#so chilling when he revealed the wooden sword

[hymnism]

"Ronin began flocking to the houses of great lords. Some were taken on, while others were sent away with coin to save face... Now all penniless ronin think that threatening suicide brings money. That man is one of them. We must make a lesson of him."

[spxllcxstxr]

Northern Attitude (I) • C.S

(Gif not mine)

Request: hey!! can i request something where you’re a targaryen and you’ve been sent to speak with cregan like jacaerys did on the show, but you’re quite soft spoken and feel lowkey intimidated by all these big burly northmen. and ofc some flirting with cregan and he makes you feel safe :) -- @sarahisslytherin

Summary: In the process of assuring Winterfell’s loyalty to your mother, you get close to Lord Stark

Warnings: fem!reader, you’re the daughter of Rhaenyra but I don’t specify the father so it can be more inclusive (older than jace), alcohol and eating mentions

Word Count: 1.3k

A.N: This wasn't going to be this long and then I got so into it. I'm actually really happy with how this turned out! Not just because it's actually over 1k words, but also because i really really like it! And I hope you guys enjoy it too!!

Part I | Read the last part here!

•

The bitter cold of the North nips at your extremities even when housed inside the walls of Winterfell. This was a cold you felt right down to the bone, despite the furs your host had provided you with only hours prior when you arrived.

Since your arrival, you have occupied yourself in your chambers, flitting between the books on the shelves and the small hearth on the other side of the decent sized room.

It is not until late your host makes an appearance; matters from the Wall taking priority over the Queen's daughter. You held no ill will, knowing how important the Wall was for the Northmen closest to it.

The greeting outside of your chamber door goes smoothly; since birth you had to greet numerous Lords and Ladies, this one being no different. His charming looks, though stoic, catch you off guard. You take his offered arm before he guides you to the welcome feast.

Cregan leads you through the dark stone corridors of Winterfell, your arms intertwined as you hold onto the crook of his elbow. You feel his strong muscle through his many layers of thick fabric. Your footsteps echo along with the metallic rattling of your guards behind the two of you. The absence of conversation is comfortable, however, something you truly have not felt since the death of your Grandsire.

Beside you, Cregan practically radiates warmth which has you almost melting into his side. Despite the chill, his hands are uncovered, the palm of his hand rests on your arm, heating your covered skin beneath.

The sight of the rugged wooden doors causes you to stiffen almost immediately. The reality of your purpose for being at Winterfell cools your blood as it finally washes over you. You were here on behalf of your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Swallowing uneasily, you attempt to calm your nerves.

Sensing your distress, Cregan leans closer to your frame. "Do not fret, Princess," He mutters kindly. "You have no one to convince except me—and I am already highly inclined to agree to your terms."

You do not spare your host a glance as your face burns. In front of you, the grand doors open, revealing a large hall and guests already rising for the two of you.

Your gaze glides over the bowing figures, all men, you notice. The only women in the hall were serving girls; stiffly standing at the ends of the room, pitchers full of presumably ale clutched in their hands.

Attempting to muster up a commanding presence was difficult when next to the Lord of Winterfell, for he commands the room with no effort. His men watch you as you continue to the other side. Their intense stares and built bodies making you nervous. Swords were strewn recklessly across their dining tables, bows and arrows litter the floor. In their eyes you were a defenseless babe crawling into a den of wolves.

The men in King’s Landing and Dragonstone were dangerous in a different way. Their sharp wit and web of lies could cut deep and kill. The men of the North, however, used their brute force and self-assured bravery to kill you just as dreadfully. Any one of these men could bloody you as you walk by them. This rattles you just as much as the plotting traitors back in King’s Landing does.

Taking a deep breath, you feel the soothing motions of Cregan's thumb tracing circles against your arm. The reassurance pulls you out of your spiral of thoughts. With your chin held high you continue to the front of the hall, the long wooden table already covered with food and goblets of wine and ale.

After a few words from both you and Cregan the feast begins and the once silent hall becomes almost deafening. There were plenty of jeers and jokes thrown around at your expense. If you had more fire in your blood like the rest of your family, you might have said something to stay their tongues.

You and Cregan make small talk, the two of you paying more attention to the plates on the table. By the time your appetite is sated the Lord of Winterfell had noticed your meek demeanor and timid glances at the drunk Northmen below.

"Pay them no mind, Princess," The warm light of the hall's hearth dance in Cregan's striking grey eyes. "These rowdy bastards lack decency after a drop of ale."

You scan Winterfell's great hall from your position at the high table. Cregan Stark's men were all in various states of disarray, though you suppose it’s only characteristic of Northerners. The room was loud, almost overwhelmingly so, with booming laughter and arguments that spanned across the tables.

"Not like Dragonstone, I presume?" At Cregan's soft yet baritone voice, heat creeps up your neck.

Your gaze turns to the Lord of Winterfell, a smile gracing his usually stoic face. "Not at all, my Lord. Dragonstone is more.."

"Boring?"

"Traditional," You finish, smile mirroring his own.

Cregan snorts. "Aye, you Southerners have quite the stick up the arse."

"Oh really now?" You lightly giggle, tilting your head as if to challenge the Northerner at your side. You drink from your goblet, the red wine sweet on your lips, eyebrows raised.

"Aye, Princess. I think you need a Northerner to invigorate your life down there."

You hum in response, the wine making your skin tingle. With your attention now solely on Cregan Stark, you feel yourself melting into comfort.

Cregan briefly pauses, looking into your eyes. They mirror an oncoming winter storm and you’re unable to look away.

“I have something to attend to, Princess. My men will escort you and your guards to your quarters.” He takes your hand in his, the delicate grip of such a strong man making you bite your bottom lip. “I will try to see you before the night ends.” With that, his lips meet your knuckles in a soft kiss.

Cregan heaves himself out of his seat, throwing you one last smirk before leaving you in the hall with your guards and the remaining feasting men.

With one last sip from your goblet, you allow yourself to be escorted to your chambers, tugging your fur cloak tighter around you.

The crescent moon is shining through your window when you hear three knocks on you door. Assuming that this late night visitor could only be Lord Stark, you rise from the bed, adorning the fur cloak your host had provided you earlier in the day.

The door creaks as you open it tentatively. Cregan stands at the threshold, wearing the same attire from the feast. You take note of the hint of pink on his cheeks and the red hue of the tips of his ears peeking out of his shoulder length brown hair. Whether this was a result of the North's bitter chill or something else, you do not know.

"Princess." He bows his head as he greets you.

"Lord Stark..." You breathe out, smiling at the man in front of you. "Is this visit based on the business of the Crown?"

"No, Princess, I just..." His low tone tapers off as he lifts his hand up in order to stroke you face. His fingertips feel warm against your skin. You wait with bated breath for his next move. Slowly, his fingertips trace down your delicate skin to hold your chin between his index and his thumb. He tilts your head up slightly. His stormy grey eyes never leave your own. "I just wanted to gaze upon your beauty once more before I fall asleep."

The maneuver has you practically trembling under your heavy furs. You wet your lips, his eyes only quickly following the movement before once again settling back on your eyes.

"I am happy to indulge in your desires...my Lord." You whisper, voice almost quivering.

"Sleep well, Princess," With that, Cregan removes his touch, though his warmth still lingers across your face. He bows once more before turning and walking down the stone corridor.

Slowly you close your chamber door, smiling lips pursed.

"Mother will be pleased." You sigh before sitting once more on your bed, thoughts of Cregan Stark dancing through your head.

•

[luvsfics]

SERENDIPITY — house of the dragon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark!Reader

[ innuendo, mentions of war ]

Description: As Lord Cregan Stark’s most trusted adviser and sister, she had stayed by his side as the prince of the realm made his petitions for support of his mothers claim and to help aid their side in the war. Though, the prince had more of an effect on the younger stark sibling than the other.

series warnings: sexual descriptions, angst, adultery ??, death, violence, sexual tension, and more.

Series masterlist

Summer was ending and winter was approaching swiftly. With the wind howling each night, the air had felt dry and the sun had seemed to not have much of effect on the chill that was coming.

The sunlight had began peaking through the cracks of the curtains on the windows, shining in her eyes and awaking her from her slumber. She stretched her muscles and groaned quietly at the aching of her bones. The furs that covered her body had fell onto the bed as she rose from the pillows.

Her dark curls cascaded down her bare back, the ticklish feeling of her hair on her skin made her shiver. The cool air made her nipples harden. She slipped out of bed and shifted on her robe before stepping over the fireplace and lit up a fire with a piece of flint. The warmth of the fire began to heat up the chamber, making the girl smile in delight.

She opened up her wardrobe and her hands led her to a beautiful red dress, one of her favorites. She felt today may be a good day, so why not wear it.

She slipped off her robe and bared herself to the stone walls of her chamber, before stepping into her dress and tying the laces of the corset back. She took the fur coat and slid it over her shoulders.

A knock was sound at the wooden door, “you may enter!” The stark girl spoke. Entered her brother, Cregan and her dog, whom he gifted her when she was a mere girl, Grim, waltzed into her apartment.

“Well hello there, big boy!” She knelt down as the dog ran up to the. Grim had the appearance of a direwolf yet smaller, a reason Cregan had gifted her the pet.

“Good morrow to you too, sister.” Cregan laughed. Grim licked her cheek, she giggled at the wet, ticklish feeling of his harsh tongue on her cheek. “I apologize, I just like him more.” She said as she scratched behind the dogs ears.

“Well, I won’t debate with you about that, he is more cuddly than I am.”

“Come, we must go attend to the training lessons. It is always quite funny to see the boys get put on their asses by one another.” She said to which Cregan had a laugh over.

His arm in her hand, they walked through the castle together and stepped out into the chilly air of the outdoors. The winds were calm and the sun was shining down upon the horizon.

Swords clashed together as boys of winterfell trained with the experienced men. “Stand tall!” Cregan shouted at one of the boys whom was hunched over during his attack.

She ran a kind hand down her brother’s bicep before sitting down on a crate as she watched the training session. Some of the boys whom stood on the sidelines began whispering among themselves as they stared at the woman.

The winter beauty, she was known as, Sister of Lord Cregan Stark, the lady of winterfell, one of the most unobtainable women in the North, unless they want to feel the wrath of her brother.

Screeching could be heard in the distance. “Dragon!” Yelled men from the towers and the wall. The lady jumped from her seat and beside her brother.

Grim ran up to his owners, standing in front of them, ready to defend. “Come, boy.” Cregan said as he lead both his sister and the dog to the gates of winterfell

“Tis Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, ‘said he has word from his mother, the queen!” A man from above shouted towards Cregan. “Open the gates!” He nodded.

The wooden gates slowly opened, revealing a curly head of hair and a yellow dragon. The prince turned his head around to reveal his features. The lady had felt her face heat up, a curious thing indeed. No man had ever made her swoon.

And she was swooning. A heat had arose in her belly as he walked towards the siblings. Her lips parted as she stared the boy down, she had never seen a man who had been so beautiful.

Grim had nudged his head against his owners thigh, practically begging her to step out of her trance and stop embarrassing herself in front of royal blood.

She quickly shut her mouth and straightened herself before he approached the pair.

“M’lord.” The Velaryon prince bowed and took Cregan’s hand in a firm shake. “M’lady.” He took her and pressed a soft kiss on the top of her knuckles, perhaps trying to kill her right there and then.

“My prince.” Cregan bowed, she quickly followed in her brother’s path.

“Perhaps we should talk elsewhere.” Cregan said as the expression on the prince’s face began to sour before he spoke.

The lord of winterfell led his sister and the prince to his private chambers, his personal workplace of sorts. “Please, sit.” He offered as he pointed to the chair in front of the desk, making his own way around to his chair.

His advisor stood behind him, her hands entwined in front of her as her dog laid himself at her feet.

“War is approaching M’lord. I am here to gain your support for my mother’s claim, your father swore an oath to my mother when she was named heir.” The prince began.

The air was taken from the lady’s chest as she heard news of war. “War? Has the heir’s claim come into question?” She spoke up.

“More or less, the Hightowers, upon my grandsire’s death, usurped the iron throne and placed Aegon Targaryen on my mother’s seat.” Jacaerys sighed.

Cregan seemed puzzled and his expressions were unclear. He slumped into his chair, “My apologies, my prince, but I cannot just give my support without knowing full and well what the North as a whole will be supporting, oath or not.”

Jacaerys nodded. “I understand, my lord.”

“How about this, spend a few nights in the North and help me gain an understanding of this cause I am supporting.” Cregan said without a second thought.

“Very well, M’lord. I shall send word to my mother.” Jacaerys smiled.

[argisthebulwark]

Time Moves Slow - Farkas

sfw, gn reader Summary: After returning from Sovngarde the Dragonborn finds that a handful of hours for them has been years for those in Tamriel and reunites with their loved one. Others Linked: Vilkas, Brynjolf, Teldryn, Miraak, Cicero

Full of adrenaline and excitement you hustled through the Whiterun plains. Your pack pounded against your lower back but every step brought you closer to Farkas. It was a tad surprising to return to no fanfare. A city guard nodded when you approached the gate but said nothing. The flowers you'd planted only a few weeks ago were nearly dead and Breezehome's paint was faded. It was odd to stand in front of your own home and not recognize it. Dark curtains covered most windows and a workbench boasted some unfinished leather project. Your key stuck in the unforgiving lock. Dread settled into your stomach upon entering your home. The furniture was new, herbs hanging from the rafters and weapons littered on every surface. Dishes were piled messily into a sink you'd cleaned only the day before. Peeking into your apothecary room revealed nothing more than more clutter - armor and weapons stacked into chests you'd never seen before. Your alchemy table bore a lifetime's worth of dust and the shelves surrounding it were devastatingly bare. Something was very wrong. Your footsteps echoed around the strange house when you hurried upstairs. Lydia's room was long empty, bedroll collecting dust in the corner of the empty chamber. Blood roared in your ears when you stared at the state of your bed chambers. Unfamiliar blankets were strewn haphazardly across the bed. Pillows were stacked on one side, the other barren. Farkas' slippers stuck out near his bedside table. A sheet was draped over the case bearing your Amulets of Mara and your wardrobe had been shoved far out of place. Terror chilled your blood when you approached the bed you'd slept in the night before. Something had gone very wrong. Your fingers dragged over the strange blankets as you tried to work out what it could be - had your presence in Sovngarde triggered some reaction in your absence? Your books were gone. Your clothes folded and forgotten in an old trunk. Your leather armor hidden under heaps of heavy metal. Every bit of you seemed to be hidden and shoved away. There was no proof of your existence yet you'd only left a day before. Head spinning, you sat down on the bed. Nothing made sense. Your home was no longer your home. Had you somehow returned to the wrong time? You'd hardly given any thought to your return, planning only for Alduin's demise. "What the -" A voice cut through your thoughts and brought a new bout of anxiety. Strained ears heard the door shut and heavy footfalls through the house. Was this even your home? If you'd returned to the wrong time perhaps Farkas had sold the house. You could be trespassing. "Hello?" A deep voice rumbled up the stairs. "I know someone's been in here. There's nothing much worth stealing, might as well come out." Farkas. That's his voice. Scrambling across the bedroom all anxiety was forgotten at the thought of seeing him. He'd make it alright. He'd explain everything. Your boots scraped over the wooden floor when you panted atop of the stairs, eyes narrowing to spot him through the dim light. A scar his brow. His hair was lighter, tied back from his face in a way you'd never seen before. He shrugged an immense sword off his shoulder and left it on the new couch. When he finally looked up his eyes held dark circles, his familiar smile gone. "Farkas." You breathed his name and his face tightened. "What happened?" "Say that again." He gulped, taking one unsure step. "Say what?" "Say my name." "Farkas." You'd say his name a thousand times. A grin broke out over his face and you launched down the stairs. Everything was so uncertain but he's there to catch you, drawing you into an embrace that hadn't changed. Farkas' strong arms crushed you to his body, tears soaking into his tunic when he finally spoke your name. "I thought you were gone." He mumbled between heavy sobs, clutching you as if you were bound to disappear. "I thought I lost you."

[rainswept]

hihi @kaeyas-beloved !! this was for the secret santa — i’m so sorry it was so late, i had some complications with my health that made it so i was unable to write. i hope you had a great christmas and new years!

blood. childe.

1k words. cw. mentions of drowning/death/violence (in the past)

“One day, I’ll take you to my homeland for winter.”

Nestled in the stomach of the gray patterned bowl Childe holds is a steaming soup, tentacles and crab legs still simmering in a blood red sea.

Beneath the chilling blanket of the abyss he lies, frail and wounded and young. He scrambles to find himself — he hides his throat and bares his teeth — he gains a scar and is sure he’s killed hundreds. With desperation, he lashes out at anything that moves, whether he can see it or not. Sometimes he lands a hit. Sometimes he gets hurt. Sometimes he stumbles in the dark and awaits a blow that never comes.

Garnish and pools of oil bubble up beside it like a delectable hot spring, savory delights wrapped up in little pockets of half-translucent dew.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. While he can still breathe, blood fills the gaps in remaining senses he has — a metallic taste on his tongue and a sticky thing under his fingernails.

“It snows a lot more than this.”

He cannot feel nor hear a way up, so he goes down.

The darkness settles around him until he no longer has any use for his eyes, and it seeps into mouth and drips down his throat until he can no longer draw breath. Drowning. The sting of his cuts gnaws at his skin and he wraps his fingers tight around the bleeding. Drowning. Drowning. Still drowning.

He sits down on the couch beside you, wood in the fireplace crackling and snapping as he settles. His fingers are bare, free of the gloves that separate him and the blood he spills, and they slip out from beneath the bowl so carefully it barely makes a noise as it settles down onto the wooden coffee table.

He brandishes his sword, spear, claymore, bow. He swings and shoots with a feral vengeance, and he blocks with desperation to protect. One day, he is afraid it will not be enough.

Teucer, Tonia, Anthon — his siblings flash before his eyes. Then you. You, your sweet words and your comforting embrace and your gentle touch as you wash the blood away from his skin. It is washed down the pristine porcelain sink without a second thought, and if a wound is revealed in the process, you bandage it wordlessly. What did he do to deserve that? This he often wonders, though he has never dared to voice it.

Your fingers wrap around his torso, and you place your head against the crook of his neck. His eyelids grow heavy.

People may look at Childe and think, above all else, he is a fighter.

He wouldn’t say they are wrong.

Like melting chocolate wedged between a graham cracker and molten-hot marshmallow — he did always like to make those — he sinks down into your embrace as if it’s the last time he will ever get the chance to.

To be an older sibling, a Harbinger, a lover, is to be a protector. And to protect, most often, you must fight.

He is a fighter — he always has been — that doesn’t change when he dons the codename Childe, or the title Tartaglia, and especially not when he thinks of his family calling out the name “Ajax”. Especially not.

He casts a nostalgic look out of the window. It glitters like forlorn stars scattered about the night sky, hazy memories and long-forgotten childhood dreams that are now realized to never have had a chance to come true.

Drowning.

You pick at your bowl, and he thinks you are humoring him. “Does it, now?”

He laughs. It’s a warm sound, not like the one he makes before a fight, no. It’s genuine, scattered stars in every crack in his voice like that of the ever-burning fireplace in the living room.

“Of course.”

Drowning.

Childe’s grip on his spoon tightens, and his eyes flick to the blooming bouquet, a proud centerpiece on the wooden dining table. He reaches out to adjust one of them that had risen out of the water.

...

Beneath the quelled sky when it’s cold is a myriad of memories, old and new, past, present, and future tangled into a flowering embrace despite the unchanging blanket of snow.

Seeds of hope of all kinds will bud or die, sprout up through the ice as it melts, prove that they are strong. They are steadfast, loyal, and resilient. Like him. Like the Tsaritsa, he hopes. Like his siblings. Like you.

Over and over again, the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger had coaxed blood to spill by his hand. He had stolen it from warm bodies and watched as they grew cold.

He holds you closer as he takes a sip of the soup. Here, he is reminded everything he stands for — why he is still here in the first place. The warmth of your hand, the forgiveness of your touch, the light in his siblings eyes that he is making sure does not get stolen from them like it did his.

Blood, pouring from a wound until eyes grow dim and hazy; blood, the family he had and would spill his to protect; blood, carefully encapsulated in safe veins, blushing cheeks, flushed skin. Love. The warmth in his home, the hull of the ship, the blade of the knife, the seed of the flower. The reason why he survived the abyss, and the reason why he survives now. You cleaning his wounds and him making sure you don’t suffer any.

Love is a tender night like this, sipping on specialty soups, curled up in front of a fireplace as a storm rages outside; limbs tangled beneath soft blankets, fleeting kisses filled with affection. He sinks into your embrace and wraps his arms around you, head resting on your shoulder as you run your fingers through his hair.

Childe was always devoted to his life, his family, you. Everything he did was to protect something he held dear.

He didn’t regret a thing, for that meant you were safe, and he was too. Here, right now, taking breaths of fresh air one by one. Breathing. For once in his life, his head was above the water, and he wasn’t fighting with every ounce of energy to stay there.

i’m sorry this is quite short, but i hope you liked it regardless! i’m not entirely sure how to write for childe, but i’ve wanted to for a while so i figured this was a good time to seize the opportunity.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The rain was loud, covering the already quiet footsteps as a figure approached an overhanging. Underneath the simple wooden roof was a man asleep in a pile of hay alongside a chocolate colored dog, who was curled in a tight ball and snoring loudly.

The hooded figure stood over the pair a moment, taking the sight in, before walking under the awning. The figure pulled back the hood covering their face, revealing a Sheikah woman. She kicked lightly at the bottom of the man’s boot.

The blonde man flinched in response, eyes fluttering open. He stiffened, hand reaching for a sword that lay beside him, when he paused at the sight of the woman. He squinted in confusion a moment, clearly recognizing she was Sheikah and likely not a threat as a result, but unsure what else to make of her.

“Interesting place of rest,” the woman noted.

Link blinked blearily, growing slightly annoyed. “Can’t really rest if you’re waking me up, ma’am.”

The woman chuckled at that. “Ma’am? Do you truly not recognize me?”

Link blushed a little, flustered and embarrassed. He huffed to cover it up, looking at his companion instead. “I meet many people on my journeys.”

“It’s fine,” the woman said easily. “You were recovering when you saw me most. That was many years ago.”

Link squinted into the dark rain, trying to place what she was talking about, when it hit him like a moblin club. His eyes widened and he looked back at her, recalling palace walls, a healer, a Sheikah guard— “Lady Impa?”

Lady Impa gracefully nodded her head in acknowledgement. Then her smile faded a hair. “The years don’t seem to have been kind on you. It’s dangerous to be alone, in the dark and vulnerable like this. Why are you sleeping here?”

Link huffed again, though with slightly better humor. “My companion will alert me if there’s danger.”

Friend snored helpfully, her lips and paws twitching as she dreamed. Link felt Impa’s scrutiny magnify, and he blushed. “She knew you weren’t a threat!”

Lady Impa hummed, crossing her arms. Friend snorted loudly, startling herself awake, and then registered there was another person there. She barked shrilly, hair standing on edge for a moment, before her tail started wagging so hard it might as well have flown off her wiggling butt. Impa’s gentle amusement bubbled into outright laughter as the dog started licking her hands in greeting.

“A great guard dog, I see,” she commented, petting her.

Link huffed a third time, good humor fading. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m searching for the princess. She disappeared, though the queen has a good suspicion she ran away. It’s my job to track her down. I don’t suppose you might know where she is, would you?”

Link considered her words a moment. He didn’t exactly have an inkling on the princess’ location, only that she was trying to track him ever since he saved her and her friend. He supposed relaying that information would be helpful.

He was tired and grumpy. He wasn’t feeling helpful.

Besides, helping Impa might drag him into more royal nonsense. Better she figure it out for herself.

“Not a clue,” he finally said, rubbing his face tiredly to hide his expression. “I’m glad you’re in good health, Lady Impa, but perhaps you can leave me to sleep now?”

Lady Impa watched him far longer than he liked. He felt himself shrivel inward a hair, as if he were still that seventeen-year-old boy again who had saved Hyrule and barely knew how to deal with the consequences. He debated just getting up and finding somewhere else to sleep, but it was far too bloody cold for that.

“This night has quite the chill,” Impa finally said, making him glance at her in bewilderment. “You shouldn’t be sleeping outside.”

Link stared at her dully as Friend flopped on his lap to get some pets. “This area is quite comfortable, thanks. And Cupcake here will keep me warm.”

Impa’s face warmed as she smiled at his words, but she was still stubborn. “Come with me, Hero. I’ll buy you a room at the inn.”

Link felt his body stiffen. He didn’t want to deal with people. He didn’t. “I’m fine here.”

“Is this a matter of pride? If you don’t have the rupees, it’s fine. I said I’d buy you the room,” she continued relentlessly. When Link didn’t reply, she cocked her head to the side, hand on her hip as she watched him discerningly. “Or is it simply that you don’t wish to be near others?”

Link sighed, biting his lip and looking down.

Lady Impa crouched down in front of him, petting Friend some more. Friend’s tail thumped cheerily on the ground in response, and she rolled onto her back on Link’s crossed legs. Impa chuckled at it, her face gentle and kind, and she turned her gaze to Link, now at eye level with him. “I’ll do the talking, Link. Just come out of this dismal weather.”

The invitation was clearly not negotiable, and Link was shivering now that he was more awake. Sighing heavily, he nudged Friend with his leg, urging her to get up. She flipped to her feet quickly, shaking herself and panting excitedly as she looked between the two. Link slowly rose, cracking his back and neck and pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. Lady Impa led the way, heading towards the village where he’d been lingering in the outskirts. The group made their way in silence (though Friend did find a deer to chase, as well as a puddle to dig in) before Impa guided them to the inn close to the center of the village. Link hugged himself under his cloak as they entered, hovering near the exit with his beloved companion. Friend sensed his anxiety and remained close, sitting down and leaning her weight on his legs.

Impa only argued very briefly with the innkeeper concerning the dog, paying a little extra for unexpected damages, before guiding the two upstairs. Link looked at her glumly when the room revealed two beds.

“I do have to sleep too, you know,” she noted easily, taking off her cloak. “There aren’t single rooms here. At least you’re not with a stranger.”

“This was just a trap,” Link grumbled, though he too stripped off his outer clothes, which were now soaked. Friend moved to jump on the bed, but Link caught her first, cleaning her paws and fur of mud as much as possible. Then she proceeded to take the entire mattress.

Lady Impa laughed at it, settling into her own bed. “Good night, Link.”

For his part, Link didn’t try to be too grumpy anymore. She had bought him a warm place to sleep. Sighing heavily, he wrestled for space (and the blanket) on the bed, settling into a comfortable position as Friend stretched and yawned. “Good night, Lady Impa.”

[foolsdiamond]

Untitled DirkJake AU Vaguely Inspired By Castlevania

chapter 1: Entering the castle,exposition

Far off the paved path, in the foothills of the mountains, is the quaint little village of Lotak. Its townspeople serve the Lord of the castle nestled among the rocky slopes, with black granite slabs and slate tiles creating a dark, ominous silhouette. It is in this very village that wandering hero Jake English has just arrived, seeking information on the castle’s Prince to further his quest.

Jake English is a strapping young man, the kind of guy you’re proud to bring back home to your parents. He wears a thick, long leather coat with a furry ruff of animal hide around the collar. It hides the holsters for his set of twin flintlocks, along with the pouches he keeps stocked with basic provisions and supplies. He’s a vampire hunter, a title inherited from his grandmother and earned from his experience. The rumor mill around Lotak has brought him here to investigate the Prince lording over from the castle on the hill.

The village is bustling at the brink of dusk, with the orange sunset spreading shadows from building to building. Jake tries to tune the background noise out; filtering the useless dribble from actual beneficial tidbit using his own personal metric (a process that might today be referred to as Attention Deficit Disorder). He decides to make his way to the marketplace first, where he's more likely to encounter some better candidates for questioning. This isn't his first rodeo, nor his first vampire slaying, by a long shot.

"Good day, good sir!” Jake starts, leaning an elbow on the wooden counter covered with exotic jewels and stolen daggers. He cuts the merchant off of his introduction to offer his own. "You see, I am under the impression this town is suffering from a curse, something of the rather dark variety. As a specialist, you may very well recognize the family name English, we're professionals at this sort of curse removal, anyway as a specialist, I was hoping to sell my sword as it were."

The merchant keeps a cold glare on Jake, only broken when the self-proclaimed professional accidentally nudges the goods with his elbow. “You. You're a vampire slayer?" he asks, frowning.

English pulls his arm off of the counter and puffs up his chest. He whips his coat aside, to reveal two holstered pistols at his hips. The whole gesture is significantly cooler in his mind than to anyone watching what looks like a foreigner harassing a knife merchant.

"Indeed I am, sir! From a family line, you see. It's not only in my blood, but also in my very training, you know!” Jake puts one hand on his hip, and rests the other palm flat on the counter, rattling the jewels.

“And… you're here to slay our vampire?” the merchant asks with a chilling drawl. Something shivers on the back of Jake's neck.

"Yes, that's exactly right my good sir. I'm here in the town seeking information, if you know anything about his powers or perhaps how many underlings he has?”

"Bold of you to strut in here and assume we wish our Lord dead,” he says plainly. "When our Lord Dirk Strider provides the town with protection, and his infamy brings about idiots like you to feed him.”

Jake rolls the next words on his tongue before spitting them out anyway. "He's a vampire, of course he's evil and requires slaying. You're either under his glamour or you're putting your own nefarious opinions above that of the rest of your townspeople!!”

"Leave, Mr. English,” the merchant retorts.

Jake turns around and storms off regardless. Mumbling under his breath about how he's probably a traveling merchant and doesn't even live here, he's so full of shit. He should have just gone to the tavern in the first place! English storms into the bar in a relatively sour state of mind, and quickly sucks his hurt feelings back down when everybody throws a glare his way. He makes his way meekly to the bartender, seats himself, and folds his arms on the table.

“Another adventurer, eh?" says the innkeep.

“Gung ho, good sir, am I that obvious?" Jake responds.

The bartender gestures around, and Jake obediently takes a gander.

“Notice something?"

“Is this to do with everyone being… well, rather pale actually?" Jake asks.

“More or less. This whole village is populated by the Lord Dirk Strider himself. You stick out like… an obvious metaphor.”

Now that it's been pointed out to him, realization slowly sets in. Jake recalls every face he's seen since he entered the village, and even the similar fashion to which they all talk.

"Everyone here is his children?” Jake asks. The innkeep doesn't even respond, simply stares at him until it sinks in. "Everyone here is his clone?!”

"Now you get it.”

"And this information isn't common knowledge? Even though farmers come in and out?”

"The only people who learn this tend to go straight for the dragon’s head. And every one of them has wound up dead,” the bartender says.

Jake slowly rises to his feet, with his stomach and his brain tumbling. He had every intent to rest and feed before heading in, but the anger is boiling up and drowning out his reason. An entire village of ghosts, puppeteered by the vampiric master Dirk Strider!

His name is nothing new; Jake arrived here on the wind of stories of Strider's cruelty. His love of games, trapping innocent people and torturing them before finally feeding on them in their last breaths. One of Jake’s dear friends and cousins, Jane, recounted his girlfriend’s grisly demise; she couldn't escape, it was only through her telepathy she was able to make her fate known. Jake English therefore had a mission twofold: to rid the world of this heinous monster, and subsequently erase all of the clones he's made; and to retrieve some momento of the departed Terezi to return to Jane.

His thoughts race, pounding in his head to the drum of his feet on the cobbles. The path from Lotak up to the castle gates is winding, snaking its way up the steep granite cliffs of the mountains. The English family name normally strikes a sense of fear into monsters and a sense of peace into the victims; even if he was the only English left still maintaining the family name and business, he usually relied on that high to get his spirits up and morals going. But an entire town filled with the Vampire Lord’s own dark underlings? He’d never heard of such a thing!

Jake ponders whether the townspeople are truly clones, or if perhaps they really are normal citizens trapped beneath a spell of which they would be unaware of. He definitely had more experience with the latter than the former, and while the comfort of knowledge lends itself to an easier job, English is the kind of man who cannot shy away from the thrill of a challenge.

Jake finds himself standing on the doorstep of evil, with a powerful sense of foreboding weighing heavily on his shoulders. He has no clue what he's getting himself into, but he’s anxious to begin regardless. He grips the handle to the door tightly, and retrieves one of his pistols before forcing it open and plunging into darkness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I swear I intended to post this unedited, but I kept going back and doing edits. I stopped myself though, because my dog wants my attention, and my secretary ( Ikea Blavingad ) can only keep her occupied for so long.

Anyway, enjoy. I'm on chapter 5 I think? Still all completely rough draft, obviously by me still nitpicking it. When I'm finally satisfied with a chapter, I intend to upload to AO3 (let's not discuss my record for actually finishing stories on there)

[freshtomatoesddd]

Mizu X Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a hunter living in a village near Kyoto. One day you go out to get firewood when a snowstorm sets in, but a mysterious traveler agrees to help you back. You give him food and shelter as thanks, but his stay lasts longer than expected.

Winter was the worst time of year. The wind grew colder, carrying snow that piled up in a matter of days. You used to love winter, it was the only time of year your father didn’t take you hunting. Now you know why, now you know animals hated winter as much as you did, preferring to hibernate than deal with the harsh weather. Unfortunately, you didn’t have that option. You needed to eat, but how could you when there was nothing to hunt? Whatever. Thinking about it would only get you worked up. You need to conserve your energy for the rest of the season.

Like the bright individual you were, you decided to go cut firewood in the middle of a storm. Not like you had much of a choice. You ran out the previous day, but decided it was a problem for another day. Well the next day arrived, and you needed firewood. Despite wearing three layers, the cold bit into your skin. Your fingers grew numb as you gripped the axe, struggling to gather enough breath to cut down a single tree. What the hell were you even doing? Just look for smaller wood. You smacked your forehead. Duh!  

In a stroke of pure luck, you managed to find perfectly cut firewood in the middle of the forest. The remnants of a fireplace sat nearby, probably a traveler who left from the cold. Whatever the case, you gathered the wood and made your way back. The storm had grown fiercer, winds whistling past you as you struggled to see through the snow. What a nightmare. At this rate you’ll get lost and freeze to death, all because you didn’t want to cut firewood yesterday. 

A blue figure stood in the distance, their cloak blowing in the wind. Initially you ignored them, but as the storm picked up you quickly realized there was no making it back to the village. Against your better judgment, you approached the figure. Maybe he can help. He hadn't moved an inch since you first saw him. A wooden hat obscured his features, his feet dug into the snow.

You cleared your throat. "Excuse me?"

The man said nothing, not even nodding in reply.  He raised his head to get a better look at you, revealing what his comically large hat was hiding. The orange glasses did a poor job at hiding his eye color, a dark blue that started through your soul. Every bone in your body froze, paralyzed under his piercing gaze. What's up with his eyes? Was he white? No, he looked…mixed. You looked down, your gaze falling upon the sword on his waist. Great. He wasn't just half-white, he was a swordsman too. If he wanted, he could cut you down right here and now. A lump slid down your throat; you better not give him a reason to. 

"What?" he uttered. 

"Uh." You took a step back, not wanting to stand too close to this mysterious swordsman. Unfortunately you still needed his help, and you scrambled for the right words. "I'm lost, but my village is nearby. Can you help me?"

Something about him that sent a chill down your spine. He wasn’t moved by the winds or the snow, standing firm like an oak tree in the middle of a storm. “Does your village happen to be near Kyoto?” he said, his voice nearing a whisper.

You nodded. “Well, it’s not super close but close enough, I guess.”

The man lifted his head, just enough for you to get another glimpse at his eyes. What an intense, unforgiving gaze. It stared right through you, like he wasn’t even considering you. After what felt like an eternity, he finally gave his answer. 

“Very well.” He walked past you. “Show me the way.”

Relief washed over you. It was stupid to rely on a stranger to lead you home, especially a man, but it’s not like you had a choice. Besides, he didn’t seem so bad. Most men would have jumped on you the moment they realized you were lost, but he paid it no mind. He didn’t seem like the type to care about many things. 

You noticed that his kimono was worn and muddied, and so was his cloak. His feet dug deep into the snow, allowing him to push past the roaring winds. Who was this man? More importantly, what’s his name? In your haste you forgot to ask him, which was pretty rude now that you think about it.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Mizu,” he muttered. 

His voice was so soft you could barely hear it through the howling wind. ‘Mizu?’ A strange name for a strange man. 

“And what’s your name?” Mizu asked.

You told him your name and he nodded, continuing his trek through the snow. ‘He’s quiet too.’ Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad.

Navigating through the storm was difficult, but thankfully Mizu helped you back before your fingers fell off. It was ironic. You lived here, but you needed someone else's help to get home. Then again, there wasn't much to return to. The village was just a collection of 10 to 15 homes.

"What a small village," Mizu muttered. There was something in his voice, a certain disdain you couldn't put your finger on. "Where's your house?"

You took him to your house. It was a small wooden hut with two rooms: the main room and the bedroom. Snow slipped its way inside, the gale making it hard to close the door. Mizu helped, easily slamming it shut. He was quite strong for a skinny guy, so strong that you didn't expect the door to close so quickly and fell forward. 

Mizu caught you before your head knocked against the door. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He looked at you. A hint of concern glimmered through his orange glasses, even if it was for a moment. 

"I see." He let go and sat at the edge of the room. "Please let me know when the food is done."

"Oh, alright…"

You went to the fireplace and quickly lit a fresh fire. It was exactly what you needed after spending who knows how long in that snowstorm. Too long, that's for sure. The cold melted from your skin as you rubbed your hands together, and you stole a glance at your mysterious guest. He'd taken off his hat and set it aside, along with his cloak, but his glasses stayed on. 

Mizu was an observant man. He must've known you noticed his eye color back in the snowstorm, so why bother keeping the glasses on?   

"Is something wrong?" he asked. 

You looked back to the fireplace. A part of you wanted to lie and say nothing's wrong, but you were a horrible liar, so it was better to tell the truth. Hopefully he wouldn't cut you down for it. "Why do you wear those?"

"I'm sure you know why."

You hesitated. "I just want to know why."

A long silence filled the air. Mizu said, "You don't want to see me without them."

"How are you so sure?"

"How are you sure you won't recoil in fear when I do," he retorted.

He was right. You didn't know if you'd be afraid or feel the opposite, but there was one thing you knew. 

"You helped me in the snowstorm when you could've easily let me die. I don't want to make you feel like you have to hide something about yourself," you fumbled for the right words, "I'm just trying to be nice."

"Enough," Mizu spat. "I don't need your pity."

It wasn’t pity; it was the farthest thing from pity. What you felt was gratitude. Sure he was strangely quiet, but if he hadn’t helped you then you would’ve been a frozen corpse on the side of the road. But it wasn’t your place to talk about this. The two of you just met, after all. Offending him was the last thing you wanted, so you said nothing. You looked at the fire. It was large enough; time to start cooking.

You placed a pot atop the fire, letting it heat up before dumping in some water. There were some dried meats and vegetables in storage, so dried meat stew it was. You went to the back and brought out the ingredients, laying them out on a small wooden counter. The meat was ready to cook and the water was boiling, all you had to do was cut up the vegetables. Much like collecting firewood, you completely forgot to sharpen the knife. Not because you’re lazy or anything, you just can’t find the energy to in-between hunting and chopping wood. The life of a hunter was a tiring one, and boring too. Nothing ever happens in this village, and the things that do are just typical neighborhood gossip. 

Pain stung your finger. Blood dripped onto the counter. Damn. Thinking about neighborhood gossip left you distracted, and you ended up cutting yourself. It didn’t hurt, but now dinner preparations would be delayed. Just great. You’re stuck in the middle of a snowstorm, the tips of your fingers are freezing even inside, and you can’t eat anything to warm up. 

“You’re bleeding,” Mizu said.

You wrapped your finger in some cloth. “Sorry, I guess dinner will have to wait.”

He looked at the cutting board. “It’s alright, I'll do it.”

“But you’re my guest.”

“It’s better than not eating.” He picked the knife up. “I’ll call you when it’s done. In the meantime, take care of your finger.”

Despite the knife’s dull edge, he cut through the vegetables without issue. You took his advice and dressed your wound, wrapping it in some gauze before returning to the main room. 

Mizu was stirring the pot, tasting occasionally to season. The vegetables were already mixed in, and so were the meats. He briefly turned to you before his attention returned to the pot, eyeing it so it wouldn't burn. A man who knew how to cook? That’s like seeing a dragon in real life.

“The fire is too hot,” he said, “Next time you should keep it low.”

You sat beside him. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can do a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

Mizu shrugged. 

“Can you chop wood?”

He nodded.

“Do you know how to clean?”

“That’s specific.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m just not used to seeing a guy cook, and do other stuff like that.”

“You mean housework? Everyone should know.”

You lit up. “Exactly! It’s so annoying. When my father used to make me do everything. Cooking, cleaning, decorating–even though we have nothing to decorate with.”

A chuckle slipped past Mizu’s lips. “I know the feeling.”

You raised a curious brow. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I used to…work for someone, he made me do things like that.”

“You were a servant?”

“Not exactly?”

“A slave?”

He gave you a glare.

You tried to laugh it off. “Haha, sorry.”

Mizu’s gaze returned to the pot. He was silent for a moment, like he was digging up old memories. “He treated me kindly. Up to a point, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” You were definitely overstepping now.

Thankfully he didn’t pay it any mind, he just kept stirring. The stew had a thick consistency, dried meats and vegetables swimming in the dark brown soup. Mizu set the spoon down, and behind his sapphire eyes you caught a glimpse of something you've never seen from him, vulnerability. 

“I helped him around the house. It didn’t end well.”

You sensed that there was more to it, but didn’t want to push. “I think the stew’s ready.”

Mizu nodded. You poured him a bowl before having one yourself.  A wave of umami swept you into a trance. The meat was sweet and savory, the vegetables had absorbed the stew’s flavors perfectly, and the soup itself was hearty. It was exactly what you needed on a cold winter night. 

“This is so good,” you said. 

“It’s alright.” He grabbed your plate. “Let me wash it for you.”

“Are you sure? It’s my house, let me do it.”

Mizu insisted. “I’m sheltering in your home, eating your food. This is the least I can do.”

How strange. Not only was he soft spoken, polite, and knew how to cook–he was also nice. Normally this would set off alarms in your head. A man being nice usually meant he had ulterior motives, but you didn’t get that impression from Mizu. He didn’t look at you with desire nor indifference. You weren’t used to men like him; you didn’t even know they existed. Yet there he was, cooking you dinner and washing your dishes because you let him stay the night. 

“You’re very polite,” you said.

Mizu set the dishes under the counter. He returned to the fire, warming his hands. “I try to be.”

There wasn’t anything else to say, so you joined him by the fire. The cold bit into your skin, a shiver running down your spine. You rubbed your hands, wondering if there would ever be an escape from winter. With the animals hibernating, the chances of catching any game were slim to none. It won’t be until late winter–when the ice starts melting–that you’d see animals again. Until then there would be nothing to hunt; no food. This was going to be tough a winter. Another breeze wisped by, another shiver running through you. 

“Are you cold?” Mizu asked.

“It's nothing.”

Mizu grabbed his cloak, his voice low from the cold. “Here.”

“Oh, I can’t–”

He handed you his cloak. “Take it.”

You sensed he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so you didn’t. You took his cloak. It was large and billowy, easily helping you warm up. 

“Thank you.”

Mizu nodded. He walked to the corner of the room and laid down. “Good night.”

“Are you sleeping on the floor?”

“Yes.”

“I have a spare futon in the bedroom, you can sleep there.”

He hesitated, but sleeping on a warm mattress was too tempting an offer to turn down. "Thank you. "

You took him to the bedroom and laid out the spare futon. It was something you often did for your late father, like second nature. Because of that there was little distance between the mattresses, something you hadn't realized before you laid it out. 

Damn. You didn't want to give the wrong impression, so you tried to push the other futon farther away. Mizu noticed your apprehension but thankfully said nothing. He simply thanked you once you were done and lied down, eager to sleep on something soft after a long time.

It was strange sleeping next to a stranger, but you were relieved. Mizu hadn't read into your intentions, and you got to repay his kindness. You even caught yourself thinking it's a shame that he'd leave in the morning. If it were possible, you'd like to cook him a proper meal before he leaves–without cutting your finger.  

Read the rest here.

[potatothatcanwrite]

~Arrows and Dragonhide~

Kili Durin x {Dragonshifter}FemOC Part 4/?

A/N- my tummy hurts

Word Count- 3.0k

Summary- Radagast is a bloody menace and Rivendale is like a pretty princess (can you tell idk what to put here?)

Warnings- Cannon typical violence, mentions of scars, torture and death

italics=elvish bold=dwarvish

Previous Part Next Part

The troll cave smelled like a giant pile of shit and dead bodies. Eyja carefully makes her way downwards into the cave until Gandalf stops in front of her, turning and holding an unlit torch out to her. "Eyja, can you light this please?" She sighs and takes the torch from his hand. Bringing the foul smelling thing up to her face, she brings in a deep breath before letting out a mighty puff, flames passing over her lips and catching on the torches material. "Thank you." Gandalf turns back around, the now lit torch illuminating the gold and other treasure lining the walls.

Kili steps up beside Eyja, watching as she sifts through the weapons tossed haphazardly about. "How were you able to light that torch?"

She continues running her hands over blades and bows as she answers, "I am a skin changer, while the outside is me shifts from one form to another, the inside, remains the same, though it does shrink and grow to match my body." Kili hums a sound of acknowledgment and points to a long wooden bow she hadn't gotten to yet,

"This is a great bow if you're looking for such a weapon, the curve is strong, and the string appears to be taught." The shifter turns to the weapon, lifting it from the ground, dusting it off with the corner of her cloak, revealing a dark wood and leather grip.

Eyja nods, "You are right, this is a fine bow, do you see a quiver anywhere?" Kili's smile widens at her praise, the matching quiver of arrows already in his outstretched hand. "Thank you Kili, are you in need of any weapons?"

he thinks to himself for a moment, "No I think I have all that I need." Eyja nods and starts off back towards the entrance of the cave, passing Gandalf handing Bilbo a small sword. As they reach the top, and Eyja begins reorganizing her small stash of blades and new bow the rest of the company begins to file out, many of them inhaling deep breaths of the fresh air. Eyja turns her back to the dwarven prince and looks back over her shoulder at him.

"Could you undo the sheath on my back, I can't seem to reach it?"

"Ya I can do that." Kili's hands brush lightly over her hair on the way to the strap holding her sheath to her body, and Eyja stills at the contact. As his hands fiddle with the clasp, she reaches back and pulls her hair to the side so to get it out of the way. As the clasp finally lets go and Kili lifts her sword from her back.

Eyja turns smile wide on her face ready to thank him when through the trees barrels huge rabbits towing a sled holding a small man cloaked in brown, lopsided hat pulled low over his ears. the dwarves quickly pull tightly into a group blades at the ready, but Gandalf steps forward laughter in his voice.

"Radagast the brown, what on earth are you doing here?" Kili shoots a questioning look to Eyja as if to confirm this is the wizard she had spoken of the day prior. The shifter meets his gaze for a fleeting moment, nodding, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had never seen the wizard in such a state of panic as he explained to the grey wizard how the greenwood is sick. As they wander away from the group Eyja turns back to the dwarf at her side.

"So that's Radagast," Kili's tone is light as he watches Eyja secure her sword to her waist.

"Yes, though I've never seen him look quite so worried before, normally he is quite calm, something must be terribly wrong to have him so upset." As she slings her new quiver over her shoulder and across her body, a menacing howl pierces the air, chilling the blood in her veins.

"Was that a wolf?" Bilbo's question is spoken swiftly his voice laden with fear, for the hobbit had never heard such a noise before.

Bofur's response is shaky and uncertain, "That is no wolf."

Movement behind the two catches Eyja's gaze, "Wargs!" her shout rings through the air and every dwarf turn weapons out as the beast hurtles down the hill towards them, it tackles Dwalin to the ground, only for Thorin to bring his new elvish blade down with bone crushing force. As another warg comes barreling at them, Kili readies an arrow and lets it fly, the arrow sinking deep in the creatures leg, causing it to tumble the rest of the way down the mossy hill, Eyja brings her blade across its throat with a quick twirl, the dark blood splattering across her cloak and face. She bares her teeth at the foul animal as it let out one last whining howl.

Thorin wrenches his blade from the neck of the first warg, "Warg scouts, which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"we have to get out of here." Dwalin's voice is tense and he looks to Thorin.

Ori rushes to the group, "We can't, the ponies have run off."

Radagast volunteers to draw them off and Gandalf turns to face his companion, "These are gundabarg wargs, they will outrun you."

A wild glint enters the brown wizards eyes, "These are ruskavelle rabbits, I would like to see them try." He climbs back onto his sled, commanding the rabbits forward, and he takes off like an arrow shot from a bow, here one moment, gone the next.

The howls and wails of the warg pack draw closer only for them to be drowned out for a moment by the sound of Radagast yelling obscenities at the orcs as he rushes past. As the orc pack take off after the wizard, Gandalf ushers the company to move, he runs in front of them leading them into the open fields. Eyja brings up the back of group, making sure that none of the dwarves get left behind, ushering them forward when they start to slow.

The group runs down the hill and moves to pass a large boulder when Radagast flies past, manic giggles escaping him, and the large pack of orcs soon follows. Many times in their mad dash across the plains are they cut off by the parade of orcs chasing the gleeful wizard. The group slams their backs against the boulder as Radagast darts in front of them once again and one of the orcs moves his steed atop the rock which they try to hide under. Thorin turns to meet his nephews eyes and nods at him. slowly Kili draws an arrow, and knocks it on his bow, taking a breath, he steps away from the rock revealing himself to the orc atop it. Letting the arrow loose, it flies into the chest of the warg, and as the orc brings his horn to his mouth intending to call for the others, Kili looses another arrow into the chest of the orc. The wail of the dying orc and warg ricochet off the rocks echoing at deafening volumes. Eyja sinks her blade into the orc's skull silencing it as Dwalin dispatches the warg, but not before it lets out another agonizing howl.

"Move, run!" Gandalf's yell is heavy with panic, "This way quickly!" he leads the company towards a rock surrounding by a small stand of trees, Thorin's shouts for Kili to shoot the beasts has Eyja readying her own bow, letting arrows fly in every direction, as more and more wargs pour over the hills.

Dwalin yells that Gandalf had abandoned them, but as Eyja turns quickly to seek out the wizard, her mind connects the dots as to where they are. She resumes shooting at the orcs as they advance, Kili by her side mirroring each other.

"This way you fools!" Gandalf's cry from the rocks reaches Eyja's ears at about the same time as an unseen warg pushes her to the ground, teeth bared and saliva dripping. She wrenches her dagger from its place on her thigh, driving it home in the underside of the beasts jaw and dragging it downwards, towards its neck. Kili turns to find Eyja covered in blood, pushing the now deceased warg off her.

Thorin's shouts for Kili and the shifter to run, has them turn from the orcs, they begin to sprint, Eyja dragging Kili along by the wrist as she out paces him. As she dives into the crevice, pulling the brunette dwarrow with her, Thorin jumps down sliding after them. As her feet hit the bottom of the hole she steadies herself on the cool rock wall. Kili stands beside her, out of breath, and unsteady himself. A horn sounds from outside the cave and the sound of hooves pounding the earth sounds in the air. As the sounds of orcs yelling and wargs dying grows louder Eyja and Thorin begin pushing the company away from the entrance, trying to remain concealed from the newcomers. An orc comes rolling down into the cave, arrow protruding from it head,

"Elves." Thorin's voice holds distaste as he tosses the retrieved arrow aside. Bofur calls that they should follow the path and starts walking, the group filing down the twisting hall. Kili and Eyja fall to the back of the group, and she rests a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright Kili?" Her eyes dart over his face, "Do you need to rest?" His breaths are still coming in momentous heaves, but he shakes his head, face turning red at her show of concern.

"Ya," his eyes meet hers and he pauses for a moment at the concern swimming in them, "I'm alright, what about you?"

"I'm perfectly fine." Her voice is soft, and her eyes dance over Kili's face, and they catch on the leaf stuck in his bangs, "Hold still." She reaches out gently pulling the debris from his hair, the strands are soft against her fingers and she drops the leaf on the ground between them. "There was a leaf in your hair."

Kili's face is now a bright red, and he avoids her gaze, "Thank you." The sounds of the company are getting farther away and Kili turns to face the hall, "We should probably catch up to the rest of the group." Eyja nods, and they walk down the path, side by side hands occasionally brushing.

As the pair round the last corner, they come across the company, standing in awe as they lay their eyes on Rivendale, home of the elves. Kili jaw drops open at the waterfalls and architecture. the company makes their way down the hills, and across the bridge approaching the elf standing at the base of the steps. Eyja, bounds forward, bringing the dark haired elf into a hug, which is quickly returned by the ellon. "Lindir, it's lovely to see you, it has been far to long old friend." While Eyja releases the elf from her grasp, Gandalf approaches, and begins speaking with the tall man over the whereabouts of Lord Elrond. Kili stands beside his brother brows furrowed at the elf Gandalf and Eyja are conversing with.

"Brother if you continue to glare at him, he might spontaneously combust." Fili's teasing only serves to make his brothers scowl deepen.

"It's nothing." Kili walks away from his brother, stopping only when he's standing at Eyja's side chin held high as he watches the exchange between the three taller beings. A horn sounding across the valley turns the heads of all those present to the incoming procession of horses. The dwarves quickly bunch up, Kili pushing Eyja to the center of their circle alongside bilbo who had been put there by Thorin. The shifter just laughed and waved at the elven lord as he stepped off his horse.

"Eyja, what a wonderful surprise, it is lovely to see you again," Elrond steps forward and Eyja steps out of the circle of defensive dwarrow, "What brings you here this time dear shifter?"

She bows slightly before responding, "I'm afraid you're going to have to ask Gandalf for the details, for he is leading us." She smiles at the elf before rejoining her dwarven companions, standing next to the very prickly looking Kili. "Are you alright Kili, you look ready to remove somebodies head?" The brunette prince looks to her, the yellow of her eyes reflecting the sun in such a way they appeared to glow.

He nods curtly, "Yes I'm quite alright, how do you know the elves?"

Eyja smiles gently as she looks up to see Elrond and Thorin discussing something, "I met Lord Elrond many years ago, I was passing nearby and was attacked by a band of goblins, Lindir and Lord Elrond were a part of the hunting party that helped me that day." Her smile widens remembering the day, and how she had thrown Lindir to the ground at first mistaking him for an enemy. Kili nods, and tenses once more as Elrond begins to speak in the elven tongue to his uncle.

Gloin brandishes his weapon, "Does he offer us insult?" Eyja laughs quietly.

"No Master Gloin, he offers you food." Her lilting voice is joyous as she explains Elrond's words to the company, causing them to go quiet before Gloin says to lead the way.

The group is led to an open area, where they are told to leave their bags and supplies. Eyja shrugs off her cloak folding it carefully before placing it on the floor, laying her weapons down beside it. Kili watches the skin changer closely, and mimics her actions. Eyja walks over to kneel beside the prince, who is placing his things on the ground in a not so neat pile, "I am going to go and wash all this blood off, follow Lindir, he will show you to a table and provide you with food, I will join you all in a moment." The dwarrow turns his head, pleading silently for her not to leave him alone in the unfamiliar place, but the shifter nods once, before rising and walking swiftly and surely down the hall. Kili moves to stand by his brother, whispering quietly to him the same thing Eyja told him.

Once the rest of the company has finished organizing their bags, Lindir turns to face the group, "Follow me," His voice is smooth and he spares no eye contact for any of them, instead turning on his heel and starting down a new hall. The thirteen dwarves and singular hobbit are quick to follow, not wanting to get lost in the unknown city. The raven haired ellon leads them down the white hallway, before opening a large wooden door to a ginormous room. the room is lit by the setting sun, and filled with a long table with many dwarf sized seats and one regular sized chair. on a raised platform at the end of the room, sectioned off by towering floor to ceiling pillars is a separate table, where the elf lord already sits with the grey wizard.

"Ah welcome, Master Thorin, please join me at my table and do bring your Hobbit, the rest of you my take a seat, the food will be out shortly." Everyone moves at once, the promise of food has them scrambling to find a seat. Kili seats himself beside the larger chair, hoping that when you return, you will sit with them instead of the other table.

As promised, elves are soon bustling around them bringing platters and bowls of food to the long table. But as the dwarves sift through the many dishes, they find no meat. As the company grumbles and complains over the lack of protein, the doors open once more. Eyja steps into the room, skin no longer covered in blood, and dressed in a pair of loose brown pants, that are sinched at the waist and tucked into her boots, her shirt is flowing and white, cuffed at the wrists and tucked in at the waist.

She rounds the long table heading to the empty chair next to the raven haired dwarven prince, but pauses as Lindir grabs her arm. Kili doesn't hear what the elf says to her but at the way her fists clench and her brow furrows, he suspects it can't be anything good. Eyja nods grimly at her friend before stepping past him to rejoin her dwarf companions.

As she pulls the chair out and sits down Kili turns his head, watching her through the curtain of his hair. She quickly dishes some of the leafy meal onto her plate, eyes unfocused. He lifts his head and turns to face the skin changer fully, "Are you alright?" His question seems to shock her out of her trance like state.

"Yes, I'm quite alright, there's just some new information that's been brought to my attention," Eyja shakes her head, "but no matter, it is of little consequence now." Kili raises a brow, but leaves the subject alone for the moment.

"If you say so, hey me and Fili have been thinking-"

"That's never a good thing." Eyja tone is teasing and she smiles at the dwarf.

"Choosing to ignore that, but anyways, we were wondering why Bilbo is called a burglar and not just a robbit." The timing of his words couldn't have been worse, as the shifter had just taken a large drink of water. Eyja bursts out laughing, spewing water over the unfortunate Dwalin seated across from her. As her laughter dies down to giggles and coughing she chokes out an apology as the burly tattooed dwarf scowls. Kili and Fili howl with laughter as they watch the shifter try and mop up the mess with the napkin on the table.

It was then that Bofur leapt onto the table, declaring the music to be unfit for the company and bursting out into song and dance, stomping over the food. The commotion draws the attention of those at the other table and Lord Elrond grumbles as the company sings along, Eyja smiling joyfully.

[legacyoftheogres]

3. At death's door

[set a few years prior to the previous proses]

                A heavy rain fell over Durong, muting the city’s lights and inviting in a creeping chill. Its bustling streets were mostly empty, and somewhere behind the clouds, the sun had set hours ago. Thalanthe idly stirred the soup on the stove, grateful for the warmth the fire burning within it lent to the small flat she was residing in. She ladled a small portion into a tasting dish, sipped it, and frowned. It was missing something, but it would have to do. She didn’t have all of the herbs and ingredients she used in Kuotay. Thalanthe replaced the lid and left it to simmer. There was a loud knock on the door that made her jump, who could be calling on her at this hour? She scowled, crossing the room with quiet footsteps, picking up her sword as she did. Tense, she opened the door a crack and peered out. Her eyes widened and she threw open the door all the way and dropped her sword, letting it clatter to the ground.

                Izura stood before her, soaked to the bone and clutching his side. He looked truly haggard, his eyes sunken and his mouth pulled into a grimace of a smile. Blood soaked his shirt.

                “Can I come in?” He rasped, swaying slightly.

                “When have you ever asked?” She responded in disbelief, ushering him in, ignoring the water and blood he dripped onto the floor. He sat down on one of the wooden stools and slumped over, breathing heavily.

                “What the fuck happened? Why are you here? You should be at a healer.” Thalanthe asked, already rifling through her bags to find her first aid supplies.

                “They would have expected me to go to a healer. You can help me… can’t you? Did… did you lock the door? I don’t think I was followed but…urk.” Izura lost consciousness for a moment and toppled off the stool and onto the floor.

                Thalanthe let out a long string of curses in orcish, and double checked the door before rushing to Izura’s side. His face was flushed. She brought a hand to his forehead; it was burning hot. Pulling a knife from her belt, she ripped open his shirt to reveal the grisly wound beneath it. It was a small but deep puncture. It bled dark blood in a steady ooze. Yet, angry black marks spidered out from it. Whatever weapon made this wound had been coated in poison.

                “Barstna.” She swore again. She had hoped to be able to close the wound, but the poison was far more pressing. She pressed both of her hands onto his side, his skin was clammy.

                “Ouch.” Izura wheezed, his eyes fluttering open. “Can’t you be gentler?”

“Can it.” She hissed.

“Cruel beautiful thing.” Izura looked up at her and reached up weakly.

“You’re delirious.” Thalanthe smacked his hand away and returned her hands to the wound. Izura winced.

 She searched for that small wellspring within, at the center of her, and drew from it, allowing it to travel from her core to her fingertips. There was a soft light. She slowly pulled her hands away, pinching her fingers, and out from the wound she tugged a viscous obsidian liquid. It shivered above her hands, before shattering into a spray of light particles that dissipated like dust. The effect was almost immediate, the wound already looked less aggravated, and Izura’s breathing improved.

Now to stop him from bleeding out onto her floor. She cursed her lack of potions; they would have made this all much easier. Rummaging through the kit, she found the bottle she was looking for. Uncorking the foul-smelling antiseptic made her nose burn and her eyes water, she dumped it onto a bit of cloth and cleaned the wound. Izura writhed under her touch.

“Not so tough and cool now, hmm?” Thalanthe chided, reaching for the sutures.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to kick a man while he’s down?” Izura hissed through his clenched teeth.

“Stop wiggling.” Thalanthe scolded and began stitching the wound closed. Izura complied, holding his breath. When she was done, she tied it off and cut the remaining thread. “There. You shouldn’t die on my floor this evening, but you should get a potion to heal the internal damage as soon as you can.”  

“Thank you, Thalanthe, for your hospitality.” He let out a chuckle, but immediately regretted it as it sent pain searing through his side.

“You can thank me by cleaning the floor in the morning. You’ve made a mess.” Thalanthe sighed and went to the basin to clean her hands. She eyed the soup; she had forgotten about it. It had fortunately not boiled over. She portioned out two bowls and smothered the fire. It was going to be a long night.

[casspurrjoybell-21]

Pirate Chains - Volume 1 - Strong Tides

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 4 - Aim - Part 1

Nyx

My consciousness returned slowly.

The first thing I became aware of was how exhausted I felt.

My head felt heavy and my whole body ached.

I couldn't even move.

After what felt like ages, I could finally force my eyes open.

My vision was blurry and my gaze focused on a wooden ceiling above me that was unfamiliar and somehow felt unstable.

Waking up to this unfamiliar ceiling felt like something that had happened before.

I tried to gather every ounce of energy in my head and recall where I was.

I was with Terry.

We sailed for many days.

We needed to go back home.

I was hungry.

I still am and weakened but Terry didn't care.

We argued a lot.

About money.

He wanted more money.

Wait he had a sword.

I remember, he tried to kill me but what happened next?

My head spun fast.

Am I still in the sea?

Yes, it smells like it.

I also hear the waves.

I was about to try to move when the word 'pirate' hit me like a cold blaze, sending chills all over my body.

Almost instantly, all the events of what had happened a few hours earlier rushed through my mind.

What the hell happened to me.

Agenor.

That monster of a pirate.

HOW DARE HE.

I shuddered at the thought of Agenor holding me and I cursed him.

He raped me?

My God, I was so weak and pathetic.

I felt a lump in my throat and tears gathered quickly threatening to spill but I swallowed them.

I lay there, powerless, disgraced and humiliated.

The last thing I wanted was to cry like a child.

I looked to my left and saw the long hair of the man I despised the most lying next to me.

He lay on his left side and I could only see his naked back.

I felt a throb of self-loath and anger in my heart and I instantly looked away.

Then I remembered how he had stripped me of all my clothes.

With it came the memory of Agenor grabbing my hands and pinning me to the bed and it made my body shiver.

I bit my lower lip hard to keep myself from bursting into screams.

I was so confused, I couldn't even understand how I felt.

Dishonored, humiliated, scared and angry.

No matter, I wasn't going to stay in this cursed bed one second longer.

I ignored my aching bones and excruciating back and forced myself to sit.

My head felt dizzy and I had to stop until the room slowed its swaying.

With great difficulty, I pushed myself off the bed and I immediately felt something warm leaking down my inner thighs.

I reached down to touch the liquid and looked at my fingers, wincing in pain when I saw it.

Despite the darkness, the faint light from the moon was enough to reveal the crimson blood coating my fingers.

The damn monster made me bleed like an injured prey.

I struggled to keep a whimper from degrading me further.

I focused on my knees so they wouldn't buckle.

After a moment, I looked and saw that the blood had stopped flowing.

I sniffled and tried to get away from the bed.

I saw a pair of black leather pants thrown at the end of it and made my way towards them, wincing in pain with every movement.

As I grabbed them, the idea of them being Agenor's froze me.

I quickly discarded the thought and started putting them on but even as I hid some of my nudity, the feeling of disgrace didn't lessen in the least.

My trembling legs felt so powerless and could barely support my weight.

I wobbled to the side until I supported myself with the wooden wall of the relatively large cabin.

My shaky fingers pulled at the laces of the pants to tie and tighten them around my waist.

The size clearly wasn't meant for someone of smaller stature but that was the least of my worries right now.

I raised my head and looked out the window closest to me.

It was still night but I could see clear parts of the room with the help of the moonlight.

What will I do now?

I hadn't died when I should've and worse than death already happened.

What was I to do now?

I must escape.

Yes, escape.

I need to find a way to free my crew.

I need to take Terry and hand him to the guards at the port to be properly punished by the law.

Yes, this is the proper thing to do, it's the only way out of this wrecked mess but how am I to get out of here?

We're in the middle of the sea for God's sake.

Besides, the sailors were locked up somewhere.

How to free them from a whole crew of pirates?

I tried to come up with a decent plan as I stepped slowly towards the door, trying not to fall or make a sound.

Before I could make much progress, something shiny caught my attention.

On a table set by the wall that I had used for support, a dagger lay atop of it.

I froze for a second, then directed my steps towards it.

The blade wasn't fully covered, which reflected the moonlight.

I took the weapon in my hands, removed the dagger from its leather scabbard and then held it higher to get a clearer inspection of it under the moonlight.

It was a beautiful piece with detailed inscriptions stretching across the blade.

The grip was made of silver, with several small drawings that ended with a skull on its pommel but most importantly, its edge looked quite sharp.

My plan to escape drowned as I stared at the blade.

[hikari-kaitou]

Capcom's Official AA Fanclub Surveys - DGS Edition

Many Western fans may be familiar with the Turnabout 4koma comics that get posted on the official AA fanclub site that Capcom runs, thanks to some lovely fans on tumblr and elsewhere who have shared their translations. What fewer people seem to know about is the character surveys.

Back in the old days, they used to hold a survey on Capcom's official AA fansite every few months where they'd write about the seasonal activities of a handful of characters and ask fans to vote for the funniest/most pleasant/strangest/etc answer.

They stopped doing them in like... 2016? 2017? The original text is lost for good as far as I can tell. Even the wayback machine couldn't help because the content was password locked and you can't get past the password wall while remaining in the archived version.

Fortunately, I saved some of my translations of them so I thought I’d share them.

Cut for length...

"February has begun, and the DGS cast is nearing the end of their journey aboard the RFS Alacrei. Which of them acted the most strangely?"

Ryuunosuke ~ Exhausted from his intensive study session, he decided to try some katana swinging practice as a change of pace and to combat his recent lack of exercise. But because he wasn't used to handling the katana, he swung it too hard and it went flying out of his hands and got stuck in the wall right next to Sherlock, who had just entered the room. Sherlock asked him, "aren't you supposed to be studying right now, Mr. Naruhodo?" and handcuffed him to his desk.

Susato- worked on developing a curriculum for Ryuunosuke. 'If we keep going at this pace, he won't be able to learn it all in time... It'll be hard on Naruhodo-sama, but we'll have to work hard through a couple of nights together.' With that thought, she created a harsh study schedule, and almost seemed to be looking forward to it for some reason.

Sherlock- Driven by excitement over the thought of returning to England after a long absence, he went up on deck to stare at the ocean. Being February, it was very cold out there and he ended up being chilled all the way to the tips of his fingers. He returned to the ship cabins and amused himself by putting his frozen hands on Ryuunosuke, who was stuck in his room studying.

Van Zieks- Upon hearing from Vortex that there was a Japanese exchange student coming to England to study law, he smashed a Lord's Bottle. He apparently also didn't care for the fact that that Japanese student wouldn't be alone, because he proceeded to shatter his chalice, too.

Hosonaga- in order to provide a respite from studying, he provided some hot chocolate. They enjoyed a pleasant tea time, marveling over how sweet and delicious the drink was until Sherlock piped up with some unnecessary trivia: 'Actually folks, chocolate has long been used in Europe as an aphrodisiac!' Everyone promptly spat it out."

"The long winter is nearly over and spring is on it's way, putting the DGS cast members in a celebratory mood. Who found the best way of enjoying spring?"

Ryuunosuke: the Yuumei University faculty members were holding a flower viewing event, and he joined the assistance committee. He exhausted himself keeping the blankets clean so the intense shower of flower petals wouldn't pile up too high on them, delivering sake and snacks, and mediating whatever pointless fights arose. To top it all off, for some reason his compensation was only a single piece of leftover candy. Talk about a sad result!

Susato- her father and the others living in his dormitory were  holding the flower viewing event, so she got up early to prepare the bentos. But her father carelessly forgot to tell her that they wanted tea cakes, so she had to go around the house and neighborhood collecting sweets. For some reason, she ended up being able to gather caramels, biscuits, candy sticks, basically everything but tea cakes, for the tea ceremony.

Sherlock- he disguised himself as a beat officer and infiltrated Scotland Yard to have some fun. There was a real beat officer napping on his feet in the spring sunshine, and while observing him, Sherlock ended up falling asleep too. Detective Gregson gave them a good scolding when he found them, but then Sherlock revealed his true identity with a "hey, it's me, folks!" "What the blazes do you think you're doing?!" Gregson shouted, his rage growing even more, and Sherlock ended up making a run for it.

Van Zieks- went to the vineyard to oversee the production of the contents of his Lord's Bottle. As he viewed the still unopened grape blossom buds, he thought about how they would someday grow up to fill his Lord's Bottle, and ended up going around to look at each one. But the farm hands couldn't stop wondering whether the bottle itself or its owner's heel might come flying at them and were quite uneasy.

Asougi: exhausted himself running around since early morning helping with the professors' flower viewing event. When it was over, he took a break, sharing his reward candy stick [the name of the candy literally translates to 1,000 year candy] with Ryuunosuke, who had also been helping out. 

"I wonder if the candy's effect is halved if you share it with someone."

"That still gives us 500 years."

They laughed and enjoyed looking at the flowers until dark. Then they parted ways with a handshake and a "see you later, best friend."

(This one was something about celebrating New Years. For some reason I didn't save the original question)

"Ryuunosuke ~ To celebrate New Years, he planned to pound mochi with everyone at the office. He somehow managed to get his hands on some mochi rice and he and Sherlock started pounding. Iris was having such fun watching them that she steamed a whole bunch more mochi rice so they could have some to share, and he and Sherlock spent the whole evening pounding mochi like crazy.

Asougi~ Because it's New Years, he went around to a bunch of shrines. When he drew his new year's fortune, he got a "horrible luck" result. "I'm not worried about it," he claimed, and headed up to the mountains early on New Years morning and work hard on a full training course of purification by water, meditation under a waterfall and wooden sword practice. It seems that he was working really hard to clear his mind of all earthly thoughts

Sherlock- Agreed to help Ryuunosuke pound mochi. As Ryuunosuke was flipping the mochi over, he carelessly dropped his badge into the bowl and Sherlock mixed it in without noticing, so they had to crack open both the hard and soft mochi to look for it. Fortunately they found it in the 4th one they checked, but apparently Sherlock got his hands and face covered in sticky white mochi in the process.

Susato- Wore a furisode and went with her father to do the first shrine visit of the year. The shrine was incredibly crowded and they had to wait in line for a long time, but she brought the Encyclopaedia of British Law and a copy of the Strand Magazine in her sleeves to secretly read as they waited so she actually ended up enjoying the wait.

Van Zieks- Ryuunosuke cheerfully gave him some mochi as a New Year’s (which at that time was celebrated at the same time as the Chinese New Year) gift, which he accepted confusedly, wondering “...Can the Japanese not even keep track of when the New Year is?” Because Ryuunosuke referred to it as a rice cake, he tried to eat it like a regular cake without softening it with heat first. It was so hard that he couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be food, and ended up misunderstanding the Japanese even more!

"Autumn has arrived, and the weather is starting to cool off, which means that everyone is becoming more active. Which character chose the most pleasant autumn activity to keep busy with?"

Iris was making bread but her hands are small and it’s difficult for her to knead the dough, so she asked for Ryuunosuke’s help. She wanted to make enough to hand out to Gina and all the other homeless children in the East End, so she made a massive amount and Ryuunosuke was stuck kneading this massive mountain of bread dough all day. Apparently he became such a expert at kneading that he could be a baker now.

Asougi was practicing with his sword, slicing autumn-colored ginko leaves as they fell from the tree. He cut so many leaves, though, that he ended up making a big mess on the ground, the number of fallen leaves now having increased, and it took him a long time to clean it all up.    

Sherlock: Ryuunosuke told him that he was making anpan (bread filled with sweet red bean paste, the bane of my Asian-dwelling existance) and asked Sherlock to help by being in charge of getting the poppy seeds they’d need to sprinkle on top, so Sherlock went out and gathered a ton of poppy seeds. In fact, he got so many of them that no one knew what to do with them all cuz they had a huge amount of leftovers. Sherlock said, “Well, they’re only the size of poppy seeds! Surely you two can deal with them somehow! Ahahaha!” and Iris scolded him.   

(I couldn’t capture it in English, but Sherlock’s line contained a pun, and a pretty stupid one at that, so that’s part of why he got scolded)

It’s grape harvesting season, so Van Zieks commutes to the winery regularly to direct the production of the contents for his “Lord’s Bottle.” He demands perfection in everything from the selection of the grapes to the way they’re squeezed, and the winery staff is terrified by the “grim reaper’s” gaze and heel swinging (i.e. the leg thing he does in court) so they grumble as they work. 

"Hearing that there’s a holiday in the West called Halloween, the people involved with the court in Japan decided to try it out themselves. Naturally Halloween is a big deal in England as well. So, which member of the DGS cast had the best celebration?"

Team Ryuunosuke and Asougi- Asougi got Naruhodo up on his shoulders and they draped a white sheet over themselves to make a ghost costume. They went out like that, but Naruhodo had such exaggerated reactions to the fear of the people who saw them and to bumping his head on tree branches that they ended up losing their balance and falling on top of each other?!   

Sherlock Holmes- went wearing a horse’s head mask. Iris used her skills to make it a fancy horse covered in stars, but the eye holes weren’t well made and he had to wander around blindly. Because of that he tripped hard over a pile of coal! He ended up getting so dirty that the stars on his costume were covered up!

Van Zieks- took inspiration from his nickname and dressed up as the grim reaper. He covered himself up with a skeleton mask and hood figuring no one would know it was him. Unfortunately he got angry when he saw Megundal (McGilded) pass by and started throwing bottles and glasses and ended up giving himself away.

"November has arrived, and autumn is nearing its end. However, the DGS cast is still keeping busy, even on their days off. Which character chose the most interesting way to spend their late autumn day?"

Ryuunosuke- Thinking that he’d better learn more about British culture if he was going to be a defense attorney in Britain, he went down to the East End with Gina for a little observation. However, because an Asian like him stood out so much, he got mobbed by the other children. On top of it all, his arm band got stolen from him and he had to send a replacement request to Yumei University on the other side of the ocean.

Asougi- He went for a meal at La Quantas. The customer at a nearby table got a persimmon for dessert and scarfed it down, saying “Mm! This is it! This sweetness makes it worthy of being called a treasure among foods!” Asougi tried to comment on this by saying, “The customer at that table sure is enjoying his pershim--gak!” but he may or may not have accidentally bitten his tongue in the process and been unable to finish his sentence.

Iris- She accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and prepared a bagpipe and kilt costume for him. “This outfit sure is breezy,” Ryuunosuke said shyly upon trying it on. With Ryuunosuke now dressed, he, Iris, and the others from their office headed over to Gregson’s place to get him to treat them to some fish and chips.   

Sherlock- He accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and cooked up some European style curry for dinner. Thanks to the fact that his secret ingredient was a large amount of Chinese herbal medicine style spice, it caused some strange side effects and Ryuunosuke, who’d eaten it, ended up passing out and falling over.

“Another taxing trial for Ryuunosuke has finished and now it’s December. As the year draws to a close, which character acts the strangest?”

Ryuunosuke- he was recruited to help with snow removal around Yumei University and the courthouse and he enthusiastically began his task with the help of a large shovel. He got a little carried away, though, and ended up accidentally burying his umbrella, which he’d left propped up against the side of the building, in the snow he’d just finished shoveling.  He had no choice but to share Asougi’s umbrella on the way home.

Asougi- On the way home, he nods silently to Ryuunosuke’s question of whether he’d finished his travel preparations and changes the subject: “...Come to think of it, it seems that tomorrow is celebrated in the West as God’s birthday.” “I’ve heard that they eat chicken as part of the traditional celebration. Wanna try it?” Ryuunosuke asks invitingly. Asougi is strongly opposed to that particular menu item, however, and they end up going out for their usual beef stew that night instead.           

Susato- in addition to her year-end travel preparations, she also was busy with straightening up the book room in her home. She managed to get the law books in order when she suddenly stumbled upon some old issues of Strand Magazine! She hurried through the rest of her cleaning, then began flipping through the magazines she’d found, trying to decide which to take with her on her trip. She accidentally lost herself in her reading and didn’t realize it until it was already the middle of the night.

Sherlock- he was in the middle of a long ship voyage when Christmas night came. His mind on his partner in a far-off country, he made a toast alone on deck, when suddenly the crew began shooting off fireworks with a cry of “Merry Christmas!” Sherlock had to dart back and forth across the deck to prevent the fireworks from hitting him and setting off the explosive chemicals he carries with him.

Main series edition

[little-diable]

Across All Seven Seas - Chapter Two

Please for the love of me, if you enjoy reading this, like and reblog - leave some feedback. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Wanna try another taglist, so if you want to be tagged in this, message me.

Summary: The reader is sentenced to death, her executor has grown to like the woman he fucks in the depth of the night. What will happen when she reveals her motive for killing her husband, will Jasper still drag her out to the place of her execution or will he help her make it out of the dungeon?

Chapter Warnings: 18+, manhandling, talks of execution, murder, blood, blowjob

Written in (y/n)’s pov if not stated otherwise

Part One Part Three

Series Masterlist

header by @hidingsikki

Sleep hadn’t come easy that night, the scratchy fabric that was supposed to keep her somewhat warm had done a poor job. She had been shivering like the corpses being tossed to the floor outside the city wall, reeking of death, just like her cell. Her mind would take her back to her daughter, the cries that had tumbled out of the girl's mouth as her mother had forced her out of their house.

(Y/n) could only pray that one day her daughter would forgive her for the things she had done. No Christian woman, but the devil’s advocate.

Whenever another door would fall open, her eyes would frantically search for Jasper, wondering if it was finally time to flee from this cursed place, the island she had always called her home. It would take them quite a while to make it through the forest, carrying them straight to the shoreline. She hoped that Jasper had a boat, a raft, anything that would gently support their weight till they reached the mainland.

As she had been a mere child, (y/n) had tried to imagine what the land on the other side of the ocean would look like, if the people were like her, if the food tasted the same, if their king was as cruel as hers. Till today she hadn’t found anybody to answer the questions she kept herself busy with, a hopeless dream that now suddenly was turning real.

But Jasper didn’t return, not even as the setting sun painted the sky red. No matter how many times she’d count her breaths, hoping that the distraction would make time pass by faster, there was no sight of the man that was supposed to be her hero. Had he played a trick on her? Had he been lying to her about his plan?

She should have known better than to trust a man that only fucks her to get his fill, he was an executor, no saint, no man of honour. He was just as awful as all those men kept in the dungeons - criminals, nothing more. The sound of heavy steps nearing echoed through the halls, she could hear chatter filling the evening air, a crowd had formed around the execution place, waiting for her to be brought up the wooden plateau, wood that would soon turn red.

“Onto your feet,” the man spoke, she had never heard his voice before. Realization was settling in, crashing into her body like the wind howling through the night, he wasn’t here. Jasper wouldn’t save her from death, was probably already waiting with his sword pressed against his palm, prepared to behead the female murderer. Chills ran down her spine as the stranger grasped her arm, pulling her out of her cell with too much force, making her fall to the ground with a cry ripping through her.

The man only laughed at her as he forced her to her feet with his hand buried in her hair, tugging on her roots, abusing her as if she was a piece of meat. (Y/n) knew that there was no use in struggling against his grasp, she didn’t want to risk being killed by him, wanted to look into Jasper’s eyes, the traitor she foolishly had trusted.

With her feet scratching against the ground, he pulled her towards the heavy door, pushing it open, though as his eyes fell upon the man in front of him he froze. Jasper. He carried his sword in his right hand, had the other one pressed to his side, patiently waiting for the man to say something, “I was about to bring her to you.”

Jasper didn’t reply, his eyes found (y/n)’s, silently telling her to prepare herself to run. A scream sputtered out of her as Jasper’s sword pierced through the man's chest, splatters of blood painted her muddy dress red. She couldn’t move, feet frozen to the ground, eyes wide as Jasper grasped her hand, pulling her along with him.

Neither of them dared to speak a word, not wanting to attract any attention, soon enough guards would make their way through the castle, trying to find the two fugitives. Jasper knew the castle like the back of his hand, every hidden spot was known to him, but now, with his heart racing, he no longer could remember the spots that may save their lives.

He pulled her through hallways, double checking every single one of them before rounding yet another corner. (Y/n)’s heart was pounding, blood rushing in her ear, forcing her to rely on Jasper, no longer able to focus on her surroundings. Her body bumped into his back, he turned towards her, hand clamping down on her mouth as he pulled her into a dark corner.

Steps were nearing, metallic steps, which could only mean that the guards were hunting them down, ready to kill the two that went against their king. She had to squeeze her eyes shut, otherwise (y/n) would give into the anxiety that was flooding through her like the blood that had gushed out of the man’s chest.

Only as the guard passed the two, leaving the hallway, Jasper dared to let go of her, golden eyes found hers, wordlessly making sure that she was alright. With the nod of her head, she allowed him to pull her along once again, her naked feet met the stone ground, not sparing any mind to the worries of having to run through a forest with bare feet.

Judging from the smell that streamed up her nostrils, (y/n) could only guess that they were nearing the kitchen. She slowed down, not trusting the direction he was pulling her into. Was this a test? Was he still playing for the king? Trying to see if the woman would dare to flee from her almighty ruler?

“Don’t fight me, we are almost out of the castle,” as if he could read her thoughts Jasper cradled her face in his hands. For the first time since their paths have crossed she could clearly see his features, the handsome face that was facing hers. He must have been as old as her, no scars littered his face, the plush lips he would press against her skin.

(Y/n) couldn’t fight against her instincts, she shifted her weight onto her toes, lips meeting his for a fleeting kiss, “Take me away from here.”

The kitchen was empty as they stepped into it, not wasting any time with admiring the foods that have been prepared for the king’s meal, celebrating yet another successful execution. Fresh air clashed against their bodies, the moon was standing high, guiding them towards the forest, hiding the two in its shadow.

As they disappeared between the thick trees, their pace began to slow down, till they came to a halt. Jasper’s eyes tried to comb through the darkness, waiting to hear if any guards were near - nothing but the owl's cries were hallowing through the air. From the distance they could see torches alighting the insides of the castles, the guards wouldn’t rest till they found the two.

“I thought you left me there to die,” the confession flooded from her lips, eyes following his gaze. Only as Jasper reached for her jaw, pulling her face towards him, she allowed herself to take a deep breath, “I promised that I would help you out of there. I would never break an oath like that.”

Once again their lips met, sharing a hungry kiss, letting go of all their pent up frustration, the crippling fear that had plagued (y/n). Her hands grasped the linen fabric of his shirt, trying to pull him even closer, “Come, we can’t lose any more time, I want to reach the ocean by sunrise.”

The scent of the forest seemed unfamiliar to her, reminding (y/n) of times no living man had been fortunate enough to live through, her bare feet could feel the wooden ground beneath them, moss was growing on the trail, moss that grew warmer with every step she was taking. Her hands longed to touch the white flowers she could see growing in the distance but the calling of her name forced her to keep up with his pace.

As the sound of horses neighing in the distance found the two, they momentarily faltered in their step, guards were getting closer, following them into the dark forest, “Run.” Jasper urgently pushed her forwards, trotting behind her. Her hands had to lift her dress off the ground, body no longer able to keep her fast pace, she had been locked in her cell for too long, no stamina left to carry her through the night.

“I can’t,” her throat burned, just like her eyes, tears glistened on her cheeks, tears of fear and exhaustion. “You have to, we can’t rest.”

But Jasper seemed to realize soon enough that (y/n) couldn’t make it without giving her feet a few hours to recover. They had to find shelter, had to hide, using the forest to their advantage, at least as long as darkness was their friend. He tugged her into the thicket, careful not to step onto any wood that would hurt her, they couldn’t risk (y/n) scratching open her skin, attracting the predators near.

No longer could they hear the guards nor their horses, but the false sense of comfort that stretched itself through (y/n)’s body soon was ripped away from her as rain began to fall from the sky. Within a few moments her dress was soaked through, hair clinging to her features, washing away the mud and blood that had been sticking to her skin for days.

“We should be safe here, try to rest, I will stay awake.” His words were short and clipped, clearly annoyed by the interruption of the weather. The trees did little to protect the two, not making it easy for (y/n) to find any sleep. She was desperate for any kind of distraction, body aching to be touched. Her hands danced up his thigh, eyes watching his every move. Jasper was sitting next to her, legs stretched away from him, giving the kneeling woman enough space to reach his crotch.

“Let me thank you for helping me,” her sultry voice got drowned out by the clashing rain, but the way his body reacted to her touch seemed to push her further against him. Skillfully she undid his pants, pulling his hardening cock out, hand wrapped around his girth, “We shouldn’t.” Jasper’s words got stuck in his throat as she stroked her thumb over the tip of his cock, scooping up his drops of precum.

“Fuck,” (y/n) wanted to scold him for cursing, but the sight of Jasper pulling his lip between his teeth silenced her, making her cunt flutter in anticipation. She wanted to feel his tongue between her folds, how she had imagined him to taste her, something her husband had never done to her, only set on his own pleasure. Jasper couldn’t stop his hand from reaching for her scalp, pushing her head towards his cock, silently asking (y/n) to wrap her lips around him.

A surprised groan left the man as her wet tongue brushed along his sensitive skin, his musky smell tangled itself around her body, he was pulling her into him. Jasper was glad for the darkness, not even the moon managed to break through the thick forest, keeping the sight of his blushing cheeks from her. (Y/n) tried to take all of him, choking on his cock with her hands placed on his thighs, keeping her balance.

Her muscles ached, begging her to stretch, to rest till they’d leave their camp, but the sound of his silent moans distracted her from the uncomfortable feeling. God wouldn’t be proud of the young woman, but at that moment (y/n) didn’t even care if he’d let her into his realm, to pass the pearly gates the bible had told her about. It was Jasper and her, against the rest of the world.

Jasper’s grip on her tightened, cock twitching inside her mouth, ready to fill her cheeks with his cum. (Y/n) stayed put, greedily waiting for his orgasm to clash through him, like the waves they’d soon find themselves hostage of. His moans had to be silenced by his hand, covering his mouth as his eyes fluttered shut. She swallowed every drop of his release, letting go of him while his cock began to soften.

Just as Jasper wanted to return the favour, hand pushing her back into the soft moss the sound of a horse pawing the ground ripped them apart. “They should be close,” the words hallowed through the forest, reaching the panting couple, forcing them onto their feet, “We have to run, follow me.”

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[fundy-simp]

Technoblade/GN!Reader - Messy Confessions [2700 words]

Fluff! Sick fic, kinda! After fleeing the DreamSMP mainland due to stress you find yourself in the snow biome that an old friend of yours lives in. You’re not sure how you know where he lives or how he’ll respond to you just appearing at his house in clothes definitely not suited for the tundra, but you suck it up and ask him for help anyways.

This is a c!Techno fic where he’s a piglin shapeshifter. You and Techno had known each other back in the Pogtopia days but there was a large break in communication while he moved bases and you got swept up in other things, but of course you had to meet again. Might make a part two of this honestly but I’m not super sure, so if you want one let me know! As always if anything about this makes you uncomfortable feel free to scroll past :)

You barely knew where you were going when you jumped into nether, following down the rickety one meter wooden path before it tapers into a 3 meter cobblestone and obsidian path. You needed out of the mainland, it was all too much. It felt like there was a rift- and a weird demonic egg- in between everyone, you felt alone, lost, so fuckin’ tired. Without thinking you jumped through the portal at the end, your body tensed to a complete halt as you bore the brunt of going from the nether to the tundra.

Gritting your teeth you pushed through it, stomping through the snow as the freezing wind felt like it was seeping into your bones. You seriously need to not impulsively decide to run off into the middle of nowhere in just your everyday wear. It wouldn’t have been as much as a problem if the snow didn’t get deeper as you walked, going over the edge of your netherite boots and into them. Quickly, you’re approaching the point where the coldness that felt like you’ll know till you're in the ground was vastly out weighing you panic from earlier.

In a haze you look around you, passing over an iced lake you can vaguely see footprints in the snow. Carefully you follow them as you huddle in on yourself, your fingers and nose were going numb as you made your way over a particularly steep hill. A curse left your lips as you tripped down the other side, as soon as you had your bearings you shot up, looking around to see where you were. Squinting, you could barely make out a house through the snow, a hope you hadn’t even noticed you’d lost flares in your chest as you marched towards it.

By the time you had made it to the cozy cabin you couldn’t feel your hands at all, you hesitated for a bit on the porch, you don’t even know who lives here, what if they’re not home? After meandering way, way longer than someone who was under the immediate threat of hypothermia, you finally knocked on the door, pain shocked through your arm, who knows if that’s a good or bad thing.

You hunch in on yourself as you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and after a few seconds it swung open to reveal a very distraught, or at least distraught for him, Techno, a sword drawn in your direction as he looked at you with dull eyes. Well that answers your question from earlier. Involuntarily you shivered, whether it was because the heat of the house made you realize just how cold it was or if it was the harsh gaze of the definitely over seven foot tall piglin, you couldn’t tell.

He looked at you for a second before sighing, “C’mon, y/n.” he said quietly as he put his sword up by the door and stepped aside. Carefully you stepped in, your eyes scanning over the cluttered living room as your body tried to get used to the warmth. You rubbed your hands together as you looked over to the fire place, almost jumping out of your skin when you realize that there’s a fucking polar bear laying there. Techno let out a quiet chuckle, it slipped into his words as he spoke, “Oh, don’t mind Steve, he’s a big cuddle bug.”

You nervously chuckled along, why was this the first place you thought to go? You haven’t talked to Techno in months and that little crush you had on him back in the Pogtopia days did not let up like you thought. “What brings you here?” he asked, he talked like the two of you didn’t just mutually ghost each other for half a year.

Swallowing thickly you shrug, fidgeting with your fingers for a second before being reminded of how it hurts to move them, “Oh. I- I just. I just missed you, ya know?” You replied quietly, nothing in your voice was convincing as you avoided eye contact.

You could feel him raise a brow at you, “So you planned to come see me and made the choice to wear nothin’ for the cold weather?” He asked, you could hear shuffling as you focused your eyes squarely on the wooden floor.

“O-Oh well, you know how dumb I can be!” You said through a forced chuckle, shivering as you rubbed your hands up and down your arms. “Yup, just poor planning! Noth- Nothin- '' You stopped for a second, making a face as you brought the crook of your elbow to your face and sneezed, then again, then one more time before pulling your arm away. “Christ- One moment.” You wiped at your slightly teary eyes as you sneezed two more times.

A heavy cloak was placed on your shoulders, when did Techno get behind you? “This is what you get y/n, go chill out with Steve for a moment.” He said, his voice was soft, you’d almost argue there was a twinge of worry in it as he ran his large hands up and down your biceps for a few seconds, trying to warm you up just a little more before he shooed you towards Steve. “You’re really bad at lyin’, you know that right?” he mostly mumbled as he disappeared up the ladder.

Sighing, you pulled Techno’s cloak closer to your body as you sat down next to Steve, he was down right massive next to you, it made you slightly nervous as you tried not to disturb him. After a few seconds the polar bear lazily lifted his head from the ground, looking at you before sniffing your, or well, Techno’s cloak. You never thought you would ever be able say you’ve seen a polar bear ponder something, but this one definitely did for a few seconds. When he came to whatever conclusion he did, he shuffled over to you and nuzzled into you as he placed his head in your lap.

You tensed for a second, this polar bear is acting like a giant puppy dog, literally nothing in your life could ever prepare you for anything like this. After a few very scared moments you sighed, you’re far too tired to really bother questioning anything so you leaned down, resting your head on the bear’s soft fur as your eyes flutter shut.  

You woke up only god knows how long later, head pounding as you felt someone pick you up, “Hello?” you asked quietly, opening your eyes only to squint at how even the low light in the room made your head spin.

You could feel who was holding you physically stutter for a second before replying, “Ah, sorry y/n, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Oh yeah, you’re at Techno’s. Forgot about that... His voice was a whisper as he spoke, as if he could tell you weren’t feeling well, “Don’t worry everythin’ is okay, just didn’t want you sleepin’ on the floor.” He said as he held you with one arm, using the other to pull you both up the ladder and into what you could assume was his room. It was dark, lit by one lantern by the ladder that was slowly dying, books were splayed out across the floor and desk. If your head was throbbing any less you would have teased him for it, how it reminded you of the days back in Pogtopia.

Carefully he stepped over the books and general clutter as he carried you over to the bed and laid you down, you made a face at him as he pulled the blanket over you, “This isn’t normal for you.” You whisper at him, wincing slightly at how your seemingly growing migraine reacted to you talking.

Techno let out a slight chuckle as he crouched down next to the bed, “And it ain’t normal for you to just appear at my home freezin’, most likely sick, and definitely panickin’ about somethin’, so I think we’re even.” he said softly, you opened your mouth to argue but he quickly shushed you, bringing his hand up to your hair to mess with it, “You are far too tired to argue with me right now, after you sleep and are feelin’ better, we’ll talk.”

Grumbling you listen, pulling the blanket around you as you force yourself to relax. His touch was soft but still it managed to make your migraine flare up, as much as it hurt you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. You scrunch your eyes shut, trying to magically wish the pain away so you didn’t have to tell him to stop, instead though it just alerted him of your pain. Slowly he detangled his fingers from your hair and softly placed a kiss on your forehead, or the best he could in his piglin form, which was more of a boop from his snout. You opened your eyes just in time to barely see his flustered face in the dark, how he avoided eye contact even in the darkness was cute. That look on his face was seemingly burned into your mind as you curled into his sheets, drifting off into a only slightly fitful slumber.

When you woke up you were pleasantly surprised by the fact that the migraine had gotten better, now just a dull pain behind your eyes instead of a stabbing pain everywhere. You try to sit up but the moment you lift your head vertigo hits you like a brick, making you plop back down in defeat. You vaguely debate calling Techno’s name to get his attention, but before the thought could even really form you wave it off. You quietly groaned as you tried to sink further into the sheets, they still smelled like Techno which made you blush a little. “Phil- Phil! You don’t understand! I- I. I wasn’t built to feel like this!” you were immediately pulled out of your thoughts by Techno’s voice, he sounded worried.

You hear someone else laugh, it’s Phil, “Mate, stop stressing. It’s not that big of a deal.” There's shuffling downstairs followed by the sound of opening and closing of multiple chests.

Techno sputters, it wasn’t common for him to verbally stutter when he didn’t know what to say, normally he’d just stay quiet so whatever they were talking about must have had him thoroughly wracked. “No, listen. Phil. I kissed their forehead last night!” Your heart suddenly jumped into your throat, ‘they’re talking about you.’ is the only thought in your mind. “Like some sappy nerd! And I told them I’d talk about feelin’s when they got up!” he stopped for a second, you couldn’t help but giggle at him as you heard him groan, “What is wrong with me, Phil?” he asked, it was much quieter, his voice filled with genuine worry. You felt an odd pang of guilt in the bottom of your gut, your brain trying to twist everything into something that could be your fault.

There were some light jingles in the silence before a myriad of more filled it, it was probably Phil stretching his wings, “You’re not gonna like this Techno, but.” there was another tense silence, it made your throat dry as you realize how hot it is under all these blankets, “... You’ve got a crush, mate.” he said plainly.

“HEH??” Techno basically yelled, you almost fell out of the bed with how hard you jumped, swinging your arm out onto the bedside table to stop yourself, knocking a book down in the process. The entire house went silent, not even the multiple animals in the house made a noise as you buried yourself under the blanket. There were step foots before the telltale creak of a ladder being used filled your ears, you’re going to pass out in the worst way possible. Your head filled with worst case scenarios within seconds, Techno knows you were listening to their conversation, he’s going to hate you, he’s going to kick you out to die.

Your thoughts spiral as you grip tighter to the blanket, the migraine came back as you fought off nausea. Two large hands carefully grab the blanket, pulling it away from you despite you fighting against it, when you reluctantly look over at Techno you see him crouched down next to you like last night, this time though it's his human form. You don’t think you’ve ever seen it, at least never this close, his bright emerald green eyes contrasted against the soft pink of his long, braided hair. He cleared his throat as you quickly looked away, “How much of that did you- uh. Did you hear, exactly?” he asked, not an ounce of anger or accusation in his voice, if anything he seemed scared.

Fiddling with the blanket, you struggled to come up with a reply. You could lie, saving his dignity and leave yourself to pine for him till he figures it out better, or you could just tell the truth, saving your heart and poor lying skills. You swallowed thickly as you looked down at your hands, “Well, you see. I. Hhhn. How do I say this?” You mostly asked yourself, you could see him already come to what you're going to say, his face going a dark red, but he doesn’t interrupt you. “I, uh, I heard all of it, I’m so sorry for eavesdropping. I woke up right before you guys got home and by the time I realized how personal the conversation was it would have been too awkward to do something.” you accidentally rambled, your face going a similar shade of red as his.

Techno sighed as he pulled one of his hands away from the blanket to scratch the back of his neck, “Ah… Shit.” he says quietly, you looked at him with wide eyes, the fear of him being mad at you boiling backup before he talks again, “Not- Not in a negative way!” He corrected himself quickly, smiling a little when he sees you visibly relax, “It’s just a little… Unfortunate for your crush to learn that you like them at the same time you realized it, that's all.” he said, or more mumbled, his hand on the blanket slowly gravitated towards one of your’s, whether that was purposeful or not it was really cute.

You nodded slightly, giggling a little at just everything that’s happened, “Well. If it makes it any easier,” you looked over at him as you set a shaking hand on his, “I’ve had a crush on you for a long while now.” you whispered, watching his face soften as he processed it.

“You’re gonna kill me. I’m not built for this, good god.” He said, a slight whine to his voice as he dropped his face down onto the bed. You let out a loud, genuine laugh at his actions before wincing, you’d almost forgotten about that damn migraine, “Oh yeah, you’re still sick.” he said quickly as he sat up, “Do you want some soup? Phil’s here, he makes really good mushroom stew, it was my favorite when I was younger.”

You giggle a little at his panic before nodding, “Yeah, that’d be nice.” you said, moving your hand on his before pulling it up to your lips and kissing it. “Thank you, Techno.” you let go of his hand as you watched him short circuit for a second.

Once he recovered he leaned over and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, much more of a proper kiss than last night. “Of course, y/n.” he replied as he stood up and walked to the ladder. Once he’s down you buried your head back under the blanket, both out of embarrassment and to get away from the harsh sun falling into the room.

You couldn’t help but smile when you hear Phil from downstairs laugh, “See! I told you everything would be fine! You really worry way too much, Techno.” you had to agree. You have no idea what Techno and you even are right now, but you were ready to stumble through it with him till you’re both ready to talk about it.

[samstree]

The One with the Coastal Customs

Geraskier, 1.8k, Fluff, Crack, Secret Relationship, Kaer Morons at their best, humor, Jaskier takes one for the team

Inspired by Friends. Read on AO3

Breakfast at Kaer Morhen is full of chatter as always. With Ciri and Yennefer joining them a few days ago, loud arguing and laughter always fill those once empty halls.

Jaskier picks at the rye bread on his plate, not paying attention to Lambert’s clearly exaggerated monster story, though Ciri seems completely entranced, prompting him to go on with anticipation.

His mind is still full of last night’s visage of Geralt pressing him against the wooden door and kissing him senseless. The witcher had to come to his bedroom after everyone else turned in so no one noticed. After the whole mountain incident last year and Geralt’s following apology, they thought it wise to keep their blooming relationship in secret for a while.

Let’s not tell everyone in a rush. Geralt was the one who proposed the secrecy. Whatever we have here is ours, Jask. I don’t want them to interfere or mess it up. You are too important to me, He said. Besides, what could go wrong?

Jaskier, at the time, agreed to it whole-heartedly. The witcher was so sincere that day, his golden eyes flowing with adoration and vulnerability that Jaskier could not deny him anything.

Despite some inconveniences, Jaskier has to admit it does make things excitingly hot. He almost feels like a naughty student sneaking out of class to make out with a lover again.

Jaskier’s hand comes up to touch the skin on his neck, the same spot where Geralt nibbed and sucked gently last night and left him a sobbing mess. Next to him, Geralt catches his motion with a look before a faint smile quirks up the corner of his mouth.

“Grape juice?” the witcher passes him the pitcher with the most unaffected tone in the world but his other hand travels up Jaskier’s thigh teasingly.

He has to choke in a gasp.

“…and bam! The third wyvern drops dead.” Lambert ends the story proudly, “And that’s why I’m the best witcher at this table. You have a lot to learn from me, princess.”

Ciri giggles as Geralt and Eskel chime in to call out all the lies in that tale. The room erupts in jabs and loud arguments.

Yennefer is the only one who remains silent throughout the whole meal. Her violet gaze only falls on Jaskier once, piercing with intent, before looking away like nothing happened. Even though their exchanges are a lot more amicable these days, the sorceress tends not to acknowledge Jaskier’s existence very often.

From the corner of his eyes, Jaskier sees Vesemir leave for the library. The older witcher still has work for him to finish today.

“Right, duty calls.” With a screech of chair, Jaskier stands so he can leave too. “I’ll see you later.”

He rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder and leans in for a kiss. Geralt’s lips taste like the sweetness of grape juice and Jaskier revels in it for a moment before pulling away.

Everyone at the table is staring at him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Jaskier freezes on the spot, a million thoughts going through his mind. Is it time to announce it to the world? They are ready for everyone to know and get involved, aren’t they?

But with one look at Geralt, he abandons the thought. The witcher has gone pale, and stiff as a statue. Panic starts to creep into those beautiful honey eyes, so subtly anyone else would have missed it.

Geralt is not ready.

Jaskier swallows. Well, there’s nothing to it.

He turns to Eskel, who’s holding a spoon mid-air and studying him with confused surprise.

“Eskel. See you later too.” He cups the older witcher’s jaw and presses their lips together. Eskel, the sweet man, even holds on to his wrist by reflex. He ends it with a pop before going around the table, careful not to trip over a chair.

Lambert can only be described as dumbfounded when Jaskier leans in, and incredulous afterwards.

“Have a nice day, Lamb.”

Yennefer looks at him with the same scrutiny. Wait, why is she looking smug? Fuck, the mage is looking scarier than the day they met. This one he might regret the most later.

“My favorite witch. It’s so good to have you here.” Jaskier opens his arms dramatically before going in, the familiar lilac and gooseberries filling his senses. Oh, her lips are so much softer.

When he stands to straighten his doublet, the whole table is still looking at him in silence. Geralt is tense as a statue while Lambert’s mouth hangs slightly open.

“Right.” He pats Ciri on the back and runs away from the scene, keeping his footsteps as steady as possible.

 *

Ciri is the first one to break the silence.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Language.” Yennefer berates her, seemingly unfazed.

Geralt swallows a lump. If Jaskier is willing to go such length to keep the promise, he can try to look inconspicuous for a moment.

A blush is creeping up on Lambert’s face, but he tries to hide it with biting words. “Geralt, what the fuck is wrong with you bard?”

“Watch your language too.” Eskel’s voice is steady with amusement. “Why do you mind it so much anyway? He’s being friendly. It was nice.”

If Eskel wipes his lips casually with a pleased look, nobody mentions it.

“In what world is that friendly?” Lambert scowls.

“It’s –” Geralt clears his throat, “He went to the coast last year. In the south. Must have picked up some local customs. That’s…um…how they greet each other. In the south.”

Lambert stares at him. “Doesn’t feel southern to me.”

Geralt gulps down all the juice in his cup. When he puts it down, Yennefer is studying him like a predator might a prey.

“Interesting custom.” Her violet eyes sparkle with curiosity.

Geralt has never been more grateful for his witcher trials for allowing him to remain calm under extreme pressure. His heart still beats slowly without revealing anything.

They are fine as long as it doesn’t happen again.

 *

It happens again.

Jaskier sucks at Geralt’s lips with heated passion, drawing a soft moan out of the witcher. Neither of them pays any attention to the flurries of snow falling into the empty courtyard around them.

“I’ve missed you today.” He moves down to Geralt’s jawline, and then his neck. “Where’d you go?”

“Had to repair the wall at the back, or the whole keep crumbles.”

“Hmm. Should have let it.”

Jaskier captures those lips again just when he hears people entering the courtyard, and pushes Geralt away with force.

It’s too late.

Eskel and Lambert stare quizzically at Jaskier, their training swords in hand. Behind him, Ciri is also in full gears, ready for lessons. The way she tilts her head in bewilderment is such a spitting image of her dad.

“Well.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the bicep. “Thanks for helping me clean the stable. That’s…nice of you.”

Roach snorts in the stable behind them.

He walks towards Eskel and kisses him again, and then Lambert. Boy he’s just noticing how tall the younger witcher is. Jaskier has to tiptoe a little bit. “I’ll be off then.”

When he passes Ciri, the girl just moves out of the way like he’s the plague. “See you, uncle Jask!”

Jaskier nods at her, carrying himself as naturally as possible, and enters the building.

 *

The gwent is going great. It seems that Geralt is going to win again.

Jaskier yawns. He’ll never see the appeal of the game, so he just reaches over Lambert to grab the lute. Maybe a little practice will be good–

“Okay, bard. You need to cut it off.” Lambert stops Jaskier’s motion with a hand on his chest.

Jaskier blinks.

“I don’t care whatever–” Lambert gestures around Jaskier’s whole being. “– coastal customs you picked up from the south. It’s not…how we do things around here. We are not in the south and it’s fucking weird. So quit it.”

“Okay?” He blinks again.

“I know you like witchers more than the average man out there,” Eskel adds, “and you want to show us. I appreciate it, Jaskier, but it might not make us the most comfortable.”

“What now?” Jaskier looks around the room. Yennefer and Ciri are sitting by the fire with some magic book spread out between their knees, watching the situation unfold.

“Quit the kissing, bard.” Lambert scowls.

Eskel smiles politely. “Yeah, it’s best if you did.”

Oh.

Jaskier can see the two witchers are clearly not at ease. Lambert’s face is a ripe tomato and Eskel is acting way too formal with all the niceties.

“Okay. Of course.” Jaskier raises his hands in defeat. “I will stop assaulting you with the overly familiar foreign customs. Message received.”

“Thank the gods. It was disgusting.” Geralt deadpans.

Jaskier looks into those golden eyes he loves so much and wonders if he can express ‘I’m gonna put a pillow over your face tonight’ with a neural glare. The bastard only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“If you do need to let it out somehow, Jaskier, maybe your friends at that fancy academy of yours are open to it.” Yennefer says, chill as the winter sky, “Or some of your lovers.”

Maybe Jaskier’s eyes are deceiving him, but he swears the sorceress glanced in Geralt’s direction when she said ‘lovers’.

The ladies resume their discussion about spells and magic, and the gwent game continues. Geralt does end up winning.

Jaskier plucks his lute, imagining a million ways for his witcher to make it up to him later.

Oh the sacrifices he has to make for this ridiculous man.

 *

“The sacrifices I have to make for you, my dear.” Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder, cuddling up to his witcher’s warm body.

“What sacrifice? I thought you were enjoying it.”

“They are quite good kissers though, especially–” He cuts himself off. It’s best not to discuss your lover’s brothers that way, or ex-lover, for that matter.

“Then what are you moaning about?”

“But my reputation!” Jaskier protests, “My name will be tarnished forever. Jaskier – barker and molester of witchers. None of you will ever let me sing your heroism anymore.”

“Hmm. Don’t you forget about Yen.” Geralt’s voice rumbles deep in his chest.

“Oh yeah. I’m surprised she didn’t turn me into a toad on the spot.” He plays with Geralt’s long hair. “By the way – I just have this inking – do you think, perhaps, Yennefer might know? About us?”

“Oh she knows.”

Jaskier bolts upright, looking at Geralt incredulously.

“Since when?”

“The day she arrived?” Geralt guesses, “I’m sure she took one look at us and figured it out. It’s not my fault she’s so smart–”

Jaskier picks up a pillow and throws it at Geralt’s smug face.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Geralt finally breaks out laughing. He catches the bard’s feral attack and pins him into the mattress. Jaskier’s angry little pout is too adorable Geralt has to kiss it away. Uninterrupted this time.

“Is it worth it though? All the sacrifices?” Geralt's breath ghosts over the skin at Jaskier's throat.

The bard only glares at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh long-sufferingly.

“For you, my dear. Always.” He pecks Geralt’s soft lips one more time. “As long as no one turns me into a toad.”

[pressedinthepages]

Return

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel/Reader

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [ Hey Erica 👋 How are you? I hope you don't mind me dropping an ask here, I saw your fic requests are open. I've had a terrible time lately, I'm stuck in another country unable to go back home. My flights home have been cancelled twice already and it's really bumming me out. I love your stories, though. They bring me joy. Could I request a fluffy Eskel x reader where they're reunited after months apart? You can make it smutty or not it's up to you. Thank you, I love you ❤️] Love, I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to write this prompt. I have been in such an odd writing headspace lately, but i finally was struck with inspiration and knocked this out. sending you love, and I hope that if you’re not already home, you will be soon <3 (also, i 110% used the scene from Narcos season 2 episode 3 at the very end as reference O.O)

As always, thanks to @sometimesiwrite​ for beta’ing <3

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: smut, oh my god the smut, unprotected sex, eskel can be tender and a fucking beast at the same time, get you a man that can do both

After a long year, Eskel once again finds himself at your door.

    You shivered as a burst of wind slithered in from a crack in the wood of the door. The soft wool of your shawl tightened around your shoulders as you stepped from behind the bar, ready to slip the key in to lock up for the evening. The three rooms that you had available were sold for the night and you were ready to tuck in for the evening. 

    But something made you stick your head out into the evening air, your nose reddening in the sudden chill. You glanced around and shook your head, retreating back into the warmth of your inn. Wait, was that-

    Emerging from the fog was a strong, dark warhorse, rising tall under the moonlight. You swung open the door fully and bounded into the road in front of his rider, your breath coming in gasps that swam in the cold air in front of your face. 

    Eskel lowered his riding hood and smiled down at you, relief and longing tinging those sweet summer gold eyes. “Ah,” he rumbled, straight into your bones, “just the woman I was hoping to find.”

    “I’ve been looking out for you, you’re late this year,” you said, willing your teeth to not chatter. Eskel had always been observant though, so he shook his head with a little grin. 

    “Get yourself back inside before you freeze. I’ll be in shortly.”

    You nodded and turned back to your doorway just as you heard his boots hit the ground with a damp splash. “That is...if you’ll still have me?”

    You furrowed your brow and glanced over your shoulder, finding him fiddling with the hem of his cloak and tilting his head towards you. “Eskel,” you close the distance between you, resting your hands on his chest, “you stop here every year. I always have, and always will, be more than ecstatic to have you come rest with me.”

    Eskel breathed deeply and bent down, pressing his lips softly to the apple of your cheek. “Then I’ll be just behind you.”

     You scurried inside and left the door unlocked as Eskel let himself into your stables at the rear of your inn. At the beginning of every spring and the end of every fall, he stumbled onto your doorstep, sometimes much too thin, others warm and full of life. But always loving, always reaching for the parts inside of you that you tried so hard to hide away. 

    And he always found them. 

    You busied yourself as you waited for him, readjusting how your tankards were set beneath the counter and checking your stores of ale. Again. You didn’t end up needing to wait terribly long, for Eskel let himself in and shut the heavy wooden door behind him. You tossed him the key and he flipped the lock, cocking his head as the bolt fell into place. 

    “You’ve got yourself a draft, love.” Eskel’s cheek came into view as he glanced back at you, a smirk turning up his already scarred lip.

    You sighed and blew a strand of hair away from your face. “So I’ve noticed. But there hasn’t really been enough coin lately to justify replacing the damned thing, so...draft.”

    Eskel hummed contemplatively and ran his fingers delicately over down the knots and grains. “Maybe I’ll see if I can fix it before I leave…”

    “I would appreciate it, but if you can’t fix it, it won’t be the end of me.”

    Eskel turned fully to you now and walked to your side, wrapping his arm comfortably around your waist. “I would hope not. Then I’d have to find a new spot to stop on the way home.” 

    “Besides,” he murmured, kissing the crown of your head, “there’s not anyone on this continent who could replace you.”

    You closed your eyes and sank into him, letting him guide you back into your bedroom at the rear of the inn. He toed the door shut behind him and carefully began to slide your shawl down your shoulders. Eskel’s lips peppered your neck and up behind your ear before you spun around in his grasp. 

    “You’ve still got your traveling clothes on, dear,” you chide with a smile, reaching for the knot on Eskel’s cloak. He tilted his head up, baring his neck to you as you felt the knot give way and his cloak spill onto the floor. You let your shawl join it before trailing back towards the bed. 

    Light from the moon danced over Eskel’s cheeks and down the arch of his nose, and you just couldn’t resist reaching up on your tiptoes and placing a little kiss right to the tip. You felt his chuckle under your hands before he pushed your hips backwards. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fell onto it, resting on your elbows and looking up at your Witcher. 

    Eskel slid his swords off of his back and rested them at the bedside, just within reach. He pulled and tugged at the straps of his armor, letting his jerkin and pauldrons hit the floor beneath him and tugging off his boots in one swift motion. You reached for the buttons on your blouse, but his hand shot out and caught your wrist, his face before yours impossibly fast. He was kneeling over you now, smelling of the road and pine and the spice of the chaos that flows in his blood. 

    “Not yet,” he murmurs, a low growl torn from the depths of his lungs, “I want to do that.”

    You swallowed thickly and nodded, lowering your hand back down to rest at your side. Eskel hummed and pushed himself up, still kneeling, his legs straddling one of yours. You could feel his arousal pushing into your thigh and though you wanted nothing more than to reach out and take him in your hand, you just...waited.

    Eskel smiled down at you and resumed undressing himself, lifting his linen shirt up over his head, baring his chest to you. You raised a brow and held up your hand, reaching out to him. He carefully captured your fingers and trailed them up his stomach, over the soft stomach dusted with dark hair that led down below his trousers. There had been one winter he had come to you bare as bones, as if a stiff gust of wind would threaten to carry him away. Most springs when he came he was soft and warm after a few months of good eating and safety. 

    “A sign of a good year,” you whispered, pressing your fingertips gently into the cushion of his stomach.

    “I spent some time in Skellige this year,” he said, running his thumb over the back of your knuckles, “tends to be a little more dangerous, but they always pay fairly.”

You bit your lip and teased the edge of his trousers, barely dipping into the warmth there before he pushed your hand away. You pouted as he reached for the ties himself.

Eskel leaned down and pressed his lips to the furrow in your brow, “Don’t give me that look. Patience, you.”

You huffed good-naturedly, watching the dark curls of hair be slowly revealed as his trousers loosened. The tanned skin of his inner thighs found its way into the air and your tongue darted out to wet your lip, just waiting for the glorious moment that his cock will leap from the confines of his trousers.

And then, you fucking shiver. The cold air had seeped far enough into your skin to bring goosebumps to the surface and it was only in the blink of an eye that your body tried to warm itself, but it was too late. Eskel noticed every little thing, there was no scenario in which he would overlook your chill and take off his gods-be-damned pants.

“Shit, you stubborn woman, why didn’t you say you were cold?” Eskel laughed and pushed himself up and away from you, sauntering over to the dark fireplace. You threw your arm over your eyes and groaned as he flicked his fingers, letting the fire bloom and blossom in the room. 

“I was fine, I just want you nake-”

“I know what you want. But you also need to not freeze before I even get you naked.” Eskel shook his head and stood between your legs at the edge of the bed. You peered out from beneath your elbow as he slipped his hands into the band of his trousers and slid them down, finally releasing his hips and thighs and the fucking delicious cock nestled away. He was already hard, straining up towards his stomach and flushed ruddy at the tip. 

    “See?” Eskel smirked, giving himself a few long, slow strokes over you, “Sometimes it’s best to be patient…”

    “Eskel,” you sighed, feeling your underclothes grow wet as your eyes raked down his shoulders and chest, over his powerful thighs and the little swells of his hips that just begged for your fingers, the fire raging in the fireplace having nothing to do with the heat roaring under your skin, “p-please, will you-”

    “Will I what, love?” He smiled, his fingers leaving his length and reaching for the ties at the side of your skirt, but not yet touching. 

    You arched your back up off the bed and keened, your voice high and thin. “Eskel, don’t tease, please just touch me…”

    “Since you asked so nicely, sweet woman,” Eskel finally ran his hand up your thigh and you could feel the heat of him even through your skirt. Your head hit the bed beneath you as you felt him quickly undo the tie of your skirt. You lifted your hips and he pulled the soft fabric from beneath you, leaving you in your blouse and smallthings. 

    Eskel crawled atop you, straddling your hips. His hands were firm as he smoothed them up your stomach, bunching your blouse in his fingers before reaching the button at your collar. He reached into the gap in the fabric and pulled, the button slipping free of its hold and revealing the barest glimpse of the smooth skin of your breasts. 

    He leaned down and pressed his lips to your chest as he quickly continued undoing the buttons. You reached up and rested your hands on his shoulders as he finally pushed the shirt open, freeing you to his burning gaze. Eskel took one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked lightly, wrapping his arm around your back when you arched up to meet him. 

    He reached down with his other hand and ran his fingers up your clothed slit, feeling the warm wetness that had seeped into the delicate cotton. “Gods, woman,” he breathed, grazing his teeth over the tender flesh of your breast, “so good for me…”

    “Always a pleasure,” you moaned as he slipped your smalls to the side, sliding his finger through your folds and circling the little bud of nerves at your core. He chuckled and pushed his finger down, dipping slowly inside of you. Your walls fluttered around him like flowers first opening for spring, something innate and easy, as if Eskel belonged just as he was. 

    Eskel shifted off of the bed, yanking your delicates down your legs and tossing them away. His eyes were dark with lust as he climbed atop you once more, bruising your lips with his own and rolling the two of you over. You rested atop him now, your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck and your breasts pushed flush against the fluff of his chest. You pushed yourself up with a grin, rising to your knees and hovering over his arousal. 

    “Go on, pleas-” Eskel’s words were cut off with a groan as you sank onto him, soaking him in your folds as he pushed into you. Your head fell back, baring your throat to him as you were filled to the brim. Your hips met flush against each other and your hand reached out to brace on Eskel’s chest. His muscles, corded and powerful, lay tense beneath your fingers, his own fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. 

    “Eskel,” you breathed, peering down at him through heavily-lidded eyes, “fuck, I’ve missed you so much…”

You raised your hips and lowered them, feeling the stretch of his cock along your walls and impossibly deep in your core. Eskel already looks wrecked, his teeth bared and cheeks flushed, the veins in his neck taut as he attempted to wrangle his control.

The sounds your hips made as they met over and over again were lewd in the dark evening, and they kept coming quicker and quicker. You bounced in his lap, slamming down onto him as if trying to fuck away all of the yearning, all of the worry from the last year of not having Eskel in your bed. He seemed just as eager, meeting your every move with thrusts of his own. 

Suddenly though, his hands grasped your hips harshly, stilling you in his lap. “C-can I move you?” He asked, his chest heaving under your hand. 

You nodded and he moved like a whip, whirling you around and under him, on your hands and knees facing away from him. He ran his hand up your back and into your hair, his touch suddenly tender. Eskel kissed the space nestled between your shoulder blades and lined himself up, sliding through your folds and smearing the slick onto his length. 

He pushed back into you slowly, letting the new angle do the work. A gutteral noise fell between your teeth as he bottomed out, allowing you to adjust. “My love?”

“Yes?” You moaned, flexing your walls around him. 

“I-I can’t be gentle right now, I...I need-”

“Go on, Eskel,” you reach back, grasping onto his hand, “I trust you.”

And with that, Eskel seemingly just...allowed himself to let go.

He rocked his hips back and then slammed into you, immediately setting a brutal pace. Your breath was torn from you as you saw stars behind your eyes, holding onto the sheets beneath you for some sort of tether to reality. Every thrust he was hitting something devastating inside of you and you thought you may have been crying out, but you weren’t really sure.

    Eskel was grunting and groaning as he ploughed into you, his hands gripping hard into your hips, pulling you in for every thrust so that he just hit deeper and deeper. You were so warm and wet and fucking perfect around him and his mind was finally...quiet.

    Your toes tingled and you felt that familiar build up of pressure in  your core, everything very quickly amplifying towards the end of a tunnel. Eskel felt the shift, everything getting slicker and your walls fluttering desperately around his cock, so he sped up and just kept hitting harder. 

    You hung in the balance for a moment, teetering on the edge as you felt him hit that spot over and over again and you finally fell, crying out for him as your climax overtook you. It was a blinding white light in a pitch black night, all desperate hands and clawing moans. Eskel’s voice turned breathy and strained as he rode through your high, his own approaching mind bendingly fast. 

    He wrapped his arms around your waist and hauled you up, pressing your back flush against his chest. Eskel’s hands held on for dear life as he gave one, two, three final thrusts up into you before his own peak washed over him. He gasped and his mind blanked as he spilled within you, his breath hot on your ear as he gave stunted thrusts into your core. You reached up and stroked through his hair as his orgasm faded into the background, leaving the two of you wrapped in each other with the evidence of your arousals seeping down your thighs.

 Eskel latched his lips to your neck, feeling your pulse slow and calm under his touch. He shifted and let his softening cock slip from you, leaving you oddly empty before you turned around in his arms. 

    You met his lips, slow and loving, pushing him gently back to lay in the bed. His bones felt like jelly and his mind was thick as molasses in winter, and it was precisely what he needed. You weren’t terribly far behind him, just reaching for a spare rag to clean up a bit before climbing into his arms. 

    He was warm and soft beneath you, his breathing slow and steady as your head rested on his chest. You could have sworn he was already sleeping, but as always, he surprised you.

    “I missed you too,” he whispered, kissing your head lightly. You sank into him, content to rest in his arms as long as you could before he had to leave. Or maybe, you thought as the last threads of consciousness fell away, I could get him to stay all winter. 

    Just maybe.