#on that subject whats up with the fingers braided into the back of his fur cape? thats a fashion statement and a half

[tarnishedbloodhound]

The most important reason for completing npc questlines is to get everyone's gear and have yourself a fashion show 💃💃💃

[the-city-kitty]

Nobody Invited You- Chapter 2 snippet

So as life is wont to do, things are still crazy as hell, as a matter of fact I'm sick right now. So the full chapter is still gonna be delayed for a bit, but instead of having nothing I at least wanna post a little sneak peek at chapter 2. This will probably look different in the final version after it goes through a couple rounds of editing but for now this is a little bit of what I have so far of the chapter.

Leo leaned his head back as the carriage pulled away from the wreckage of their home. He kept his eyes on it for as long as he could until the muted colors of the underground sailed past his window in a blur. Father sat across from him, equally as tired as Leo. It was one of the rare occasions that he removed his helmet and armor. His curly hair was held back in a long, thick, braid.

Rather than sitting on Father's shoulders, Huginn and Munnin were by Leo. Munnin was curled up in Leo's lap like a cat while Huginn was cuddled up to Leo's side. Leo couldn't help petting and kneading his fingers into Munnin's downy fur. It was an old, childish habit he hadn't really broken yet. But after everything he was too tired to feel particularly embarassed about it right now.

The first half hour of the trip passed in silence. No one really had anything meaningful to say, least of all Leo. He more or less slipped into a light doze. It was more sleep than he'd gotten in the last few days.

But now he has time to think. Now that they aren't picking through the wreckage of their home and boxing up whatever was salvageable; now that he isn't cutting his hands on broken frames of family photos and now that they're not being pestered by nosy inquisitors, he has time to think about everything his father told him.

He has brothers. On an intellectual level, he has always known that. His father told him of the circumstances of his creation after all. It's just that he always assumed they were dead. Finding out they are alive this way... ice dripped down his spine.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," Father said. "They appeared so suddenly, with a human at their side, no less."

And isn't that just an insult to injury? A human in his home. And she took his sword. Who gave her the right-?

"They were determined to rescue the agent and stop any further experiments."

"But why? They've been gone all this time, what could they possibly have to do with any of this? To do with us?" Leo asked. Father was silent for a moment.

"My son... in all honesty, I don't think they truly understood the consequences of their actions."

"It's like December came early," Father says, suddenly breaking the silence. Leo takes a second to process that, he's still a bit sleepy.

"Pardon?" he asks.

"We always go to the old Manor in December anyway, so just think of it like December came early." Father shrugs. Oh. He's trying to cheer Leo up.

"Fath-" Leo sighs, "Dad, how can you be so flippant about this? You told me how hard it was to rebuild after the first fire."

"I was younger then, more inexperienced and easily overwhelmed when things didn't go my way. I've learned from my mistakes since then. Rebuilding will go much faster this time around. You'll see. We'll be back home in just a few months."

Leo took a few breaths until the building heat behind his eyes was thoroughly subdued.

"It won't be the same though, will it?" They had lost things. More than his father losing his test subjects and materials and data, those could be recovered with some hard work and dedication. But that was their home. More than just the building they spent most of the year in. More than just the building he grew up in.

It was in his home that he was actually his father's son, not an orphan that the Baron adopted and invested as his heir. It was in his home he could make stupid puns and jokes with Huginn and Munnin and not worry about being the most charming conversationalist in the room. In his home he could just be Leo, not The Honorable Leonardo. His home was the one place that was real. That was safe.

And now, without ever even laying eyes on each other, his so-called "brothers" had come along and burnt everything he's ever known to the ground without remorse. Even once his house was rebuilt, now that he knows that they're just out there and might just reappear out of thin air? How is he ever supposed to sleep in his own bed peacefully at night ever again?

[morfanerina]

Flower Crowns

Macaque finds Wukong and his younger subjects in a flower field.

Pre-shadowpeachy.

AO3 link

Macaque walked through the blooming fruit trees, glamoured ears twitching as he tried to discern the correct path to the giggling group he was looking for. He sneezed and then heard Marshal Liu snicker somewhere nearby and he glared in that direction, realising the Marshal had been watching him for a while now.

The black monkey was never sure what to think of the close military leaders of Wukong’s. They were cordial and friendly with him when they first met millenia ago and turned hostile after his attack on the pilgrimage, though staying put once they realised he would just attack Wukong and had no interest in any other monkey, warily staying on the sides as their king fought him, shooing the other monkeys from the danger.

After he started bullying Wukong into not being a pathetic mess they started to just. Observe him. Liu and Ba especially, seemed keen on it, sometimes getting bold enough to stop hiding and even ganging up on Wukong with him into eating or sleeping. Neither really acknowledged him afterwards with anything but an indiscernible look. Eventually, it became a game to see how long they could get without being noticed by him and something about his interactions with Wukong actually became gossip between them and the rest of the FlowerFruit Mountain.

He heard about five minutes worth and regretted it immediately, promising himself to not ever ‘tune in’ into those conversations again.

Macaque heard some more laughter, the loudest from the monkey he was looking for and scowled when he noticed the way he had to go through was still full of blooming trees. The pollen in the air made him want to sneeze (again) so he used his scarf as a homemade mask to avoid making a scene on the way there. Did Wukong really have to be on the flowering part of the mountain?

When the trees gave way to a flower field he sighed in relief and then immediately found the, now mostly silent, group. Wukong was surrounded by small monkeys, a few clothed in the closest yaoguai tribe style, all of them now concentrated in looking at the king’s hands. A couple glanced at him but quickly turned their attention back.

Carefully walking closer, Macaque finally could see that the king was teaching the young monkeys how to make flower crowns, deft fingers braiding the stalks with practised ease but slowly enough for the young ones to attempt to imitate him. Wukong’s voice was low as he instructed, teasing a few into not giving up so soon when a couple fussed at their attempts. One of the smaller ones whined for help and tugged at the king’s robes, making Wukong laugh, but the adult quickly acquiesced to the request, taking the wonky beginning of a crown and demonstrating to the young one in slower moves, and then helping them continue with sure fingers on top of the smaller ones.

Macaque stayed put, satisfied to just look on to the scene fondly. He enjoyed watching Wukong interacting with his youngest subjects, the gentlenesse he always had with them contrasting with his usual brashness, a sight not many people besides those of his own kingdom had the privilege to see.

He observed, sitting down some ways away, until the children all dispersed with giggles and thank you’s as their guardians chirped for them somewhere near. A ridiculous amount of wonky and far too small flower crowns adorned Wukong’s head and several flower petals of different colours were stuck on his fur and clothes, and Macaque immediately tried to squish the thought of “He’s beautiful” into a mental shadow portal to never see the light of day again.

The Great Sage didn’t even bother looking surprised by his presence.

“Why are you wearing your scarf like that?” Wukong asked, getting up and brushing his clothes in an attempt to clean it off petals. Another flower crown was in one of his hands.

“Because there’s pollen everywhere in this Godsforsaken mountain, that’s why”

“Since when has that bothered you?” Wukong approached him, an amused grin growing on his face.

Macaque shrugged, eyeing the other’s approach, cocking an eyebrow when the golden monkey poked him. He felt his expression shifting when Wukong grabbed a petal from his scarf with a snort. He took his scarf off his face and glanced at it, huffing when he saw there were several white petals stuck to it.

“Seems that we match with all these petals on us” the Monkey King joked then ‘hmm’ed contemplatively.

“What?” Macaque asked and watched as the other monkey nodded to himself. Before he could react, the flower crown was put on top of his head, the Monkey King giving an amused laugh at the black monkey’s expression. Spluttering, Macaque stood baffled as the other winked and turned jumping onto his cloud.

“You were missing a crown” Wukong simply said “Now we match” and then he just flew away, as if what he just did was a normal thing to do.

Macaque flushed and gingerly took the fragile crown off his head, recognizing it as the one Wukong was doing as an example to the young monkeys.

A yaoguai king gifting his made crown. The black monkey huffed and put the crown in its place, before getting up and walking in the direction he could hear Wukong laughing nervously at something and what sounded suspiciously like a scolding Marshall Ma.

He tried his best to ignore the whisperings that were already going around, spread by the spying Marshall Liu in what looked like record time. He’s not sure he wanted to know what they were saying.

Notes: 

Sun Wukong is sometimes the go to babysitter of his people and no one can convince me otherwise. This would be somewhere after they start getting along better (so, after Macaque appeared concussed at FlowerFruit mountain) but before Macaque starts bringing gifts to entice Wukong into getting out of the mountain for a bit. Anyway, Wukong essentially recreated the first part of a not as common, and honestly kind of old and out of fashion, courtship ritual from FlowerFruit Mountain by gifting a flower crown he made to Macaque while they were both surrounded and covered by flowers. It was impulsive and he just realised it seconds after putting the crown on Macaque's head. His Marshals and Generals do not let him live it down during the following century.

[mcyt-imagines]

okay can i request a technoblade x male!reader, where techno and the reader are fighting someone *maybe quackity its not important tho) together and the reader gets injured, techno gets worried but realizes the reader can handle himself? sorry if thats too specific

I have combined this request and another request for a male reader fluff fanfic, so the ending is a little softer than a fighting fic may usually be! However, this is basically gender-neutral, whenever I added gender-specific pronouns it seemed really forced?? So I just left that out, I hope that’s okay! Enjoy :D

Underestimated 

It had only been a few days since Quackity’s butcher army attempted to publicly execute Technoblade. He hadn’t left your side since he returned home, hand in yours or arm wrapped around your waist as if to remind himself you were still here with him despite everything. Techno had been making preparations for another attack when he knew they would inevitably return to try again. But Techno never knows when to stop and start taking care of himself, that’s when you stepped in to pull him away from his plans and into your arms. It was as if the second his head hit your chest all adrenaline he had been running on the past few days, ran out. That was about 6 hours ago, and the two of you still had no intent on moving any time soon.

Your hands toyed with his hair as he continued to read slowly to you, glasses reflecting the soft warm glow from the nearby fire. It’s crackles had slowly been lulling you to sleep against Techno’s chest, mouth pressed loosely against his calm pulse. His hand rubbing soft circles into your skin at your back beckons you deeper into your subconscious, the soft rumbling of his voice fading fast in your ears.

A slam of the front door sends both yourself and Techno bolting up, tangled in long limbs and a lack of space as Phil comes into view from around your fireplace. “Quackity’s headed here!” Phil chokes out, obviously having run a considerable distance to deliver such a message, Techno stands, and you follow suit. “Already? He’ll be underprepared.” Techno mused, moving to start gathering his supplies. Tools recently sharpened, potions brewed days ago, and stacks of fireworks prepped for firing.

You mirror his actions, gathering your weapons with a bridled enthusiasm. You hadn’t been home when Quackity and his army had taken Technoblade and you had beat yourself up over that fact. Knowing that perhaps the outcome could have been different if you’d been there, you were going to make sure that was the case this time. Mind distracted by theoretical outcomes you equip your armour with practiced familiarity, knowing you’ve done this hundreds of times before. But only this time did it truly matter. 

A hand presses to your shoulder and you turn, “You’re staying inside the house. You know I can’t lose you, not now, not ever.” His hand moves from your shoulder to your hips, squeezing softly. Your eyes search his and only find pain and worry. “I’m fighting with you; you know I can handle myself Tech.” He looks away from your face, unable to meet your gaze.  He knows you’re right.

And he also knows you won’t take no for an answer. Especially considering they were able to take him to Manberg last time. “Fine.” He huffs out, “But you have to keep this.” Techno takes the golden charm off of his shirt, the small totem’s eyes glinting as he pins it to your shirt. You open your mouth to question him, “I have another for myself, don’t worry.” He meets your eyes then but only for a second, pulling you tightly to his chest. “Be safe my love.” His lips press soft atop your hair, “I always am.” You raise your head and meet his lips, hand cupping the back of his neck before pulling away with a smile. “Time to kick ass, huh?”

Even on the battlefield, you can tell that Technoblade is still worried, he is distracted by your presence in the fight. You intend to prove during this fight that his anxiety is for naught, Quackity didn’t even bother with a spiel about how Techno deserves this and he’s going to get justice instead opting to fight instantly. His butcher army stood by his side and seemed to assume Technoblade would be alone, Phil and yourself rid them of that assumption as quick as it had come. You were quick to notice they were down a man, Ranboo was missing. Technoblade was right, they were underprepared.

Fundy’s blade clashed with your own, drawing your eyes off of Techno and onto him. “He has to face justice; can’t you see that!?” There was no skill or nuance to his attacks only power behind them making them hard to block but easy to predict. However, you were breaking a sweat as he finally managed to nick your shoulder, with a particularly quick thrust of his sword your armour fracturing upon impact. You muffle your cry of pain with a grunt, nailing the fox hybrid with a deep slash across his chest. Fundy fell backward with a cry, shaking as you stab downwards into his chest and finish the job, his body disappearing and his items popping out of seemingly thin air.

You look over to where you last saw Phil, Tubbo now squirming futilely beneath his sandal. Your head whips around as Quackity screeches, bloody body barely making it to the ground before disappearing. It seems you’d at least get a good haul of loot from these idiots. Techno’s eyes are frantic searching for you for a moment, you watch as his body visibly relaxes when he spots you. “Are you alright?” His hands are all over you, feeling for any injuries. You intake sharply when he gets to your shoulder and he growls, “That bastard.” You place your hand over his, “It’s merely a scratch Tech. I’m fine. Are you okay?” You are acutely aware of the growing patch of crimson on his torso, white shirt stained dark. “Nothing I can’t patch up.” He grumbles, hands tentatively pressing on and around the area.

Techno refuses to let you patch him up first, practically throwing you onto the kitchen table so he can get a closer look at your shoulder. It’s barely even a scratch. But you’re quick to realise it’s a great excuse for him to touch you so gently. Pressing on your skin as if too much pressure would cause you to shatter completely. “You dropped your arm to avoid the brunt of the force behind his blade,” Techno observes looking to you to confirm, you shrug lightly in response. “I’ve seen you do it before. Watched you do it the other day when you were sparring with Phil.” 

He nods solemnly, deciding he truly can’t do anything about your shoulder. Due to it being a scratch and nothing more, as you had said several times. “Well, for someone who just watched me do it you completed the move pretty well.” His eyes can’t meet yours and you smile softly, “Eh, my reflexes are just pretty good. Not a whole lotta skill involved for me.” You are quick to change the subject, ushering him onto the table so you can look at his torso wound.

Your fingers are nimble, working through each stitch with a practiced precision that Techno watches with a keen but relaxed eye. You’re usually the one to patch him up, he can do it sure, you’re just better. And maybe he secretly likes how close you have to get to him and how gentle your hands work against his skin. “I was watching you… during the battle I mean, you made short work of Fundy.” Your hands still for a moment fumbling with the bandage, your eyes move to his and he looks away quickly. “You were? I uh, he isn’t traditionally trained or anything, so he wasn’t much of an opponent.”

You force yourself to keep your brain on track, tightening the bandage around his middle as gently as you can. One of his hands grabs your wrist, you still immediately and meet his eyes. “I… you really can’t take a compliment, can you?” His sigh is soft, and his eyes are warm, “What I’ve been trying to say is that I’m sorry for underestimating your skills and that I’m proud to fight by your side.” Even as he says such sweet things, he still can’t seem to hold your gaze. The grin on your face is enough to bring his gaze back however, “Best be getting used to fighting with me then because I don’t plan on budging anytime soon.” Your lips press firmly to his cheek a few times before he turns his head to catch your lips.

“We can start training tomorrow because I’m still exhausted.” Techno groans, shifting to get off of the table, your hand finding his with ease and leading him back over to the fire where the two of you had been hours earlier. That’s when you notice his hair, you gasp softly and take a seat in front of the fire. Techno moves to sit behind you, you quickly pat the ground in front of you. “Your braid’s come loose, let me fix it for you.” 

He moves with vigor at your words, knowing your nimble hands against his scalp will send him to sleep in minutes. The warm glow of the fire highlights his bright eyes as they peek back at you every few moments, “Head forward, my prince.” You press a few soft kisses to the back of his head and his hands snake around to knead your soft thighs. You huff out a breath of air as your cheeks heat up at his ministrations  

“I’m trying to focus on your hair here.” You grumble, “What?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, so in retaliation, you focus your full attention on his hair, not noticing his hands on your thighs begin to slow their movements until they stop, and you’ve finished the braid. “Techno?” The soft snoring you hear in response warms your chest and you carefully manoeuvre him to lay down on the plush fur rug in front of your fireplace. 

He’s normally a light sleeper, which means he truly must’ve been exhausted by that fight. You quietly lay next to him, tangling your legs and wrapping an arm over his chest being careful near his wound. “I love you, Techno.” A kiss to the side of his face doesn’t wake him as the crackling fire and howling of the chilly wind outside lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

~Requests are always open!~

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice: Part 1.5 (Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader)

synopsis: you meet your captors, but why are you really here?

wc: 1.8k

tw: none

masterlist

Giggling.

Giggling?

Do people giggle in heaven?

When you finally come to, all you can hear are muffled whispers and excited chatter around you.

“Mom? Dad?” You slowly open your eyes and take in the blurry shapes surrounding you, blinking multiple times so that they would take form.

“No mom or dad here,” a soft voice whispers, and cold fingers touch your forehead.

“No,” another voice echoes and finally, you can see who is circled around you. A gaggle of women surrounds you, each one having an unusual skin color - rose pink, cerulean, blood red, hunter green, and mauve - and sporting a set of unfamiliar-looking ears that came to a small pinched point at the tops.

“We’re glad you’re awake!” A woman with short black hair and green skin exclaims, clasping her hands to her clothed chest. “Everyone is shocked when they come here at first, but we’ve never had someone pass out,” she giggles and the other women do as well.

“You made quite a spectacle,” another woman sighs, shaking her rose-pink head. “We had to get the men to help us get you up here.”

Here? You look around the room you’re in, fully noticing your surroundings. You’re still in the clothes from the ceremony, and the pendant hangs neatly around your neck still, untouched by the women. But the room… it’s immaculate.

Every piece of furniture is either gold or white, and to your left, a set of open-air windows are covered by gauzy curtains that blow in the invisible wind. You’re laying in a four-poster bed, covered in white sheets and white fur that looks expensive. And when you run your hands over it, it feels expensive.

“Wait…” you exhale, looking around at the room again. “Am I in the Dragon God’s--”

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re asking,” The blood-red-skinned woman answers, fingering her long braid. “But I’ll let His Holiness explain.”

“His Holiness?” you mutter, right as a sharp ripple runs through the curtains. All of the women turn to the archways and in one motion begin to scramble there.

“Move, Ariadne!”

“Serena, scoot over!”

“Danai, I can’t see!”

You cautiously slide out of the bed and pad over to where the women have thrown open the curtains and are leaning over the banister to look left and right.

“Do you see them?” Someone asks, and one of them replies,

“Up there!” Your eyes follow to the point in the sky where the mauve hand is pointing, and you can see two figures dancing about in the sky, flashes of gold and white passing between them. As they get closer, you can clearly make out that they’re...

“Dragons.” A black one circles around a white one, both of them exchanging fire in turn. All of the women begin to squeal, their excited chatter like the sounds of birds in the morning light.

“You came to just in time,” the tall, blood-red woman nudges you, smiling widely. “His Holiness and His Highness like to spar during the day, and it looks like they’re putting on quite the show.”

“Ah,” you answer, looking back up at the dragons, who were getting even closer, almost right upon the place where you all stood.

“What’s your name?” she asks, raising a brow at you.

“Y/n,” you reply, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves.

“I’m Clymenestra,” the woman offers her hand to you, and you take it, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Cly. I’m the head of household affairs, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“Household affairs?”

“Food, drink, sheets, anything you associate with households, I’m in charge of it.”

“So… you’re not the Dragon God’s… wives?”

Cly laughs, tossing her head back and holding her stomach as her fox-like features slide into a wide grin. “Oh, y/n, you are so funny!” You turn back to the spectacle in front of you and watch as the two dragons engage in a death-drop, wrapping around each other in an endless loop.

“They’re going to do it!” Someone squeals and you all watch as they drop into the water right below them, neglecting to emerge for what feels like eons. As you scan the shoreline for any signs of re-emerging dragons, you wonder why two dragons - fire-breathing creatures - would descend into the depths of what appeared to be an ocean. But when two male figures emerge from the sea, you’re suddenly aware that it was just what Cly said: it was all a show.

“Oh! Cly, we have to get their robes!” One of the women shouts and the women break into a frenzy again, scurrying about and opening drawers and shutting wardrobes, hands suddenly filled with different articles of clothing. Clymenestra stands beside you, arms folded over her chest as she oversees the chaos, then opens a set of doors that leads to a large, long hallway. The doors at the end of the hallways open out to the outdoors at the same time, and you watch the women file neatly into the hallway in two rows. Cly tugs you to her side at the end of the line, holding your hand with an iron grip.

“Say nothing until I introduce you.”

When the two men who resurfaced from the sea stride through the doors, you swallow hard, feeling your palms become clammy at the sight of the muscles on display.

Oh, no. They’re hot.

“Your Holiness.”

“Your Highness.”

The women coo these words interchangeably as a black, long-haired man and a white-haired man take the clothing offered to them, wrapping the towels and silk robes around themselves. As the white-haired man gets closer to you, your knees begin to quake under your dress, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Clymenestra, it seems we have a new guest here,” he purrs, placing a hand on his hip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m--” Cly yanks on your hand surreptitiously, which stops your speech.

“Her name is y/n, and she’s the newest addition to His Holiness’ household, your Highness.”

“Ah,” the man sighs, looking away. “I was hoping they would send me a new plaything this time.” The black-haired man catches the end of this conversation, tying his black robe around him and raising a brow.

���Have you asked for a new plaything, Gojo?” he wonders as his black eyes slide to you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch his gaze, which is tender and curious. Not at all like the devouring gaze the man with the blue eyes gave you.

“No,” the blue-eyed man mumbles, walking down a different corridor and disappearing.

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s a little touchy around this time of year,” the black-haired man mentions, and Cly bobs into a small curtsy.

“Your Holiness, this is y/n.”

“What a beautiful name,” he muses, and you bow your head slightly. “You can refer to me as Geto.” When he speaks to you - and so familiarly at that - you feel a shiver run down your spine and rest in the pit of your stomach. “You’re my guest here and I will treat you as such. Have you fully recovered from your episode?” he wonders, and you nod in response, words unable to be formed in your mouth. “Fantastic. Let’s have dinner, I know you’re probably famished after losing your horse.” Cly urges you to follow him down a separate corridor, and you follow obediently.

_____________________________________________________________

Two pairs of eyes are on you as you try to politely scarf down the food offered. When the smell of loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, fish, delicacies you’ve only dreamed of having for the past five years wafted into your nose, your rational mind switched off and your self-preservation kicked in. Now, you were sitting at a table for four in the middle of a large dining hall that could possibly hold twenty couples total. The room is the same white and golden color scheme, only this time, the chairs and table cloths are black.

“You would think the villagers would have fed her,” Gojo - his highness - grumbles as you shove a slice of bread into your mouth. Geto just chuckles, picking at his own food with little interest.

“No, Satoru. They were cruel enough to send her up the mountain, certain she would die. Why would they waste food during a famine?” The famine. You look up from your plate at the black-haired one and frown, mouth full of food.

“We sacrifice women to you so that you’ll send rain.” You mention, and he shrugs, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what the elders tell us.”

“He’s not a rain god,” Gojo replies, steepling his fingers together. “So there’s something wrong about that assumption.”

“But we’ve been doing it for--”

“Two decades.” Geto finishes for you, then looks down at his plate before clearing his throat. “What did you do in the village, y/n?” He wonders, changing the subject suddenly.

“I--” I stole some food. I lived on the streets. I was an orphan.

I am an orphan.

“What difference does it make? Obviously, she wasn’t valuable enough for them to want to preserve her life.” Gojo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like she’s not better off up here, Suguru.”

“But--” you try to speak, but Geto speaks over you, holding a hand out so Gojo will stop talking.

“Gojo, I know that. I just want to know a little more about our guest here. Is that okay with you?” The blue-eyed man tosses his hands up in defeat, squinting at you after looking you up and down. “Y/n, tell me about your time in the village. What did you do before you were picked?”

“I was… an orphan,” you admit, and Geto leans back in his chair, humming softly. Gojo runs a hand through his white locks, averting his gaze.

“My condolences,” Geto murmurs, tilting his head to the side so his hair dangled to the left. “Were you very close?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” you blurt, and Geto and Gojo both frown. “I mean, am I going to die after eating this meal?” Gojo tries his best to hold in his laughter, but fails miserably, tilting back in his chair as the sharp sounds echo around the room. You turn back to Geto, who chuckles as well and is hunched over in his seat.

“No, no, no,” Gojo wipes the tears from his eyes and continues. “You’re out guest, y/n. We would be horrible hosts if we killed you.”

“So what am I here for?” you reply, and Geto whispers:

“You’re only here to repay a debt, y/n. It has nothing to do with you personally, but just know, you’re not going to die. Actually, I would go as far as saying that you have the opportunity to live forever.”

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

[dapandapod]

You mentioned I should drop a prompt, so what do you think of Geralt being soft? Like he’s actually a really intimate and gentle person when it comes to romance and Jaskier is in awe of this secret side of Geralt. Thoughts?

YES! Thoughts are, AMAZING!! Thank you for indulging me with this! Also Im doing a sneaky and claiming this as 2/4 for my 400 follower celebration 

I thought I was going to write a short but NO I DID NOT! Please have some soft boys and I hope I did this justice! I have many thoughts on the subject and I love them all! 

On Ao3 here, for your consideration!  Please enjoy

Jaskier is baffled. Flabbergasted. In a state of constant awe.

He has known Geralt for great many years. Pined after him for most of them, and therefore thought he knew Geralt and his ways. He has seen him at his best and his worst, from afar and up close. He witnessed Triss falling for him, and Geralt not returning her feelings. He was on the first row when Geralt fell head over heels for Yennefer, and how they fell apart over and over again. And when Geralt broke his heart, on accident and on purpose, Jaskier saw, felt, witnessed, learned who Geralt is, and how he acts. When Ciri finally was pushed into their lap by fate's cruel hand, he thought he had seen it all.

He was content with being Geralt's friend, he was fine with sitting on the sidelines, if only he got to be there. They had their fights, their falling outs, their own kind of breaking up for months. But they always found each other, and Jaskier thought he knew how Geralt expressed himself and his own place in their lives.

But something changed.

Jaskier can’t put his finger on what or when, but Geralt started mending his socks when he did his own. When he complained about his lute case being in poor shape, bought him a new one.

And Jaskier has been to Kaer Morhen a few times. It has passed its glory days, it is true, but the beauty of history in a hidden corner of the world, a place to rest and heal and grow. To breathe the stillness of a winters day high above the ground, to be a part of the sky, to feel the cold bite his cheeks. On a balcony far above everything, Geralt had kissed him.

He remembers the sky being a pale blue, almost white over the horizon, the sun high above them. They were talking about something as mundane as brushes for Roach and Pegasus.

Jaskier insisted they should have the brushes with a little longer bristles, because they were clearly superior to the soft, useless ones Geralt preferred. The longer would work better with the thick winter fur and the mud, obviously. Soft brushes are great for added shine, but they didn’t do much good before they were clean, would they?

And Geralt had smiled at him, a soft smile Jaskier had only seen at a distance before, and then Geralt had stepped right into his space.

Noses almost touching, Geralt's wonderful amber eyes almost hidden behind his lashes when he looked down and then leaned in. Dry, chapped lips against his, beard tickling him and his heart almost exploding with emotion. It took Jaskier completely by surprise, and Geralt had pulled back, smiled again and apologized. And one does not kiss Jaskier like that and apologize for it. Especially not when you have been half in love with the idiot for a decade, possibly two.

Jaskier did the only right thing and kissed the daylight out of him, right there on the balcony.

So yes, things have changed, and entirely for the better. But Jaskier, who spent most of his life watching Geralt, is finding out new things. It’s like someone lifted a curtain, opened a door, whatever cliché you would want to use. Geralt is letting him in, letting him see another side of himself. They have been through a lot, they both have changed and grown a lot. But there are more smiles, and they are brighter, softer, richer. The jokes are less cutting, and there are actual compliments. Touches. Words, even.

A late night in the corner of a tavern, perhaps a little bit deeper into their drinks than intended, Geralt leans forward and takes hold of his chin. By now Jaskier expects a kiss, but Geralt just stares at him.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” He murmurs, and Jaskier is moments away from death. Heart, lungs, you name it, they all take a break to restart and think out new ways to function. Because never, ever, had he expected that. There is no way he could compete with Yennefer, and he say as much.

“It’s not a competition.” Geralt had frowns at him, still a little too focused on his eyes. “Each of you has something that is only you. I could never compare. Your eyes are like a piece of the sky, a droplet of water, cornflower blue. It’s hard to look at you sometimes, because it’s so hard to look away.”

Needless to say, Jaskier drags Geralt up to their room and they weren’t seen for the rest of the night.

While on the path and on one horse each it wasn’t easy to find ways to casually touch.

But Geralt lets Roach get close to Pegasus, their feet and calves touching. Jaskier smiles at him and pushes at Geralt's shoulder, and Geralt catches his hand and kisses his knuckles. And then Geralt comments on the blush Jaskier suddenly is wearing.

Sometimes when they sit next to each other, Geralt will drop a hand on Jaskiers thigh. Grabbing his hand, letting his thumb slowly caress it. Twining their fingers together, touching their feet together under the table. Gentle touches for no other reason than to be a bit closer.

More than once while sitting in front of the fire at night, scribbling on lyrics and poems, Geralt would sit close if not next to him. Sometimes he would sit behind Jaskier, trace patterns on his back as he worked. Sometimes he would fiddle with his hair, kiss his shoulder or neck. And when he peeks around at Jaskier, to see if he was getting any attention, he would pull a stray strand of hair behind his ear. His fingers are always hot, always careful.

Jaskier never saw this side of Geralt, no. But it would turn out Geralt never saw this side of Jaskier either.

Might be that Jaskier recites many poems, and writes them even more. But before this, before the balcony, Jaskier would never dare write and read one directly about and to Geralt. When Jaskier reads them, every time without fail Geralt's mouth falls open, blush stains his cheeks and Jaskier has to fight not to lean in and kiss him. It’s wonderful, he can never get enough.

Geralt is used to seeing Jaskiers easy platonic affection, but nothing could have prepared him for all the love and affection Jaskier harbors inside of himself, that suddenly is let free. How he for long, long moments can let his fingers run across Geralt’s face.

His nose, cheekbones, lips, chin, temples, over the shell of his ear. Exploring, caressing, touching. He is allowed now, after all. Sometimes he braids Geralt's hair. He sucks at braiding, they are crooked and uneven, but Geralt refuse to take them out for a day or two.

And when he finally does, his pale white hair is full of curls and waves, and there is nothing on this earth that can make Jaskier stop playing with it.

Of course there is a certain amount of flirting a bard is expected to do during his performance, but he somehow always makes sure he ends up sprawled across Geralt's lap, even with a perfectly good chair right next to them.

And it’s been but two nights they haven’t slept next to each other, or on top of each other, while together on the path. They have no reason to pretend anymore, after all.

Then of course there are the less obvious things, the things they have done for each other for years but suddenly are seen as what they should have been all along.

It seems like no one is surprised by this new development. No one but the two of them. It will take years for him, a decade, possibly more, to come to terms with this. But they have time. They practice every day. It’s not perfect.

They are still not good at talking, they fight and misunderstand and they yell and they forgive.

But it’s like they always have been. Always will be.

And they work for it, for their time and affection for each other, a little more every day.

The first I love you reverberate through his bones, etches itself on his heart. Making room for all the I love yous to come.

[hungarianbee]

sightless but steady

A/N: I wanted to try my hand on Warritt the All-Seeing for a while now. Writing a blind character who’s not *really* blind is both fun and a challenge. I have a lot of feelings about the Viper witchers, and so I snuck a lot of headcanons (about Ivar, Warritt, Letho, Auckes) into this piece. You can read about them in detail at the end of the fic. TW for: mention of non-descriptive torture

It is a relatively quiet night at the Blood Gate Keep. The young adepts went to sleep hours ago, safely tucked away in their quarters. To the average witcher, Gorthur Gvaed lays dormant, echoing the silence of its occupants.

But not to Warritt. In his room, the Viper bundles himself in furs, sitting in front of the lit hearth with his back to it. The fire’s heat seeps into his bones, touching his exposed neck, and he tilts his head back into the sensation. To him, the keep always feels just a tad cold. It’s nothing, compared to the Bear’s Haern Caduch or the Wolves’ Kaer Morhen in winter, but the Vipers’  mutations keep their temperatures lower than the other school’s.

As he flicks his fingers, his magic activates the Supirre Sign again, keeping it steady with years of practice. Just like that, the night comes alive around him.

Beneath the sound of the firewood cracking, he notices that there are rats in the walls again, scratching at the stones with their tiny claws. He makes a mental note to alert Evil-Eye to their presence later, then moves on. A floor beneath him, Gerring of Kharkiv is playing with his knives, just as usual. The fast tack-tack-tack reverberates in Warritt’s ears as the knives embed themselves in the wooden surface of the upturned table. A mouser’s yowls break it up, and he pushes the Sign further, taking note of the steady heartbeats of the snakelets. As he concentrates, he feels several that are too fast to be asleep. Auckes, he thinks. And Letho.

Warritt shucks his furs, taking one with him and folding the rest on his unused bed. With a reverse Igni, lowers the temperature of the hearth, leaving the wood smoldering. The smoke of it settles in his barely open mouth, sticking to his palate. Throwing the fur over his shoulder, he opens his door, just as Ivar Evil-Eye takes a corner in his direction, the scent of blood and iron trailing after him like an avenging wraith.

Up until this point, the Viper Grandmaster was pacing his office, as was his bad habit, then changed course, and took a detour around the Keep to the snakelets’ sleeping quarters. To air his head, most likely, and to make sure that everyone was safe. That Letho was safe. There is a lot of weight on the witcher’s shoulders that he refuses to share with them, he knows. Some days, when the pacing gets agitated and Warritt can hear his rapid breathing when he talks his way over an issue, he thinks that this will be Evil-Eye’s end. A fire can only burn bright for so long without kindling.

“Master Evil-Eye,” he greets quietly.

The thumping of Gerring’s weapons stop. A shift of skin on fabric as the man looks up, breathing carefully steadied. He’s listening. Warritt minimizes his Sign to the palm of his hand. He’s been told the yellow glow is quite noticeable. “Anything I can help you with?”

Evil-Eye shakes his head to himself, but breaks the motion midway. A heavy sigh. “I can’t deal with the brats tonight,” he admits. His tone is weary. Warritt tries to imagine what his expression must look like, but it’s been too long and the visuals appear murky in his mind. Something that might match the scents of frustration and fatigue. After all, Evil-Eye doesn’t have to hide from him; he can’t see. Then, the taste of ash ignites, becomes spicy with rekindled rage. “Did you know about Letho of Gulet?”

He can’t even finish the sentence as Warritt flashes his fangs at the leader. The hiss that leaves between his teeth rattles in his throat. “No! I would have stopped Daibesyck. Any of us would have. And you know that.”

In his rise of emotion, his Supirre sputters out. He casts it again with one hand, the other going up to rake through his curls.

Evil-Eye stands still, like a statue. Then a new tension enters his shoulders, and he turns away. “I’ve dealt with Daibesyck,” he states. Disdain colours his voice. “The worm wanted me to thank him. To acknowledge what a marvelous achievement he did, finding the perfect subject for his little successful experiment.” He breathes through his venom. “I paid him in kind. He stopped screaming a few hours ago.”

Warritt’s face tightens, even as dark satisfaction courses through him. He knows. He heard. But it wasn’t aimed at him; it’s a confirmation for their little eavesdropper. This time tomorrow everyone will know that they are one mage down.

“How’s he?”

Evil-Eye cracks his neck to the side. “He’s feverish, still. He asked for you.”

“Then I will be there.” And that’s that. Warritt lengthens his steps, taking the fur beneath one arm, the other still pulsing with Supirre. The Grandmaster matches him until they reach Letho’s quarters, where he lags behind, stopping just by the door.

The blind witcher makes his way to the bed. The scent of sickness leaves a sour note on his tongue, but that’s not his main concern. Because in this close proximity, he’s sure of it - Letho’s usual outline changed.

As he climbs into the bed he bundles the furs under Letho’s bald head, hoping that his own scent will ease the young witcher. A stone sits in Warritt’s stomach; last time he’s been in his presence, the kid had a crown of soft curls. His calloused hands slide on broad, impossibly muscled shoulders that emanate a heat that is uncharacteristic to witchers, then cup the back of Letho’s neck gently.

“Letho,” he calls, and the snakelet twitches under him, turning towards his chest. He can barely fit. A soft sound escapes him, almost a sob, and his hands come up to shield his still sensitive eyes. Warritt immediately releases his Sign to plunge the room in darkness, shushing him. “It’s Warritt, bud. I am here, just as you asked.”

“Warritt,” Letho parrots back, slurring. Without the Sign, Warritt is not prepared for the fingers prodding at the heavy scarring by his eyes, but he lets it happen anyway.

With impossible strength, Letho pulls Warritt down and curls his arms around him in a constricting hug. Warritt stifles his wheeze, breathing through it, and he presses closer still, wrapping himself around the kid as much as he can, tucking him under his chin and tangling their legs. One of his hands comes up to squeeze Letho’s nape. The pressure seems to calm the young witcher, and he mindlessly bites down on Warritt’s leathers on his shoulder, just to hold him still. Warritt notes absentmindedly that Evil-Eye slipped away when he wasn’t paying attention.

They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Letho’s breathing evens out, slipping into an uneasy sleep. His muscles twitch and release, and Warritt rearranges them so he’s plastered to the snakelet’s back, hugging him tightly, not minding the cold sweat.

“Auckes,” he calls softly. He hears the creak of soft leathers in the rafters as the boy shifts warily. He drops down, landing without difficulty.

“Bloede,” the little snakelet curses in Elder, silently but with feeling. “How did you know I was here? You didn’t even use your Sign.”

“Language,” Warritt chides. “You were so loud I could hear you from a tower away. You were lucky Master Evil-Eye was in a cordial mood, he would have had you for breakfast.”

“Not true,” Auckes sulks.

The boy’s radiating disbelief warms him. He gestures with one hand, beckoning, and Auckes slips onto the bed, curling over Letho. The boy shakes a little and Warritt scents the residue of distress on him, so he presses a warm hand between his shoulder blades, drawing slow circles.

Auckes presses into his touch, then blurts out. “If I asked you, would you shave my head?”

Warritt doesn’t stop his motions, despite his surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

For a long moment, Auckes doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fist in Letho’s sleeping shirt. He smooths the soft material between his fingers anxiously. “Letho cried ,” he whispers it like a secret, and his tone belies his astonishment. Letho never cries. “He saw his reflection, you know.”

“I don’t know, Auckes,” prompts Warritt gently, lying through his teeth. “Why would he be upset because of that?”

“He’s big. And bald. He tried to hug Serrit and hurt him. Twas an axi-” he trips on the word in his haste, then tries again, slowly. “Ac-ci-dent. He didn’t mean it, I know. It scared him. And Serrit said that he wasn’t mad, so it’s okay.”

Warritt hides his sad smile, endeared by Auckes’ sharp perception and big heart. “Aye,” he breathes.

Another beat passes between them.

“I want you to cut my hair, so Letho knows it’s okay, too. That he’s not alone.” Auckes’ voice is so very small, like the breeze in Tir Tochair’s sheltered meadows.

Warritt’s throat constricts. His fingers follow the thin braid that hangs on each side of  Auckes’ face, then cards into his soft ponytail.

“Alright,” he rasps. “Alright.”

--------- * ---------

Note: Auckes canonically can speak really good Elder. The little curse word “Bloede” can be translated to “bloody hell”.

Headcanons:

Warritt is the big-brother of the keep - he’s both a blind badass and the resident kidwrangler (and everyone clearly knows it)

Warritt is a genius - this is kiiind of canon, but regardless: he has an unorthodox thought process; he likes thinking outside of the box, and that’s how he isn’t bothered by his blindness and modified an already existing Sign (Supirre in canon; and also Igni in this fic)

Vipers are not shy of physical touch, on the contrary! - a little bit of cutagen here; Vipers like to coil up together in almost constricting hugs. Even those who haven’t gone through the Trials adopt this habit; the physical touch (hugs) is something they can claim as their own good thing

Letho went through the Grasses twice, like Geralt (aka twicegrassed) - compared to the rest of the School, Letho is an outlier. I explained his proportions with him surviving the Trials twice

Ivar was unaware of the further experimentations, and he flipped - a hc i adopted from @lookoutrogue. Ivar himself went through multiple Trials, that’s how he ended up with his mutated eye. My throwaway mage OC, Daibesyck was tortured to death because he went over the invisible line Ivar carved, hurting one of his own and disrespecting his authority

Auckes shaved his head in solidarity for Letho - originally i thought he would have done it when he was older, but tiny Auckes said no, i wanna do it now

Gerring of Kharkiv wasn’t supposed to appear, but he didn’t budge. So I guess now he’s an insomniac old witcher who likes to waste time and furniture with knife-throwing *shrug*

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 19, Traximus

Summary: The Turtles meet a dinosaur

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @ilo-artistry @unhealthyobsessions101

Content warnings: swears

Bubble, bubble, bubble went the water as it swelled and displaced. Weapons were drawn, and the katana in Leonardo’s hand felt as foreign as if someone had just given him a book in Chinese and instructed him to read it. The handle was smaller than his odachi, and the blade was shorter, and it was thinner, and its weight was lighter, almost nothing. Still, a weapon was a weapon, even if he naturally navigated toward the back of the crowded group to put a wall of muscle between him and whatever was emerging from the cesspool.

There came two curved horns as long as Leonardo’s arm and as thick as Leo’s at the base, curved forward and angled close together. The gap between then formed an almost triangle shape. First came the horns, and then came an apricot head that rivaled the size of a small car, revealing a third smaller horn on the tip of a muzzle just before heavy, meaty flesh parted to a hard, bony beak. The head shook from size to side, a loud whoosh resulting as the broad frill caught the air. Further still the triceraton revealed himself.

His shoulders were as wide as the frill on his head, and he had a torso that could be mistaken for a brick wall. He was clothed in a red and orange regalia that could have once been a beautiful suit but was now stained with waste and ruin, heavy from the submergence. His nostrils flared to blow away the water that still cascaded along his muscular form, his breaths coming in heavy and labored grunts. Donnie couldn’t help but take notice of many wires hanging loosely around the triceratons shoulders, several of them severed or otherwise damaged; what use could they have once served? The options were limitless!

The triceraton didn't charge, but the clan held their ground. Eyes of an impossibly bright emerald sought something among the group; what that something was was anyone’s guess, but it must have been important. Apparently it was Donnie that held what the alien sought, because when his eyes found the box turtle they stopped searching. His head bowed and the turtles once more braced themselves for a charge. The triceraton lifted his arms up to his horns, arching his fingers downward so they formed an inverted triangle; joined with the angling of his horns, a diamond shape was revealed.

“Awaiting… orders… general Mozar.” He sounded as if he had swallowed a cheese grater.

Raph’s confusion disturbed the unyielding stance. “Who?”

All eyes gleaned over at Donnie. The box turtle paled at all the attention suddenly on him, his throat drying and a visible drop of sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Dudes this is so weird…” Mikey breathed.

“Woah!” Despite the many shouts of discouragement and several attempts to stop Michelangelo, the box turtle made his way to the front of the group to oggle the still giant. “How can we understand you?! Is there some super cool alien translation device?!”

“Actually Michael, I think he’s just speaking english.” Donatello commented absently.

“Oh.” Michelangelo deflated, “That’s less fun.”

The giant seemed to tolerate Michelangelo’s presence surprisingly well; that is to say, he didn't immediately try to beat the young turtle into a puddle.

“Should we be concerned that he’s not, you know… pummeling us right now?” Raphael asked, his hands still fixed firmly on his tonfa.

“Don’t let your guard down.” Leo whispered to the group, “He still might.”

“I don’t think he will.” Leonardo said, and his eyes were locked on the dinosaur as if seeing something no one else could.

“Excuse me?” With a hand perched on his hip, Leo addressed Leonardo’s words with scrutiny.

“Donnie.” Leonardo said to the box turtle, “Raise your hand…”

Donnie, though confused, raised his hand. The triceraton lowered his strange salute and raised his hand; Donnie leaned curiously to the side, and the dinosaur leaned to the side. Donnie leaned to the other side, and the dinosaur followed, like a baby mimicking its mother.

“Ooookay, things just got a whole lot weirder.” Mikey whistled.

“Guys, you remember that one really red triceraton?” Donnie asked quickly without removing his eyes from the ten foot giant before him. “The one with the lopsided horns?”

“Yeah, the leader.” Leo said just as quick as Donnie, just as urgent.

Donnie didn't answer verbally, but made a point of motioning to the goggles perched on his head, the lopsided lenses glistening.

“Aaaaand sidebar!” Despite being the smallest of all eight gathered, Leonardo was able to wrap his arms around the other mutants and whisk them to the side while Traximus returned to his unsteady salute. “Okay bros; how we feeling ‘bout this?”

“That dino dude’s acting weird…” Mikey said, and made a point of enunciating the last word,

“Yeah, like Mikey weird.” Raph whistled.

“Hey.” Mikey narrowed his eyes.

“And his gears all busted up.” Donnie reported, “He doesn’t have his mask on anymore for one.”

“And why is he playing some twisted version of Simon Says with Donnie?” Raph’s words came with a sharp scoff.

“Maybe he’s friendly?” Michelangelo offered up.

“Unlikely.” Donatello disagreed.

“Well the robot was nice.” Michelangelo pointed out.

“That is a fair point.” Leonardo nodded and agreed.

“And what’s that meant to be, some kinda salute?” Raph lifted his head from the group to look back at the giant. “An’ why does he think Don’s this ‘Mozar’ or whatever?”

Donatello cleared his throat to call everyone’s attention. “I would like to offer a theory if I may?”

“Yeah, shoot.” Raphael said.

“You mentioned something about a mask.” Donatello said, holding one hand over his mouth and nose to resemble a mask, “Like, a cloth mask or an oxygen mask?”

“Uh, oxygen.” Donnie nodded his confirmation.

“Right.” Donatello nodded, and pointed over at the dinosaur. “I see no oxygen tank. If he had one to begin with, it’s gone now, and yet he’s still up and walking.”

“I… don’t remember any oxygen tank.” Leo shook his head.

“That’s because it probably wasn’t an oxygen mask. Not if all five of your dinosaurs were wearing ‘em in a place where there was quite clearly oxygen. That, my dear friends, is a pattern, not a coincidence. If they all had it, chances are it’s some sort of filter, like they’re meant to be breathing something that’s not our air. And if someone from our planet breathes in something that isn’t oxygen…”

“It kills them?” Leo wasn’t following.

“Yes, and no. How about you?” Donatello pointed at Donnie.

“It can cause… delirium, confusion… hallucinations…” Donnie was following perfectly.

“Who’s to say the effects aren’t the same for someone like him?”

“You’re saying he’s deprived of some type of breathing apparatus?” Donnie’s eyes lit up like the skies on the Fourth of July, “It makes sense!”

“And it would explain the confusion.” Leonardo said.

Leo, wanting desperately to get on to a more important subject, urged, “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“Yes.” Donatello answered confidently, “But he also thinks dear Donald here is his beloved General Mozar, and we should keep it that way.”

“General…” The dinosaur called,. “Awaiting orders…”

“Uh. At ease?” Donnie offered.

The dinosaur stared at him for the longest time, trying to decipher why his bold and brash commander had spoken so strangely before lowering his arms to his side. Donnie cleared his throat and stepped forward away from the group, trying to make himself as big as possible which wasn’t much of a task for the tree-like turtle.

“Remind me of your name and rank again, soldier.” Donnie’s voice slowly gained more confidence and tone, and the dinosaur seemed to be excited by it.

“Major Traximus of the Ygthian fleet, serving our great and powerful Prime Leader.”

“That’s right.” It felt almost fun being in a position of power, and it quickly went to Donnie’s head. “My command for you, Major Traximus, is to help me escort these… diplomats back to their home.”

“Yes Commander Mozar…” Traximus bowed the immensity of his head. “As you command…”

Though one could expect a beast of such immense proportion to lumber at an awkward gait, it was quite the opposite as Traximus walked with such speed and determination. The turtles parted to allow him plenty of space to pass by them. He was a man— or alien— on a mission that would stop for nothing. Glances were exchanged, followed by ‘what else are we gonna do?’ shrugs and curious excitement as the turtles were quick to keep up with the charging titan.

“How’d he get through anyway?” Raph asked; he was the one now holding Splinter, cradling the rat to his chest and still working absently to dry his fur.

“He was the one chasing us back in our world.” Leo said, “Maybe he got through the rift, ended up in the sewers. Lord knows the time rift had ask of us scattered to the winds.”

“Awesome…” Mikey breathed, followed up with, “I told you he was out here!”

“Yeah…” Both Leo and Raph faltered their steps, “You did…”

They made good time getting back to the lair where Yoshi and April were sat together at the living room coffee table assembling a puzzle; it was one activity that Yoshi didn't need help with, since the pieces were so big and obvious, and the old rat took great pride in each success. April, like her turtle brothers, had grown and matured greatly. She had forgone her usual buns in favor of tight braids clinging to her scalp and cascading to just above her shoulders, and she wore a modest yellow jumpsuit and rubber rain boots, perfect for traversing the wet ick of the sewer. One thing was familiar about her, however, and it was that same green coat she had been wearing since her younger adolescent. April looked up when she heard their approach, the smile turning to her mouth hanging open and her eyes bulging.

“Holy Jurassic Park…”

Leonardo took Splinter from Raph’s arm and immediately whisked him away, leaving Raph with his empty arms still out in a cradle, pouting and desperately pawing at the air that had once been his dad. Donnie parted from the group and tried follow Leonardo to the infirmary, but the red eared slider stopped him.

“I got him; you and the guys take care of our little… guest over there.” And Leonardo motioned to Traximus, who was still and awaiting orders.

“Oh. Right.” Donnie watched Leonardo leave like a distressed puppy watching his owner go to work without him. Seeking some guidance, Donnie turned to his brother. “Leo?”

“Maybe we… get him something to eat?” Leo offered.

“What do dinosaurs eat anyway?” Raph huffed; now without anything to hold, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Nothing that still exists.” Donnie muttered bitterly, and his eyes passed over the orange dinosaur trying to make better sense of the alien presence.

“Well, he is an alien dinosaur.” Michelangelo pointed, “Maybe he eats something different.”

“If it’s alien, it still won’t be on our planet, Michael.” Donatello added.

“Oh.” Michelangelo’s expression deflated.

“But we can still try.” Leo said, arms motioning widely as he called attention to himself, “We need to make his comfortable before we can get anything out of him.”

“Are we sure he even knows anything?” Donatello asked, and he was looking absently at his nails, “Doesn’t look like there’s much happening upstairs.”

It was true that Traximus’ eyes did look remarkably empty, but Donnie wasn’t convinced he was completely gone. The dinosaur could talk, and could obey orders, even if he couldn’t recognize them as not being from his own species. And they had been there for two days now! He didn't know a damn thing about alien triceratops digestion, or how long they could go without food, but he did know a thing or two about empathy. Did this triceraton need food? Maybe. Water? Maybe. Donnie would make sure the creature didn't go without either.

“Major Traximus?”

The triceraton snorted and shook his head as he brought his focus to attention at the call of his commander.

“Would you care to… indulge in… sustenance?” Donnie tried to choose his words carefully, but it was difficult, if not impossible, with knowing next to nothing about who he was meant to be portraying.

Traximus tilted his head to one side, and then the other. “Commander Mozar…?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Donnie gulped, raising his head a little higher and keeping his expression still and serious. With eyes as beady and small as Traximus’, he wasn’t sure the alien could even see him. “You must be hungry soldiers. Follow me to the… dining room and select something to eat.”

Without another word, Donnie turned on his heels and guided the way to the kitchen. Traximus, confusion evident on all of his features, trailed behind with the gaggle of curious turtles following him. They got to the kitchen and he surpassed Donnie, intent on obeying the command and maybe just plain starving as he pulled the fridge door open— more like ripped it off its hinges— and began to dig around inside. The turtles watched in curious awe.

Now that they weren’t in immediate danger of being trampled and crushed by this titan of a creature, it was like they couldn’t stop watching him. Something not human, not yokai, not mutant— something new! You didn't have to be Donnie to see the beauty in this new creature, nor to feel a desperate urge to know more and more about them! Raphael was practically exploding with excitement. He had always wanted to be so close to a dinosaur but now it was happening? He could hardly breathe! The kitchen was barely big enough for them all, but they managed to crowd around in such a way that they all could get a good view of what was happening.

Traximus picked up the gallon of milk first, shaking it a bit and then promptly discarding it. In fact, he discarded all the liquid, tossing drinks behind him and letting them shatter and spill over the floor. Not even Michelangelo cared about the mess made of his precious ingredients— not when it was this beautifully intricate creature doing it! Once all the liquid contents were out of his way, Traximus began a long pattern of selecting food, taking a bite, deciding he didn't like it, and tossing it carelessly. This process continued on until the fridge was almost barren and Michelangelo was finally regretting not intervening sooner. One of the final things left in the fridge, chili peppers, were the next thing Traximus grabbed.

“Wait— maybe you shouldn’t—” Raphael tried a little too late, as Traximus was already shoving a handful into his mouth, stems and seeds and all.

Everyone cringed, even Raph— who had taken on a hot pepper challenge many times again Leo and always somehow lost (he lost because Leo had switched out all of his own peppers for sweet peppers, but Leo would never admit that). They waited for the burn, for the scream, for the desperate scramble to find coolness. Instead, Traximus chomped happily and his mouth began to drool in response to the burning stimuli, his lips curling up as his tongue poked out to lap up all the drool that tried to escape. He dumped the rest of the basket into his mouth and dove back into the fridge in pursuit of more burning delights.

“We have a winner.” Raph said with a satisfied smirk.

Michelangelo’s eyes were firmly fixed on the mess at their feet. “And we have no dinner…”

[queenmuzz]

Mors aurem vellens, 'Vivite,' ait, 'venio'  Chapter III

Firstfruit Offering

The sun shone in your eyes, causing you to flinch.  How long had you slept?  Of course, you’d had a long trip, and your body didn’t have the stamina it used to, but surely you wouldn’t be so negligent as to sleep until mid morning?  But the way the shadows caused by the pillars stretched out on the marble, you had definitely overslept. Using your staff, you almost ran into the inner sanctum, terrified that you had the sacred fire die out.  From your interactions last night, you were almost certain that Vergil was not the type of God to have his rites besmirched.   What a dishonour it would be, to be slain for blasphemy on your first day as Temple Priestess!

Thankfully, the flames still flickered, albeit weakly, eating the last of the log, the embers now almost ash.  

So you gingerly placed another log from your small stash, as to not smother the little flame.  You cautiously began to blow at the base of the charred log, only stopping when the flames began to lick and scorch at the new logs shreds, kindling into a new flame.  With a sigh of relief, you slowly got back up.  In the light of mid morning, the temple, while eerily silent, was less foreboding than last evening, and the whistling wind seemed less strange. 

Even the presence of Vergil, unseen, but ever present was much less terrifying.  You could feel him, watching your every move, but not as overwhelming and less judgemental as last night, you still felt him as you walked back to your messy bedroll.  After all, he could have just struck you down for sleeping in, for almost losing the fire, he was well within his rights as God within his Temple.  But he just remained silent as his shrine statue.

You arrived back to your modest sleeping area, and as you rolled up your bundle, you noticed something. There, sitting at the foot of the bed was a bundle of brown fur. Upon closer inspection showed that there was one...no two...rabbits laying dead.  For a brief moment, you panicked, you had heard of feuding families leaving dead animals in the beds of their enemies as a warning.  But these ones seemed placed at the foot of the bed, and not where you would have noticed them upon waking.  And the way they were positioned, they kind of reminded you of when the barn cats would present dead mice to you and your siblings, as some sort of ‘gift’. Had Vergil given them to you as a ‘welcome present?’ You had to stifle an inward snicker at the mental image of the God carrying the pair of rabbits in his mouth before dropping it at your feet, and you hoped that he didn’t have the ability to read minds.  But, even though you still felt like you were being watched, there was no change in the intensity, and so you relaxed, and allowed yourself to utter out a soft ‘Thank you’ into the still air.  There was a shimmer in the light, the roots of the giant plant seemed to shift slightly, but then, all was silent.  You picked both of the rabbits up, and a knife contemplating on what to do with them.  Skinning them would be the first step of course, but what then?  Roasting them sounded delicious, but you had no time to turn a spit, undoubtedly today would be busy.  But perhaps...a stew?  You had a turnip, and some wild herbs that you’d picked up on your travels.  Unfortunately, a stew was not a stew worth eating without some bread to soak up the juices, and you were practically down to crusts of  bread so stale, that not even an ocean of stew would soften them up....

“Hello?!”  A voice rang out, startling you out of your thoughts.  You placed your knife down and followed the voice.  From what you had heard, no one ever came here, the entire countryside thought  land was cursed, and the temple shouldn’t have any visitors.  Still, it would be rude as Temple Priestess to not greet the person, even if they were lost.

“Hello? Anyone here?” The voice repeated, more louder, and it came from the common area.   Strange, you swore you could smell freshly baked bread.

Ah, there the visitor, a plump, auburn haired woman with a ruddy complexion, dressed in a simple peasant’s dress, carrying a basket, looking around slightly worriedly, and muttering to herself. 

“I do hope nothing bad happened to her, if something did….Enrico, I’m going to...” she growled, but whatever her threat was cut off by your appearance.

“AH!  There you are! When I heard that my Dear'' the faux deference dripped through, “husband left you all by your lonesome here, at NIGHT of all times, without inviting you to spend the night at our farm place, I was THIS close,” she pinched the fingers of her free hand together, almost touching, “to making him sleep with the pigs.  Damn fool…”  she brushed the hair away from her face, and looked around.  “So, I told him that I was going to come here this morning, and that he either come along, or be in charge of all the chores.” She chuckled, “Guess which he picked? He’s so superstitious, he’d rather have to milk the cows, feed the chickens, AND look after our little son than set foot here.  Anyways,” she smiled and gave a curtsy, “I’m Cecilia Elesion, wife of the lovable idiot, Enrico.  And I figured to myself, ‘that poor girl is all by herself, a newcomer, with no one lookin’ out for herself, so I’m gonna take a look out for her.’  Rico begged me not to go, but I insisted.  It’s ‘bout time someone took care of this Temple, it’s been abandoned for ages.” She took a look around, her eyes trailing the roots that wound themselves the pillars. “Ah, yes...I suppose you could call this a ‘Welcome to your new home’ gift.  I made em’ meself!”  She handed you the basket, and the gingham sheet that covered slipped off, revealing several loaves of freshly baked bread, some even designed in a braided pattern.  This wasn’t the leftover scraps of a farm wife's dough, these were the first loaves.  Cecelia was obviously sincere in her devotion.  

“Thank you!” you breathed in the scent as you took the basket.  After months of bread hard enough to crack teeth, warm fresh bread was glorious.  It would make a fantastic addition to the rabbit stew you had planned.  It would be  your first proper meal since you had left your home village.  For an instant, you felt a bit homesick, memories of your mother’s hearty stew.  You grasped her hand in thanks, trying to invoke a blessing, but a familiar chill trickled up your spine, and you felt a whisper in the shell of your ear.

“Ah….it appears she has been blessed by my Mother….” Vergil’s voice nearly startled you, unexpected as it was.  He’d been so content to lurk in the background, that you’d momentarily forgotten about his presence.  You paused for a moment, a frown on your face as you tried to decipher what he said.  Eva’s blessing… AHA!  The generous woman in front of you was with child, even if she didn’t show it, perhaps she didn’t even know it.

“Is something wrong?” Cecelia asked, misinterpreting your frown for a concern.  You hesitated, not knowing how to go around such a delicate subject.  As a child, you remember your mother slapping a man when he asked her when she was expecting, even when she wasn’t pregnant.  Should  you even mention it?  You decided, you  had been given a message from a God, it wouldn’t do to not relay it.

“I am just a little concerned with you going through all this effort, carrying all this load while expecting.”  After all, a pregnant woman shouldn’t exert herself too much.  She should be informed of her condition, in order to prepare herself.

Cecelia’s reaction was unexpected.  She turned pale, and a tinge of fear passed over her face. “You...you could tell?”

Ah, so she already knew.

“Well, I was told,” you admitted, glancing at the statue.  Strange, she should be happy, excited for a new addition to the family, not looking like she was about to burst out in tears.

“No one knows yet, not even Enrico.” she confessed, a sheen of sweat coming over her forehead.  You quickly leant your arm to help her down to the floor. “We’ve tried so hard after our only son, so many losses, that this time… this time I couldn’t bear to  let him know, I didn’t want to get his hopes up once again, only for them to come crashing down.  Our little Credo...he was our miracle child...I had resigned myself to focusing on just him.”  She looked at you, dawning horror on her face.  “He told you?  Does that mean…?”  She couldn’t speak further, the poor woman looked like she was going to pass out.

The whisper came again, without a hint of deception, “I have no claims on her unborn child nor her, not for many years, my Mother shall guide her through both their journeys.”  His words, while spoken firmly and without empathy, were a relief to you.  

Oh, so this was going to be  a Priestess’s job?  You’d always assumed that it would be a rather insular job, tending to the hearth, offering prayers, not relaying messages like the more outgoing Gods’ priests.  You knelt down towards the trembling woman, speaking as soothingly as possible. “It’s alright...He has spoken to me, and he says that you and your child are safe.”  

The woman scanned your face, trying to find out if  you were truly speaking the truth, or just speaking false words of comfort, before the impact of what you had said hit her.

“You’re...you’re certain?”  

You nodded, inwardly relieved as the ruddiness returned to her cheeks.  What you didn’t expect was her hugging you.

“Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!”  You swore you could hear your ribs cracking, “A thousand blessings upon you.  You have no idea how much both of us have been praying to Mother Eva for another child, we were almost planning on making a Pilgrimage to Fortuna.  But if you and Him say…”  she looked to you for one last confirmation, and smiled brightly.  “Rico will be delighted when I tell him.  And to think…” her old grin came back, “he’d rather clean up chicken droppings than set foot in this place.”  She looked down at the basket, momentarily forgotten, “this is poor payment, but is there anything, ANYTHING you need that our family can provide, we can do it.”

“Well,” you thought.  In truth, the fact the Temple was located on lifeless ground, meant you were without much sustenance, so maybe… “Wood for the sacred hearth.  I need a supply to keep the flame burning.”

“Say no more,” Cecilia assured you as she got back onto her feet, “you will lack for nothing. We’re just poor humble farmers, but we can provide you and Him the essentials.  Whatever you need!” 

She gave a curtsy to you, paused before the statue, and clasped her hands to speak a short silent prayer.  For a brief moment, you swore you saw the roots quiver, but when tried to take a closer look, they were still.  But something in the air was different, other than the smell of bread, there was a vibration, a smell of fresh earth, but then it was sucked up, like water to a dry sponge.

And with that the woman left, a spring to her step, so out of place in such a dour looking place.

*******

Vergil watched as the little plump woman hurried out, singing a merry tune.  Mortals got far too excited over small things.  While he spoke the truth,  that for now, he had no claims on her or her child, in a short amount of his time, he would claim one, then the other.  That went for everyone, none could escape his reach.  Perhaps that’s why people were afraid of him, that they would attempt to avoid his inevitable arrival to end their pitiful lives.  But this was strange.  That woman had… thanked him?  To him, a God of Death, be given thanks felt...fulfilling.  A surge of energy, more potent than life blood coursed through him, and the Qliphoth’s roots seemed to twitch in response.  

“Well, that was kind of you.”  His sense of puzzlement was dissipated as the voice of his Priestess, who was watching the woman’s receding form. 

He stood beside her, still invisible and scoffed, “She provided an offering, I felt it would be poor form to let her leave without being compensated.” “But you didn’t have to do that.  You made her so happy!” she placed her hands together, “If you did that more often, perhaps more people would visit your temple!”

“And what makes you think I want people to ‘visit’?”

“Well…” she stroked her chin, “I assumed you would be lonely all by yourself here.  After all, that’s what temples and shrines are for, right?  To be a meeting point for both mortals and Deities.  Us mortals give you offerings and our prayers, and you give us advice, prophecies  and sometimes intercede on our behalf.”

She looked outside.  “Where I come from, in the wild forests…packs of monkeys and herds of  deer travel together.  The deer, with their keen noses, lead the monkeys to fresh vegetation with nuts and fruits, and the monkeys, sitting high above the trees, have a good view of the surrounding area and can alert the deer when a tiger is prowling downwind of the herd.  A relationship in which both benefit.”

Vergil was annoyed by her simple observation. “I need none of that.” “Well, you’re the only God I know who doesn’t appreciate or encourage worship.  Lady Trish has people flocking to her for her for rain-bringing storms, Lord Dante practically has entire battalions marching through his temples, praying for victory.  Even poets and writers make the pilgrimage from miles to beg the gift of inspiration from Lord V-”

“DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!”

The roots of the Qliphoth rippled with energy, and he had to control them from jerking.  Just the mention of that cursed name brought back memories that he could not bear. In response to his rage the roots demanded blood, lifeforce, something to sate their ever ravenous hunger.  And they sensed the Priestess, standing there, so weak and vulnerable.  Easy prey.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke apologetically, but refreshingly not with overly emotional supplication.  Just her calm voice, startled at his outburst but without the expected fear, was enough to let his rage subside.  She stood there, unaware how close she was to death, her eyes staring through him.  She still couldn’t see him, of course, he would not allow it, but her steady and firm stance was  unafraid of his wrath.  Perhaps her expecting death in such a short time left her without fear.  

No, he ordered them to stand down, and they reluctantly complied, she has no idea of what she speaks of, he thought, and besides...she still has more use to me alive than dead...for now.

Still, his rage hadn’t truly subsided…did he really need her, another priest that would eventually stab him in the back? “I need no one.” He hissed, his voice sizzled through the temple like a winter’s wind.  “I need no worshippers….I need no priestess.”

And without allowing her to respond, he left, not even looking back.  She would no doubt leave after his outburst...any sane person would.   He was fine with that.

He did not need her.

He did not need anyone.

All He needed was power.

[sirensmojo]

“Remember The Missing” - Ivar The Boneless x Reader x Ubbe

Summary: You're sent to Kattegat by your uncle for settling a deal with King Ragnar. No need to mention as soon as your feet touch the dry ground, it's the Ragnarsons' eyes you caught.

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless x Reader x Ubbe (but All the Ragnarsons make an appearance)

Warnings: fluff, light smut, angst at the end

Word Count: 3,394

*Masterlist*

The brothers didn't have the same taste when it comes to women. Whenas Ivar and Sigurd fell for thralls, Hvitserk for simple woman, Ubbe for athletic shieldmaiden, when you dropped off the boat, their mouth surely dropped too. That's the first thing that caught your eyes, four tall men, dressed in fur, clean and braided hair with eyes as blue as the sky. Those piercing eyes were pointed right at you, although you were quite used to being stared at. From your tamed hair falling perfectly around your face shape, highlighting your complexion to your reddened cheeks from the cold that underlined Y/C eyes, making your pupils scintillate, every detail seemed to mesmerize them.

Once out of the boat, you readjusted your large and dark cloak that didn't allow the Vikings to check up on your body features but they'd bet their life everything about it was perfect. Your eyes sweep the areas without dawdling on things, as you found out what you looked for. You started to walk towards them, each of your step arousing their desire deep into their core, and stopped in front of them.

"King Ragnar, I surmise," your soothing voice purred in their ears like honey. You held your hand to the man and instead of shaking it, he pecks your fingers.  You slightly raised your brows but didn't make any comments.

You soon noticed the stares still on you and glanced at the men standing beside the King, tilting your head to the side in curiosity, the rumors were true. Men of the North were, indeed, handsome. Their features, the care accorded to their looks, even your nostrils betrayed you, as they curled up a little, their spicy wooded smell fondling your nose. "Here are my sons, from right to left: Ivar The Boneless, Hvitserk, Sigurd Snake In The Eye, and Ubbe." The bearded men spoke, lifting the veil on the identity of your seemingly new fans. You didn't miss how the four pairs of eyes have been devouring you but chose to ignore it for the sake of the alliance. Thus your clenched jaws indicated your displeasure.You had quite a temper, that was the exact reason why you were the one sent by your uncle. He tried many times to tame your ways... In vain. Although you promised him this time, you'll behave on behalf of everything he has done for you since the death of your late mother.

"I'm Y/n Of Stilfhel, pleasure is mine." You quickly bowed, gripping onto your dress for it not to meet the soil. The ragnarsons remained silent, not that you expected something else from them, seeing how focused they were to ogle you. You knew better. Everywhere you walked, people would stare at you, In your own kingdom it was because of your status, or so you'd like to believe. In foreign countries, you accepted it was because, for some reason, men found you pleasurable to look at. No need to mention that whenever you'd open your mouth, they would instantly lose interest in you, for you sounded nothing like a princess. When it wasn't you cursing, the problem was the topics on which you conversed. War, fights, battles, swords, economics, trading.

No men of your homeland needed or wanted a woman that had an opinion of everything.

But you were no princess, indeed, your uncle took you as his own daughter at the request of your mother back on her deathbed. This was her last wish, and your uncle being a good man led to you living in the palace without having the weight of duties on your shoulders. Maybe you grew too comfortable, thought your uncle at first, but he soon enough found out it was only you being you.

***

Once installed in the Great Hall, you take off your cloak and give it to the thrall waiting for it, exposing a beautiful azure dress made out of thick fabric. A single thin leather belt tightened it at your waist, revealing your curved hips and generous chest. Your sober dress didn't need any jewels or extravagance as your own body was already doing the job. An abnormal cut departing from your thighs down to your ankles betrayed your cover of "naive princess". If only they knew under that dress was hidden tones of small weapons, that thought making you smile. The man sat right in front of you did not miss any of your lips curling up as you brushed down your hands on the side of your dress, trying to hide the cut you made.

Traveling in that get-up was far from comfortable, you had to do something, right?

You thank the thrall with a small smile and finally sat down. "Is everything alright?" Asked Ragnar at the sight of your grimace. You forced a smile and nodded, "Yeah, of course. Everything's fine, my King" you succeed at answering. Glancing quickly around the table you slide your hands under your dress and straightens both your legs, trying to grab the hilt of your swords that buried itself into your ribs. When Hvitserk and Ivar abruptly turned their head towards you, both confused and satisfied, you firstly ignore them, but as your fingers finally grip onto your sword, their stare only grew more ravenous. At this exact instant, you understood what was happening, you were playing footsie with both of them. Your left foot caressing the inside thigh of Hvitserk whereas your right one got dangerously close of Ivar's core. A nervous rictus drew on your lips as you thought of something to get out this situation. You completely slump on the table to bridge the gap between your palm and the handle of your sword. Once you got it, you slowly push it out the piece of leather holding it and slide her against your bare skin before placing her on the ground. You fold your feet back to their initial position. Ivar was still looking at you, lips slightly parted with astonishment and desire twinkling in his eyes whereas Hvitserk's look was less shy in demonstration of what was going on in his mind.

"I've heard tones of stories about you Y/n," Ragnar let out as he motioned to a thrall to fill your cup with ale. Your eyes dawdled on the cup, as you kept your bottom lips in between your teeth. "Of me?" You faint not to know what he was talking about. "How so?" You added, your eyes still fixed on the liquid purring down in the container. If you start drinking now, you'll still be there in the morning, completely drunk but still wanting more ale. You will not be able to control yourself anymore, and the pretty princess will be gone."That you'd never been beaten by ale," The king continues with a defying tone. "Oh yeah? You're sure it's about me?" You raised a brow at him, glancing at the people around the table. You'd be ready to receive ugly stares by now, but they didn't come, to your surprise. Usually, as soon as someone used to put that subject on the table when with your uncle, grimaces could be seen on the surrounding faces while murmurs could be heard. 

Here, stares were fixed on you, but without any grimaces nor disgusted sounds. The men around the table were quite intrigued, maybe they didn't know what their father spoke about. You grabbed the cup hungrily, some of its content escaping the cup to drop on the oak table. You sipped a mouthful of liquor, squinting your eyes at the feelings of the liquid spreading into your body.

"Y/n Of Stilfhel, there's only one, isn't it?" Ragnar bantered as you finished your cup sooner said than done. You glanced at the thrall standing near the doors and motioned her to come. Once she presented herself before you, you carefully took off her hands the carafe and spill some more liquid into your cup. "So you heard about my superpower," you nonchalantly replied. "You must've traveled a lot to have found out. I've never put my feet on that ground before." You pointed the spot with your cup. "I have, but let's not dawdle on my idle stories, please tell us more about your presence here." "It is said, the agreement you share with my uncle must be sealed someway," Hearing your words, the heart of the men surrounding you fluttered. The first thing they thought about when hearing "sealing"  was marriage. Of course, it was. Why else letting a princess journey by herself to a foreign country?

They glanced at their father, then at you. Soon their eyes flickered from on to another's face. It was to who will seduce you first. You were a challenge atop of being a mystery. 

***

Ubbe leaned in your ear and murmured a joke about Sigurd, which make you choked on your drink. You glanced at the poor target of the man sitting beside you and shook your head both sides giggling. He instantly scowled at his brother, wondering what he could've said. Minutes passed before Hvitserk dared to approach you, he tried to be subtle but, hard luck for him, you weren't that naive. He fainted to join your side of the table to serve himself some more ale, glancing at you here and there. This whole scene made you laugh but you tried to muffle it, as you didn't want to lose all the fun. "Is the ale good?" He tried. "I don't know, you tell me," you raised your brows, as he neared his cups to his lips. He chuckled as he sips some of his drink. "How is that you're never drunk?" "Gods, believe me, I am, most of the time, but I can stand still, even play strategic games!" You heartedly let out as you leaned toward him. "Yeah? We should test that then, I'll wait right in my seat for you to come when you'll be very drunk," he winces at you as he got up from the chair beside you. "Count on it," you flirted back with a soft voice. You attentively followed his moves until some lips encountered your ear. Ubbe, this man really wasn't afraid of anything, his extreme proximity surprisingly warmed you up. Even if wasn't winter yet, the nights were cold, your skin being very sensitive did not help.

"I bet a night with you he'll be sleepy drunk in exactly 4 more cups," the man mutters in your neck, as a shiver spread from your back to your arms. Gods only know how, but he noticed it, looking down and grabbing your hands in his. "Bet held," you exhaled, trying to get away from his grip, but he didn't let go. Your eyes go to both his hands squeezing yours to his face. You didn't realize how close he was, only few inches away. If he turned his head to you at this precise moment, your lips would practically touch. The warmth emanating from his fondles spread to both your arm before dangerously nearing your guts, the center of your aroused desire. Now that he was so close, you noticed the straightness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips, and how soft his skin seemed to be. When he turned his face, you managed to slip your hands out his grip and move your head backward, a nervous laugh escaping your gritted teeth. He was more than enticing, no doubt.

But you didn't come for that...

Speaking of your duty, your brows knitted as your eyes were searching the place for Ragnar. He wasn't there anymore. "Told you," Ubbe chuckled pointing out his little brother Hvitserk, face down to the table. "Yeah, he seems a bit dead, but I guess he's okay. At least, I hope," you grimaced, tilting your head. You needed to get some fresh air, some hours ago you were in a boat, almost alone, only with a few guards that your uncle forced you to bring and now you were surrendered by a bunch of handsome men. You excused yourself to Ubbe and walk perfectly fine to the doors. The man slid his head to the side, his mouth forming an "o", as he watched you walk away. He was more looking at your body than anything, your curves bouncing from a foot to the other. Once out, you exhaled deeply, closing your eyes a few seconds. "A bit overwhelmed?" you heard a voice, knocking you out the bubble you were in. "I'm not going to lie," you admitted, looking down. "I see you can stand as straight as if no ale oozed in your system. So it was what my father was talking about," "I know you can do better than that." You cut him off, making Ivar turns his head to yours, while you were looking faraway before you. "Huh?" He pondered, still gazing at you. "I love to talk about battles and war. Not about me being okay with drinking ten dozens of cups of ale," you confessed. "Than I wondered what you were talking about with my brother," he bluntly let out, shrugging. "He's got some move" you tried to convince him. He perfectly understood you were talking about Ubbe's ability to seduce women and riposted as soon as your words left your throat. He certainly knew what he was talking about. "Oh, I don't doubt that. I only thought you wouldn't let yourself be trapped in it," "I'm not," "So why you got out?" "I--I..." you stuttered, without being able to invent anything. Perhaps the ale was starting to get to your head.

"My name's Ivar, not 'I--I'," he mimicked your pout and voice. You hassled to chuckle and nudged him. "Stilfhel is an interesting name," Ivar let out, loudly breathing out. "As interesting as Y/n?" You gauge his reaction with a small smile at the corner of your lips. "See, you are flirty with me now,"

"Arrrgh, you're too quick for me," you faked being offended. "I bet you knew the way of sealing the alliance between both our lands have nothing to do with marriage." He nodded to himself, slowly understanding your games. "True, but I couldn't restrain myself to play a little with the minds of your brothers..." You paused, closely looking at the Viking. A genuine smile brightened your face, your eyes crinkled. "I'm glad it didn't get on you,"

"Sigurd didn't try anything,"

"Because he saw Hvisterk kind off failing," You tilted your head to him, only to encounter his eyes. They were as blue as your dress. You soon drown into them as he didn't move his stare. "Ivar The Boneless, right?" "Hmm," he agreed, clearing his throat. "I'll remember it," you mutter for yourself.

***

You tried to remember the words of the thrall when you asked her about the chamber of the Prince. You were drunk, the ale was deeply rooted in your system, but that doesn't stop you from walking through the corridors before you opened a door. "Y/n? Wha--t" "Shhh", you responded as you got closer the bed. You finally crawled into it, dangerously getting nearer the man. As you approached, Ubbe leaned his back on his pillows, intently watching your gestures. You finally got on top of him, leaning onto his chest, your lips dropping feverish kisses on his lower belly. His eyes didn't leave yours, he was concentrated in the twinkle in your eyes as if he looked away, you'll vanish in a cloud of smoke. You slowly started to kiss your way up to his neck, which you bite before playing with his skin in between your teeth. His silent groans directly reached your ears making your desire for him grew stronger each time his hoarse voice resonated in your head.  When you straddled him, after benching up your dress to your hips, he exhaled deeply, relieved the space between you has been filled. His hands ceased your hips, slowly sliding to your ass as he nuzzled his way to your face, making you look at him. Your mouth was open, your eyes getting lost together. "You're so beautiful," he slurred, incapable of letting go of your stare. "You're even more," you offered him a smile that made his heart skip a beat.  He swiftly crashed his lips on yours, making moan. He kneaded your skin with so much strength, you were sure to found bruises wherever he touched later.  You ground down on him, feeling his growing bump right in between your tighs, where you were already ready for him.

***

After you make out, Ubbe directly fell asleep, you didn't know if it was because of your little sport session or the alcohol. Whatever, you weren't asleep, unlike you. It wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you needed more than sex. You planned on going back to your room, but instead, you stopped before another door, his door. You remember the blue of his eyes, his expression when you were face to face around the table earlier, and the way he articulated your name: with such harmony and softness. You pushed open the door, entering a total black room, "Ivar?" you ask loudly, making sure the door was closed behind you before asking for him.  At first, you were welcomed by a silence, but as your eyes got used to the darkness, you could glimpse of two light sparkles turned right at you. "I--hum..." you couldn't find the right words, how did you find yourself so nervous when not even an hour ago you were entering Ubbe's chamber so confidently? "Can I stay with you?" your voice echoed in the room as if it was empty. Still no response. You moved forward the bed, aiming at the opposite side of where you glimpsed the scintillating eyes. "I take that as a yes," you continued to talk, even if he didn't want you or even talk to you, you couldn't help but feel the need to be in his company again. "I'm coming under the furs, alright? Welcome me there." you encouraged him. "You lied," he finally spoke. You were shifting your body inside of the shits, under the furs when you stopped in track. Did he recognize you? "Earlier you said you never put a foot down this soil, you lied," he finished, quite bluntly.

You wanted to speak but the saliva in your mouth was too thick, even making it hard to swallow. You gave-up your chance to give him an explanation. 

"I knew I already saw your face before, not too long ago actually. You left me waiting for something that would've never happened," his tone was firm but not angry. "Why?" His voice broke to silence. "I knew I wasn't staying for long, I didn't want you to wait for me. You were supposed to forget me, Ivar..." You murmured, without trying to justify yourself. "How could I forget what I gave you, what we shared?" "I don't know," you allowed."Me neither, but still you lied to me back then, about your name, your status, everything!"

"I didn't lie when I came sneaking close to your body every night. I didn't lie when we were meeting in secret in the woods to look at the sunsets and lying on our back watching the forms of the clouds," you lowly let out as you got closer to his chest. Your palm patted his torso before going up to his cheek. Now you're holding his face so his eyes stick with yours, unable to escape from your hold, just like you used to two years ago. "When my uncle asked for a messenger I volunteered," you started to be swoon. His ablaze stare would kill you right now if they could. Instead, Ivar lifted his rough and huge hand to your face, wiping away the few tears that have filled up your eyes. "I wanted to see you again, feel you again..." you added as he pulled your head toward his bare chest. Your eyes closed, and your mind eased in less than a minute, soothed by the rhythm of the Viking's heartbeats. 

"Don't leave," he managed to articulate despite the nervousness inhabiting him at this instant. His arms closed around your weak body as he held you tightly against him, to your greatest pleasure.

Ivar Permanent Tag: @youbloodymadgenius​

[eivorsjawline]

Tw: alcohol, blood, open cuts

Chapter 6: At Sea

Eivor’s POV

Sailing at high speeds and with a blow of my horn, sounds of the waves collided with the ship. The familiar sound of bells ringing in warning in the distance. Civilians rushed to safety as we pillaged and set flames to any nearby building. Their God watched as smoke from their church ignited in the sky. Cutting down men one by one, we gathered as many resources as we could and quickly loaded up the boat. With every swipe of my axe, the thoughts running through my head began to cloud.

“Unsatisfied” is the word that came to mind as the blood from others soaked my clothes. Years of defeat and victory numbed me, death has become a necessity of life. Rollo approached with villagers bound together by rope and ties. Overcome with fear, they watched as Rollo guided them to the ship. With a kick into the back of one of the peasants' knees, he brought them all to the ground and they fell one after the other.

“Rollo, have you gone mad?”

I started to cut loose the ties binding their hands together with one of my daggers. The ropes were so tight that red marks were left on their wrists. They ran off with a speed unlike any I had ever seen. Rollo stared in awe of my actions.

“The only mad person I see here is you, we could have used a few of them!”

“This is not what we came here for.”

“Oh, I see. Eivor is a saint now, even after setting an entire village on fire and stealing from the people.

Our shoulders brushed against each others, and thoughts of rethinking our friendship crossed my mind. I ignored his lewd comment and boarded the ship. The successful raid proved beneficial with shimmering jewels, fine furs and plenty of raw materials to build up the settlement.

“A pity none of It is truly ours, remember that as you live this life. Or has that deranged madwoman I caught you plundering cause a change of heart?”

“It's a pity you’re an ignorant bacraut and always will be.”

His words and actions caused a bout of rage throughout my body and suddenly I couldn't tell the difference between right and wrong. I drew my axe and held it up to his chin, the people on the ship grew quiet and Rollo appeared taken back. Perhaps, he suddenly regretted his words. However, I could not stop myself from expressing my anger and I tossed a bag of plunder at his feet.

“Get the fuck off my ship, find your own way back home.”

Readers POV

I sulked in bed with one of Eivor’s tunics in hand, searching for comfort in the faint scent of her. She left suddenly, with no further explanations. The thought of something happening to her irked me beyond all means. In a perfect world we would have met in the present day, but fate wove a more difficult path. In an attempt to make peace with this life, I explored the new settlement further before stopping in to see Randvi once again.

Randvi laid down sipping on a potion Valka made, with her auburn hair free from the confining braid she always wore. A new glow radiated from Randvi even though she cheated death, she seemed at peace with herself. Cautious eyes perched from the bowl she sipped from when I entered. With a look of disapproval, Randvi motioned for me to come closer towards her and started to eye my hair.

“Oh, what is this?”

With my back turned towards her, she began to place one long delicate braid down my hair. The braid was loose and didn’t require as much tugging as the last braid she made for me. I pulled the braid over my shoulder to take a look, flattered by the kind gesture. Me and Randvi both smiled at one another and I felt a possible friendship forming. The smile quickly faded from my face as I thought about Eivor on yet another dangerous endeavor.

“Hmm, what has she done now?”

“It's silly, really. Part of me hopes that she would one day find it within herself to settle down.”

Randvi laughed, as if she found the statement ridiculous.

“She will never settle down. Trust me, I know…”

Never.

Though I searched for words of comfort, my hopes quickly crashed. In my heart I knew no one knew Eivor like Randvi therefore I knew her words rang with truth. I changed the subject in an attempt to keep my feelings at bay, asking her about how she’s progressing and what she will do next after she is no longer bound to the hut. Randvi attempted to stand up with me, caressing her bandage with her hand. I held her below her elbows trying to support some of her weight, she then looked up at me obviously in pain.

“Stop, I’m perfectly capable…”

With a weak voice she took a few steps before stumbling and almost falling. I shouted her name and caught her before she could fall to her knees. She mumbled a few curse words in her native tongue and then finally submitted to my help. I guided her back to the palette Valka made for her and covered her with a fur blanket. Her head met a feather pillow and she let out a sigh.

“You have much healing to do still, Randvi. I know you think you’re ready but you can hardly hold yourself up.”

Randvi tried to argue with me but I had none of it. Eventually, she submitted to me and I left the room to leave her to rest. Though the sunlight is still young, I can't help but feel tired. Without Eivor, I seem to lose myself more with every passing moment. As the day dragged along I tried to keep myself occupied.

I found myself at the back of the longhouse. The visible disturbance of the patch of flowers that Eivor picked from. It was hard not being able to have contact with her, the days seemed to drag on whenever she wasn’t there. Fortunately, I saw Eivor’s ship sailing nearby getting ready to dock. My heart raced in hopes that everyone was safe. A crowd gathered around the docks and people waved from a distance.

Eivor returned looking proud, and her people proud of her. I ran towards them trying to push through people so I could see her and give her the biggest embrace but it was seemingly far too crowded. I noticed Rollo was nowhere to be found, something felt off and Eivor didn't even make any eye contact with me. Perhaps, she was feeling overwhelmed. We all gathered in the longhouse to celebrate the successful raid.

I couldn't help but feel like I was being avoided. Our conversation ended on strange terms and I figured she might be feeling nervous to continue further. Immediately, Eivor filled a jug in her hand and chugged the ale down fast. Sigurd pulled Eivor up to the front of the throne for her to say a few motivating words to the settlement. Afterwards, music started to play whilst cheer and laughter filled the room. I figured she would come and see me afterwards but as time passed she only stuck to the group of people surrounding her. If anyone was going to make the next move It was going to have to be me. I walked up to where Eivor was laughing and telling jokes and finally our eyes met but a different feeling overcame me. Eivor abruptly left the group and gave an odd smirk, my fingers began to fidget with the braid over my shoulder.

Eivor stared me deeply in the eyes, any doubts I had were erased by the familiar feeling that surged through my body. As aggressive as she tends to be, her hands met my waist slowly, she moved patiently this time. My head clashed with her chest and her hands ran through my hair before she gave me a kiss on the forehead. No words were needed for our greeting, we both knew it may be best to choose our words wisely. Our hands clasped one another and she brought me to our bedroom and closed the door. The boisterous noise of the longhouse now muffled by the division between the walls.

“Everything went well, I returned in one piece…”

“That's clear to see.”

Eivor sat down in a chair by the bed and I moved a stray piece of her hair away from her face, grazing the scar on her cheek with my fingers. Her head dropped down and she cupped the hand I had on her cheek then placing soft kisses on my knuckles. I noticed the usually full of energy woman now had an exhausted aura around her, much like the first night she completely gave herself to me. There was a cold breeze in the air that sent chills down my spine. It was obvious there was something unspoken between us.

“Eivor, you push yourself too hard…” I dropped to my knees and placed a hand on her knee.

“I don't push myself too hard, I do what I need to do. Why can't you understand that?”

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say.

“You’re mistaken, I do understand that. I just don't understand why it's you who has to put yourself at the front of the line and risk your safety everytime. There are plenty of warriors who-“

She cut me off.

“You don't understand a thing about my life and you never will. Maybe you’re better off where you came from.”

I didn't know what to say, I’ve never seen this side of her.

“Eivor, can't you see It doesn’t have to be like this? I'm not saying give up everything, I’m telling you to take things at an easier pace.”

“Wherever, whatever time you come from… You do not understand true sacrifice, your culture is too fragile. I put myself at the front because that is my honor at the front! Honor that you lack any knowledge of...”

“Well, It seems we were wrong about each other.”

“So it seems.”

She tilted her head, a dead look in her eyes. Absolutely shocked, I scoffed at her words that hit sharp as knives. I stood up tall and gathered myself in search for any more words to say. Words that will be my final ones to her.

“The last thing I will allow is to be disrespected, I’m not as ignorant as you think. The only reason I remained here was for you, and that time here is done.”

I grabbed my few belongings and held back my tears. An apology didn’t slip from her mouth, and she couldn’t even look at me. She pushed me away as fast as she lured me to her. She knew about me and why I act the way I do, why would she escalate the relationship further if this is how she felt all along? Both anger and sadness filled me, and I left the room. This isn’t worth it, I'm going back where I belong.

Valka will know how I can find my way back.

Eivor’s POV

Push her away…

The situation I’ve found myself in has become a difficult one. I must choose between my true happiness and my fate. I'm not sure If I even deserve happiness at this point. There’s no way I could live a normal life, yet I keep sabotaging my relationships for just a taste. The look on her face with every blow I threw at her pained me. She deserves something more solid, more than anything I can offer her. I took a sip of ale from my mug and a stabbing pain struck my abdomen.

The wound I hid from her because I knew it would only prove her point further. This wound was unlike any other I ever had. It sucked any remaining energy from me like a parasite. My vision was still blurry from being intoxicated but my mind started to clear up quickly.

What am I doing? I can't let her leave alone like that.

I braced myself to put on a face for the crowd but my wound gushed and bled. The pain began to numb me completely. Taking a deep inhale and stepping outside, I made sure my walk looked peppy rather than tired and nodded and smiled to anyone passing by. The bite of the bitter cold hit me once outside, temperatures seemed to drop low during the night here. There was still light coming from Valka’s hut and when I stepped in, [y/n] was nowhere to be found.

“You’re far too late, I know why you’re here. Drink this.”

“Valka, I’m hurt bad.”

The mixture Valka made for me tasted bitter and sour. I took a seat and lifted my undershirt to reveal the large gash spanning from the top of my ribcage to just above my hip. Without proper care, the wound was becoming infected. Valka quickly pulled out a jar of herbs and rubbed them on the slice and I clenched my eyes tight from the sting before letting out a groan. She wrapped a clean linen around my torso with a worried look in her eyes.

“This wound is beyond even my knowledge… I can't fix It but there is someone who can. The girl is at the stones, you need to find her. Now, you don't have much time.”

[frostsinth]

I sighed, shifting and rolling again, unable to get comfortable. My bloated stomach weighed heavily down on me, no matter what way I lay my tired body. These days it came down to my internal organs taking turns getting squished; but none took their turn quietly. And I was more restless and tired than usual today.

Unvar shifted behind me, and I jumped as his hand came around to settle on my cheek. I craned my neck back, looking up at him. He blinked at me sleepily, giving a lazy smile.

“Can not sleep?” He guessed, stroking his thumb along my face.

I sighed, giving up and hoisting myself to a sitting position with a grunt. I lay back against him, bending my knees up and resting my wrists on top. The big Tlaloc had been joining me for my midday naps since my stomach had first started to swell and my energy levels sapped. Sometimes it was the only time we would see each other until nightfall; both of us were kept quite busy with the demands of running the tribes. I relished the time curled up against him, and always slept much better with his warm body at my back. Even now, when we thinned our bed of furs to just a few on the ground to try to minimize the summer heat.

“I can’t get comfortable,” I grumbled. My emotions had been absolutely chaotic as of late, and even his concerned question had me borderline ready to snap at him in irritation.

He reached out with his other hand, stroking my hair comfortingly. “You have been... restless this last week.” He said, switching to the Tlaloc language halfway through the sentence.

We both worked hard to speak in the opposite tongue to our native one, but sometimes what we knew how to say and what we actually wanted to say were too different. Most of our conversations had become this smattering mix of both languages. But I didn’t mind. He was speaking my language a little better every passing day, and I was nearly fluent in the Tlaloc tongue now; in no small part thanks to regular lessons from Galen.

I grunted in a very Tlaloc manner, shuffling my hips to try and relieve some of the pressure on my bottom. “You try growing a tiny beast inside your stomach and then tell me how restless you feel.” I shot back.

Instead of being hurt or insulted, Unvar chuckled in amusement. He thumbed my hair back from my face, twisting it between his fingers. Reaching up with his opposite hand, he began to braid it absent-mindedly.

“I am sorry this burden falls to you,” He murmured soothingly, “I would carry it for us if I could.”

I sighed again. “Stop being sweet. I am trying to be mad.”

Another deep, rumbling chuckle that I felt in my back rising from his chest. “It is better this way,” He seemed to decide as he wove my hair with his thick fingers, “You are more patient than I. Stronger.” He gave me a goofy grin, “My brave Ma’iitsolema.” He switched back to his native tongue.

I almost winced at his words, and I didn’t answer, looking down at my hands in my lap. At least, what I could see of my lap. My stomach had swollen much faster than any pregnancy I had seen before, and even the Tlaloc women seemed impressed with the size to which I had grown so quickly. For me, it was disturbing. I had no idea what to expect with this pregnancy, nor did any of the Tlaloc. It had been some time since the last half-orc had been born into a tribe. Often times, I feared the worst. Unvar was twice my size at least, and if the fast growth of my abdomen was any indication, the baby was taking after him.

“...But you still seem troubled.” He pressed into the silence, switching back to my language.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, pursing my lips. He wouldn’t admit it, but I knew he was just as worried as I was. I caught his concerned looks in the shadows of his excitement. Whenever he thought no one could see him. I appreciated the brave face he put on for me, and I never let him on to my own concerns for the same reason. No wonder he thought I was handling the stress of the pregnancy better than him.

I gave him a small smile, reaching out and stroking my tiny hand across his cheek. He dropped the braid he had been working on, covering my hand with his and leaning into my touch.

“I’m fine. Just tired. And very uncomfortable.” I worked at the strange language in my mouth, hoping I had managed the words alright.

He ran his thumb across my knuckles, studying my face. “I thought maybe... maybe you miss family.”

I stiffened a little at his words. “Family?” I echoed, surprise having me falling back to my native tongue. “What do you mean?”

He paused, searching for the right words. I waited with bated breath, uncertain what to expect. Unvar had no immediate family to speak of; not within the tribes. There was rumors of an uncle, his father’s brother, but he had long since left the tribe to live out his grey years (as the Tlaloc called it) on his own deep in the mountains. For Unvar, the clans were his family; he cared deeply about each of his soldiers and took time to get to know every member he could. Ta’nik seemed to be the closest thing he had to a sibling, though they had only known each other for about a half dozen years. But perhaps there was some other member I had yet to learn of. He didn’t speak much of his parents; his mother had died when he was young, and his father a few years back in battle. The memory of them seemed to bring him pain, so I never pressed it.

“When women grow tlalockin,” He finally started, seeming to still be chewing over the words, “They want their own mothers, and look for their birth family.” He sighed, switching back to his native tongue for the next part. “The Shaz’gul say it is the tlalockin inside them, seeking to learn from where they came. Their mothers are anxious, and so seek the wisdom of those who have raised them.”

My face dropped as I realized I had misunderstood. It was not his family he had meant, but mine. I felt a strange numbness overcome me. After I had agreed to stay with him last spring, he seemed to avoid the subject of my family. As if speaking of them would conjure my desire to return to them. I had been quite content with the arrangement. It allowed to bury my own emotions regarding them.

“Oh...” I managed after perhaps too long of a pause. I reached up, running my hand through my hair. Tracing my fingers over the braid he had set into it.

“We never speak of them,” He pointed out quietly, as if hearing my thoughts, “But I have thought that perhaps now you may want to, because of tlalockin in your belly.” 

I didn’t answer for a time, trying to sort out the jumble of my thoughts and emotions. “...I don’t have a family.” I told him numbly.

“When we meet, you said you have family in Osfar.” He reminded me softly.

I chewed at my lip, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat. I felt his big hand cup the back of my head again, and he slowly sat up. Wrapping his huge arms around me.

“I am sorry,” He murmured into my hair as I turned into his embrace, “I did not mean upset you.”

I reached up, curling my own arms around his neck. Burying my face in his chest and breathing in his soft scent. I hesitated, playing with his hair with my fingers for a moment.

“My mother died giving birth to me,” I explained softly, closing my eyes, “And my father was rarely home... it was better when he wasn’t...” I felt him wrap his arms a little tighter around me and sink his nose into my hair. “But when he died, I was yet unmarried, and had no place to go.” I turned my head, resting my ear against his chest so that I could hear his heartbeat. “I remembered that once, when I was little, he had taken me with him to visit his brother’s family in Osfar... I think he had hoped they would take me in and he wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“I do not like this man.” Growled Unvar.

I almost laughed. “Nor I... But I thought that I could travel to his brother and... maybe stay with his family for a while.. until I figured out what to do next.”

Unvar stroked my hair again, seeming to chew this over. “... Do you still wish to see your Uncle?”

I shook my head. “He was...” I stopped, dropping off and swallowing hard, “I didn’t like him much either. I just thought I had no where else to turn. I don’t know if he would have remembered me. Or knew of my father’s death.”

“You were traveling to see him when I found you,” Unvar concluded. Slowly, the big Tlaloc leaned back, peering down at me curiously. “It bothers me. If your father was not around, who keep you safe? When you were little?”

I didn’t want to answer that, and dropped my gaze. Resisting the urge to burst into tears at the emotions that suddenly welled up in me at the memories. Unvar encased me in his arms again, curling his massive body around me.

“Ma shin nkinta’lsha,” He promised, kissing the top of my head. “I will keep you safe.”

I smiled sadly, untangling myself to look up at him. I cupped his huge face between my little hands. “You are all the family I need, Unvar.”

He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine. We both closed our eyes, and sat for a moment in silence, breathing the same air. Finally he sighed himself, and took my hands in his.

“If not family, what troubles my hal’shaleen man’dwe?” He asked, twerking my nose gently with his thumb. “You cannot sleep with war on your chest.”

Now familiar with the Tlaloc phrase, I leaned back against him without questioning it. Slowly, he relaxed, laying back down on the floor. I hesitated, still feeling very raw and vulnerable having shared such a dark part of my life. But my eyes went to my swollen stomach, and I rested my hand on top. I chanced a glance at Unvar out of the corner of my eye, and saw his brow knit together.

Quietly, his own hand came up, resting atop mine. I shifted, slipping out from under him and lightly placing his palm flush to my abdomen. Resting my tiny hand on top of his. I turned to look at him more fully now, and let my face tell him all the things I couldn’t find the words to. I saw a look of pain flash in his eyes, and his lips twitched. Both our eyes returned to my abdomen.

“It seems to be taking after its father,” I told him softly, tracing my fingertips over his knuckles. “... You are troubled too.”

“I... I am afraid I...I am afraid I have set the day of your death.” He breathed, and his deep voice shook. My throat burned to hear the pain in his words. “I am afraid that our child...” He dropped off, and I felt his big fingers tighten beneath mine. “Now that I have known life with you, I cannot survive a life without...”

I nodded slowly. Confirming the fears we shared. But I stroked my stomach tenderly with my opposite hand. 

“I am scared too... but...” One tear did manage to escape now, and I quickly wiped it back. “I do not care... I would willingly die for this child... Our child... for our family.”

When I looked over at Unvar, his eyes were closed. His thick brow taught. I squeezed his hand beneath mine, and he slowly opened them. I gave him a small smile.

“I am restless only because I cannot wait to meet our child. My only fear is that I will not-”

“No.” He interrupted me sharply, his voice louder than before. “Tlaloc and shikoba have had tlalockin together before.” His face softened, and he stroked the back of my head again. “I will not lose you. Not ever, my little  Ma’iitsolema.” The smallest of smiles tickled the corners of his lips. “I will keep you both safe.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his determination. I leaned back against him, watching his hand stroke my stomach gently. I smiled, feeling better for finally having voiced my fears.

“I have never doubted that, not for a moment... Mah’un de, bal th’ez uk man’dwe.“

...

Another little snipit of the happy couple. Just lovely gooey moments for everyone to enjoy. I imagine that before she gives birth, Karianna gets quite large. Unvar, the ever doting husband and father to-be, is very attentive to her every need.

Hopefully this little insight to them answers a few more pressing questions. More one-shots to come in the future, I’m sure! The MasterList link below has the full story of these two (Li’un Ma Shkio) and the other epilogue actually follows up on this part a few months later. Enjoy!

MasterList  -  Epilogue 1

[unholyplumpprincess]

Wind Down

Commission for someone who does not wish to be tagged.

Summary: The basic idea was that reader is a new contender in the arena while Miragehound are already a couple, they’re both poly and are Very interested in you being apart of their relationship. Whiiiiile ending with you getting super pampered sexually at the end!

Reblogs > Likes. It cost zero dollars to Reblog fics you like :D

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Mirage/Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader has a vulva but they/them pronouns are used, Polyamory, polyamorous relationship, Bloodhound headcanons stated, it’s very fluffy sex?, only reader gets to cum tho bc they’re being spoiled, and uuuhhhh I think that’s it?

Words: 2.8K

______________

Everyone knew that Mirage and Bloodhound had some great chemistry in the arena. Whether that meant rivalry or working on a squad together was up to the person stating so. The illusion wielding trickster and the technological tracker were a duo to be feared when working alongside each other, and hell to keep away from each other on separate squads.

What the media didn’t know, was that the goofy and flirty legend was with the ever so regal hunter.

Behind closed doors they were in love, holding hands, kissing, making love, you name it. They were a couple, but a quiet couple. The only other people who knew were other legends, who were very good at keeping their own mouths shut.

Besides, why fret about what they did in the bedroom if people were watching only because they wanted to see the blood shed?

~Rest under the cut~

Elliott was Bloodhound’s moon, as far as they were concerned. And to him, they were his sun. They were a loving couple, easy around one another. Bloodhound being able to open up more with him than they had with anyone else. It had been a stroke of luck, on Elliott’s part, and the will of the Allfather, on Bloodhound’s part- that they ended up on the same planet. Let alone in the same space.

Bloodhound and Elliott had talked before about their partnership to one another. Elliott was bisexual, and Bloodhound wasn’t all too sure how they’d label their own sexuality besides that they liked who they liked. Yet, both had talked further about it. More on the question of monogamy. Both had come to the conclusion that an open relationship wasn’t quite right, even if Bloodhound encouraged his flirty behavior outside of just them. But rather, a more polyamorous look.

They just hadn’t found another person they enjoyed as much as one another.

Well, that is, until you entered the arena.

Much like falling in love does, neither expected it to happen. Bloodhound thought your skills in the arena were interesting for a newcomer, you seemed like you’d done this before. Yet, you cared more about your squad mates than your own victory. A heart of gold was hard to come by these days, especially in a game so dedicated to sponsors and getting money.

Elliott, ever quick to stop on the tips of his toes far too quick and fall heels-over-head, was the first to say something about you. A passing thought to his partner who had hummed in agreeance. You were very interesting, that much Bloodhound would admit to at first.

Yet, you worked your way up through the arena. Your kind heart winning the eyes of sponsors, and the legends alike. Elliott was more willing to become friends with you after one or two firefights with you, Bloodhound was a little more cautious. Toeing around the subject of even befriending you. Not that they were against it, they just knew Elliott was rather...strong about emotions.

And yet, you’d soon won the hunter’s heart soon after. You were just as kind in person as you were in the ring, funny too. They enjoyed how you and Elliott giggled together or how comfortable he looked around you. You brought even a smile to Bloodhound’s face that they couldn’t deny. A warmth they’d felt only in moments with Elliott.

Like you were home. Like you belonged there.

It’s almost natural how you move into their lives. Until a question is asked how you would feel sharing them. With Elliott holding one of your hands with hopeful eyes, fingers clasped with yours. And Bloodhound holding your other hand close to their heart with eyes hopeful, but understanding. They’d both been nothing but kind to you, perfectly sweet in their own respects. It was hard NOT to fall for either of them.

But, together? Two legends were a lot to handle.

You’d said yes, a big smile stretching onto your face as Elliott lunged and peppered your face in kisses. The push knocking you back into Bloodhound who held you. Kissing the top of your head warmly and murmuring their welcomes to you into their relationship.

Their family.

That was a few months ago. The thought of it still warming your heart. You three were all happy together, not one of your hands not held by either of them. You often enjoyed seeing them share kisses as well, with Bloodhound always having the lead. They kept that same aura with you, just something about them screaming Alpha of your little ‘pack’.

You playfully called them ‘puppy’ as an affectionate term when the thought struck you. Watching as their eyes flashed dangerously at you and they’d playfully snapped their teeth your direction. Yet now, it just stuck.

Elliott was like an enthusiastic child around the both of you. Excitedly having things to say or do, always wanting to go out or have days in. Even on days not all three of you could be together, it was still nice being with one or the other or knowing they had each other.  

Bloodhound was a little harder to get out of their shell. But, once you proved you could braid their hair and give the best scalp massages they were all for ripping their mask and helmet off upon seeing you. Often times they got pampered by both you and Elliott tag-teaming their curly, crimson mess. Elliott often chiding on how they should take better care of their beautiful hair while they hummed with delight at every stroke of a brush in their hair.

Elliott was pampered with kisses and attention. He always craved either you or Bloodhound to be snuggling with him. If you were with him, you normally were clambered into his lap at some point. While Bloodhound preferred lounging with Elliott’s head on their chest as they read a book. And either of you spoiling him with far too many kisses was one of his preferred ways of having a day off.

You often were treated to dinners made by either of them and being able to share a bed with one or both. Yet, both Elliott and Bloodhound were trying to figure out how else they could pamper you. Someway to get you to relax.

You didn’t ask for anything in return, you didn’t seem to have a preferred method of BEING spoiled, and you most certainly weren’t sharing any ideas about how they could spoil you. Or help you unwind for that matter.

Elliott brings it up to Bloodhound when it’s just the two of them, with you out of Elliott’s dorm and Bloodhound curled into his side. “Do ya’ think they’d want sex?” He says suddenly, causing them to choke out a laugh and kiss at his jawline softly.

“You are still on that? I am sure if they had any ideas, they would tell us.” They murmur in reply, stroking down over his shirt idly where it folds up over his abdomen.

“Yeah but- what if they’re too nervous to admit it? I-I-I mean- you've seen when we’re making out. They get really into it- I know you’ve felt it too, Hound.” Elliott is quick to nudge back at them, watching as Bloodhound’s eyes shift to the side. As if processing what he’s actually saying.

That made...sense. When Bloodhound would become bolder with you, a hand on your ass and pressing you to a wall to smother you in hot and heavy kisses. You never became shy or stopped them, yet they never proceeded further than that because they were waiting for explicit consent from you. Or even a breathed out ‘fuck me’.  

Anything.

With Elliott, he was similar. Letting you pull at his hair and leave hickeys, but he never asked for more. He just assumed you would jump on him when you were ready. So, when it came time for things to cool down, he could see you still eyeing his lips and seeming to hold back your own emotions.

Holding back-

They both share a look as if both coming to the same conclusion before they grab their respective phones to begin texting you of plans and questions.

--

The conversations you have with both of them wind up boiling down to sexual preferences. You burn at the ears in your own bed at the thought, but you can’t help it. You wanted to...well, fuck, you really did. But, with two people and the intimacy of it all, it also almost frightened you. Who would you touch? Would one of them feel like you were giving too much attention to the other? How would this go? You had so many questions.

The next morning you’re brought to Bloodhound’s dorm. It has little bits of home for them, plant life all around with many different skulls. Little shiny trinkets that Arthur and Muninn brought in resting on their shelves with many books. Candles were set out as well as lamps in each corner- something they explained was because of their eyes. Sensitive to the bright fluorescent lights overhead that were installed.

The entire day is spent with the both of them, once Elliott wakes up in time for lunch and comes over. It’s around night time, after dinner is cleaned up and you all can spend some down time together where you finally feel yourself wound up tight enough to burst.

Bloodhound is dressed down for the occasion, a tight black muscle tank that shows off their toned and curved body with black tactical pants still on. Their jacket and mask had been thrown elsewhere, hair braided down their back from you earlier.

Elliott was almost fully in his pajamas, ie being boxers, his shirt gone to reveal the gold piercings through each nipple and on his navel. Gray sweatpants hanging around his hips and his curls wet still from his shower.

You, on the other hand, lie back on Bloodhound’s bed. The furs and blankets all bundled up to one side as you sink into the sheets. You had been delicately stripped of your clothing, with much praise from either side of you. Your neck was already blossomed in little bruises from Bloodhound’s need to bite and claim every part of you. Your cheeks were rosy red, nipples peaked with arousal and the warm air around you doing no favors to how wet you are.

Elliott sits between your thighs as you hold your own hands nervously at your chest. Fitting your arms between your chest to interlock your own fingers, biting your lip as you watch him stroke at your bare thighs. Caressing you gently as he hooks them over his hips so he can lean over you. “Hey, hey, no need to be nervous.” His voice is shockingly stable for once, watching as your eyes nervously flick over to Bloodhound beside you.

Bloodhound was knelt at your side, a little out of the way and stroking your cheek fondly with their calloused fingertips. Their full lips quirk up softly, an encouraging smile as Elliott gently moves your arms to the side. Your eyes don’t leave Bloodhound’s, their eyes appearing to glow in the warm lighting of the lamp around you to the same fiery hue of their blinded eye.

On instinct, one hand goes to Elliott’s curls just as he leans down to part his lips and seal them over your nipple.

Your back arches, fingers twisting in his hair and eyes going half lidded as you gasp. Your own lips part, your other hand coming up to reach for Bloodhound just as they lean down. Letting you caress their cheek in turn as their lips meet yours from the side.

They swallow your whines with eagerness as they lick into your mouth. Letting you feel the roundness of the piercing on their tongue, the sharpness of their canines. Pleasure shoots down your spine when Elliott’s teeth gently sink down onto the rosy bud and your hips come up. Pressing into his clothed ones that he eagerly rolls into you in a grind.

Oh, you are positively helpless.  

Elliott’s hips grind into you slowly, you can feel the swell of his cock behind his pants with each grind against you. He’s almost humping into you desperately as he sucks on your nipple, parting from it to lick at it and letting you squirm under him. Having to part from your kiss with Bloodhound to let your head fall back with a heavy sigh.

Bloodhound wastes no time as they seem to move in tandem together. Their mouth latches to your pulse point, sucking more hickeys into your skin and sinking their canines into your flesh. Your hand that had been caressing their cheek fists as best as it can into their hair at the back of their skull, trying to drag them closer.

Elliott whines into your flesh as you scritch behind his ear. “Please- please let me taste you. Fuck- baby, I’ll make you feel so good, come on please, please, please-” He’s so whiny, breathing it out against your abdomen as he shifts downwards towards your heat. You almost don’t hear how Bloodhound laughs into your skin, but you sure do feel it.

“Eager,” They murmur against you, pulling back from your neck so you can look down at Elliott. Who is so helplessly nosing at your lower abdomen with hopeful chocolate brown eyes looking up at you like you’re everything. “Spread your legs, my love. Let him have you.” Bloodhound finishes, sitting up on their knees a bit so they can watch you.

You obey with shaky limbs, parting your thighs open and watch as Elliott sighs shakily against you with a breathed, “Thank you.” As he kisses you sloppily on your abdomen, kissing down and down. Over the mound of your sex to how your plump lips part for him. All he does is nuzzle you apart, tucking his arms under your thighs to spread you out further as he holds you and licks a wet, heavy stripe from hole to clit.

You can’t watch, your face burns and you turn your head with a cry of pleasure. But, Bloodhound’s fingers grip your chin, guiding you back to watch Elliott. “Do not look away, elskan. See how he worships you?” Their voice is as smooth as ever as you whimper in reply helplessly. You get to see just how Elliott eats you, tonguing over your hole and back to your clit like savoring a meal. His lips sealing over your clit to suckle and lick with a moan rumbling through his chest- like you’re delicious.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

Elliott’s eyes look up to you from under his lashes, parting his lips and backing off just a touch so he can pant over your wetness. His lips are glossy with your slick, slickness sticking to the stubble on his chin. His eyes look almost glazed over from how big his pupils are blown, letting you squirm as your eyes meet before he dives back in.

“Do you see how we worship you?” Bloodhound’s voice growls, gently letting go of your chin so they can rake their nails down your chest and abdomen to make you squirm. You sob out with pleasure when Elliott’s nails dig into your thighs just as he starts to get almost desperate to have you cum. Licking and nosing at you until your eyes are closing, head thrown back and moans spilling from you.

You vaguely make out teeth on your neck and chest. Your senses seeming to rapidly get heightened with every loud beat of your heart. You’re panting now, everything far too hot, too much, too sensitive-

When you cum, you have to reach for Bloodhound for support. They move their wicked mouth from your throat so they can nip and nibble at your ear lobe, breathing you praise for you. “So good, so good for us. There you go-” Sounding breathless themselves. Something you would be proud of later.

Your other hand holds firmly in Elliott’s curls, keeping him firmly pressed to your cunt as he sucks on your clit, nose pressed to your mound. Adoringly looking up at you with flushed red cheeks until you ease up on his hair enough for him to pull back. Panting for air as he presses wet, open mouthed kisses over your lower lips to make you tremble.

Exhausted, you let out a shaky, satisfied sigh. Briefly able to feel Elliott get up, hearing him wipe his mouth off before joining your other side. Tucking into you as one hand goes to his hair, trailing down to stroke at the nape of his neck and your other hand playing with Bloodhound’s hair in turn.

As you begin to relax, feeling yourself starting to breathe heavier, you gasp when you feel Bloodhound’s fingers trail down your hip to soon caress your mound. Their voice smooth as silk breathed into your ear, “Do not fall asleep so soon, sweet one. I have yet to have my turn.” While Elliott hums in approval, his cock pressed to your hip through his pants.

Oh, they’re both going to fucking kill you-

[kingseave]

King’s Eave - Chapter 4

TW: Death, monsters, fear, anxious tension, violence, vore, death, graphic violence

Eli awoke tasting iron, her throat sore from crying and screaming. Her eyes were blurry and stung horribly, and she winced as she blinked away blood. She struggled slightly, but found that she was unable to move her arms, and barely wriggle her torso. She was unsure if it was the unbearable pain in her sides or bonds that kept her immobile. She felt it might be the latter. 

When she came to enough to get a look at her surroundings, she wasn’t surprised to find herself in the belfry. This was Father Vigilus’s “nest”, where he kept a careful eye on his subjects from above. It was additionally his favorite place to take “guests” to have a “private chat with”, in which the guests were never seen again. Not even their bones were found. Eli shuttered at the thought as she took in the sight of one...two… three militiamen, none of whom she remembered the faces of. A tall, dark caped figure came up the stairs, who Eli did indeed recognize. Father Vigilus was a hawkish, severe looking man with large eye bags and had a permanent expression of a sneer plastered to his thin lips. In short, his appearance matches his horrid actions, making his body language sour and stiff. 

“Ah… just in time I see.” Father Vigilus said, flourishing his time piece in his hand, then clasping the thing closed and returning it under his cape.

Eli said nothing, simply staring at the man, seething with resentment.

“Oh my dear girl, it’s been too long since we’ve had such a heart to heart. Too long have you escaped the gaze of God.” He said threateningly, approaching her. “You will tell us your demonic knowledge, you wench, '' he yelled, slamming his hands on the table, forfeiting any niceties in exchange for intimidation. This did not phase Eli, who stared blankly at him with half-lidded eyes that seemed to be more interested in nonchalant resting than wasting any more precious time on looking at the man. Father Vigilus did not find this entertaining, and struck Eli across the face hard, throwing her body sideways slightly in the chair she was bound to. She gasped, gritting her teeth, side-eye glaring at the Father. A low growl emanated from her chest, and Father Vigilus smiled. 

“Did that give you a taste for what’s to come?” He asked icily, closing the gap between them. Eli growled aggressively, and spit in his face. The glob of mucus hit the man in the eye, and he dramatically rolled back, shouting. 

“You whore!” He roared, and punched her hard in the face. Her chair fell back, and before she could fall to the stone floor, the man grabbed her by her braids. Eli shrieked, tears pricking her eyes and welling until they fell and she sobbed. The Father pulled her up until her chair was level once again, and spun around, flicking the coattails of his cape as he moved. 

“I tire of our little game already, little miss Devil. Why don’t we bring in my little pet… he is much better at interrogation than I am. I think you’ll make quick friends.” He said menacingly, wiping his face with a handkerchief. 

“Bring the creature forth!” Vigilus said, shouting and gesturing vaguely at a small group of militiamen who stood in the entrance of the staircase. He strode over to the entrance, disappearing beneath the stone overhead briefly. Minutes passed and Eli gave herself pause to relax for a moment, she couldn’t wipe her face, so she allowed the wind to dry her tears for her. Her lip quivered as she remembered the distant, sad look her father gave her before his head rolled to the ground. Eli had a feeling that this would be her last memory before she’d be cut from life by her worst enemy. She was stirred from her moment of respite by the echoing sound of many separate footsteps, and following them, albeit slowly, the thumping of heavy, large footfall. Eli’s heart sunk into her chest as she remembered the stories Ysoba would tell her of the devils who dwelled in the basement of the church, and made a disturbing realization. The stories told that Church created monsters that were bound to the deep in the pits of the prisons beneath the chapel, and their claws were so long and spidery that any unfortunate prisoners issued cells closest to these wells were advised not to stay too close to the bars of their lockup, for these demons would snatch them from their beds when they were asleep. Some particularly traumatized inmates could recall the squelching and slurping that they could hear echo from deep within the pits that those very creatures made their homes. They were said to not be picky about what they ate, and would readily devour hundreds of rotting, plagued bodies when sickness spread. And now, Vigilus plans to bring one to the belfry to aid him in Eli’s interrogation, or possibly, her execution.

Vigilus walked up the stairs with more disgusting confidence in his step as he strode towards her. In his hand was a thick metal chain that snaked its way down the staircase. Two men with spears walked backwards slowly, pointing their weapons at a shadow that lumbered up the stone stairwell. Eli did not cower, but accepted that this would be her doom when said creature made its way to her. She swore she could hear the blood rushing to her ears as time flowed slowly past.

She gulped audibly as her eyes slid from Vigilus’s nasty smirk to the taloned fingers that clasped the stone. The claws of this monster were a glittering, void-black. The skin of the thing’s fingers almost matched them, and as its arms pulled the rest of its’ body forward, she could understand why the common folk called them demons. Its head pulled around the stone wall like a snake, it’s face somewhat humanoid but with a very wide, dragonic nose, it’s nostrils were narrow and somewhat vertical. Jet black feather-like fur started on the bridge of its nose and trailed up into a mane on its head that followed down its back, framed by two ridged horns. The skin of the creature was a mottled mix of a dusty burnt rose colour and a deep, gunmetal ash. It was heavily muscled, and its deeply striking amber eyes surrounded by red streaks of membrane glinted in the sunlight. The body of this beast was hulking and predatory in every right, the muscles in its back and arms rippled as it walked, and its teeth glittered pearly white as sunlight cast upon its face. The creature’s back legs were more animal-like, clawed at the tips like some sort of sick go at a lizard. It’s tail was thick and somewhat flat, and forked at the end like a snake’s tongue, but fading into a bluish lilac like a skink. What made Eli more sick than the ghastly sight of the beast was its sad, rippled and saggy stomach. It hung low in a starvation-riddle agony between its legs, the poor stretched out skin looking somewhat like a cat that was once pampered and now cast upon the street. It made Eli want to cry, and she wasn’t sure if it was in pity for the creature, or for pity for herself and where she might end up. That’s when she heard the dry, primal sound of the monster sniffing the air. She froze, and in the back of her mind, she felt compelled to smell the air too, as if summoned by some primal force she wasn’t used to. 

When she closed her eyes to inhale the air around her, the first tinge of information she received was the scent of old, metallic blood. The secondary scent that quickly overpowered the first was something she was shocked by. It smelled, to put it simply, like her. She could tell the beast was male, and that it hadn't eaten in possibly months. The rest of the scent was familiar, it reminded her of lonely sadness, of a campfire, and of coals whose origins were deeper than she could ever know. Her eyes brightened, and she finally made eye contact with the creature. He was already staring at her, his once-slitted, narrow eyes now rounded out like reflective, jet-coloured globes. They locked eyes for a few moments before Vigilus interrupted their silent communication with a tug of the creature’s chain. He seemed to let the Archbishop tug him around, even though he seemed perfectly capable of pushing back. The older man stood right in front of Eli, and bared his teeth in a sinister smile. 

“You will talk, or I’ll get our friend here to take off an arm or maybe a leg” he said, his voice close, and barely above a whisper. Eli looked from Vigilus to the creature, the corner of her lip twitching as she made lingering eye contact with those piercing yellow orbs. 

“Fine! I’ll tell you…” Eli said, faking exasperation and dread. “We Infernal hate…” she said, making a sour expression. The Father learned in. “We cannot eat or touch…” she fake gagged. “-Citrus.” She said with as much disgust as she could act out, and gagged again. She didn’t think her poor acting could convince the devout man, but his grin widened, and she was pleased to see that he was a sucker for it. She thought him a man of some level of intellect, but she must’ve been mistaken. She made quick eye contact with the chained monster, who seemed to be bemused, his brow raised slightly. His lips were curled slightly at the edges, the tips of his teeth poking out. He seemed amused at her attempt to trick Vigilus, or possibly more amused at Father Vigilus’ idiocy.

Father Vigilus noticed his “pet’s” reaction to the mentioning of citrus, and turned to look at the creature. The beast wrinkled his nose in faux disgust, shrinking down and attempting to look as tame and terrified as a gigantic abomination could. 

“Ah… seems that we should reconsider our use of silver salts in our practice” he said, turning to the leashed creature. Eli couldn’t hide her small smile, and she glanced playfully at the monster before her, flicking her dilated pupils first to him, then to the archbishop. Father Vigilus noticed the eye contact the two made, and yanked at the chain bound beast. This time, the creature did not allow the archbishop to push him around. The monster raised his massive head, pulling the Father up into the air for the excess chain was wrapped around the man’s gangly fingers. The devout man whimpered in what seemed like offense, as well as fear. The soldiers flocked the creature, ready to stab and slash at the archbishops' word. “Put me down, you vile demon, I command it!” He yelled, flailing. The beast’s tail simply flicked away the pikemen, who screamed as they fell from the tower and landed with a sickening crunch a second later. The motion seemed so easy and effortless to this being, and Eli watched in shock and disbelief as the beast walked the tied up man to the edge of the belfry where he allowed Father Vigilus to dangle a few feet over the edge. “God have mercy, let go of me!” The man shrieked as he tumbled slightly down the length of the chain. The monster put a clawed hand down hard on the chain that trailed down his neck that the archbishop’s grasp, roughly pulling the Father up a few feet. The demon’s brow quirked up in questioning. “Let… go of you?” The creature asked, his voice so incredibly deep it didn’t sound like a voice that could be possessed by a mortal being. It was rich, and the timbre of it was dark and swirled around Eli’s ears. She flushed immediately at the wicked tone of his threat, as well as the complexity of his unusual voice. The archbishop laughed nervously, then frowned. 

“Yes! You will let go of me this instant and if I won't punish you as severely, beast.” He said, panting.

“As you wish.” The creature said, his eyes shining at Eli in a mischievous yet dark way. He allowed the chain to slip from his claws, sending the man barreling down the building side while he clutched the metal for dear life. “Ah! Please just help me! I’ll provide options for you!” Vigilus said, sobbing hysterically.

“How about I give you two options?” The creature said, his tone smooth and deeply terrifying.

“Yes! Whatever you want!” Vigilus cried, his feet flailing pointlessly. The monster seemed to consider this, and thought for a moment before speaking.

“How about this? I let you fall and we see if you survive, or I let you up and you experience something worse than death. Your choice.” He said calmly yet maliciously. The Father cried out, completely ignoring the second part of the ‘choice.’

“Yes! Let me up. I’ll give you anything, no more chains!” He shrieked.

“You want up? You don’t want to plummet to your death?” The creature inquired wisely.

“No! Just let me up you monster!” Vigilus retorted.

The creature pulled the chain up, and dangled the gasping little man in front of him, and lowered Vigilus to meet his gaze.

“You have poked and prodded me for the last time.” The demon said lowly, his voice the hint of distant thunder before a great storm. The beast raised the dangling man above his face, and opened his jaws impossibly wide. 

Eli watched with awe as the archbishop became silent as he slid down the throat of the great creature before her. There was no blood, no gore, only the light, slick sound of the dean being readily devoured by his “pet”. Drool fell off the jaws of the creature as he lowered his head slightly, ropes of saliva pooling to the stone floor. Eli watched in amazement as the throat of the creature expanded easily to allow the priest to pass through wholly unharmed. The chain fell to the floor, no longer any hands to grasp it. The creature’s golden half-lidded eyes made contact with Eli’s while he swallowed, and the tiefling girl to his surprise, did not look away. The demon put a clawed hand to his throat and guided his meal down his chest, and groaned as the once languid flesh of his belly filled out with the weight of the live meal. Vigilus squirmed in the creature’s gut rather violently, punching and kicking to be let out after he had realized what was happening. Eli gawked at the creature, her brain trying to make sense of the scene she just witnessed. Dusk had descended upon the kingdom, and it made the beast look all the more camouflaged against the stone and moss of the buildings behind them. 

Eli looked from the beast’s undulating and heavy belly, to the thing’s eyes that were focused softly on her. He approached her calmly, his stomach jiggling as he walked, and stopped his face inches from Eli’s own. Eli broke the silence, her voice meek.

“You sure did a number on him.” She said shyly, not sure if she should be more disturbed at her nonchalant reaction to the situation, or more afraid of this man-eating beast’s proximity to her. He closed the gap, and touched his horns to hers, in a strange, affectionate gesture. She had never come in contact with a beast so much like herself, and the action set her mind into reality. 

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [9/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist 

Warnings: Odin being a God-King...which is code for ‘dick’.

A/N: Hi, this probably my most IMPORTANT LOKI RELATED NOTE: The very talented and delightfully risque writer @lokilickedme​ has just released a book. I love her work (especially Sanguine)! Refer to this post for all details about her book. 

Now, onto triffles.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“—I do not think I can keep this from her any longer,” you heard Heimdall say mid-conversation. He sounded like a man desperate to shout but too afraid to do so.

You swallowed, feeling guilty for impeding upon something so personal.

Just as you had made up your mind to leave, you heard Odin warn: “You remember what the Oracle said, old friend.”

Oracle? You wondered. And that was all it took to get you to plant your feet before the throne room’s doors and listen like a mouse in the night.

“Her vision already came to pass,” Heimdall said, defeated. “I’ve lost one. I cannot lose another. Not when she is safe within our walls. Safe here.”

“No place is impregnable to violence,” Odin let out a sigh. “I already took a risk in allowing my son to train her. If he knew what she was…”

You shifted, a soft noise coming from your hand that braced the door to steady your stance. Was there more about your powers that you didn’t know? Why did Odin speak with such animosity towards you? Did he fear you?

Heimdall’s works quaked with emotion: “Please, Allfather. I cannot keep this lie any longer. I cannot pretend as though my heart doesn’t ache when I see her. And ache all the more when I must remove myself from her presence. She is my daughter. What would you give to have your daugh—”

And that was the moment. The moment everything snapped into place. Heimdall and Odin kept speaking in secret and your mind struggled to make sense of things that were right in front of you the entire time: the bloodkin spell leading you to Heimdall’s post by the bi-frost; the gold in your eyes reflected in his; the mark that shielded your power from his gaze; Loki’s coy words during their Game of Fates; the disapproving glower Heimdall had flashed Loki when the dark prince had placed a finger on your knee; Your mothers mantra: “The universe rests in your eyes.”

Magic screeched inside you. Angry and betrayed. How many people knew Heimdall was your father? How many lies had you been subjected to?

“Hnnnfff,” the magic grew painful; piercing. You clutched your body. Everywhere ached.

Odin and Heimdall’s voices grew sharper.

“…Odin,” Heimdall’s voice shook. “I beg of you. When you ordered me to never look for Sigrid, I did it to protect her. To keep the prophecy from coming to pass. And she died all the same. Without ever knowing how I truly felt for her.”

“I am sorry,” Odin sounded regretful. “But if it came to it, I would take her from you as Sigrid had been. Such is the weight I bear. The weight of King. To protect my son, I would destroy your daughter. It is for this very reason that I cannot allow you to tell her the truth—to love her as only a father could. It is the smallest mercy I can give. And the only mercy I will allow.”

You wanted to escape, go somewhere far. Away from gods and magic and kings. You didn’t cry, there were no tears left to shed. Niflheim had broken you. Asgard had reset you wrong. Frayed, like the ice wound that scarred your chest.

You thought of the ocean, the one back home. And with gut-punching intensity, you were swallowed by a portal of your own making.

Home. You were home. And it was gone. The longhouse that belonged to the chief was nothing more than snow extinguished timber. The fabulous fabrics and furs that decorated his walls left no traces. The polished silver tankards you’d always wanted to drink from were black. The rest of the village suffered a worse fate. Huts leaving nothing behind but black shapes in the snow. There were no bodies to identify. No history to reclaim.

Slowly, you made your way back to your house. The air was colder than you remembered. Wind biting at your skin till you turned pale and stiff. The dress you wore provided little protection from the weather.

Your house barely stood. A state of decrepitude would be too generous a description. Stone walls struck down; no door to walk through; the eight pronged symbol visible on the stone floor beneath the foundations. With a heavy sigh, you tried to rebuild. Placing each stone block back where it had been. Reanimating wooden doors and burned furs from the ash. When you opened your eyes again, you were surprised by how faithful your iteration of home was.

The house stood again, walls shivering with magic. If it was an illusion, you weren't interested in breaking it.

When you walked in, you were disappointed to learn it smelled of fire. No herbs or mead or tanned leather scents to bring comfort. Just fire.

Your mother wasn’t sitting in her chair with her lit pipe. The only trace of her resided in the seer bones cast on the floor; untouched—predicting the future for no-one.

Without a plan, you walked to the small space with a mead stain on the furs. It was where you used to fall asleep to the warmth of the fires as a child. Then, with a wave of your fingers, you conjured a real fire in the fireplace. Sitting back to stare blankly into the flames. You drifted. Too tired to remember to blink from the dry air. Too tired to remember to be present.

Heavy boots broke your stupor. A man, shed of armour and wearing mortal weaves, sat beside you.

“Everyone was worried,” Heimdall’s voice found its way to your ears. He sighed. “I was worried.”

“How did you find me?” You asked, voice raspy.

He opened his palm to reveal a cut, “How you tried to find me, I suspect.”

“Bloodkin spells,” you intoned.

"Of sorts," he chose to sit close enough to seem familiar, but far away enough to let distance be a kindness. “I had to use older magic, more…dangerous magic, to find you.”

“And so you did.”

“Your powers are impressive,” he said. “To conjure a portal on your own and actually end up where you wanted to go is…impressive.”

Your heart beat sluggishly, neck straining from barely being moved for so long. “Is it true?”

Heimdall’s chest sunk, a deep exhale disrupting the flames in the fireplace. “Yes.”

“How?”

“It is...” Heimdall stopped himself. His open palm balling into a tight fist that shook. Something shifted in him. The next time he spoke, he sounded different: “Before you were born, the prince—Loki—fell ill. It wasn’t a sickness of the body, but…something else. Odin was secretive then. More than he is now. Frigga didn’t eat for days. Thor had been sent away so he wouldn’t cause a scene…

“There had been an attack, you see. Jotuns. Somehow, they managed to slip past me and into the castle. A portal I couldn’t sense. There had been a battle. Some died. Not many. But enough. In the fray, Loki had been injured. Odin had shut him in his quarters. I remember hearing Loki scream with fever for days. Spouting heinous accusations at his father.”

You shut your eyes tight. The thought of Loki suffering made you feel uneasy. Heimdall noticed this and quieted his words even more. He probably thought that by making his voice softer the words would hurt less.

He continued: “Odin called for a witch with strange abilities. Her name was Dagna, she was known to her people as—”

“Minnevever…” You turned to look at Heimdall. “She was my great-grandmother.”

Memory Weaver

He smiled humbly, the lines on his face showing the age that his immortal body hid so well. “I had been sent to a village near Lake Mälaren. That is where I first saw your mother. She told me I’d fall in in love with her the first day we met.” Heimdall’s cheeks pulled taut as his teeth peeked through his smile. “I had brought Dagna to Asgard to cure the prince. His treatment took days. For a few hours, during those days, I’d find myself slipping away—going back to the village. Again and again and again.”

Heimdall reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock of hair. You gasped. His smile fell. “On the last day, she gave me this. I didn’t know it was to be our last day. If I had—” He cleared his throat, eyes blinking rapidly.

You felt the urge to ease his pain; or maybe you wanted to mourn with him as the only other person alive who remembered Sigrid. Either way, the strangeness was too thick, your hand never managed to make its way to his side.

“She saw her death too,” you added. There was anger there. Between the octaves. “She saw and yet she didn’t tell me either. Such is the elusive ways of those with godly gifts.”

Heimdall wiped a tear from his cheek, “When I opened the portal to return Dagna to her home, she told me something. A prophecy. She said that I would only know pain if I let my heart know love. I was destined to be the Watcher—and one cannot watch the stars from above if their heart belongs below.”

His fingers played with the ridges of the braided lock of hair. “She warned that if I ever returned to the village, death would follow me. So I never returned.” Heimdall turned to look upon your face in the glow of the fire. Eyes moving over every spot and hair and sculpted angle. It was then that you noticed you shared more than the gold in your eyes. You shared the same chin and more of his lips than your mother’s. Two dark spots mirroring his beneath your left eyebrow.

In a strangled voice, he said: “And I never knew you existed until you were brought through the bi-frost…half dead.”

His choked up, finally giving in to his tears. Heimdall wept then. In the rawness of the moment, your hand finally found the strength to cross over and comfort him. Soon, you were both crying; mourning; celebrating; letting go. As you did, the house proved itself to be an illusion. It fell back into disrepair as you held your father's hand for the first time.

[springtimebat]

A Family of Draculas

Chapter Three: Wasp Eyes

My child wasn’t human. He never was. He never could be.

He arrived on a grey day in Autumn, when the winds were particularly strong. He was born with cloth ears and button eyes. I lifted him into my arms and he gurgled, his felt lips stretching into a stitched grin. His stumpy legs kicked my side with a strange giddiness, as if he’d known me for a long time and was greeting an old friend instead of his mother. Curled up between his legs was a tail, scaly and pointed. He lifted it high into the air and allowed me to stroke it.

“I’ve made a demon,” I chuckled. The baby, small and comfortable in my arms, gurgled in agreement. Mrs Darling, completely forgotten and left in a dark corner of the house, suddenly gave an exasperated groan.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Mrs Darling grumbled, “Children are thoughtless creatures. Sometimes they get your hopes up, sourdough. Then they’re born and they are...bitter disappointments.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” I grinned, tickling my baby’s tummy.

“I don’t need experience,” The old lady huffed, “I know enough parents to know that baby will be more trouble than it's worth.”

“The only child you’ve ever liked is me ma'am. At least, I think you like me.”

Mrs Darling looked at me and, suddenly, her eyes didn’t seem to fit her face, which was all boils, warts and scars. Her eyes were that of a small child’s, wide and longing.

“Sometimes,” She started, and she now gazed at the son in my arms, not directly at me. It seemed she didn’t have the strength, “Sometimes...you seem far older that you appear to be... sometimes you even seem older than me. Your father was like that.”

“I guess it’s just in my nature then,” I sighed, hoping to change the subject. The witch never liked to talk about the Unicorn. My father always made the old woman sad and wistful. I looked down at my baby again. He seemed bigger than before and his eyes were slowly opening to the light.

“Look ma’am!” I gasped, holding my son up to the sky, “His eyes! Look at his eyes!”

“His eyes?”

“They’re glowing! They’re yellow! As yellow as a lamplight!”

“Yes. Indeed they are.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I did. I saw eyes like that once.”

“Where?”

“Your father’s pair. He has his grandfather’s eyes,”

I stilled, “We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

The witch was quiet for a moment. Then she turned to the front door, tears in her eyes.

“I think I’ll go out for a walk,” Was all she said.

And, just like that, she vanished into the woods.

I growled in frustration and held my baby tighter. He began to struggle against my chest and gave a little cry that reminded me of the birds that sang on the roof at night.

“ They say that those birds are the souls of the departed, travelling to the lonely places of the world,” I whispered, setting the baby down on the floor, “What if I cried like that as a babe? No wonder my father gave me up!”

I wrapped the boy in an old blanket, pushing him onto my knees as the clouds shifted outside.

“She’s gonna catch a cold out there,” I muttered to the silent room, “She’ll catch a horrible cold and she’ll blame me.”

My son giggled and grabbed my forefinger with a chubby fist. His hands were manufactured out of different strands of felt, cloth and cotton, just like his face. But his fingers seemed to have melted, fused together . They were unable to move fluidly. He tried his best though, struggling to keep a grip on my flesh. I grinned as his brow furrowed in frustration.

“I should really give you a name,” I whispered, “I can’t just keep calling you The Boy or Wasp Eyes can I?”

He gave a little nod, directing my thumb up to his mouth.

“Huh, you have no teeth. Fancy that. You’re just like a sock puppet. I guess I could name you after your father...you do kind of resemble him, no matter what that old hag believes.”

The baby gave a small yawn, too focused on my hand to care.

“Fricorith’s a fine name. I don’t know what it means but I’m sure it’s something sweet. I tried looking it up in the books I could find but it was never there. It was as if the name never existed. As if the man had been erased.”

Our son pulled away from my hand and lay back in my lap, his golden eyes straining, trying to keep open.

“Your father’s gone, tired old thing,” I smiled, “It’s ok. We can think of a name later.”

I rocked him with one hand and adjusted the blankets with another. Thunder pierced the sullen ground outside and my bundle whimpered against me. I grabbed onto his hand tighter and stooped over in the dark, more shadow than flesh and bone in these long night hours. A phantom. That’s what I was. Motherhood overtook me.

“It looks like she’s gonna be a long time. She hasn’t even come back to avoid the rain. She intends to get the flu. There’s no doubt about it.”

I stroked my son’s hair, a mixture of real baby curls and matted braids. He began to toss and turn in his nest, clearly tired but too nervous to sleep. It was a feeling I knew all too well, sleeping alone for months with only the corpse cradle for company.

“You really need to sleep, little guy,” I sighed, formulating a plan, “What if momma tells you a story? Will you sleep then?”

He stopped wrestling with the sheets and gave an anxious nod, looking about the room for any monsters.

“Very well. This is the story of the Witch and the Unicorn.”

{The Witch and The Unicorn: A Bedtime story for Ragchildren}

Once, long before you were born, a Witch and a Unicorn met at a bar.

The Witch was withering away by the fires, as she often tended to do. Her job was to rake her claws among the glowing coals and fly with the smoke out of chimneys. This evening, the witch had a night off from ember work. Yet, she seemed transfixed by their wonders still, hoarding its light from ordinary folk. She knew something was coming. Something special was coming to her.

Midnight passed by and the Unicorn entered through a back door. He hadn’t slept in days, his skin was a pale silver and his hair a long plait down his back. Yet, he continued to attract merchants, thieves and hustlers, who clutched scissors and desired his hair, his limbs, his moon-white eyes. People who wished to see him taken apart in jars. Because of this, he hid in the Witch’s smoke and the bar’s natural smog. He sat before the old woman, kneeling in ashes, frozen as if he were a statue made out of marble. The two had never met, only heard of the other through strange songs and wishes caught on wild winds. The Witch stared at the Unicorn with young eyes, her heart beginning to strain. The Unicorn watched the Witch with contempt, sick of being gawked at by people who were not worthy to.

No introductions were made. But a conversation took place.

“I have a girl.” The Unicorn said.

“Do you now?”

“Yes. She is four months old. She will be five months old next Thursday.”

“Fascinating.”

“She holds lightning inside of her.”

Silencio. The Witch continued to gawk, uncaring of proper etiquette.

“And I’m sure my blood flows through my veins.”

“Mhmm. Why are you telling me this?”

“I heard that you are interested in bringing on a ward. A ward that you could teach them magic.”

“I may be thinking of doing so in the future. Why, dear thing, would you want to give away your daughter to me?”

“The girl will hate me. It will hate me for what I’ve done.”

“The mother-”

“Dead. Not gone. Just dead.”

“I see.”

“She died with the boy nestling into her. She died delivering.”

“The boy?”

“The other twin. We had twins. The boy died hours after. He had fur, silver fur.”

“Does the girl-”

“She’s just like her except for her abilities. She sings and the wolves feed her for me.”

“The Corpse Cradle will crave her.”

“She will be able to support herself in time. Those first few years... she will need help in those first few years. These are my terms. You must promise her your protection.”

“Very well, luvvie. I’ll take her off your hands.”

“How will I find you again?”

“Just send her to me with chalk on her feet.”

“Thank you.”

“You may visit if you wish, my dear.”

The Unicorn said nothing.

“If you wish it, luvvie.”

“We’ll see, old woman.”

A few days later, the Witch brought a small girl into the woods. A baby who enchanted wolves and seduced the trees before she was even able to speak. She offered to pay but the girl’s father didn’t care for money. And so, the girl was brought up to live in the woods, to feed and placate all the eeries things of the world. Eventually, she became an eerie creature herself.

The girl never saw her father again.

{Exeunt}

The Corpse Cradle let out a hysterical cackle as I finished the story, thrusting mismatched fingers and toes out of separate fleshes.

“Laugh all you want,” I growled, “It got the baby to sleep.”

At mention of the baby, the cradle made a disgusting slapping noise with its teeth and one of its stomachs twisted inside out.

“Don’t do that, it’s unbecoming. Besides, it won’t get you anywhere. You will never touch him. I’ll kill you before you ever touch him.”

The Cradle groaned and flipped onto its side, its bulbous veins pulsing underneath their skin. I rolled my eyes, shifting on the dirty floor. The baby mumbled in his slumber and rolled around in his makeshift bed.

“I wish he was here,” I mumbled to myself, “I wish he could see the baby.”

I turned back to the Corpse Cradle, eyes narrowed.

“But he’s not. He’s never coming back and it’s all your fault.”

I waited for a laugh, or a groan; any signs of life. Instead, the creature stayed silent, feigning sleep.

Rolling my eyes, I clutched my baby tighter, pulling him to my chest like a shield.

“They’re not gonna get to you, Wasp Eyes. I’ll die before anyone gets you.”

We fell asleep, curled up together on the floor, and dreamed of wild winds and Unicorns. The Corpse Cradle watched us from the dark, its domain seeming more and more like prison bars as the hours flew by.