making the monk look even more amused, “This ain’t the place to say shit like that. The villagers have been watching me like a hawk.”

“I absolutely cannot imagine why,” Miroku snickered as he pointedly glanced down and set his jaw to keep his shit eating grin in check, “In any case, Sango is almost done buying provisions so why don’t we move on ahead, hm?”

“Fine by me,” Inuyasha huffed as he began walking forward only to realize - when the thing in his hand jerked once to keep him in place - exactly why people were staring. Amber eyes widened in mild horror as they darted to the hand clasped securely in his own which was attached to the miko herself.

When did they start holding hands? He sure as hell didn’t do that and yet his palm was slightly sweaty indicating he’d been holding her hand for some time now.

“We should wait for her,” Kagome chided nervously as she gave Inuyasha’s hand a light squeeze making butterflies erupt in his stomach, “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

Mentally going over their day, Inuyasha tried to pin point when exactly the hand-holding started. They’d been walking side by side most of the day but he…he didn’t remember…

She must’ve started it.

“Why are you holding my hand?” Inuyasha asked - even though he took no action to cease the contact.

Giving him a strange look, the miko gave him an answer he did not like.

“Because you kept putting your hand in mine?” Kagome replied slowly - her worried look morphing into an amused one, “Wait…”

Some flashed behind her eyes and the melting look on her face made his stomach churn.

“Aw, you didn’t…”

“No ‘aw’. There is no ‘aw’ here,” Inuyasha huffed as he pulled his hand back and tucked both hands into his sleeves, “You did this. Not me.”

The melting look increased and Kagome gave him an affectionate smile.

“Awww….”

“What did I say about no ‘aw’!” Inuyasha huffed desperately, “I didn’t start this.”

“Yes you did,” Kagome sing songed and much to Inuyasha utter shock, a nearby elderly human woman chuckled softly to herself while looking between the pair with something akin to strangerly affection. Which disturbed him as much if not more than whatever was happening with him and his wandering hand.

Breathing heavily, Inuyasha’s mind continued racing down every moment of this fateful day. Trying to find the moment or apparently moments where he’d been the one to instigate the offensive touch but no matter how hard he tried, he had no memory of it. None whatsoever. Every minute of that day had felt natural. Normal even.

“D-do I do shit like that a lot?” he finally asked - his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep his composure.

“No but I liked it,” Kagome admitted with a hum before taking a step closer and giving him a shy smile that had his ears pinning back against his head.

And then she did something that absolutely crashed his mind…

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You can hold my hand whenever you…”

“Are you insane?! You can’t just kiss me like that in strange villages,” Inuyasha hissed as his mind finally caught up - his hand desperately trying to wipe away the perceived sin. Kagome’s grin only made his anger and discomfort grow hotter.

“To be clear then, it’s okay if I do that in familiar places?” came her teasing retort and for a moment, Inuyasha was almost very, very stupid. He almost said something along of the line of forbidding kisses entirely. Something he most certainly did not want to forbid. Especially considering she was pretty much saying she’d give him kisses if he wanted them.

Blushing faintly, Inuyasha decided the best course of action was to react normally. Brush her off and declare her stupid…

Thankfully the old woman watching saw the incoming relationship bomb coming before it landed and for some unknown reason, felt inclined to defuse the explosive before it detonated.

“Be bold boy and say yes,” the elderly woman chuckled softly, “A girl like that won’t wait for you forever and the monk is right. Anyone with eyes can see you love her.”

“Stay outta this” Inuyasha snapped irritably - a reaction to which the old woman thankfully seemed amused by, “What makes you so bold?”

Miroku’s hand flew to the top of his head - hoping his friend didn’t just incur someone’s wrath and also…didn’t Inuyasha just say they shouldn’t draw attention to themselves? Was this just how he coped with fear and anxiety? Antagonize people? If so, how was Inuyasha still alive?!

“Well this was my husbands village and now it belongs to my son. Everything that happens here is my business,” the old woman hummed - giving the somewhat nervous trio a reassuring smile, “And seeing as how you’re in my village, what I say goes.”

“Crack pot,” Inuyasha huffed - earning a full blown facepalm from the miko - and the old woman, to her credit, simply smirked. Not at all afraid of the teenager even with all his fangs and demonic energy. Mostly because he was obviously domesticated and in the presence of equally powerful friends who could stop him from doing any real damage but also because this demon clearly had a good heart and therefore, she reasoned, wouldn’t harm her.

And while that was all mostly true, that didn’t mean Inuyasha wasn’t seriously considering punching her.

“Inuyasha, you need to be nicer to people.”

“Fine. Fine,” Inuyasha huffed as his blush deepened. Glancing at the old woman to make sure she wasn’t upset by what he’d said, Inuyasha turned his gaze back towards the miko who was clearly expecting him to apologize to the old woman. Which he wasn’t gunna do but he could fix one thing that probably needed fixing for a while now.

Squaring his shoulders, Inuyasha cleared his throat and…tried…

“It’d be annoying but if you…you want to kiss me sometimes, I won’t stop you.”

Kagome blinked once then twice.

“Come again?”

Quickly reaching over to push Miroku away face first before he could add in his two cents, Inuyasha tried to look like what he’d said wasn’t awkward as hell.

“I said if you want to kiss me, go ahead. Old bat was right,” Inuyasha hufffed before his eyes widened in horror at what he’d impulsively implied, “I mean, you already j-just do shit. I c-can’t really stop you.”

Kagome made a bemused face and wrinkled her nose at this bizarre admission. That was at least twice now that Inuyasha hadn’t shot someone down after they announced he loved her. Which was unusual and for someone as easily triggered as he was, that left her with a most wonderful conclusion.

One that he apparently realized she’d come to and so Inuyasha did what Inuyasha do.

He tried to protect himself. Poorly.

“I see that look. Don’t be stupid. I mean…yeah, she was right about…about the love part…I do, um, love you, ya know, as a friend. A good friend. And, um, sometimes friends they kiss I think.”

“Well if that is true I must inform San…”

With a soft groan at his own cringeworthy awkwardness, Inuyasha once again necessarily pressed his hand against the closer than usual monk’s face and gave it a light push. This was already nerve racking enough without the monk making it more weird on purpose. First he was holding his woman’s hand without realizing and now he’d all but admitted how he felt. Something he’d been denying himself because he didn’t want to force someone to walk beside him as he faced the constant pile of shit being thrown at him. Add to that he didn’t deserve to be happy when Kikyo was suffering and it was just…wrong to feel like he did.

What he wanted didn’t matter. It never mattered…

Kagome smiled and his stomach turned into pleasant knots.

Except it did. Hell did it ever. He couldn’t even go more than a day without this woman before he lost his fucking mind. What was he going to do if she knew and didn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if a chance at a relationship ended badly?! If she left him, she’d take the only friends he’d ever had with her…

He’d be alone…

“Uh….huh…”

Panicking now, Inuyasha decided to rely on old faithful and go for an insult to force her back into friendship lane. This was getting into dangerous territory. She knew. Mainly because he told her but he…he could fix it.

“W-why are you so s-stupid, huh?” Inuyasha added a little desperately and much to his horror Kagome’s knowing smile only grew, “I’m just saying you just do shit and…I mean, what am I supposed to do, huh? You just throw yourself at…”

The old woman snickered at the scene and threw in her thoughts with a bemused laugh, “Please just kiss him young lady and put us all out of our misery. He talks far too much for his own good.”

“STAY OUTTA THIS YOU OLD…” Inuyasha began to bellow before whimpering softly when Kagome sealed his mouth with her own. Before he knew it, his arms were pulling her up and against him to give her the best access. It was beautiful and pure and everything he’d hoped a real kiss would be like. While she had done that before, this was the first time she’d done it for a reason other than saving his sorry ass. She’d done that only because she wanted to and that fact that she’d done it just because nearly brought a tear to his eye. Did she…did she love him back?

“You know,” Kagome panted lightly as she pulled back and nuzzled her man’s nose, “I love you too.”

Visibly wilting in relief, Inuyasha gave Kagome the most affectionate look anyone had ever seen on his face. A look that crumpled and turned to annoyance when Miroku made another comment about ‘public displays’.

The old woman simply rolled her eyes and continued on her way - mentally chuckling to herself about how the youth of today could be so foolish and how life was far too short.

A short distance away her middle aged son was watching his mother with a weary smile while the pair of mercenaries seemed to discuss something of great magnitude.

“That’s a dangerous thing you just did.”

“I did nothing but nudge those two down a path they were already on,” the old woman chuckled softly - reaching out to pat her son’s arm, “Love is love sweetheart. It’s one of those funny things in life that just is.”

For a long moment, the son watched the newly formed couple as they resumed holding hands before sighing and turning to follow his mother.

“I meant you meddle far too much” the son continued - glancing over his shoulder to make sure they went being overheard, “They’re mercenaries by trade. You saw their weapons. Probably fresh from some war and…”

“Mercenaries deserve love as well…”

The son let out a long exhale and rolled his eyes.

“Mother. That boy had claws…”

“Claws deserve love…”

The son stopped mid step and groaned that kind of exasperated groan only a child with an embarrassing parent would understand before glancing over his shoulder to watch the little band move on towards their next bounty. One day his mother was going to try to play matchmaker with the wrong two people…

But thankfully, it would seem she always managed to pick the right ones.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now ��

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[anonymousewrites]

Of Pawns and Player Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Deciding

            Sukuna swept through the halls of his shrine. Servants scattered to each side to avoid crossing his path. With the dark air following him, there was no telling how quickly his temper would snap and someone would die. Only Uraume had the bravery or was calm enough to accompany the King of Curses. They said nothing, opting for the safer option to simply be available to fulfill of Sukuna’s wants or needs.

            As Sukuna crossed through the library, he paused. The chessboard next to him sliced into pieces at the subtle flick of his wrist.

            “Uraume, get that out of my sight,” said Sukuna.

            “Of course, Sukuna-sama.” Uraume bowed and sharply nodded at the servants to clean it up. They scrambled out and began sweeping up the pieces before Sukuna got angry. Uraume made sure the servants were completing the task before following Sukuna. Observing their lord, Uraume kept their face passive, but their mind was full of thoughts. The wedding is tomorrow. Sukuna still has not killed that woman as he planned. Why? They glanced down. Why is his mind so focused on her? We—He could be doing so much else with his time. Uraume look at Sukuna again. I wonder what you’ve decided. Now is your final chance. Is it worth it to kill her? Have you had your fun? Or will her family await her only to discover her dead in her room?

            Sukuna stopped and opened the armory doors. With great care, he picked up each weapon and tested it in his hand before putting it back down.

            “Uraume, do you know the best way to bring out fear in people?” asked Sukuna, smirking sinisterly.

            “Torture?” said Uraume.

            “Precisely. I need weapons to cause the most pain possible,” said Sukuna. His grin widened with flashing, predatory teeth.

            “Are you planning on a slow death rather than the fast one she hoped for?” asked Uraume. Sukuna had relayed (most) of the events between himself and Okada Ren.

            Red eyes nearly glowing in excited anticipation, Sukuna picked up two long katanas. Each was lined with deadly ridges which would carve painfully into its victims. “Hmm.” Sukuna considered carefully. In a flash, he disappeared from the room.

            Uraume simple turned to look into the hall as Sukuna loomed over a servant. They watched with perfect calm as Sukuna sliced down with each blade. The servant wailed in pain.

            With blood splattering his face and front, Sukuna turned to Uraume and said cruelly, “Perfect.” He threw out his arm and decapitated the servant. Kicking the head away with his foot, Sukuna stared down distastefully at it. “I look for the Okada and Gojo’s screams of horror, not these.”

            Uraume’s heart pounded. Finally, this will be over with! “I take it you’ve decided then, Sukuna-sama?”

            “I need my best robes prepared, Uraume,” said Sukuna, smirking down at his companion. “It shall be a wedding of pain and death.”

            Uraume bowed. “Everything will be perfect for you, my lord.”

            “Tomorrow, I will see Ren’s emotions as I end this all.” Sukuna dragged a finger over the blades, drawing up the blood. “Tomorrow, blood will run red, and I shall bathe in the Okada and Gojo’s ruin and death. Tomorrow, I will get everything I desire.”

l

            Ren stood at the window as the rising sun split the sky into a bloody red and fiery orange. It was her wedding day, yet…she was still alive. Everything they—she had gone through were for nothing. The Gojos weren’t suffering. She wasn’t free from being married. In a few minutes, her mother and a multitude of maids would enter and trap her in that god-awful dress. Ren would be made into the “perfect little bride.”

            “Damn them all,” hissed Ren. “Damn the wedding, damn my parents, damn the Gojos, and most of all damn him.”

            Him. Sukuna. King of Curses. The bastard who had promised to kill her. The man who had not come. He had sworn to leave his strange hesitation towards killing her behind. Unless…

            Unless my plan proved uninteresting to him in the end. His hesitation could have been born of boredom. I couldn’t be the fearful prey he desired. Perhaps he decided I wasn’t worth it; my plan wasn’t worth it. After all, he has hundreds more years to humiliate the Gojos over and over. One woman’s plan doesn’t change that. Ren sighed. Did I not have the drama he desired? Were my strategies not entertaining enough? Was I not entertaining enough?

            Running her fingers through her hair in frustration, she caught sight of her reflection in the vanity. Red hair flowed down her back and shoulders and highlighted where her robe slipped slightly with green eyes mirroring the golden sunlight falling on her. Ren frowned.

          Was I not enough for him? Would he have found me more interesting if I was more of what he wanted?

            Turning away from the mirror, Ren balled her fists. It didn’t matter whether or not she enough for him, for the plan or…anything else. If he couldn’t be bothered to continue, she would take matters into her own hands. Ren didn’t need to be interesting, or indeed, anything, for Sukuna.

            She crossed to her dresser and pulled a drawer open. Inside rested a book. And inside the cutout in the book, a dagger lay waiting for her.

            If Sukuna doesn’t want to finish this, then I will.

            Ren reached out and moved the black queen into position on her chessboard.

            I guess this game is ending today. Checkmate.

[sleepy-sloth-doodles]

I’m Not Dead :D

Good news guys, I’m not dead! School, however, has drained the life out of me so I haven’t been drawing. I have some stuff in the works but until then enjoy this little line up

Season 1

1x1: Eye of the Beholder, Pt 1

1x2: Eye of the Beholder, Pt 2

1x3: Imperfect Harmony

1x4: When Darkness Falls- On an island that would make the perfect outpost, the dragon riders discover its indigenous residents are a mysterious new breed of dragon, as well as some mysterious figures

1x5: The Queen's Favor- The alpha of the island, a titan wing DeathSong, wants the dragon riders gone. Hiccup and his friends work to convince her with the help of two new companions

1x6: Big Man on Berk

1x7: Gone Gustav Gone

1x8: Reign of Fireworms-  Fireworm dragons invade Dragon's Edge, while Ruffnut and Tuffnut discover that they have an unexpected connection to the island, leading to a fight between the twins and Silas and Eerika

1x9: Big Water-  The Dragon Riders have an important mission to save a group of Monstrous Nightmares from Dagur and the Dragon hunters and need all hands on deck. Silas and Eerika refuse to help, leading to a tear in the group and secrets being spilled. Can Silas and Eerika get over their fear and help their new companions?

1x10: Crushing it

1x11: Quake, Rattle, and Roll

1x12: Have Dragon Will Travel, Pt 1

1x13: Have Dragon Will Travel, Pt 2

1x14: The Next Big Sting

1x15: Total Nightmare

Season 2

2x1: Team Astrid2

2x2: Night of the Hunters, Pt1

2x3: Night of the Hunters, Pt 2

2x4: O Brother Where Art Thou: When Crackle leaves the comfort of home to prove he isn’t the baby of the family he ends up getting tangled up by Dagur and the Dragon hunters.

2x5: Island: After the battle for Crackle Eerika and Dagur find themselves stranded on an island and must work together to survive, that is if they don’t kill each other first

2x6: Bad Moon Rising

2x7: Snotlout Gets the Axe

2x8: The Zippleback Experience

2x9: Snow Way Out

2x10: Edge of Disaster, Pt 1

2x11: Edge of Disaster, Pt 2

2x12: Into the Unknown- During battle with the dragon hunters Silas notices Eerika keeps missing shots and staying away from the fight. Not only that but she keeps leaving the island mysterious at night. Silas asks the Twins for help and to see what secrets she's keeping

2x13: Shock and Awe

2x14: A Time to Skrill- Tension between Toothless and Spyro boils over when a skrill with a grudge against Hiccup returns. Spyro decides weather to side with his own species or put aside his hatred for Toothless

2x15: Maces and Talons, Pt 1

2x16: Maces and Talons, Pt 2

Season 3

3x1: Enemy of My Enemy

3x2: Crash Course

3x3: Follow the Leader

3x4: Turn and Burn

3x5: Buffalord Soldier

3x6: Grim Retreat

3x7: To Heather or Not to Heather

3x8: Stryke Out

3x9: Tone Death

3x10: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

3x11: Family on the Edge

3x12: An Eye for an Eye- In an Act of mourning Eerika goes out and strikes down any dragon hunter ship she finds, alone. During one of these solo missions Eerika gets captured and must escape or die trying.

3x13: Last Auction Heroes- Snotlout goes on an undercover mission to Viggo's dragon auction to rescue the creatures and stop Viggo from getting richer. Two new faces appear in the Grimborn Family.

3x14: Defenders of the Wing, Pt 1

Season 4

4x1: Defenders of the Wing, Pt 2

4x2: Gruff Around the Edges

4x3: Midnight Scrum

4x4: Not Lout

4x5: The Family Grim, Pt 1- Hiccup and the riders once again face off with Viggo and his men. When the battle begins Viggo discovers something more valuable than the dragon eye.

4x6: The Family Grim, Pt 2- Silas and Eerika are  now captured and sailing off with Viggo, home. Encountering old faces and familiar smells.  

4x7: Saving ShatterMaster

4x8: Dire Straits

4x9: The Longest Day

4x10: Gold Rush- Dagur appears at the Edge and claims to know where Viggo keeps his gold, and the Dragon Riders race to find the stash and return Berk's stolen gold (Note: Dagur and Heather don’t leave to find their father).

4x11: Dragon Sickness- With Dagur now on the edge, Eerika is flying high, Silas on the other hand is ready to kick him off. When Eerika becomes sick with a disease they call Dragon sickness Dagur and Silas must work together before it's too late.

4x12: T​​he Hunt for Oswald- Dagur is determined to find his father and, not wanting to travel alone, asks Heather and Eerika to join him.

4x13: Out of the Frying Pan

4x14: Twintuition

4x15: Blindsided

4x16: Shell Shocked, Pt 1

4x17: Shell Shocked, Pt 2

Season 5

5x1: To the Bone: Therril and Jarl want to make up for Viggo and Rykers misdeeds by helping the dragon riders on their latest mission. The riders are hesitant to accept help but a mysterious dragon forces them to work together

5x2: Living on the Edge

5x3: Sandblasted

5x4: Something Rotten on Berserker Island

5x5: Snotlout’s Angels

5x6: A Matter of Perspective

5x7: Return of Thor Bonecrusher

5x8: Dawn of Destruction

5x9: The Wings of War, Pt 1

5x10: The Dragon and the Dragon Hunter- After hearing at a bar that Viggo lives from a group of dragon hunters he sails to dragons edge to confront him. The two fight and Jarl decides to leave and want the riders, but not before he helps a certain dragon escape.

5x11: Wings of war, Pt 2

5x12: No Dragon left Behind

5x13: Snuffnut

5x14: Searching for Oswald…and Chicken

5x15: Sins of the Past- When Heather and Eerika leave to meet a man claiming to have seen Oswald, they walk into a trap that forces the Dragon Riders to pay an unexpected price.

[gripefroot]

Library

He always knows where to find her. 

It’s become a game, after all these years - almost a cat and mouse to keep the blood warm and anticipation high. For there is never a shortage of anticipation in the waiting; not for her, and when she sees his face, not for him, either. Like clockwork, the chime that seems to pause all time between their duties to carve out their love again and again, always reassurance. A pause. A breath. A sigh. Before time starts again. 

Sometimes it’s a garden, sometimes a deserted corridor, sometimes a courtyard beneath a starry sky. Sometimes the forest. Sometimes a guest chamber at the palace. Sometimes she’s the cat, pretending to both of them she’s capable of sneaking up on him while he keeps vigil alone. And sometimes it’s simply behind the carved wooden doors of their own chambers, behind those velvet drapes while the Nine Realms spin on around them - 

But tonight, it’s the library. 

Tonight it’s past midnight, with the city gone dark and slow and quiet, and it grows difficult to stay awake. With the first chill at the onset of autumn, the crackling fire in the great stone hearth is welcome - amongst the ancient tomes and dusty shelves she’s made a bed of furs, a soft place to land within the fire’s glow. 

Though it might put her to sleep before he even arrives.

It’s in the rustle of leaves outside the columned windows that he does - quiet as a shadow, as is his way, but her ears are tuned to how the world curls around him. The leaves, then the silence. She knows that silence as well as she knows his smile or his laugh, and so she’s smiling as she stirs beneath the furs, blinking open her eyes to see him beside the hearth, lifting the helm from his head as his eyes glow golder than the flames. 

“I am sorry I am late,” his voice rumbles, and his gaze doesn’t leave her face. 

“No matter,” she murmurs back. Then a sudden yawn slips through her lips, which she tries to hide with the back of her hand. 

“I kept you waiting.” There’s a wry twist of his lips, as he now unbuckles the scabbard at his waist. Into a chair beside his helmet, and though he likely means to keep it from her - there’s a flash of a wince on his handsome, sculpted face, and she swings her legs over the side of the sofa. A quick tug frees the silken, burgundy folds of her dressing gown from beneath her, and she stands. 

“Come, husband. Let me help you undress.” 

His smile turns grateful - taking him by the hand, she guides him to sit atop the furs, where she can kneel behind him to unlace his golden pauldron at the back of his neck. His head droops as she slides it from his shoulders, setting it carefully upon the stone-flagged floor. 

“I would return the offer,” he says softly. “But it seems you are already undressed.”

“Not all the way,” she laughs in return, and clicks her tongue in chiding. “I could not wait bare-skinned in a library where anyone might walk in! That is only for you.”

Beneath his arms are the ties to his cuirass - nimbly she unlaces those as well, practiced after so long. Then, quietly, he says, “No one will disturb us this night, my love.” 

“Then we must make the night count.” 

The cuirass is put aside, and her lips find the nape of his neck - chainmail cold against her chin, but his skin is warm and husky-scented. He hums at the sensation as she works to free him of the heavy mail, his chest vibrating. The scent of the cold cosmos, of starry nebulas is so recognizable - so him. 

Once the chainmail is lifted, she curls around him, sliding into his lap as he smiles fondly down at her. Cheek against his soft, worn leather tunic, she whispers, “What did you see tonight?” 

“Everything,” he murmurs back, his lips against her hair. “I saw war and famine and destruction. And I saw love and children and open hearts. I saw worlds die and worlds born. The stars are aging, and I heard the music of their closing.” 

The hair that sculpts his jawline is coarse beneath her palm, as she draws his face near to hers - a kiss, his taste sliding musky over her tongue, his arm tightening ‘round her waist. The cold vambrace is hard with only her thin dressing gown to protect her, but it doesn’t hurt - it merely feels like him. 

“And,” he says when he pulls away, nuzzling his nose against hers. “I saw you waiting for me.”

She smiles. “I counted on it.” She catches her hand in his, weaving their fingers together where they fit so perfectly; the callouses meeting her soft skin in a thrilling stroke. Then, drawing his hand close, she begins to remove his vambrace, next. 

The fire crackles - the only sound apart from the song of leather ties, and his deep, even breathing. Forehead resting against her head, she knows his eyes are closed as she ministers to him. 

“The king,” he starts to say, and his voice breaks. “The Allfather joined the stars today, my love.”

Her fingers pause, and the library suddenly seems frigidly cold, as though struck with a winter wind - shivering, she burrows herself deeper into her husband’s arms before sliding the vambrace over his hand. His embrace tightens as he moves to unlace the vambrace behind her back, where she can’t reach. 

“And what do you see of us, now?” she asks boldly. 

“I see...a cloak of darkness. I see pain.” His eyes open again, and she tilts her chin to peer into the golden depths - how well he sees her, after centuries of watching the universe. And she sees him, too, his grief and sadness lined around his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the downward tilt of his lips. Perhaps he knows more than he says, but her utmost trust in what he chooses to share is unsurpassed. His sight can be a burden, she knows, and in her love she seeks merely to ease it. 

Thumb against his bottom lip, urging it to lift. “Then let us enjoy the light while we have it,” she suggests, and when he smiles, it aches - but he kisses her, all the same, large, calloused hands exploring where they already know along her waist and back and neck. He drinks her sighs as greedily as he always has, and against his palm she can feel the steady thumping of his heart. 

When she’s growing breathless and his voice is ragged, he tips her back onto the furs. The sight of him standing above the sofa to remove his leather tunic and breeches draws her in like a moth to flame - and she welcomes the burning with open arms, at the exposure of his glinting skin, the heat against her skin. How he fumbles with the ties of her dressing gown, this night, and groans aloud to discover that she had mysteriously forgotten to wear a nightgown beneath it. 

“I thought you could not wait bare-skinned,” he kisses into her skin, and her fingers clench around the back of his neck as she gasps. 

“And I thought you could see me, husband,” is all she manages to quip in return, but the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest soars through her whole being, much like his kissing. Every breath of his that caresses her every each of body sinks through the skin and muscle and sinew to light her very bones onto fire - liquid gold that courses in her veins, pumping by her heart - her heart is his, and his is hers, and they’ll always be one as they always have before - 

“I would rather touch you,” he pants, and kisses the tip of her nose, which she scrunches. “Feel you.” And his thick, corded thighs part hers as his fingers dip below - proving his touch to make her back arch, her eyes squeeze shut - the fur against her naked back scraping so soft and gentle, but he’s gentler. 

There are days and nights when passion snaps and cracks faster than a whip - hungry and thirsty and desperate - but tonight is not that. Tonight drinks deep from a cup of wine, heady on the tongue and dizzying. 

His fingers emerge glistening as her head spins - he tastes first, and then with a crooked smile offers to her - she catches his hand in hers to lick him clean, holding his golden gaze as she does so and earning a hearty chuckle. 

“So sweet,” he purrs. “Always so sweet, my love.” 

A curtain seems to fall around them, glittering like stars and trapping them safely within - she’s always safe within his arms, held secure from the ills of the world with his protection and his love. Centuries made good, one after another, since before worlds began - and yet, the awe is always the same when they’re bound as husband and wife and knitting their hearts together tighter and tighter each time. 

With a grunt he twists their tangle of limbs so that she can fly - mounted tall on his veined length and eagerly watching the emotion play on his face as he stares up at her. Firelight glowing against his skin, his lips curled into a smile as she takes the lead. Soon his head falls back, eyelids closing slightly though she can see a slit of golden orbs beneath - with her teeth biting almost painfully into her lip, she sighs with him, moving, moving, moving, to hear him murmur her name entwined with words of love. 

He touches her everywhere he can reach, and when he strokes her breasts it’s the strike of flint against steel - her cry of climax echoing within the library walls and bouncing back - a witness to tomes on the study of love that this, this is what it is. This is what it’s meant to be. More than dusty theories or monotonous commentaries; this is the action and the living and the life. 

He’s smiling when she catches her breath again. 

“You grow more beautiful each time,” he tells her, his hand cupping her face - releasing a sigh with a shaky laugh, she catches his wrist and twists her head to kiss his palm. “No, ‘tis true, my love,” he adds, one eyebrow quirking high. “I can see it.” 

“Flatterer,” she says fondly, and bends over him to kiss his mouth - his laugh and hers caught between their lips and forgotten as the wave of heat courses again. 

And so it goes until the first pink tendrils of dawn break through the frosty windows of the library - over and over again, between musing exchanges on this or that, between tender kisses and companionable silences. As he must leave at dawn, she insists that he sit on the edge of the sofa so that she can rub out the tension in his shoulders that comes from the weight of his armor - they have only a few moments more until the end. 

“My love,” he says, as she presses her thumbs deep into his muscles. “You might visit Njal today.” 

“I saw our son for luncheon only yesterday. Has something changed?”

A pause - and then heavy as the earth, “It will.” 

She does not like that tone of voice. She knows it - she knows the foreboding. But she also knows that nothing at all will convince her husband to share more information. And so she merely breathes in, and leans forward to kiss his whiskery cheek from behind. 

“I shall see him again, then. If he is not too busy training with the einherjar.” 

“Take our daughters with you.” 

“And will not join us, husband?” she asks. 

“I will. But I will be late.” 

“How late?”

Another pause. Still she tries to knead out the knots he carries - but they are more stubborn than she is strong, and so she takes to kissing his shoulder blades, for that comfort, at least.

“I will join you by sunset tomorrow.” 

“I shall hold you to that.” 

He turns his head, then - his smile, though stilted, is all the assurance she needs. Whatever will come, will come - they have weathered wars and death and pain before, and they will again. Her heart aches for the future, for the unknown, for the questions bubbling inside - no, she has never been able to imagine his burden, and she never will. But in that burden he still seeks her, still loves her, and when he lifts her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, she wishes for magic to pause this parting forever. 

“I must go now. But I will return.” 

Hope is a golden shroud. She helps him to dress once more, and kisses him farewell - soon early risers will be seeking the library, and so she slips away after he is gone, shadow by shadow, to leave this meeting place. 

The next time they meet, it will be in the forest fleeing for their lives, but she doesn’t know it yet. 

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 38!! @errorfreak88 @brightlotusmoon @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz @dakotafinely @yarchurr @sententiously-sarcastic @sprinklestheditty

Content warnings!! Trauma and a scene that may resemble suicidal signs (please lmk if you can think of a better phrasing)

Leonardo and Hueso sat lotus style facing each other, Leonardo’s sword laid out in front of them. The rest of the mutants and April were forced behind a line of tape, told they could watch as long as they were quiet. Mikey and Raphael, it seemed, had trouble remembering that they couldn’t cross the line and would have to be gently reminded by Raph and Michalengalo to move back. They’d be so drawn into the ceremony like fish to a lure that they’d outright forget that they had crossed the line. Raphael, after the long nap gifted to him, was looking much brighter and calmer than the state Leonardo had left him in, and Leonardo had trouble focusing on Hueso without his eyes wandering back over to check on his brother. Hueso would snap his fingers each time Leonardo strayed and give a simple, “Eyes on me.”

The two of them sat in a silence for a long time, their hands joined. Hueso said it was only supposed to be a ten minute reflection to draw the memories forth from the sword, but for the first few times, Leonardo would have made some noise, no matter how small, and the progress of the ceremony would be lost. Finally, with great mental strain and biting his tongue to keep it from wanting to talk, finally they made it the full ten minutes. It was a delayed reaction, just enough for each of the brothers to consider that maybe they did something wrong. Then it happened all at once.

The lines traced along the blade of the odachi lit up in the brightest cerulean blue, spiraling in on itself until it illuminated a sixteen-petaled lotus with a downward-facing triangle in its middle surrounding a circle. Hueso opened his eyes finally, and Leonardo couldn’t hide the gasp as he witnessed the newfound beauty of the calaca. The usually blank canvas of his bones were decorated in bright rainbows of designs that seemed somehow dull in the presence of the glowing odachi. His normally white eyes shone a deep, powerful blue and his teeth each took on a different color.

“Hueso— your bones!” Leonardo remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk the minute the words left his mouth and he flinched with the expectation that all their progress would be erased, but it was not.

Hueso laughed at Leonardo. “My bones? You should take a look at yourself!”

Leonardo gave a confused hum and looked back at his companions, who all stared at him with wide expressions of awe and in various stages of cheers and silent words Leonardo couldn’t hear. “Why can’t I…?”

“It’s normal, don’t worry.” Hueso said, “We are truly alone. Check your reflection in the glint of your odachi if you care to.”

Leonardo leaned forward to look at the glowing odachi closer and, beyond the blue light, his reflection was as clear as if it were a mirror. Every mark and flaw on Leonardo’s face was lit up brightly, his stripes the brighter shades of the normal color, except glowing, while the rest of the imperfections matched the color of the odachi. Every scar and fault and blemish that covered his face and body was highlighted bright and beautiful.

“Wow…” Leonardo whistled, “I look hot!”

“You are Kintsugi.” Hueso said with a laugh, “And your chakra, of course, Vishuddha.”

“The throat chakra…” Leonardo touched his neck and felt the heat of the burning chakra within. “Wow. I’m literally hot!”

“You have no shame do you?”

“None at all.” Leonardo stuck out his tongue.

Hueso sighed and shook his head. “The sword holds the memories of all the places it has been. 
Each rift is opens leaves a mark in the very metal…” 

The reflection in the sword started to shift and change to show the most recent uses. Leonardo using the portal to defeat Leo in the spar. Leonardo using the portal to reach his father. Leonardo portaling away from Krang’s technodrone...

“There.” The memories stopped shifting at Hueso’s word, “When you’re more experienced, you will be able to draw forth these memories on your own. But for now, you did amazing.” Hueso let go of Leonardo’s hands to stand up. “Take your odachi and create your rift.”

Leonardo grabbed his odachi and stood up, every part of his body feeling numb and overwhelmed at the same time, and he traced the odachi through the air. It ripped through the fabric of reality almost audibly, the portal brighter and stronger than Leonardo had ever made or seen. The force of its draw was intense and unrelenting that Leonardo would have been pulled off his feet if it wasn’t for Hueso grabbing him by the bridge of his carapace to hold him still.

“We do not want to cross through there.” Hueso spoke just loud enough to be heard over the whistling of the rift, “You must move the rift to a safe entry point.”

Leonardo back to the rift and saw its placement, high in the center of the technodrone with hundreds of feet of open air below. He took a shaky breath as he moved just close enough to take a better look inside. 

“T… there?” He pointed at a ledge farther down the wall of the technodrone.

“You tell me.” Hueso said calmly. 

“Y… yes.” Leonardo decided, almost confident. “Yes, that would work.”

“Then let us retrieve your brothers.”

****

Everything was going just as planned. Krang was rubbing his ring with that devilish grin spit across his pink face, a tentacle occasionally rubbing the ring just to feel the rush of its power once more. The Shadow Fiend did just as Krang ordered, down to the smallest request. When Krang said to walk, The Shadow Fiend walked. When Krang said to sit, the Shadow Fiend sat. When Krang said to jump or growl or roar or beg, The Shadow Fiend listened. Krang liked that. He could only imagine what this creature would be like at its full power, and he could hardly wait to use it to its full potential.

“How much longer?” Krang looked away from his ring just long enough to address Draxum.

Draxum was humming softly as he did his work, as slow as he could manage without drawing attention from Krang. He had to give that skeleton enough time to find the brothers and bring them here, and he was running out of ways to stall. “The ceremony has to be perfect, Great Oni. I must make sure there is no fault in my lines.”

“Very well then.” Krang huffed, “Just hurry up then! I want my new prize sooner rather than later.”

“You will have your prize.” Draxum promised, “You just must be patient.”

“Patience isn’t a virtue of us ‘oni’ in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh trust me, I have.” Draxum muttered under his breath, too low for Krang to hear. Krang was too busy looking at his ring again to care anyway. Finally, Draxum brought Yoshi to the middle of the ceremony, the rat blind folded with his arms and legs tied as Draxum could manage without snapping the limbs. Mutants were all so delicate compared to yokai, especially their fleshy bits.

“You are a cruel creature, Baron Draxum!” Yoshi spat, trying to snap at Draxum’s hand while the yokai handled and positioned him like a doll. “Gaining the trust of me and my sons, pretending you’ve changed— betraying my dear Orange!”

“You should talk less.” Draxum warned.

Yoshi didn't stop. “And now you bring these innocent other worldly creatures into your lust for power?! What— you want to steal their mutagen too? Haven’t you done enough damage to the people of New York?!”

Draxum laughed and planted his hoof firmly on Yoshi’s back, pressing the mutant slowly and firmly into the ground and twisting him almost playfully. “You are not people, Yoshi. You. Are. A. RAT!” 

He slammed his hoof down hard and Yoshi cried out as the sharp hoof pierced the fur and flesh. 

“Leave him alone!” Splinter cried out from where he was still being held captive by Draxum’s vines. 

Draxum rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the talkative mutant. “Why is he still alive again?”

“I want him to watch as I destroy his sons.” Krang laughed, “Or, more as my new pet here does. It’ll make him all the more entertaining after I freeze him.”

Cassandra didn't know how to feel. She trusted her master more than anything, and her master seemed to trust this ‘oni’ so she had to trust him too. But at the same time… this Splinter had been so kind to her. Sat down with her during her girl scouts phase… talked with her… advised her. He was so nice, and to see him being abused by her master jut felt wrong. But then she shook her head to dismiss such treasonous thoughts as they tried to invade. She was Cassandra freaking Jones! Loyal to the Foot Clan and to her masters to the very end! And when she could get her hands on the orb and free her family and clan, she would do just that and everything would be well again— just as long as they got those turtles out of the way!

****

The portal took them through just as planned. Their feet carried them swift and quiet, even the large box turtles able to walk as silent as a panther stalking through the night. The bigger brothers were the first through, followed by the mix-matched set, and lastly April, which made the bay brother’s eyes widen in apprehension .

“Should she be here?” Raph asked, his voice as low as one could hope it to be. “This ain’t exactly safe!”

Donnie’s eyes seemed to bug out of their sockets in his panic that quickly turned to confusion. “Wait— her o2 stats are still stable… how is she breathing right now?”

“She won’t be if she goes down there.” Raph growled, “This ain’t amateur hour.”

“AMATEUR?!” 

Michelangelo practically tackled April, pressing his finger to her lips to shush her. Leonardo watched the scene with a strange expression on his face. Raphael and Donatello were quick to notice, both of them exchanging looks to make sure the other was seeing what they were. The expression wasn’t quite sad nor happy nor upset nor mad. It was just… calm. Calm and so unnerving on the usually animated face of their little brother.

“April, maybe you should stay behind.” Leonardo’s voice was even and quiet. 

“What? But Leo—“ April stopped talking the minute she saw the look on Leonardo’s face. Tired and scared and calm all stitched into his face in such a subtle manner that to anyone other than family it would be inperceptible. Something was wrong, and Leonardo’s voice sounded so serious that April quickly forsaked her previous outrage for a gentle, “Yeah… right. Whatever you say Leo…”

She went back through the rift and left them. Leonardo turned his attention then to Raphael. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to fight?”

“Y-yeah! Feeling better already.” Raphael tried to smile, but it was hard. “Are you alright Leo?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Leonardo sounded more like Donatello than like himself as he hovered over the edge of the ledge and looked down at the long drop beneath, vertigo spiraling in his mind though he hardly cared. “On your call, bud.”

“Leo…?” Michelangelo finally caught onto what was happening, sticking out his bottom lip as he eyed Leonardo with red eyes that burned like the sun. “Are you okay?”

Leonardo gave a weak laugh and smiled, his eyes looking to Michelangelo, and the box turtle could see tears trying to escape them. “Don’t you worry, Hermano. You’ll be just fine. I love you all so much.”

“Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye…?”

Leonardo didn't answer.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 21

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT DAY

THRYMR’S TOMB

“They’re here, my lord.” The messenger said from the doorway, awaiting his king’s response.

Kjotve chuckled and lounged in his chair, allowing his feet to rest on the war table before him.

“Of course they are. It was only a matter of time.” He went quiet for a moment, sliding a rock along the blade of his battle-axe. “...Is Gorm with them?”

The messenger’s gaze shifted to the floor. “N-No, my lord.”

The other man didn’t seem surprised. “I expected as much. That boy was dead the minute he allowed himself to fall into their hands. They’ve likely hammered his head on a pike already.” Kjotve sighed and set the rock down, leaning forward in his seat. “No matter. We’ll manage without him. How many people are we dealing with?”

“It’s an army, my lord. Both the Raven and Bear clans are here. They’re attacking the fort from the southern half of the island. Sigurd Styrbjornson is leading the charge. Dag is nowhere to be found though.”

Kjotve nodded to himself, quickly formulating a plan in his head. “He’s probably dead. I knew something was amiss when Dag’s reports came to a sudden halt.”

He rose from the chair and stretched his arms, resting the axe’s hilt on his shoulder. “Tell our men to prepare for war, and make sure everyone is ready. If Sigurd loses this battle, the power of the entire kingdom will shift, and his family will lose their claim to the throne. He won’t accept defeat easily. We’ll have to throw everything we have at him.”

The messenger bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Kjotve began striding towards the door. “In the meantime, I think I should get a look at this ‘army’ for myself. I’ve never known The Raven Clan to be a formidable opponent, but they’re not an enemy to be underestimated. Keep your eyes sharp, and your axe at hand. This isn’t going to end smoothly.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

THRYMR’S TOMB, SOUTHERN HALF

“Heave!” Sigurd bellowed, his voice towering over all the commotion.

The Raven Clan let out a unanimous shout and rushed forward with the battering ram, gripping the mechanism so tightly that their knuckles turned white. The wooden planks of the bridge groaned underneath their weight as they charged towards the fort, trembling from the footsteps of a hundred warriors.

Meanwhile, the Bear Clan marched alongside them and formed a shield wall around their allies, taking the brunt of any arrows that came raining down from the battlements. A series of thunderous war chants echoed from the sea of raiders flooding the gates, and within moments, they were already bashing it down.

“Heave!” Sigurd commanded once again, urging them to charge. The warriors took a few steps back and pulled the ram into position, holding it in place before letting it swing.

The front of the mechanism immediately broke free from their grasp and soared into the braces holding the gate together, causing an array of splinters to fly from the surface.

A few of the supports could be seen bending in the face of the ram’s power, and by now, a unit of Kjotve’s men had gathered on the other side, preparing to welcome the incoming horde of enemies.

Before Sigurd could carry out a final charge however, the shadows of multiple archers blotted the ground beneath his feet like phantoms emerging from the night, drawing his attention to the line of arrows growing above. He gazed upwards into the sun’s blinding light, and yelled another command.

“Shield wall!”

Upon hearing the order, the Bear Clan instantly got into formation and locked their shields together, creating a shimmering shell above their companions. A wave of arrows came bolting down soon after, and rapidly buried the army below under a hurricane of metal.

A number of Sigurd’s warriors were shot dead within seconds despite their attempt to deflect the attack, and much to his dismay, the battering ram suddenly found itself short of some men. The surviving raiders pushed on with any energy they had left and stepped over the handful of scattered corpses now littering the bridge, bringing the ram one step closer to success.

Taking advantage of the opening that followed the archers’ assault, the Raven Clan drew the ram back to its starting point and awaited their prince’s command, keeping the mechanism raised with a Herculean amount of strength.

“Heave!” Sigurd ordered one last time, signaling his men to rush forward. They tightened their grip and practically hurled the ram into the gate, shattering the remains of the barricade into pieces. Shards of wood violently erupted from the site of impact, and shortly after, the Raven Clan was storming the entrance.

“Find Kjotve!” The prince roared. “And send that argr dog into the jaws of Garmr himself!”

Barreling into the fort with a symphony of war cries, the Bear and Raven Clans began tearing through Kjotve’s men like a legion from Hel, cutting down anything in sight as if the spirit of Thor had possessed their very minds.

The sound of axes clashing rang across the battlefield like the shrill voice of a valravn and colored the air with mayhem, drowning out the agonized shrieks echoing from Kjotve’s army.

Meanwhile, Sigurd took hold of his longsword and jumped into the tempest swirling around him, butchering foes left and right in a haze of fury. 

All of his bottled-up rage, grief, and pain came pouring out in every strike, and soon enough, he resembled the man who visited Ingrida in her dreams. His eyes practically glowed with the sparks of a vengeful flame, and it didn’t take long for the god of war to start shining through his actions.

He no longer felt any fear; any doubt. The only thing that guided Sigurd’s axe now was the desire to honor those who had fallen. Thora, Dag, Ulfar, Eirik -- this was for all of them. This was to ensure that their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. This... was for his clan.

“Aarrgh!” A familiar voice shouted, causing Sigurd to glance to his side. 

In the distance, he spotted none other than Eivor himself burying an axe into the chest of an enemy raider, baring his teeth like a feral beast on the hunt. His eyes had been pried open by claws of adrenaline, and it was clear from the blood splatters staining his armor that he had already taken down his fair share of Kjotve’s men.

What the young warrior didn’t notice however, was the raider sneaking up from behind him.

“Eivor!” Sigurd exclaimed, dashing in his direction. “Behind you!”

The prince raised his sword in the air and slammed it downwards with an adamant amount of force, practically knocking the enemy’s head right off their shoulders. They dropped to the ground in an instant, and sank lifelessly into the mounds of snow.

Eivor took a moment to catch his breath, still processing the swift chain of events.

“...Thank you, Sigurd,” he said through labored breathing. The older man offered his hand and helped the blonde viking up to his feet, keeping an eye out for anymore men that may have been skulking in his blind spot.

“Don’t mention it.” He flicked his eyes around a bit. “Have you seen any sign of Kjotve?”

Eivor shook his head. “Not yet, and I doubt he’ll reveal himself anytime soon. He’s probably somewhere in the fort, using his men as a shield.”

“Then let’s make sure he has none to hide behind.” Sigurd stepped away from his lover, gesturing to the rest of the battlefield. “I’ll stay here and fight alongside our warriors. You focus on finding Kjotve. We cannot let him escape a second time.”

“Of course. Oh, and Sigurd?”

The prince paused. “Yes?”

Eivor’s expression softened with affection. “...Please, be careful.”

Sigurd returned the sentiment. “You as well, love. I’m not leaving this fort without you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

Sprinting across the reddened snow like a madman, Eivor charged through the war-weathered fort as he searched for Kjotve, trying to ignore all the chaos surrounding him. Everywhere on the battlefield, the young man saw nothing but men and women from both sides falling to their knees in defeat, quivering in the presence of death.

Their anguished cries blurred together in Eivor’s ears, and their bodies began to topple over like trees being cut down. Not a shred of honor or bravery graced the morbid scene before him, and instead of finding glory, he found no more than a desperate desire to cling onto life.

It reminded him of when he was a child. Everything was identical to that horrid night when his parents died, and the sound of Kjotve’s name only enhanced the vividness of the awful memories he carried. He felt like the exact same boy who had fled from that ruined village -- only this time -- there was no one to save him.

He was alone... and so was Kjotve.

Taking a moment to gather his composure, Eivor strengthened his resolve and firmly held onto Varin’s axe, marching directly into the hellish atmosphere ahead. Foes of all sorts blocked his path with a multitude of threats -- including arrows and fire -- but none were enough to scare him off. 

No matter how vicious their bite, or how large their shadow, Eivor refused to waver. He had spent so long trying to find Kjotve in this realm of ice and blood, that absolutely nothing would stop him anymore.

He came here to put an end to this war, and he would.

“Where are you, Kjotve?!” Eivor roared, prowling through the embers. “Come out and fight me! I know you’re there!”

Stomping through bedlam, the young warrior wildly swung his axe at the raiders standing in his way and struck them down one by one, stopping at nothing to find the man who had hunted him for all these years. His thoughts raced with the struggles he had endured to reach this point, and the voices of those he’d lost continued to sing in his head, urging him to keep going.

A primitive fear of death wracked the very core of his soul, but even then, Eivor couldn’t bring himself to retreat. A newfound defiance had been bred in his heart despite the dangers ahead, and in a strange way, his fear pushed him further.

“I will find you!” The Wolf-Kissed bellowed at the top of his lungs, lodging his axe into an enemy’s neck. “You think you can hide forever? You’ve taken my home, my parents, my sister, my honor! You no longer have any power over me!”

He carved his way through yet another group of foes and let out a ferocious shout, bashing his axe with so much force that sparks danced off the blade upon impact. By now, there was nothing but a trail of corpses lying in Eivor’s wake, and in the distance, he could see an all-too-familiar silhouette gazing down at him from the battlements above.

They didn’t move a muscle, nor did they say a word. They simply stood there in silence, watching as the tension in their kingdom finally reached a breaking point. The battle-axe on their shoulder was enough to tell Eivor who it was, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop when they made eye contact with each other. 

They both knew why the Wolf-Kissed was there. They both knew what he wanted. Even though they had spent decades straying from the fire Kjotve sparked all those years ago, they had finally found their way back to one another, ready to guide this saga to a close.

Strolling away from the battlements, Kjotve turned on his heel and began heading down the stairs, beckoning Eivor to follow him outside the fort. It didn’t look like he had any additional men in his company, and for the first time since their initial encounter, the younger man didn’t get the impression that this was a trap.

They were both eager to bid farewell to this lifelong rivalry. The Nornir had planned for this day all along, and soon enough, the ending to their story would be scrawled in blood. The only question that remained -- was who would provide the ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE THE FORT

THRYMR’S TOMB, NORTHERN HALF

Treading carefully through the gathering storm, Eivor approached Kjotve from behind as the older man awaited his arrival, quietly taking in the view of the crumbling fort. Despite being outside its walls, the two of them could still hear the sounds of battle seeping through the cracks of its weathered stone, howling from beyond the veil of snow.

It was like a different world out here. Not a single soul disturbed the barren landscape, and the merciless weather had almost wiped out the scene of the war entirely. Only Eivor and Kjotve stood on the icy plates of Thrymr’s Tomb, and if they listened hard enough, they could practically hear the gods calling out to them, whispering in a tongue that evaded their comprehension. They were alone in this place, and somehow, the idea of that brought comfort to Eivor’s nerves.

They had an arena all to themselves, and that was just the way Eivor liked it.

“Here I am.” He announced, stopping in his tracks. The island’s river lay not too far away from him, filling his ears with the sound of rushing water.

Kjotve turned around at the greeting, giving his opponent no more than a glance. “...Here you are.”

The Wolf-Kissed took a few steps closer, careful not to provoke him just yet. “You waited for the enemy with your back turned to them? I can’t tell if it’s courage or hubris that drives you.”

A chuckle fluttered from Kjotve’s lips. “For all your flaws, Eivor, I know how much you value honor. You wouldn’t attack a man from his back.”

Eivor’s brow furrowed in anger. “...But you would.”

“A trait of mine that many look down on, no doubt. And yet, here I am, one step away from conquering the entire kingdom. There is no honor to be found in war, so I don’t bother with it.”

Kjotve took hold of his weapon. “But enough. We didn’t come here for idle chatter. You’re here for one thing and one thing only. Aren’t you, Varinsson?”

Eivor felt something spur inside him at the sound of his father’s name. “...Let’s bring an end to this, Kjotve. Enough running. Enough fighting. Just you... and me.”

“Eager as always. So be it. You’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough. I’ll gladly send you to the Corpse Hall. It’s just a shame that you won’t be able to see your father again, isn’t it?” He displayed a small smirk. “The price of honor, I suppose.”

Gripping the hilt of his axe with both hands, Kjotve slowly readied his stance and locked eyes with Eivor, watching him like a beast studying its prey. Meanwhile, the younger man began circling his opponent and held his weapon out in front of him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The world around them was still with a deathly silence. 

It seemed as if the very heavens had come to a halt to witness the grand spectacle, and even the ocean itself had fallen into a trance-like serenity. There was nothing to distract them, or divert their senses, and the battle at the fort had long since departed from their minds.

The gods had finally granted Eivor his chance to reclaim Varin’s honor, and he didn’t intend to waste it.

Lunging forward with a sudden surge of vigor, the young warrior landed a number of blows on Kjotve’s armor before springing back and evading the counter-attack that followed, forcing him to roll across the ground.

He pushed himself off the ice and quickly returned to his feet, whirling around to face the giant striding towards him.

In the blink of an eye, Kjotve heaved his axe above his shoulders and slammed the bearded weapon down onto the snow, missing Eivor’s head by no more than a few centimeters.

The blonde viking jumped to the side and used the opening to swing his axe at Kjotve’s face, causing the blade to slice straight through the lobe of his ear. Blood instantly came pouring down from the wound and onto the fur of the king’s cape, painting the hairs with a vibrant layer of red. A handful of droplets also plummeted to the ground beneath, marking Kjotve’s every move with a fresh trail of blood.

As for Eivor, he carried on with his assault and relentlessly threw one attack after another, refusing to give his enemy the chance to breathe. Unfortunately for him, a man of Kjotve’s stature was not so easily bested, and the Wolf-Kissed soon found himself on the receiving end of a direct hit from the other man’s weapon.

The gargantuan axe bludgeoned Eivor in the stomach and sent him soaring backwards, causing the wind to be knocked out of his lungs. Thanks to his armor, the blade didn’t make contact with his flesh, but he had still been struck with enough force that his abdomen now writhed in pain.

He stumbled for a moment due to the sensation and attempted to regain his footing, only to be kicked back down when Kjotve jabbed the tip of his boot into his gut. The king then proceeded to bash Eivor’s axe out of his hand by punting it from his grasp, allowing it to slide across the frozen terrain.

“Heh,” Kjotve said with a laugh. “Is that the best Varin’s son has to offer? All these years of tracking me down, and you’ve already been rendered defenseless.” He tilted his head in a patronizing manner. “I almost pity you.”

In spite of the soreness now spreading throughout his body, Eivor simply responded to the taunt with a feral war cry and yanked a dagger from one of the sheathes on his back, plunging the blade into Kjotve’s foot.

The king instantly roared in agony and toppled to his knees, unable to ignore the newfound pain now clutching his leg. Eivor tackled him to the ground as soon as he was staggered and climbed on top of him, desperately trying to press the dagger into his throat.

Due to his lighter physique however, Kjotve easily shoved the weapon away from his neck and pushed Eivor off of him with a punch to the cheek, creating a small distance between them. Eivor took this opportunity to retrieve his axe and returned to his feet, assuming his original stance. Not too far away from him, Kjotve did the same -- only now -- he had been cursed with a limp.

“...You won’t kill me that easily.” Eivor panted out, his breath turning into mist. “I’ve fought for too long to let you walk away now. Even if I die for it, this war will end today. You won’t leave this island alive.”

Kjotve sighed and approached the wounded viking, using his axe as a support.

“Ah... just like your mother. Fighting til the very end. An admirable mindset to have, but one doomed to end in futility nonetheless.” He straightened his posture, clenching his jaw in pain. “You’ll fall, Eivor. You, your clan, your king... you’ll all join Varin and Rosta soon enough. And then, Norway will be united under one crown -- mine.”

Trudging in Eivor’s direction, Kjotve carried on with his pursuit despite the injury he had just sustained and prepared to finish the other man off, prowling towards him with bloodlust in his gaze.

Just as the two of them resumed the fight however, a sudden growl reached their ears, leading them to come to a pause. They diverted their attention to the blizzard surrounding them and fell silent, trying to peer through the wintry fog.

For a while, there was nothing. No footsteps, no figures, no movement. Not even a shadow. 

The environment appeared just the same as before, and after a few moments of waiting, Eivor began to wonder if the disruptive sound had just been a trick of the mind.

Before his doubts could fully settle in though, the sound of a raven’s caw abruptly pierced through the air, echoing across the land like a summon from the gods. Synin herself emerged from the sky and started gliding down towards her companion, rescuing him just like she did when he was a child.

Perplexed by her arrival, Eivor stared at Synin in shock and watched as she soared over his head, vanishing into the storm beyond. At first, he didn’t understand the meaning behind her intervention or what she hoped to accomplish, but once she departed from the island, it all made sense.

Out of nowhere, a pack of white wolves leapt out from behind the fog and charged towards the barbarian king, allured by the scent of his blood. Their fangs glimmered viciously with ropes of saliva, and their eyes swelled at the sight of their next meal.

“What the--?!” Kjotve exclaimed in surprise, brandishing his axe at them. “Where’d you come from? Stay back!”

Pouncing on Kjotve, the wolves overwhelmed the colossal king in spite of his attempts to fend them off and immediately started tearing at his flesh, thrashing him around like a rag doll. The growing discomfort in his foot caused him to collapse to the ground, and before he knew it, the feral beasts were feasting on him without mercy.

Initially, Eivor felt a sense of relief upon seeing the wolves finish his job for him, but after a while, there was a certain emotion building up in his chest that he just couldn’t suppress. The sheer amount of agony behind Kjotve’s screams was enough to shake him to the core, and surprisingly, he found himself beginning to pity the man.

Eivor hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be attacked by a wolf. Despite the fact that he had carried his scar for over a decade, the terror of that night still remained vivid in his head. 

He may have hated Kjotve with every fiber of his being, but even then, it was difficult for him to condemn someone to such a torturous death. Humanity was a trait often lost during war, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to lose his own.

He had come here to reclaim his father’s honor. To restore peace. 

The suffering of others was something he wished to end -- and it all started now.

Rushing towards the wolves, Eivor waved his axe at the beasts and threatened them with a series of shouts, hoping to distract them from Kjotve. At first, they merely challenged his actions and growled in response, but were easily scared off once it became clear he wasn’t backing down.

Waiting for them to clear the area, Eivor guarded Kjotve until the wolves disappeared from his sight completely, and kept his eyes sharp for any other animals that may have been roaming around. The wolves didn’t show any signs of coming back to finish their meal, and for the time being, it was just the two of them again.

As for the fallen king, he had been transformed into nothing but the mauled scraps of an abandoned feast, and left in a pool of his own blood. Bits of bone could be seen peeking through his skin, and his hands trembled both out of shock and pain.

Eivor gazed down at the ghastly sight, unable to hide his disgust.

“Your breath hasn’t faltered yet.” He said, admittedly impressed by Kjotve’s survival.

The other man whimpered, croaking out a short reply. “...You... you saved me. Why? D-Didn’t want the wolves... to claim your prize...?”

The young warrior shook his head. “You mistake my mercy for malice. I may despise you for everything you’ve taken from me... but it is not my place to carry out your judgement.”

Kjotve scoffed. “...Then... whose is it?”

Eivor knelt beside his enemy, looking directly into his eyes. “Wherever you go from here, it is the gods who will determine your fate. The only thing I can do... is send you to them. You’ll die as you lived. Without honor.”

He positioned his axe under Kjotve’s chin, eager to finish this once and for all.

“Goodbye, Kjotve. This world will be better off without you.”

Yanking the blade across his throat, Eivor executed the king in one swift move and freed him from his suffering, watching as the life drained from his soul. His body fell limp soon after the killing blow, and a final breath escaped from his lips.

...Eivor could scarcely believe it.

Kjotve was dead.

Kjotve was actually dead.

After countless years of grief, loss, and sacrifice... the war had finally come to an end. Just like that.

There were no cheers of excitement, or horns of fanfare. There was only the deafening silence that had been left behind by the dead.

Was this truly what victory felt like, Eivor wondered? Was this that glorious moment that had been spun in so many tales, and sung by every bard?

He didn’t feel like a hero, nor did he feel any pride. All he felt was a blossom of relief like none other, and the crushing weight of endless regrets. 

A beam of contentment was starting to shine in his heart now that Kjotve had officially been slain, and Eivor didn’t wish to spend anymore time on this forsaken island. The only thing he longed for was the warmth of Sigurd’s embrace... but he didn’t even know if the man still lived.

Wandering away from Kjotve’s corpse, Eivor left the king buried in the ice and allowed the gods to take him from Midgard, not even sparing a second glance. A wave of memories flooded his head as he drifted back to the fort, and for just a second, he could’ve sworn he saw his parents watching him from across the river.

Eivor had no doubt that their appearance was merely a result of the battle’s ordeals, but even in his dazed state, he was able to make out the faint figures of both his parents.

They were standing side-by-side, wrapped in each other’s arms and observing Eivor as he made his way back to the clan. They didn’t move, they didn’t speak -- all they did was gaze at him from behind the curtains of snow. 

It was almost as if they wished to tell him that their spirits were finally at peace. They had endured a lifetime of torment trapped in Helheim’s depths thanks to Kjotve’s betrayal, and now, they could sleep, forever in each other’s company just as they were in life.

Eivor’s job was done at last, and he could move on from the grief that had burdened him for so long.

“...I did it, father.” He whispered, watching as the mysterious figures faded from his vision. 

“You’re free.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Absolute Penn

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: T Word Count: 1429

Summary: On Christmas Eve, Beth remembers her mother's words about holiday travel and spontaneously departs for New York City.

She hasn’t experienced a crush of human bodies like this since she was mobbed by elderly Russian men at a chess park. Thankfully, here, everyone is just passing through and their determination to navigate the crowd secures her anonymity. Nobody wants to shake her hand—they don’t even notice her. So many people are coughing and sniffling. Although it’s hot and she’s been regretting putting her heavy coat back on since the instant she stepped off the train, Beth tucks her face into the woolen collar to breathe more private, hopefully less germ-laden, air.

The suitcase in her hand collides with her own knees and those of what feels like hundreds of others as she weaves with the masses to escape the platform and stride down the comparative spaciousness of the concourse. She could’ve flown. She should’ve flown. Why didn’t she fly? Beth tries to recall her reasoning as she cranes her neck to hunt for signs, something to tell her how to get out of here. Which way to the damn fresh air?

Right, right, right, because New York to Moscow (and the reverse) was a hellishly long trip and she hasn’t wanted to board a plane since. Planes are lonely things, without her mother sipping a Gibson and drawing her out of her thoughts every once in a while. Beth didn’t seek out a travel companion on the train that brought her to Penn Station either, but she had the landscape to watch as her passenger car shuddered northeast, not just sky. She’s seen an awful lot of sky in her life. Clouds are ghoulishly repetitive. Déjà fucking vu for the entire duration of an overcast flight.

Unfortunately, the train journey isn’t paying off in all the ways she anticipated. Alma’s assertion some years prior about the ease of traveling on Christmas is being disproven. Viciously. It’s either because Beth took the train on Christmas Eve, thereby missing the golden travel window by a day, or this station doesn’t ever take a break from… this. She has nothing to compare it to; the last time she was in New York (the only time), she arrived by car. Benny’s car. And she has a good memory of inquiringly ruffling the parking tickets accumulated on his windshield as he shrugged it off—that’s what stopped her from driving.

Beth finds a bathroom and traps her suitcase between her feet as she splashes cold water on her face and the back of her neck. She’ll recommit herself to the task of finding an escape in a minute, but now that she’s here, well, her competence is withdrawing inside herself and her nerves about the next part are rising. Where the competence was a hard shell—the ability to ask clearly and firmly for directions while wearing an invulnerable expression—the nerves are sweat and vapour. They rise and pass through her skin, leaving her damp, insubstantial. She didn’t tell Benny she’d be coming.

They’ve spoken. They’ve called and even narrowly missed one another in person when they both decided to drop in on the same tournament (to see friends, not to play) hours apart. After Moscow last winter, coming to New York to visit him felt like too grand a gesture. Of course, now she’s come anyway, and on Christmas Eve, which really can’t be categorized as less subtle. She obviously should’ve just done it right away. Waiting has led to something dramatic and undisguisably meaningful. Fuck. Beth snatches her suitcase off the floor and pushes back out into the swarm of travelers.

Even the oxygen seems harried. People jog and dodge and she can’t tell who’s trying to catch their train versus who’s just arrived in the city. At first glance, there’s an equal panic over everyone. But she starts to notice others: couples in love with the hands not holding luggage clasping each other’s; a group of young women, a little younger than her, maybe, wearing nice shoes and satiny skirts beneath their coats, red-cheeked and probably on their way to a Christmas party; children, too dizzied by the flurry to be cranky with the parents dragging them along by their mittened hands. Beth remembers her mother, Alice. She remembers her own sullen face in the bathroom mirror at Methuen, wishes she could take that girl’s hand and tug, bringing her into this moment, the two of them gliding amongst the trundling hoard, out into the snow she saw from the train window. The sun set on the way and the stuff sprinkled down throughout. She’s going to step outside into a city that looks like a postcard, and that’s what propels Beth up and out. Almost out.

He’s standing at the ticket counter.

“That much? Did I walk into Penn Station or NASA? I said Kentucky, not the Moon. You can’t tell me Kentucky’s a popular destination. Who the hell wants to go to Kentucky for Christmas? Until Irving Berlin writes a song about it, nobody, that’s who. Nobody but me. Bullshit, fifty-three dollars. How ‘bout… twenty?”

Benny’s attempting to negotiate on his train fare. This is so funny that Beth can temporarily compartmentalize that he’s buying a ticket. A ticket to Kentucky, from what she’s overheard. Smirking, she strolls over.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” she says lightly, eyeing the way he’s shaking a twenty-dollar bill at the impassive ticket seller. His hand slaps to the counter as he twists to stare at her in shock.

“What are you doing here?”

She laughs and feels her cheeks flush from the naked longing on his face.

“I live alone, it’s Christmas Eve, I thought New York would be pretty, and, oh yeah, you’re here. Don’t tell me you’ve already promised the air mattress to someone else.”

Really, she’s impressed that he takes the time to shake his head as he reaches for her after slipping the money away, framing her face in his hands. Cold hands—a relief against her skin. He holds the pose and someone turns the volume down on the rest of the world. The noise of the station dims around them. Beth has time to lift her eyes to the snowflakes glittering as they melt on the brim of Benny’s hat. Then, she’s letting her lids fall as he slants his head and presses his mouth to hers with an intense finality. She’s convinced that she was always meeting him at the station, that the trip was agreed upon and not a snap decision she made after decorating her small tree with the glass ornaments she resurrected from the attic storage, neatly packed away by Alma each January, and realizing she didn’t have to miss him.

Maybe they’re unalike, or were; he was willing to miss her and she tossed god-knows-what into her suitcase and caught the next train that would bring her here. It could be temperament, or strategy, something in him that says wait while her internal voice says act. What she knows it’s not is a gaping disparity in feeling because they kiss with equal fervour. Benny’s face grows warm against hers and she shivers when his chilly fingertips curl around to the back of her neck.

Slowly, she recognizes that the ticket seller is asking them to move aside; their display is blocking the counter. She’s smiling when her lips part and her eyes open. He looks smug as he pries the suitcase from her hand and they shuffle out of line.

“Why, hello, Benny,” she says.

“Why, hello, Beth. Left it a little late, didn’t you?”

“Me? At least I’m not just now getting in line to buy a ticket. Why didn’t you drive?”

“My car’s not the best in the snow. Or the ice. Or even the slush, really.”

“Sounds unsafe.”

“Oh, it is,” Benny agrees. His mouth hangs open for a second before his next words fill it in a rush, “Like the air mattress.”

Beth frowns.

“What’s wrong with the air mattress?”

“Very hazardous. Yeah, it’s, uh, made of some kind of toxic plastic. Any air that leaks out carries harmful gases.”

Playing along, she says, “Don’t worry. I don’t remember it ever deflating on me before.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, “but it’s been folded up awhile now. I don’t trust the seams. I think you’d better not sleep on it, just to be safe.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Benny grins.

“I’d never let you wake up Christmas morning on the floor, Harmon. Think better of me.”

He squeezes her shoulder and steers her out into the frosty New York night.

[fullmetalscullyy]

Royai prompt: Are you flirting with me, Colonel?

thank u sm for the prompt!! it was so fun to delve into this even if i can’t flirt to save my life lmaooo hope u enjoy some royai banter and roy just trying to make riza smile uwu

rated: t | words: 1991 | tags: wedding, alcohol, romance, flirting

read on: ao3 | ffnet

The atmosphere in the room was electric as Roy made his way through it. The party was in full swing and the dancefloor was filled with people, dancing their cares away and having a good time.

Roy watched as Edward danced with Winry in the centre of the dancefloor. Alphonse and Mei were beside them, all four laughing together as they moved in time to the music. Havoc was trying to impress Catalina with his “moves” but they weren’t very impressive. He looked quite hopeless, unable to find the beat properly, but he was still having a good time and that was all that mattered. Catalina laughed with him though and the way she hung onto his arm told Roy that it didn’t really matter. She was impressed by him despite his awful timing with music. Fuery and Breda were deep in conversation with Falman and his wife, talking animatedly with red rosy cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and their amusement.

It was a wonderful scene to witness. It made Roy smile widely as he wandered over to where his companion was waiting for him, a glass in each hand.

Riza was sitting at the table they’d been allocated for the meal, opting to remain there and watch, pleased, as everyone had fun and celebrated Edward and Winry’s wedding.

The dress she was wearing was high backed and formed a collar around her throat. It was a pale pink colour and fell down to her ankles, swishing mesmerizingly every time she walked. It also revealed her shoes which matched the colour of the dress perfectly. The heel on them was small but it was still enough to give her an extra inch in height. On her wrist there was a silver bracelet she’d received as a gift “a long time ago”. Roy had bought her it for her birthday once. He’d been surprised to see her wearing it and Riza had just smiled warmly at him once he noticed and recognised the piece of jewellery, saying nothing more on the matter.

Taking a deep breath, Roy tried to collect himself as he approached her. She was the epitome of beauty and grace today and it was extremely distracting. But in the most wonderful of ways.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” Roy grinned and dropped his voice as deep as he could, changing it completely.

The effect worked because Riza turned around at the surprised interruption. It was clear she didn’t recognise who it was who’d approached her. Once she realised though her shoulders fell, and she shook her head fondly at his antics.

“Is this seat taken?” He continued his charade, pleased to have gotten such a surprised reaction from her from his joke.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Roy did manage to catch the smile she tried to hide though once she looked away.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left sitting alone at a party such as this,” he added, speaking lowly as he handed her the wine glass in his left. “You should shoot the bastard who left you all alone. How rude of him.”

“Are you flirting with me, Colonel?” The Lieutenant lifted a disapproving eyebrow that strongly hinted that he better not be. “Well,” she smirked, “are you trying to?”

“You wound me, Hawkeye.” He clutched at his chest for dramatic effect. “So what if I am?” His reply was nonchalant as he settled into his chair and took a sip of his whisky. It went down smooth, settling inside his chest and spreading warmth across it.

“I would have to disapprove, of course.” Her tone gave nothing away so Roy tilted his head so he could get a better read on her out the corner of his eye.

“You would ‘have to’, huh?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied evenly. Her wine glass lifted to her perfectly painted lips and Roy was distracted for a moment as he watched her move. “It would be highly unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

Roy hummed noncommittally, pulling himself out of his distracted thoughts.

“In response to your violent proposal,” she added, “lucky for you, my weapon is concealed, and I don’t intend to remove it at a friend’s wedding, sir.”

That interested Roy. He hadn’t seen a weapon anywhere on her person. But then, Roy thought dumbly, that was the whole point.

Damn this alcohol and your ability to be so easily distracted by her. Not that he really minded that last part though.

“Like you said, it’s a wedding. It’s where people show their love for one another,” he shrugged.

“By trying poor pickup lines on me? Now you’re begging me to shoot you,” she deadpanned, and Roy laughed to himself as he watched the rest of the room. “At least if I do it will keep you quiet.”

“Well, I can turn it on more if you’d like me too?” He flashed an excited smile at her.

Riza groaned in response. She pressed a hand to her face. “Please don’t.”

“So, do you come here often, Ma’am?” His voice dropped to the same deep one he’d used before as he joked with her. It resulted in a sideways glare from Riza.

“That’s another poor effort. Even from you.”

“So, it’s not working?”

She scoffed. Loudly. “Not one bit.”

He sighed dramatically. “Darn.”

“I would’ve expected better than that from the likes of you.”

“Well, I thought it was funny,” he snickered, thoroughly enjoying their banter.

“You would.” There was no real ire in her eyes, nor irritation. Just fondness as she shook her head at him.

“All right,” he relented, lifting his hands in surrender, “I’ll stop.”

“I think that would be best, sir.”

Looking over, he was worried she really was annoyed at him now, but her expression was neutral. However, there was a hint of a smile on her face and she shook her head minutely as she placed her glass back on the table.

“Your flirting is so terrible that I cannot bear to listen to it any longer,” Riza added after a beat. One corner of her mouth quirked up into a smirk as she laughed at his surprised expression. “I can’t believe you actually use those on your dates.” She was enjoying teasing him.

His jaw had gone slack and he huffed in mock indignation. “It wasn’t that bad,” he joked, pretending to be sullen.

“It was torture.”

“Hush, you,” he glared at her.

“Is that an order, sir?”

The mood of the conversation shifted. Roy refocussed his attention on Riza as he picked up her husky tone. She looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her smile was playful and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. However there was something else in there too. Something that wasn’t completely innocent.

Roy swallowed. “Do you want it to be?” He was dumbstruck suddenly, left reeling by the wanting look in her eyes.

Her expression broke down and she started to laugh. Roy blinked and was snapped out of the spell she’d cast upon him with just a single look and one suggestive question.

“What?” He recovered quickly then frowned at her laughter.

“That’s how you do it, sir.” She’d leaned in close to speak to him softly and Roy was caught off guard by the wonderful smell of her perfume that wafted his way.

“You played me,” he cried as loudly as he dared. No one was around but it still wouldn’t do to draw attention to them both loudly.

She giggled. Riza actually giggled. Once more, Roy was rendered mute. All he could do is stare at her as she winked at him playfully and nudged his knee with her own underneath the table.

“I’m simply better at it than you. Clearly,” she snorted.

Roy huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Don’t feel bad, sir.” Her neutral tone was back however she still looked far too pleased with herself. “We all have our strength and weaknesses.”

He muttered to himself underneath his breath.

“But,” she sighed, “I suppose we should stop. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation any more than I already have.”

“You are relentless today, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

“You said it yourself. Call it payback for leaving a lady alone by herself at a party.”

He uncrossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair. “I didn’t say that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smile. “Yes you did.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I said a pretty lady.”

The skin of her nose and cheeks turned a shade pinker after his compliment. Riza coughed and looked away from him but Roy could see her hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass.

“And that was the truth,” Roy added, tilting his body over towards her and dropping his voice low. “I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“Sir,” she scolded lightly.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just telling the truth,” he defended.

Her mouth snapped closed and she was silent for a moment. “Hush, you,” she muttered finally, cheeks still pink.

“Are you telling me to lie, Riza?” He acted scandalised, opening his mouth in shock at her suggestion.

“Fine,” she relented, looking around their vicinity to see if anyone could overhear, but there was no one to be found. “I’ll admit, it is nice to hear.” She mumbled it so quietly that Roy had to lean forwards to hear her.

“I’ll just have to tell you at every opportunity I can then.”

A warning look was shot his way.

“And I’ll do it, too,” he grinned brightly. “You know I will.”

“Maybe I will extract my weapon.” She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped it with one finger as she pondered the thought.

The two fell silent, laughing quietly together as all joking was dropped for the moment. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer and Roy couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried.

“Thank you, Roy,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For being so good to me.”

“It’s what you deserve,” he replied simply. “If I could show you it every day then I would.”

“I know,” she reassured him with an appreciative look. “I would do the same.”

“You already know you own this,” he added quietly. He stretched above his head but as his hands lowered he tapped the left side of his chest above his heart, feigning that it was just a tic of his. “That will never change.”

Riza’s hand slowly moved underneath the tablecloth, as if she was moving to fix her dress. She tapped his knee with the back of her hand and Roy slid his own hand underneath it too. Riza latched onto it tightly, giving it a hard squeeze of gratitude. Roy smiled at her, lost in her eyes, and stroked his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. Suddenly, everything else just fell away. The party, the noise, the music, it was all gone. It was just the two of them.

Subtly looking around one final time, Riza deemed it was safe to speak what was on her mind. Still, her glass was lifted to her lips so her mouth was hidden from the rest of the room, but Roy could still see it moving. She paused before she took a drink.

“I love you,” she breathed.

Roy squeezed her hand tightly in his. Then, he extracted it from her hold but didn’t let Riza move far. He guided her hand to rest flat atop his knee. The warmth from her palm seeped into his trousers, making him smile to himself. Maintaining eye contact, he drew a love heart on the back of her hand and placed his own atop hers, covering it completely.

“That’s a new one,” she commented softly.

He grinned at her. “I like to keep things fresh, Lieutenant. And I return your sentiment. Wholeheartedly.”

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 5

Chapter 5: Offerings

After discovering the scroll's contents, the disciples following the God of Duality become the next destination.

Life is simply a series of fair exchanges and offerings to one another in devotion.

(Smut this chapter: none)

A distant voice starts to sing.

Six dear companions all still alive,

One lost his throne and then there were five.

 ---

 You inhale deeply as you tuck the three bottles against your chest with one arm. With the other, you bring your hand to make an emphatic fist. “Today has been. Rough. This had better be a fever dream.”

Childe whistles low, eyes scouring your frame that is now free from dirt, but still littered with scrapes from the Ruin Hunter. “Rough, huh? Did you remember to give a safe word?”

(Aether shushes Paimon’s quiet question of what’s a safe word?)

You unfurl your fist to pinch two fingers together. “I am this close.”

He squints and leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “But your fingers are touching.”

Childe barely manages to dodge the rock you hurl at him.

 ---

 “So, on a scale of one to ten, how mad are you at me?”

You hum. “About an eight.”

Childe scoffs. “I can do better than that.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Aether grits, “But I believe we owe Paimon an apology.” His hands finish wrapping bandages around your forearm and you wince, noticing the gremlin still pouting with her back turned to you all.

After Childe side-stepped your stone and stood up in an attempt to placate you, you immediately took a swing at him. Of course, characteristic of your exhaustion and Childe’s nature, he side-stepped again and stuck out a foot. Which you tripped over. Which he laughed at. Which neither Zhongli nor Xiao stopped, assuming you could break the fall.

Of course.

This led you to tumbling and knocking over the remaining plates that had food on them, to Paimon’s shrieking horror. She held a dumpling to her chest and solemnly followed Zhongli’s gentle advice on a proper, er, funeral speech with a chorus of voices yelling behind her (in irritation from you, in please stop embarrassing me from Aether, in mockery from the king of clowns himself).

Xiao’s hand awkwardly pets her head as she refuses to look at you two.

“I paid for it,” you grumble and Childe snickers.

“Now you know how I feel.” You glare at him and elbow him before sighing, looking at Paimon.

“I’m… Sorry? Ow – “ Aether pinches your side and crosses his arms. Try again. “I’m very… Sorry. I’ll, uh… Your next meal is on me?”

She harrumphs.

“How about your next meals are on me? Breakfast included,” Childe says with a jovial tune, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrug it off and ignore the feigned hurt look on his face as you cross your own arms. He chuckles quietly when you hold up eight fingers to him. “Uh, all your future meals are included?”

Paimon suddenly pirouettes and floats happily. “Okay! No backing out now with Zhongli here,” she chirps, and Childe manages to barely suppress the irritated twitch of his eyebrow.

“Damn leeches, the lot of you,” he murmurs. Sitting squarely between Aether and Childe, you notice how Paimon takes the liberty to sit on Xiao’s outstretched leg. Poor thing is unfortunately hoisted and promptly placed on Zhongli’s knee instead as he sits cross-legged. Without missing a beat, Zhongli begins petting her as well while the six of you sit in silence for a moment.

“Okay, so did I miss anything important?” you suddenly say, turning to Childe on your left. He raises an eyebrow at you in stage confusion and smirks.

“Like missing the mark on hitting me?”

“What are you doing here, Childe?”

Even your own soft tone catches you off-guard and Childe’s eyes widen for a brief second before he schools a look of casual neutrality. Another voice cuts through the air.

“You’re here to observe, are you not?” Xiao interjects. Childe groans and rolls his head to the side, blinking his eyelashes up innocently towards the adeptus with a plastic laugh.

“Aw, am I that obvious? If even spear-up-his-ass can read me, then I really must be losing my touch.”

Aether smiles and reaches behind you to lightly punch Childe’s arms, but you saw how Aether’s own lips pulled slightly too tight. Even he’s on guard. Centuries together allow you to catch these little ticks that others thankfully miss. “It’s gotta be that, with the way we’ve been tearing through Fatui strongholds.”

Childe smirks back at Aether with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Yeah, you’re lucky they sent me and not somebody much worse. I actually like you all.”

Whether or not Aether also heard the sincerity in his voice, he spares Childe the momentary embarrassment and continues with a jab without missing a beat. “Sucks that you’re sent back here, I know how much you like to travel.”

Childe sighs and casually sits back, leaning on both of his hands. The night has long fallen, but the blanket of stars and warm glow from Liyue Harbor nearby is enough to illuminate his boyish face with practiced tranquility.

“The Tsaritsa is pissed. Normally she wouldn’t care since she has her Gnosis, but… She wants to keep tabs on your movements. You’ve already stirred up trouble in Mondstadt and Liyue, can’t have it spreading elsewhere. So, I got placed on janitor duty after failing to obtain the Geo Gnosis.”

“I know.”

All eyes turn on you as you flick your own to the thick journal hanging on your belt buckle.

You miss Childe’s eyes narrowing at the book.

(You miss how Childe’s mouth parts at the starconch dangling along its pages.)

“I read those reports in the camps, but… I didn’t think it was worth mentioning to the others. The Fatui are trying to juggle too many priorities so they’re always a step behind us. If we appear in Dragonspine, they write it down after we show up in Springvale. According to some letters, the official solution was to send a Harbinger to try and boost morale, but that seemed too far-fetched at the time. The Eleven aren’t glorified bureaucrats meant to watch over a region.”

Too simple. Too easy. If they wanted to kill you, they would not have sent just one. Something’s not right.

“Pretty bird, you asked me why I’m here while already knowing the answer? I’m proud. You’d make a fine Fatui spy,” he grins as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Childe hums and continues with an innocuous question. “Kind of interesting how quickly you travel, huh? My men just can’t seem to figure it out.”

It’s a trap, yet with the way Aether’s breath hitches lightly, only you and he caught it. All parties present are among the few who know of your abilities to manipulate the mysterious waypoints.

The thing is, there isn’t actually some… Grand secret. You just simply could. The Tsaritsa didn’t need to know your own lack of competence – and you sincerely doubt she would believe you two anyway.

You sense Aether’s attention shift to your presence rather than see it. Both of you must give credit where credit’s due to Childe: play the fool when you are the one fooling everyone else. As you must fulfill your duties, Childe must fulfill his.

Unfortunately for him, the two of you have been a part of this dance for centuries with countless companions asking similar questions. Always fishing for information, always trying to step over those careful lines that Lumine was the first to draw for safety.

“Yeah! Paimon’s seen the way they interact with the old technology here. It’s super confusing!”

“Oh?” comes the amused reply as Childe leans forward. There, there it is again. Those lifeless eyes. “And how do you suppose you all manage that?”

Aether is the first to interrupt. “We don’t know. Paimon is in as much of the dark as we are.”

You slowly move your hand to nudge Aether’s in a moment of gratitude to speak in your stead. He doesn’t look your way, but you feel a soft touch back.

This time, Childe meets your eyes, though something unnerves you in the scrutiny you’re placed under. “Is that so…” he murmurs before throwing his head back in a loud laugh. He places both hands behind his head. “Ah well! Mysteries galore, never a dull moment with you all. Not too upset about being back if my nights are gonna be fun like this.”

“Childe,” Zhongli says for the first time, smiling as his voice pitches deeper like he’s taking part in some conspiracy. “Are you implying… You enjoy Liyue?”

“What can I say,” he grins, “I enjoy the people.”

Xiao grunts. “Give it time.”

“But why did they send you? You’re not the spying type, you’re…” One of your hands gesticulates wildly to Childe’s form. “You’re a fighter.”

“Because I’m already close to you all,” comes the shockingly quick reply. You blink. Childe blinks.

You both blink.

“Signora would set off more alarm bells, wouldn’t it?” he teases, immediately breaking the tension.

“This settles it, then,” Zhongli says, crossing his arms and closing his eyes in contemplation. “I see a wonderful opportunity to appease all parties involved in their respective endeavors.”

You frown as you notice the knowing glance passed between Childe and Zhongli but opt to ignore it.

“I propose,” he continues, looking between you, Aether, and Childe, “that since Xiao and I have no dealings with mortal quarrels, we will officially remain out of your affairs. However, Childe is here to alert the Cryo Archon of your dealings to stifle any further disruptions. You will feed him information about your travels where relevant – and, of course, I will help in an unofficial capacity where possible. In return, you stop rampaging Fatui encampments and endangering the tentative peace found within Liyue after Osial. Relations between the Fatui and the Qixing are stressed as is.”

Aether clicks his tongue as he frowns. “This feels like a very easy solution, and nothing is ever easy. What’s the catch here?”

Childe shrugs as he smiles back to Aether. “Don’t be surprised if I’m ordered to do something very messy?”

“Indeed, matters of the battlefield are no easy proceedings,” Zhongli muses. “The machine of war requires all cogs to be functioning and efficient. Make no mistake, the Tsaritsa’s plans are never granular with flaw. This is a skirmish she intends to win, and I doubt she will allow you to meet the Archons before she acquires their Gnoses, if at all. Appease and abate her curiosity for now. It will spare the land from being watered with blood once again.”

Childe raises an eyebrow as he tuts. “Dear Zhongli, for a former God of War, you sure are awfully transparent about tricking the Tsaritsa in front of a Fatui Harbinger. Does my title mean nothing to you?”

“On the contrary,” you counter before Zhongli can respond. “It’s because it’s you that this might work. You can either accept this ultimatum and make it easy, or we drag a lot more unnecessary innocents into this situation with drawn-out fights across two regions. Wouldn’t want the other Harbingers to come and steal the spotlight again, right?”

You meet his ocean blue eyes again, hoping your gamble on his distaste for the other Harbingers pays off. There has to be a reason it was only one Harbinger sent, it was only him and not someone else.

“Because it’s me, huh?” Something… Something suddenly flashes across his face as the corners around his eyes crinkle briefly. Just as quickly, it disappears. Good grief, you think you’re going to get whiplash with the speed of his changing expressions.

Though, to be honest, you’re the one to blame because you’re certain nobody else pays as much attention to his face as you do. Stars know that Aether sure doesn’t.

Childe tosses a smirk to Zhongli. “A really stupid decision. This will make my job easier, though, and for once I get to keep the damn glory. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if it comes down to it.”

Zhongli smiles back. “I sincerely doubt it will.”

After that, banter flows easy between all of you as you catch up on your days with somewhat strained ease.

(“I’m not reliving my day sober,” you say as you take a long swig from one of the bottles you bought, feeling Zhongli’s heated gaze on the bob of your throat. Another night, you promise yourself.

“Neither am I,” Childe grunts as he swipes a bottle and joins you.)

You never mention the contents of the scroll, and thankfully, neither does Paimon. You’ll have more time for that after you get wasted.

At some point, Paimon dismounts from Zhongli to sit comfortable on the picnic blanket as he switches places with Aether so that the blonde is next to Xiao.

You don’t miss how the two lean close to one another, or how Xiao’s shoulders seem to relax slightly after the change. Zhongli is flanking your right while Childe is on your left and everyone is sharing in the bottles. Despite the growing comfort that blankets everyone as the night marches on, you feel creeping tendrils of doubt weave into your gut.

And promptly short-circuits every time Childe brushes against your thighs lightly. You never meet his eyes each time, though you both know how quickly you straighten your posture in response.

This is… Okay. Tonight, everything is going to be okay. You shove those nasty feelings of suspicion deeper down, refusing them the chance to ruin a good thing.

Childe’s back. Surprising, but it’s… Good. You’re happy (?).

When you feel a slight nudge to your shoulder, you look up to meet the devil’s eyes as he smirks. At this distance, you can smell the faint aroma of alcohol emanating from him. “I know you’re still upset with how we left things off last time, pretty bird. Let’s try to mend this rift, yeah?”

Liquid courage, huh?

You swallow and grin back. “Only if you pay for the meals.”

“Just the meals? Wow, you are an easy date. Then, for the night, mind telling me your safe – “

More shouts erupt as you suddenly jump up, your wrists caught before they can wrap around his throat and Childe is just laughing at your alcohol-fueled attempt to fulfill your promise.

“Am I at a ten now?”

 ---

 Only much later would you and Aether look back on this moment with horror, realizing how dearly you underestimated the ambition of the Cryo Archon in her pursuit for dominion.

 ---

 Five dear companions stand together ashore,

One’s tossed to the depths and then there were four.

 ---

 So, to be fair, the time is now after. You’re wasted.

Okay. Remind sober future you to not… Not tempt the stars. Or fate. You sigh deeply as Paimon goes on a long-winded rant to the buzzed crowd about the scroll’s contents at Zhongli’s behest. Truly, truly you did not want to talk about the scroll, something about Childe’s sudden appearance made you feel… Uneasy.

Or maybe it was the alcohol talking. Time to repress your anxieties again.

You zoned out too much, because all eyes are on you expectantly and you’re at a loss. Thankfully, Aether motions to your journal in a fat hint as to why, so you grab the item to open it to the page you copied the scroll down and hand it to Zhongli.

He leans closer to Xiao so both adepti can peer at the pages. “This is…” Xiao starts, frowning as he continues reading. “I thought this was lost to time.”

“As did I,” Zhongli says. “What you have is a remnant from the God of Duality.”

“Jeez, we know!” Paimon sighs. “That’s what Paimon was talking about earlier!”

Zhongli chuckles softly. “Forgive me, friend, you are correct. What I mean to say, is that you have a map to the God of Duality’s disciples.”

“We know it’s a map! Paimon wants to know if there is treasure involved.”

“What is with you,” you hiss at her.

Xiao raises a lazy eyebrow. “What you have is treasure. Long ago, before the God of Duality gave up their own life willingly in pursuit of the ‘last knowledge’ beyond divine death, they left a series of maps to the mortals as a guide to find the adepti who dedicate their lives to the practice founded by the god. Think of it as like a Sigil of Permission, although should a mortal naturally stumble across their abodes, they are permitted all the same.”

“Indeed. Guizhong once worked with this god, although she was more interested in the… Practical and material application of her knowledge,” Zhongli supplies.

“So, like the ballista?” Childe replies. “But if she involved herself with the material application, then what was the god’s reasons? Spiritual?”

“Of a sort, but I can’t imagine the likes of you being privy to that,” Xiao says, scowling at Childe. Aether sighs and rubs his face.

“And you were doing so well…” he mumbles.

“You are close, but not quite. Think of it as the adepti version of mortal alchemy,” Zhongli continues, ignoring the petulant look Xiao gives him. “We all must deal in transactions and contracts, although for illuminated beasts, the nature of this can be taken a step further. However, even as the God of Contracts, I do not understand the true nature of this god’s power.”

“So,” you say, pursing your lips. “Can this be anything? Items, food, or even knowledge itself?”

“Yes, but you must first offer something worthy of it.” Xiao crosses his arms. “Mortals do not understand this. Most walk away cursing the adepti for tricking them, despite them willfully misinterpreting what exactly is demanded.”

“Indeed. For example, a man on the brink of starvation offering his first kill in a month to the adepti in exchange for knowledge on how to feed his family will be rewarded with the location of the finest hunting grounds, the best traps, and the means to make sure his family never suffers famine again.” Zhongli frowns and looks to Liyue Harbor. “However, if a rich man were to ask the same with the same offering, he will walk away with a plague set upon his crops and his cattle slain.”

“Ouch,” Childe says, inappropriately thrilled at the prospect. “Little harsh, don’t you think?”

“A curse for an insult,” Xiao growls. “The adepti arts are not meant for the quick and foul schemes of you humans.”

“Alright! I get it, you sanctimonious prick. You’re supposed to lick the boot, not deep-throat it,” Childe grumbles back as the alcohol loosens his words. “Something like that though would be useful for the Fatui. A leap of faith for the ol’ Liyue arts.”

“Careful Childe,” Zhongli says. “What you say may be taken literally by the god’s ways. They may indeed ask you to leap from a mountain top to prove your worth. Do you know what will happen then if you fail?”

“I’ll be home in time for breakfast?” Childe lazily responds.

“Your body will never be found.”

Silence descends before Paimon coughs a little too loudly. “Sheesh… So, can only humans ask them for favors?”

“No,” Zhongli says, looking to her. “Everyone may request something, though even gods can hesitate at their payment. I once made such a transaction myself for my weapon, Vortex Vanquisher, to be smithed and imbued with the divine ability to seal Osial.”

“Really?” Stars gather in Paimon’s eyes as she kicks excitedly. “But what did you offer in return, Mr. Zhongli?”

He only smiles, but you see how his gaze fades, looking past Paimon to a time long ago. “Enough.”

Childe frowns and takes the journal from Zhongli’s hands, inspecting it himself. “Huh. I don’t see any markings to the abodes though.”

“That is because you must first have an offering in hand and a will to see it through before the map will reveal itself,” Xiao says, harshly seizing the book before offering it back to you. You laugh and take it, reattaching it to your belt. “Find something to represent your question before you seek these disciples. They may ask more of you regardless.”

“More importantly, I am not sure that most of these locations still have the disciples. As time progressed, most have gone into hiding deeper into the mountains.” Zhongli hums as he puts a tentative hand to his chin, trying to summon memories of his subjects’ whereabouts.

“Yeah, Jueyun Karst, right?” Paimon asks.

“That is where the more formidable adepti reside. The others have retreated to the City of Ichor.”

At Paimon’s quizzical glance, Xiao adds simply, “The capital of adepti abodes.”

Everyone takes a moment to allow the information – surely forbidden to outsiders – to sink in.

You sigh before standing to stretch out. “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but this day’s been a lot for me. On that note, let’s call it a night, yeah? We can deal with this later.”

“We?” Childe laughs, standing up as well. “Are you inviting me along, pretty bird?”

“You are inviting yourself along, you free-loader,” Xiao says as he stands. Aether smiles as he’s offered a hand from the adeptus and is gently tugged up.

Childe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly mustering what little patience he has left. “For someone who can jump so high, you sure are terrible at catching jokes.”

“Anyway. If you can find something, then sure. All part of your job, right? Just don’t make me regret it,” you chuckle while Paimon floats up next to you, carrying the picnic blanket.

“Remember that I’m the lesser of the evils here, o mighty one,” Childe says as he smiles placidly and waves his hands mockingly to Xiao. Still… Something lurks in his eyes that pierces the warm alcoholic daze in your mind.

Childe feels real, feels present, but he seems too… Lucid, considering how much he drank. Like the scroll woke something up in him.

But of course it would, you reason with yourself, he’s a Harbinger serving Her Majesty. Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity?

“One more warning,” Zhongli calls as he walks past everyone, beginning his own descent back to Liyue Harbor. “What you offer must be honest and from your own heart. You cannot seek someone else’s desires. It is an insult to send someone in your stead to bargain your own contract, so think carefully on what you ask, Childe – and for whom it truly is.”

Childe pauses and stares, a rare sight on his easy-going face, before he shakes his head and laughs. “Of course, of course,” he says, trailing after.

As you walk closer to Liyue, lagging behind the group while they converse amongst themselves, you can’t help the doubts gnawing at you once again at the idea of seeing these adepti.

And with the way Aether turns behind himself to look at you, he can’t either.

 ---

 “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” you say as you take another bite from your salad.  Aether nods while he refills Paimon’s cup with more tea, glancing at the journal on the table.

It’s been a least half a week since your last encounter with everyone, since your last encounter with…

You sigh, willing that thought away. This doesn’t escape Paimon’s notice as she frowns, placing a small hand atop yours.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern creasing her features.

“Just thinking you look better without all those worry lines.” You laugh when she smacks your hand.

“You know, the same can be said of you!” Paimon huffs before laughing too. “But… Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Aether looks at her before meeting your gaze. He puts down his cup to turn to Paimon again, trying to find the right words.

“Exploring isn’t the only reason why we travel,” Aether starts carefully. “We’re also looking for something. Or, well, I’m just helping her.” He chucks his thumb to you as you snort.

Paimon’s eyes light up as she smiles wide and bright. “Oh! Do you think the adepti can help you? Maybe Paimon can help too, as your official Teyvat tour guide.”

You chuckle slightly as you push the plate of remaining salad towards Paimon as a gift. “I hope so. You can finish this for me, by the way.”

Although Paimon grabs a fork and starts eating, you still catch the quiet complaint of misleading names and there’s nothing satisfying about this salad.

 ---

 “I do not understand.”

Zhongli pauses, placing a hand on his chin. “Xiao, I will not pretend that I know any more than you do. However, walking among Liyue’s people, I have found them to be consistent in their inconsistency. A tree, though verdant and in bloom, will change its colors before shedding its leaves entirely. This does not mean it will never again bear fruit. A bird will always come home when it flies, a flower will still be beautiful though its life is short. We must place our trust in these cycles of life and season.”

(A mantra, they both know, heard a thousand times. A poem. A plea of compassion for the mortals from she who rests with dust.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.)

Xiao purses his lips, growling to himself. He still does not see the meaning of peace in turbulent and unreliable things. “These humans are fickle. They can raze forests in their greed.”

“Yes, and they can plant new ones all the same.”

“But, my lor – “

“Don’t,” comes the warning noise from Zhongli. “I am that no longer, Xiao. Call me Zhongli. We are equals here, please.”

He maintains steady steps with Zhongli. He’s… Confused. Why did his mast – Zhongli allow Childe back so soon, so easily? “Do you truly trust that man?”

Zhongli nods. The two of them are walking along the shores bordering Liyue Harbor. Although Xiao won’t admit it, he’s been slowly allowing himself to drift closer and closer to the city. He looks to Zhongli when the other sighs, clearly understanding the reluctance swirling in Xiao’s mind. “My friend, you know Childe will not dare defy my contract.”

“But what about the Travelers? What of Aether?” Xiao cries suddenly, opening his arms. They’re getting closer still to the boats, and though Xiao slows his steps – with Zhongli slowing with him – they continue their march regardless. Liyue’s people remain far, though, as the younger adeptus was never fond of crowds. “Do you think Aether trusts him? Do you truly believe that – “

“I cannot and will not speak for Aether,” Zhongli interrupts, pausing in his steps. He holds up a single hand, motioning for Xiao to stop as well. “If you care for his opinions, why not ask yourself?”

“W-what? How can I even ask him when I don’t know where he is?”

Zhongli smiles and stretches his arm behind him. Xiao follows the motion and pauses, widening his eyes when he spots you, Aether, and Paimon conversing with Childe at the edges of the city. However brief the interaction was, as you all part, Aether turns and flashes a two-fingered salute to the Harbinger before walking away.

Xiao scowls and turns around. “I will question him later,” he mutters.

Zhongli simply laughs.

 ---

 (Xiao hates the doubt creeping into his mind. He has devoted time immemorial to his lord, would lay down his life thousands of times over should Zhongli ever ask. Xiao is who he is because of Zhongli, because he saw fit to save the life of one who was damned.

He hates the doubt creeping into his mind.

It is not because of the morality of this man, no, Xiao could care less. He has slain demons worse than the Harbinger. It is not because of the enigma of the travelers, for Xiao understands secrets intimately.

It is because Zhongli has held and kissed and cared about so many humans, yet… Spoke so easily of mortality, of cycles and seasons, of excitement coming from those who break the norm and are worthy to lie with a lithic god.

He hates the doubt whispering to him that Zhongli – glorious, wise, effervescent Zhongli – was wrong. That the all-knowing did not know what Xiao felt whenever he gazed upon Aether.

Guizhong nurtured flowers, but Morax possessed them.)

 ---

 Four dear companions see a mask donned with a growl so beastly,

One left for war and then there were three.

 ---

 “Aether…”

“Yeah?”

“I just realized something.”

“Hm?”

“We’re breaking one of Lumine’s rules. ‘Be mindful of the company you keep, with connections to enemies and friends alike – ‘ ”

“ ‘Don’t get attached and pay a price so steep, we must leave before the night.’ “

“What do we do? We…”

“I know. We’ll figure it out.”

 ---

 Three dear companions saw hands in the art she drew,

One could not escape their grip and then there were two.

 ---

 “Hi, Albedo! Long time no see!” you call to the blonde, waving merrily. The alchemist turns and smiles softly to you as you approach his table at the base of Dragonspine.

“Ah, Traveler, I didn’t expect to see you,” he replies politely, reticent as usual.

More days have passed, and both you and Aether agreed to split up in search of worthy offerings for the adepti. Briefly, you encountered Zhongli and Childe at Liuli Pavilion, though only stuck around long enough to discuss their respective choices in whether or not they decided to join your journey. Of course, they said yes.

Just as quickly, you turned on your heel, refusing to indulge the confused mixture of lust and irritation that quickly pooled at the small interaction. Get it together! Now isn’t the best time for that. Childe’s back, you’re pissed still, you’re mad at him.

You keep chanting these words to yourself in hopes of making it truth.

… He’s not bad looking.

Ugh.

Although you have an idea of what to give, you came to Dragonspine in hopes that the renowned alchemist can offer some insight.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you a quick question, if you don’t mind?”

“Go on.” He puts down his papers, a clear indication to continue.

“I have something from my travels, and I’m wondering if the material can be transmuted. Err, I mean… Is it conducive to alchemical properties?” You hold out your hand and summon an iridescent mask. Although, you have to admit that calling it a ‘mask’ is loose at best, as there is no holes for eyes, just a cut out for a mouth. The mask shimmers in a cacophony of cosmological colors under the light on one side, resembling the abalone shells found along shorelines. There are almost no other features, making it a twisted mirror to the viewer. On the other, there is a matte blackness that reflects no light.

Albedo frowns and sticks out his hand, tentatively holding the object as you pass it along. As he turns it this way and that, mumbling observations under his breath, you can’t help but shift your weight from foot to foot in anticipation. You notice him pick up a scalpel to collect the smallest sliver of a sample and he places it on the alchemy table.

Stars, how long can he stare at the thing?

Eventually, Albedo turns to you (and ignores your sagging relief) to hand the item back. “I don’t know where you acquired such a fascinating specimen. Pray tell, where did you come across this?”

“Um,” you start, blinking widely. “Nowhere close to Dragonspine?”

He nods. “A shame. Perhaps I can find something similar one day.”

Not a chance, buddy. “So? What do you think?”

“The materials, though nearly as primordial and resilient as Liyue’s crystals, are extraordinarily organic in nature. This should be likewise conducive to any transmutational processes you wish to conduct. However, unlike inorganic objects, you cannot easily predict the outcome. Why do you ask?”

You nod as you hold the eyeless mask, staring into the blackness behind it.

“Just trying to figure something out for a ritual. Tricky thing has a mind of its own sometimes.”

It stares back.

 ---

 (You decide to find a new offering. This will reveal too many things, stir too many questions that you have no answers for.

It’s better that they don’t know. They can’t know.

Aether understands. He still remembers the day he met you.)

 ---

 As Childe walks along a bridge towards Wangshu Inn, he pauses to savor the idyllic landscape. The sun is setting steadily behind the inn, casting deep shadows all around him. “You know, where’s the honor in sneaking up on your opponent, hm?”

In a flash, he whips out his bow and fires a shot towards Xiao’s head. The Yaksha leaps gracefully and flips in the air, twisting his body so that he utilizes his weight in a downward thrust. Childe jumps back to avoid the shattering earth and smirks, rubbing his nose. “Show off.”

Gold eyes meet blue. Shit, Childe can practically see the air around him twist with hostility and Childe’s feeling like a kid in a candy shop. “I warned you that I will not spare you, human.”

“Good. Don’t you dare disappoint me,” he snarls before running towards Xiao. When the other sweeps his spear in an arc, Childe flips over the motion to swipe at his head with his own hydro spear. Xiao grunts and leans back, allowing the blade to graze his cheek as he twirls with the pole to regain balance.

Childe moves back to raise his bow and fire a literal rain of arrows upon the ground, but in the commotion, he nearly can’t keep up with his opponent’s speed as Xiao dances between each arrow fired. Xiao leaps again with fangs bared, aiming for the spot where Childe is perching before his instincts push him to dive out of the way.

Breaking his fall with a roll, Childe turns to see Xiao charging him. No better time to practice the moves he’s seen Zhongli employ in their rare outings to the wilderness.

Right as the adeptus thrusts his spear, Childe summons his blades to parry the movement with an upward cross, trapping the pole between two swords. When Xiao moves back to dodge the rounded kick to his side, Childe switches to a pole once again to thrust into the earth where Xiao’s feet dance out of the way.

Now or never. The Harbinger grunts as he shifts feet to kick the spear.

Neither graceful nor imperial like Zhongli’s, the action gets the job done regardless as it spins dangerously fast towards Xiao, releasing arcs of sharp water-like echoes across the air. Xiao dodges all of them, panting when he notices the water is fierce enough to cleave the stone near him in half. He stands straight, motioning his spear accusingly to Childe. “Where did you learn such a move?”

“Zhongli showed me his spear, of course,” Childe replies sweetly. With a shout for bloody murder, Xiao moves for the kill, but… Childe’s eyes flick to his right and he suddenly wills his blades away to stand straight, placing one hand in his pocket. He relaxes his figure and smiles leisurely.

Come on, take the bait you asshat.

Shy of stabbing Childe’s throat, Xiao’s spear halts as he hears it: children. Very fast, very young, and very loud children skipping closer to their battle. Xiao growls again as he releases his weapon, standing straight and crossing his arms. Neither break eye contact as the kids run past them with giggles when they hit each other with toy swords.

“Why are you here, scum?”

Childe buckles like he’s been shot with an arrow, leaning forward as he places a hand on his chest. “Oh! Oh! So mean, XiaoXiao.”

“Disrespectful little rat.”

“Ha. I’m here for the Travelers. Word has it that they were last seen around here.”

Xiao scoffs and looks away. “You are too late, they left long ago.”

“Oh?” Childe steps closer to the adeptus and slowly leans forward, plucking a single golden strand of hair from Xiao’s shoulder. He stiffens as he glares at the Fatui, who shakes his head like he caught a child with their hand in the cookie jar. “You know, I really hate liars,” Childe sighs.

He side-steps the adeptus to continue his languid walk to Wangshu Inn, humming a traditional Snezhnayan song all the while.

“You sound horrible,” comes the crabby voice behind him.

“Sheesh, so wound up. Do me a favor and either go fuck yourself or go fuck someo - ”

Once again, Childe barely manages to dodge a rock hurled at his head.

 ---

 “Hey! Aether buddy!” Childe cries, opening his arms when he spies the blonde. Aether turns and laughs, waving to the enthusiastic Harbinger.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” he says, smiling as bright as the sun when he spots Xiao behind him. “Xiao! You two didn’t fight each other?”

“Uh – “

“Dear XiaoXiao and I? Now, who do you think we are?” Childe pouts. Paimon squints and flies up to Xiao, giggling as she spies a crimson cut across the other’s cheek that is purposefully hidden behind bangs.

“Paimon thinks that they did,” she says in a sing-song tone. Aether gasps as he runs over, fussing over the deep wound much to adeptus’ chagrin. Still, Childe notices the slight blush creeping up his face. What a bunch of lovesick idiots.

“Good grief,” Childe mutters, rolling his eyes. Paimon looks just as unimpressed as he felt. “Is this a regular thing, stir-fry? I’m about to puke.”

“First of all, Paimon is not stir-fry! And secondly, it kind of is,” she sighs, rubbing her temples. “Paimon doesn’t get how they haven’t figured it out yet, but Paimon doesn’t want to just tell them.”

“Yeah, they’d never believe you, they’re trying too hard.”

“What’re you doing here anyway, Wallet?”

“Oh, I’m looking for – Wait. What d’you mean ‘Wallet’?” Childe scoffs, glaring at Paimon. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he suppresses the very real and very loud urge to commit homicide. It’s illegal here, stop it, too many people, you can kill her later. “If you’re going to embarrass me like that, at least avoid doing it in front of the Fatui underlings. I still have a reputation to maintain.”

Paimon hums and holds out her hand.

Is she serious?

She makes a ‘gimme’ motion.

Is she fucking serious?

“Promises, promises. Remember that night with Mr. Zhongli?”

Childe releases a string of filthy Snezhnayan curses as he grabs a small bag of Mora to hand over from his own knapsack. “I am on a budget, you know. Not that you’d understand, you bottomless pit. Will this be enough to cover your next meals, m’lady?”

“Yep. You may leave, Mr. Wallet,” she say solemnly, raising her head as she motions for him to make his exit before breaking out into a smug fit of laughter.

Oh. That’s it. Legality be damned, he’s going to kill her –

“Xiao told me you were looking for us?” Aether calls. Childe blinks quickly, before nodding and repeats your name, all thoughts of murder pushed to the back of his mind. For now, anyway.

“Where is she? Thought little birdie would be here.”

“Oh, she’s still in Dragonspine, though I think she mentioned staying for the night before leaving. She should be back first thing tomorrow. Come with us to dinner?”

“Aether, no – “

“I would be delighted. Right, XiaoXiao?” Childe grins, opening one arm to allow the blonde to lead the way. “Team building and all of that.”

“Please? At least get along on the upcoming trip?” Aether smiles at Xiao, pleading with his eyes in that certain way that makes Xiao’s heart race again. He grumbles and allows the other to lead them towards the tables.

Xiao turns around and puffs with irritation at Childe’s entertained gaze.

The Fatui makes a heart symbol with his fingers. Asshole.

 ---

 “You know Aether, had Lord Rex – “

“It’s Zhongli now, remember?”

“Yes, you’re right. Had I known he would have found someone so capable, even to the adepti, I would have hoped to see you fight sooner.”

“Aw, now you sound like you’re about to ask me for a favor too, Xiao.”

Xiao’s lips barely turn upward, soft and slow. “You dare assume I need help?”

Aether pouts slightly. “No. Just wanted to offer anyway. And you were being so nice, ha.”

“… Shall I practice my flattery for your next visit, then? With any luck, I will be better.”

Aether laughs and leans a bit closer. Some time passes before he speaks again.

“Xiao, have you ever been beyond the borders of Liyue?”

Xiao raises an eyebrow as he looks to his right and stops, losing his breath. Aether is… Aether is radiant under the moonlight. More than that, truly. The strands of golden hair billow softly in the wind, catching the light from the lanterns all around them. And… He’s smiling so earnestly, so sweetly and golden.

The ginkgo tree behind Aether sways.

“Why do you ask?”

Aether leans back, kicking his legs as they hang over the balcony. “Well, ever since you accepted the contract to defend Liyue, have you ever been given a chance to leave? Will you leave now that ‘Rex Lapis’ is gone? The people here are capable of defending themselves.”

Xiao sighs and looks back to the horizon. “I do not know,” he mutters. “I… I do not remember if I have left Liyue. Before I came to serve under Zhongli, I served another, but my memories during those days slip through my fingers. There are flashes. It…” Hurts.

Aether understands. He scoots closer again, delicately placing a few fingers over Xiao’s. When Xiao flinches slightly, Aether starts to withdraw before his hand is grabbed. He allows himself to be pulled back gently. Though his heart beats against his chest, Aether feels more at ease than he has for a long time.

“I want to take you. We should go someday,” Aether says quietly.

“Where?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere. If I call your name, you’ll come, right?”

“Yes. If you want to see me…” He dares a glance at Aether.

“Xiao.”

They stay like that for a time. Xiao decides that night that honey is better than almond tofu.

Aether decides to make a list of places to go.

 ---

 A young Snezhnayan boy, surrounded by many others of his ilk, recites his oath before the feet of the Tsaritsa with glee. His blood rushes to his ears as he kneels at her feet. Tartaglia is his name now, his duty, his purpose. The ice-tipped sword digging into his shoulder as he echoes and affirms his vows only fuel his determination to serve his beloved goddess.

Yet, when he rises, he is no longer in the throne room. He is standing on a cliffside watching the venerated Tsaritsa dangle a woman over a yawning ravine by her throat with the other Harbingers bearing witness beside him. The woman is struggling, clawing at the goddess’ forearms and whimpers, “Your Majesty! Please! Give me another chance! My love - ”

Once, he stood as the Twelfth Harbinger.

Now, as the Tsaritsa releases her hold, he stands as the Eleventh.

His eyes steadily follow Columbina’s shrieking fall into the Abyss. Traitor.

The Tsaritsa turns her steely gaze to the audience presented, meeting each of their eyes. “Ice, once fractured, requires a sacrifice to seal it once more. We cannot allow weakness in our ranks.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Harbingers respond in unison. However, when Tartaglia blinks, the scene starts to replay once more.

Except this time, instead of Columbina, the Tsaritsa is holding –

No. No no no no no!

 ---

 Childe sits up, sweat beading along his skin and temptingly close to emptying his stomach. He closes his eyes and flexes his hands, willing water to slowly coalesce in his grip without bothering to look at the other entity in the room.

“If you get off on watching people sleep, you could’ve wined and dined me first,” he grumbles, joke falling flat.

“I thought I already did." Childe looks to see Xiao casually sitting in his windowsill, one leg hanging off the side. However, the adeptus isn’t looking at him but at the moon rising. “Who is Teucer?”

“How,” Childe rasps. He didn’t realize until then how dry his throat is. “How do you know that name?”

“You were screaming it.”

Chidle doesn’t respond but releases his hand, allowing the water to evaporate once more. He groans and leans his head back, hitting the headboard with a dull thunk. Some time passes, though neither seem eager to break the silence.

“Why do you serve her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why. Do you. Serve her?” Xiao repeats, slow but forceful. “You’ve seen what the Fatui are capable of.”

Childe narrows his eyes at Xiao’s back, irritation slowly growing in him again. “You’re lecturing me? You who fought in the Archon War? Give me a break. I may be just a human to you, but… You know what happened to Khaenri’ah.”

It’s not a secret among the Harbingers and the highest officers where Snezhnaya inherited most of its technology nor what happened to the ancient empire. One of the many missions of the Dottore involved researching the ancient factories producing Ruin Guards, after all.

To the Snezhnayans, though, the Fatui are paragons of virtue for humanity against the Abyss and they remain blissfully ignorant to the true reasons behind Khaenri’ah’s fall.

“The Tsaritsa is leading us to become the strongest nation.”

“That is what she tells them,” Xiao replies. “Why do you serve her?”

“You think I want my motherland wiped off the maps because we are willing to do anything, anything, to survive the cold? To make the lives of our poorest easier? To feed the empty bellies when winter comes? The Tsaritsa is helping all of us in Teyvat, you ungrateful bastard. She’s making sure that we can thrive as people, not as pets to Celestia. Once she frees us, we’ll all be safer in a new era.”

Xiao makes a sound vaguely like a laugh – a pitying laugh, Childe notes – and stands. He never turns around as he sighs. “You believe that the gods aren’t pets too? That she’ll just forget? Remember that it took seven Archons to condemn the fallen nation, not six. Celestia’s seat will not remain uninhabited forever.”

He then leaps and Childe watches Xiao’s departure before huffing to himself. Good riddance. The gall of this adeptus to enter his room and then act like he’s on the moral high ground? What a self-righteous prick.

Sighing, Childe slides back to bed and pulls the covers over himself again. His knuckles go white as he grips his sheets, remembering how easily the Tsaritsa tossed her mortal lover aside.

One day, he will crush the thrones of the gods.

“I know.”

 ---

 Dreams come more frequently for Ajax now. He wonders if he will ever hear those voices from the first night again.

 ---

 Aether and Childe are eating their breakfast together, idly chatting over upcoming plans. When the blonde begins stripping his scarf to avoid stains, Childe whistles long and low.

“Careful comrade, the world will explode on itself if you take any more off. I fear what seeing your collarbone will do to the common folk.”

Aether laughs and rolls his eyes before stabbing at his meal. “So, you got an offering yet?”

“Mm? Oh yeah. Definitely.”

“… No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”

He sighs and leans forward, staring at Childe intently. “I know that you’re going to ask for more power, but the question is, what’s worth that? You already have the heretical teachings from the Abyss, the Delusion, the Vision…”

Childe pretends to be hurt as he waggles his eyebrows. “Comrade! You can never truly know what I have up my sleeve.”

“Well… What about a toy?”

That sends Childe reeling. “A toy? Why a toy?”

“You said it yourself, you defend childhood dreams, right?” Aether’s voice is soft, but he doesn’t look at Childe in an attempt to allow privacy for the Harbinger. “That’s why you fight. So give them a toy.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Childe laughs again, charming and familiar, but there’s an overtone of sincerity. “Ah, maybe you do know what’s up my sleeve.”

“Careful Childe,” Aether responds, eyes twinkling. “I fear what seeing your arms will do to the common folk.”

“Aw, they would love it!” he grins, flexing both of his arms upwards in a show of mock strength. “Maybe I can just offer those adepti the adoration from my fans.”

Aether snorts. “Call it a hunch, but love and adoration might be two different things.”

“Yeah,” Childe replies, digging back into his food. “Besides, I think my biggest fan’s love is the only one that matters.”

His companion raises an eyebrow, but says nothing when he sees the rare expression of peace on the Harbinger for Teucer.

Aether wishes Lumine could see it too.

 ---

 Two dear companions saw a blonde figure run,

One chased to the end and then there was one.

 ---

 Gods… What did you do to piss off the stars? Truly? There must be some sort of karmic balance in play. Life just saw you having a good morning and decided hey, it’s been too long since she’s had something bad happen!

You’re definitely cursed.

You groan as you roll onto your side, ignoring Childe’s own pained moans. When you were walking up the steps to Wansgshu Inn – true to his damned codename – the immature Harbinger thought it would be hilarious to hug you from behind to surprise you.

Which was a bad idea because you suddenly grabbed him in response. Which had you both losing your balance. Which made you tumble to the bottom of the steps together.

Of fucking course.

“Ha, did you – ugh – fall from Celestia babe? Because coming down those steps, you – “

“Childe, I’m giving you three seconds to shut up.”

“Right.”

When you both sit up, you stare at each other for a long moment before you sigh, fighting back a grin. “Alright, what’re you doing here?”

Childe pouts and stands up, offering you a hand to help you up.

You ignore how familiar it felt, how nice that he dusted the dirt off your back while holding you tight.

“Pretty bird’s been avoiding me. Can you blame me if I go hunting?” he whines.

“I have not! I’ve been looking for something to trade and you should be doing the same.”

“Oh, that? Pfft, I got that covered.”

Raising an eyebrow, you cock a hip out as you stare. He only nods enthusiastically and rolls back and forth on his feet. “Aether told me you might need help completing a commission? There’s one nearby if I recall correctly. We’re all meeting up again later tonight to discuss the next steps anyway, can’t hurt to have your loyal comrade along!”

Shaking your head, you two meet up with the others at the inn to discuss the day’s plans before setting out on your journeys. Shockingly, fewer insults – though no less scathing - pass between Xiao and Childe than you expected while you finish speaking to Aether.

Huh. Last you saw Xiao and Childe, you could’ve sworn they were more… Hostile.

Some time walking along the road passes while you two chatter briefly. It’s all small talk though, and you can feel it again, that chasm between you, that something left unsaid. Maybe a peace offering will do?

You feel Childe’s eyes on you as you summon a bag of spices in your hand and shove it towards him, not bothering to look at his face. “Here. Forgot to give it to you earlier.”

No, you didn’t. You just bought them today.

“Hm? What’s this? …Snezhnayan spices?”

“Yeah, I saw a merchant selling it and thought it’d be interesting to try out for some recipes. You’ll definitely get more use out of it than me.”

Total fucking lie. You bought it entirely to show him, hoping to make things less awkward and… Maybe see his smile, too.

You ignore the flashes of amber eyes and a deep voice running through your mind. It was just a fun night. Nothing more.

“Huh. Thank you.”

Nodding, you both continue along, but the silence between you is comfortable now. It’s nice again, simpler, like Osial never happened. Almost, anyway.

Childe makes sure you aren’t looking as he puts the spices away, smiling to himself.

 ---

 One dear companion left under the sun,

She wandered in search of her friends and then there were none.

 ---

 “Guizhong, what are you singing of now?”

Guizhong turns and giggles at the sight of Morax in his full draconic glory, scales aflame with a  gold shimmer that no treasure can match. “Beloved, you need not appear as a god before me. Come and sit so I may braid your hair.”

When Guizhong looks to the plains, she continues her soft melodies. Morax settles next to her in his mortal form. Without hesitation, he tilts his head when her hands reach his hair, offering her his peace. There is a tacit understanding between them when anxiety tugs at her heart; as an industrial goddess, she turns to her hands to settle her thoughts.

Morax, though he never shows on his stoney face, enjoys providing this comfort for her. After so many centuries together, Guizhong long abandoned the endeavor of persuading Morax to express emotions in the human way. She knew that the brute before her will always remain an illuminated beast at heart.

That is why she loves him so.

“Morax, my love, you are purring again,” she teases. He huffs and stops, but at her light tug on his hair, he resumes. “Is our dear dragon turning into a fat house cat?”

“Which am I, Guizhong?” he says. When she leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, he turns to meet her soft motions with his own. He was never gentle, this god of stone, yet he tries for her. “Am I a god, or am I your pet?”

Her lover’s words are teasing, and she cannot help the bubble of laughter as he tries – and fails – to smile charmingly in a show of fangs.

“You are my love,” she murmurs and kisses him again.

Hers. Of course, he thinks. Hers.

“My heart belongs to you,” he whispers back, though frowns when she notices her crestfallen expression.

“Your heart belongs to you, as my love for you is mine. Do not give it away so easily. Beloved, love is a thing that should free us. I do not wish to bind you, but I want to grow with you. Love is changing, is it not?”

He follows her gaze upwards to the ginkgo tree they sit under before she continues. “Welcome the changes time brings you, Morax. You may find yourself surprised yet. Promise me you’ll try.”

At her contemplative tone, he looks to her again, though she doesn’t meet his gaze. “I will,” he replies. “I promise to try and appreciate these mortal cycles. Though I would not call myself so dramatic as to die for it; so many humans declare this a romantic notion. How strange.”

“It’s a start,” she laughs. “Perhaps start with loving the land and loving your subjects. They have never truly courted death.”

“I do not see why you fret,” he mumbles and moves closer to kiss her jaw. “You will be here with me.”

“Of course,” she says. “Of course.”

She moves her ankle further beneath her dress, hiding from his imperial gaze the black decay that eats at her.

“Another promise. Indulge me, God of Contracts.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, though he continues his ministrations.

“Promise me that you will free me if you love me. Love me enough to live, instead of dying for it then.”

More silence meets her, though from the grip of his hand on her thighs, she knows he acquiesces.

When she met with the God of Duality so long ago, Guizhong knew her days were numbered as she collected artifacts filled with poisonous malice. The day that this blackness takes her is swiftly coming. Her dear friend chose death in their pursuit of knowledge since their true love lay in discovery. She knew this long before she ever met her lover.

Guizhong closes her eyes as she fervently kisses Morax with an apology deep in her heart. She loves her people enough to toil endlessly for them and, eventually, die with them, yet Morax did not choose this path. Guizhong refuses to choose for him, made him promise to continue his own journey.

Someone as strong as the God of War would not understand her desperation. Among the gods of this land, Guizhong is weak enough to be considered a mortal herself – a fact she accepted long ago as she offers her knowledge to her people.

Regardless of this, she wonders briefly if she was selfish in this, in loving him knowing that it would be temporary. But when he moves down her neck and presses his body to hers, she finds her heart soaring with peace. She’s lived a good life, selfish as it was. How ironic that she chided Morax on his possessiveness.

Guizhong knows she will be his first love, but she prays to whoever is listening that she will not be his last.

 ---

 The sky twinkles, too far away to be seen.

-

notes:

gosh I love exploring facets of a character's personality via a different POV

1) The idea of adepti (and by implication other non-humans of Teyvat) dealing in favors and transformations is directly inspired by various mythologies in different cultures of fair trade whenever humans wanted something. City of Ichor is directly inspired by the myths of separate lands (like Tir Na Nog)

2) Among the many symbols attached to the ginkgo tree is longevity, peace, and hope

3) Since the Harbingers' titles are directly referencing the Commedia dell'arte, I decided to pull one of the characters from it as a 'lover' for the Tsaritsa. The Columbina character is the secret lover and assistant to the Harlequin whose own character is known for his trickster qualities, thwarting his master's plans, and pursuing what he loves at all costs. Since the Cryo Archon is the Archon of Love, I mean...

4) Childe's story directly references his desires to "crush the thrones of the gods"

5) Guizhong's corruption is my personal theory since the quest "Treasure Lost, Treasure Found" has us find tablets, but the archaeologist is utterly confused as to how Guizhong was killed with the strongest god protecting her. Combined with no natural disaster would have been enough to strike her, nobody would dare challenge two gods, and one tablet says "there THEY fought on Guili Plains" with black dust and splintered rocks as the only elements in the last battle, and - yeah. I know a lot of people portray her as sweet and all-knowing, but I wanted to humanize her a bit (hah) because she's still a god who strongly valued her own intellect above most else and carelessly collected evil artifacts the Adepti had to hide after her death. You can't tell me she didn't have some flaws.

[toraashi]

princess au ft. chuuya nakahara

Title: Untitled Princess AU

Pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Genre: Fluff and light angst. One of the awful aristocrats makes a comment about you eating too much, forbidden love *gasp*

Word Count: 1,754

Author’s Note: Hiii! Here it is, the princess au I keep hyping up. It’s actually decent, I won’t lie to you, so I hope you enjoy it! 16 year old me was the biggest weeb (I still am rip), so there is a Kamisama Kiss reference in here I’m cringing but I promise it’s not bad!! Please hmu with your bodyguard!chuuya brainrot to feed my lonlieness when you’re finished reading :)

She reached across the table to select a raspberry pastry, her fingers brushing against the red-head’s as they left her side. He visibly tensed, but she ignored it, along with the minute pang she felt in her chest. The dessert was flaky and crumbly in her fingers, it’s deep, striking red jelly oozing through the cracks in the glazed surface. 

“My oh my, are you stuffing your face with delights again? How unsavory.” The person in question twisted her head, hiding her scarlet stained gloves behind her back. 

“Lady Nikolina!” She elicited a wry smile from the woman, whose cold eyes disapprovingly darted to her out of view fingers.

“You really ought to think about that figure of yours more. Before you know it, you could be a cream puff! Suitors want slim ladies, dear, not large ones.” A strike of crimson striped her smooth cheeks and she nodded.

“Of course, My Lady.” The princess could practically see her devoted bodyguard’s seething gaze, he always had disliked Lady Nikolina, after all. The protectiveness radiating off of him was comforting, and soon the blush she beheld wasn’t being caused by the snobbish Marquiess before her. 

“Speaking of suitors-”

“Actually, my apologies, Nikolina, but I’m afraid I’ve got a dance coming up, and I can’t possibly wait. We shall have to continue this lovely little talk at a later date.” Casting the woman a charming smile, she scurried off, pulling Chuuya along with her. He immediately split their hands.

“Princess.” Their gazes met, his swirling pools of cerulean reprimanding her without a single spoken word, but she got the message, and it burned another hole into her soul. 

He couldn’t be with her.

He didn’t want to be with her. 

Tears prickled her lashes like raindrops, but she pushed them back, refusing to show vulnerability amongst a crowd of powerful politicians and kings. She could see his hues soften, and then harden merely seconds later, his hand habitually reaching to adjust his hat. His familiar mouth looked so inviting, his orbs safe and comforting, but they were not hers. 

When she had admitted her flaming affection to him, she had been sure that he had reciprocated those passionate emotions winding around her heart, but he had swiftly shut her down, all of the fleeting touches and lingering bouts of eye contact dissipating like boiling water, vanishing like a ship at sea, breaking like her fragile heart. 

Sweeping her scarlet skirts up into her hands, she traversed the expanse of the ballroom, waving politely to trading partners and their stunning wives, nearly tripping over her golden heels if it weren’t for her companion’s lightning reflexes. A murmured ‘thank you’ kissed her lips, but she was quick to continue walking, her dance card heavy in her pocket. 

“Princess! It’s almost time for our dance! Wherever have you been?” 

“Lord Mizuki. I was conversing with the lovely Lady Nikolina, I’m afraid.”

“Ah. And what positively thrilling topic did you discuss this time?” A laugh escaped her lips as she gazed up at the snow-headed boy.

“My less than attractive addiction to the cook’s tarts, per usual.” Mizuki's emerald colored eyes followed her every moment as she chuckled at her previous encounter; he held his ivory hand out to her.

“Let’s dance, shall we?” The only person she wanted to dance with was Chuuya, but she obliged, letting her dainty palm rest against his. To say she was shocked when he reached forward and urgently grabbed her forearm was an understatement. 

“Chuu...ya?” He immediately released her. 

“You better come back right after.” She huffed, swiveling her gaze away from his alluring eyes and letting her suitor tug her away.

He swept her out to the dance floor with grace and agility, weaving through the herds of human beings like a serpent, one hand resting on her corseted waist. Once the waltz had begun, he twirled her and moved her with ease, his grace and royal privilege shining through like the golden sun. His firm grip on the curve of her body was relaxing and coaxing, as if catching her hesitance and disliking for the ordeal. 

“My lady, what was that all about with your… bodyguard, is it? I’ve heard he is quite extraordinary.” She let her eyes flutter up to meet his, mind breezing towards Chuuya’s form, his strong arms and beautiful hues.

“You are correct, Lord Mizuki, Chuuya is quite effective. He has his faults, for example, his extreme impatience and impossibly short tempered, but I’ve known him since I was a child.” She looked fondly over at his tense form, narrowed eyes and locked jaw. “He is awfully protective.” 

“As I can see.” She averted her eyes back to her dance partner, whose own were sharp and limpid, staring directly at the opposing man. 

“Mizuki… you’ve stopped dancing.”

“Ah! Yes, my bad, pardon me, Princess.” He quickly got back into the flow, keeping in sync with the plethora of other couples. 

Once the music had faded out, she curtsied slightly towards her companion, immediately leaving the marble beneath her feet and heading towards the sidelines. Rather than immediately treading back towards her designated “lap dog”, a plan formulated in her brilliant mind, one she wouldn’t have been able to pull off with the ability user around. 

Hues flicking to Chuuya’s position (he was clearly searching for her), she scurried towards the back stairway, grabbing Lady Nikolina’s garish hat directly off of her head as a disguise. Swinging her hips in the Marquiess’ fashion, she easily traversed the velvet carpeted steps, gloved hand delicately running up the glass railing, tracing each intricate design and emblem. Lady Nikolina’s rooms were just down the hall, so she presumed that if she headed left she could discreetly loop around without causing a commotion. Chuuya wouldn’t risk a confrontation with Nikolina even if he suspected it was the princess. She flicked her hands towards the guard discriminatingly, as a sort of greeting so he knew where she was headed off to, which she hoped he assumed was her chambers. Refraining from viewing the astounding paintings of her heritage lining the towering walls and sky-breaking ceiling, she stepped forward with urgency, gold slippers clicking on the obsidian beneath her feet. She could practically feel freedom in her hands, the balcony merely meters away, she could feel the cool autumn air piercing her lungs, the comforting hum of crickets and light gabber of guests still entering her father’s party. 

The shining glass french doors were open in moments, and she spun in euphoria; no more pining suitors, no more reprimanding love interests, no more chastising Marquesses; her plan had been utterly foolproof. Except for one little detail.

Just as she had gotten used to her balcony experience, the entryway slammed open again, a deep, familiar voice slicing through the silence like a bomb, loud and uncontrollable.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing out here?! Running away like that? Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to recognize you with someone else’s hat on?!” She gulped bracing herself for the lecture to come. “You’re such a stubborn little shit. First you insist on wearing that absurdly fancy dress, then you decide to waltz with that sly snake Mizuki, and for some reason you still have the nerve to sneak away from the ball- from me!” His glare could kill the fluffiest of bunny rabbits, but it didn’t faze her.

“Well, maybe you should stop being a prick about your actions! I could care less whether you held my hand, you idiot!” She thrust her arms down to her sides. “And what does my dress or Lord Mizuki have anything to do with this?! Are you just jealous or something?!” A low growl rose from his throat like the impending rumble of distant thunder, but she was unperturbed. “I’m not stupid, Chuu! I know you feel just the same way I do! I’ve known you for years, you dumbass!” A wisp of hair tumbled in front of her eyes, shielding the building tears from the man. They rebelliously streaked down her rosy cheeks moments later anyway, like rain pouring from (e/c) clouds. She swore she heard a relenting sigh puff out into the silence, but her own quiet whimpers made her unsure of his intentions. Abruptly, one lithe arm looped around her waist tugging her in, his head balancing on top her hers and consequently sending her glittering tiara tumbling to the floor. 

“Listen up, [Name].” She felt a bout of dizziness waft over her as she breathed in his addictive scent of cologne and wine, her corset suddenly felt wound too tightly, and she couldn’t breathe. 

“Chuuya…”

“You’re a princess. I’m your bodyguard. You are supposed to be married off to a wealthy prince, not your me.” 

“I don’t care.”

“See? That’s the problem. I care because my job is on the line.” Craning her head up, she met her eyes with his shockingly blue ones, pleading from the depths of her heart.

“You’d choose your job over me?” He grumbled, fixing his hat.

“You are my job, dumbass.” Continuing to look up at him through her lashes, she tossed the bait.

“Are you saying you don’t want to lose me?” Hook. Line. Sinker. He peered back at her, a light flush across his cheeks. His gaze never left her, and they sat in a forcefield of quiet for five minutes before she made a move, leaning forward into his space. Allowing her lids to flitter closed, she met his lips boldly, the warmth from him enveloping her entire being, drawing her in, and he managed to kiss back, soon becoming more passionate than her. Hands flying to her waist, he tugged her flush against him, her arms winding around his neck and plunging into the forest of orange that topped his head. 

“[Name]...” He murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. His longing was simple to spot in his deep, flaming smooches against her lips, and she was feeling the same emotions course through her. He loved her. She loved him. They had known since they had both realized it within themselves. 

She was the first to draw away, and he immediately tried to capture her lips again, but she held him back, smiling slightly. The snarky remark lingering on her tongue melted away when she met his eyes, her heart swelling at his adoring expression. 

“You’re right,” He murmured gruffly, keeping her close. “I do love you.”

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