#poor bramble is feeling so attacked

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: ~1K Summary: “What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system. He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means.

Got a short one-shot for y'all today! This was a quick lil' guy I whipped up within the past week to boost my Camp NaNoWriMo word count in between working on other projects.

It's a canon-compliant fic set during the SU movie.

Enjoy!

____

“What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system as he watches the diamond at his core outright flicker.

He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means. But even more urgently… his gaze snaps up to all the gemstones littering the grass like it’s a damned battlefield… he has no idea how he’s supposed to de-escalate this situation if he can’t successfully bubble this rogue Gem. The others will reform in no time, of that he’s sure— but so will she. And when she does, what’s stopping her from pulling out another weapon and attacking them all over again? 

Steven shakes the grim thought out of his head, exerting a surprising sum of energy in dragging himself back to his feet. (Stars, he’s so out of breath…) But no— no. He can’t allow himself to get so caught up in the brambles of such nebulous what-ifs. Come on, Universe. Stay resilient. Stay positive. There’s only one mission that matters at the moment, and that’s gathering up that weapon and all these gemstones and moving them somewhere safe. He’s capable of that much, at least.

Still… that anxious, always hyper-vigilant part of himself he tries hard to keep buried can’t help but dread the worst as he shoves that heart-shaped gem and the pink scythe into the deepest depths of his jacket pocket and drags his spent, trembling body up the hill to retrieve all his loved ones.

_

Steven collapses face-first upon the couch the second all the Gems are safely deposited on the living room coffee table, heaving what has to be the single most exaggerated groan of exhaustion any one soul has ever produced. 

Ugh.

Good golly.

Amethyst is usually back by now. That sure doesn’t shine any optimism on this situation, now does it? What on Earth did that scythe do to them?

And what the heck did it do to me, he thinks, the mere act of baseline existence leaving him as wiped as a marathon runner even though he’s literally lying as flat as a board. It’s a kind of total body exhaustion he rarely experiences, far more intense than a hard day’s workout or multiple nights of poor sleep. 

In fact, now that he ponders his predicament, he hasn’t felt as drained as this since—

He pales, his heart pounding at a somewhat uneven tempo. With much effort, he pushes himself upright again… yanks up the bottom hem of his shirt to splay his opposing hand across the familiar planes of his own gemstone, tracing their edges until his pulse calms down and he stops feeling so itchy and paranoid. No. Stop. it’s not like The Incident at all. He’s whole. They’re together, not split in half, not disconnected from one another.

Or at least… (he swallows. Hard.) Not physically.

Flashing a frustrated grimace, Steven gathers the gem of their attacker in his palms and attempts to form a bubble around it again. And again. And again. No dice, alas. The result is the same no matter how hard he tries. Even if he manages to fashion one large enough, it bursts only a few heartbeats later, leaving him breathless and haggard and with nothing to show for it. He wipes away the sweat that’s started to bead upon his forehead, and— rather defeated by this failure— dumps that damned gem back on the table a tad rougher than he probably ought to. 

Okay. So no bubble. Great. Just great. Absolutely peachy. What else about him is broken right now?

He throws out his arm, envisioning his shield bursting to life in front of it. And to his credit this hard-light weapon does briefly appear, but only as a glitchy flicker. Ugh. All right, so his shield’s a complete dud, too. With this in mind he sees no real point in testing any of his other powers. It seems his gem’s simply on the fritz now, no thanks to her. (He shoots a dirty glare at those pink, ever-taunting facets.) Plus, he figures an attempt and failure to float might prove disastrous. Best not to test fate today with how his luck’s been so far.

Steven clenches his fingers tight, painfully aware of how tense his whole body is right now. He outright can’t help it. This is the single most stressful thing that’s landed on his doorstep since the Diamonds crashed Garnet’s wedding. And not only that, but with all these muscle groups activated at once he can feel his pulse thrumming like a never-ending mantra within his wrist, its tempo frustratingly irregular. It reminds him a lot of how Dad describes his caffeine intolerance. Both keyed-up and jittery. Thrown to the brink of fight-or-flight but also exhausted to the point of collapse. It’s insufferable, and without the guidance and encouragement of the Gems he has no clue what he’s supposed to do about it.

Although… 

His breath quivering as he feels his gemstone glitch out within him yet again, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. (And boy, is he surprised the screen isn’t cracked after the mighty tumble he took up on the hill.) He taps into his messages and— his finger hovering over Connie’s picture for a moment longer than it ought to— (no, don’t worry her, just let her enjoy her space camp)— ultimately selects his dad’s contact.

Pls come quick as you can, he types furiously. Town in danger (???) from new Gem, everyone got poofed. At house.

Send.

The teen slumps back upon the couch, letting himself sink back into its plush, reassuring comfort. There. At least Dad might be able to help. And even if he can’t, well… 

(He wipes away that annoying stray tear pooling at the edge of one of his eyes. Childish, he chides himself. Stupid.)

At least it’s better than weathering this storm on his own.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Protecting the Aspen Witch

Hey, sorry this isn't very specific, but I was rereading Protector earlier and wanted to know if you could maybe write more from that universe? Brain's not braining much rn, so I'm afraid that's the most detailed I can be haha. But any h/c from that universe would make me extremely happy. Maybe they actually have a conversation about Virgil's trauma? – anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: panic attack/dissociation

Pairings: DLAMPR

Word Count: 4798   

 Virgil’s got a simple code when he’s not on a hunt. Don’t hurt whatever you don’t absolutely have to, and odds are, it won’t hurt you. Now and then there’s a bit of an, um, incident where that doesn’t quite work out as well as they’d hoped, but by and large they get by.

On another quest to the Aspen Witch, something goes...a little awry.

Truly, going to see the Aspen Witch isn't the worst quest in the world. In another set of circumstances, he would be grateful for such a well-traveled road, or even just to be able to go somewhere that he knows.

In this world, however, he thinks that the next time someone needs something from the Aspen Witch, he'll tell them to go themselves.

(He won't, he knows he won't, but he likes to imagine for one moment that he might consider it.)

In any case, at least this time he's not bartering for something on behalf of someone else. He's making a delivery on behalf of Elise, a sweet girl in the village who accidentally pissed off the wrong warlock. (See, this is why he'd never actually be able to tell someone else to go, because either he's bartering, which means it's for something that'll help a lot of people, or it's for someone who would definitely be in grave danger if they tried to go alone.) The warlock hadn't taken too kindly to Elise's accidental questioning of their source of magic, even though that wasn't what she was intending at all, and bestowed a powerfully cursed amulet into Elise's possession while she slept. The amulet held a potent attraction charm to coerce Elise into putting it on, and once on, induced paranoia so severe the poor girl's screams could be heard all the way from Virgil's home.

Needless to say, he's taking it far, far away to be destroyed.

He accepted nothing more than a small bag of coin—smaller than his pouch of agrimore dust, the family wasn't exactly in the position to spare a lot of money—and promised Elise to see to it that the amulet never touched her again. Truly it was just a matter of keeping it wrapped in skeldor hide until he reached the Aspen Witch to limit the potency and then, well, then the Aspen Witch would have to know what to do.

Part of him wondered if he would see any of the Five—of course there were five of them and of course they were known by some ridiculous name—when he set off, but there weren't any strange things in his garden, nor did any of them decide to appear when he beds down at the boulder, across the bridge, even when he gets into the valley. No, he manages to make it all the way to the Aspen Witch without running into any of them.

If he were still the adventurer he was years ago, he'd take that as good fortune. If he's going off of what he knows now, he knows enough to be a little wary of their absence.

And if he's being truly honest, something he does try to refrain from outside the safety of the walls of his home, he might be a little disappointed.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts as he approaches the Aspen Witch's grounds. He winces when he stumbles right into the brambles of the crimson thornbushes and feels them tear through his cloak. His fingers almost twitch to his dagger, but then he steels himself. These are the grounds of a magic user, after all, and he would treat them with respect even if he suspected these plants to be totally normal if he decided to slice them open.

With the changing of the seasons, night falls much earlier than it had the last time he ventured this far. The sun is already at the tops of the trees as he approaches the door, several candles already flickering through the windows. He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to check that everything is still where it's supposed to be, and knocks on the door.

"Yes?"

"I am the adventurer known as Virgil. I have come to deal with the Aspen Witch."

"Ah, Virgil! Yes, come in."

He feels something in the door shift and he pushes it open. The bell over the top of the door rings. The Aspen Witch smiles at him from behind her table of treasures; a brickleback spine sits under her hands where she is…obtaining something from it. She sets the tool she's using down with a clink and reaches to pick something up from her side.

"I have prepared for you a drink," she says as Virgil sits, "to ease your burdens."

"I would like to know what is inside it."

"Sunflower nectar, moon blossoms, and honey. It is meant to relax you."

"I recall a similar drink being offered the last time I came."

"You are correct, I offered you a similar drink."

"I would like to know if this one is different than the one you offered last time in any meaningful way."

One of her many rings taps against the edge of the cup. "It has less of the added moon blossoms than the last, which renders it less potent."

Less potent? "I have slaked my thirst at the last waterfall."

Something flickers across her face and she smiles, moving the drink aside. "Another time, then. You are still reeking of curse energy, but this one is different. I would like to know why."

"I have brought you a cursed amulet in the hopes that you would relieve the burden of its intended recipient."

"Show me." Virgil extends the amulet, still wrapped in the hide, and she takes it. She sets it on the table and runs her fingers over the leather strap holding it in place. "This is a fine specimen of hide, Virgil. I would like to know where you obtained it."

"On a past contract."

"I would like you to be more specific."

He says nothing. The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she laughs and shakes her head.

"Perhaps another time." She undoes the leather strap carefully and withdraws the amulet. It glistens in the candlelight as she turns it back and forth. "This is a vindictive magic. I would like to know how you came into contact with it."

Is it his imagination, or does the Aspen Witch sound…put out? "The village I live near to. The curse befell a child."

"I would like to know the origins of such a curse, if you would share."

"It is my understanding that the child's intentions behind a question were misunderstood and the magic user sought the consequences they saw fit."

The Aspen Witch's fingers twitch on the chain. She examines the amulet anew and toys with the link near its base. Something darkens in her expression and Virgil tries to keep his hands still. "This was bestowed upon a child, you have said."

"I have said that it was bestowed upon a child."

Her mouth tightens. "I would like to tell you why this is unacceptable."

A chill runs through the cabin. "I would like to ask for clarification on your last statement."

"You may ask."

"I would like to know what it is you find unacceptable: that the child was bestowed a cursed object, that the child was bestowed this cursed object, or that I have said that it was a child to whom it was bestowed."

He must be imagining things because it looks like her expression softens, even the slightest bit. "The second of your list. It is unacceptable that a child was bestowed such a curse. I would like to explain why."

Thank fuck. "I would listen to an explanation."

The Aspen Witch lays the amulet back down on the hide and reaches for something else. She takes a long stick from a drawer and snaps it over the amulet. As the pieces of it start to drift down, they take on different colors and hover in the air.

"Curses have three main derivations," she says as she does so, "either they affect the accursed's mind, their body, or their soul. Mind curses are difficult to break as they require some level of consent from the accursed. Body curses are the most varied but are not that difficult to break, especially if they are familiar with the curse itself."

They look down to see the particles have turned a vivid bloody red. The Aspen Witch's nails scrape against the table.

"Soul curses are vile things," she spits with more emotion than Virgil has ever seen or heard from her, "and they can erase a person if they are not done with extreme skill."

Virgil's mouth runs dry. "I…would like to know what you mean by 'erase.'"

"No," the Aspen Witch says lowly, "you do not."

Alright, no, I do not. That's good enough for me.

With a flick of her wrist, she disperses the particles and wraps the amulet back in the hide. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself—what the fuck has Virgil walked into if the Aspen Witch has to steady herself?—before she looks at him again.

"I would like to know what you intend to provide as payment."

"I recall you mentioning the value of curse energy upon our last visit."

"You would offer the energy of this curse as the payment for removing it."

"I would offer the energy of the curse as payment for its removal."

The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she nods and stands, retrieving the amulet from within the hide and sliding the hide over for Virgil to take. "I accept this payment."

He takes the hide silently and puts it back in his pack, watching as she walks over to another table. She places the amulet in a pestle and takes various jars down from the shelf above. He watches as she sprinkles things over the amulet and soft motes of light begin to emerge as she murmurs under her breath. When the glow is strong enough to rival one of the candles, she takes the mortar and brings it down.

Three things happen at once.

First, he sees pieces of the amulet shatter, ricocheting hard enough to dig grooves into the walls of the house.

Second, there is an overwhelmingly loud boom.

Third, something crackles outside and the whole building shakes.

The Aspen Witch's head whips around, staring not at Virgil but over his shoulder in the direction of the door. The mortar falls from her hands as she narrows her eyes. Virgil holds his hands up slowly, indicating that he's not about to do shit right now, and he carefully turns to look over his shoulder.

The door is still intact, but something in his instincts prickles along the back of his neck. He looks back.

"I would like to know what that was," he says as quietly as he can.

"Yes," the Aspen Witch says as she begins to walk over, "so would I."

Great, magic stuff happening that the magic user doesn't know. This is just great.

She passes him in the chair and opens the door, leaving it wide enough for Virgil to peer over her shoulder. He stands, very slowly, and tries to angle himself so he can see what's going on.

Another magic user—he's assuming, after what just happened, but he thinks it's a pretty safe guess—stands in the center of the plot of grass in front of the house. A sigil is burned and seared into the ground, and he winces.

This isn't going to go well.

"You are trespassing," the Aspen Witch says with her words full of ice and fuck it, Virgil's ready to run, "you will cease to do so."

"You destroyed something of mine," the warlock says, extending a hand, "that gives me the right to see it reversed."

"You are the foolish one who sought a soul curse upon a child?"

"I sought what was due to me for such a slight," they spit back, "as well should you know that we aren't to be questioned. And how did you hear about this, is it from the thick-headed bull that leers over your shoulder?"

Virgil's just about to edge his way out of this conversation, thank you very much, when the Aspen Witch's hand, the one behind her back, twitches.

"You will not speak of him like that."

What's going on?

"Why not? He's an adventurer, isn't he?" The warlock laughs, high and cruel and Virgil needs to get a hold of himself before something bad happens. "They're all the same, big and dumb and grunting animals that only care about coin and stopping magic users."

The words strike a chord in his chest and he tries not to let the hurt show to obviously on his face.

"Is he your pet?" The warlock's smile turns into lascivious. "Did I interrupt you in the midst of something? You of all people should understand, then, is it any harm that I wanted to make one for myse—"

The warlock doesn't get to finish their sentence as the Aspen Witch's hand flies out and a mass of thorns erupts from the earth, ensnaring them in a tangled web of crawling plant life. Virgil's hand lands on the hilt of his sword and he just as quickly wrests it away. He's not looking to make himself a target in this after all.

"Touchy," the warlock laughs—take a fucking hint, just get out while you still can— "did he tell you about that cute little thing in the village, then? Has the great Aspen Witch gone soft?"

"You are welcome to test that assumption at your earliest convenience."

Don't fucking test it. Get the fuck out. Be smart for twenty consecutive seconds and fucking run, you idiot.

The warlock doesn't. Instead, they start on about some great speech and self-aggrandizing, but Virgil sees one of their hands make a somatic component and he doesn't think.

Truly, it might be him that's gone soft. There was a time where he would already be gone, or tucked away inside out of sight. There was certainly a time where if two magic users starting casting on each other, he would not be anywhere near it.

But, he can only be who he is, no more and no less. So when he sees the component taking shape, he moves on instinct to shove the Aspen Witch out of the way and get his gauntlet up to take the full force of the spell.

The world goes black.

***

    "—il! Virgil!"

Distantly, he registers the sound of a voice. The air crackles.

"Virgil! I would—oh, hells."

Something is dragging him. His head bumps something. He's hauled up and propped against something—a wall?

"Virgil," the voice says again, he knows that voice, "Virgil, open your eyes."

He does, only for blurry things to swim in front of him. He closes them again.

"Virgil." He definitely knows that voice. "Virgil, you must open your eyes."

He tries again, blinking a few times. The first thing to come into focus is the candle on the table closest to him. The second is the hand on his shoulder, laden with rings. Only when he traces the hand to the arm up to the head does he realize who was speaking to him.

"There," the Aspen Witch says in a rush, "there. That is better."

All at once, the memories of what happened flood his brain. The amulet. The warlock. The somatic component. The spell—

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. He interfered with a magic battle. He took a spell meant for the Aspen Witch. He touched the Aspen Witch without permission, he shoved her out of the way, he—he—

"Stay," he hears as two hands land on the sides of his neck, "do not go where I cannot find you, stay here."

He blinks. The Aspen Witch is closer now, her eyes scanning his face. He swallows.

"Don't speak," she says when he opens his mouth, reaching and pressing something warm into his hand, "drink first."

I would like to know what is in it, he tries to say, but all that leaves his throat is a ruined gasp.

"It is the same drink I offered you before," she says, as though she could hear him—can she?— "it is unchanged. It is to help you relax. Drink."

He's already risked too much to afford to say no. He raises the drink to his lips and takes the smallest of sips. The warm, sweet liquid is like a balm to his sore throat and he takes another sip right away. The Aspen Witch watches him closely, one hand still on his shoulder.

"I…" He swallows, testing his voice. "I am…grateful for the drink."

"I am relieved to hear it helped." She cups his hand around it. "I will provide more should you wish it."

"Are you—I would like to know if you're—" he coughs— "if you're alright."

Her expression twitches and he knows he doesn't fully suppress his flinch, not with her this close, not with her looking at him like that. "You took a spell that was meant for me. You saved me. You defended me. And you have been hurt because of it."

Her hand moves slowly from his shoulder to his cheek.

"I…do not know what to do," she confesses softly, "we did not agree on payment."

"I do not require payment," he says as quickly as his throat will let him, "I did not—you don't—this is not an act that would require payment. You do not—I would—fuck."

He isn't lucid enough to do this. He can't do the careful and wary conversation that he has to right now, he can't—he can't—

"I will not bind your tongue," the Aspen Witch says, her hand still gentle on his face, "you…if you wish, you can speak."

No, he can't. He can't because he'll fuck it up and then—then—

Her hand leaves his face. "I will call the Five."

"No!"

Everything freezes.

He just told the Aspen Witch what to do. He just told the Aspen Witch no. He just—he just—oh, fuck—

"I mean—I m-mean—"

"I am not angry," she says, "I…you do not need to be so afraid. I will not harm you. I would like to know why you do not want your sweet ones to come and help you."

"I—my what?"

"Your sweet ones. The ones who care for you and whom you care for." She tilts her head, hair falling to one shoulder. "You do not wish for them to come, and I am curious."

"They're a lot," he manages and she laughs.

"Yes, they are. But they know you. They would help you."

"They're—" he takes another drink and feels his tongue relax. "All of this has happened because another magic user intruded on your grounds."

"These would be invited, and they would be to help you. I could bear no ill tidings against them, not when you are in need of assistance I cannot provide." At his face, her smile saddens. "You are afraid, and I cannot help you, for you are afraid of me too."

…well, there's really not much he can say to that.

"I will call them," she says carefully, so carefully it's almost a question, and he nods. She nods as well and stands. "If you would like more drink, I would wish for you to say."

Less than a few moments later, after she's gone to a table out of sight, he hears Roman's voice.

"Aspen Witch," and oh, fuck, he never thought he'd be so relieved to hear one of them, "you have called us."

"Come," she calls, walking toward the door and opening it, "your sweet one is hurting."

He blinks and in an instant, Roman is there, cupping his face, looking all worried and he can't stop the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Roman sees them, because of course he does, and then he's cooing and leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

"Oh, baby," he whispers, "baby, what happened?"

"What happened," he hears Logan ask at the same time, "is he alright?"

"He came to me with a cursed object and asked for its removal. As I destroyed it, the warlock responsible appeared and attempted to wrest it back. He…jumped in the way of the spell."

He hears a flutter of fabric and looks up to see both Janus and Remus at the table where the amulet was destroyed. Remus curses and Janus hits the table and the noise bounces around his head—

"Shh, shh," Roman murmurs, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, "eyes on me, baby, stay with me. There you are, with your pretty eyes, shh, that's it, you're doing very well."

"What sort of spell," he hears Patton ask, "is it still there?"

"I banished it as soon as the warlock was dealt with. He—there should be no lingering effects. I do not understand."

"Mortal minds are fragile," Logan says softly, "and Virgil has been an adventurer for many years. He has encountered a great number of things, magical or otherwise, and it would be unreasonable to assume that they have not left their marks."

"Baby," Roman calls again, and Virgil looks back at him, "hey, there he is. The others are just trying to figure out what's going on, but you and I are gonna take care of you first, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now, I just want you to keep looking at me, okay? All I'm gonna do is touch you, okay? No magic, no casting, just touch." His fingers start to card through his hair and Virgil immediately feels his eyes get heavy. "You can close your eyes if you need to, just lean against me, I've got you, I'm right here."

The adrenaline from everything finally starts to wear off and Virgil feels his body decide to give in. He sags forward into Roman's waiting embrace, eyes falling shut as Roman starts to murmur sweet nonsense. After another moment, he hears Patton come over too and another hand scratches lightly between his shoulder blades. He nearly whimpers from sheer relief before he remembers that he's not at home, he's in the Aspen Witch's house, and the Aspen Witch herself is less than a few feet away.

He wrenches himself back awake, looking up at her, and to his surprise, she looks…upset? He glances at Logan, just to her left, and Logan simply smiles.

"Hello," he says softly, "are you alright?"

"I think so."

"Good, that's very good. You jumped in front of a spell and you didn't know what it was?"

"Wait," Roman says, "you did what?"

He sets his jaw and looks at the ground. Patton shoots a look at the two of them. "Don't scold him, can't you see he's already upset? Don't make it worse."

"Sorry, baby," Roman murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm not mad."

"Neither am I," Logan says, "but I am…confused."

"You shouldn't be," Janus says, finally moving away from the table, "he's Virgil, of course he jumped in front of the spell."

Well, that's not helping anything either. He feels his face start to burn and tries to pull away from Roman, but he's held fast. He swallows the instinctive wave of panic and buries his face in the crook of his shoulder.

"Aww, are you embarrassed?"

"You are making things worse," the Aspen Witch says, a bite to her tone, "I called you to help, not to hurt."

"We won't tease," Roman promises, both to her and to Virgil, "we're finished, you have my word."

Did…did the Aspen Witch just defend him? What in the fuck is going on? He risks a look at her and their eyes meet and something…something feels wrong.

"Virgil?" Patton's hand stills on his back. "What's wrong?"

"I am…also confused."

"What about?"

There's no polite way to say this and no, he isn't going to risk it right now, so he just looks from Patton back to the Aspen Witch and hopes that somehow, they'll get the gist of what he's trying to say. Sure enough, it takes Patton one look between the two of them before he's smiling.

"Oh, she's just jealous."

"What?"

"I would ask that you don't speak for me," she hisses but she sounds far more like Elise than the Aspen Witch.

"Tell him yourself, then."

The Aspen Witch scowls at him for a moment before she sighs and looks at Virgil. Her mouth twists around as if searching for the words before she sighs again.

"Your etiquette for magic users is exemplary," she says, "and you…for all that we have interacted, I do not know much about you."

She gestures around.

"The Five have your trust, they have your words. They…have not known you for as long as I have."

Oh.

Oh.

"I can't help you," she continues, "I…am upset by this. I would—I—"

She closes her eyes for a long moment and then opens them once more.

"I want to help you, Virgil, I want you to let me help you."

He likes to think that on a normal day, perhaps he wouldn't be doing something like this, but this isn't a normal day, and he's already broken that glass. So he reaches out a hand to the Aspen Witch, and when she takes it, he uses it to pull her a little bit closer.

She comes and crouches next to Patton, holding his hand as though it were the most precious thing in the house. He's not quite sure what to do with that.

"Are you alright?"

She nods. "I am alright."

"I liked the drink."

"I am glad. I will offer it to you again."

"I will accept it."

"Listen to you both," Remus snorts, and Janus whacks him upside the head. "Ow!"

"Ignore him, you're both doing wonderfully. Carry on, pretend we aren't here."

And you know, that's a bit too much for him to deal with right now. So when he feels the tug in his gut to start feeling things again, he closes his eyes and goes limp in Roman's hold, letting tears spill from his face. The Aspen Witch jerks in alarm but Patton must be saying something to the effect of this is normal, he's just overwhelmed, you gotta let him be a crybaby sometimes, but he's not paying attention because he's too goddamn tired.

Distantly, he registers Roman stroking his hair again, Patton's hand on his back, and the Aspen Witch beginning to squeeze his hand every few seconds, but with the apprehension of someone who's never pet a horse before trying to interact in a way that won't upset either of them. It's quite a surreal experience, really, and he thinks he can be forgiven for not wholly understanding what's going on.

A lot's happened today, and it's late. He should be asleep.

"He is hurt," the Aspen Witch says and everybody wakes up a bit at that, "let me help him."

"What's wrong?"

"The thorns have hurt him on his way through. I have a salve for them."

"Virgil," Logan asks, "is that okay? Can we help?"

He mumbles a vague agreement and he hears Janus laugh. "Poor thing's all sleepy. He needs a rest, is there somewhere we can tend to him?"

"Upstairs, there is a bed."

"Can I carry you, baby?" Virgil nods and Roman lifts him up almost effortlessly. "There, come on, upstairs, now."

As they pass the table, he forces himself to rouse and look to find the Aspen Witch. "The amulet—the child—"

"The child will suffer no more, the curse is gone." She puts her hand on his shoulder. "Now rest. Mortals are fragile, you must allow yourself to be cared for."

"He's not very good at that," Remus stage-whispers and Janus hits him again. "Hey! Stop it!"

"Stop being an insufferable ham sack, then."

"He's right," Virgil mumbles as he's put down on a bed, "I'm really not great at it."

"You're getting better," Logan says, sitting near his head, "now, you can try and sleep. No harm will come to you, you're safe here."

He looks over at the Aspen Witch, holding a tin of salve and a soft towel. She smiles and nods. "No harm will ever come to you under my roof, Virgil. I will see to it that you are safe."

"I…am grateful for that."

"As am I."

Not how he saw the quest ending, of course, but indeed, far from the worst quest in the world.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

You punish Bramblestar just enough. Enough to make up for all the times canon and its authors kissed his ass, putting an abusive tyrant on a pedestal over all other characters. It’s both satisfying, compelling, and kinda funny; a fitting end for someone so blatantly yet subtly abusive and corrupt, but somehow also petty and childish in a way no other character is. My favourite staple of Warriors rewrites to show how far their stance is from canon is giving Bramble actual, at times genuinely REALISTIC consequences for his actions. It’s a deserved spit in the face to the idea of hyping up some toxic fragile asshole as a noble hero, like the cognitive dissonance that persists in the books and the authors seem to genuinely believe. Did I mention the lightning is SO funny, it’s like a fire scene in terms of iconicness to me. Deserved. Bramble stans stay loosing, y’all can’t even form an argument.

In terms of the Holy Firestar Lightning Attack, I wanted something quick, "divine looking", and just strange enough that it crossed the border of possible magic. Something I feel fits into Warriors.

I'll never "over punish" a character. Thistleclaw gets a fitting end, ripped open like a bag of doritos by Snowfur, realizing his ideals have actually pushed her away, and that after all this time, Snowfur changed. He dies in complete shock and betrayal.

Tom The Wifebeater gets eaten by One Eye, mind you it was in front of poor Sparrow Fur, but afterwards One Eye uses his dark Sun God magic and consumes Tom's soul as well.

Clear Sky is pancaked on the side of the road by two Twolegs, his body left in the small ditch (respectfully, as they are humans who felt terrible for hitting a kitty and had no way of burying him) before they look out over what is going to be Skyclan's land, realizing how nice it would be to expand Chelford into that area.... Thus setting in motion the events of Skyfall. His spirit is used by Bright Storm to BECOME the Dark Forest barrier.

Gray Wing dies alone and bitter when he pushes away all forms of help, becoming a hateful spirit that perpetuates a curse that's timer has finally hit 0 on, resulting in the death/displacement of all 5 Clan leaders, starting with Riverclan. He also manifests himself through the unlucky offspring of 2 cursed bloodlines (Tigerkin and Applekin) Curlfeather. I'm not giving away his defeat yet though!

For Brambleclaw, I wanted that classic Warrior cats feel, and I think getting smote by holy lightning similar to Mudclaw fits that.

A lightning bolt during plain daylight is already considered a freak event like that has only ever happened once before in Clan history, to the magic user Ṣ̶̫̅n̴̹̯̾̒o̸̜͛ẁ̷͍t̵̰̎ủ̴̲͝f̷̙̳̆t̸̼͐ who got magic BANNED because he used it to ruin Sunningrocks and put generations of bloody wars and pointless fighting in place.

The only cat I've ever gone "too far" with is in an in-universe example of a cat who was punished for her mother's crimes, as her mother had murdered an apprentice. When her apprentice went missing later, she was blamed, and exiled. She also didn't go to Starclan, or the Dark Forest, but rather, somewhere much, much more dangerous.

[juliandev0rak]

Lapine

Dinner at the Lonan manor doesn’t go to plan.

a side fic to the Hallmark Yule Series by @leila-of-ravens

characters: Lysander Lonan, Leila Lonan, Leith Lonan, Lachlan Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens), Ella Sagen (of @leechobsessed), Beatrice Viano, Bramble the rabbit, also sort of Julian Devorak

words: ~1800

notes: takes place somewhere between chapters 4 and 5 of the Hallmark Yule Series

Beatrice has been running on nothing but excitement and lots of tea for the last few days.

She’s been busy being introduced to the city of Umbra and to her home for the duration of her stay. It’s hard to rest when there's so much she wants to see and do while she’s here, there are museums and an opera house and most exciting of all- a university. She wants to see it all, wants to soak up every moment of being in this place.

She finally has a break in her busy itinerary, an hour to herself before dinner which is usually served at eight. She finds it difficult to stay awake now that she’s not on the move, and she decides a nap is in order. But as Beatrice lays down on the still unfamiliar bed, she finds it impossible to fall asleep. 

As she tosses and turns fitfully, her mind wanders back to the house tour Lysander had given her after she’d arrived a few days ago. Beatrice had probably looked like a fool, all wide-eyed and curious about everything. She’s never been in a house this grand, except for the palace in Vesuvia which is well, a palace.

The Lonan manor is large, beautiful, and filled with all sorts of wonderful things. She’d noticed a grand piano on her way in, and books, books everywhere. If someone had asked her to describe her dream house, this would be it. 

Even the guest rooms are nice, tasteful if a bit impersonal. And Lysander is just down the hall, the second to last room he’d told her. She feels slightly strange at the thought of him sleeping so close to her, just a few walls away. Beatrice can hardly believe she's here, seeing where he lives and works and spends his free time. She's in his home.

Trying to sleep seems useless, so she gives up on her nap and decides to read. But she’s restless and even her novel can’t hold her attention for long. Hiding away in her room has less of an appeal when she has so many more interesting things, and people, she could be seeing. 

When it’s time to get dressed for dinner Beatrice stands in front of the wardrobe for far too long, trying to decide on an appropriate outfit. She wants to be casual, this is simply a family dinner after all, but she wants to look nice too. Beatrice finally picks a dress and tries to fix her hair, which is beyond repair after a day spent out in the cold and wind. She pins it back from her face and fluffs her bangs- good enough.

This is just a dinner with Leila’s family, but her family happens to include Lysander. If she’s making a little more effort on his behalf, who could blame her?

Beatrice shakes off her sudden bout of nerves and checks the clock on the wall, it’s five minute till eight so she heads downstairs to the dining room. Bramble hops along beside her, sticking close to her side. Her familiar has been uneasy since their arrival, on guard around the other animals who inhabit the house. There’s a dog, a fox, and multiple birds of prey- it’s not the safest environment for a rabbit, and Beatrice has been careful to keep an eye on her.

When she enters the dining room she finds nearly everyone seated already. She takes the seat between Leila and Ella, and notices that the only person missing is Lysander and the only vacant seat is directly across from her. She wonders if someone had arranged the seating like that on purpose. 

Bramble settles into her lap and Beatrice reaches for the full wine glass in front of her, taking a polite sip as she listens to the others talking around the table. She’s a bit overwhelmed by all of the chatter and is content to observe rather than interact for the moment. She notices that Ella is avoiding any and all eye contact with Lachlan, who is similarly avoiding her by conversing with Julian. Beatrice looks away, unsure how to offer Ella support in this moment, and watches as Leila jokes with Leith.

Lysander enters the room then and her eyes immediately go to him. 

She stares at him, dressed in his usual white shirt and blazer combination, and he stands in the doorway looking back at her. The eye contact stretches on, neither looking away until Leila laughs loudly at something Julian says and breaks the moment. Lysander clears his throat and crosses the room to take his seat across from her. He nods at her in greeting and she dips her head in response, wondering if she should say something.

Bramble stirs in her lap and Beatrice suddenly wonders whether it’s rude to have a rabbit at the dinner table. She’s pretty certain that the laws of etiquette don’t dictate what to do with your familiar, but she isn’t about to let Bramble roam the house alone.

“Dinner is served!” Leith announces from the head of the table. They’re served some sort of stew, the meals in Umbra are always warm and hearty. It smells good but Beatrice decides to try the bread first. She’s learned over the course of her stay that Leith is a very competent cook and usually makes every meal himself. As she spreads butter on a piece of warm bread she notices Leila turned to face her.

“So, Beatrice, did you manage to nap?” Leila asks, and her friendly smile puts Beatrice at ease as it always does.

“No, I think I’m quite immune to sleep at the moment.” Beatrice takes a bite of the bread, savoring the soft texture. “I read instead.”

Leila laughs, “I’m not surprised to hear that. Is the book any good?” 

“Yes! Lyse recommended it to me. It’s got so many characters that it was a bit difficult to keep up at first, but I’m enjoying it.” Beatrice turns to look at Lysander across the table and finds him already looking at her. She smiles briefly and quickly averts her eyes, staring down at her plate instead.

“Lyse, is it?” Leila laughs at the casual slip of the nickname and Beatrice blushes, wishing her hair was down to hide behind. She picks up her spoon to cover for her embarrassment and is just about to eat a spoonful of the flavorful looking stew when Ella’s voice rings out over the other’s conversations.

“Beatrice, don't eat the stew!” 

“I beg your pardon?” Beatrice lets the spoon fall back into the bowl, careful not to make a splash. Her eyebrows draw together in confusion as she stares into the bowl, it looks like a perfectly normal meat stew to her.

“It’s rabbit.” 

“Oh.” She stares down into the bowl, unsure how to react. She doesn’t eat rabbit, how could she when she’s got an adorable one sleeping in her lap right now. Beatrice looks up from her bowl to find everyone’s eyes trained on her and she blushes again, embarrassed to be making a fuss.

“Leith! How could you serve us rabbit with Beatrice here?” Leila asks, shaking her head in disapproval.

Leith looks horrified as he stands up from his chair to make his way over to Beatrice. He bends down towards her as he talks. “I’m so sorry Beatrice, I forgot entirely! Rabbit is a very common meat here and… well that probably doesn’t make this apology any better. I am sincerely sorry for having served you this meal, can I get you something else to eat?” 

“Oh it’s fine, please don’t worry about it!” Beatrice is trying to sound reassuring but her voice raises to a slightly squeaky pitch as it does when she’s uncomfortable.

The chunks of meat in the stew seem to stare at her accusingly and she tears her eyes away. She looks up to see Lysander still watching her with a peculiar expression on his face, he looks a bit upset but it’s always so hard to tell what he’s thinking. Beatrice hides her discomfort by taking another sip of wine.

“It most certainly isn’t fine, I’ve greatly offended you and your familiar.” Leith’s voice pulls her attention back to him. “Please accept my most sincere apologies, I’m sorry to have caused you any discomfort.” 

Beatrice frowns as he talks, but she’d made up her mind to forgive him before he’d even apologized. It was a simple mistake after all, and one he clearly hadn’t intended. “Your apology is accepted of course, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t serve rabbit again while I’m here.”

Leith puts his hand over his heart as if he’s swearing an oath, “Of course, it won’t happen again I promise. Now would you like something different? I could make a vegetable soup if you’d like?” 

“Oh, that’s alright! I’m not very hungry, I think I’ll stick to bread, thank you.” Beatrice reaches for her piece of bread and takes a bite for show. Any appetite she’d had has pretty much disappeared. 

Leith doesn’t return to his seat, still intent on making amends. “I’ll have to make something special for dessert sometime to make it up to you, any requests?” Beatrice drops her piece of bread and nearly knocks over her glass in the process. She hates being an imposition, especially as a guest. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but you don’t have to go to any trouble on my behalf!”

“Beatrice loves cake,” Leila interjects before Beatrice can demure too much.

“Well perhaps I’ll make a carrot cake then, to apologize to both of you.” Leith smiles warmly at her, and Beatrice returns the gesture.

“May I help you bake it?” She asks, surprising herself with her boldness. Beatrice has only just met the oldest Lonan brother, but she can already tell that he is a very kind person. She’ll willingly accept his apologies, and his baked goods.

“Sure, if you’d like. I’d be happy for the help.” Leith gives Bramble a scratch between her ears and then returns to his seat. 

The dinner continues on, though everyone seems to enjoy their meal a bit less than before. She notices that Lysander hasn’t touched his stew at all.

As the rest of the group continues to talk and drink, Beatrice sits back to observe again. She had worried that she’d feel out of place here- in a fancy house, in a city so far away from home. But the Lonans have tried their best to make her feel welcomed and included, and she appreciates the effort.

Though she’s still trying to get her bearings in this unfamiliar place, Beatrice realizes that she wants this. She wants to believe she could belong here, in a fancy house with a family like this. With this family. As long as they don’t serve rabbit again.

[yandere-wishes]

Sacrificial Bride Part 1//Twisted Wonderland X Reader//

Alright well, that's enough writing for the next few days if you excuse me I'm going to go sulk in my corner. Huge thanks to @softyswork​ who’s story about reader being sent to Malleus as a bride inspired this series. Also, I REALLY want to make some sort of modern-day Frankenstein it would be an amazing scientific breakthrough! You'll understand what I mean when you get to Idia's part lol.

💚🐉Malleus Draconia🐉💚

It was a common rumor around your village that ever since the death of the sleeping princess your settlement had never been the same. For you, this was nothing more than a fairy tale meant to spark a scrap of hope in the hearts of naive, suffering children who were still too young to fully understand why their fathers never returned from their hunting trips or why there was barely anything to eat for dinner.

Every time you heard this dreaded tail, you couldn't help but scuff. For as long as you've been alive your town had been in utter disarray and chaos. Monsters from the woods -what the town's folk called "fae"- attacked the village daily. Stealing jewels, destroying homes, sometimes even swallowing children or sucking the blood of the dormant. There was also the looming threat of the green flames. Blazing emerald fires who couldn't be subdued by neither water nor dirt. They advanced further into the territory of the village by each full cycle of the moon. Leaving behind in their trail, thick impenetrable thorn bushes that had taken the homes of many and the lives of many more.

Awful, dreaded creatures those fae where...

But alas you did not yet know just how cruel they could be.

On another periodic morning, your younger sister jolted you awake, dragging you to the town center before you got a chance to change out of your nightgown.

In the center of the square was short man..no...not a man you noticed his pointed drawn back ears. "Fae" you gasped under your breath. But unlike the monstrous fairies that ravished your town taking on the appearances of trees and woodland creatures, this one resembled a boy of 15. The young-looking male began to speak, his voice was clear like crystals, and to his tone bats began to flock overhead. "Truly dreadful, these fairy folk are" your sister uttered in terror as she buried her face in your side.

"Heed my words, mortals. The young prince of thorns has decided to take a wife. By the setting of the sun a full day from today, two of his guards will come to collect your offering. If you chose to disregard this Wa-- friendly advice, then what is left of your town will be decimated before the end of summer. Your children eaten, wives imprisoned and husbands killed!" An unsteady hush rippled through the crowd. Some hothead youths began to throw rocks at the stranger only for the bats hovering above to shield him from the stones. Mothers hugged their children close begging for the man to "just leave".

"If" the man's voice rose once more like a cadaver emerging from the grave " my young master is pleased with your sacrifice than we shall reward you! Bring good health and prosperity to your otherwise sick and decaying village." His last words melted into the open air before he vanished in a cloud of squealing bats and ebony smoke.

The town's folk erupted in screeches, cursing at their deities while simultaneously praying to any god that would listen.

"Help us!"

"save us!"

"Don't let them take our daughters!"

The screams escalated to the point where you had to cover your ears with your shaking hands. Your eyes scanning each of the villager's faces, a pathetic lot they were, you thought to yourself. Scared by the words of a young magician. In a flash, your heart sped up, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you marched to the center square where the boy had been mere moments ago. You stood tall, cupping your hands over your mouth.

"Listen well you disquiet, mindless lot!"

All eyes turned to you. Some holding looks of confusion, whilst others harbored glances of hope.

"This fae is lying! No way will they be satisfied with just one measly girl! No matter who we sacrifice to their so-called master, they'll still come after us! They'll still destroy our village! Let's not be stupid! Let's find a way to barricade the city instead of arguing over who to sacrifice!"

For an endless second all was quite. It was like the world had stopped turning, frozen in its place in the universe trying to decide what to do.

Then it happened,

Chants reverberating through the air

"Sacrifice her!" "Sacrifice her!"

"Sacrifice her!" "Sacrifice her!"

"Sacrifice her!"........................

WHAT!

NO!

DID THOSE MORONS NOT LISTEN TO A SINGLE WORD YOU SAID!

The crowd started advancing. Eyes locked on your figure like those of a leopard on its prey.  Their mouths were all a gap, chanting the words "sacrifice" over and over again. From behind the mob, your eyes locked with your sister's. You could practically feel the despair rolling off her figure as she covered her eyes and fell to her knees, her whole body rattling with a sort of distant rage...

A full day....it's funny how time passes all so quickly no matter what you do. Day in and day out nothing changes, pain is still pain, laughter is still laughter. Time just keeps slipping from between your fingers like sand. Even in the direst of times, Time doesn't show mercy, never once does it cease. It just ticks and ticks away until the inevitable moment arrives.

Your sister and aunt -the only two relatives that you hadn't lost to the fae- were in charge of preparing you for your so-called "wedding". Since your town was poor and isolated from other civilizations there wasn't much they could do to enhance your beauty. Smashing some berries to add color to your lips -and fervently ravishing the remains- using some coal to add shade behind your eyes, as well as around them and patting the dust of rose petals against your cheek. By the end, you hardly recognized the person staring back from the mirror. Sure the adjustments were minor but this was the most stunning you'd ever looked. "Is it almost time" your voice quivered, failing to hide the tears that began to fall. "Please don't cry sweetheart, we don't have any more coal to fix your eyes with." Your aunt's tone was monotone almost bordering on heartless. You couldn't really blame her, she'd gotten so used to having her loved ones plucked from her. One more would be no different. Sniffing as to keep the tears at bay, you nodded slowly. Your glossy eyes locked with your aunt's you could see the same fear and exhaustion in her fading irises as the night her son was slaughtered in front of her.

"Just a few reminders" your sister's voice was cheery like the chirping of early morning birds, but her face mimicked that of a kicked puppies. "Remember when the prince...fae...when he..you know...Oh, Lord please tell me he won't" She was shivering again. Her face twisted in horror. You knew what she was thinking, she was imagining you laying in the bed of that...that thing. She was imagining him entering you, kissing up and down your neck. Leaving patches of red skin over smooth flesh, bruises wherever his clawed hands touched you. She was imagining what was no doubt going to happen to you tonight...

the mere thought made bile rise to your throat.

"Darling, just keep saying how much you like it. It's all any man wants to hear." again your aunt or rather her lackluster form of speech was the rope binding you to your sanity.

"Do fae even have...those parts like humans do?" Your sister asked, only to be met with a glare from your aunt. "Stop wasting time on pointless questions! Hurry up and see if this dress fits your sister."

Sure enough, as you were escorted to where the thorn bushes met the village, two men, one standing tall and proud, whilst the other looked like he may topple over from fatigue at any moment, were awaiting you.

The green-haired man let out a haughty laugh, his blazing eyes scanning you from head to toe. "She's hardly worthy of the young master!" His dreadful voice was like the booming of thunder clouds. "It doesn't matter, Malleus-sama needs to be wedded off quickly so he can produce an heir. None of us are getting any younger by standing here debating the "worthiness" of yet another measly human" the silver-haired male's voice was the exact opposite of his comrades, his voice was soft and breathy like light drizzle after a storm.

The green-haired man looked ready to argue once more, but before he could open his mouth, his violet-eyed counterpart waved something thin in the air casing a pathway to open between the hedges.

It was dark between the brambles. The air was thick, stuffy, every breath was a struggle. Although it seemed neither of your traveling buddies minded the discomfort. Did fae even need air to survive?

After what could have been no less than a couple of hours, your small group made it to a large clearing where only a few rays of the sun leaked through the thick smoky clouds. Miss matched flowers in shades of grey littered the rocky barren ground. Maybe at some point, this place had been beautiful, stunning even...but whenever that time had been it was long gone now.

As you ventured farther into this monochrome land of loss and sorrow, the three of you approached a castle. It towered over everything else, grim in all its glory. "Young master Malleus is awaiting you inside..." The green-haired male's voice trailed off as his speech was interrupted by the deafening creaking of the doors parting open. Without another word the two men dragged you inside, pushing you through spiral staircases and long bleak passageways. Until you arrived at a lavish-looking room, a large throne sitting smugly in the front of the room. It's black, spiked appearance was enough to make you gasp in horror, you didn't desire to meet the monster that perched atop that throne. "Don't be so afraid." the silver-haired man whispers, his head is almost resting on your shoulder. "Malleus-sama is kind and fair. He is sure to love you better than any human ever could." you catch a hint of nostalgic sadness in the last part, like a long lost part of the lavender eyed boy's past caught in his throat like a glass shard.

Trumpets roared through the room blaring as two men, one short and fickle whilst the other tall and brooding walked in. "Malleus~" The short one sang as they both stopped in front of you "Say hello to your lovely new wife." the tall man's emerald eyes landed on you. His lips parted in a threatening smile...or maybe it was a smirk? He didn't seem to be too good at displaying emotions. Slowly he descended onto one knee, slipping your hand into his and kissing the top lightly.

"Hello, my darling little wife."

🧡🦁Leona Kingscholar🦁🧡

The After Glow Savanna was an absolute hell to be born in if your family did not belong to some royal inner court class. The endless days spent scavenging for scraps of food, walking miles for a simple glass of water, had become a sort of broken, habit beaten into the residents of the smaller less fortunate districts.

Eventually, you too would follow in your parent's footsteps, working odd jobs around the neighborhood, getting married to some guy, having kids, and giving them the same dreary life your parents had given you. It was simple -miserable- but simple never the less. In an odd way, you found a sort of comfort in how everything was set in stone. How you'd suffer through a few years then die of starvation or some disease in your husband's arms.

But little did you know that the only comfort you had in your horrible life was also going to be swiped from you.

When Ruggie, a dear childhood friend of yours returned from his prestigious school for the winter holidays you were overjoyed! A week with your best friend was the greatest gift you could ask for! But that excitement soon dulled when he announced to the neighborhood what the royal family had planned for the underdeveloped parts of the country.

"They want to demolish the homes and build parks and shopping strips instead"

The people of your tiny community gasped, shock and hopelessness mixing over their dirty, worn out faces. Some older siblings shielded the ears of their younger kin, some mothers hugged their children closer to their chests. "They can't do that to us!" Your voice was like a beacon through the thick fog of confusion. "We can't let them!" You turned to Ruggie who was seated next to you. His blue-grey eyes held a foreign sadness that you had never seen before. He was hiding something...something so grim that he was forced to shove it into the depths of his soul, locking it up and throwing away the key.

"There is a way..."

For such a hopeful phrase, Ruggie's tone harbored no happiness. You could practically see the tears that were clouding his beautiful eyes. "Tell us" someone from the crowd demanded, others soon joined in with their own chants. For a long moment, Ruggie said nothing, the shouts of despair falling on deaf ears.

"If.." his voice trailed off, as his gaze grew distant.

"If someone from the neighborhood were to marry the second prince..." Gasps of fear filled the air. Even the mere mention of the second prince's name was enough to send chills down people's spins.

"Then they could, as the newly appointed  princess, convince the royal family and counsel to scrap this monstrous plan." No one uttered another word. No one was brave enough to face the man who could destroy anything with a simple touch.

But the sake of these people, people who had nothing but their families and a muddy roof over their head was on the line.

Do something, a tiny voice in your head screamed, save them, it begged. You shifted your head so to get a glimpse of Ruggie's face. "I-" you began but were cut off before you could even finish.

"I know you would say that."

His voice broke over every syllable. He knew you would give up your depressing nostalgia for the sake of others. Life in the castle would be hell, being married to that monster would be something worst than the dwellings of the devil.

It was a speedy arrangement, so fast that your head didn't have time to process anything. In the end, it almost seemed like the royal family was desperate to find a spouse for their youngest son.

Just marry him! Was what all the absentee looks told you.

Early that morning, Ruggie had dragged you to the castle, all tears, and grumbles. The palace guards let him in with no restrain, it almost felt like he'd been here before. Your childhood friend led you to a room in the further corner of a grand hall. He told you to stay outside as he went in to chat with the prince. Moments later the newly appointed king and queen came to usher you into a privet room and discuss the marriage. Not an hour later your fate had been sealed, you'd be married off to prince Leona tomorrow at sunrise. For "historical purposes" your neighborhood would be preserved and even taken care of. 'Historical purposes' you thought 'more the like a bribe to get you to marry this beast.

that night you were dragged this way and that by the queen herself. Taken for fitting after fitting. Trying on hundreds of wedding dresses who's prices could feed every mouth in your neighborhood for months! "Leona isn't very classy" the queen sighed in disappear. "He would probably prefer you to be in something laxer, shorter if you will" the tailors ran around trying to find something that would fit her vague description, as you stood facing her royal highness.

"What's he like?" you asked soullessly

"Spoiled, although not as heartless as the rumors make him out to be"  She didn't seem to like giving straight answers

"will he harm me? It was an honest question, although the lack of thinking it took before the queen replied made your heart skipped a beat.

"Quite possibly, he is rather...aggressive at times. Just don't let his degrading comments get to you. He's not used to being around people"

The more she described the second-born prince the more it seemed she was actually speaking of some feral dog that had raised in isolation.

Oh, how doomed you were.

The wedding was even faster than the preparation. Ruggie walked you down an aisle of flowers, walking over the petals, killing them once and for all, ending their pointless existence. You stood by your self at the altar awaiting your husband to be. It took a rather long time before the doors were flung open and the king waltzed in carrying his struggling brother under his arm. "No need to worry, Leona was taking one of his catnaps again and forgot about today's events" the king announced, in what could only be described as a mock lively tone.

How on earth does someone forget their wedding! This prince really wasn't a typical human...heck you where beginning to think that the feral dog would have made a better groom.

snap, snap

A few magazine pictures here, a couple of family photos there...

Everything was so bright and loud...

right before you and the second prince were thrown into the darkness of his room. In the obscurity, you could ONLY make out the glowing of his emerald eyes.

You could feel him shifting closer, all the while you took shaking steps backwards. " I thought wives were supposed to leap into the arms of their husbands? Tell me little herbivore do I frighten you?"

Your voice refused to leave your throat, too afraid to come into contact with the prince.

"What's the matter? Did they not teach you to speak in on the streets you grew up on. Poor thing~"

Leona pounced across the room, tackling you to the ground. His sheer weight pinning you to the carpeted floor. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the silence.

How careless these royal were was the only intelligible thought that came to your frenzied brain.

Goosebumps littered your skin as Leona's claws cut into your flesh. His lips kissed over each wound as he made his way up to your cherry painted lips.

"You look so cute, you know, like a little mouse about to get devoured by a starving lion."

💙💀Idia Shroud💀💙

The rhythm of his heartbeat was slowing down, it felt like the patter of ants atop one's flesh. He was dying...this was an irreversible fact. The love of your life was dying and there was nothing you could do but sit idly by and watch the life fade from his pale bruised face. Your thumb ran over his knuckles in robotic-like strokes. Hours had passed, you'd shed all the tears that you had. He was gone...that was all there was to it.

For a hopeless second, you flicked your eyes to the open window on the opposite side of the room, There was never any sun on the island of lamination but regardless today seemed brighter than any other day. "How cruel" you muttered in a deadpan voice. Outside something...or better yet...someone was running through the fields, chasing what looked like a butterfly. The young child had blazing blue hair a symbol of the Shroud family...

THE SHROUD FAMILY

Your breath hitch in your lungs, your heart began to pound furiously in your chest. They could help you though hopefully. There family where distant relatives of the god of the underworld and a few years back -to your regulation- the hair of the family had been able to semi revive his younger brother. If he was able to bring back a child from the dead than surly they would have no problem returning your lost lover to you.

Your eyes waltz over his dormant face one last time before you got up and ran for the door.

"This is all for you my love, all of this is for you"

The Shroud family mansion was located at the top of one of the many hills that plagued the island. It was a dark grisly building that resembled the castles from old tales, where monsters laid dormant. Rumors spiraled around the rural civilization, some saying that the family was cursed by the lord of the dead, whilst others claimed that the shroud family were the long lost descendants of the lord of the dead and the maiden of spring. The curse had been placed on the family by the temperamental mother of the maiden of spring, anathematizing the family to be plagued with death and disappear for the rest of eternity.

Regardless of what their misfortune was, they may very well be the last people on earth who could help you. Surely if the family had brought back their youngest than they could bring back your lover!

You knuckles tapped furiously at the old metal doors of the frightful residence. The rhythm was unkept, unsteady, it's mere sound radiated urgency.

"PLEASE HELP ME"

Your throat burned as you screamed out those three lousy words.

After what felt like forever, the doors cracked open, revealing a tall man obscured by the shadows. Any light that touched the interior of the house seemed to die acidity, making peering inside nearly impossible.

"What business do you have?" The man's voice was croaky as if his vocal cords hadn't been used in years. For a split second, you closed your eyes, trying to organize the thoughts in your head. "My...my...h-hus...lover, my lover is d-dead...o-or rather he is dying....probably fully gone by now..." despite the mess of stuttered letters and mixed-up words, the man seemed to understand your situation. With a long sigh, he pulled you into the somber house.

Fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist he pulled you around, guiding you through the darkness until you reached a large room lit only by the mysterious blue flames of the fireplace. Sitting by the warmth was a...well it was hard to tell, her face -despite it displaying every bone of her visage coupled with dark sunken eyes- resembled that of a woman no older than thirty, whilst her body resembled a decaying skeleton. What was she? Was she the lady of the residence or yet another monster this bizarre family had created.

"My, love" the man began to speak, his voice was somehow cleared like it had been given some sort of jolt. "This young lady needs Idia's help, she wants to bring back her lover from the dead."

The woman said nothing, her eyes staring ahead, burning a hole in the wall right by your head. "What will she give him in return" despite her "deteriorating" appearance her voice was like soft silk on one's skin, melodious and fair.

"Why herself!" This time the man's voice boomed across the house, echoing through the hallways and falling on you like a cave in.

"M-myself! What the hell do you mean!"

"It sounds fair" the women agreed "my darling sweet son saves your lover and instead you agree to marry him! Oh how wonderful, just like in the tales about grandfather Hades!"

She seemed too thrilled about this, her snow-white eyes gleaming with a sort of delusional passion.

"Idia! Idia honey! Come down your father has a surprise for you!"

The hollow sound of footsteps soon filled the quiet air. Followed by another soft blue glow.

Was there no normal fire in this house?

But it wasn't fire, not exactly. When your eyes fell on the heir of the Shroud family, you suddenly felt a nervous wave crash over you. There was something -even more- unsettling about him, he looked nothing like his charming little brother. For one his hair wasn't...well hair! Sure you'd expect a small batch of blazes heading upwards but this was something else entirely! It resembled a large bonfire that floated towards the ground, rouge sparks falling in every which direction, sizzling and then dying abandoned on the floor. And his eyes, Miosis like pupils floating around in a pool of lemon yellow.

But all the physical appearances aside, the most unsettling thing about him was the gloomy aura that leaked off him, suffocating anyone in his presence. Nervously you took a step back only to be yanked forward again by the taller man.

"Idia baby!" His mother ran over to him, cradling his hands in hers "This cute young lady has agreed to marry you if you can save her lover, just like in that old tale about your great grandfather! Oh, my this is all so romantic!"

It seemed like no one here understood that you were in love WITH SOMEONE ELSE! Or maybe they did and chose to disregard it. Instead, using the bits they retained as kindling to feed their raw excitement. You shifted your gaze back to Idia's face. To your utter terror, he was...smiling? Could that...look...even be called a smile? It seemed more like the way a shark would bare its teeth at a defenseless seal! Oh, gods please don't let this...thing...be your future husband!

"It should be easy enough," His golden gaze landed on you "W-when did...did he die?" it took a few moments before you register that he was talking to you or technically asking you something. "A...A  few..." your voice cracked, tears streaming down your eyes.

"So recently...okay that shouldn't be a p-problem." He turned on his heels and walked back into the seclusion of the halls "I'll grab some things and meet you by the front door"

A few things ended up being a pile of wires and bolts. Something that looked like a light blue ball of energy and so many tools whose names seemed to go over your head.

Idia was kneeling by your lover's bed, pulling apart the skin and fusing metal in its place. Your darling's chest was cracked open, his ribs poking out towards the sky as if praying for life from the lord of the sky. Every once in awhile Idia would pull out a long tool with smoke floating from the top. He'd lay it on an organ watching as the tissue fiber sizzled away under the heat. He would then tie wires and small circular batteries inside.

"His heart stopped working, I'm guessing from some sort of shock"

You just hummed in response, too caught up in how the man you loved was beginning to look like a modern-day Frankenstein rather than a human being.

The sun had long since faded when Idia finally got up from his spot. His bones cracked and screeched at the sudden change, his muscles giving out halfway leaving him to rely on the wall for support to stand. Your lover's chest had been sewn back and covered with a silver piece of metal. His neck was wrapped in the same sort of alloy. His left arm had been cut open so Idia could shove the energy ball inside than cover it, leaving a small enough gap for wires that stretched from his chest to weld into the ball.

"He just needs a boost" Idia murmured that shark-like grin overtaking his pale face once more. From the side table, he plucked up to jumper cables and clipped them on either side of his neck. Jolts and crackles filled the room and sparks flew in every direction, the once-dead body shuffled around, arms and legs moving at random. You shrieked and duck behind Idia.

Only then did he pry the clips from his neck.

Nothing

for too long nothing happened... then there was a slight wiggle in one finger, then another. His eyes slowly began to prey open, looking over his surroundings. The moment his confused gaze feel onto you. Idia turned you around to face him, clumsily smashing his blue chapped lips onto yours.

From the corner of his eyes, Idia watched as the other man began to understand what was happening...even if he was just resurrected there was still agony at the sight of his lover kissing another...

Good! That should show him who you belonged to now!

[write-ur-wrongs]

Thank you sweet anon for your request!! Again, I didn’t fully proof-read this bad boy so please forgive the errors! I hope you enjoy some angry Jealous!Geralt!

A/N Request: Geralt meeting your ex who thinks that you're still together/or tries to get you back in front of geralt?

The great hall was alive with royals and nobility alike. Laughter and chatter mingled easily with the sound of the band’s lively jig and the soft tinkering of fine cutlery.

The hosts had expected you and Geralt to make an appearance at dusk, but neither of you were particularly fond of all the fuss royalty liked to put up, so it wasn’t until long past sunset that you joined the party. Jaskier on the other hand, was overjoyed at the prospect of attending such an illustrious affair. He’d put up a fuss around noon and insisted he be allowed to take Roach so that he could arrive in time to make a strong impression with all in attendance. Of course, Geralt had refused, so he had gone off on foot, strutting and sighing dramatically.

Now, as you and Geralt did your best to navigate the already flushed crowd, you found yourself wishing you’d arrived sooner. It was easier to avoid people when they were being stifled by a sobering social awkwardness; after hours of ales and fine wine, however, people seemed to get a little too comfortable for your liking.

“I hate these ridiculous evenings,” Geralt grumbled, holding his arms close to his body uncomfortably.

“Maybe if we saved less lives,” you said, biting back a smile, “they’d be less inclined to insist we attend.”

Geralt only responded with a grunt and a roll of his eyes, which made you laugh lightly as you looped your arm through his and led him deeper into the crowd.

“C’mon love,” you said, a slight tease to your tone, “let’s find the free food and drink we were promised, yeah?”  

You laughed again as he fought back a smile. “Atta boy Geralt, don’t smile too much or you’ll ruin your reputation as the big bad wolf.”  

“Will you shut up,” he muttered, handing you a goblet of wine.

“I don’t think I will,” you said downing the wine in one go, “and could you hand me an ale?”

“I don’t think I will,” he teased, kissing your temple lightly before handing you his mug to share. You take a slow sip, your eyes twinkling as you held Geralt’s gaze, already feeling the liquor warming you from the inside. You hand him back his drink and kiss him lightly in thanks.

“Do you want to –”

You were both pulled away from your conversation by a loud clang from across the room. Geralt furrowed his brows and turned towards the sound quickly, untangling his arm from yours before reaching for his sword. He immediately relaxed as the familiar shouts and accusations resounded through the hall.

You collectively sighed your frustration as you saw Jaskier get chased into a corner by an angry nobleman; no doubt his latest conquest’s husband, who was not quite as pleased to hear the bard’s dulcet tones.

“It’s your turn,” Geralt said, downing his ale before reaching for a second helping.

“I don’t think so! I’m the one who saved him from that fisherman at the last village! It’s your turn,” you said, poking him in the chest before stealing his mug and holding it away from him.

“Actually,” he said, his low gravelly voice reverberating through you as he leaned across your body to grab his drink from your hand, “it was my turn at the last village, but you just couldn’t help yourself and jumped in to save the day. Rules are rules my dove; it’s your turn.”

You scoffed incredulously at his nerve, but shook your head in resignation; he was right after all, the rules you outlined were clear and the cycling of turns was strict.

“Well fuck. I’m taking this ale though,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder before stalking off towards the commotion.

Geralt chuckled lowly and leaned against a marble pillar, marveling at the way you made your way through the crowd. A wandering waiter came by and offered him another ale which he accepts with a polite smile, not taking his eyes off you.

He loved watching you de-escalate social situations. Sometimes it was comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one who just melted when you spoke to them directly – you were effortlessly charming and completely disarming. You once managed to convince a band of attacking thieves to stand down so efficiently that by the end of the night, they ended up joining you for dinner around the fire. Yes, Geralt was the professional when it came to handling monsters, but you were the people person of the group.

Watching you now was no exception. Your body language, the way your warm smiled reached your eyes with ease, how smoothly you managed put yourself between Jaskier and the furious man; it was impressive to say the least.

Unfortunately, his attention was pulled away from you suddenly.

“I can’t believe Y/N is here tonight, I thought I’d never see her again!”

At the sound of your name, Geralt whipped his head in the direction of the speaker, cat-like eyes scanning the crowd swiftly.

“Yeah, the very same Y/N I’ve told you about. An amazing lay, I swear it!”

The man in question was holding court half a dozen other knights; they kept snickering and looking off at you in turns. They were teasing him, egging him on for details.

“She’s not as sweet as she looks,” the man stated confidently, “don’t let that smile fool you gentlemen. The last time I took her was in an alley! The little whore was mad for it – couldn’t wait for it, needed it right there and then.”

Geralt was fuming.

He pushed his way through the crowd with great force and little care. He was worried about your honour. Your reputation in the courts – that was all. That was enough to explain the way rage seethed through him and the strange urge to be sick that was hitting him in waves. He was concerned for you as a partner and a friend.

He wasn’t jealous.

“Gods her skin… smelled so good, felt even better… I’m getting her back tonight gents,” he boasted, puffing out his chest.

“You don’t have a chance,” said the knight closest to the bastard bragging about shagging you, “it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other, and if she’s as good as you say, she definitely found someone new.”

Damn right, Geralt thought furiously, swallowing the bile bubbling at the back of his throat.

“No, no, believe me the way she mewled and screamed for me? She’ll do more than remember,” he said, disgusting confidence dripping off every word, “she’ll beg to have me back.”

You’ll beg for mercy when I crush your fucking skull you pathetic –

His murderous march was abruptly interrupted by Jaskier. The bard cut in front of him and planted himself squarely before him, chattering on incomprehensibly.

Geralt’s eyes were bugging out in panic as he watched the bastard strut confidently towards you. He tried to push past Jaskier but the bard was quick to match him in posture.

“Look I know you’re upset with me for ruining your evening but she came after me,” he insisted, “I mean I can’t blame her the song his perhaps my most romantic sonnet. Speaking of my writing – Geralt can you look at me when I am sharing my musings with you, please? Thank you – as I was saying, Y/N inspired me tonight to write this song –”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, “move!”

“Wha – why?” Jaskier pivoted on the spot – keeping Geralt’s path blocked – as he sought the source of his friends’ fury. When he saw that you were speaking politely to some knight he scoffed loudly before turning back.

“Oh-ho, no,” he laughed, “you’re jealous of that oaf? Geralt, seriously?”

“I am not jealous,” he spat, only able to look at Jaskier for a moment before his glare shot back up towards you.

“She’s just being polite! Seriously you always assume the worst in people, Geralt, it’s sad.”

“I see people as they are,” he muttered, watching closely as the knight took a half-step towards you, he let out a menacing growl when you didn’t step backwards. “For what they are.”

“Okay then why can’t you see that’s just some poor sap who, I don’t know, maybe wants to thank Y/N for her help in saving this kingdom.”

“Shut up, will you? I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”

“You don’t need a Witchers’ hearing to know what’s happening over there,” he brambled on putting on voices as he acted out the conversation, “’Hi I’m Y/N’, ‘Hi I’m an unimportant but very grateful knight, pleased to meet you blah blah blah…”

“Fuck, Jaskier, shut UP –” he stopped himself when he heard your laugh, the deep full laugh you normally reserved for him.

Jaskier heard your laugh too, and turned his head to double check he’d heard right. When he saw the familiar twinkle in your eye, he looked Geralt with wide eyes.

“They know each other?” he asked.

“They,” he started, struggling to get the words out, “t-they knew each other.”

“Wait you don’t mean,” Jaskier started, connecting the dots, “that they knew each other intimately?” He wagged his fingers suggestively as he said the last word.

When Geralt’s only reply was a low, seething hum, Jaskier whistled lowly before shaking his head.

“Well that explains,” he waved his hands vaguely at Geralt, “this reaction.”

Geralt was about to shove the bard aside when he saw you waving him over. You were smiling widely as you waved, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He cleared his throat and pushed Jaskier lightly before charging towards you with the bard in tow.

“Ah, finally!” you exclaimed, swiftly wrapping your arms around his bicep, pulling him close, “Geralt, I want you to meet an old friend of mine, Hoeck. Hoeck this is Geralt, my partner,” as you spoke, you moved to loop his arm around your waist, “and this is Jaskier, he’s responsible for the wonderful music tonight.”

“The White Wolf,” said Hoek, sizing Geralt up, “wow - what an honour.”

He hummed in acknowledgement and took the knight’s hand in a tight grip, feeling immense satisfaction watching the man wince.

“And -erm, thank you sir Jaskier, for the wonderful music,” he said, trying and failing to subtly rub at his hand.

“Thank you, good sir. I speaking of, I should get back out there.” He shot you and Geralt a look and swung his lute around his back before strumming a few notes. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You all nodded to him as he strode off, beckoning the band to join him.

An awkward silence settled over the three of you. Geralt was clearly seething as he held your waist in a tighter grasp than necessary. After a beat, you shot Hoek a tight-lipped smile and made up some excuse about needing to say hello to the king and queen before the night came to a close.

“Ah certainly,” he said, disappointment obvious, “well if you ever find yourself in need of company –”

“I won’t,” you said quickly.

“She won’t,” Geralt growled, his deep voice overlapping with yours.

At that, the knight swallowed thickly and walked back towards his group with tail between his legs and his hand held close to his chest.

Once alone, you turned in Geralt’s arms and looked up at his sour face accusingly.

“Why did it take you so long to come rescue me!” you said, tugging playfully at his hair.

“Didn’t look like you wanted to be saved,” he said lowly, eyes still alight with jealousy, “and Jaskier got in my way.”

“That’s a shit excuse and a weak lie. He was all over me! It took all I had not to rip the bastard’s arms off!” you said, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you. “Gods he has some nerve.”

“Hm,” he hissed, “you’re right about that.”

“Geralt,” you looked up at him carefully and gently caressed the crease between his brows, “this is more than jealousy. What’s going on?”

Geralt hesitated before relaxing his face into your hand and took a small sigh. “It’s nothing. And I’m not jealous.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, “Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, he brought his eyes down to meet yours.

“Thank you,” you said, cupping his face before moving your hands to rest on his chest, “can you talk to me?”

“Don’t be patronizing,” he warned.

“Don’t be obstinate,” you countered.

Geralt rolled his eyes at you before pulling you closer to him. “Maybe I was a little jealous, and maybe,” he sighed deeply, “I was a little worried.”

“Geralt,” you started, your heart breaking at the sight of him, “you have nothing to worry about when it comes to us. I need you to know that.”

“I do,” he said quietly, “but the way he was talking about you – knowing he had been with you in that way...” Geralt stopped himself as he felt his anger come roaring back at the memory. “I wanted to kill him.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have been upset with you if you had,” you said, jokingly, trying to lighten the mood a little. Your time with Hoek was beyond brief; he was nice enough at first but quickly he became aggressive and possessive. You couldn’t help but cringe when you looked back on your time together and you hated that your beloved witcher was letting this get to him.

“Oh, Geralt,” you murmured when you realized he wasn’t letting up, “I’m yours. Completely and unwaveringly yours.” You kissed his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips.

He kissed you back slowly at first, but his kiss deepened as you leaned into him. Geralt pulled away just a little and rested his forehead against yours.

“Y/N… I’m – I love you so much…” he whispered, “it’s just… the things he said about you –” he started, hating himself for needing to hear your side of the story.

“Either untrue or exaggerated, that I can promise.”

“Something about an alley…?” Geralt asked, holding his breath.

“Oh ew! That was a terrible night,” you shuddered, “he was so insistent! Wouldn’t take no for an answer – Wait, what was he saying about it? Gods, maybe I’ll kill him.” Anger and humiliation burned at the back of your throat.

Seeing your visceral reaction, Geralt was immediately overcome by feelings of guilt, for making you relive the memory, relief, that your reaction was so negative, and rage, knowing that not only did this pompous ass make forceful advances on you but he always lied about it to a crowd.

Feeling the intensity of your anger radiating off you, Geralt was about to suggest that the two of you left before you did anything you’d regret when Jaskier came running through the crowd shouting that it was time to leave.

You took off running behind the bard, holding Geralt’s hand tightly as you raced down the castle’s corridors.

“Why are we running?” you shouted, a little breathless.

“I might have added a little something to our charming friend’s drink, and he might be having a very intense negative reaction to it!” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed through fits of laughter, “Jaskier!”

“He’ll be fine! Eventually!” he added, he turned and ran backwards so he could shoot you a wink before adding, “No one messes with our girl, right Geralt?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at his friend before he ran up behind you and scooped you up bridal-style – all without breaking his stride.

“Damn right,” he said, smiling widely at Jaskier before planting a quick kiss to your temple.

[millimononym]

The Attackers

here are Venus and Brambles, the attackers of my OC team! (i don’t have a name for the team yet. names are hard). Also if you remember the first oc post and remember the guys name and are wondering, yes, everyone in the team is named and has their looks based off plants. this drawing kinda looks weird cuz i drew the heads first like a dumbass

ANYWAY OC BACKSTORY/PERSONALITY TIME

so Venus is like...one of the only decent people in the entire team(don’t get used to it). She’s very energetic,bubbly and sweet. She also eats a lot. She grew up as the oldest sister in a poor household with a single mom and multiple siblings. As she’s an adult now(early 20′s) the responsibility of caring for her siblings falls on her as her mom is in the hospital. She uses the money she earns as a footballer to pay for her mom’s hospital bills and care for her siblings. She’s incredibly stressed (as you can see from her antennae,they droop when someone is feeling negative emotions) but tries to seem happy in front of everyone because she believes showing negative emotions will rub off on people and she doesn’t want that. She puts other people’s needs before her own because she likes seeing people happy. She doesn’t like conflict but CAN and WILL beat someone (cough cough BRAMBLES cough) up if they’re hurting kids. Dated Brambles at one point...i don’t know how that happened but i’m glad that’s over with

Brambles. This motherfucker. Actual alien equivalent of Ricegum. Going from talking about Venus to talking abt him is giving me whiplash. Absolute ASSHOLE. 0 redeeming qualities. anyway i should probably talk abt him now. He’s the brother of the teams’ backup player and Sugarcane’s cousin. He’s the oldest out of 4 siblings and is an absolutely horrible brother if you were wondering. Grew up in a rich household and is a spoiled brat. No wonder his father left (oh yeah btw his dad left lol). Regularly makes fun of the backup player(his youngest brother, who is SIXTEEN BY THE WAY) for having mental problems and attachment issues (HMMM I WONDER WHAT COULD’VE CAUSED THOSE. probably not LIVING IN A LOVELESS HOUSEHOLD WITH AN ASSWIPE OF A BROTHER). He’s even worse later but i’m not gonna spoil it. How did he manage to date someone as sweet as Venus. I have no clue. I don’t wanna talk about him anymore, his personality is draining to the brain. If he was a real person i’d spit on him

[[EDIT/UPDATE 19.8.2022: ok so i’m not really good at making my stories(i mostly make characters and specific scenes) but Brambles was a pretty barebones guy, even for me. Wasn’t much to him besides being his brothers abuser and being a disappointment to his family. So i wanted to flesh out his character a little more i guess (that’s a lie it came to me completely randomly while listening to music lol.(the music was Splitter Girl by weevildoing and Kareshi No Jude by syudou if u were wondering)).

This might change but as of now some things are added: Brambles was a child who took his familys’ neglect as any rational child would: By developing extremely violent tendencies to harm himself, and every other creature unlucky enough to be near him! ...yay. Frequent victims include animals(who he definitely murdered, by the way) and his youngest brother(hope i introduce him soon so i can stop calling him just that cuz its weird). His other 2 siblings were too slippery for it i guess. Plus theres 2 of them so thats twice as many hands to throw at his face, which they did. TIMEJUMP TO THE PRESENT, i actually have a reason for Brambles and Venus breaking up besides him being an asshole: Cheating. Motherfucker cheated on her with a defender in the team(who i ALSO havent introduced HNNNGHHH) and also cheated on him with Venus because NEITHER OF THEM actually KNEW about the other dating their boyfriend, so technically they were both cheated on. It didnt go to well for our boy here,as you can imagine. Probably gonna need to add some scars to his design now lol(maybe the back? cuz im lazy and dont wanna change anything). So yea those are the changes for now byee]]

WELL OKAY that’s them alright. As one last thing u may have noticed: you can see in the picture that they’re wearing matching collars. That’s actually part of the teams uniform (which i forgot to include in Sugarcane’s reference pic like a dumbass). Each position has a different color and the attackers one is red! A shame Venus has to share the position with Brambles but what can you do.

[saphirered]

Orym and a arcane Archer reader, maybe the group is in some fight and everything is looking bad for them but them out of nowhere all the bad guys are getting sniped left and right! After everything cools down this beautiful/handsome Archer steps out of the shadows and is checking up to see if their all okay while orym is just quietly freaking out cause WOW THAT WAS COOL AND HOT lol. Sorry that this is long I really like orym!

Here you go. Enjoy! 😘

They knew Poska’s folks would catch up to them at some point and maybe they should have prepared for that while they had the time. However, they got caught up in the mix of life and forgot about the entire fact they were on the run. The good thing about being in a forest; there’s loads of trees to take cover behind. The bad part, there’s little to no space for a cart to move through off road; especially not one dubbed the ‘glitter shitter’ and the moment your enemies make it up close, you’re already screwed.

Where are these guys coming from? Orym thinks. There’s more than they expected. Apparently Poska had learned her lesson after the whole ordeal; sending just the two to kill them, then falling under Fearne’s spell herself. She wasn’t going to let them get away a third time. Opal is about to take another hit but Orym swings in, covering her with the shield and successfully deflecting the blow. Then need a game changer and they need it quickly.

“Opal, if you ever thought apologising to your sister was a good idea, please let it be now.” Orym suggests and while Opal already had a brush with death once, she’s a stubborn one. She’s not backing down now. Ted’s wrong. She’s right but Orym does have a point. Could she fake apologise? Orym doesn’t care. As long as this works and they get out.

Dariax goes down but luckily Fearne is nearby to get him back to his feet. Dorian is in a scuffle with two of the Nameless Ones and there’s no disengaging with where he’s at so he keeps swinging his weapons trying to inspire the others to help the group as much as he can. Fy’ra is kicking some ass but she can’t save them all and she knows that. Orym gives Opal the chance to back off and get out of the thick of it. Their assailants are pushing them together, slowly enclosing them and they’re succeeding. Within a few rounds they have nowhere to run.

“We’re surrounded. What now?” Fearne looks at the faces of the Nameless Ones. One of them jumps a little meeting her glare. Good she left an impression but it’s not going to help her much.

The first one gets ready to strike, opens his mouth to speak but the words fall silent. Instead the man lets out a soundless scream. The bloodied head of an arrow visible to the group. Frantically the Nameless Ones look around for who just shot their buddy. Sinking to the ground clutching his throat that one’s out of the game. One down, several to go.

Sticking to the shadows and hiding in and behind the trees you keep moving every time you release another arrow. This group needs some desperate help so when you got a call from an old friend saying adventure and trouble’s on the horizon, how could you refuse. These poor suckers look like they could use some help. Seriously, they have two people that look like they’re properly prepared for a fight? How have they lasted this long? Granted, you came in a bit late and missed most of their fight but you’re here now so does it really matter?

“This is your first and only chance so listen carefully. You leave these people be. Return to your boss and tell her to piss off or you’re going to end up just like your buddy over there.” You hide up high among the branches. The thugs search the grounds but don’t spot you. Idiots.

“Yeah! You better listen to them!” The dwarf cheers on but is quickly silenced by Orym. How could they even be sure you’re a friend and not just someone else looking for the bounty on their heads? Then again, you did tell the thugs to leave them alone and pretty much told Poska to shove it.

You notice one of the thugs reach for a sword, making a move to attack the group. The halfling deflects the blow and swings back. This kickstarts the whole fight again. Okay, playtime’s over. You rain down hellfire from the comfort of your trees picking them off one by one. Both the groups and the thugs catch sight of a shadow moving through but you’ve disappeared before they can track you. In a matter of seconds with the collective fighting back of the group you’ve taken down most of their assailants.

The halfling is being attacked by one of the thugs who relentlessly keeps hitting. The intent is clear; kill. While the halfling deflects and dodges a fair amount of hits, still plenty of them come through and he’s looking a little worse for wear. You land down on the forest floor with grace, light on your feet you barely even make a noise. You draw an arrow calling upon your teachings of old. You pull back the string to the corner of your lips keeping you shoulders low allowing the back muscles to do all the work. You release the string, letting your fingertips slide off, watching the arrow fly and hit the halfling’s attacker right in the chest. It’s a true hit.

When Orym sees another hit incoming he lifts his shield to take cover but the hit never comes. Instead the attacker is gone and there he sees you, bow lifted, still in the aftermath of releasing the arrow you fired. You give him a little wink as you draw another arrow. Your place given away, one of the last thugs runs for you. You before the idiot can even reach you, draw another arrow, repeats the process but this time when your arrow strikes a burst of brambles takes hold over the thug. The thug tries to get out but the poison is strong enough to finish him.

“You might wanna move out of the way.” You turn your attention back to the halting who isn’t going to question your suggestion. The thug that disappeared reappears in the previous spot striking down and hitting nothing but dirt. You nock another arrow and fire. Killing shot. You’re on a roll. With the tides sufficiently turned and the thugs strongly outmatched you finish off the last of them. You certainly knew how to catch their attention.

You’re going around, collecting your arrows, or whatever still usable, letting the group do their thing. Finally getting a good look at you Orym hesitates to interrupt you. Perhaps it’s because you’re intimidating, your looks certainly fit the badass angel of death aesthetic. You’re dropped gorgeous. Or maybe he’s hesitant to approach for another reason. You saved his ass a few times during that fight and you’re highly skilled with a bow. He’s heard stories about archers like you and you’re like a myth standing right in front of him. Everything about you calls for his attention.

You notice the halfling keeping an eye on you. What were you told his name was again? Orym. He’s definitely cuter than you were told. Maybe you’ll stick around for a little while? Arrows gathered, unusable ones disposed of as a nice message left behind for the Nameless Ones that dare tread behind and make a move. The group has gathered most of their bearings but you need to move on soon. Others might follow.

“You all good? Because we need to move as soon as possible.” You come over to the group and you can feel Orym staring, his eyes following as you go. You’re unsure if it’s because you’re the stranger out here, the stunts you just pulled off, you being completely unimpressed by absolutely laying waste to these thugs or something else.

“Thank you. For your help and saving us, saving me. I don’t think we would still be standing weren’t it for you.” Orym tells you, gratitude and admiration written over his face. He’s surprised he doesn’t stumble over his words. You’ve caught him off guard in such a way he’s unsure how to handle it.

Helping them pack up and het back on the road you find yourself sharing the reigns of the ‘glitter shitter’ with Orym. You keep an eye out on the road jumping off every so often to do a perimeter sweep just to make sure you’re not being followed. You have a few conversations, mainly just trivial stuff between the two of you but the man hasn’t made a move yet to go into anything beyond surface levels of personal. After a good hour of silence, conversation seemingly having come to an end, nothing left to talk about just yet, Orym surprises you by breaking that silence.

“I just need to get this off my chest. When you came in, dropping those thugs dead like flies, you took my breath away and I don’t know how to say this the right way but you’re as gorgeous as you are deadly.” Flustered Orym keeps his eyes on the road not daring to look at you for a response. What if he said the wrong thing? He didn’t want to make things awkward between you and him and the group but he’s also at the point where he couldn’t not address this in fear it might get in the way in the future. Better to speak and be let down than say nothing and act solely on attraction later.

You face him with a grin. While somewhat socially awkward, but a good fighter, you appreciate his courage. The dusting of scarlet spreading across his cheeks really warms your heart. You’ve said it before; cute.

“Well, don’t hold back on these compliments on my account. Flattery will get you everywhere.” You offer him another wink. This might just be the start of something fun. Maybe in time Orym will be able to flirt without getting flustered and that day might come sooner rather than later. He, just like you, is full of surprises. Maybe he’ll even get you to blush if he’s feeling particularly courageous.

[lottki]

Look I don’t know if Bramblestar ever had the real ‘oh shit I just killed my brother’ vibe that lasted MORE than a few sentences but hell would that be cool. And I’m a sucker for fucked up dynamics so let’s picture this.

Let’s be real, it’s pretty messed up as it is in warriors cause most of the time any suffering or stuff just lasts a few books IF EVEN MORE THAN ONE and then boom, dissapears. Not counting Graystripe’s case or any main character’s death in. He’s just gotten to know his only (to his knowledge, rip Tadpole) brother, started hanging out cause blood bonds and stuff. Besides they do have pretty similiar goals in life or so it might seem. He gets angry at Squirrelflight many times cause he’s blinded by having his brother by his side. They train in hell with their dad. A lot. They plan on taking over their clans. He participates in it too, not really being sure if he’s in the right or not but still, he does because we can’t say no to papa Tigerstar. So he keeps going in this whole mess, becoming a deputy of Thunderclan, just as Hawkfrost starts slowly taking over Riverclan and it’s members. 

Then shit hits the fan. Mistyfoot gets exiled from Riverclan for something Hawkfrost has told Mothwing to ‘prove’ to the clan. This time however, he has his paws firm on his sister’s actions and won’t let anything slip from under her. Leopardstar is proud of both of the cats, as she’s been acting like another mother figure after Sasha left the clan. Together with Tigerstar he gives Bramble the next big step in their plans. Kill Firestar, so that he can become the next Thunderclan leader. By this point Brambleclaw is really desperate to prove himself to his family and achieve his goals more than anything else. Squirrelflght has stopped talking to him whatsoever, and it seems as if the whole clan trusted him with more than their lives. He loves the feeling and often gets too cocky because of this. Together with Hawk they get Firestar in the fox trap and Brambleclaw actually manages to kill the orange cat before stopping himself to think about what that would do to the clan. Hawkfrost congratulates him and comes with him into the Thunderclan camp to announce the news of Firestar being dead for good. 

 After Firestar died some Shadowclan warriors have also claimed to have seen what really happened and Blackstar banished Tawnypelt from the clan for being the killer’s sister. She, of course, does not believe this one bit, saying Bramblestar would never do that to his own mentor, and goes to join him in the clan once again. By now Thunderclan warriors are fine with her coming back as they value her just as much as Bramble. Over the next few months she works really hard to get accustomed to everything again and soon becomes the new deputy to Bramblestar after the last one vanishes mysteriously (Hawkfrost and Ashfur might have had something to do with it). All this time Bramble and Hawk have still been training in hell and one night at a gathering Tawnypelt overhears the two brothers talking. They start arguing over something and she basically hears that everything her past clanmates said has been true all along and she got dragged into it by their schemes. At this point something snaps in her, and she starts noticing the little things Bramble does and says, and slowly, here and there, starts hating him for what he’s become. But she’s also jealous. How dare he be in the spotlight, loved by his clanmates, when she was casted away twice now? 

She finds Mothwing of Riverclan with her new apprentice, Willowpaw, and asks to speak in private. She questions the she-cat about her brother’s doings, and poor Moth spills her thoughts and worries that had been bubbling inside her ever since Hawkfrost started planning on taking over. The next day Tawnypelt decides to finally put an end to all of this. She stalks Bramblestar when he’s leaving the camp to meet up with Hawk and confronts them both. In this very moment Hawkfrost drops the mask he’s been wearing in front of their brother, and threatens her life if she doesn’t stop the questioning, or she’ll end up like Firestar and many warriors after him. This makes something click in Bramblestar’s head and he accuses Hawkfrost of everything THEY’VE done TOGETHER. Everyone starts fighting and, in the end, a few more Thunderclan and Riverclan warriors approach the border, cause of the squabble. All they see is Bramblestar, standing over Hawkfrost, with blood all over his paws and muzzle. Hawkfrost lays still, with a deep slash on his neck. 

Tawnypelt takes over as the acting leader, pretty much doing all the work now that Bramblestar has commited to his crimes against the code. He hasn’t left a cave his clanmates picked for him as a new ‘den’ of sorts, keeping him as a prisoner for now. They no longer trust him, and only allow her to see him because she was the only one to confide in after finding out what happened. He keeps staring blankly at the walls of his cell, unable to forgive himself for everything he’s done to those cats. Firestar, Mistyfoot, Leopardstar, Squirrelflight... Oh starclan, Hawkfrost... What did he do to his only brother? And for what? For saying that to Tawnypelt? She could’ve been wrong, she must have! The second she comes in he spins around and tries to attack, for the first time since a moon or so. She manages to pin him down after a few minutes of him almost killing her, and looks at the cat she trusted with her life more than others. That cat is long gone, and she knows it. She knows he’ll never be the same as he was before meeting with Hawkfrost. They share one last look, and then it’s over. Brute murdered by his own kin. Filled with guilt, she announces what happened to the clan. She assures she doesn’t want to be the leader if they do have something against it now that she ended their misery. She knows she did the right thing, but wonders, where might her brother be now?

[taks-battlecats]

Starlight and The Sight for the ask game! - harriertail

@harriertail

⭐️Starlight - Best leader and worst leader + why

For best leader I think I'd give that to Leafstar! She's just someone who really knows what she's doing, I guess? Rational thinker and also just sort of keeps her stuff together. She's great and I hope she lives forever. For worst I thiiiiink? I'll give that to.. hm. I wanna say Bramblestar, kind of just because I don't like him very much. Making someone your deputy and then demeaning them when they're just doing their job isn't a good look! Also wanting to attack a group of rogues on a strip of territory when one of them is pregnant is also very nasty. My hopes were crushed during TPONS so alas I will have to deal with him unless something happens in ALTIM. Also because I feel there were probably better choices than Bramble for deputy. He's just kind of a poor leader, I think.

👀The Sight - Who most deserves an SE + what about?

If not a SE then at least a novella but I personally would love to see one about Ashfur? Specifically from after he gets killed up to the events of the broken code, because frankly I would like to know what happened to make him gain cool powers but also just decide to be evil I guess. Also because it would be really cool to have an entire novella/book set in StarClan. I would like to see it.

[shiversdownyerspine]

9. Closer

Just gonna sliiiiide this over here.

You are finishing up the last of the scramble on your plate, fighting off the lingering fuzzy embrace of sleep with the help of your coffee. So the suspense wouldn't kill you, you had asked Axel if their coming questions had to do with your ability. After all, the three hadn't asked all that much about it.

Axel confirms, and you ruminate over the approaching task, how best to handle it...but are distracted when Oscar and Otto return.

The younger brothers look scratched up and dirtied, but overall in good condition. Although it was kind of difficult to tell who looked worse...maybe Otto. Poor man was still in his long johns. 

Grinning, you tease, "You two alright? Both of you look like you dove headfirst into the blackberry brambles."

Axel snorts. You're not far from the truth.

He subtly signals the two with a pointed dip of his head in warning; their feet are filthy and they are about to track a mess into your kitchen. Sheepish, the younger brothers share a look and head back outside, probably to make good use of your garden hose. 

Not wanting to put it off any longer, you ask for a change in scenery for this interrogation once you are dressed. In the garden, specifically. Axel regards you curiously, but agrees to your request.

You wander over to the sink to rinse your dishes when he taunts, "Thinking of running? We will catch you. No contest."

You blink, "No no, no running. I'm just...eager? To get started? Or maybe to get finished..."

Throwing a look over your shoulder, you return the taunt, "But if I did run, and I made it into the forest? I think I could surprise you."

Indeed, you are a good deal faster and more reactive while in your Phase. At least when you're prepared. It certainly helps having nearly all of your senses improved, but playing hide and seek with three trained assassins? It would be difficult to say the least...but in your forest and lake? Your second home? 

You would have an advantage, even being technically untrained. Perhaps you could give them a run for their money...at least for a little while longer than if you had tried in the tight spaces of your cottage.

Speculation and theorizing is cut short when the lone man in your kitchen says quite matter-of-factly, "Otto caught you."

Pride ruffled, you can't help but bristle, "Okay. That? Was a series of unfortunate events. And in my defense? I didn't have anything to run from, nothing was threatening me. It was just a spider bite."

The eldest doesn't reply, just quirks an amused eyebrow at the memory of you, perturbed and fluffed, wrapped up in his puzzled brother's arms. It was...an interesting day, no doubt.

You fiddle with your wet plate, frowning.

"I was distracted with my lack of gloves, that I had let something so simple slip my notice. Dug my own grave in a matter of seconds. Then I heard the door, and there was Otto and...I froze. He lunged and I couldn't move."

Axel contemplates for a moment, "You wanted to run. Not attack."

He says as a statement what should have been a question, never one to be all that subtle with his demands. You feel your stomach drop a little; given the pieces of your revealed history, maybe he was now beginning to reconsider the threat you could have posed to Otto. To all of them.

Acknowledging his concern was easy, but explaining yourself was going to be a bit complicated.  

"I..I think I have an answer for that? But it's something I'd like to address with all of you. I'm going to get dressed first, I've been in pajamas for far too long."

You know he could simply repeat what you said to his siblings, but it was the principle of the thing. That and you really wanted to take a quick moment to yourself before this all goes down. He doesn't stop you.

Toweling your hands dry, you head for the couch to gather up your sleeping kittens and make your way to your bedroom. Axel returns his attention to his brothers who were currently fussing over the hose; Oscar was currently trying to convince Otto to look inside and see what was blocking the water, all the while he held a section kinked in his hand, waiting for the right moment.

The eldest sibling shakes his head.

Butternut and Pumpkin are curled at opposite ends of your bed; one buried in the pillows at the headboard, the other stretched out dramatically at the end. Both chirp a greeting as you open your door and step inside.

Thing 1 and 2 in hand, you deposit the wiggly babies into their 'room'. The two look at you with what you can imagine is disapproval, breaking your heart as they toddle towards the bathroom door with noisy complaint.

"Don't worry, you'll be let out again soon."

Their litter box training had been going swimmingly. Maybe it was about time to expand their territory? You think it'd go rather well, you'd just have to keep an eye out. Make sure they don't try to leave any little surprises for you and develop a nasty habit from it.

You swear their incessant meowing is growing louder. You sigh, shaking your head.

"The book was spot on when it called this breed talkative."

Taking advantage of the lingering warmth of your sleep with Otto, you decide upon a floral tunic dress with leggings instead of your usual chunky sweater and jeans. It's rare that you can wear a lighter ensemble like this, you'll have to find some way to thank Otto.

He does seem to really enjoy your baking, so maybe something in that vein.

As you dress you find your thoughts sombering as the previous conversation slowly ties you into a knot. You try to reassure yourself and soothe your nerves; you wouldn't have lashed out for no reason, wouldn't have killed them in cold blood. You have control. Besides, you're not a violent person. Surely they know that?

That fateful morning, if Otto had reacted with violence towards you, you would have defended yourself to the best of your ability and removed yourself from the situation once the opportunity presented itself. There had to have been a way around him, around his brothers, right? 

If Axel had decided you were too much of an unknown threat and had shot, you would have feigned death until you could slip outside and decide on the next step. You're fairly confident you could play dead and pretend well enough, despite the pain. The blue-clad man wouldn't have just emptied his entire clip into you, right? 

If you were being realistic, you were only considering the best case scenarios for you and the brothers if things had played out a bit...differently. Because if you thought too long about the worst outcome, your heart would squeeze unbearably tight in your chest and your eyes would water uncontrollably. 

You didn't want to think about what you would have done if the three had subjected you to too much injury and triggered your second Phase.

There was no denying it, you were incredibly fond of the three.

Maybe even a bit...smitten? 

At the errant thought you slap your burning cheeks with your palms, fighting against the helpless fluttering sensation of the heated butterflies in your stomach. Not the time. 

...Wait, does that mean there will be a time?

Focus.

Focus, focus, focus.

With a steadying breath, you head back out into the kitchen. There's something you need to grab first.

"One last thing..."

Axel watches curiously as you pop open a kitchen drawer and rummage around its contents for an item you have stashed away.

"Here we go."

You find what you are looking for wrapped in a familiar kitchen towel; an old paring knife, kept clean and disinfected. You unwrap it a bit, just to check on the condition of the blade as the light glints off the metal.

A minor laceration from this would be just what you needed to keep you in your Phase long enough to hopefully answer all their questions.

You weren't sure you could count primarily on verbally explaining all the aspects of your ability. Some things you had nothing to compare with, not to mention how tongue-tied you were before. You're not all that confident when talking about your ability, as discussing it is still incredibly new to you. Demonstration could be a good approach, all things considered.

As you turn from the counter, a rough hand grips your wrist and pulls your arm up, leaving you to sway unsteadily nearly on tip toe. In your personal space, you can feel the warmth of him without needing to touch. It feels like if you could steal a speck of body heat from one of these men, you'd never feel the cold again.

Axel stares you down, lips pulled into a tight scowl, frowning with familiar furrowed brow.

Oh. 

Probably not a good idea to bring out a knife without context, especially around an assassin. Maybe next time explain first.

"...Sooo...um. I can't...will my ability to activate. I-it's a defense mechanism, remember? It needs something to trigger it."

His face is worryingly expressionless as he looks to the knife in your hand. With deft fingers, he plucks the tool from your grasp, leaving you with the empty towel as he slips it into his pocket without a word.

Did he seriously just...

"...Really?"

The audacity.

Radiating cool smugness, Axel strolls to the screen door and looks pointedly at you. Waiting.

You don't budge.

Turning your attention to your knife block set, you hum, "You know I could just grab one of these, right?"

You assess the assortment, paying less attention to the man now stalking back to you.

"Although I'd much rather these be used for cooking, but what choice do I have? Apparently you have your heart set on being a mother hen-"

Your tirade is cut short as Axel's hands grip your waist to turn you to face him. He bends, curls an arm around your legs, and hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dumbfounded and indignant, your lips part for some sort of reprimand to leave your tongue. But you stumble over the words.

With an arm across the backs of your thighs to lock your legs in place and keep you steady, he walks completely unburdened once more to the screen door. You brace your hands on his back, feeling muscle shift underneath the material of his white Henley with each step. Well, needless to say, you can't really think of a retort at the moment. Hopefully your dress isn't riding up too much.

You can't help but wonder; is it just your imagination, or are the brothers getting a bit more...grabby with you? But more importantly, you cannot let this man have the last 'word'.

Fighting down the butterflies that have returned with a vengeance, you grumble, "Don't complain if I can't give you all some clear answers without my knife."

The large palm loosely holding your thigh gives a squeeze, followed by Axel throwing a comment over his shoulder to you, "We'll see."

Well now. Axel is honest to god mother-henning you. This was...unexpected? Infuriating? Kind of sweet?

...Oh yes. They're most definitely getting more grabby with you.

[massensterben-a]

@gepanzrt​ said:             ❛  i’m  yours ,  only  yours -  ❜

The streetlights wash in through the windows. Their barely drawn curtains allow for their soft nocturnal glow, lapping at the bending backs, the tangled legs. The bed creaks and whines miserably under their weight, the shifting of pressure and relief. A dark hand hooks into the hollow of a knee and hoists it higher, drapes it over a shoulder. Such a rearrangement must be undertaken. They are piecemeal creatures, existing in wrists and calves and throats. Heat runs between them like a current, spiking at random intervals, stuttering and flinching from one muscle to another. Their shapes merge and diverge until they make a two-headed beast, cast all in shadow on the naked wallpaper. There are two bodies on the bed, but only one labors towards union. 

Bertholdt feels sweat beading at his brow, the trickling, aching path it tracks when it rolls down his cheek, drips from his chin and onto Reiner’s heaving chest. They are cast in this salacious luster, a sheen to their heated skin like bronze or like mother-of-pearl. That makes them sound precious, but they could be no further from romanticism. As Bertholdt fits his hips between his commander’s spreading thighs, fucking into his waiting, straining body, he doesn’t think of luxury or jewel tones. He sees red. And Reiner, poor Reiner, sees nothing at all. Bertholdt has made sure of that. In cruel irony, he’s twisted their armbands into a blindfold. He’d wring the red from the fabric like blood if he could. He’d want to pour it into Reiner’s eyes and blind him that way. But this will have to do, the crimson of it a pulsing, blushing reminder of their tenure. 

Ignorance is bliss, it’s true. It’s Bertholdt’s bliss, if nothing else. The second Reiner is rendered harmless, without his appraising, tired stare, a stare that was gold at some point but has turned to brass, a weight is lifted off Bertholdt’s shoulders. He can feel it, the absence of scrutiny, the power that comes to any prowling predator in the underbrush as a rush of adrenalin. Reiner is blind and Reiner is good, because he holds onto the headboard with an iron grip, turning his knuckles white while Bertholdt discolors all the rest of him. 

It is a labor of love, he supposes, how slow he goes about it, how his every instinct drives him forward, digging its heels into his sides, and he keeps calm. He holds himself by the reins and yanks himself back by the slavering maw. Reiner is so helpless under him, so defenseless. There is no attack he could foresee this way, no ambush he could prevent. The absence of eyes turns bodies into meat. Bertholdt knows. He has sunken his teeth into Reiner before. For every kiss, he has to get a taste, devouring him by the red spots that litter his throat and chest. (And the inside of his thighs, don’t forget them. Don’t forget what humiliation you sink into when there is no audience.) But for all those uncharitable thoughts, thoughts that spill through his mind like blank ink, like brambles growing into ill constructs, he is almost tender. 

This is the only way he can get away with it. When Reiner is struck blind, with no chance to anticipate, to retaliate, that is when Bertholdt descends upon him with lips rather than fangs, not a growl in his throat but a heady sigh. Heat blossoms and tightens in his gut. It melts through him something fierce, something sweet and velveteen. Lust punches into his lower back until each thrust has him doubled over, choking on a groan. He holds Reiner by the neck, his nails rasping against the golden down of his nape, scratching faintly what he has viciously marred before. No scar, of course not. 

His hips snap forward again, a stutter in his rhythm. He is panting pure steam into Reiner’s shoulder, gasping like an engine one mile before organ failure. Sheer heat tattoos itself onto the glistening skin. And Reiner endures him. He wishes he could tell him that he’s glad he’s here, that he wants or needs him, whichever!, and that he is doing so well. But through the bared teeth, the grimace that his nearing climax has painted onto his features, he can’t find the words. There is no room for his voice, even as Reiner again and again, finds his. 

A low whine answers the vow, the self-afflicted death sentence. I’m yours, he says, and Bertholdt is rocked to his foundations by the spark of arousal that leaps through his nervous system, setting everything in its path on fire. He whites out, blank behind his driven stare. It’s a drilling that started in his loins but creeps into his heart, by way of spinal fluid and tightening tissue. Bertholdt digs his foot into the mattress until he feels his toes curl around the coil spring and angles his hips again. He’s never thought he’d get this close to another living being again. He wants to get closer. 

Reiner is slowly crushed to death in Bertholdt’s primal embrace. He wants to bury him, be the soil in which he can finally find some rest. I’m yours, he said. Only yours. —Of course, who else’s? Who else has come back from the dead for him? By death and destruction, they’ve been marked for each other. It really shouldn’t do this to him, the mere confirmation. But his mind, his telltale manic mind, latches onto it with a viciousness that almost frightens him. He’s mine, it seethes, it sings. Bertholdt messed up his breathing and now he’s got a stitch. Meanwhile, his body is filling with a boiling cocktail of lust and unbridled, delirious hunger. (He calls it that, because he’s forgotten how to spell joy.) 

“Yes,” He grunts, so low, so thick with his aching need for release, that Reiner won’t hear it for the sob it is. His mouth finds Reiner’s in the red, the dark heat of it. He breathes into him before he kisses him. All the air from his lungs, and then his tongue. He wants to get so deep into him, he won’t find his way out. If he could split him length-wise and climb into his body, he’d do it. As he is only a man and no spirit, less than a ghost, he must contend with carnal satisfaction. He kisses him hard and long, as his hips pump towards their shuddering final push. He comes away and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t taste blood.

[sweetiepie08]

All I Ask of You (Chapter 6)

The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance fic

Deet x Rian

She walked into his life when all seemed lost. He accepted her when the other surface dwellers didn’t. She was gentle. He was brave. Their first impressions dwelt in their minds and their feelings grew as their journey wore on. They supported each other, comforted each other, and gave each other strength. Together, they were a light in the darkness.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. 

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There were a few aspects of this situation that could generously be called “lucky.” For one, the trail of dead foliage the darkening left behind led him straight to her. Another was that she still needed to stop to rest, to eat, and to sleep at night. That, combined with Rian’s tireless trek into the Endless Forest meant he was rewarded at the end of his first day with a glimpse of her between the trees.

He’d called her name and ran to her, carried completely by his delight in seeing her again. However, dead brambles and brush sprang up around him, cutting him off from her. He cut through them with a hunting knife until the blade dulled. This did little to deter him, but he did change his approach.

He watched her from a distance, always keeping her in his sight, but trying to stay out of hers. That thing inside her, whatever it was, obviously didn’t want him close, which convinced him he was doing something right. He had to get close to her somehow, but he had to use more cunning.

So, he followed her day after day, stopping when she stopped, eating when she ate, and sleeping when she slept, but always keeping one eye open. All the while, he tried to work out how to approach her without alerting the darkening to his presence.

Uncounted days into his journey, Rian rested under a tree while Deet napped a few yards away. While he knew he should take the opportunity to get some shuteye as well, he felt too restless. At least it gave him some time off his feet. He watched her sleep, endless familiar questions running through his head, when a flash of red caught his eye.

He stayed perfectly still, listening to the brush rustle and twigs crack as something circled them. He caught a glimpse between the trees. A red cloak, a claw, a beak... Skeksis.

Rian was on his feet in a second. He caught sight of the red cloak again. The Chamberlain? What was he doing out here? Certainly up to something, but what? Spying, perhaps? It wasn’t as if they had gelfling to do it for them now.

He grabbed the hilt of his sword and began to unsheathe, but then thought better of it. The coward won’t get close enough to taste me steel. Instead, he grabbed his bow and threw a quiver full of arrows on his back.

The red cloak flashed through the trees again and again, moving in the opposite direction of Deet. Rian spared a glance back at her. She slept still as stone under a tree’s shade. She wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. I’ll be back, he silently promised her, not daring to make a sound. Then he positioned an arrow against his bow string and stalked after the Chamberlain.

He walked along, eyes peeled, arrow at the ready. It didn’t escape his notice that this could be a trap. They could be luring him out here to catch him alone, but he was already alone. So what difference did it make if they ambushed him in one spot or another? At least out here, Deet was far away.

Finally, he found himself in a clearing, surrounded by a circle of trees. This is it, he thought, pulling the bow sting taut. He waited for the attack, but only caught more glimpses of red through the trees. “I know you’re here,” he growled at the red cloak as it circled him. “Show yourself, coward.”

“Ah, Brave Rian,” The Chamberlain squawked from the shadows. “We meet again.”

“We would, if you showed your hideous face.” Rian’s ears twisted to catch the Chamberlain’s footsteps and he rotated to keep the arrow pointed at his target.

“Sticks and stones, gelfling, sticks and stones.” The Chamberlain’s voice carried through the trees. “But words can hurt. I know very well. You should know too, if you learned anything.”

“I know your tricks by now, SkekSil.” Rian spat the name like a foul taste in his mouth. “You twist lies and truth to turn gelfling against gelfling. But tricks are all you have, smoke and mirrors. Your words don’t work if no one believes them.”

“Smoke and mirrors?” The Chamberlain mused. “Is true I prefer cunning and finesse over barbaric force. Peace is better than war, is it not?”

“There was never peace!” Rian tightened his bow string. “You drained gelfling! You corrupted the Crystal! You destroyed our home!”

“Did not drain gelflinf until recently,” The Chamberlain dismissed, as if the other two claims were mere footnotes. “Is necessary for survival.”

“Then how does SkekGra survive without it?” Rian snapped back.

“SkekGra?” The Chamberlain screeched, finally letting some true emotion slip to the surface. “You dare invoke the name of the Heretic?”

“He survived for four hundred trine without essence or the Crystal. You never needed any of it. You’re just gluttons.”

“Is payment for years of service,” The Chamberlain answered. “You gelfling cannot rule yourselves. You need us.”

“You’re wrong!” Rian shot back. “Gelfling thrived in harmony with Thra before the age of the Skeksis and would have continued to do so if you never came.”

“You think was all peace and harmony before us?” The Chamberlain questioned. “Was primitive time. Gelfling can be brutal.”

“You don’t know anything about gelfling,” Rian growled back.

“I don’t?” He could hear the Chamberlain’s wicked grin in its voice. “Tell me, what was ancient gelfling punishment for patricide?”

Rian felt all the blood leave his face and his arms dropped just a little. The Chamberlain broke into a cackle, but all Rian could hear was his father’s dying screams.

“Oh, so you must have some idea,” The Chamberlain laughed. “I wonder what would Captain Ordon think of you now?”

Rian renewed his grip on his arrow and tightened his bow string once again. “Keep my father’s name out of your filthy mouth, SkekSil!”

“Ordon knew the value of order and peace,” The Chamberlain went on, “and you broke that. Would he be proud to know his sacrifice only led to suffering? Death? Failure?”

Rian’s cheeks flushed as he aimed his arrow. “Don’t talk about my father like you knew him!”

“And you knew him so much better, hmm?”

Rian’s heart pounded in his ears. His fingers itched to loose the arrow. He saw red. His arrow flew forward and buried itself in the trunk of a tree.

A snicker rang in his ears. “No, not there.”

“Show yourself, coward!” Rian called as he notched another arrow.

“It is a poor hunter who needs his prey to show itself. I wonder, what would father think?”

“You know nothing!”

“False! I know father would still be alive if son could protect self.”

“Shut up!” Rian pried his eyes for his target. They followed the flashes of red as it circled through the trees.

“Rian could not defeat Hunter on own. Ordon needed to take son’s place.”

“I said, shut up!” The red cloak passed again. He calculated where it would next appear and tightened his bow string.

“Father died because son was weak.”

The arrow flew. The Skeksis shrieked and fell to the ground with a thump.

Rian darted into the trees as he claimed another arrow from his quiver. In an instant, he stood over the Skeksis, arrow pointed at the creature’s throat. SkekSil continued to moan in pain over the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. Rian stared down at his prey with cold eyes, forcing down the part of his heart that insisted on feeling compassion for the wounded creature. This is no helpless fizzgig, he reminded himself. This is a monster.

“Please,” SkekSil begged. How quickly the tone changed. “Please have mercy. You don’t want to kill me. I can be useful. I can-”

Rian released the arrow and it sunk into the ground just a hair away from the Skeksis’ head. “Get up,” Rian commanded. “Get up and go back to your Emperor, but give him my message. Tell him the gelfling will never go back to being his slaves. Tell him we will fight to the last. And before this is over, he will feel the wrath of Thra itself.”

“Very well, gelfling,” The Skeksis grumbled, stumbling to his feet. “I deliver message, but allow me to leave you with a message of my own. A question, more like. Do you think Rian is greatest threat to Skeksis? Did Rian cause retreat at Stone-in-the-Wood? If not you, who?”

Rian felt the blood drain from his face. “Deet…” This was a trap, but not for him.

“Oh, it has a name,” The Chamberlain snickered. “Now gelfling, which would be smartest move? Who do Skeksis destroy first?”

The Skeksis’ cackle stung in his ears as he ran back through the brush, pulling aside thorn branches with his bare hands, to get back to her.

A rumbling rushed in from the side. Tree trunks crackled like snapping twigs as the thing bolted closer. Rian turned toward it, hands shaking. He drew an arrow.

The monster crashed through the trees. Rian stood stunned for a second too long. The thing swiped out with its claw. He dodged, but the claw clipped his arm.

He let out a pained hiss as he clutched his grazed arm and looked back at the creature. What was that thing? He knew his father slayed hundreds of atathim of many kinds during the wars. That’s not what this was. He barely had time to think as the claw came down on him again. He dodged and searched his belt for anything that could be useful. Dagger? If it could pierce the thing’s armored skin. Sword? Same problem. Plus, those claws looked strong enough to snap the blade in half. His arrows were scattered everywhere and none within his reach.

What he wouldn’t give for one of Deet’s smoke bombs or even her fire tricks. Deet was always full or tricks and ideas. And I bet this thing burns.

But he couldn’t go on dodging forever. If wanted to get to Deet, he needed to fight back.

He drew his sword, his best option. Another claw came down. He swung. His sword clashed against it like armor, but at least it drew back. It tried again, and again he blocked.

As he and the monster continued their dance, he recalled a story about his father, how he saved Maudra Fara from an arathim when she was a childing. He killed the giant beast with just the tip of a broken spear by stabbing it up through the mouth. Did this thing have the same weakness? Did he dare get close enough to find out?

Well, he had to try something. This thing didn’t seem to be wearing out any time soon. He dove forward, sword pointed at the thing’s throat. The monster seemed shocked for a moment, and it let him in. His sword plunged into the monster’s stomach. A soft underbelly. This thing has a soft underbelly. Before he could withdraw and stab again, claws clamped around him and pressed him against its front.

“No! No!” he screamed, thrashing against the vice-like grip. He needed to get out. He needed to protect Deet, to save her. This thing couldn’t have him. He pressed both feet against the monster’s belly and pushed back with all his weight. Just when he felt the claws’ grip begin to loosen, something came barreling in hard and fast.

He flew through the air and found himself crumpled on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. For all of Thra he’d swear he got hit by a runaway carriage.

Behind him, he could hear the sounds of a struggle and the monster’s distressed cries. He began to pick himself up when something wooden thwacked him on the head.

“Rian not careful!” a familiar voice scolded.

“Hup?” He looked up and saw his poddling friend offering him a hand.

Rian took it, intending to push himself up for the most part, but the podling hulled him to his feet anyway. They turned to see the battle behind them, a second surprise revealing itself. Lore, Brea’s stone protector, grappled with the beast.

“What that thing?” Hup asked, pointing his spoon toward the fighting creatures.

“No idea,” Rian answered, huffing to get some breath back in his lungs.

The monster let out an earsplitting scream. It fell to the ground in a heap as Lore retracted its single claw.

“Come on,” Rian said, grabbing his sword out of the creature’s belly. “We have to find Deet.”

“Deet?” Fire burned in Hup’s eyes.

They took off through the forest, hardly noticing as brush and thorns scraped at them. Up ahead, they could hear screams. They ran faster. Purple light flashed between the trees. Finally, they found her.

When they made it to the clearing, they heard one more scream, saw another flash of purple. Then, a monster thudded to the ground. Deet stood in the center, surrounded by the dead bodies of three beasts. The purple in her eyes burned harsher than Rian had ever seen, as did the glow in her veins.

“Deet…” Hup whispered, staring stricken at her.

Her ears perked and she turned to them. “Brave Rian, Paladin Hup…” she spoke. It was her voice, but something else echoed behind it. “Follow us no longer. The vessel does not want you harmed.”

“Deet, please,” Rian dared to take a step forward. “You don’t have to live like this. We can find a way to help you. Just come back with us. You don’t have to fight this alone.”

Her eyes turned away from them and looked sorrowfully at the ground. “It is not her choice.”

A fire lit in Rian’s heart. Ignoring Hup’s warnings, he unsheathed his sword and marched up to her, or rather, the thing that was keeping her trapped. “Whatever you are, let her go!” he demanded, pointing his weapon at it. “She never wanted to hurt anyone! She doesn’t deserve this!”

Deet’s body turned toward him. Her eyes glanced down at his sword with little interest. “Deet is no captive. She became our vessel willingly.” She put two fingers on the side of his blade and pushed it aside. “Your sword cannot change this.”

She turned and began to walk away. He felt weak in the knees and noticed how dry his throat had become. No way to stop it. No way to save her. He couldn’t’ accept it. He refused to accept it.

“Wait!” He called out. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell to his knees. “Take me instead. I’ll be your vessel. I am willing. Please. She has a family, people who love her. They’re waiting for her back home. They need her.  I’ll gladly take her place. Please, just let her go.”

She turned her head. The cold, unfeeling glow looked back at him. “It is not possible. What is done cannot be undone.”

“No! No please!” He scrambled to his feet and rushed forward. “There must be a way! How can I save her? Please tell me!”

He grabbed her arm and it instantly brought pain to his hand, cold but burning. He dropped to his knees again, clutching the injured hand to his chest. Behind him, he heard footsteps as Hup hurried over. But he also heard rustling as Deet crouched down before him.

“Rian…” she said clearly, in her own voice, no echo behind it.

He looked up. Her face was kind and her eyes were clear. It was her, all her. “Deet…”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered. “It’s not safe.”

“Safe?” He spoke as if he never heard the word. “I don’t care if I’m safe. I care if you’re safe.”

“Deet,” Hup said in a soft, breaking voice, “please come back. We protect you.”

She turned a sorrowful smile to him. “Hup, it means so much to me that you came back for me, but there’s nothing to be done.”

“Whatever’s happening to you, I’m sure we can find a way to stop it,” Rian insisted. “If we bring you back to mother Aughra…”

She shook her head. “There are some things that are beyond even Aughra’s power.”

“Please,” Hup begged, tears forming in his eyes, “let us help.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I love you both, but it’s too late.” She stood up and stepped back from them. “I don’t know where my path will lead me, but you must leave me behind.”

The purple glow fogged over her eyes once more. She turned and began to walk away. Rian could feel her slipping. He felt he was drowning. For one helpless moment, he considered letting her leave it at that. She’d walk away forever, he’d stay here on the ground, and everything after was empty. But Deet would never give in to despair.

“No!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “No, I can’t accept that. There’s always hope, even in the darkest of times. You taught me that. I won’t give up. I won’t let the darkness consume you. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She stopped and turned back to them. Her eyes were clear again, but the echo in her voice returned. “Restore the crystal. Set Thra right. Only then can darkness turn to light.”

With that, the purple glow returned to her eyes. Rian and Hup stood frozen as they watched her disappear into the wood.

“What happened?” Hup asked, breathlessly.

He couldn’t answer, only stared at the spot where Deet stood moments before.

“Rian!” Hup snapped, this time with more bite in his voice. “What happened?”

[tiredspirals]

My lair and Warrior’s Way

Just sum rambling ayoooo

The Brambled Ruins: while the Fairy Kingdom proper has no interest in a yearly fight club, their neighbors and the spirals that come and go absolutely are interested in making some fat stacks. The spirals Evanora and Hissi, along with their harpy friend Heddick, would pack up their herbs and scrolls then head over to sell them at the plaza. Weapon enchants, one time healing scrolls, custom potions, and even sweets to sell to little ones will line their stall. A cauldron is brought along so you can watch them make your order if you need something specific! They will also bring honey, candies, and wax made by Hamon’s bees to sell and return any profits made to him.

Asai and Asai Outriders: The Asai is a powerful dragon-only clan based in the Scarred Wastelands, but their influence stretches far beyond the Plaguebringer’s boarders. They have forged close ties and set up efficient trade routes with foreign clans, all with the promise that the Beastclans will be treated as an eternal enemy. The Asai have been known to destroy clans that allied with the Beastmen, but it seems Accra has decided to leave this event unscathed. Attacking a festival and similar, a place with no true allegiance or creed to contend with, would be in poor taste and make enemies out of allies. Instead Accra would send dragons like Feint and Nephizen to scope out the combatants. The goal is to recruit promising warriors, see which clans would make for good allies, and if this bears fruit…. well, Warrior’s Way may receive a generous donation next year. All of Sorneith is watching indeed.

Three Spires: I doubt it’s a blip on any of these dragon’s radar. For the first annual Warrior’s Way, I don’t think anyone would notice it was happening, but once it gets bigger and bigger each year then I can see clan leader Ruruchi possibly taking time off to see some violence.

Anticant: Anticant has it’s own battle tournaments, taking place in it’s underground coliseum. Prisoners and failed experiments vicious monsters captured elsewhere are pitted against each other once a month to keep the jail cells nice and clean. These ones are to the death, though, so aspiring warriors from this shadowy city may look to Warrior’s Way to hone their skills. I could also see Priestess Tali sending her champion Neith to humble contestants.

Adventurers: And now my wandering dragons! If there’s money to be made then Angora, Ardalion, and Inflicts are there. The two Obelisks are offering training services, of course, while Inflicts keeps the money and makes the deals. Rataskorn, Catcha, and Occar would be participants. Hrelsya goes where Rataskorn goes what with being a mated pair and is probably the one that helped sign Rat up for it anyways. Carzez, Catcha’s twin brother, will be offering prosthetic limb repairs for those who probably came from lightning flight. (Though he is familiar with older and simpler prosthetic designs as well)

I’ll probably think of more as time goes on! Like I feel Ambassador would be there but idk how yet. Mediation, perhaps, since they no longer have a clan.

[twilights-800-cats]

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Chapter 2

For the first time in a long time, Stoneheart walked in silence.

His ears twitched. He was used to the sound of Nightpaw and Crowpaw’s latest argument, or Mistyfoot and Stormfur chatting in hushed tones, or Shadepaw talking with Feathertail about an herb she saw and what it might do. The empty air seemed to amplify everything around him, from birdsong in the trees to the roar of a Twoleg monster as it woke somewhere in the distance.

Stoneheart couldn’t help but chide himself for leaving the others so suddenly. It’s not like I don’t love them! He thought, leaping over a stray branch that had fallen long ago. I’m just no good at good-byes.

He paused, lifting his head. There was a Twoleg nest here, he knew – an old one with a pair of elderly Twolegs. They didn’t bother cats much, but they certainly didn’t like it when ShadowClan patrols snooped for mice in their old barn. He could see the structure not far away, and the thin, spindly fence that surrounded the Twolegs’ territory.

Best avoid it, he told himself. After trekking through a winding Twolegplace for days and coming back to seeing what they’d done to the land he called home, he was quite sick of Twolegs. I miss Purdy, though, he reflected as he trod on towards the woods ahead. He seemed to know so much about why Twolegs are the way they are...

Sunhigh was gone by the time that Stoneheart reached the trees, and, as he passed a familiar rotten log, he scented ShadowClan. He paused to let the smell wash over him. It's so different now. Sharper. His journey with cats from all four Clans had muddled his senses, mixing their scents together into something new, something that was surprisingly comforting.

He tried to identify the patrol that had passed this way. Breathing in deep, he was happy that he recognized both their scents: Skipnose, that kittypet-turned-warrior, and Oakfur, he thought, lifting his chin. Smokepaw might have been with them, but he didn’t place a marker. They must have passed by before dawn.

Satisfied, Stoneheart went on, quickly identifying the trail his Clanmates had used through the vibrant marsh grass and putting himself on it, wary of his Clanmates lurking about. No cat was better than ShadowClan at blending into their surroundings, and Stoneheart would certainly be embarrassed if he were ambushed.

Traveling further into the woods, Stoneheart could feel leaf-fall's chill in the air. The trees here, more oak and birch than pine, were shedding their golden leaves onto the marsh around them. Stoneheart’s paws tugged him off the beaten path and further into the grove.

His pelt prickled in this familiar location, and he let his paws guide him to a small clearing between the trees. A fallen log and an old, gnarled boulder were surrounded by bright, five-petaled orange flowers – what ShadowClan medicine cats for ages called the blazing star.

Carefully, Stoneheart picked his way around the herb. Many ShadowClan cats believed that stepping on one meant disaster, as the herb had saved all four Clans seasons beyond counting ago. It was a point of pride that they only grew here, on ShadowClan land.

Stoneheart hopped on top of the boulder, relishing what little warmth it had managed to soak up from the sun. He breathed in the scents of the grove, his body relaxing. Though he had left ThunderClan for ShadowClan, this place reminded him of where he’d been born, with the thick cover of leaves and the smells of bracken and fern.

This is where I asked Rowanclaw to be my mate, he reflected, scanning the grove. Where he told me he wanted kits... and where Mistyfoot asked me to leave ShadowClan to go on the journey.

He sighed. And it’s going to be destroyed.

Stoneheart felt claws pierce his heart at the thought. So much that was so important to him would never be, could never be, again. Would this be the last time he laid eyes on this grove? Did the lake have anything like this?

His stomach rumbled, interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t eaten since the leftovers the journeying cats had polished off at dawn. Stoneheart recalled the way Webfoot and Weaselpaw looked, and worried – did ShadowClan look the same?

I can barely hear Twoleg monsters, but there are some on our territory, he thought, listening. It seemed like the noises were on the far end of ShadowClan land, towards the woods by the Twolegplace they called the Black Fens. Maybe we’re better off than the others.

He heard the brambles rustle behind him. Stoneheart turned and spotted a dove picking its way along the ground, oblivious to his existence, as most doves were. Stomach growling again, Stoneheart dropped into a crouch.

The kill came easily – doves were simple-minded prey. But as he lifted his head from his fresh-kill, there was a screech of defiance and a blur of fur. Stoneheart was knocked off of his paws before he could react.

“Thief!” cried his attacker. “That’s ShadowClan prey!”

Stoneheart felt claws pricking his pelt. “I am ShadowClan!” he complained, twisting beneath his foe. His hind paws found their belly and, with a push, shoved them off of him. Stoneheart could hear them scrambling to their paws, but he was faster.

“Redpaw, it’s me!” he called to the ginger she-cat.

The apprentice paused, her posture an awkward mix of anger and shock. Slowly, though, her spine relaxed. “Stoneheart?” she murmured, whiskers twitching. “Is that... really you?”

“Yes!” Stoneheart breathed, his heart lifting. She’s not so skinny as the WindClan cats, he thought, looking her over. But she is still thin. He looked into the sparse undergrowth that surrounded them. “Where’s Pansytail?”

“Right here.” Redpaw’s mentor appeared, as if Stoneheart had called her. Pansytail’s dappled pelt blended in almost perfectly with the leaves on the ground. Her green eyes regarded Stoneheart with a caution that mirrored Webfoot’s. “Hello, Stoneheart.”

Another shape padded out from the shadows. “What’s going on?” asked a young dark brown tabby tom, his eyes darting from side to side. “Is it Twolegs? Another Clan?”

“Talonpaw?” Stoneheart tipped his head. “Is that you?”

“It’s Talonstripe now,” he said, lifting his head. He didn’t seem fussed that Stoneheart had reappeared right in front of him. “Russetstar made me a warrior a quarter-moon ago!”

“Congratulations!” Stoneheart felt light as he looked over his Clanmates. Clearly, he was receiving a better welcome than poor Crowpaw had!

“Where have you been?” Redpaw asked. She stepped forward and took a cautious sniff. “You smell funny.”

Talonstripe flicked his tail. “And you look fat,” he grunted, tipping his head towards Stoneheart’s side.

Stoneheart rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been to any Twolegs, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He turned to Pansytail, who he assumed was the leader of their patrol. “I need to speak to Russetstar.”

Pansytail was not regarding him with the same curiosity as the younger cats. There was something in her eyes, but whenever Stoneheart tried to meet her gaze, she looked away. Finally, she turned about and, with a flick of her dappled tail, she ordered, “Come.”

Redpaw and Talonstripe took a position alongside him as Pansytail led the way back along the trail. Stoneheart felt a prickle of discomfort run down his spine as he picked up his dove. Was he being escorted home as a Clanmate? Or as a possible enemy?

———————————————————

The trek through the pine woods was quiet, and Stoneheart was thankful for the dove in his mouth – it kept Redpaw or Talonstripe from asking questions he couldn’t easily answer with a nod. To his delight, most of the marshes were unchanged by the Twoleg invasion, though he couldn’t help but notice that Pansytail was taking a longer route to get back to camp.

We should be cutting through the Black Fens, he thought, glancing to his right. But we’re heading up towards Carrionplace instead. The path that they were walking on wasn’t as well-worn as most other hunting trails, meaning that it was just beginning to see constant use. Straining his ears, he could hear the rumble of Twoleg monsters coming from the direction he figured that they should be going. Have they begun destroying that part of our territory?

The dove in his mouth weighed heavy as he plodded on. Though it stopped him from answering questions, it kept him from asking them, too.  

Stoneheart pushed his worries out of his mind for just a moment, letting himself enjoy the feel of being home again – the way the ground squished beneath his paws, the rustle of the pines and the crackle of their needles... even the little stinky mushrooms that bloomed over the rotted old fallen trees. He had missed it all so much!

Pansytail pulled them off of their current path as soon as Carrionplace came into view. The stench of crow-food and Twoleg rubbish wasn’t overpowering yet, but Stoneheart still wrinkled his nose regardless. That’s one part of our territory I won’t miss! He thought. Carrionplace, and the nasty rats within, had always been nothing but trouble for ShadowClan – a source of food that all too often came with a deadly price.

The patrol was following a familiar trail again, this one picking its way between boggy ponds and thick bunches of sedge and swamp grass. The smells of chervil, sweet pye, and mint were strong here, and he scented Littlecloud beneath it all – this was his favorite spot for gathering herbs.  

Ahead, a sedge bush rustled violently. Pansytail lifted her tail and the patrol halted behind her. Stoneheart looked over the shorter warrior, wondering what could be up ahead – another patrol, possibly? His heart ached as the anticipation of seeing his Clanmates again was stronger than he realized.

It was a rabbit, however, that shot out of the bush. It lolloped across the bog, its white tail up. If it saw the cats, it gave no indication... and if the patrol was going to go after it, Pansytail gave no signal.

Why not? Stoneheart was confused. The rabbit was plump, and easy prey in the sticky, wet soil, yet none of the cats surrounding him seemed at all interested in going after it despite the faint outline of their ribs poking through their pelts.

As soon as the rabbit was gone, Pansytail picked up the pace again. Stoneheart adjusted his grip on his dove, still confused.  

“The Twolegs have poisoned the rabbits,” Talonstripe explained, glancing Stoneheart’s way. “They make cats sick to eat, and most who’ve eaten one have died.”

A weight dropped in Stoneheart’s belly, sudden and hard. No wonder the WindClan cats were so skinny! He thought, the fur along his spine prickling with horror. His mind immediately turned to Crowpaw, and how the brash apprentice might take the news. How are they surviving at all right now?

“We haven't lost anyone,” Pansytail assured, glancing back, “but the other Clans have. Thankfully they were able to warn us before we got to eating any rabbits on the fresh-kill pile.”

Stoneheart breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn’t quell the discomfort he felt at the thought of Twolegs poisoning the very prey that the Clan cats lived off of. First rabbits, what next? The dove in his mouth suddenly didn’t seem so appetizing anymore.

Soon enough, Stoneheart realized that they were closing in on the ShadowClan camp. He took in the familiar pines standing tall over an outer wall of bushes prickly enough to keep away any predator that got too curious. Stoneheart could hear the babble of the stream that ran through camp, a part of the river that tapered off into the marshes like a cat’s tail.

His heart soared. It was still there – still whole and undamaged, nestled deep in the heart of the marshland. The smell of ShadowClan surrounded him, pulling his paws onward.

I’m home.

He had to stop himself before he got too carried away. Like in the star flower grove, he had to remember that the Twoleg monsters would come chugging for this place – sooner rather than later. This place that he called home would be gone.

“Nervous?” Redpaw wondered.

Stoneheart swallowed. He couldn’t bring himself to answer, and not just because of the dove in his jaws. Redpaw looked confused that a ShadowClan cat would be so worried about returning home. She didn’t know – she didn’t understand.

He pushed past the apprentice, catching up to Pansytail as she ducked beneath the sedge-and-fern tunnel that led into the camp.

I’m home, he thought as he stepped into the clearing, but this place won’t be home for long.

[mothergayselle]

Damsel? Me? Never // Mahariel/Zev/Alistair

words: 2k rating: T summary: mahariel is stubborn and zevran loves a damsel. when you overwork yourself, who else would you want to sweep you off your feet? (alistair disapproves +15)

 (( read on ao3 )) 

xxxxx

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, the fainting. Neither were the unending, incessant patrols at night. Mahariel must have rounded the camp a hundred times, and still she slithered along the shadows of the Brecilian forest like Death, except, she needed the sleep.

Zevran’s accent was curled, a midnight rose unfurling in the fragrant air. “May I suggest we return to camp soon?” he prompted. “You’re looking a little…”

Mahariel’s subsequent glare teased a smile from him.

“Well, radiant as always, of course. However, fatigued would also be an accurate description.”

During patrols, Mahariel always insisted on taking point — which, the group noticed, as a duelist — put her in the direct line of fire. If she wasn’t always so utterly silent, it would’ve been a matter of contention.

Still, her persistence to spend each night patrolling often drove Alistair to pace the entire camp until their inevitable return. And they had returned, every time, although this did little to ease his worrying.

Mahariel continued to slink through the brambles of the forest, folding each footstep into quarters as she padded with the side of her feet. “It’s not my fault I can’t sleep,” she hissed, rounding the trunk of a redwood. “I have, uh, what did Zathrian call it—”

“Post-traumatic stress—“

“—Yeah. Exactly. I didn’t ask for a troubled childhood.”

Their breaths were waifs spilling out of their throats. “Ah, yes. The plight of the wounded child,” he mused.

“You would know.”

The remark didn’t hurt — on the contrary. The vitriol of Mahariel’s words was intoxicating, like a fine wine laced with the sweetest poison. Zevran’s mouth tingled at the taste. “Indeed, I would. In fact, I used my childhood quite often when working with the Crows. Women love a broken man.” His tongue lingered on that last part.

Mahariel’s cadence never stuttered. “Yeah, all right. Same old story. Men and women, drink and sex. Money. Blood splattering onto your boots. More sex. More money. Blah blah blah. Shut up,” she murmured. “I’m working here.”

The jests laid hollow, and Zevran frowned. Throughout her babble, it’d been clear. Even in the dark, Mahariel’s grip on her daggers was slack. Too weak for the flourishes she favored. If a darkspawn or a werewolf were to ambush them now, the blades would slip through her fingers.

Nevertheless, he made a conscious effort to respond in turn. “I’m waiting for your imminent unconsciousness, my dear. Judging by your posture and the shuffling of your feet, you have but minutes.”

Mahariel scoffed, and he watched as she momentarily paused their scouting. She rolled her neck, wincing, and turned to face Zevran’s nimble frame. “I’m tired, Zev. That hardly makes me a damsel in distress.”

When he grinned, the corners of her mouth spasmed. It was impossible not to smile at such a mischievous expression. Like a wolf, Leliana had said. Minus the canines.

Zevran tilted his head at an angle that exposed the hard, fine line of his jaw. The dimple on his cheek, as wily as he, winked at her. “If only, madame. However, should you ever change your mind—“ His grin only widened at the slight narrowing of her eyes. “—Allow me to be the prince who, helplessly allured by your beauty, sweeps you off your weary feet. I should want for nothing more.”

He added a bow for effect, and the full moon calcined his hair into silver.

“Do you ever tire of monologuing?” she teased, chewing the inside of her cheek.  An exercise to control the smile assembling beneath the surface. “It must be a lot of work, lying so often.”

The next exhale was long, a release of something hard. When Mahariel proceeded to sheathe a dagger, Zevran’s gaze was drawn to the way its point scraped against the holder before plunging in. A wave of exhaustion seemed to visibly tug at the Warden, and he inched forward, returning his own weapons to the scabbards behind his neck.

“Okay,” she said. Her eyelids fluttered, and she swallowed nervously as she sheathed the other dagger. “I’m ready to head back now.” Mahariel sneered at Zevran’s advancement. “I’m not going to collapse, idiot.”

The forest itself seemed to catch the guile. Her words were snatched away by its perfect darkness, beckoned out of her throat by its lull. The animals were quiet — save for the owls. No monster trudged their way. Camp was safe. Camp had been safe, but Mahariel chose to toil regardless and they all knew it was futile to stop her.

In her defense, there were many nights where she had intercepted shadowy villains, berserk-brained and intent on attacking their lodging. Mahariel was diligent, and that diligence was why they turned to her as their leader. On nights like these, though…well.

Mahariel grimaced. The tattoos on her face shimmered when her head lolled and greeted the stars. The Creators. The Maker. Zevran didn’t know. One of those, perhaps. Her copper hair fought the moonlight slicing into it, holding onto a sliver of color before it could be bleached completely.  A rumble of defiance purred out of her, and she swore a string of oaths that surprised even Zevran. He only stalked, one half-foot at a time, until a respectable amount of room lay between them.

“Zevran?” she asked, bringing a clean hand to her face.

His face remained smooth as he replied. “Yes, dear?”

Mahariel’s eyes snapped open once more to shoot him a withering glare. “I hate you.”

Contempt in the face of exhaustion was impressive. Zevran’s lips arced, the smirk pulling at their fullness. His eyes, though. Did she see how they tightened? How they remained untouched and cold?

“Zev,” she said, scowling, her mouth loosening open. “Catch me.”

It was, unfortunately, a dance they’ve performed before. A dark routine, of sorts. Mahariel reached for him as her knees failed, though she was unconscious by the time she sank into his chest. Zevran huffed in disapproval. Silly woman. Stubborn woman. This wasn’t dramatic at all.

The velocity made it easy enough. With one hand he cradled the Warden’s head while the other, yes, swept both feet off the forest floor. Zevran felt the impulse to glower, to physically express the criticism he felt brewing inside his belly, but the desire quickly evaporated. Mahariel, limp and haunted, was hard to accuse. Even when a damsel.

It wasn’t just the blue half-moons etched beneath her eyes, or the small cut on her lip that she picked at. A few fainting spells hardly compared to the friendship she’d so easily offered, even after their objectionable meeting. With the Warden inert in his arms, Zevran trudged back to camp.

<-----------------------------------x------------------------------------>

They always slept in shifts, but there he was, circling the fire, stomping a trench into the Earth.

Honestly.

Alistair intercepted them as they emerged from the shadows.  “Again?” His voice was breathless as it echoed across the campsite. It was a good thing they’d secured the perimeter, then.

Mahariel stirred in his arms. “Mm?” It took her a moment to recognize that it was his face, and not Alistair’s, peering back at her. She swore something filthy, a curse Zevran frequented on his own — had he rubbed off on her? Glee registered in the back of his mind. He’d save that for later.

He couldn’t help but grin at her confusion. “Hello, my dear.”

By then, Alistair had approached with long, anxious strides. Poor bastard. He’d covered the span of the whole campsite in a matter of seconds. “Lyna?”

Zevran ignored the annoyance flashing across Alistair’s face upon greeting him with a nod. “She's only been out for a bit. The coast is clear, by the way. We made sure many times.” That last part was for himself.  

“Don’t be passive,” Mahariel slurred out. She turned her face away from his chest and breathed deeply, although her eyes remained closed. The lashes on each undulated as they sought for something to help them open, perhaps. Brambles of blackness. “It’s unworthy of you.”

Mahariel eased into Alistair’s hold easily. Zevran gently deposited the Warden as soon as he’d reached for her. A poor bastard he was, yes, but the stress carved so deeply into the man’s jaw evoked a modicum of sympathy.

“Is she hurt?” he asked. Zevran shook his head in an answer.

Mahariel, meanwhile, was beginning to revive. “She is not hurt, thank you.” The belligerence in her voice softened Alistair’s panic somewhat — his teeth finally unclenched and the air was filled with the sound of the subsequent sigh. The noise drew her attention upwards, and she frowned.

“I’m sorry. I’d planned to take it easy tonight but I just kept seeing things in the dark.” The frowned deepened, tightening her brows. “Or so I thought.”

Zevran watched their exchange politely. Alistair may have more questions after he’s put her to bed like the damsel she really wasn’t, but sometimes made herself to be.

Every word she spoke visibly dissolved the worry from Alistair’s body. It was a bit sickening to watch, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same in his place. “Yes, well, who knows what could’ve swooped in from the treetops?” He then realized the stupidity of his words. “Uh, um, that probably… was not helpful.”

Zevran felt like rolling his eyes.

“Let us retire, shall we? I’m beginning to get the feeling that the others feel as if they are missing out.” He moved his chin in the direction of the site, where Leliana and Wynne had gathered together. The rest were asleep, although Morrigan looked suspiciously rigid and alert in her supposed slumber, even from the far edge of the campsite, where she holed up.

Lyna made a small noise of complaint and shot Alistair what Zevran thought to be a very persuasive expression. “Can I at least walk?” she asked him. Her voice was much sweeter than its prior timbre. “No need to cause more of a disturbance than I already have.”

Alistair’s first reaction was to gaze at her adoringly, but then the love-sickness faltered and he returned to her face with a narrowed, probing stare. There it is, Zevran thought. He’s finally catching on.

Lyna flashed him a grin as he set her on her feet. “We’ll talk about this… later,” he said.

She stood on her own well enough. Alistair didn’t let go as she fanned out her hair. Glints of auburn were teased out from the fire several yards away. He continued to eye her with suspicion, and Lyna sighed. They all began a slow walk to the tents.

“Maybe if you hadn’t forced blood down my throat,” she said to Alistair, who promptly looked stricken with shock, “You wouldn’t have to wait so long to go to bed.” There was an awkward emptiness among them, but then she grinned, every bit as wolfish as Leliana accused him of being. Alistair’s expression of surprise melted at the wink she threw at him afterwards. Zevran smiled to himself.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have met me,” Alistair teased back. There remained a slight strain in his voice, so Mahariel reached up and tussled his hair. He proceeded to swat her away. “And Maker knows, that is a fate much worse than anything I can imagine.”

Gag. Zevran made a mental note to help the ex-templar with his lines. Just as he was about to abandon them to their ill-timed, puppy love, Leliana had flitted to them, as graceful as an Orlesian, summer breeze.  Her lips were roses in the darkness. Lovely.

“Next time,” she said, raking them over with her gaze. Zevran came last, and there was a very obvious tautening of the upper planes of her face. “I’m going with Lyna. You enable her too much.”

Only her temper was more lovely than her mouth. “Leliana, this is Lyna.” He gestured to her without looking. “It seems as if you two haven’t met. In case you were wondering, she’s the boss.”

Leliana harrumphed. “Which makes you…?”

“I’m so glad you asked, gorgeous. I—“

“Nevermind.”