#so he sets out to be a complete fucking pain for the nobility

[morgana-ren]

Astarions version of date night is breaking and entering into some nobles palace, stealing everything, and drawing mustaches on all the expensive portraits. And you know what, I’m here for it.

Not even for the money. Not even to prove a point. Not for any of that.

It's solely for the challenge and the thrill. He's finally able to live his life the way he chooses with the person he chooses, and I'm sure he fully intends to cause mischief simply because he has the freedom to do so. Finally, he's not bound by law or heritage or some absurd career that dictates his behavior.

Why go back to the prim and proper when he can live on the fringe and make his own rules? No guidelines, no bosses, no leash. For once, he's truly free.

He's a rascal at heart, and I think being a rascal is better suited to a petty thief and rogue than someone playing at prestige by trying to be a Magister.

After everything they've seen, maybe there is an inkling of bitterness towards the upper class. Seeing their arrogance, their indifference, their sanctimonious bullshit— okay, maybe there's a little wanting to lash out at them and cause a fuss. Just a little bit of wanton destruction. Just a tad, you know? Plus, it's just good, clean, honest fun.

Breaking into those stuffy nobles houses, making off with their trinkets and boasted treasures, laughing and vandalizing all the while, leaving them a lovely mess to come home to. Just for funsies!

Sure, on some level, he's a hypocrite. But whatever. He saved the city. He can have a bit of fun with the cowards who run it.

Really stick it to those bastards, you know?

[inkyajax]

only you

character: kamisato ayato

genre: smut + yakuza!au

notes: this piece is set within my feels like forever universe, but it works well as a stand alone piece and you absolutely do not need to read that piece to understand this one! it is a yakuza/crime family au meaning there are no visions etc. but either way the primary focus is the smut! as always, reader is female. enjoy and please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, somnophilia, dubcon, minimal prep, rough sex, size kink/size difference, implicit toxic relationship, daddy kink, yakuza boss!ayato, dacryphilia, praise

words: 2.7k

synopsis: 

It is only here, in the safety and comfort of your shared bedroom, buried balls deep in your body and shrouded in your love, that he gives himself permission to fall apart with yearning, to give into that voracity for you constantly roaring within him, safely buried beneath layers of nobility and integrity and chained tightly to his soul, bound by expectations and duties and responsibilities. 

It is only here, with you, where he can lose control completely, where he can be messy with it all, where he can abandon that tight meticulousness he rules over every aspect of his life with—in the only way he can, the only way he knows how. 

And you let him, every night.

“Shh baby, keep sleeping,” he’s murmuring as he slips into bed behind you. “Just let Daddy take what he needs.”  

This has become somewhat of a habit as of late; Ayato retires from his endless work at an ungodly hour to snuggle into bed—into his plush pillows and fluffy comforter and your sweet, sweet cunt—and rails the hell out of you before finally falling asleep. 

You can’t say you blame him, though. 

Your Daddy’s been under so much stress lately. Shipments gone wrong, product gone missing, men gone missing with it, disappearing into thin air as smoothly as a ghost, leaving mere wisps of their auras behind. 

But your Daddy is a smart man, a ruthless man, and he knows how to grasp those wisps and turn them into threads, braid them into ropes, tie them into nooses.   

Still, it’s exhausting work, and his favourite way to end his fourteen hour workdays, to relax and release all of the tension that’s been collecting in his muscles, is by fucking you into oblivion. 

Not that you mind, of course. You never mind. His pretty, perfect little princess, shining with your sterling obedience and your desperation to submit. 

It hurts every single night, Ayato consistently failing to prep you and stretch you out properly, opting instead to use two saliva-slicked fingers pumping in and out of your cunt until it’s just wet enough for his cock to slide in with minimal pain for him. 

His cock momentarily eradicates the thick haze of sleep as it stretches you open, stinging sparks shooting down your inner thighs as your delicate flesh tears itself wide for him, ready and eager to welcome him home. 

A lethargic hiss trickles through the gaps of your teeth, soft features crumpling in discomfort as dainty fingers curl in the lavish pillows, nails scraping against the Egyptian cotton, a tender hush dripping from your Daddy’s lips, sweet and silky as the most decadent syrup. 

He’s not often an impatient man, preferring to take his time when he fucks you, to appreciate each and every precious little detail—the hitch in your breath, the whiny mewls on your tongue, the way your nose oh-so-cutely scrunches up when his cockhead rams your cervix—and singe them into the pages of his memory. 

But lately, on these nights, it seems that he just can’t wait, that he just needs you immediately—needs to fuck his soul into you, to fuck your soul out of you, to pour all of his frustrations of the day into your cunt and watch them ooze out in thick dollops of glistening cream. 

It’s a nice change of pace, if you’re being honest. There is something so sexy, something so powerful, in watching a distinguished and elegant man such as your Daddy absolutely fall apart with desperate desire for you—to allow himself to melt into your body and become one, temporarily freed from the shackles of Yakuza Boss and Yashiro Commissioner and the heaviness such titles carry with them; to be wracked with this seemingly insatiable hunger that only you can cure, only you can fill, only you can fix, even if it’s only for but a moment, the insatiable sated until it resurfaces by the next night and you offer him that heavenly release all over again.

“Just let Daddy takes what he needs tonight,” he’s repeating as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed tightly against your sore cervix. 

“Daddy can take whatever he wants, whenever he wants it,” you mumble up at him, stars of worship in your eyes, their shine unhindered by the bleary glaze of sleep. “It’s all yours, Daddy, always.” 

You look so fucking beautiful, so fucking breathtaking when you get like this, staring at him like he’s some sort of god, as if he carved the moon and painted the constellations in the night sky himself, voice stuffed full of such sheer devotion, such unadulterated love for him that your words scald his skin, searing themselves into smooth flesh and burrowing deep into his tissues, never to be removed.

He pauses for a moment, gaze softening as his eyes glide gently across your face, overflowing with fondness. Lithe fingers brush hair back from your temples, Ayato leaning down to press his lips firmly to yours—a second for him to savour the moment, to suck it into his mouth and curl his tongue around it, protective as it presses it further and further, holds it tighter and tighter, then swallows it down. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your mouth, soft and warm. “I love you.”

Large hands skim along your thighs, molding your pliant body into whatever position he deems satisfactory tonight, legs folded up on either side of your torso as nimble fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, limbs limp and muscles malleable from sleep, yielding to the tender will of their master as he crafts you into a brand new masterpiece; something created only to be beautifully destroyed.

And then, he begins, the slow draw back as he drags his cock nearly entirely from your body a precursory wind up, gathering power and momentum before he slams back into you in a single, swift, fluid movement.

It’s hard, and rough, and fast, the ruthless snapping of his hips jostling your body with each plunge into you, his grip on your flesh the only thing preventing you from being shoved up the mattress.   

A sharp cry tears up your throat, his name and his title a tangled mess on your sloppy tongue, and he hushes you, the gentle sound juxtaposing his relentless fucking, his voice a pacifying lullaby as he tells you to Rest, angel, rest for Daddy. 

Ever compliant, you nod, heavy lids drooping with Daddy’s permission, eyes glassy with the prick of tears, shimmering droplets embellishing your thick lashes in their stubborn refusal to fall. 

“So pretty, my sweet girl,” Ayato’s breathing, a thumb swiping across your cheekbone, the tip of his finger grazing your lashes and collecting your tears, bringing them to his mouth as the point of his tongue licks the salt clean, the maneuver slowing his pace for no longer than a single instant. “So, so pretty for me.”

It’s only in these moments, in the dark of the night and the heat of your breathy sounds, that he can truly allow himself to let everything loose.

It is only here, in the safety and comfort of your shared bedroom, buried balls deep in your body and shrouded in your love, that he gives himself permission to fall apart with yearning, to give into that voracity for you constantly roaring within him, safely buried beneath layers of nobility and integrity and chained tightly to his soul, bound by expectations and duties and responsibilities. 

It is only here, with you, where he can lose control completely, where he can be messy with it all, where he can abandon that tight meticulousness he rules over every aspect of his life with—in the only way he can, the only way he knows how. 

And you let him, every night. 

Snarls rip from his chest, each one more vicious than the last, blunt nails biting his name into your skin in purple-tinged crescents, his hips gaining speed with each buck into you. 

Jutting hipbones carve a space for themselves in the supple flesh of your inner thighs, staining them with the most magnificent galaxies—brilliant blues and swirling violets and specks of crimson—microscopic worlds he creates for the two of you, a whole universe between your legs that will fade by morning. 

You can practically feel the stress melting out of him, leaking from his muscles and seeping from his pores, rigid and tense form becoming more languid and lax with the rough ruts of his hips. 

But despite his growing reprieve, his strength does not falter.

His pace is pounding, cockhead ramming against your cervix with each merciless piston, and that elegant, dignified man of high society melts away, fastidious nature consumed as he indulges himself in these hedonisms, drowns himself in the chaos and the uncontrollable and succumbs to what he needs, what only you can offer him. 

“Only you,” he pants out like he’s reaffirming a mantra, strands of blue drenched with sweat hanging in his eyes, swaying slightly with each brush of his eyelashes. “Only you, baby. You give it to me like no one else.” 

“Only me,” you mumble out, words slurred, delicate fingers curling weakly against his shoulders, nails collecting flesh beneath them as you cling to him. “Me, me, me.” 

And you can’t help but feel a thick swell of privilege, of pride, that no one else in the universe gets to see him like this—unhinged, rabid, desperate for you—that no one else allows him a space to be like this, that no one else in the would could ever make him like this, not the way you do.

Tilting his head downward, his forehead knocks against yours, tongue hanging limply from his mouth as uneven breaths waft across your face, soft moans pushed from his chest with each thrust, strands of saliva drizzling across your lips and your chin. 

His scent invades your body—potent notes of sandalwood and jasmine rushing down your throat and into your lungs, soaking through deep tissue and twining through your blood, making you one; irrevocable, irreversible. 

A pitchy whimper catches in your chest, fragmented by his rough hips, as your tongue sops up his spit, the taste a shot of spice to your senses, mouth instinctually falling open and begging for more.

“God,” he keens, eyes frantic as they sweep across your face, down your neck, to your tits, to where you are conjoined, a groan rattling his ribs. “You always know just how to help Daddy, don’t you, princess? Such a—ah—such a good girl for me, aren’t you,”

It isn’t phrased as a question—you both know you are, his good girl, his best girl—but you answer anyway, head nodding in wobbly movements, mewling out, “Always, Daddy, always wanna be good f’you,”

“Look at you, my perfect baby,” he nearly spits at you, words tapering off into a hoarse whine. “So good for me, taking my cock so well.”

His voice is ragged velvet, torn haphazardly with sharp sheers, his snarled out praises resonant and rumbly, his sweet sentiments paradoxed by a harsh tone. It evolves in time with the acceleration of his movements, morphing from that sophisticated, almost regal cadence to something much deeper, much darker, decadent as it spills from his lips.

Yes, Daddy, yes, Daddy, yes, Daddy, you’re babbling out with stupid little jerks of your head, words a sticky stream steadily flowing from your mouth, drenched in spit and lathered with tears. 

It’s admirable, how he still manages to retain such finesse, a rhythm that’s almost graceful in a way despite the brutal jackhammering of his hips, so hard, so forceful the rosewood of his headboard rocks against the wall, harmonious with the scrape of wood against wood beneath your bodies.

And even in the midst of all his growling and guttural words, all his vicious thrusts and gnashing teeth, he still stares at you with so much adoration it pours from his irises, thick and heady as it smothers your skin, cradles you in the warmest blanket, stitched together with appreciation.

The pain only works to amplify the pleasure, the heady concoction buzzing through your veins with every pump of his hips, leaving your blood tingling in its wake. Everything feels hazy, weighted with thick exhaustion, the veil of sleep diffusing your vision and turning the room into soft, blurred edges and lethargic, dreamy movements. 

But it feels good, the steady grind of your Daddy’s cock against that spot, the bouts of thorns it sends fizzing through your gut chased promptly by soothing flares, the comforting heat of his body—his sweat and his spit and his breath—blanketing yours.

It’s all so very blissful, and you’re merely enjoying the sensation when your orgasm shatters it suddenly, breaks the euphoria into sharp shards that slice through your skin and pierce through your organs, lidded eyes snapping open as your body goes rigid and your cunt convulses around your Daddy’s cock, a gushing warmth flooding the apex of your thighs.

Ayato’s murmuring something in that dark, sweet, smooth lilt as he continues to slam into you, but you’re too fucked out to comprehend it, everything muted by hedonistic languor.  

You barely feel him cum, senses gone blunt and numb by the time his hips are stuttering to a stop, his cock nothing more than a dull, faint throbbing against your cervix. 

You can feel his cum leaking out of you, though, dribbling out of your cute little hole and smearing across your thighs, a soft whine slipping from your parted lips as Ayato leans back, dispelling the warmth his body had provided.

“Beautiful,” he’s breathing out to himself, periwinkle eyes fixated on your cunt as his thumb swipes across it, a violent shiver rippling through your flesh. It seems as though he’s in some sort of trance, captivated by your body, your beauty, gaze scanning your skin for dollops of cream and smearing them across rapidly developing blotches of violet—the perfect canvas, painted with him.  

But then you’re whimpering, nonsensical little noises that slip from your lips as you make grabby hands at him, and he’s smiling, pulled from whatever spell your cunt and his cum had cast over him, fingers lacing with yours as he leans forward to press a kiss against your damp forehead before he’s gone again.  

You try to follow, but everything aches, muscles dense and heavy with the pleasure that has seeped into your tissues. Residual tears shield your eyes, rendering your gaze watery, belatedly watching as your Daddy moves around the room, his body nothing more than a collection of blurry, wavering lines. Blinking hard and with conviction, you dispel the bleariness from your vision, a pair of crystals rolling down your cheeks, Ayato suddenly crisp, clear. 

“Daddy?” 

An involuntary wince twists your features as the term leaves your lips, letters ragged and ruined, voice wrecked and raw. An attempt to clear your throat does nothing but make it worse, the noise spiky, stinging as it scrapes against the gummy walls. 

“Shh, baby,” Ayato’s saying as he hovers over you, a damp washcloth in his hand. “Daddy’s here, right here.”

He looks utterly spent, amethyst eyes dull and sunken, hair mussed with salt and sweat, voice soft but weighted with fatigue.

“Daddy,” you say again, a frown marring your face as large hands gently spread your cum splattered thighs, mindful of your sore muscles. “S’fine, just leave it,”

“No,” he responds with a singular shake of his head, voice simultaneously tender and firm. “Daddy has to clean it, sweetheart, or it’ll crust and stick, and that will hurt you.” 

“S’okay,” you mumble sleepily with a shrug. “I can jus’ clean it in th’morning.” 

“A Daddy isn’t a very good Daddy if he doesn’t clean up the mess he’s made, don’t you agree?” 

“But—But you’re exhausted, Daddy,” the protest comes out as a stringy whine, your frown morphing into a pout so deep it puckers your forehead. “You need’ta rest, too!”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he murmurs, ministrations paused to gaze upon you with stifling fondness, a palm caressing your cheek. His thumb skims across your lips, tracing the bow and the curve, a small but genuine grin spreading across his own. “You’re so cute. But you don’t need to worry about Daddy, okay? He’ll rest as soon as he’s finished with you, he promises. Now, go back to sleep, darling.” 

And although his voice is sweet and his actions are tender, there is an implicit order folded into them, firm and strong and indicating that this conversation is over; his word is final, and it’d be wise to obey, just like the good little girl you are. 

“Okay,” you whisper, eyes finally slipping shut again, dry and tacky as the salt-encrusted lids stick together. “G’night, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, precious.” 

The satisfying warmth of happiness bubbles in your chest as you allow unconsciousness to finally envelop you, faded giggles tickling the back of your tongue while you drift further and further into its comforting embrace, those two little words swimming laps in your mind. Only you, only you, only you. 

Only you can offer him this solace, only you can grant him this reprieve, only you can fulfill his desires. 

Only you.

And whatever he wants, whatever he needs, it’s his to take, always. 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Prince Charming James x Maid!Reader || Drabble

Plot: A visiting nobility takes a liking to you while you're serving him and the Prince (Just a good natured flirt), and you do nothing to stop it... and that pisses James off, which is REALLY unfair, considering he has never treated you as anything but an easy lay.

Warnings: Sexual references, James is an asshole, violence (You kick him in the shin and slap him), etc. Unedited, goodnight.

"What is it, James? I gotta get started on plating those- mph!"

One moment you're walking fast down the long cold hallways of the palace, and in the next- you're thrust against the wall. James mouth sealing against yours, scratching your face with his stubble and the force of the kiss, his tongue doing that Thing you like- In the open, no less! A n y o n e could see this!

Just as soon as you gather your senses back, you shove him off of you- and wipe your mouth, for good measure. "What is wrong with you?? Your dad- his majesty- The King," its always awkward referring to Him, since you began sleeping with the prince. Perhaps The King is the best, though. "could walk down this hall any time, and see that! And he's not going to like it. A prince fraternising with a servant... consequences may not exist to you in your charmed existence, your highness, but they certainly do to me. Do not, do that, again."

"Oh, sure." James shakes his head, seeming to completely ignore everything you just said, and gives a mirthless chuckle that baffles you. Why?? What could possibly be funny. "Thats what you're worried about. Not your new boyfriend? Huh?"

The way that James sets his hands on his hips and raises his brows is obnoxious, and you want so badly to slap him. But you resist; holding your hands to yourself and taking in a deep breath. "... what?"

He rolls his eyes, looking away like he cant even look at you right now and shaking his head. Shaking his head! At you! How can he possibly think that you are being the obtuse one right now??- "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No??" You're completely lost, actually. And you can still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the force of that last kiss leaving a lasting imprint. Thats not important, though. "I really am confused, James."

"You're a little slut."

At this, your jaw absolutely drops. He might be prince and sole heir to the throne, but that doesn't meant he doesn't deserve a swift decking-

You go to slap him, releasing your hands from each other, but he's too fast. Too well trained as a knight. He catches your wrist and pins you to the wall again. Ugh, you're wholly sick of this particular routine already, especially when he takes both of your wrists and sticks them to the wall above your head.

Good thing he forgot you have legs, you think, and kick him hard in the shin.

... unfortunately, it doesn't make him let go. He just squeezes his eyes shut and groans deeply, and... is that a smirk?? For fucks sake!

"Mm... good one, sweetheart." The tone in his voice is pained, so at least you can enjoy the knowledge that you made him smart. Wonderful. James leans in close, and you can smell the wine on his breath that you'd been serving him all evening; see the purple staining the inside of his lips and the clear bags under his eyes. "... but you're not getting rid of me that easily. Sorry."

"Let me go."

"Ugh, don't be boring." He smirks. "... I just wanna talk."

"You- what part of this entire interaction was just talking??" Bloody royals.

"Listen, I'm sorry for calling you a slut." No he's not, but whatever. "What I really wanted to come ask you, was... uh... " Your eyes narrow. James was never at a loss for words- and if he was, he was faking it. Faking humility. Attempting to appear likeable, because even he knew he was one the most insufferable human beings in the land. Unfortunately, he was cunning that way. But you had been a chamber maid for him far too long to fall for his tricks. Your expression reads 'spit it out'. He sees it, rolls his eyes like 'well fine', and promptly drops the act. "Look, whatever you're thinking- that the Earl back there's gonna take you away from here, or something else dumb, just because he's flirting with you a little... don't get your hopes up. He just thinks you're cute, thats all."

"... *blink* ... "

Does he take you for a fool?? Or is he-

"-I don't mean to, uh," he chuckles again, this time cruelly, and you're the one taking your turn to roll your eyes. He doesn't notice. "hurt you, but... I thought you should know."

"... James- "

"You're welcome. Okay, you can go get my dinner now." Swiftly, James lets go of you completely and steps back; content that his message got through. There's a peacefully cruel look about him thats all-too-familiar and glare at him for it.

"James."

"And more wine. Thanks- "

Before he can say another word, or god forbid- walk off and away from you, you step up and slap him good and hard across the face.

While he's standing there in shock, teetering between surprise and anger at your actions, you step in a bit closer and lower your voice; completely pissed off. "... I find it entirely inappropriate, and unfair, that you would dare to try and manipulate me because you're jealous and afraid of losing your grip on me. Especially since you haven't even claimed me as a lover- just a loyal bed pet when its fastest and most convenient for you.

"And for your information- I'm not loyal. I'm not yours. And I wouldn't be, even if you begged." Inside your eyes is a storm, staring right at James. With that and a final, nasty scowl, you attempt to turn around and head on your way.

Fucking the asshole prince you serve was a mistake. A dumb mistake. You're stuck, now, you know that. But that doesn't mean you have to put up with every thing he tries to saddle you with, and you certainly don't have to be nice all the time.

Before you get too far, James' hand once again catches your wrist and he pulls you back into him right in the middle of the hallway; holding you tightly in his arms, against his chest, pressing his lips against yours again.

You fight him for a second, but find yourself melting into this kiss (He kisses like he's confused. Prince or wolf? Prince of wolf? Prince or wolf?), your hands slipping out of their tight fists and sliding up over his shoulders and your head tilting into it. You may not be a princess but you always feel a bit like one when he kisses you. Even if he is terrible. Even if you hate him.

[jaqobis]

okay, it’s time to talk about some issues i had with the gathering storm and handling of trauma

i’d say these issues persist into all three of sanderson’s books, but it was just really blatant in TGS and therefore set the tone. we all know by now, i think, that i was really not a fan of the whole darth rand/dragonmount epiphany storyline because the implications of this moralization around rand’s trauma and physical disability are really fucking troubling. 

the thing is, it’s not just done with rand. that’s the thing that makes it worse: this is clearly the narrative’s opinion. what i’m talking about is the discussion of traumatic events from three different povs in TGS: faile, egwene, and rand. 

now, egwene’s storyline had already mostly been written and imo it showed with rj’s deft, subtle writing. the captive amyrlin arc was always about the ways egwene found agency in her circumstances and undermined elaida by the dignity of her composure. i’ve read sanderson talk about how the first attending elaida at dinner scene was rj’s and the second was his, and i think that’s quite clear: rj’s scene is about how hard egwene has to fight to keep her self-control under the circumstances, and how much it sucks, and how hard it is to win these little victories no one else knows you’ve had. sanderson’s scene is egwene reaming out elaida in front of a bunch of people and then, uh, unflinchingly taking a lot of pain from elaida? it’s a very dramatic moment and visual, but ties back into sanderson’s existing notions about pain (how semirhage isn’t able to get to rand that way because, checks notes, he’s been tortured before and has chronic pain issues.)

to be completely clear: when i critique egwene’s arc in the context of this post, i mean the sanderson addition(s) and those alone. i’m talking about a greater trend he sets up, weaving in this (mostly) preexisting material.

because when faile thinks about malden, when perrin asks her how she’s doing, and she has a few paragraphs of introspection about her experiences as sevanna’s captive: she thinks about how it made her stronger. she thinks about how it taught her nobility. she thinks about how it made her more of a lady. faile is empowered by her pain and trauma, with little attention paid to any negative effects someone might have, realistically, gotten from the experience. it’s noteworthy because of course rj never moralized about trauma or pain, never made them into Strengthening experiences because frankly: they’re not. trauma is trauma. pain is pain. but people have already written really thoughtful pieces about rj’s handling of trauma.

so we have egwene’s arc of empowerment within the tower, we have faile thinking about how she’s stronger and nobler for her suffering. and then we have rand, who is miserable and in this book — loudly miserable — and he is darth rand. he refuses to contextualize his suffering as positive, he points out his loss of agency for what it is, and we are meant to understand that he is a horrible person for that. 

this isn’t even subtext that i’m drawing out: when rand descends from dragonmount in towers of midnight and talks to cadsuane, she admonishes him for letting his [checks notes] 12 books’ of suffering get to him, and he corrects her that, wait for it: he was forged by the experience into the chosen one who has accepted death that he is today.

one might point out that rand’s discussed trauma as forging experiences before, in the rj books, and that is true. he’s spoken thus about the box and far madding. but i think the narrative in those instances is very clear that he’s fighting to contextualize terrible experiences in a way that gives him agency over his feelings. the narrative is definitely never agreeing with him. the people around him typically express consternation at the idea that he came out of either experience Stronger. the lasting effects of trauma from those experiences make his life harder, not easier.

but in towers of midnight, of course, he’s zen rand now. he’s the rand who’s accepted death. he’s never really wrong anymore. we literally see how he’s Put His Pain Behind Him And Become Better for it; so i think it’s perfectly reasonable to state that we’re meant to agree with him this time around. 

and all of this builds to a troubling takeaway: that trauma is an experience that is affirming and makes you stronger if you choose to take it that way. if you refuse to take it that way, well, you’re darth rand.

[titanicfreija]

Sunny's Grumpy

"You're back early," Thomas observed. "Something happen?"

The blank expression with which Freija looked at Thomas demonstrated the accuracy of his guess. Sunny appeared drifting forward, eerily still for herself. "We had to hang out in a Dark Zone," she explained. "And we survived."

Thomas frowned. "Was it really that bad?"

"Only because of how wrong it went," Freija explained breathlessly. "I'm gonna stay home for a day or two, that was a lot."

She trudged to the shower, leaving Sunny in the den with Thomas.

"So what happened?"

"She let herself get beaten up in exchange for her survival," Sunny said. "Which honestly wasn't so bad to me."

Thomas heard her keeping a secret and didn't know what to make of it. "Are you okay?"

Sunny bounced violently and the emitted a sound of electronic rage. "I'm fine!" she roared.

"I take it you worried?" Thomas figured he'd let Sunny vent and take a break, so he swiveled in his seat and sat back.

"Why is she like this?!" Sunny howled shaking up and down with every word, before she flew in a steady lap around the den at a likely higher-than-intended speed. "Don't answer that, I know the answer!" She changed shells at her shelf specifically to start flinging her flaps, wheeling wildly and spinning in place. "That complete-- dumbass-- helped the enemy! She got overcome with a sense of nobility and helped the enemy!"

Thomas wasn't even really surprised, at her age and with her nature. But, "She lived? How'd you guys pull that one off?"

Sunny's flaps flew outward with such force that Thomas thought she'd throw them, but then she pulled them back in and wheeled like normal. "They spared her, sort of, for helping them," she said. The tone got lost somewhere, and Thomas couldn't tell if she was angry or sorry or what. "So, really, she made the right moves. But... They still killed her, just not immediately, and they scared me so badly, it would have been nothing for them to just finish her off, and it took so long. And we couldn't even get back, this happened almost two days ago, now, around fifteen hundred the day before yesterday. It's taken us this long to get back. We finally got within comm reach of the Tower yesterday afternoon but we still couldn't get a ship to us."

Thomas nodded slowly. "Crash?"

Sunny rolled back and dropped three feet with a groan. "We were stupid and thought it would be safe to leave our for an hour or two. We were wrong. House of Eliksni dropped in, raided and razed, as she says. Complete mess. So we had to go find parts and fix it, and we did. She just suffered fatal injuries in the process."

"Yeah?"

"Brain bleed. Collapsed lung. Not quite full on injuries, and if it wasn't Freija, I wouldn't even say it was a guaranteed kill. But it wouldn't have taken much more prodding to set off, and our beloved Titan is herself."

Thomas gave Sunny another nod, but his face pinched. "So what'd- how did they not kill her? Cabal'll kill us dead with a standing shoulder check sometimes."

Sunny spun where she was and hovered in a lowering spiral. "Honestly, it was just some... Considering that information, "gentle" body slams. Picked her up and slammed her into pavement a lot. I hope there's still a sample in her armor, actually, they should probably study that for replication, tough stuff to last this long. Unless that part of the world was in a time loop or something."

The warlock chuckled and folded his hand behind his head. "So, I take it she lived long enough to get back to the Light."

"Yep. I got pictures," she said, shining their agreed upon favorite angle/lighting overhead. Her right shoulder to left hip had a great streak of the spider legs arc damage, shining purple over the dark and deep purple.

"Nice photo, too," he said. "Ow," he added. "Yeah, that should have killed the shit out of her."

"I know, right?" Freija asked as she returned. "Fucking hurt."

Thomas looked to Sunny and smirked. "So she does feel the pain, but she hasn't figured out that it's there for a reason? Being--"

The irate Titan flung herself to the couch and put her towel on her head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up. By the time I was hurt, it was way too late to avoid shit," Freija grumped at him while Sunny giggled. "Anyway, I'm fine. She's so mad at me, she forgot to tell you I'm fluent in French."

"Didn't that language die before the Golden Age?" Thomas asked incredulously.

Freija shrugged with a glance to Sunny. "No, but the collapse wasn't kind to its speakers. The current theory is that my-- Sarah's mother was one of the original Awoken and she spoke it and read it. Which might have been why I was out of practice with English. Swapping my readouts and datapads over--Sunny had to do that-- turns out I read fine."

Thomas nodded thoughtfully. "I knew some, but it was old, even in the Golden Age. That's nice, though, I know it frustrated you for a little while."

"I've decided that I hate that alphabet, though. It's not enough and too much at the same time," she grumped.

Thomas laughed. "So what do you have to say about your experience?"

Freija got still and quiet on the couch with a momentary temperature spike, but then she rolled to face the back of the couch and curled up. "It was stupid," she mumbled weakly. "I fucked up."

Thomas glanced at Sunny, who bounced aggressively out of her view. "It was stupid, but you didn't screw up," Sunny growled. "You got lucky and played your hand right. But you really should have focused on escape."

"I know. Shut up," Freija groaned. "I heard you all ten thousand times."

Thomas turned back to his writing before he ended up involved. "I'm glad you're home safe," he told them, hoping they'd understand that he was excusing himself.

"Us, too," they agreed together, falling silent.

@annieruok94

[generallypo]

in all sincerity, kim dokja makes me happy and he deserves to be so too :^(

incoherent yelling and sobbing under the cut. these fEELINGS will not be contained aaauuunnghhh. 

------

anyway i binge-read all 500+ chapters of ORV this week and i honest to god feel bad for this -- completely! fictional! aghhhh -- guy. in case you haven’t figured it out, the following is some spoilerly shit

i went in expecting a fun, brainless power trip fantasy for dudes with an isekai addiction. instead, it turns out ORV is actually a gigantic, self-deprecating prank on the entire genre itself. kdj plays more into the sad -- if high-functioning-- clown trope than the sexy, edgy, chuuni bastard type i was prepared to laugh at. there were -- gasp! -- female characters with personalities! parents (aka ADULTS who act like ADULTS) who actually survive and feature prominently! adorable children! a real sexy, edgy bastard! a power trio with amazing fashion! sexual tension and bickering! friendship! life and death bonding! 

*breathes in deeply* fouND FAMILYYYYYYY.

like, yeah, the plot around the first few arcs seems a little aimless, but the buildup is worth. the world-building is pretty decent. there’s discernible effort put into the fight scenes, and i can appreciate that. but -- but! what i stayed for were the characters -- namely, the fantastic OT3 of KDJ, HSY, and YJH -- who come together despite their initial rivalries and end up saving each other’s asses, like, every other day. granted, the other characters don’t get as much focus, and they do fall into certain character tropes.. 

but a trope done well is nothing i would gripe about. every significant character in ORV has a coherent, and more importantly, respectful take on their respective trope. maybe it’s because sing-shong is actually a married couple, but all the interactions between even minor characters are a convincing blend of awkward rambling, suggestive humor, sharp remarks, and casual banter. in other words, this cast of mostly working adults (plus a teen and two kids) talks like working adults. the relationships built throughout the story are, frankly, some of most realistic of its genre. sing-shong has managed to craft a dynamic that undoubtedly brims with fluffy fondness all around, but also drips with sarcastic tension, with unspoken urgency, with a wariness that softens into sincerity over the course of many, many chapters. it’s the kind of progression that makes even stock characters read like more than just the 2-bit villain or comrade or love interest. here, we have relationships both straightforward and not, strained or otherwise, romantically-oriented as well as decidedly the opposite -- and then numerous others scattered along the spectrum with the freedom to shift either way. 

it’s also an interesting point of note that our MC kdj actually does not end up with a stated romantic partner, much less a conventional heteroromantic harem. he gets teased about that fact from time to time, but it’s with less of the sleazy shonen locker room humor one would expect and more of the good-natured ribbing you’d find among friends or that one especially nosy auntie at the yearly family reunion. kdj is a grown ass man. in the background, i applaud his maturity, and he handles all the prodding like a champ. 

so instead of finding and fulfilling his horny, he builds himself a wealth of loving family. yeah, there are beautiful men and women around him. yeah, they unequivocally adore him. but they’re also adults, and they have priorities, too -- which are not so much finding a way to bang kdj’s brains out and more so simply keeping the damn guy alive. this is truly not ‘oblivious mc with his thirsty, sex kitten harem’. it just so happens that a guy proves himself to be unflinchingly gentle and capable in an apocalyptic setting despite his broken self-esteem, and lots of people find that attractive, romantically and platonically. 

it.. kinda makes sense? he’s a hard worker, thoughtful, and good with kids. kdj is the kind of guy you know would make a reliable partner, and anybody with eyes can plainly see and appreciate that. 

and it’s not that our MC’s a total brick wall. in fact, it’s likely the opposite, and he’s just too darned repressed to admit it. from what has been implied, kdj does indeed recognize and accept love, or at least a primitive concept of it. i like to imagine that the kind of love that he ends up seeking out simply manifests itself more easily as acceptance and safety, as warmth and a home of people to return to every day. even better, the people who surround him know this, and they give him exactly that. it’s refreshing, and honestly, really sweet.

(as a side note, i really, really do appreciate the cosmic bi energy radiating off of kdj, who canonically earns the title of being loved by all and is all but in name married to yjh and hsy. he also respects women and small children and honestly anyone who isn’t total scum to him or his family. i respect that.)

but the happy stuff aside, you know it it just ain’t ORV without the generous screaming dollop of angst. admittedly, there’s self-sacrifice, injury, lonesome wandering, more sacrifice, some epic fighting, reunion and confrontation. all of it is a lot to digest, sure, but never does it feel entirely hopeless, or truly, truly heart-clenching. ORV, up until the final act, is a mostly light read. you relax in your chair, thinking that nothing beyond this point can disturb you. 

yeah fucking right.

------

and then the beginning of the end arrives. when the squad finally break through to their ‘ending’, the scene that kind of breaks me is the reveal of the Most Ancient Dream. it ties so much thematically into the little tidbits that we get of kdj’s past, and it though it feels like almost a joke that the source of the goddamn apocalypse is a kid with bruises smeared across his skinny ass body -- it’s such a pathetic picture that it’s kinda poetic, actually. you’re left mystified but somewhat convinced, like a math problem explained halfway through. this.. child.. is a villain somehow, isn’t he?

and then 999th turn uriel speaks up, and she. just. hugs him. 

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]] 

that. that gets me. kdj’s reaction immediately upon this revelation? absolute murder. seeing him essentially self-destruct upon realizing that all these people he’s surrounded himself with -- some who continuously proclaim their loyalty and affection for him throughout their journey, some who suffered eons of war and loss and trauma because of his existence -- not only forgive his younger self but smother him with unconditional acceptance and love is stifling, is too vulnerable and exposed and he simply can’t cope -- it’s so telling of his true mentality, of his crippling insecurity and crumpled sense of self-worth. kim dokja is a liar, through and through, so much that he fails, or perhaps refuses, to comprehend the veracity of others’ kindness and love towards himself. 

by some miracle, the events at the end of the world somehow resolve.. or so it seems. there is a departing train, a liberated team of ex-gods, and a child rousing from his slumber. in the aftermath, i am left shaking. somehow, despite the ending having been (happily?) reached, there’s still another chapter ahead. what is this witchcraft?

------

and then ah, yes -- the epilogue arc. i teetered on the edge of being critical for a little bit there -- is that display of deus ex machina, of sad, self-sacrificing nobility a bit too egregious to be acceptable? is this some wild last let-me-yank-this-outta-my-ass plot twist to drag out the chapter count? i sincerely thought that the arc before it would have been the finale. i was wrong. thank god.

anyways, as an answer to the above: no, and no. i stake my firm claim on the belief that the epilogue arc was meticulously planned out well in advance of its release, confusing and time-warpy as it is. i liked it. tremendously. even if it entirely invalidates all of kdj’s supposed development (”haha lol yeah sure i won’t sacrifice myself or anything anymore guys don’t worry about me” -- KDJ, at some point because he’s a lying rat bastard). actually, our beloved MC disappears for a large chunk of this arc, and i think it’s great. in his absence, the other characters not only go absolutely fucking nuts, but they have to figure out this new problem on their own, even if the lure of peaceful complacency in the newly saved Korea might convince them otherwise. 

and then the whole time paradox thing comes around. yjh goes to space, hsy saves the only life she can, and kdj grows up. the crew waits, holding onto their hope even if it bleeds them dry. sing-shong does a damn good job of illustrating their fraying calm, their lurking madness, the unseen but pervasive depression that seeps in from kdj’s absence. the kids lose their father, lhs and jhw lose their reliable leader figure, ysa loses a best friend and confidant, lsk -- as distant as she pretends to be from her son -- loses her only child. and then there’s hsy and yjh , who are essentially bereft of the other half of their existences. their pain is palpable, is grounded in the hopeless, gnawing frustration of an utterly meaningless victory. emotionally, ORV hits all the right -- if agonizing -- beats.

however, a story can’t sustain itself just through its pathos. i’m happy to say that ORV doesn’t drop the ball after the first milestone, and after all the hurt, the characters do leap straight back into action. even better, the plot holes actually do get patches, and the poetic cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader comes full circle by making use of all those supposedly throwaway characters from the myriad world lines. 

at the end of the road, there is a distinct sense of unity, of a delicate but undeniable cohesion to the world lines and their origins. sing-shong lets us guess a little here at the finish, but there’s just enough information to feel hopeful. maybe there never had been a definite start -- or finish -- to the story of kdj company, and... that’s okay. everybody ends up where they were meant to be, where they fought and struggled to reach. it’s.. almost like a happily ever after, if we’re allowed to dream of that.

------

now, i realize, this was all an orchestrated maneuver.

i’ll take it.

to me, all of this work sounds like someone put some serious thought into this behemoth of a plot. it cements the entire original premise of the story. it suggests -- but never explicitly confirms! -- the possibility that breaking free of the cycle is possible through the exact same system that sustains it. it’s terribly interesting -- and inspirational! with all the dramatic revelations and life-threatening scenarios  and the cast’s resigned acceptance of them that essentially make up ORV’s entire mood, there’s still that last hint of rebellious and righteous anger that lights up the whole damn nebula. it’s like the kdj company blasting away at the heavens just to yell into the nether: we’re not looking for the happy end, but the free one. stay alive.

it’s subtle, and yet it’s such an emotional gut punch. i came away with the most ruinous, frustrating, bittersweet sense of longing in ages. i pined. for these fictional darlings. god, i am weak.

so. yeah. ORV is pretty good. flawed, but ambitious and impressively thought out.  i’m stoked that the webtoon is making pretty good progress, even if it’ll take an eternity and a half to meet that monstrous chapter count. i’m still gonna follow it. hell yeah. 

------

(by the way the idea that secretive plotter and co are literally gonna take care of and raise baby kdj and spoil him and be the best friggin family a kid could ever want does things to me. protect him. he’s suffered too much. let at least one worldline’s version of him know happiness. and actually, aLL OF THEM DESERVE DOMESTIC BLISS TOGETHER IN A BIG OL MANSION WITH SUN AND FRESH AIR AND TENDER FAMILY MOMENTS UGH)

------

and there you have it, folks. you made it to the end. in the far, far distance, i’m cheering you on and crying my eyes out in gratitude. thanks for tuning in!

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 12)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s  abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.2k  

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Hi, so...either in this chapter I completely dissapoint you or I pleasantly surprise you, I’m very much hoping for the latter lol. I would love to hear your thoughts on this, cause I’m an insecure little fuck and I’m very afraid you’ll all hate this chapter and where the story goes from now on lol

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me​

Decided to post this a day earlier cause ffs, between the fucking election and minks with covid and destiel and putin, the world doesn’t make sense anymore. So fuck it, have some Ivar :)

“Word has it that the King has made you a free woman.” The girl whispers, handing you a piece of bread and sitting beside you, looking out at the stars.

“Mhm.”

“We’ve known you were more than a prisoner since the moment you arrived, though.” She quips quietly.

“Oh.” You can only mutter, but the surprise is written in your face.

Freydis smiles, warm and a little cold at the same time, “It is written in the way you walk, witch. You were never a slave, were you?”

“If you are asking if the Saxons kept me a prisoner, the answer is no. That privilege seems to be reserved for your King.” If your last words drip with venom and anger, she does not mention it. You dare think she understands.

“I was. But now, like you, I am free,” Freydis sentences, and this does bring your attention back to her eyes. Depthless blue eyes, perverse and innocent, relentless and broken. When the girl leans closer, you don’t move. Her words are barely a whisper, but carry the strength of the vow you hissed at Stithulf, “Neither you or me will die slaves to men.”

“To whom, then?”

“The Gods. Yours or mine, I do not know,” She answers simply, fierce when she hisses the words at you, “But we mustn’t settle with mortal men. What we have suffered, it has to…mean something. It has to mean we are destined for more, that we are more.”

“Sometimes pain is just pain, Freydis.” You offer quietly, but her mind is set. You wonder for a moment if these thoughts were what made her spirit survive her time as a slave.

“No,” She shakes her head, stubborn, “We are broken because our fate is to be strong, we are…we are defiled because we are to rise above it.”

You roll your eyes, and even if the conversation remains quiet in the dead of night your voice is strong when you argue, “Did Freyja release you from your binds? Will Despoina release me from mine?” The pain lacers at your heart, but you insist, “No. I shall not be thankful for an unending fight to survive.”

“Yet you survive.”

She is not talking about surviving the Byzantine warriors’ almost successful attempt to silence you like they did your mother. She is not talking about surviving the pain of years, centuries, that marks your soul, a pain that Freydis may not know about but understands regardless.

No. She’s talking of the ‘freedom’ you have garnered here in her homeland, of what it means to be a free woman in a world that steps over the ones that cannot fight like men. She is talking of surviving Ivar the Boneless.

As your eyes meet, different stories, different agonies, and different destinies meet as well; but you feel she understands, better than almost anyone, what guided your words, your steps, your promises, that made an army be laid at your feet, to make a mad King set you free.

“King Ivar was the one to free you.” You say quietly, leaning away from the girl. It is not even a question, is a realization. All her words, all her advice…she spoke from experience, more specific experience than you thought.

“He wasn’t a king then.”

A hopeless laugh leaves your lips, “What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.” You repeat her words from a few weeks ago, a new meaning to them altogether.

The girl laughs as well, the sound dainty and musical even if it carries iron beneath, “Although now I realize you may have been too arrogant to lie.”

All you can offer her is a shrug and a sigh as you say, “I die on my own terms, with my own face, Freydis.”

“But you didn’t. Die, that is,” She insists, smile on her pale face that you find yourself starting to return in kind. Her hand settles on your knee and she squeezes and you wonder if it is in comfort or something else. “Whatever you are, he wants to keep for himself.”

You say nothing else, turning your gaze back into the sky outside, suddenly reminded of the circumstances that brought you here, of the invisible chains that still remain on you, of how you have failed to become what you ought to.

If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.

And yet you cower and accept scraps of freedom at the first chance you have. Shame and resentment fill your heart, and your mother’s favorite piece of jewelry hanging from your neck feels like a noose when your fingers toy with the old metal.

“Did you seduce him?” Freydis starts suddenly, dragging you away from your thoughts so quickly you find yourself disoriented.

You blink a couple of times before you can answer with anything other than a wordless sound to her question.

“What?”

She shrugs with one of her shoulders, drinking from her own cup of warm milk before explaining, “You earned your freedom, or whatever measure of it that you don’t seem to be happy with. Did you bed him for it?”

It should be insulting, but her clear eyes tell you she does not shame you for it. She seems almost…impressed. It still makes something churn at your insides, and you find yourself hating the world that bound her and made her a slave a little bit more.

“No,” You say, slowly, “Was I expected to?”

Did you? Is what your words whisper but you don’t dare voice, although you have an inkling that she hears it regardless. Her eyes remain on you for a few moments too long, and the start of a knowing smile curves at her lips.

The girl still shakes her head in response, “I was curious.”

“Why?” If you sound harsh, if what Sieghild calls your ‘Athenian nobility’ is heard in your tone, Freydis does not mention it.

“He wants you, you know that. Half of Kattegat wants you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She shrugs, “Word runs that he has never taken a woman to his bed. Earls have even gifted him noble women and slaves, but he never accepts them.

A part of you wants to ask why she is aware of all this. You remain silent however, looking back out at the stars and wondering why does she believe the King’s cock and its use or lack thereof is something you are interested in discussing.

“It’s not about beauty, the women brought in were the most beautiful I have seen,” She continues on, talking to herself as she recalls, “It’s also not about…power. Most I have seen wouldn’t be sharp-witted enough to try to get something out of him either.”

She seems to be willing to babble on, but a sharp voice interrupts you, no matter how quiet it is.

“Girl,” One of the older women chastises, gaze set on Freydis. “Eyes and ears follow the witch. Be careful.”

You are stunned into silence, as is the girl next to you, and when the quiet of night settles upon you, you can hear the rustling of leather and the deep breaths of soldiers set outside your door.

His guest. You guess to them being a guest just means a looser set of chains, or invisible shackles.

True fear settles in the girl’s pale eyes, and you reach to place a hand in her knee, placating her. The older woman, you do not know her name, motions so that you both move closer to the crackling fire and away from the windows.

“It will do you no good to gossip like this about any son of Ragnar, especially Ivar,” She advices, but a glint in her eye tells you of times in her youth spent just like this. She leans closer, and whispers, “And also, despite the rumors, you must remember he is a hot-blooded young man commanding an army, you oaf.”

“Maybe it’s about control,” The blonde ponders, side-glance directed at you. After a breath, she shrugs, “Maybe you were brought all the way here just to be fucked, witch.”

Freydis ends her sentence in a giggle, her voice quiet and eyes shining. The young girl behind the past suffering and fear.

The old woman smiles, and points towards you with her head, “She speaks like one of our own, she better fuck like one too.”

Her jest is well-meaning even if insulting, and used already to Sieghild’s equally brash humor, you only roll your eyes with a laugh.

The three of you continue exchanging secrets of this land and its people till the moon is high up the sky. It helps with the feeling of shame, the feeling of having betrayed your purpose; it helps, but it doesn’t quieten the voices that demand to know why you get the right to spend the night next to a warm fire laughing and exchanging stories while your people’s corpses are still fresh, while the survivors await the embrace of the incoming winter to let go of their strength.

When the whispers quieten, when the city sleeps, when you are left alone with your thoughts; you realize what a mistake you have made.

You were taught to fight, you were taught to resist. The Gods made you smart and ambitious, and it was for a reason. It may be Fate you are to cross paths with the Varangian, but it is not written that you are to be bound to him, you refuse to believe so.

You have fought with claws and teeth before, you have lied and kissed and promised to avoid bindings. There is no reason why you shouldn’t now, no reason why foolish thoughts and feelings should stop you from doing what you have before.

Fight. To return to your people. To remain free. To overcome.

And so, letting go of the guilt of not trying enough but with a new sort of guilt and shame settling upon you, you depart the apothecary towards the main hall in the dead of night.

You are not stupid, you know the Viking wants you, at least slightly, at least begrudgingly. And he knows he cannot get any political advantage from making you his wife, he may even lose power by making you queen. There aren’t many things he can force out of you, so that leaves your body.

So, if it is your body he wants, you will let him have it, in whatever way he sees fit.

When it is done, when the foreignness is no longer mysterious, when you make the allure of whatever it is dissipate; then it will be easier to make him see that this was not ordained by the Gods, not his and definitely not yours.

You thank the warrior that leads you to the quarters with a nod and a silent smile, wondering in the back of your mind when or how these men got directions that you are to be allowed in the King’s chambers when he hasn’t called for you.

It surprises you that he hasn’t yet gone to sleep, makes you wonder what he has entertained himself with. A foolish thought of it being a someone that entertains the King at night makes you clench your jaw.

Still, you stand in wait, letting curious eyes wander over the spacious room. When the uneven steps reach your ears, followed by the fainter footsteps of two slaves, you straighten your back and face the doorway.

King Ivar’s eyes widen when he finds you in the room, quickly moving over your form in the red dress before he dismisses the slaves with a gesture of his hand.

You keep your eyes on his, but there has never been a time you have shown less in your gaze. He sits down, discarding the crutch at his side, and you walk closer even though your legs shake and your hands tremble.

Playing games kept you from your freedom, but…playing games may keep you from chains this time.

You’d prefer iron shackles on your wrists and ankles for a thousand years if it meant not having to be an unwilling wife before Gods that, although you don’t worship, you respect and believe in.

Your steps falter, and your heart remembers the consequences of the last time you lied in exchange for freedom. The words in your head are promises that this is no different from Narses, even if Narses was kind, and sane, and you cared for him.

What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.

You reach up, keeping your eyes on his, and let the dress drop down to the floor, leaving you bare to hungry blue eyes that immediately trace over your body.

His lips part before he speaks, and he seems to stammer for a moment before he asks, “W-What are you…?”

“I know you want me,” You offer, a little entranced by the desire, the fear, the struggle for control that you see written all over his face; taking a small step forward before you realize it. You shake yourself off your stupor, standing straighter. With what feels like your last breath before a defeated descent to Hades, you whisper, “You don’t have to make me your wife, whatever you want you can get without marrying me.”

Any wonder, any trace of desire and boyish vulnerability you could see written all over his face, shining in his hungry eyes; it all disappears with your words.

His expression hardens and his nose furrows on a snarl, his voice gravelly and almost disgusted as he motions dismissively towards you.

“Get dressed.”

You startle, and resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

“W-What?”

“I said get dressed. I do not want your pity.”

Your brow furrows along with your nose, and although with trembling hands you grab onto the linen and cover yourself, you still grit out,

“It’s not pity. It’s…desperation.”

“Desperation?”

“I cannot be bound to you, I cannot be made into your wife.” You try, and the pleading tone of your voice makes disgust at yourself churn at your insides.

“Are you ashamed you will have to be the wife to a cripple, hm? Disgusted?” He taunts, the flip of a coin and back into the cruel rage you have faced before, although with a different, more raw edge to it as he presses, “Is that it?”

And as before, the glimpse of something real, the victory of drawing something human out of the monster that bears the crown makes your own back straighten, your own voice turn into steel.

“That you think your legs are the reason I would have for not wanting to be your wife, King Ivar, tells me all I need to know about you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He spits out, and even as his raised voice puts you on edge, you still run your hands through your hair as you start placing, “Do not walk away from me!”

You turn back to him with wide eyes and quickened breath. But it is not fear, it’s rage. For a moment when your eyes meet you want to dare him to make you fear him, but the arrogance beats the desire to prove your foolish heart wrong, and you spit out,

“You have had me chained and humiliated; you have forced me to become something I do not want to!” Your nose furrows and your eyebrows crease, but your voice lowers and you settle the fury in your voice as you answer his question, “And you thinking me being against all this charade has anything to do with your legs makes me realize in your mind all of this,” You gesture around you, “is somehow alright.”

His nose furrows, his lip curls in a snarl before he argues, “It is Fate!”

“Why!? Because you say so!?” You shake your head, “Impressive a man as you may be, you are not yet a Manteion.”

“A what!?”

Of course he doesn’t know, how could he, how could anyone in this cold and foreign place know at all what you mean when you speak in your tongue, to your Gods, about your world.

Letting all the breath leave your lungs, you let yourself fall to the ground, hiding your face in your hands.

“Our worlds are so different, Ivar, how can you think that-…” You sigh, “I do not belong here, I do not belong here with you.”

“Well, you are here.”

You are here with me.

And his arrogance as he says it, his pride, his power, you have known those for a long time, you have seen them in familiar faces and strangers. You have been forced to accept them, accept their rule over you simply because of the way the world is, for too long now.

Your calves grow warmer before the fire, but even if you put your legs above the burning wood it wouldn’t feel as stinging and as burning as the red mark now on your cheek.

The reminder, the thought of it alone, makes your weak hands tremble and your eyes fill with useless tears.

“Tis your pride hurting more than your face, little one.” Sieghild starts, but even if there is the start of a jest in her words, there’s gravity in her voice.

“He had no right to-…”

“He did,” She interrupts. And it is the truth, and it makes you clench your jaw and look away from her green eyes. “You wounded his pride, most men don’t take kindly to that offense.”

You stay silent, because you know. And you know you spoke out of place, you know you acted like a child, wanting things out of your reach. You know you should have lowered your eyes, shut your mouth.

Still…

“Is what he said true?” You ask meekly, feeling the burn of shame at the base of your throat. “That they can…take me?”

“As a prisoner?” The Viking leans back on her bed, a crooked smile on her inked face, “They can try.”

“As a concubine.”

Your mother focuses on you, “You are my daughter, little one. They can force no binds on you.”

“What do you mean?”

Sieghild smiles, with that same smile that speaks of a world of liberties women where you come from could never even fathom.

“You need me to say yes!” You yell before you can stop the words from leaving your lips, and you can only watch with widened eyes and a hand over your treacherous mouth as Ivar the Boneless turns to look at you again, the arrogant ire shining in his clear eyes. You scramble to stand, your eyes wide and hand still somewhat covering your mouth.

“What?”

He heard you. This would be your opportunity to take back your words, to take back your resistance, to accept surrender. You waged war against the very Empire the last time you were asked to surrender, though.

“You need my consent for us to be married, Varangian,” You state instead, the words fast and your breath also. You stand up, hands tightened to fists. A flinch of anger passes over the King’s expression as he presses his lips together, irritated that you are apparently so bent on being free. Yes, truly scandalous of you. You swallow your own irritation down and insist, “I am a free woman, you can’t force me.

He considers you quietly for a moment, and before he has a chance to argue, you remind him,

“You won’t break a promise, so you won’t make me a slave,” Even if your voice shakes, you continue, “I-I know of your ways, of…of your Gods. This wasn’t arranged, and since I’m free you need me to say yes.”

He hears the words you don’t say: And I will say no.

After a moment of stubbornly considering you, the King merely shakes his head.

“You have already been given to me.”

“That Christian has no claims to me, and you know this.” You tell him, speak ing of Stithulf and his useless chains.

“I’m not talking about him,” Ivar says, cold smile on his face as he leans on his crutch and serves a goblet of mead. He lifts the cup to you in offering, but you remain in your spot. With a sigh of both disappointment and irritation, the King gulps down the drink and clarifies, “I’m talking about your mother.”

“My mother is dead.” You say without hesitation, although a pit of fear starts opening at your stomach.

But he shakes his head, lifting a finger from his hold on the cup and pointing to you as he corrects, “I don’t mean the Greek one.”

“You are lying,” Is all you say as you look into Ivar’s eyes, your voice trembling as much as the rest of your body. Your nails dig into your palms but you cannot help it, you cannot tell your body to uncoil, not until you hear the truth. “You are lying to play with my head.”

“How would I know Sieghild Vorsdottir, King Rorik’s wife, famed shieldmaiden from the Danes, is the woman that raised you?” He offers, and with each word the ground under your feet dissolves more and more, “She came to me, told me she gave me your hand. I have witnesses.”

No, no, she would never. All those years, telling you to stand tall, teaching you not to bite your tongue, it cannot all have been for her to ditch you and sell you off to the first king you encounter.

You want to think this rationally, you want to remain calm and look for the truth but…

A part of you that will always be her child, that will always love her like the mother you lost too soon; that part of you leaves you with your hands shaking and your throat clogged with only one word.

Móðir…

“She would never do that, she…” You close your eyes with a deep breath, “If she did such a thing, she told you why.”

“She said she had to, that it was fate.”

“You are lying.” The words are choked, the last grasp of a dying hope.

“Would you stop with that? I am not lying.”

Sieghild’s sad and loving eyes on you, her hand holding your face, “I have asked Freya for help ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered.”

Frantic questions leave your lips, but in her smile there’s the same resignation you saw when she said goodbye as you readied to face the Byzantines for what was supposed to be your death, “The Seer’s words-…it does not matter anymore.”

“She said-…she knew all this time,” You choke out, wide eyes searching the nothing before you for answers, “Her visions, the Seer’s words, she…she knew.”

There’s a strange moment of hesitation, a breath of uncertainty where you think the Viking is trying to find a way to comfort you.

“Prophecies, visions…it is usually too late to change the result when we realize what the Seer’s words mean.” Is what he finally settles on saying.

Foolish, stubborn tears sting at your eyes, and it is with a shaky hand you reach to hold on tight to your mother’s necklace, despair cursing through your veins.

The Völva offers you a small smile, equally mocking and apologetic, “Run if you want to, fight, kick, scream. Fate will drag you home by the wrists, child. You know how this tale goes. The chariot’s pace will tear the world asunder as darkness goes looking for you.”

Your eyes trace over the skyline, almost frantically searching for an answer you know you will not find there.

“This…this place,” You look over the sea, feeling your chest tighten. “This was Ragnar’s pride. Sieghild’s tales…this is Queen Aslaug’s home. The empty throne.”

“You are not making any sense.”

“I was supposed to come here, before I even returned to Greece. I was-…Sieghild, she knew we were to return to her homeland, to that place ruled by a witch from the Danes.

You turn to him with wide eyes, a manic laugh bubbling up in your chest at the realization. For once, the King stays silent, watching you raptly.

“She knew it was fate. We ran from it, I ran from it.

It is with wide eyes and parted lips you look at the man before you, now in a new light, now with a new weight over your shoulders and heart.

“I have no choice,” The revelation is stealing the air from your lips, but with cracked tones you whisper, “I am…I am to be here. It is fate I become your wife.”

Fate. You never thought a word that once brought you so much comfort would make you feel so devastated.

“I will not be a bad husband for you,” He promises after a moment of silence, voice as uncertain as his eyes searching yours, “You will want for nothing, you will be respected by our people, I...I will take care of you.

You nod, but stay silent as the weight of it all settles upon you. You don’t know what is expected out of you now, what fight can you conjure up, what you can try -and see fail, again- to try and escape these…these invisible shackles.

There’s a moment of quiet, and the man moves in his seat, settling back in place with a posture that in anything other than a monster would make you think he’s sheepish, awkward.

His voice is low, almost hesitant as he offers, “You can ask for anything you want.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, “I do not ask for things I do not deserve, my King.”

Maybe it is time you stop asking for freedom.

____

Kay so Ivar’s words at the end are inspired on Hades’ speech to Persephone in the Homeric Hymns: “(…) feel kindly in your heart towards me: be not so exceedingly cast down; for I shall be no unfitting husband for you among the deathless gods, that am own brother to father Zeus. And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore."

Anyhow, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter and of where the story has led. I hope I haven’t dissapointed you, honestly.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope to see you next Tuesday!! Love you all :)

[shinglescat]

ooga booga

Previous stories here. Kanarielle’s character page here.

It’s been quite a few months already since the power transit already, and to everyone’s surprise Esmir not only did not mind it at all, she even welcomed the change with her arms wide open. She did protest once, however, at the start of it all, when her grandchildren expressed their demands for her - the old lady surely expected her grandson to take the reign just out of spite, not the fragile granddaughter; she voiced her concern, but they did not listen. Still, she was suspiciously okay with the turn of the events, and Mark guessed it was because of more of the available free time in her schedule for… debauchery and other side projects. Other than that, Esmir’s been insisting on them both showing off at a soiree, just to keep the nobility talking about them, sort of a power display, and Livaen planned everything out from there herself as the new head of the family, as the new Lady Sorano.

It wasn’t in his plans to go alone, yet the circumstances thought differently. Livaen managed to talk him into this, promising an easy evening and a “free-to-go” card after. As soon as he opened his mouth to agree on the occasion, his luck decided to go south - later the same evening Aspen had to leave him due to some “unforeseen events” in a complete urgency. Mark knew better than to ask, as it was near impossible to get anything out of the man, so he was left on his own until he met with an old friend of his again. The luck wasn’t on his side this time either; he had to attend the soiree alone anyways, even though he and his friend arrived together and even agreed on playing out a couple for the public to spare the elf from unwanted attention and unsolicited affection; the girl had to take care of a sudden matter at hand, so he left her in the Void to her own devices and proceeded with the gathering alone.

- Hope it went well, - she greeted him as soon as he showed up, notes of worry in her voice. She was modestly sitting on his bed, in one of the smaller residences of the family, watching him as he got upstairs, walked up to the bed and crashed into the sheets with his face down right beside her. Kana patted him on the back lightly, feeling of guilt making her cheeks turn red for leaving him like this alone, - I’m sorry you had to be there on your own tonight, - she quietly apologized, - Won’t happen again.

- It’s okay, don’t sweat it, - he raised his hand to stop her from saying anything else, mumbling into the bed, eyes closed, - Could’ve figured the luck wasn’t on my side, - he snickered, drained and overwhelmed with the spotlight he had to endure with no way for him to retreat. So much for the promised easy evening.

Kanarielle rolled her eyes.

- Man, if you aren’t a diva, - she reached his head with her hand, her nails scratching the scalp. The elf tensed up a bit, but then relaxed into the feeling, pleasure from the touch tingling at the nape of his neck, - You can complain now, please do begin.

Mark sighed loudly.

- Nothing to complain, - he took a moment to breathe in and out, to calm down the heart that was beating way too fast in his chest, - It was a ginormous lie. She promised an easy evening, but… I dunno, if that’s an easy evening for her, I’m dreading of the harder ones, - he turned on the spot, his back against the bed sheets, facing the elf girl, - There was a woman… Has to be from Livaen’s retinue. Very insistent and utterly… handsy, kept touching me the whole evening, - Mark groaned, remembering the altmer lady - Niluer, the touch of her fingers still lingering on his skin, her nails on his jaw as she tried to get his attention, - And I’m not mentioning the other ones that were eyeing me like I’m a piece of a fresh delectable meat or something. Felt like they were about to devour me alive.

The girl raised her eyebrow, chuckling.

- Oh boy, are they in for a surprise tomorrow, - she said, whispering, - when I’ll be the only one groping your ass in public… - Kana cheerfully slapped her knees in anticipation, nudging him with her elbow, obviously joking. Mark had none of that; he tried to push her away, grunting disapprovingly at the mental image, - Alright, alright, no groping, - she gently stroked his shoulder, adding in a small voice, - Though you are the piece of a fresh delectable meat, - her hands went up into his hair, fingers combing through it, - Thought no one’s gonna notice you return into the family? You are one helluva promising bachelor, – he whined, attempting once more to shove her off the bed. She slapped his tummy lightly in retaliation, - Oh, and let’s not forget your grandma! Anyone in their right mind would want to bask in her power, - Mark tried to say something, but she covered his mouth with a palm of her hand before he would voice anything, - They gon be fighting for your body parts, heart and hands, all that. BUT!, they are the least of your problems.

- And the big problems? – Mark forcefully removed the hand off his mouth, snorting and rolling his eyes.

This time she casually smacked him on his forehead, clap rather loud than painful, the sound muffled by cushions and furniture.

- You have a huge profit sign on your forehead, - Kana pointed her index finger right in between his brows, pressing it into the skin rather painfully, - that’s what I’m saying; they will use and do anything to get to you. And since Livaen is… you know, I’m not talking about her even here, this seems to summon her out of thin air – this makes you a better target.

- Ugh, don’t lecture me, - he brushed off her warning, knocking the hand away from the face, - Like I don’t know it, there are always the people who would suck a dick or two to get some benefits, - Mark looked at her, then shifted his gaze at the window. He tried to ignore the thought, dismiss it as if it was of no concern, tried to act tough, but his mind still lingered on the concept. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes, set on steering the conversation away from him and the uncomfortable subject, - Was it the same in the Sanctuary? For you?

Kana shifted on the bed inelegantly, her entire spine stiffening up at the mention of the place. She looked nowhere.

-   No, not really, no, - she paused, reminiscing her own family, or rather those she used to call like that, - We’re far from nobility you saw there, though as far as I remember, - she hummed, biting her lip, memories resurfacing again after years of oblivion, - Mandil mentioned Bellaniel being a higher up member of the Falmeri society before the fall of the Snow Prince. We were more like a cult, I think, worshipping our blood and condemning the men, - Kanarielle snickered, - Imagine a club for old and bitter edgy elves – that’s us! It was similar for Ryl tho – Bellani intended on finding a party for her once she’s of age, marry her off to someone of their people, so they would “continue to carry on the legacy”, whatever that means, “of the last Snow Elves”, secluded in their own little world, of course, - something stirred inside her, and she paused, - Fuck, she’s probably married already, gotta have a kid, - her guts twisted unpleasantly, entire insides doing somersaults at once, a wave of nausea going up her throat. She tried to will it go away, but the awful feeling didn’t fade, - It’s been years since I last saw her. We were sixteen when I ran away, Mark, and Rylnir already had suitors courting her by that age, sucking up to Bellani, - the girl gasped for air loudly, as if suffocating, - They probably didn’t think of her anything but a hole in a piece of meat on the legs. We were just children, for fuck’s sake, but our fates were already decided for us.

Mark sat up straight.

- What about you? – he asked carefully, feeling uneasy, anxious of what she’s about to say, the memories likely distressing her.

- Dunno if I had it better, - she shrugged, leaning on his shoulder and hiding her face in the crook of his neck, - Ryl’s to become the next Matriarch once Bellaniel’s dead, and I was set to become the guardian to the realm. Bellani did everything to indoctrinate me, all that inspirational religious bullshit, and it honestly worked – I was bitter at men, at what they had done to us, - Mark hugged her by her shoulders, holding her tight against his side, feeling a faint shiver and a frequent, fast heartbeat, so strong it was reflecting in his own body, almost deafening. She was tense, her entire body stiff, ready to fight, - She played the “you’re the last of your kind” card, and I was dumb enough to fall to that. She poisoned me with hate, - the girl pulled back, looking into the elf’s eyes.

- You hate her too, - he whispered, cringing on the pain in his forearm, as she clung to it like to a lifeline, - No… You are afraid of her.

She sighed, releasing the arm from her grip, settling back on his shoulder. The fury, the anger she felt died out in a blink of an eye, replaced with an empty cold calm.

- I am, - her voice tranquil, - I used to hate her, now I’m just scared. She did everything to turn me into a willing vessel for Meridia, - she straightened her arm, reaching out into the air, green sparks swirling under her palm, - I was to become a purified, think you’re familiar what that means. She always talked about caring of all meri, but was only interested in the survival of her own kind, didn’t give a shit about anyone else. Leo was the last adult ayleid in the realm, and I was the only child of my “untimely deceased” ayleid parents. Isn’t it weird? – she glanced at him, puzzled, -  Guess she found it poetic.

Mark lowered them both onto the bed, still holding her in a hug, gently stroking her arm. Meridia again, huh, with a quest for an army of brain dead glowing vegetables.

- How did you escape?

- No clue, Mark, I swear. I was sitting in my chambers, talking to Mandil, then I blackout and later find myself swimming through a cave with a thing chasing me. Was scared shitless, but managed to get out, ended up at the western shore of Ilinalta, - she rose up above him, pointing at her silver eyes, - You know, I used to have blue eyes, but I guess she or… they tried to punish me for leaving, tried to make me blind. I thought I’m done for, but Jack found me, did some magic, restored my sight, - her voice sounded much more serene than a few minutes before, heartbeat no longer audible, - A few years later Bellani tried to bring me back, affecting me through dreams. Almost succeeded, too, but Jack intervened, pierced her through in one of the nightmares and sundered the connection to the Sanctuary. Hadn’t had them since.

- Shit, Rie, that’s….

- Now that’s the name I hadn’t heard in a while, - she laughed hopelessly, interrupting Mark before he would express his condolences, still towering above him. She looked sad, though the weak smile on her face tried to say something else, - Jack used to call me that, - the girl closed her eyes dreamy, as if she heard him call her again.

- What happened to him? You were so inseparable, - the elf inquired, pulling her back onto the bed.

- Yeah, were, but he grew distant, and I had to leave him, all that bubbly stuff, - she turned on her side, her head resting on Mark’s chest, - I loved him, otherwise I’d leave him sooner. It was hard to let go, but it was for the best. Him growing distant helped to sever the bond.

- Did he love you though? – Mark asked into the air, gently stroking her arm, eyes growing weary, fatigue steadily putting him to sleep.

- Don’t know. I think he was just attached, nothing more, we were never meant to be, - she laughed humorlessly, - He saved me though, and I’m grateful for it, would never make it to the adulthood without him. Would be lying if I said I don’t miss him sometimes too. He was my first real friend anyways, was foolish of me to fall for him, - Kanarielle paused, thinking about something for a moment, - But I have Scott now… Actually, - she rose up, looking at him as another thought crawled into her head, - Do you think there could be something between you and I if the circumstances were different?...

Mark gazed outside, genuinely thinking about her question for a good minute or two. He couldn’t tell if he liked her appearance or not, as it was the foremost to judge a potential partner, he never gave it much thought in this regard, and found himself unable to… check her out, no matter how hard he tried to do so. Then he tried thinking about the other girl he knew, tried to compare them – Braenn was one example, but something in his own head prevented him from doing so. He thought of Meltem – yes, that woman was the best of them all; he thought of Livaen’s Nilufer – the woman was quite alright in the looks department; but then he went back to Kana, then mother, then Visenya, and the block returned. As far as the personality went… he burst into laughter, giving the girl funny looks: they would be like an unconfined wild fire together in the middle of a field of a dead dry grass in winter, self-combusted from a rogue zombie-flame under the ground, with someone dumping the fuel to keep them roaring. He didn’t like her at first, she seemed to be too haughty; he guessed she didn’t like him at first either, must have been something about him as well. As the time went by, he figured her being too proud of herself was a defense mechanism, and as they grew closer he discovered a whole new side to her; it probably was the same with her opinion of him, otherwise they would never make it to good friends able to share some darkest, and dumbest, secrets.

- Honestly? – he looked at her, a single tear dancing in the corner of his eye, making the image blurry. She nodded, - Don’t think so. We’re too much alike, and that’s the recipe for a disaster, - the elf girl smirked, approvingly patting him on his chest.

- True, you were really annoying back in the days, - Mark raised his brow at that, looking playfully offended, - And the fake beard of yours?

- Ugh, - he groaned, smiling, - Remember yourself, you thought you are the all mighty ayleid, and it was in your destiny to make the world bow before you, you wanted to conquer the ruby throne, - the elf gestured wildly with his hands, making the girl pinch the skin on his sides and poke him somewhere under his rib.

- Oh, oh! Remember that huge eyeliner you had? Why did you paint it like that? Also, glad you dropped it, - she finger gunned at him.

- Meltem used to paint it, - he explained, - Helped with… identity at the time. She came up with the idea, really boosted my self-esteem. Can’t do it myself though, hands aren’t as steady, - Mark grunted, - Asked Aspen to help me put it on once Meltem left with Livaen, but he said I’m fine as I am and hid the pencil somewhere, still haven’t found it, - Kanarielle wheezed, giving thumbs up to the absent man for the idea; she was glad he made him ditch that horrendous face paint. They laughed for a little longer, remembering the vices and virtues of each other; it was a good distraction from the talk they had before, yet the thoughts in Mark’s head like cockroaches kept racing and bringing him back to the delicate subject, replacing the cheerful smile with a frown, - Shit, - he rubbed his eyes again, prompting Kana to yank his hand away from his face, - Shit, I didn’t know. You never told me the whole story.

- If that is of any comfort, I had no idea either, - she hugged him across his chest, - That is… until you brought me back yesterday. The Void is so different from what I remember, - Kana made a quiet laugh, - Catherine kept me from going out with you, had to tell this to me; couldn’t join you after the revelation, needed to process this through first, - it made him rise on his elbow, looking at the ayleid with eyes wide open. She knew Catherine? Or did she introduce herself while he was gone? - Don’t be so surprised now, - she rolled her eyes, pushing him back into the bed sheets, - I lived in a daedric realm for more than half of my life, don’t you think I know how to communicate with the entities? - Kanarielle giggled, adding in a low voice, - It must be awkward to have her watching over you all the time, especially during the..., - she hummed, - frisky moments, - red in the elf’s face started showing, making her add, - I missed the girly gossips.

- Oh my god, why, - Mark whined, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands, embarrassed, blood rushing to his head, turning him red, - Why you have to ruin everything.

- Well, that was intentionally awkward, - she grinned at him, pretty happy with her achievement, - Now let’s talk about you instead. How were you?

Mark groaned, still red as a pomegranate, but gladly changing the funny subject nevertheless.

- She prolly told you how I was as well, - he couldn’t help but reply in an annoyed and sarcastic tone, and she smacked him across his forehead for that, - Stop hitting me! – the elf grabbed her forearm before she’d descend another blow upon him, throwing daggers at her with his eyes, - I’d probably be dead as well, alright? Not brain dead like you or Cath, just dead-dead in my case, - he scratched the bridge of his nose, - Father told us, hadn’t I met Aspen, I’d be floating among the pillars with my throat slit open, no biggie, and you’d probably be the first one to find me, - he fell silent for a second, deciding to reroute the conversation one more time, - You have to teach me later how to interact with the whole place. But only basics, nothing in-depth – wanna leave the reigns in Cath’s hands.

- Sure thing, - she replied, readjusting herself on Mark’s chest, putting a hand under her head and enjoying the silence, - Don’t wanna turn into your daddy, do you? – it was Mark’s turn this time to smack her lightly on her back, - Ouch. That hurts, - the girl glanced at him, insulted. She wanted to make a comeback, but the elf already had his eyes closed, breathing quietly, chest calmly rising up and going down, exhaustion finally getting to him. She watched him for a second, musing whether to follow his lead and go to sleep, or to mess with him more, when a sudden thought emerged, - Mark? – she called him, drawing a dozy hum from him, - You ever thought about making it official?

- Official what? – it took a whole long moment for the elf to reply, mind already slipping away into slumber.

- You know… tying the knot, - she elaborated, gesturing vaguely, - getting the arrow to the knee, - Mark snorted, - Marriage, for fuck’s sake, you deep skull dingus, - the elf snickered, shoving the girl off him, turning his back on her, - Seriously, Mark. You need to.., - she couldn’t finish the sentence, as he bent around rather uncomfortably, putting his hand over her mouth.

- Sure, you’re gonna be my flower girl, - he unbent back into his place, tucking his hands under his head, sleep returning to him once more, - Now shut up, - she pinched the skin on his side yet again, mad at him for interrupting her, but the elf didn’t react, - Nah, you’re not getting the maid of honor, that’s gonna be Meltem.

________________________________________________________

- Where is he, you dipshit, - Kanarielle cornered a servant, holding him by his throat, green fumes shimmering in between her fingers, threatening the poor man with a slow and painful death. She’s been stalking him like a predator this whole evening, observing from a distance first to confirm her suspicions, them making a move, - Where is he?! – she repeated, her voice raw, uncharacteristic to her, as she slammed the servant into the wall. The man whined like an injured dog, - I saw him with you, you stupid cunt, what did you give him and where did you take him? – the man kept silence, anxiously shooting glances behind her as if someone were to save him from the enraged ayleid. She slapped him across his face, - Sunnabe, dead or alive, you’re telling me everything either way, - Kanarielle spat, piercing through the skin on the neck of the servant with the shards of ice condensed at the tips of her fingers, turning the them red as the blood leaked out of the wounds. She didn’t want to resort to puppeteering – it was hard, tiresome to hold the connection, she hated to control living beings like this, and most importantly at the moment – she was wearing an expensive evening dress; it was something Mandil taught her in secret from Bellaniel, figured she would need this knowledge should she be in a grave danger. It was different from the common known blood magic; hers was primordial and basic, relying on the blood flowing through the creatures of flesh. One way to use it was to draw blood of a target, allowing her to control it indefinitely; there could be multiple targets at once, up to a full army, with, possibly, no limitations, though she had no opportunity, or will, to test it. The other way was to manipulate a target though the power of her own blood, ideal for covert operations and perfect for remote control. Both had their drawbacks: first was messy, leaving wounds on the victims, having literal strings attached that get severed with a distance; the second required constant concentration, and she couldn’t hold it for a long period of time, draining her of her powers, - Now speak, - the flesh under her hand relaxed, and she removed herself from the body, - From the beginning, - she commanded the servant, smearing his warm blood in between her fingers.

… She made her way down a green cavern, voices becoming louder and louder. It was dank in here, moldy smells in the air; the cave floor was muddy, footprints barely visible in the wet dirt, occasional slide marks too – someone lost their footing and slipped on the slope. Luckily, she didn’t notice any signs of fight or struggle.

The servant, or rather his willing body, proved useful in tracking down the abductors. The people behind the kidnapping were some backwater nobles of the Reach, merchants by trade, criminals by fate, barely known to the world; the business became harder with the more frequent attacks of the foresworn and the vampires, and their town in the middle of nowhere quickly depopulated, turning into a shadow of its former self… Like it was blooming before, Kanarielle snorted. Apparently, they were helped by some families once or twice with soldiers, food and gold, but their inability at keeping it together turned away their former allies, leaving them alone. Fast forward few years later, and the family finally resorted to racketeering, trying their “best” to help their town to survive. They should’ve just left it altogether, there was nothing valuable in the area safe for a small field of crops and an iron mine.

Kana warned him, told him to be careful around the nobility, to trust no one and be on a high alert, but he did not listen. He was careless around people, bothered by something so much he had lowered his guard down; she tried her best to keep him out of harm’s way, but failed, letting him slip from her constant surveillance. Now where was he? Kidnapped, held captive as a tool to regain someone else’s power; he was here somewhere, hopefully not dead or sick. The Soranos didn’t know, not yet, neither did know Meltem about what happened – she kept her discovery secret, preferring to keep it quiet to keep the collateral damage as low as it could be possible. An easy job, infiltrate and rescue, she’s done this a hundred times already with Jack. So far she did good, only once having to knock out a brute at the entrance; entering a combat would be a death sentence for her alone without anyone to back her up.

The servant uncovered their ploy. The merchants turned criminals joined together with a group of highway robbers: the first were to find an unsuspecting target and to gain their trust – they still were nobles despite the shady dealings; the second were to wait outside for the first to render the target unconscious to abduct them to a secluded retreat far into the forests; the nobles then would be free of any suspicions, and later can present the wounded party with their help, saying they… found the culprits through their connections in exchange for a favor and some fame points. And Mark just made their entire bank and more, Kanarielle shook her head disapprovingly, they probably didn’t expect to make it with a hostage of his size.

She climber up a ledge, observing the roaming bandits below: she counted five of them, all minding their own business; they did not seem to notice an intruder yet. Behind – she passed three more, and she had no idea how many of them were ahead. “How much you think we gonna get for he arse?” – she heard one of them asking the other. Kanarielle slowly exhaled, not knowing she had her breath held this whole time, relieved with the question - it meant these bandits were still on the same page with the merchants back at the party. “We’re better off selling him to someone else”, - another voice chimed in, low and worried, “The kid’s a Sorano, his granny won’t leave us alive once we do the deal”. Right, the girl thought, the merchants told them there’s going to be a negotiation, but failed to mention them slaughtering all the bandits to keep them quiet and away from their own affairs. “We have our orders! The boy is to be sold to his family. Our patrons shall cover us”, - another one spoke, flailing around with a rusty mace of his. A dangerous stuff, Kana noted, as she noticed a sick yellow aura radiating from it, the glow floating on the surface of the metal. “You so sure?” – the man from before replied, sarcastic tone of his voice, definitely having experience in this matter, “Our dear “patrons” might as well rescue the kid themselves! You know how they operate, we mustn’t trust them. Gotta sell the boy to someone else, get our gold, save our lives as well while we can…”

Kanarielle didn’t listen to them any longer, dropping down from the ledge, trying not to slip on the wet floor, and proceeded further. She sneaked behind the rocks and furniture, snippets of their conversation getting to her ears, none registering though. Her mind was still at the thoughts expressed by the last guy – little idea he had about how close to the truth he was; their “patrons” were to rescue the elf in a few hours, slaughtering each and every single one of them on sight so they wouldn’t tell the truth to Esmir.

Another bend of the tunnel, and she saw cages and a guard, so carelessly standing with his back wide open to the entrance, watching after the precious prisoner. Without wasting anymore time, she sneaked up on him, delivering a sharp blow with a dagger right under his ribs. His blood rushed to the wound, turning her hand red; the man did not utter a word, but tried to fight her and the feeling, yet the control over his body slipped away eventually, and she took over it herself, his blood like strings attached to her fingers.

- Guard the entrance, - she commanded quietly, blood shimmering in the weak light of the torches, - Do not let anyone in, tell them whatever you must. Do not pick a fight, try to stall them as long as you can, - the man nodded, turning on his heels.

She looked around herself; the elf was lying in front of her behind the bars, seemingly unconscious, thick metal cuffs around his wrists digging into his skin, a tight metal collar around the neck. The keys to the cages were lying flat on the wooden table across the room, covered in a layer of rust, all of the same shape and size, so it probably didn’t matter which one she used to open the locks.

Kanarielle entered the cell, kneeling before him and inspecting the shackles – runes were all over them, glowing lightly with violet, radiating something that made it harder for her to breathe, fatigue getting to her, probably enchanted with silence, draining the prisoner of his magic; they were prepared well, even predicted the possibility of a magic-capable hostage. She tried to open the locks with the keys from the cells, but none worked the key to the binds was probably in someone else’s hands, and she had no time to go back and look for it. The other way to rescue the elf was to disintegrate the metal altogether: the ayleid put her hands around the collar first, watching it start to age, rust flakes falling slowly until there was nothing left, all crumbled to dust, the enchantment gone as well. A wave of power washed over her as the barrier containing the magic was gone, and Mark gasped for air, his consciousness returning to him.

- What the…? – he tried to ask, but his throat was dry like a desert, preventing him from speaking more.

- Don’t talk, - Kana told him, cupping the cuffs with her hands, disintegrating those as well, the metal turning to rust and to dust, - Gonna tell you later. Can you walk? Gotta get out of here, - she got back on her feet, handing him a small flask of water she had stashed in a pocked. The elf finished the entire container in no time.

The kid tried to stand, shaking violently, muscles sore, but standing nonetheless. He was no fighter at the moment, more of a burden, and she had to get him out of here to the safety of his grandmother.

  ________________________________________________________

- Esmir was furious when I dragged your sorry ass to her, - the ayleid laughed lightly, applying a soothing balm to the irritation on the skin from the rusty metal cuffs on his wrists and his neck. There was some swelling here and there, bruises and scratches, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with the time, - Not gonna lie to you, it was scary, - Mark hissed quietly at the girl rubbing on his wounds. He was already sitting at the edge of the bed, ready to take off from the discomfort of the balm she was using, - Shit, sorry, but you gotta take it as it is, I’m no healer, - the elf silently nodded, turning his head to the side, - You know, your grandmother’s a terrifying woman. She was all fury for the first couple minutes, then calmed down, and next she was playing along with the guys who ‘napped you. Esmir, the helpless and innocent old lady, - she snickered. A crackling sound in the distance alerted her; she turned to look into the direction of the sound, but there was nothing. The Void was calm as well, so she paid no further attention to it, resuming the talk, - She sent Orlan after them, then went in herself. Dunno what happened there, but she was… ecstatic on their return, totally soaked in blood.

- Picked the wrong granny to mess with, - Mark laughed, coughing, still exhausted. It’s been a few days already, and he still hadn’t recovered from the incident, magic depleted. Esmir figured the shackles had some strong enchantment bound to them, and it would be for the best to let the kid rest in the Void, to let the place do its job; Kana brought him back here, staying at his side this whole time and tending to the bruises.

She added one last smear of the balm to the swelling on his neck and set the jar aside.

- Damn, you never told me she had a daedra for a lover. Disgusting. And what’s even more disgusting is that it said it’s your… I’m sorry, half-brother? – she had a mixed expression on her face, disgust with repulsion and confusion sprinkled on top.

Mark groaned.

- Don’t ask. Father’s side. Luckily they aren’t related. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were, she can do anything, - he brushed it off as if it was a no biggie. Really, it was a no big deal for the woman, she found interest in everyone and everything that moved and had some semblance of personality to them. Her main lover was her bodyguard and ex-general Orlan, whom she trusted with her life and everything she had. The other was the daedra, Walerian, and she praised him as a versatile worker bee, though Mark wished he didn’t know that; he was the usual resident of her beds, and she loved showing him off in the public. Another one was a woman she mentioned once, an old altmer mage, but he couldn’t remember her name, and an unknown dunmer with violet eyes. Esmir was a married woman though, not even a widow, yet that did not hold her back in her love affairs.

- That is gross. Anyways, - Kanarielle covered her face with the palms of her hands, trying to make her face relax after cringing so hard, - It? He then? said they had a fun time messing with them, - she paused, listening to the sudden footsteps sounds growing louder and louder, as if someone was getting closer, but the Void, Catherine, didn’t alert her to the intruder, so she tried to not mind it, - He went into the details, but I had to cut him short. Really disgusting, thank you very much, and I’d rather not hear about the guts hanging for the ceiling and eventual… you get the idea. Super gross. Apparently they had some fricky time in the pools of blood and right on top of the corpses, - she added quietly, gagging. Esmir did enjoy some blood and gore plays.

Someone walked into the room, their steps echoing against the stone.

- What happened here? – the silver-haired man inquired, looking at the elves on the bed, blood dripping from his hands and a huge serrated sword, leaving a red trail behind. He lowered the weapon with its jagged edges near the entrance, the blade making a clacking sound against the stone.

Mark shushed at Kanarielle, giving her the most intense looks she’s ever seen in her entire life. His face went from asking to threatening to murderous and to pleading, but she had none of it.

- No biggie, - she winked at the elf, - this dumbass got himself kidnapped, - the girl shrugged her shoulders as the dumbass in question hit her lightly into her thigh. Aspen cocked his eyebrow at them, - He oughtta know what kind of idiot you are, stop being pissy, - the elf rolled his eyes, giving the ayleid the middle finger, - I’m wounded! – she exclaimed, - Alright, cue taken, gonna leave you two, - Kana raised her hands into the air, getting up from the bed and leaving the room.

Aspen took off his blood soaked coat at the entrance, disposing of it rather untidily. There was a hint of worry in his otherwise blank face, and it took the elf by surprise when the man approached him.

- You hurt? – his voice uncharacteristically concerned, - Let me see, - he reached his hand out to the elf, trying to catch him by his arm, but the elf pulled away, almost jumping, violently shaking his head.

- You ain’t touching me with those, - he pointed at the coagulated, almost dried out blood on his fingers. Face nonchalant, Aspen grabbed a fistful of clean purple bed sheets and wiped the hands with them, reaching to the elf once again. Mark groaned, giving him his hand at last, - Who’s blood is that?

The man gently touched the swollen bruise, his fingers finding the wet sticky balm Kanarielle applied a few minutes ago; he stroked the entire scar lengthwise, occasionally drawing huffs and puffs from the elf: it’s been less than a week since the incident, but the area under the binds still hurt as if covered in tiny invisible cuts.

- Not mine, - Aspen answered with a low and tired voice, letting go of the hand and switching over to the bruise on the neck, - Should be gone in a week, - the man concluded, pulling the elf’s black haired head closer, giving a quick peck under the jaw and letting go.

Aspen looked drained, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, the elf noted, watching him from below remove messy articles of clothing; he looked like he’s about to crash, and his gear did not want to cooperate with the fatigue. Mark had to stand up; he stopped him with a gesture of his hand, grabbing the apparel himself and pulling down, discarding near the bed – he’ll tidy it up later. The man thanked him faintly, clumsily climbing on the bed, crashing into the sheets with eyes already closed; the elf sat at the edge, looking all over him for a moment: he seemed uninjured, just deadly tired.

- So, when are you returning? – Mark asked after a long pause, having nothing else to ask. Aspen tilted his head at the elf, one eye barely open, sighing in exhaustion before closing it again, - Fine, gonna leave you alone then.

- Stay, - he muttered, catching the elf by his forearm before he would get up. With the residue of strength he had left, Aspen pulled him onto the bed, a tad higher than himself, - I have to get some sleep, - he told him as if explaining an obvious concept to a toddler, throwing his arm around elf’s waist to keep him grounded. The man was tense, muscles stiff and rigid, - Need to get going in a few hours, - his words carried a concealed plea, and if Mark didn’t know him any better, it would go unnoticed.

He nodded, awkwardly climbing higher onto the bed, almost curling around the man, around his head and the torso; his white hair smelled of iron and gunpowder, a hint of ash too as he combed through it, the scent becoming stronger as he planted gentle kisses. Aspen softened into the feeling, brows relaxing, breath steady. Mark smiled gingerly, his hand going lower, caressing man’s temples softly, thumb brushing the high cheekbones; eventually, both drifted to sleep.

  ________________________________________________________

Mark was woken up by a scent of marigolds with faint notes of lemon balm, thyme and sage, all carried with an overwhelmingly sweet and sour aroma of sea buckthorn. He cringed; he loved the tree, it was absolutely unique in its looks of silver needle-like leaves and amber fruit, yet the berries’ taste was disgusting in his book, and it made him want to get away from it as far as he could.

Something touched his neck, warm and oily, thick liquid slowly going down his skin, rerouted by a touch somewhere else. He opened his eyes; instead of seeing Kanarielle with the tingling, itchy balm Esmir’s healer gave them, he found Aspen bent over him with a smelly jar in his hand, amber of color, applying the oil to the bruise on his neck.

- Miss Aquilla brought me the ingredients I asked her, - he noticed the elf wake up. Mark winced, the smell of the berries too strong to bear. The man smiled; he put the jar aside to pet the elf on the head with his clean hand, leaning closer to kiss him on the forehead, - The one you used before caused irritations, had to make something different, - his fingers dipped into the oil again, smearing another portion of it on the other side of the neck, gently rubbing it in until it stopped dripping.

- Thanks, - the elf mumbled, trying to get up; Aspen pulled him up, switching his attention to the bruises on the wrists, - Thought you needed to get going, - Mark said, watching the man rub in the oil into his skin; he’s bound to be smelling funny the whole day. The man nodded.

- I have some time left, - he switched onto the other wrist, - Need to tend to your bruises first, - the jar was finally closed, and Mark exhaled in relieve; surprisingly, the new mixture didn’t sting at all like the fat-based balm before did, and he’ll probably get used to the smell later on, - Mark, why can’t I leave you alone? – Aspen suddenly asked, grabbing him by his hands, taking the elf by surprise. He sounded like a disappointed teacher, - You have to be more careful, - the man explained, drawing a wheezing laugh from him, - I’m being serious, Mark, - he paused, - I don’t want to come back one day and find you missing a limb, - Mark laughed nervously, staring at the weary man; the intense look in his eyes said more than he needed to know, filling the elf with guilt the more he kept staring. He muttered an “I’m sorry” under his breath, shifting his gaze somewhere to his feet, fidgeting with fingers, “I’ll be more careful”, - I know you are worried as well, - Aspen pulled the elf in a hug, feeling him rest his chin on his shoulder, - I will be back soon.

- Yeah, - Mark sighed, hiding his face in the crook of man’s neck, - Haven’t heard anything from you for almost two weeks, and last night you appeared soaked in blood. Can’t mind my own safety when I don’t know if you’re okay or not.

- I’ll be back soon, promise, - he repeated, pulling away, - I have some unfinished business, it won’t take long, - Aspen kissed him on the forehead, getting up from the bed, - Have to get going now, - he told him, collecting his gear lying around on the floor haphazardly, the blood dried out and flaking already, leaving red spots throughout the clothing; Mark rose up after, helping him put the apparel on him.

- You are disgustingly sweet, - Kanarielle took both by surprise, silently entering the room, almost sneaking up on them, - Might as well start selling all that sugar of yours… Here, the last piece of your order, - she came up to them, handing Aspen a leather pouch filled with something, hard edges prominent under the hide. The man thanked her with a nod, palpating the purse and the contents inside; happy with the thing delivered, he kissed the elf goodbye and bowed to the ayleid, - Boy, aren’t you two looking like a couple of mushy puppies, - she commented, watching the man leave them alone and disappear into the portal.

- Kana, - Mark suddenly called her, weirdly excited. Her comment was ignored, - tell me, why can’t I make shortcuts through the Void?

- Shortcuts? – she was taken aback by his question, expecting anything but this. She furrowed her brows, looking for a better answer. Unlike the Void that one could access from anywhere, the Sanctuary had a single door inside and out, connected through a disguised portal to a series of flooded long caverns for a more difficult access inside a mountain range in Skyrim. To travel from within the realm, Bellaniel had built a secret chamber with hundreds of doors, all connecting to the outside world, and she was the only one who had the keys to get in and out, - Well, the Void is closer to a pocket realm: you exit where you enter, - the girl explained, gathering her thoughts together, - It’s like a hub; to exit elsewhere you need to have a door or two with an anchor in the world outside. Something like that.

- Can we make them? – he inquired cautiously, thinking about the prospect, - And are there any security risks?

The elf girl laughed.

- You are bothered by the security? Oh boy, Mark, you can make it so no one gets there, ever. This whole place belongs to you, you are the master key; you give and revoke invitations to the place, it’s as secure as nothing will ever be, - she hugged him by his shoulders, ruffling his hair, - I have no idea how to open or make doors, but… - Kanarielle listened to the breeze, - but I think Catherine is more than happy to help us.

[jaskiersvalley]

Ummmm so I am IN LOVE with your Geralt whump and it’s literally giving me life during this pandemic so like THANK YOU.

I come bearing more Geralt whump for you! Along with a side of angry Jaskier, some comfort and some fluff to boot. Hope you’re keeping safe and well in this pandemic!

Something wasn’t right about the contract. There shouldn’t have been a kikimora so deep into inhabited lands. For one, there weren’t any sufficiently murky bogs for the creature to actually live in. Then there was the issue of nobody having actually borne witness to it or encountered a tragedy with it. Not ever sheep were going missing. But, the advert was there on the noticeboard, calling for a witcher to deal with the creature. Money was low, Geralt and Jaskier couldn’t afford to be picky so the notice was plucked off the board and they made their way to the castle that had put out the contract.

There was far too much excitement in the courtyard at their approach. In fact, everyone seemed to spring into action as they were shown to the Great Hall.

“Witcher!” The count looked so pleased, he even smiled at Geralt. “We have a kikimora for you to kill. Do it well and we’ll even double the original pay.”

The amount of coin in question was more than Geralt would usually earn in half a year. All that for one single kikimora. Even more unusual, he and Jaskier were given a room, a comfortable one at that. They were to rest up and then go to the inner ward in the morning. The one request was that Geralt be ready to hunt straight from the meeting.

It was one of the best nights of sleep Geralt had ever had. The niggling feeling of something being off was so easy to ignore when Jaskier looked so happy. Food, bath, comfort as they both needed and rarely got to indulge in. In the morning, a servant intercepted them, apologetic as Geralt had ever seen anyone around a witcher and asked for Jaskier to accompany him.

“You’ve seen a kikimora a thousand times before, go,” Geralt said, urging Jaskier to go to his fans. A little longer in the laps of luxury while Geralt saw to the kikimora would be good for him. And at least he would be safe in the castle.

He was led to the doors to the inner ward and gestured through. Stepping out into daylight, the doors clanged shut behind him and he was out on the grounds, alone.

Meanwhile, Jaskier had been led through the castle, higher up and to the inner ramparts. They were crowded with nobility and rich merchants, all peering into the inner ward with excitement. A cheer went up and Jaskier was shown to a gap he could see from. Geralt had stepped into what could only be described as an arena from where Jaskier stood. It had been cleared of everything, a perfect battle ground. With a creak, the metal grates of a gate opened up at the far end of the inner ward and Jaskier watched as a kikimora lumbered out. He didn’t have to be a monster expert to know it was sickly, dried out and hungry. Obviously it had been kept in appalling conditions, for the sole purpose of entertainment for the upper echelons.

There was no choice for Geralt. It was kill or be killed. He draw a sword and walked up to the hissing, swaying creature. Jaskier knew Geralt, knew that there was going to be no theatrics, no show. In one deft step to the side and swing of his sword, the kikimora fell to the ground, head almost completely severed.

All the cheering stopped. The show and entertainment that had been anticipated was just a dream. Slowly, the ‘boos’ started and built into a raging, baying howl. They were going to have to leave and quickly. Jaskier pushed his way through the angry crowd and hurried back to their room, intent on packing up as hurriedly as he could. By the time Geralt was back, everything would be ready for travel.

It took longer for Geralt to return than anticipated and Jaskier was getting impatient. Finally, the door clicked quietly and Geralt stepped through, head bowed. A pouch of coin was thrown onto the bed without a word.

“Geralt!” Jaskier almost sighed his name in relief at seeing him. Silver hair hung in Geralt’s face but, as he moved, Jaskier swore he caught sight of eyes that weren’t their usual white and gold. It made no sense, there had been no need to take potions, especially not something like cat. In fact, Jaskier was quite sure they were low on potions and possibly didn’t even have any. “Geralt?”

When there was no response to his question, Jaskier reached out and gripped Geralt by the chin, turning his face to look at him. There were no potions at work and Jaskier gasped, hand reaching up to brush over the swollen, bruised skin. Geralt’s eye was red with burst vessels from where something had struck him.

“What the hell happened?” Jaskier asked, horrified. The kikimora hadn’t put up a fight, hadn’t even got beyond looking funny at Geralt before it died.

“Doesn’t matter. Got paid.” Geralt tried to step around Jaskier, doing his best to hide a limp. “Let’s go.”

There was no way they were going anywhere when Geralt was in such a state. Hands on hips, Jaskier pressed his lips into a firm line and watched as Geralt reached for a bag and his breath caught before he pushed through the pain.

“Put that down.” When Geralt refused to listen, Jaskier marched up to him. “You put that down this instant, get out of your armour and let me take a look. I need an inventory before I take me next step.”

In testament either to how much Geralt trusted him or how badly he was hurting, Geralt let the bag drop from his shoulder and let Jaskier help him out of his armour. Bruises, welts, skin split under strikes began to reveal themselves and Jaskier’s hands shook with rage.

“Fucking entitled bastards,” he cursed. A hand swept over bruised, likely cracked ribs. It looked like somehow had take a metal chain to Geralt and tried to whip it around him. “They’ll be so sorry they tried this ploy.”

He struggled to imagine what could have happened once he left. Whether the angry mob had swarmed the inner ward to take their fury out on Geralt. Or maybe Geralt had been summoned to the Great Hall and a select few of the count’s inner circle had been granted the alleged privilege. Though that would mean Geralt hadn’t fought back. Then again, this was Geralt, of course he wouldn’t have fought back. Probably had convinced himself he deserved it too.

Down to his smalls, Geralt let Jaskier do as he pleased, too tired to protest anything. Even when Jaskier gently bullied him into bed and told him to rest, meditate and take it easy.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. It wasn’t often that Jaskier openly wore a weapon but he pulled his sword from his pack and strapped it against his hip. Marching out, Jaskier set off on a warpath.

In less time than anticipated, he was back and was pleasantly surprised to see Geralt was exactly where he left him, eyes closed and seemingly at peace. It was all a ploy, Jaskier knew he wouldn’t relax, not when alone in a castle that hurt him so badly.

“We have three days here, everything is at our disposal. Nobody will bother us. Food, bath, creature comforts, I talk to someone and it will happen.”

Gingerly, Jaskier sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked through Geralt’s hair, holding back a wince when his eyes opened. One was still a deep, blood red, likely would be for a couple of days before Geralt healed. It was just as well they had a few days in a protected space. If the masses saw Geralt as he was, no doubt there would be more tall tales about witchers.

Softly, Jaskier began to hum, lulling Geralt to sleep.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” he promised, one hand on his sword’s hilt, the other in Geralt’s hair. The soft murmur Jaskier got in return could have been a ‘thanks’ or a hum of sceptical amusement, it didn’t matter. What was important was that Geralt got his rest and dignity.

[teknicianwrites]

Kissing a scar that they got from something traumatic for f!Hawke and Merrill?

Thank you for the lovely prompt! This definitely got away from me, but I think I like it anyway.

@dadrunkwriting

Meredith gave Marinda a last long look before nodding. "I trust we understand each other, Champion." She turned away, calling out to gather the mages and Templars she'd brought and headed back to the Gallows.

Carver glanced back at her and she gave him a sheepish shrug. He rolled his eyes and fell in line with the rest of his Order.

She took a moment to breathe in the cool night air of Hightown, but the normal comforting scent of night-blooming flowers was covered by blood and smoke.

Andraste give me strength.

Cheering erupted as Marinda gingerly walked back into the main hall of the Viscount's keep. Nobles rushed to her side to express their gratitude, touching her, crowding her, blocking her view as she tried to find her lovers in the crowd.

She forced a smile to her face and nodded at whatever Lady de Cerrac said. "If that's the best the Qunari have it's a wonder they're still causing trouble in the north," she replied, with no idea whether it was relevant to the topic. It probably was. If not to de Cerrac then to someone talking at her. The Arishok's body still lay on the ground where he'd fallen, and even the aristocracy of Hightown didn't have that short of an attention span.

Tittering laughter followed her words so it must have been the right thing to say, except it quickly became the wrong thing to say as a strong hand gave her an approving slap on the back. It took every ounce of willpower she had to grin through the fire that lanced through her abdomen for it. The owner of the offending hand grinned back at her underneath a disheveled mustache. "Too right, Champion, too right you are!"

Maker, she had to get out of here. She couldn't pass out in front of everyone, not after the Knight-Commander had given her that title.

She could have cried with relief when Aveline pushed her way through the throng, Merrill trailing close behind and Varric's voice ringing out, "Alright everyone, I know she's impressive but I do believe our Champion has earned her beauty sleep."

Despite the murmurs of disappointment, the crowd parted for the Guard Captain as she led Marinda out into the night. Merrill came to her side, and Marinda clutched at her hand for support.

"Where's Bela?" she asked softly, still forcing herself to walk with an event gait while within sight of the dispersing nobility.

"She skulked away in the commotion," Aveline said, voice hard with disapproval.

Merrill tucked herself closer, pulling Marinda's hand to drape her arm over her shoulder, and Marinda leaned into it gratefully. Her warm body shared much-needed heat after Marinda's recent blood loss."I think the crowd made her nervous. She'll be back. She always comes back."

Aveline shot her a skeptical look, but upon looking over Marinda's increasingly failing attempts to hide her pain, kept her thoughts to herself.

"What did the Knight-Commander want, Chuckles?" Varric asked as they walked through an empty side-street on the way back to her home.

"Oh, you know, the normal things." Marinda attempted a half shrug and choked back a whimper for how it made agony shoot down her side. "The duties of a Champion, my responsibility to the city, she'll throw me in the Gallows if I don't toe the line. All the standard formalities."

Merrill's eyes widened as she turned to her, and Marinda stumbled. "She wouldn't. You saved the city! You can't lock someone up after they saved the city!"

In the privacy of the alley she allowed herself a small groan from the sudden change in angle. Merrill bit her lip apologetically and returned her position at Marinda's side. "She didn't say those exact words, but it was heavily implied."

Aveline frowned. "It may have been bravado, Hawke. She named you Champion herself. Hauling you in now would be a tough sell."

"Red's right," Varric agreed, then hummed thoughtfully. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to ingratiate yourself with the hoity-toity in the coming months." Marinda groaned at the thought and Varric shrugged. "I'm just saying. You get into some weird shit with some weird people. Hightown having your back would be a good position to be in."

"I just saved all their lives! Isn't that enough?" Marinda whined, because if she was whining in annoyance then she wasn't whining in pain.

"With these people? Start going to the dinner parties, Chuckles. Trust me on this."

They reached the front door of her estate and she slumped in defeat. Merrill unlocked it for her and helped her through the threshold. She was immediately greeted by a cold mabari nose against her palm..

"Hey, Cal. It's fine. I'm fine." She gave him a reassuring scratch behind the ear.

Cal whined his disagreement and licked blood from her hand.

"Meserre!" Bodhan peeked his head out from the basement. "You're alright! Is the trouble over?"

"Yes, Bodhan. Everything's fine." Her gut was screaming at her to lie down and she was cold and lightheaded from blood loss, but she was breathing and the house was still standing. That counted as fine, right? "Do we have any elfroot?"

His eyes darted over her bloody and battered form. "I believe so, meserre. Is there anything else you need? Food? A hot bath?"

A hot bath sounded lovely, but she was afraid she would black out and drown in it. Not a very Championly way to die. "Maybe some broth? And water?" She knew she desperately needed fluids.

"Of course, meserre. Orana's down the stairs keeping the boy calm. I'll have her whip something up for you right and proper."

"Thank you."

Merrill scurried off after him, saying she was going to get some bandages, and Marinda was suddenly faced with the prospect of getting to her room.

All she wanted to do was pass out in her bed, but the stairs down from the Viscount's Keep had been bad enough. Stairs going up? She stared at the climb in despair.

Aveline must have seen her face. She held out her hand and, when Marinda moved to take it, gently scooped her up into her arms. Marinda hissed as her middle was jostled, and Maker, if she had the blood for it she would be blushing in humiliation at finding herself in a bridal carry.

"Aveline-" she tried to protest, and Aveline cut her off with a stern glare.

"No, Hawke. Hush. I've got you."

Varric's amused face quickly fell when she didn't put up any more fight. "I'm going to see if I can find Blondie for you."

Marinda shook her head. "He's probably healing people the Qunari hurt. Don't pull him away from that, I'll be fine."

He gave her a dubious look. "All the same. I'll let him know you're hurt and ask him to check on you when he gets a chance."

She was too tired to keep arguing and let herself slump into Aveline's hold.

Aveline carefully carried her upstairs and carefully deposited her on her bed. Cal immediately hopped up to her side, snuffling his concern at her neck.

"No, buddy," she murmured. He whined, but she knew he would get in the way of getting her armor off. "Foot of the bed," she offered in compromise, and he whined again but obeyed.

Merrill came through the door, balancing bandages, rags, a bowl, a cup, and a pitcher in her arms. She must have had Bodahn pile it onto her; there was no way she could have stacked it herself. "I've got everything. Well, not everything, Orana's working on the broth, but everything else. There's elfroot under here somewhere, if I can… oh…" She seemed to realize her predicament. Her arms were so full she had no way to put anything down without dropping it all, and the sloshing from the pitcher told Marinda it was already full.

Aveline came to her rescue, setting the pitcher on the nightstand and helping her unload the rest onto the bed.

"Thank you Aveline! I didn't think that through. I should have let Bodhan help me but poor Sandal was so scared I couldn't bear to pull him away with Orana needing to cook," she rambled anxiously.

"It's fine, Merrill." Aveline gave Marinda a long look. "You'll really be alright? You're not trying to joke away internal bleeding?"

Marinda huffed a soft laugh she immediately regretted. "Everything hurts, but I'm not going to die. I may not have my own ride-along passenger like Anders, but I'm still a healer. I'm not losing any blood. Just need time to make some more."

"I'm trusting you on this, Hawke. You'd better be alive tomorrow," was the stern reply.

Marinda gave a weak smile. "Champion's honor." She gave a weak salute. Did Champions salute? She didn't know. She should have asked Meredith for a handbook. "Go. I know you need to check on your men and get the city to stop being on fire." Marinda watched Aveline's face meander between exasperation and amusement, before finally making the unexpected journey to sincere.

"Thank you. You saved a lot of lives tonight. Even if Hightown forgets that in a month, I won't." Aveline gave her hand a squeeze and looked to Merrill. "Take care of her."

"I will," she promised.

Aveline gave them both a nod and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Merrill hovered at her side. "Ma vhenan, what do you need?"

"Water. Please."

Merrill helped her drink, then gave her some elfroot to help with the pain. Marinda chewed on it, ignoring the bitter taste as Merrill carefully helped her out of her ruined armor. Her lover was gentle, but everything hurt and Merrill apologized for every wince and gasp.

"Creators…" Merrill stared at the fresh scar on her stomach.

"Fuck," Marinda agreed, looking down at herself.

She'd known it was bad. The Arishok had run her completely through and pinned her to the wall of the Keep. But even with dried blood obscuring it, Marinda felt light-headed to see just how much of her torso had been rent apart.

Merrill took an unsteady breath and dipped a clean rag into the bowl of water, gently washing the blood away to reveal the full extent of the scar. Her hand shook as she wet the rag again, moving to clean a smaller wound at Marinda's shoulder.

Marinda tore her gaze from the scar and looked at Merrill's face to find her eyes welling with tears. Marinda gently caught her wrist and pulled the cloth away, setting it aside and entwining their fingers with her other hand.

"I'm ok, Merrill. I'll be ok."

Merrill tightened her grip like her hand was a lifeline. "You almost died."

The Arishok whirled on her, and she ducked away from his axe and stumbled against the wall.

She should have been watching the sword.

"I'm alive. I'm here."

"You almost died. You were on the ground and you weren't moving and there was so much blood… Creators, there was so much blood."

Agony liked fire burned in her gut, clear through her back. She heard metal scrape against stone as she looked down at the weapon piercing her torso.

"I'm here."

"You were already so hurt and then-"

Her vision blurred as she looked up at his snear.

"Your role is realized."

"Shhhh."

"You shouldn't have done it. I didn't teach you just to watch it kill you. You almost died-"

This was how she was going to die. She stared into his eyes and distantly heard someone scream her name. She turned toward the sound and saw Bela, restrained by two Qunari, frantically trying to break free.

Bela….

"I couldn't let him take her."

She was dying, but she wasn't dead yet. And she wouldn't let him have her.

"I know. I know, ma vhenan. But I thought I lost you. I thought I killed you."

With a cry of rage and pain, she ripped the power of her own lifeblood from her wound, and boiled his blood in his veins.

"You saved me."

"Merrill no, there's too many people-"

Marinda turned Merrill's hands over and pushed back her sleeves, and traced the fresh scars from where she had used her own blood to keep Marinda's in her body.

"I can only slow the bleeding, I can't close the wound. Heal yourself, vhenan."

"That was so dangerous, love. All of the nobility could have seen."

"Merrill…"

Merrill laughed through her sobs. "You started it. You lost so much blood they would have thought it was yours."

"I can't lose you. Heal yourself or I'll bleed myself dry, I won't watch you die-"

Marinda kissed her left wrist, then her right, feeling each scar beneath her lips that had saved her life.

"I can't."

"You can."

She kissed them again, and a third time for good measure, and it wasn't until she tasted saltwater that she realized she was crying.

Merrill's gaze was resolute. Marinda had no mana left, and she couldn't use her own blood to stop the bleeding. Merrill was offering her own.

Her throat was closing up, but she made herself speak. "I can't lose you either, love. You're my heart too. You and Bela."

As Varric and Bela distracted the crowd and Aveline used her own body to shield them from sight, Marinda tentatively reached for the pull of Merrill's heart. It wasn't Marinda's blood and she couldn't call on Joy this way, but she was still a healer. Ignoring the pains that weren't threatening her life, she mended back arteries and organs and flesh. She was used to the warmth of Joy, or the soothing cool of creationism, or even the steady burn of Justice, but this felt raw. Primal.

Merrill took a hand back to cup Marinda's cheek. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

With careful attention to Merrill's pulse, she healed as much and as quickly as she dared, increasingly aware she was twice a maleficar in the Viscount's throne room. She didn't think she'd have the strength to run.

Marinda smiled and pulled her close. "Absolute disasters."

Confident that if she died tonight it wouldn't be from this wound, she made a last small pull on Merrill and sealed the bleeding at her wrists.

They both cried, delayed terror finally safe to be expressed, and then they kept crying, in relief and disbelief that they had survived and were free.

When they finally calmed, Marinda kissed her, tasting salt and lyrium and blood.

"I love you, Merrill."

"I love you too."

Merrill finished cleaning her and carefully wrapped the cuts and scrapes that hadn't been healed. Orana came by with the broth, and Merrill helped her drink it. She gave her more elfroot to chew as she changed out of her own bloodied clothes, and poured her some more water to wash away the taste.

She helped Marinda lie down and kissed her brow. "Sleep, vhenan. I'm sure Anders will be by tomorrow, and you'll want to be rested for that. If Varric told him what happened we're probably in for a scolding."

Marinda chuckled and closed her eyes. Merrill put out the lights and snuggled into her shoulder, and Cal crawled along the bed to curl up at her other side.

She was alive. Kirkwall was still standing. She was its Champion, whatever that meant. Merrill was with her, and though she didn't know where Isabela had gone, she knew she was free.

Marinda slept.

[cardsthings]

The Kidnapping of Goro Akechi

The courtyard was bathed in a bright orange glow, so much so that the flicker of candlelight drowned out the stars. Goro stared up at the blank sky. In just under an hour, guests would start to arrive. He grimaced at the thought. A full night of mingling with nobles he didn't even know or care enough to recognize. It was a joke. The entire masquerade was nothing but an excuse for disgusting people to indulge in vices without causing a scandal.

"Is something the matter my Lord?" Goro turned to the masked woman in front of him. One of the many servants at the palace who was being forced to attend to the wretched event. He felt sorry for her, no doubt she would have a far worse night than he ever could. Dealing with entitled drunks who thought, no, knew they could get away with whatever they wanted... He suppressed the urge to tell her to run far away. No doubt, it would have ended poorly for both of them. "You seem... distracted."

"Oh no," He carefully smiled. There was no point in letting some random servant know his true thoughts. At best, having someone to listen would be a mild comfort, at worst, word might get back to his father. If he ever got the idea that Goro was ungrateful in any way, well, he didn't want to think about the consequences. "It's just a shame that you can't see the stars tonight."

The woman nodded with a clearly fake smile. Before she could continue the conversation with some meaningless platitudes, the sound of broken glass and his father's angry shouts drew her attention. She left in a hurry to placate the raging king. Goro turned to look, Shido's cheeks were flushed, whether with anger or alcohol he couldn't tell. At least four people were attending to him, trying to prevent an even larger outburst.

Goro quickly turned away when Shido set his eyes on him. He didn't need that sort of attention right now. He just needed to keep his head down and wait for the horrid night to be over.

*****

The hours passed by painfully slow. Even with the minor indulgence of wine, Goro's barely buzzed state hardly soothed how horrendously boring everything was. Maybe if he could let himself go safely... but as it was, every fake smile he had to give to some masked idiot just made him feel like he was dying inside a little more. At least the effect that the flowing booze had on others worked to his favor. The drunk crowd was more interested in gossiping among themselves and harassing the staff who hadn't yet managed to slip away instead of trying to get on the good side of the crowned prince.

Goro spent some of his down time scanning the crowd. He noticed Okumura however, his young daughter was conspicuously absent. Likely because even someone like him knew not to bring her to these sorts of events. Especially not when Goro had heard rumors of her engagement. Although, the other subject of said rumors was right at Okumura's side. Honestly, Goro pitied Haru despite having met her once. From what he could tell, she wasn't yet like the vile nobility that plagued the land. Of course, yet was the key term. No one decent ever rose to power.

As Goro continued to search through the crowd from afar, he caught sight of Shido. His father was predictably drunk. It's not like these parties served much other purpose than to allow him indulge in every vice he could think of under the cover of "high class mingling". When Shido suddenly turned to face him, Goro turned away, hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. It was unlikely he'd be punished for something so simple but still... When his father was drunk he could be particularly petty and unpredictable.

He sighed and gave up on looking at the crowd. Most of them were complete strangers to him anyways. Instead, he entertained himself with thoughts of Shido's downfall. The idea of slitting his father's throat and stealing his crown and throne while he looked on, choking on his own-

"Hellooo~" Goro took a deep breath. The person behind him absolutely reeked with alcohol. It was clear they'd been drinking all night. He pretended not to hear them, hoping that they would go away on their own. "Hey, hey!" The drunk grabbed his shoulder. If they stained the white shirt he was wearing with their filthy hands, he'd be pissed.

Goro turned around with a polite smile as he shrugged off their hand. "Good evening sir." He used a more pleasant voice to address them. What a night it would be if some random drunk ran off to his father to tattle that his son hadn't been the perfect little prince he was always supposed to be.

"You're a cutieee~" Goro tried his best not to glare at the man. He simply gave a polite chuckle.

"I think you're drunk sir." The man grabbed Goro's wrist as he tried to disengage. "Maybe you should have some water and sit down."

"Aww, that's no fun! Come on, why don't we go somewhere..." He leaned in. Goro wrinkled his nose as the smell of alcohol became even worse. "A little more private."

Goro leaned back. Did this man not know who he was? He certainly didn't know who the man was. "As... lovely as that sounds... I'll have to decline. Now, please let go before I-"

"Come oooon!" The man attempted to yank Goro forward but he resisted. Suddenly, the man's expression darkened beneath his mask. "What?! You think you're too good for me or something!"

Goro tried to push the man off him but his grip on his wrist tightened until it was painful. "I'd rather not cause a scene-"

The man yanked Goro in close again, this time succeeding. "Then fucking-"

"Excuse me." Goro craned his neck to see over the drunk man. A handsome young man stood behind him with a confident smirk. "I think you're bothering him."

The drunk whipped his head to see the newcomer, letting go of Goro's wrist as he did. Goro immediately put some distance between himself and the man. "Who the hell're you!?" Goro had similar thoughts. He didn't quite recognize him but he still seemed somehow familiar. Maybe it was the alcohol or the dimming lights that were causing such an effect.

The young man tilted his head with an amused expression. "I'm just a concerned bystander." He looked past the drunk directly at Goro. His eyes widened slightly beneath his black and white mask. "And I'd appreciate it if you left my friend alone."

"Go fuck yourself!" The drunk attempted a sloppy punch but it was easily dodged. The young man used the drunk's momentum against him to knock him to the ground. As the drunk struggled to get back up, the young man walked past him. He stopped in front of Goro and smiled.

"Are you okay?" The young man offered him a gloved hand for a handshake.

"I'm fine. And I had the situation under control." Goro turned away. "You have no idea what trouble you could have just caused for me."

"I'm sorry," Somehow Goro didn't think he was being genuine. "Let me make it up to you."

Goro turned to him with an unimpressed look. "How exactly?" He crossed his arms.

"I dunno, I guess you'll just have to find out." Ren reached out his hand again, a mischievous smirk crossed his face. "I'm Ren by the way, and you are..?"

Ren. Goro looked him over. The bright red gloves served as a pop of color in his otherwise black outfit. It seemed almost more suited to sneaking than to partying... Maybe it was the miniscule amount of alcohol or maybe it was genuine curiosity (Goro wanted to blame the alcohol), but he was tempted. It was something that would let him not focus on the horrendous party going on around them.

"...I'm Goro." He kept his expression even. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ren."

Ren smirked and gave a dramatic bow. "I wasn't aware I was mingling with the prince himself."

Goro huffed and turned away. A strange feeling made itself known in his chest. He really didn't know? Had he really helped without thinking that it could have gotten him a favor from the prince? Or was it that he was lying and simply waiting for an opportunity to use the whole event against him? "There's no need to make such a big deal out of it..."

"Of course not." Goro's eyes flicked back to Ren when he began to speak again. "Why don't we get out of here?"

"I can't exactly leave right now, if my father saw me..." What conclusions would he draw? Ren was about his age and he was undeniably handsome...

Ren smirked. "Not even for a second?" Goro looked him over once again. He looked harmless but looks could be deceiving. What did he want? What was his motive here? "I'm sure I could find a way to sneak you out if you really wanted me too, come on, I'm trying to make things up to you."

Goro sighed. "I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt..." It was probably a stupid idea but he was curious. There was something strange about Ren and he wanted to know more.

Ren grabbed Goro by the hand. He quickly looked around the courtyard before he pulled Goro in a darker area. He kept Goro closer to the wall, using himself as cover to compensate for Goro's bright white outfit. It didn't take long for Ren to find a door that Goro hadn't even seen in the dimmed lights. He pulled it open and quickly entered right after Goro. After that, they made their way through the halls and out to the front of the palace.

Once outside, Goro took a deep breath of fresh air. He felt a smile creep onto his face as a nice breeze blew through the air. He took a moment to look up at the stars. The lights from the palace behind them still dimmed them but now they were at least visible.

"Much better." Goro turned to Ren. His mask was off and away. In the dim light of the moon, Goro suddenly realized why he had seemed so familiar. Before he could call for help or say anything, he felt a sudden horrible pain explode on the side of his head. He fell to the ground as black spots filled his vision. Vaguely, he could make out Ren walking towards him. Someone else grabbed him while Ren approached.

"Sorry your highness..." Were the last words Goro heard before the world drifted into darkness.

*****

A light breeze blew Goro's hair into his face. The smell of the sea surrounded him. In the distance, he could hear a few assorted voices. As he opened his eyes, he could see a blur of brown beneath his feet. His arms hurt but when he tried to move them into a more comfortable position, he met painful resistance from what must have been a rope around his wrists. His head was absolutely pounding.

"-ink he's awake." Goro looked up. A blurry figure stood above him, their bright yellow hair stood out. Slowly, they came into focus. A large grin was plastered on his face.

"Where-" Goro's question was cut off by a sudden sharp pain in his head. He winced as a shadow blocked out the sun. The sun... how long had he been out?

"Good morning, your highness." Goro's eyes shot up to the source of the familiar voice. Ren stood there with an annoyingly smug smirk. Immediately, Goro tried to lunge at Ren. He would have wrung his neck if he wasn't stopped by the stupid rope. "Nice to see you're doing well."

"Let me go you piece of shit!" He struggled against his restraints to little success. Either he was too weak, the rope was tied very well, or both.

Ren simply laughed at him. "I wasn't expecting the prince to be so vulgar." He leaned down so that he was eye level with Goro. "I think it suits you."

"Fuck off." Goro glared at him, if looks could kill he'd be dead a hundred times over. "Whatever the hell you think you're going to get from me-"

"Don't worry, I don't want anything from you." Ren smiled. "You should actually be back home pretty quick. We already sent word to the king that we have you, as soon as he pays the ransom, you'll be returned completely unharmed."

"You already attacked me last night."

"Mostly unharmed." Ren amended. "But don't worry, nobody wants to hurt you... again. As long as you don't try anything, you'll be fine." He flashed a smile and gave the same bow he had the night before. "You have my word, your highness."

Goro's eyes were drawn to the dagger that poked out slightly from Ren's belt. He struggled against his restraints one more time but found his hands thoroughly stuck in place. He sighed and hung his head in defeat.

"Glad you understand." Akira turned around and addressed his crew. Goro kept his eyes trained to the ground but strained his ears to hear what they were saying. Unfortunately, the sounds of the ocean drowned out their already quiet conversation. It was fine. Everything was fine. Goro could be patient. He could learn what he needed to know. It wouldn't be long before he escaped.

Crossposted on AO3, https://archiveofourown.org/works/32254492

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 1: Flee

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (Book 3, Chapter 1... just kidding. I wish, though)

Word Count: ~3300

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Riley knows what needs to be done.

Author’s Note: So, maybe TRH3 will interest me if we get something like this... but we won’t. This is an AU (not officially yet, but undoubtedly this won’t be the path PB takes) that picks up immediately after the end of TRH2. I don’t know if I’ll play around any more in this universe or not, but I had a lot of fun exploring how Riley Liu would actually react to everything that unfolded. This wasn’t exactly what I envisioned when I started writing this piece, and it probably won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I like how this turned out, and I hope some of you can enjoy it. Thanks to @shz256 for asking me to tackle this topic! I don’t know if this will be how you envisioned it or not, but it’s where these characters led me.

Riley felt as if things were happening in slow motion, but as if time was somehow passing by faster than normal, too. She could barely catch her breath, trying to follow the discussion about ancient, unused statutes that would somehow take her daughter from her. She needed to listen, to understand, to pay attention, but it was hard not to be overwhelmed by panic. They were trying to take her baby.

It felt like a horror movie, so surreal and shocking, listening as Landon and Kiara, two people she trusted, pronounced her an unfit mother. Kiara, who was always direct with her, who had never been dismissive or involved in a scheme against her. Until now, apparently. And Landon, who she admired, who she knew Drake looked to as a model on how to be a member of the nobility with some common sense. Well, fuck ‘em.

Fuck all of it. Fuck this country and it’s stupid backwater practices. Fuck social seasons and childhood betrothals and and apple themed everything. Fuck her child being heir to the throne. Fuck Liam for asking. Fuck Drake for convincing her to agree. Fuck being a duchess. Just… fuck. She never wanted her life to look like this, her daughter a political figure before she took her first steps, expected to bear the burden of the crown. She knew what she had to do. She would die before they took her daughter from her.

There was exactly one person who she could trust who was also in a position to help her. As she wrapped her arms around Bridget, holding her close, her eyes darted around the room frantically. Olivia was already on her feet, coming to stand next to Liam, who was now apparently debating the finer points of this fucking law. Widening her eyes and staring her down, Riley was able to get her attention. Olivia tilted her head down slightly in acknowledgement, sliding back a half step and turning her head partially to the side so that Riley could whisper in her ear without drawing too much attention.

“I need you to slow them down,” was all she breathed out before pivoting on her heel. The door was only a few feet away. With the element of surprise and Olivia defending her, she could get out of here. Make a run for it. The main gate was out with all the press and citizens there, but if she could find the back driveway that Drake had told her-”

A hand on her shoulder tugged her back around before she’d even fully taken a step, sharp red nails digging painfully into her skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” hissed Olivia, taking advantage of the fact that Liam and Barthelemy had both stepped closer to each other, raising their voices ever so slightly, though nowhere near loud enough to be considered yelling, to serve as a small distraction. Even still, she and Olivia didn’t go completely unnoticed. Both Drake and Hana were watching the two of them closely, Drake clearly torn between stepping over to join her and staying where he was and not drawing any more attention to her conversation. Maxwell just seemed lost and in shock, standing off to the side, staring at his fingers. And Kiara had glanced their way briefly, but quickly flicked her eyes back to the brewing confrontation between Liam and Barthelemy. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring them.

“I’m getting the fuck out of here before they take my baby,” Riley ground out, her voice breaking slightly at the end, sliding her hand over the back of her daughter’s head as she started squirming. It was hard to soothe her when she felt like she might throw up if she had to stay here a second longer.

“Calm down. We need a better plan than-”

“I don’t fucking have time, Olivia. I have to go. Now.”

Olivia sighed, then pulled a small blade from a hidden pocket near her waist and slid it into Riley’s hand, “My driver is out front. Ray. Show him I gave you this, and he will take you to the Lythikos keep.”

“No, I need to get out of Cordon-”

“Riley, take Bridget there. You will be safe. Lythikos will not tolerate a Beaumont-led invasion. The citizens will take up arms before that happens.”

“I can’t risk that. I need-”

“You need more of a plan than just running on foot. You know I’m right, so go tell Hana that you are going to go change Bridget’s diaper. Then calmly walk out of here and straight to my town car.”

Riley knew further discussion would be pointless, and she was just wasting time. Fighting every urge in her body that told her to just bolt, she took those few painful steps closer to the assholes who were trying to take her child so she could tell Hana they were stepping out for a diaper change. Hana squinted slightly, clearly not sure why she was being told this info over Drake, but nodded. Riley could feel Drake staring at her, practically boring a hole into the back of her head with his gaze, but she couldn’t worry about him right now. Her daughter had to be her priority.

She strode calmly to the back of the room. Olivia passed her the diaper bag and gave her a nod as she heard Barthelemy cry out, “Duchess Riley, where are you going?” but Riley just kept walking. She couldn’t risk looking back. She caught Hana’s calming voice start to explain, and all she could do was hope that would be enough and that everyone would buy it. 

She kept her arms wrapped around Bridget as tight as she could, striding down the hall and through the entryway. She wanted to bolt, run straight through those doors, but she didn’t know if she could trust anyone at the palace right now. She had no idea if they had heard gossip and knew what was coming or if they were about to feel as blindsided as her. 

“Babababa!” Bridget babbled excitedly at a pair of guards that were stationed near the front doors, squirming wildly in Riley’s arms.

“Shh, Peanut. You gotta stay with Mama right now,” Riley murmured into her hair as she adjusted her grip on her daughter. She nodded at the guards as she passed through the palace doors, hoping they just assumed she was stepping out because her child was being disruptive. She was sure she looked anxious, though, and the only reason she wasn’t visibly trembling was because of how tightly she was holding Bridget.

She heard a few cheers from what was left of the crowds that had gathered outside the gates to see the arrival of all of Cordonia’s nobility for the start of the Social Season, but she couldn’t worry about them at that moment. She squinted in the sunlight, scanning the drive for Ray, finally spotting him pacing next to a town car maybe a couple hundred feet away, tucked around a bend in the drive that limited its visibility from the front gates. She realized he was smoking while he read something on his phone as she got closer, propelled forward by pure adrenaline. He didn’t glance up at her until she was only a dozen or so feet away, likely not expecting anyone to be approaching him for a while. When he realized she was walking toward him, he quickly shoved his phone in his pocket and stood up straight.

“Your Grace, can I help you?” Ray asked as she closed the rest of the distance between them, dropping his cigarette to the gravel and snuffing it out with the heel of his shoe. Bridget tucked her head into Riley’s shoulder and clutched at her collar. She didn’t like being around strangers, probably a side effect of all the galas and balls and shindigs she’d already been forced to attend. It made Riley feel guilty that she had let things get this far before she took any action, having already subjected her daughter to so much she didn’t deserve.

Riley unclentched her fist just slightly, trying to show Ray what Olivia gave her, but her hands were shaking more and more as the reality of her plan set in, plus she was reluctant to loosen her grip on Bridget even slightly. “Olivia told me that you would drive me where I need to go if I showed you this,” she said, her voice quivering slightly as she finally flashed him the razor thin knife Olivia had given her. Ray jerked his head up when he saw it, staring at Riley for a few tense seconds before scanning the palace behind her. Riley chanced looking back. No one had followed her out here… yet.

“Of course, ma’am. Where are we heading today?”

Riley took a deep breath. She knew what she needed to do. “Ray, do you know the closest border?”

He didn’t react to her question with any shock or surprise, just glanced up as if he were recalling a map in his mind. “The closest from the capital would be the Auvernese border, but I am guessing that does not suit your needs.”

“No, not exactly.”

“Well, The Greek border is probably the next closest.”

“Perfect. That’s where we’re going.”

Ray nodded and moved to open the door for her, but stopped suddenly. “Are you and Her Royal Highness the only passengers today?” he asked, eyes locked over her shoulder in the direction of the palace doors.

Riley nodded, letting her eyes flutter shut and taking a deep breath as she gripped Bridget tighter with her left arm, sliding Olivia’s knife into her grasp better. She was ready to do what she needed to do.

“So the Duke of Valtoria won’t be making this trip with you?” At Ray’s second question, Riley’s eyes flew open and she spun around in shock. There was Drake, essentially power walking across the drive, head jerking back behind him repeatedly.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, I will be in the driver’s seat, ma’am. Whoever gets in the car with you I can take, unless you tell me ‘hit it, Ray,’ alright? If you tell me that, I’ll remove anyone who isn’t you and the princess. Does that suit?”

Riley just nodded weakly. This morning, she could have never pictured a time where she would possibly be making plans without Drake. Plans in opposition to Drake potentially. But she wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about this. About abandoning Liam and their friends and their country in a time of crisis. But she needed to protect her daughter, whether her husband was on board with that plan or not.

“What are you doing out here? They’re going to get suspicious.” she asked as soon as he was close enough that she could keep her voice low. Bridget squirmed in her arms, reaching for Drake and calling excitedly for “Dada,” but Riley kept a tight hold on her. She couldn’t let go of her daughter for anyone at the moment.

Drake opened his left hand, revealing a tube of diaper cream. “Olivia nicked it from the bag and dropped it on the floor so I would have an excuse to go after you. We gotta get going, though.”

“We?”

“Olivia just told me we’d be under her protection at the Lythikos keep and that we’d discuss details later, so on the drive, if you could fill me in on anything else you know, that would be great, Walker.”

Drake moved to open the car door, but Riley shook her head, a few of the tears she’d been fighting starting to trickle down her cheeks as she clutched Drake’s arm, halting him.

“Drake…” 

He took one look at her and grasped both her shoulders tightly, dropping a light kiss to her temple, “It’s gonna be okay, Riley. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or Bridget. But we gotta get out of here. The sooner we enter her duchy, the better.”

“Drake, I’m not taking Bridget to Lythikos,” she croaked out, opening her eyes and taking in his expressions as he tried to understand what she was saying.

“Olivia said-”

“I know. Olivia doesn’t know.”

Drake swallowed roughly before he spoke again, “So where-”

“Greece is apparently the best option from here.”

Another rough swallow, “Did you have any plans to tell me you were running away and taking our daughter to a foreign country?” His voice had a harsh edge to it, but he wasn’t livid yet. But Riley knew it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. Not today.

“Drake, I just… I can’t stay and… I would have gotten word to you. I just can’t risk them getting their hands on her. I have to keep her safe.” Riley knew she was rambling, but she just wanted him to understand. It wasn’t about him, it was about doing everything she could to keep her daughter. Hell, there were all those stories about women who lifted cars by themselves to save their babies. Going to hide out in a different country was nothing compared to that.

“Riley, listen to me. This is insane,” Drake kept holding onto her shoulders tightly, but his voice was more desperate, pleading, needy than it had been mere seconds earlier. “We don’t have any luggage or our passports or any of Bridget’s things. If we flee, this gets ten times worse. Come with me to Lythikos. We’ll fight this from there. All of us.”

“What do you mean, all of us?”

“Liam, Hana, Maxwell, Olivia - everyone. Barthelemy right now is in there trying to strip Liam of his title, and I’m no legal scholar, so I have no idea if he has any leg to stand on here. But together we can fight this coup. We will fight this coup.”

Riley just shook her head, tears falling more and more rapidly now. She’d known he would see this as a national matter. But she just couldn’t. Not anymore. “I’m done, Drake.”

“Done?” he pulled back, jerking his hands off her shoulders as if they had scalded him.

“Done being a duchess. Done letting my kid be used as a pawn in fucking political games. Done trusting Liam to sort this out, just waiting for the next shoe to drop. Because the next shoe always drops, Drake. Blackmail and assassins and foreign invasions have been constant, and I’ve haven’t even been here three years! I’m done with Cordonia. I’ve given them enough. I’m not giving them my daughter.”

“Ri-” Drake started, but the words kept flowing out of Riley, all the anger and hurt and fears and struggles just bubbling out, no longer shoved away and ignored.

“This was never supposed to be us! We were never supposed to be raising the heir to the throne! I’m not cut out for this, but I tried. I tried when Liam asked for our kid. I tried when my entire pregnancy was a media circus. I tried when my daughter’s future looked like it was going to be tied up in a foreign marriage alliance. But I am done trying, Drake. Because now they are trying to take my child from me, and I refuse to risk becoming my mother.”

She let out a ragged breath, trying to calm herself. She didn’t have time to get into all this, not now. She needed to be on the road, putting as much distance between her daughter and those asshats and douche nozzles as possible. “I am doing what I need to do to keep my daughter by my side. And if you need to stay and fight this coup, I get it. But Bridget is not going to stay in this country a second longer than she has to, and there is nothing you can say to change my mind.”

Drake just stared at her and Bridget for a few agonizing seconds before nodding at her. “Okay. Yeah… okay.”

Riley tensed slightly at that response, not sure how to interpret his words, but after a moment, Drake continued, “So, we better get going,” tilting his chin towards the town car behind her. “He onboard with the change of plan?”

A little sob escaped Riley as relief washed over her and she sagged forward against Drake’s chest, comforted by the strong, solid arms that immediately wrapped around her and Bridget. She’d been ready to do this alone, she really had. But Drake wasn’t going to let that happen. He hadn’t really let her face much alone since she’d first set foot on Cordonian soil, an impulsive New Yorker with no idea what she was in for. He’d had her back long before he loved her, long before he liked her even. And even now, years later, it still felt like a blessing she never could have expected.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair, “I’ve got you both.”

Riley let out a rough sigh, raising one hand to wipe away the tears still spilling down her cheeks. “Thank you, Drake.”

“Riley, I told you - I’m not gonna let anything happen to you or Bridget. Got it?”

She nodded, pulling back in his arms to meet his gaze and offer him the best smile she could muster. 

“Good. But we need to hit the road. This is already a long “diaper change,” and someone is bound to go looking for us,” he said, taking a step towards the car, sliding his arms from Riley’s back to grab Bridget who had twisted on her hip to grab onto Drake’s shirt. This time, Riley let him take her from her. “Before I put my foot in my mouth in there, I need to know what Ray knows.”

“He thinks Olivia is having him take me wherever I want to go.”

“Got it. You set?” he asked, opening the door for her with one hand as he bounced Bridget on his hip slightly.

“Yeah,” she responded, sliding into the back seat of the town car. Drake was seconds behind her, and as soon as he closed the door behind him, Ray twisted around to face them.

“Ready, Your Graces?”

Riley clutched Drake's hand on the seat next to her and gave Ray a little nod, “Yup. Same plan.”

“Excellent. Just knock if you need anything,” Ray said, turning back to face forward, starting the car and raising the privacy divider between the driver’s and back seats. 

Within seconds, the car was rolling forward. Bridget was babbling, patting her chubby little hands against the window. She loved car rides so much. Drake, on the other hand, sat rigidly straight, staring out the window with her, but clearly just as anxious as Riley that they weren’t even going to make it off the palace grounds without getting stopped. But they barely paused for a few seconds at the guard station before the gates swung open and they turned onto the main road.

Riley let out a massive sigh of relief and Drake closed his eyes and tipped his head back, also letting out a rough breath as he gave her hand a squeeze. As they picked up speed, distancing themselves more and more from the palace, Riley leaned over to rest her head on Drake’s shoulder, smiling up at him as he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. He dropped a long kiss on her forehead before pulling back and nodding at her, slowly and surely. For now, they were safe, and they were together. It was a good first step.

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld​

[gemlinz]

Fulcrum ch. 2 - a Working Relationship (Levi x f!Reader)

Summary: It was a cruel world, she knew. She also knew better than to ask for more than her lot: being a full time barmaid and a part time thief. She helped where she could, bitterly accepted where she could not. Feared the monsters lurking outside the walls.  But still - being near him, taking in his strength, his resolve - she couldn't help but hope for more. For herself. For him. For humanity.

Warnings: Swearing, Non-con Groping | CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 |

Read on A03

It turns out “great things” amounted to digging up whatever dirt F/N could on the filthy rich.  It wasn’t particularly difficult - the rich and powerful had plenty they were trying to hide.  Their status granted them an inflated sense of security - and she exploited it to the fullest.  Six months she had been thwarting the nobilities best efforts to gut the Survey Corp funding.

Her latest mark had left his dirty laundry splayed across his desk; literally. F/N watched from her perch as the honorable Judge Forge pulled out of his mistress and tucked himself back into his pants.

Grimacing in disgust, F/N double checked the description of the woman against her sources - it was definitely Avery Lynch, daughter of Adam Lynch - a representative from Wall Rose and very influential in the courts.

Mission completed, then.  Honestly, mission completed 15 minutes ago when the pair stumbled into the judges office trying to eat each others face, but she needed to wait until the guards shift changed - which left her with another 30 minute wait.

Shifting uncomfortably at the bark digging into her back, the young thief-turned-spy opened her notebook to pen her report.  Apparently Erwin was a stickler for them - verbal communication of any pertinent information was avoided where they could.

F/N wondered if it had to do with the errand boy he sent back and forth.  Did Erwin not trust him to get the information right?  Or, more nefariously, was he worried he’d tamper with it?   She sure as shit wouldn’t put it past the runt. Her nose still throbbed in phantom pain every time she saw him.

She finished her report just as the sun began to set, tucking the sealed letter into her waistband. 

Slipping down from the tree, she quietly made her way to the perimeters of the grounds, melting into the surrounding forest.

It still boggled her mind that these nobles had so much room - they could fit a farm to feed 100 people here.  The wound of injustice, slightly scabbed over, still itched and the more she was around these pigs the more she scratched at it.  If Erwin didn’t make good on his promise soon, she wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer.

Exiting the wall of trees behind an old tea shop, she brushed off the dirt from her dark cloak and made for the pub.  Irritable as she was, she wasn’t looking forward to a full shift behind the bar.

Walking through the familiar streets, she thought back to Avery Lynch and how fucked she was;  from what she could tell, the girl was half the judge’s age.  Barely legal, definitely not smart enough to realize the consequences of her actions.  If Judge Forge didn’t do whatever it was Erwin wanted, the poor girls life would be over.

It was unlikely the Judge wouldn’t comply though.  The implications would end his career overnight.  F/N wouldn’t lose any sleep over that.

Finally at the pub, she entered through the back door, still paranoid about homicidal assholes sneaking in behind her.

Louis greeted her almost right away, wiping a glass with a towel.

She still felt the sharp bite of betrayal when around him, but F/N had no real choice but to trust him. He was both her employer and landlord - not to mention the things he knew about her could get her hanged.

He was also her only friend.

“There you are. We’re swamped tonight,”  He began, “And your admirer is back, sat him in his regular corner.  Nice and secluded for the two of you.” Winking the man walked back out to the rowdy front, patrons already many drinks deep, even at the early hour.

Rolling her eyes, F/N pulled her apron off the hook, tying it off at her waist.  Taking a deep breath, she followed him out.

“I prefer my men less abusive, Louis,” She murmured only low enough for him to hear as she passed him, checking the board to see which table was sat first.  She hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly, but she saw him flinch slightly in guilt.

Knowing better than to approach her contact right away, she waited her tables like normal, charming her patrons into larger tips.

In the beginning, the idea of conducting business in the pub worried her. Mixing her two lives like that went against everything she had been taught.  You don’t shit where you sleep.  But Erwin had insisted, and Louis encouraged it, so she had no choice but to comply, as much as it set her on edge.  Apparently it was less suspicious for someone as recognized as “Humanity's Strongest Soldier” to be seen publicly and not in some dark alley.

In reality, her weekly meetings with Levi weren’t as awful as she first had first thought.  Sure, there was still a healthy dose of fear and caution on her part - the man had threatened to kill her, multiple times.  But as far as the bars regulars went, he was significantly more tolerable.

For one, he never seemed to drink - alcohol that is.  She’d admonish his lack of forethought at how suspicious it looks being the only sober one at a pub , but every week he proved her wrong with the confident stoicism he displayed calmly sipping away at his tea.  No one questioned him, or even paid him a second glance.

F/N for her part did her best to treat him like any other patron, with the addition of occasionally slipping him secret reports that would get them both executed if discovered.

That’s not to say she enjoyed his visits. Treating him like a regular patron also meant trying to start small talk - trying in that he shot down most of her attempts with one word answers or outright silence.  The only time she had been able to get more than a few words out of him was the night he had stayed until just before closing, about three months after their operation began.

Louis had already called it a night, and F/N was waiting on the last of their customers to finish up, getting a head start on cleaning.  Levi had critiqued how she was wiping down the tables.  Once she got over her shock, she had laughed at him, claiming that the alcohol on them killed any germs and anyone coming into this bar didn’t typically give a crud about a little stickiness.

He had tsked at her and launched into a rant about the benefits of a clean establishment for an hour.  She would have been more annoyed at the tirade if he hadn't used that time to also demonstrate his suggestions by deep cleaning the bar.

They finished closing the pub much later than normal, but she couldn’t find it in her to complain when she somehow tricked this runt into doing her job for her.

After that, every so often he would stay past close to clean the bar.  She was eventually able to decipher by the tension in his shoulders when he would be staying.  Wherever she noticed the signs, she began kicking people out just a bit earlier; they were too drunk to notice, and she fancied getting to sleep at a normal time.

Levi never talked except to criticize her own efforts, before he moved to do it himself.  F/N was no saint - she took full advantage. 

He either didn’t notice or didn't mind.

Today didn’t seem to be a bad day for him, glancing at him as she darted from table to table.  He looked relaxed - or, as relaxed as he ever looked.  He didn’t wear his uniform but instead a dark suit, complete with his signature cravat.

After helping three tables, she made for where he sat.  Not three steps in, the door opened to the front, and a group of three MPs strolled in.  They were in uniform but already deep in their drink, if their volume was anything to go by.  

Drunks she was used to coming in - but not once had the Military Police visited this bar.  It was far from the barracks and more importantly, too low class.  Her regulars weren’t usually locals, but those who worked in Mitras and stopped in to forget whatever shit they were made to do that day.

Briefly meeting her contacts' grey eyes, she forced a smile before turning to shout over her shoulder to the newcomers, “Seat yourselves and I’ll be right over!” Not missing the greasy smiles shot her way from the group, she continued to Levi’s table.

“Friends of yours?” She said around a smile, tucking her hair behind her ear to better eye the group. 

“Hn. I’ll have a Black tea, thanks.”  He said with no inflection.  Confused, she could only play along.

“Ok?  I’ll go...get that then.”  When her confusion went unanswered, she made for behind the bar to apparently brew some tea.  Louis shot her a look, apparently just as lost as she was.  Was it just a coincidence, or were they already compromised?

Her mind raced with where she went wrong, moving mechanically.

The MPs sat themselves by the door, khaki jackets thrown on the back of their chairs.  She couldn’t avoid going over there for any longer without looking suspicious.  As the tea steeped, she made her way towards them, swallowing her building panic.

“Hello gentlemen, what can I get for you tonight?”  She asked, saccharine sweet even as she shook inside.

“Hmm, well I know what I want,” He slurred, salaciously looking her up and down, “but I don't think it's on the menu, sweetheart.”  The oldest one cackled, the stench of alcohol noticeable even inside the bar.  She pictured breaking a bottle over his head, but kept her smile up.

It had been awhile since she had been met with such boldness;  the patrons had been fairly well behaved recently.  Maybe it was the new cleaning regime. It’s tough to be filthy in a place where you could now literally eat off the floor.

“Shut up Stewart, you old pervert.”  His friend elbowed him, saving her from replying.  Mr. Chivalrous didn’t seem to want to look up from her chest, however.  He seemed only slightly more sober.  “We’ll both have an ale.”

“Make that three.”  The last MP grunted out.  The most sober of the three of them, he didn’t look at her at all when he ordered - his eyes were fixed to a point behind her.

Where Levi was sitting.

Shit.

“Three ales, coming right up!”  She chirped, fighting her flight instinct and walking away at what she was pretty sure was a normal pace.

Heading back behind the bar, her eyes searched for Levi’s, but apparently whatever was on the table was more pressing than the actual military fucking police in her pub, tonight of all nights.

Tea finished, she walked back over to him as slowly as she could manage, all but throwing it onto the table, eyebrows raised in panicked inquiry.

Not meeting her gaze, he used his sleeve to wipe the edge of the cup clean - the asshole - and took a tentative sip.

Grimacing, he finally met her look.

“This is fucking disgusting.”  He stated and F/N was sure she was about to strangle him.

“Well, sir , this is a bar.”  She said around her teeth, sticky sweet smile still in place, “Tea isn’t exactly what we’re known for.”  And it was good enough for you every other night, jerk.

“Make me another one.”  He demanded, pushing the cup away from him.

He was dead.  She was going to murder him.  Fuck Erwin, this shrimp had it coming.

At her silence, he looked back up at her with an eyebrow raised.

The look in his eyes however gave her pause - something was up.  F/N had no choice but to follow his lead.

Steaming, she snatched the cup from him, not even wincing when some of the hot liquid splashed over onto her fingers.

“Fine.”  She bit out, heading back to the bar, noisily dumping the mug into the sink and setting the water back onto boil.

Pouring out three glasses of ale, she made her way back over to what was now the rowdiest table in the pub - the MPs.

As she walked over, she noticed that even though they were supposedly in varying states of drunkenness, all three were casting surreptitious glances at Levi.

Placing their drinks on the table seemed to snap them out of it, redirecting their attention back to her.  Skillfully dodging their wandering hands, she shot them a smile and walked away to finish making Mr. Precious his tea.

Not sure what she was meant to do differently, she walked back to his table with it, brewed in the same manner as the last one.  The asshole needed to stop making a scene while they were surrounded by the ene-

Something caught on her foot and she stumbled forward, the tea filled mug flying out of her hand and…

Spilling all over Levi.

The entire bar froze at the commotion and all eyes were on the two of them.

“I-” she started, horrified - not only was this not conducive to what was meant to be a clandestine meeting, she was genuinely scared at the murderous look in his eyes.  Not too long ago, he had held a blade to her throat.

Louis came up beside her, clearing his throat.

“So sorry about that, sir.”  The older man mediated, “She can be a bit of a klutz, you see.  F/N, take this young man to the back and get him properly cleaned up.  I’ll take care of the spill here.”

Nodding, realization was slowly dawning on her.  This was the perfect opportunity to get him her report away from the watchful eyes of the MPs. 

As she led him to the back however, it dawned on her that he had orchestrated this by deliberately tripping her.  Once they were through the doorway and out of sight from the main bar room, she turned to make her displeasure known, loudly.

She flinched back when he held one hand up to her mouth to keep her quiet, pulling her in by her arm with his other.

“Not here.”  He whispered, nodding towards the back door leading the alley before pulling her along behind him.

What a perfect place to commit murder, she thought darkly, glaring at the back of his stupid head.

As the door closed behind them, they both cast looks up and down the alley - they were alone.

“How did they find us?”  She started immediately, “Are we compromised?  If they know about the bar, I need to let Louis know.”

He shook his head.

“They didn’t find us, they found me.”  He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “The info you’ve been giving us has resulted in unprecedented wins for the Corp - other branches are starting to get suspicious.”  

“So they just guessed?” 

“Yeah, looks like - I don’t think they suspect you yet, their eyes were on me the entire time.  Trying to see if I was meeting anyo-”

“Someone's coming.”  She interrupted in a rush, hearing footsteps.

Levi cursed, eyes darting for an easy exit - when he didn’t find one, his eyes turned back to her, calculating.

Too quick for her to follow, he grabbed her.  Hands rough, he twisted F/N around and slammed her face first into the wall, crowding in behind her.  One of his hands tangled in the hair above her neck, and he forced his knee between her legs.

“Get off!”  She yelled, struggling against his hold.

He didn’t let up, and she cursed at him, trying to push off the wall.  He slammed her back down, none too gently.  She was effectively pinned.

“Keep struggling,” He leaned in to breathe into her ear, voice a whisper, “In a second, nod, say ok.  Pretend I’m threatening you.  Force some tears, if you can.”

You are threatening me she wanted to say, feeling as helpless as she did that night six months ago when they first met.  Tear’s weren’t that hard to come by as his front pressed against her back, rough brick digging into her cheek.  

“Nod.”  He commanded again in that harsh whisper, as the footsteps stopped at the end of the alley.

She did, wincing as the motion pulled against the hold he had on her hair.

“O-ok.”  She sniffled, eyes watery.

When nothing happened, Levi shoved his thigh up to meet the apex of her own at the same time he leaned in to bury his face in her neck, able to use her to hide his look at the end of the alley.

All three MPs stood at the end, two barely holding themselves upright.

“Bah - he's just fucking the whore from the bar.”  One of them said, waving at the pair, “Lucky asshole.”

Both Levi and F/N looked up, as if just noticing the newcomers.

Levi scowled.

“The fuck do you three want?”  He deadpanned, “Find your own, this one owes me for making a mess of my clothes.”

One of them - Stewart, she remembered him called - guffawed.

“Guess the rumors are true - you are a clean freak.”  He took a step forward, threateningly, “But that doesn’t seem fair to the poor missy, now does it?”

“Ah Stewart, don’t be jealous, let him have his fun,” His friend spoke up, “Survey Corp needs all the charity it can get.”

Levi grit his teeth as the two bickered, seemingly forgetting about him and the woman he currently had pinned.

Only his steel nerves stopped him from jumping when she grabbed his free hand, on the side facing away from the MPs.  F/N led his hand up her waist, passed her hips and then under her shirt.

Eyebrows raised high, he tried to guess at her intentions, but his mind had gone blank.  She pressed down on his hand and he braced himself to feel her the warm skin of her stomach - but felt the rough texture of paper instead.

The report.

He hid his smirk in her hair.

Eyeing the MPs and realizing they had all but forgotten about the two of them, he lifted it from her waist band and tucked it into his coat - besides the two of them, none were any the wiser.

The argument at the end of the alley was turning more lewd than his patience allowed, so he released her and shoved off the wall with a loud “Tsk.”  

“You shitheads ruined whatever mood there was.”  He walked up to them, pausing until F/N recovered and scurried back inside, the sound of the door locking behind her.  “Fuck out of my way.”

“The hell did you say to me, you little runt!?”  Stewart slurred, indignant, “I’ll kick your ass, punk!”

He attempted a swing at Levi, but missed so badly he stumbled over his own feet and fell on his face.

Cradling his broken nose, the fallen MP tried to stifle the flow of blood. Levi scoffed and walked out of the alley, eyes challenging the other two.  Neither seemed keen on avenging their friend.

Once out of sight, Levi walked a few blocks before doubling back.  It was unlikely the shitheads had gone back into the bar, but he couldn’t risk the Corps asset falling into their hands.

Approaching the pub, the MPs were nowhere in sight.  Through the window, he could see F/N behind the bar, slinging drinks and smiles at her regulars, as if she hadn’t just been assaulted.

Satisfied, he made his way back to barracks to deliver Erwin her latest findings.

[kaediisarchive]

chrysanthemum | daisy | lilac

[ @redcrimes | botanical headcanons | still accepting ]

chrysanthemum :   how does your muse express romantic love ?  how do they feel about love as a concept ?  

          Something that is core to Skarlet is her intense desire for love and affection in any form, be it platonic, familial, or romantic. She was deprived of it in her childhood, growing up in an abusive household and later living on the streets as an orphan. It’s something that manipulative individuals have noticed in her in the past and used as a method to control her (familial affection and approval from Shao Kahn, romantic affection from Reiko). She can make all the excuses for her choices that she wants, but the driving factor that let them manipulate her was her drive to be valued by someone. To be loved in whatever form it takes. She tries her best to suppress it, especially now looking back at how it was used against her in the past, but she cannot bring herself to fully put it aside. So, love as a concept to Skarlet is a double-edged blade. It’s what she wants most in her life, but it’s also the thing that has hurt her the most. She is avoidant of it for the most part, trying her best not to get attached to anyone, but when she does love, she loves deeply. So deeply that, when things go wrong (which she sees as an inevitable thing based on her past experiences), it will wound her in a way that no other physical or mental pain could match.

          As for the expression of romantic love, Skarlet is a very affectionate person. Her main priority when she’s in love with someone is supporting that person, putting their needs before her own. She’s very “touchy” in private and physically expressive. She is very in-tune with her sexuality and sensuality, and romantic love will definitely bring out the latter in her. She is thoughtful and puts in a lot of effort to help her romantic interest be their best self. This comes in many forms, be it unsolicited compliments (that are more personal to that person rather than generic compliments), surprising them with their favorite foods/items, helping them with their work, contributing to their hobbies, and other random acts of kindness. She is very protective of her romantic interest and their well-being. She notices the small changes in them that occur when they are sick or stressed and will actively encourage them to prioritize themselves and their health over everything else. She cares for them when sick, and if stressed, she will create the most comfortable environment she can for them, including keeping stressors (work, other people, etc.) away from them for as long as they need. Skarlet is selfless in love and self-sacrificing, and this quality can easily be taken for granted or misused by others. A good partner will make sure that she takes care of herself, too.

daisy :   did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ?   what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?

          Skarlet definitely feels like her innocence was stolen from her at a young age. It waned all through her childhood as she was constantly exposed to horrible things and forced to participate in her father’s crimes. He made her steal, pickpocket, scam people, help him cheat when gambling, and all sorts of shady shit like that. But there is definitely one moment in particular that she marks as the moment her innocence was lost completely: the moment she watched her father be beaten to death by debt collectors. Aba died a few short months later, and Skarlet was on the streets with no one to support her. Even though her father was shit, she still cared for him at the time because she was a child who didn’t know any better. Though now her opinion of him has changed in hindsight, it was traumatic, not only because it happened at all, but because she witnessed it firsthand.

lilac :   what was your muse’s childhood like ?   how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ? 

          Her childhood was awful and set her on a dark path. (Here’s a compilation of various headcanons I have about her childhood, since I’ll be referencing some of them.) Her father was verbally and emotionally abusive and treated her like she was responsible for her mother’s death. He was also a gambler and a drunk who taught her to lie and steal. And as mentioned, he was beaten to death before her very eyes, so that was highly traumatic. She spent a few months afterward with a loving grandmother-figure she called “Aba”, but Aba died, and Skarlet was forced onto the streets when she was only eleven years old.

          From that point, Skarlet had to make a living by stealing. For a time, she stole on behalf of other orphans that shared the warrens of the Imperial City to earn food for them all, but after her thievery got her best friend Teeko killed, she blamed herself and exiled herself from the others.

          To make it short, here’s a bullet list of the ways her childhood affected her:

She was indoctrinated into crime early. She has no solid morality; she’s a survivor first and foremost, and she’ll do whatever she has to do, regardless of where her actions fit within the societal concepts of “right” and “wrong”. It’s all grey to her.

She’s highly distrustful and hesitant to get close to people.

She has a crippling fear of loss.

She craves the love, affection, and approval she was denied in childhood, and this has been used to manipulate her several times.

She’s got classism issues that skew towards a disdain for the upper classes, especially when it comes to the Edenian nobility due to her experiences. Not only was it an Edenian noblewoman who sent the guards after her friend Teeko (guards that killed him) setting the stage for this to develop, but Shao Kahn also purposefully fostered jealousy in her towards Kitana and Jade in order to keep her on his side so that when Kitana inevitably turned against him, Skarlet would not join her. I would say it’s ironic that Skarlet has this bias considering she is unknowingly half Edenian by heritage, but her bias isn’t directed towards Edenians as a whole, only the Edenian upper class specifically, and tbh, her classism has slowly lost that kind of specificity directed at the Edenian nobility over time since Shao Kahn died, and now it’s more along the lines of “fuck greedy, rich bastards” in general.

She has survivor’s guilt from Teeko’s death.

She has intense PTSD that manifests in the form of nightmares, night terrors, disassociation periods, intrusive memories, periods of severe depression, and insomnia. She’s learned to live with it because she’s had it from such a young age, but her symptoms have not gotten much better since then. It may seem to others (who know this about her) that her PTSD has gotten better since she doesn’t react vividly to these symptoms any more, but it hasn’t, she’s just grown used to them.

[strawberry-skies-xx]

to keep the world at bay

summary: jaskier helps geralt relax.

word count: 2361

tags: geralt/jaskier, established relationship, light dom/sub vibes, slightly feral jaskier, dom jaskier, sub geralt, hurt/comfort, angst-y-ish?, protective jaskier

author’s note: idk if i got meditation right but i wanted hurt/comfort jaskier and geralt fic so we’re playing fast and loose with canon ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

main masterlist

Jaskier is practicing his new song when the door to the room at the inn bangs loudly open and Geralt steps through. Jaskier’s lute is set aside in an instant and he’s standing in front of Geralt, taking in the monster blood spattered on him and the dejected slump of his shoulders. He makes a mental note to pay the alderman a hopefully not-bloody visit tomorrow - and he only hopes it’s not bloody for the alderman’s sake.

For now, though, Jaskier looks up and meets golden eyes that are tired and filled with something like sorrow, and reaches out to catch Geralt as he falls forward, sagging against Jaskier. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and Jaskier doesn’t say anything, knows he shouldn’t because right now Geralt just needs somewhere safe and it’s the highest honor to Jaskier for Geralt to consider him that safe place. 

He feels Geralt’s warm breath fan across his neck as he inhales deeply, hears his heartbeat slow to four beats of Jaskier’s between one of his, instead of two, and stays quiet and still. He wraps his arms around Geralt and briefly considers burning the whole town down for the harsh words they throw at his Witcher. They’re close enough to Blaviken that Jaskier’s near thirty years of songs about the White Wolf don’t work here, but Geralt, being the self-sacrificing idiot he is, decided he’d take the contract anyway, because he’d rather save the lives of the people who hurt him than let them die. 

And now here they are, with an emotional toll taken on Geralt that even Jaskier doesn’t know the depths of yet, and Jaskier can feel the low thrum of the beginnings of anger beneath his skin as he stands there with his Witcher, who’s kinder than those bastards will ever be, taking solace in the fact that Jaskier won’t hurt him. If it was up to him, Jaskier would use his lute and his songs and throw all of their reputations in the gutter. Maybe a few body parts, too, if they’re especially deplorable. 

A few silent moments later, Geralt steps back and Jaskier notices some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he looks up at him. He glances at the bath in the corner of the room and golden eyes follow his gaze; Geralt lets out a quiet sigh and Jaskier wonders what the worst consequences would be if he did burn the whole town down. Geralt usually likes taking baths because he feels cleaner after - a kind of cleaner Jaskier has spent thirty years trying to convince him isn’t right, because whether he takes a bath or not doesn’t mean he’s any less human or any more monster - but the fact that he’s too exhausted to even do that means that there was far more than harsh words thrown at him tonight. 

He forces a small, hopefully reassuring smile on his face. “Hey,” he says quietly, and golden eyes haunted by far too many memories turn to him, “it’s done now.” He reaches up and traces his finger along Geralt’s jaw lightly, watching him lean into the touch. “We can move on in the morning. For now, you need a bath, and then we can sleep.”

Geralt doesn’t say a word and Jaskier doesn’t expect him to, only leans up and presses a soft, slow kiss to his lips. He pulls away and Geralt’s eyes are still closed, shoulders slumping a little more as the tension drops from them, and he gives a small nod before slowly opening his eyes. Jaskier smiles and Geralt allows him to help in taking off his armor. 

Jaskier’s movements are slow, steady, designed to reassure Geralt he isn’t a threat, but he can feel the anger coursing beneath his skin. As much as he cherishes this time spent helping his Witcher relax, he knows he shouldn’t have to. Not to the extent that he does, anyway; he shouldn’t have to spend night after night whispering praises in Geralt’s ears in an attempt to overcome hundreds of years of prejudice and hate, shouldn’t have to project each movement he makes so Geralt doesn’t flinch away from him. His Witcher should feel safe in every town he goes in, he shouldn’t see humans as a threat to his emotional state and something he needs to guard so thoroughly against. 

Geralt sinks into the bathwater with a quiet, contented hum as Jaskier works through the tangles and dried monster blood in his hair with his fingers. He talks about anything and everything, keeping the topic light and his voice steady to fill the silence and give Geralt something to focus on, rather than the self-loathing he knows waits just beyond Jaskier’s influence. Jaskier’s fingers trail across his arm, through his hair, and he catalogues Geralt’s responses with as much meticulous detail as he gives his lute. When Geralt is too tired, or can’t articulate what he wants, touch is a language they both know and which Jaskier uses to discern for himself what his Witcher wants without saying a word. Here, every touch means something, and Jaskier knows exactly what it is. 

So, when Geralt leans slightly up into his hand as it runs through his hair, he makes sure to keep some sort of contact with it constantly, and when his fingers along his arm makes Geralt tense, Jaskier withdraws when he finishes with his hair and allows Geralt to finish bathing himself. 

Jaskier is sitting on the bed, reading a book when Geralt finishes. He looks up as Geralt changes into a loose shirt and pants and walks over to the side of the bed. He looks uncertain; even after a month of willingly submitting to Jaskier, he still finds it hard to initiate it, to start the process of slowly taking his walls down for a few hours. 

But Jaskier would be a shit Dom, and a shittier boyfriend, if he couldn’t sense what Geralt needed, so he reaches up and puts a hand on his shoulder, pressing lightly down. There’s half a second of resistance where Jaskier thinks for a panicked moment that he’s finally made a mistake, that Geralt’s trust in him has been broken, before Geralt slowly follows the pressure down to his knees. 

“Good,” Jaskier says quietly, watching a little of Geralt’s tension fade at the reassurance that he’s doing it right, and waits for Geralt to close his eyes and sink into his meditative state. 

Jaskier watches, and waits, and notices the exact moment Geralt goes completely still. He chooses that moment to bring his hand slowly down to run through Geralt’s hair, taking personal pride in knowing he’s doing it right when Geralt doesn’t so much as twitch. He runs his hand through once more, twice, until he’s built up a steady rhythm. Jaskier smiles when, after twenty minutes of this while he sings and hums some idle tunes and verses, he hears Geralt’s breathing slow to that of deep meditation. All of the lingering tension drains from his Witcher’s shoulders as Jaskier continues. 

Golden eyes snap open seconds before the latch on the door clicks open and the innkeeper peeks in. His eyes widen at the implication of the positions Geralt and Jaskier are in, and Jaskier’s hand stills in Geralt’s hair. 

Jaskier knows this is more than meditation; this is something far more intimate. It’s a side of Geralt that no one ever sees, it’s a massive amount of trust placed in Jaskier’s hands to allow him to be so close, let alone touching him, while he meditates. 

Jaskier doesn’t take this trust lightly, so when he realizes the audacity of this man to enter their room - without knocking - and see Geralt in such a vulnerable state without his consent, he’d rather like to stick his dagger somewhere unpleasant in the man. 

He’s up out of bed in an instant, with only light, fleeting pressure put on Geralt’s shoulder in a wordless request for him to stay, and blocks the innkeeper’s view of Geralt with his body as he stands in front of him. 

There’s a thin mask of neutrality on Jaskier’s face above the anger as the innkeeper composes himself from his shock and raises an eyebrow. “If you’re going to tame the Butcher, you’ll need more violence than that,” he says, almost disdainfully. Jaskier wonders if his current bloody fantasies are about to become reality as his mind runs through the most painful, non-lethal places to stab someone. 

“Is there a reason you’ve interrupted us? Without knocking, I might add,” he says, putting all of the icy tone of annoyed nobility into his voice. He hides a dark, satisfied grin when the innkeeper pales just slightly at the sheer amount of anger hinted beneath his tone. 

He composes himself a second time, color returning to his cheeks and the smugness coming back. “Mayor wants the Butcher out of town now.”

Jaskier smiles now, too sharp and venomous, and watches the innkeeper pale a little further. He straightens his back, keeping the cold mask of neutrality on his face, and looks every bit the part of nobility as he replies. 

“You can tell the mayor to kindly fuck off. Geralt saved the lives of everyone in this town and he deserves a night's rest here. And,” he adds as the innkeeper opens his mouth, “there won’t be any problems with that or the mayor will find himself out of a job very quickly.”

The innkeeper frowns, apparently not threatened enough by Jaskier’s words and tone, and laughs. “You truly believe the Butcher is anything but a bloodthirsty beast? He’s threatened you, hasn’t he?”

Jaskier sighs and rolls his eyes before he pulls out his dagger and shoves the innkeeper against the wall, pressing the blade to his throat. He takes cruel satisfaction in seeing the innkeeper truly knocked down a peg now, face white as a ghost - or a nightwraith, and Jaskier briefly entertains the image of Geralt running his sword through this scum of a man, before he smiles darkly at the innkeeper, whose breath comes quick beneath his blade and whose eyes are wide in fear. 

“Let me repeat myself,” he says quietly near the man’s ear, dark and dangerous. “Geralt is a better man than you bastards in this shithole town will ever be, and you should be grateful that he saved your lives after what you all have done to him.” 

The innkeeper nods frantically and Jaskier continues. “So, there won’t be a problem with us staying here, correct?”

Another frantic nod. Jaskier releases some of the pressure on the man, only to shove him back just as hard when he tries to leave. Now he puts all of his true anger in his voice, because where they sleep is one thing, but this is far more important and he will not let the innkeeper fuck it up. He knows the knowledge that Geralt submits to Jaskier could be used in all the wrong ways, especially in a town like this. 

“And another thing,” he says, “there will not be any rumors spread about Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, based on what you saw tonight, understood?” 

The innkeeper is trembling by now and Jaskier almost feels bad for the man. Almost, because he thinks of the way Geralt went tense beneath his hand when he opened the door and he finds all pity for the man has left him. He gives a too-sweet smile as the innkeeper nods desperately and he lets him go, watching him run down the stairs and away from Jaskier as fast as possible. 

He sheathes his dagger and turns back around, closing the door to their room and locking it behind him. Geralt is still kneeling, which is a victory in itself that he trusted Jaskier enough to take care of it, and didn’t feel the need to make sure the night wouldn’t turn bad on him. Jaskier can still see the renewed tension in Geralt’s shoulders, though, and bites back a sigh. There is no doubt Geralt heard the entire conversation, and all of Jaskier’s work to make him relax and forget the world for a night has been undone. 

“Why don’t we leave?” Geralt asks quietly, golden eyes tracking him as Jaskier walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“Because you need to relax and sleep for one night at least. You can’t keep going like this without expecting some sort of damage, whether emotional or physical,” Jaskier replies, trying to calm his anger at this shithole town for adding on to Geralt’s self-loathing that Jaskier had been trying so desperately to help with. 

“I’m fine. I can start packing up now. We’ll be gone by midnight.”

Jaskier sighs and runs his hand back through Geralt’s hair. “No, you aren’t, and you can’t. You have far too much hate thrown at you already. I want to make sure you feel safe - truly safe - at least every once in a while. Especially in a town like this. We can’t let them beat us, right?”

Geralt’s eyes have drifted closed again and he hums softly in distracted response. Jaskier laughs and pulls his hand away to allow Geralt to sink back into meditation, before resuming his earlier rhythm and idly singing and humming some songs he’s working on. 

It takes an hour for Jaskier to hear Geralt’s breathing slow enough to indicate he’s near sleep, and he tugs lightly at Geralt’s hair with each pass of his hand until he gets an annoyed groan for disturbing him and his golden eyes slowly open. 

“Come on, up here,” Jaskier says. Geralt closes his eyes and gives another annoyed growl, before slowly standing and joining Jaskier on the bed. He lets Jaskier lay on top of him, head against his chest and his Witcher’s slow heartbeat thudding in his ears, and feels Geralt slowly drift to sleep beneath him. 

The last thing Jaskier feels is the warm weight of Geralt’s arm wrapping across his back, and he allows a fleeting smile to curve his lips before sinking into unconsciousness. 

[fanficparker]

Forelsket | Tom x Haz one-shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Tom Holland

Word count: 4.25k words

Warnings: Swearing, angst, anxiety, mentions of sexual abuse

Summary: Tom is a troubled teen. He can’t write his papers, he’s on the verge of failing his exam until a stranger slid his paper for him to copy.

_____________________

(Written in Tom's POV)

I looked into the microscope. The patch on the display was blotchy and green with some pink dots. I don't remember seeing anything like this in previous lab sessions ever. Or maybe I missed the class when we prepared this particular slide. But my page was still empty except for my name, roll number and date. I couldn't recognize the previous four slides too. Just three more are left. There was no doubt I ruined my theory exam and now I will ruin the practical too. There was no hope for me to pass this exam.

If I fail... Maybe... Maybe they'll send me back to Chris. And it's the last thing I ever want on Earth to happen.

I gulped slowly. It was painful. My throat felt dry. I wanted to drink water but I only have limited time to finish this paper and the page in front of me is completely blank. My stomach crumbled painfully. Now I could even taste the bile in my mouth. The next I could feel were my eyes getting wet.

God, I can't cry right in front of my whole fucking class. I let my eyes wander around the students. My gaze fell on the paper next to me.

Beautiful diagrams and a detailed description of the slides.

If he's not seeing then maybe I can copy. I held my breath and scribbled on my paper as fast as I can. Half of his paper was covered by his hand while he was looking into his microscope. I tried my best to copy the visible portion. His head bent at the paper to write the answer for the next question. His blue eyes met mine. My heart dropped.

I haven't copied enough to pass yet. I looked at him hopefully and sorry. He looked at my paper. I felt so ashamed, weak, dumb and guilty— not the best combination of obscure feelings all at the same time.

He slid his paper towards me and smiled.

I blinked in disbelief.

"Return it to me in ten minutes at microscope number seven," he whispered and shifted to the next specimen, carefully observing and writing the conclusion in the extra sheet.

I took in a sharp breath, remembered God and ran my pen on my paper. I changed the text structure and numbering a little bit. Five questions were enough for me to pass in aggregate.

When I got to the sixth specimen I had written enough to pass and slid his paper back to him, mumbling a thank you. He simply nodded like it was nothing. He again smiled at me. The kind of smile that made his clear blue eyes shiny and corners crinkle.

I wished I knew how to smile like that. I returned him a smile, surely not even one percent of the brightness of his. He stapled the pages together and moved to deposit the papers like most of the other students and walked out of the lab.

I had read his name on the paper— Harrison John Osterfield.

***

From that day on, I observed that he was pretty famous in our boarding school, always in the good books of the teachers. He studied in the other section and lived in hostel number five.

I didn't stalk him, he was just one of those people who were way too visible on the school campus. I have seen him setting up posters, sitting in the cafeteria, library, park and almost everywhere on the campus. Sometimes he would be walking around the gardens, headphones tucked in his ears, sometimes he would be sitting on the bench reading a book or sometimes doing his homework in the library.

I don't know if he noticed me. I am surely not that visible.

But one other thing that I noticed was that every time I saw him, he was mostly alone.

There was a difference between us.

He was alone but not lonely. I was alone and lonely.

He seemed to enjoy his company. And I was asking myself why I was even alive.

I studied till four in the morning almost every day but couldn't even remember a bloody terminology. It was like the words hated me. I surely hated them too but had no choice. I was stuck with them and they refused to stay with me.

Most of my nights were also spent silently weeping under my covers while everyone in my room was asleep. I used to wake up and see the tear stains on my white pillow covers. The only thing consistent in my life.

But today I washed the covers too.

***

I got to know that he was also a member of the club- The Inkers. Basically the group of smart students. They represented the school in debates, quizzes and other stuff.

And here I was reading the exact same page of my physics textbook for the third time. My mind keeps dozing off.

If...

What if...

What if I ask him to help me?

I shook off the desire and wiped my eyes. The tears were blurring my vision as they always do.

Electromagnetic induction... I began reading. I can't understand the equation, no matter how much I try.

I pushed the book aside, switched off my table lamp and got inside the covers. My eyes were too dry to continue with my daily night routine. I hope I won't see tear marks on the fresh pillow covers this time.

***

I found myself standing outside the room assigned for 'The Inkers'. The club name was written in bold on the door which was half-opened.

I could see students sitting, walking, talking, interacting. This place was definitely not meant for me. I then saw him. He was talking to a group of students. Seemed like he was instructing them.

His smile was still so bright and he talked with his hands while tucking at the end of his jacket ever so often. Everything he does added to his style and charm.

He looked so approachable. Yet I failed to approach him.

I clenched my books tighter and walked away.

This became more like a routine. As the exams came nearer, I found myself walking across 'The Inkers' more often but never dared to knock at the door.

Weirdly, I had stopped crying myself to sleep, hoping the next day I'll ask him for help in studies and he'll help me.

My interactions with him were all in my sleep, in my dreams. I'd smile remembering my time with him even if it was in my imagination. I imagine him sitting across me, explaining me the weird exceptions in inorganic chemistry or explaining the key features of bryophytes or telling me a trick to learn the concept of electromagnetic induction.

***

I remember his smile. I remember his blue eyes. I remember how clear and shiny they were. I remember how his cheeks pushed up and made those eyes crinkle.

I remember how his lips curved when he was giving the speech on Renaissance literature. I remember how his expressions hardened, how he tried to contain his sadness and anger when talking about things like climate change, animal cruelty and so on.

I attended all the debates and speech competitions in which he participated this month, sitting at the back seat seeing him, hoping he doesn't see me.

He was an amazing orator. The way his voice carried his emotions was extremely heart-touching. He could make everybody feel what he felt.

I got a 'B+' in my E-waste management essay. I still can't believe. I heard his debate on the topic and... Wow. The teacher was impressed by me. I didn't feel vulnerable for the first time. I loved that feeling.

***

He even interacts with the audience and told about himself. He told us that he wasn't good at learning facts, so quizzes weren't his thing. He liked subjective things, movies, novels and wanted to become an actor.

An actor?

Can you believe?

I thought he'll tell me something like a doctor or scientist. But he wants to become an actor.

How amazing is that.

***

Next month, he stared in our school play.

I attended the recitation of the Twelfth Night. He was actually the main lead.

God! When he said, "If music be the food of love, play on," I declared myself to be his number one fan!

The way he said it. God! It was so... so... so... amazing!!!

I don't think he saw me but I was the first one who stood up as the curtains fell and clapped and cheered. For him.

I cheered?

Can you believe?

***

I was again standing outside 'The Inkers.' I peeked my head a little to find him but I couldn't find him today. I sighed and turned at my feet, only to collide with someone. My books fell on the floor. Before I could even utter an apology, the person crouched down to collect my books. My eyes met with those same pair of blue eyes. So clear. So shiny.

His smile reached his eyes seeing me while I suspected my heart-beat was non-existent right now. He quickly picked up my books and stood straight, pushing his curls out of his face.

"Hi! How are you doing?" He asked. His voice was so friendly and cheerful that it was almost like he was booming.

But 'how am I doing?' Isn't it something a person asks an acquaintance. Does he still remember me? Remember me as the dumb kid who copied his paper?

"Alexi said she saw you here often. I was actually going to ask you. Glad I met you here," He smiled even more.

"I... uh... yea-yeah." I stuttered the response.

Our confidence level was on the opposite ends of an irregularly weighted beam balance.

"Do you want to join the club?" He asked looking at the signboard and then back at me. The smile was still sticking to his lips.

Me? The club?

If it was the thirteen century then the club belonged to the nobility and I was a poor commoner.

"No." I chuckled trying to hide my embarrassment.

He looked confused. I tightened my fists and swallowed slowly before speaking— "I-I wanted some help in class. Thought if anyone could---"

He didn't let me finish and spoke instead.

"You should have told me early! Just three weeks to finals." He said as his expressions changed from cheerful to panicky in seconds.

How does he know I needed that sort of big help? Can't I ask just him a single question, why will three weeks' time be less?

But he let me copy his paper. The paper my peers claimed was too easy. Maybe he remembers how dumb I was.

His bottom lip quivered for a second then he spoke again, "Don't worry we'll manage. What subject you want help in?"

I gulped again and bit my lower lip.

He looked at me, curiously waiting for the answer.

"All," I said. I could hear my own voice sounding screechy. My gaze fell on my shoes.

I was so embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. He didn't speak for a minute and then he sighed.

"No problem, we will get it done!" He stated confidently and patted my shoulder. My head shot up to look at his determined yet soft emotions. My heart felt like it was over-filling with warmth. I couldn't stop my lips to curl into a small smile.

"Thank you so much," I thanked him genuinely, he shrugged it off. I stretched my right hand for a handshake, "I am--"

"Tom. I know," He answered cutting me mid-sentence, "And I'm---"

"Harrison. I know," I said almost imitating his style.

He laughed shaking my hand. I laughed seeing him laughing. Maybe it was the heartiest laugh I have ever produced in years. I couldn't even stop smiling when the laughter subsided.

"When should we start?" He asked.

"As per your convenience."

"Let's first go for lunch. It's already lunchtime."

He wanted me to accompany him to the eating area. I nodded following him.

We sat on the bench and started eating our meals. He was eating as if he was hungry for a long time. And I was just somehow managing to push my food down my oesophagus with water.

"So, I'll collect all my notes today and we can meet tomorrow morning here for breakfast and then we'll plan your studies." He said, biting the carrot.

"Ah... Okay," I replied looking down at my plate. I still can't believe that he's talking to me and even going to help me with exams.

If it was a dream, I don't want it to end ever.

***

"Where's your breakfast tray?" He asked when we settled on the bench.

"I-I don't eat breakfast."

"What do you mean you don't eat breakfast? Why will you not eat breakfast?" He was surprised.

"I don't feel hungry in the morning," I said the truth.

"What?! We ate dinner at eight last night. It's already nine in the morning. You have to eat it. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" He preached.

"I can't develop a habit of eating breakfast just like that," I defended, pressing my lips together.

"You should start with fruits. I have an apple in my backpack." He said taking out the said apple and handling me to eat.

I did eat it (half). And by the lunchtime I was hungry.

How weird is this human body? I never felt hungry when I used to skip breakfast and when I finally ate, I am already hungry.

After breakfast, attending our classes and having lunch, he took me to 'The Inkers.' He introduced me to the other club members as his 'friend'.

We sat on the corner and he took out his notes.

"So, for what purpose, are you going to study?" He asked. I was confused at first but then answered—

"To pass the exams," I said and surprisingly I didn't feel ashamed this time.

He divided the chapters in our books. He collected important terms and asked me to focus on only them rather than the complete syllabus. He made me flow charts and venn diagram. He explained me everything like a story. He never judged me when I couldn't answer or understand.

We continued to eat and study together daily. After the first week, we even started to hang out together. He made me hear his favourite songs. I loved his music choice. He taught me to maintain a balance on the skateboard. He told me about him, his family, his dog, his ambitions. He asked me to do the same, I shrugged it off saying, "Not much" or "Nothing exciting."

***

Harrison praised my answers. He said my writing style was very organic. I don't even know what it meant but he surely loved reading whatever I wrote. I showed him my middle-school poetry book and he made me read everything on it multiple times. I hope his interest was genuine.

He even asked me to call him 'Haz' instead of 'Harrison'.

He kept telling me things. I loved listening to him. I loved when he snaked his arm around my shoulder. I loved the way he said my name. I loved his face, his eyes, his voice, his confidence, his generosity, his patience, his intelligence, everything about him.

I may even be in love with him.

***

On Sundays, I used to go to the forgotten pet centre near our school. It was the only thing I liked about my life (except for Harrison, but it's just the latest addition). I love playing with those cute puppies. I never told anyone about it but I literally asked him if he wants to accompany me there.

You should have looked at his face! He was so excited, he hugged me so tight and couldn't stop giggling.

"You should have told me earlier, Holland! You have no idea how much I love dogs. I even have a super sweet dog back at home." He told me.

We played with the dogs and ate ice-cream. We laughed and talked so much. I don't even know why he's sticking with me, but he said he liked the way I talk and I should talk more often. He didn't stop there, he took me to a nearby fare. We enjoyed some rides and even got in for a fun photoshoot.

I cried that night. But those were tears of joy. I had a friend and he was fricking amazing.

***

Exams were over.

And I am sure I have done better than just passing. But I am sad. It's the end of the year, the Christmas break. He'll be gone to his home and I'll be all alone, again. Or worse— I will have to go to Chris's place for the holidays.

I sighed looking up at the blank night sky.

"Hey yo, mate. How were your exams?" Harrison asked, plopping down beside me, looking up at the sky.

"Your courtesy. Can't thank you enough." I said, looking at his face. He nodded still looking at the sky, giving me an opportunity to stare at his wonderful features. He did have some bad teen breakouts on his face. I do too. Yes, they weren't pretty. Acne isn't pretty but I don't think everything about a person needs to be pretty. People can be beautiful regardless of not being perfectly pretty.

And Harrison is beautiful.

My eyes landed on his slightly parted lips. I wondered how it would feel to kiss them. I licked my suddenly drying lips.

"You up for Christmas holidays?" He asked, turning his face to look at me. I averted my gaze to the ground beneath.

"I... I dunno," I replied, pulling my legs near to my chest.

There was a pause. It felt like he would say something but he didn't. I spoke instead.

"I don't want to go to uncle's," I told him the secret I never tell anyone. He looked at me confused.

"He... He is not a good man," I said as my throat felt choking and tears started to well up and suddenly I started feeling so dirty.

Harrison's expressions turned serious, he shifted a bit closer to me. He snaked his arm around my shoulders and dragged me closer to his body. He let me rest my head on his shoulder. That's when I realised that I was crying.

"Talk to me, Tom," Harrison insisted softly as his fingers combed through my hairs.

I started weeping harder, he pushed me closer and engulfed me into a real tight hug.

"You are safe here, Tom. You shouldn't be afraid. Tell me." He kept repeating while his hands caressed my back. I had grabbed his sweater in my fist and was badly sobbing into the material. I will surely ruin the delicate fabric.

He let me sob silently for a while. And when he realised that I had stopped crying, he pulled himself away, then he rested his fingers below my chin and lifted it to meet his gaze.

His eyes seemed glossier.

"Do you trust me?"

I nodded. He waited for me to tell the whole thing.

"He used to t-touch me in wrong ways when I was younger," I confessed, embarrassed. I wanted to look down, away from his gaze but my chin was still fixed on the spot by his fingers.

I first thought that he's also going to cry. But then I saw his pained, empathetic expressions changing into hard angry ones. And suddenly his face radiated so much anger that I had to move back. His hand fell on the grass as he clenched them into a fist. He stood up.

"You'll come with me. Start packing your bags. I'll tell my parents. You will never ever have to see that asshole's face again. That bloody bastard. Eww. Fucking disgusting! He'll regret what I'll do to him. How dare he?!!!!" Harrison growled angrily. "Pack your bags. Mum will take us to our home on Saturday." He ordered almost rushing away but I stood up and grabbed his arm.

"You can't tell your parents," I said, terrified.

"I fucking will! That bastard will be in jail!" He almost yelled.

"No. No. You can't." I begged him, tugging him towards me.

"Are you an idiot Tom? He raped you. Multiple times! You're not even an adult, yet!" He jerked his hand away from my grip.

"He hasn't done that for years---"

"That doesn't forgive or change anything!"

"It's-it's my life. You don't have to make decisions for me!" I yelled this time. He froze and blinked at me.

"What?" He said coming closer, his expressions suddenly softening.

I didn't reply.

"He is the reason why you are broken, Tom. I can see the damage. I don't understand why you don't see---"

"I know that I am damaged. But it won't fix anything," I said, tears spilling down my face.

He came closer and cupped my face in his hands. He softly wiped off my tears with his thumbs. He bent down a little to see directly into my eyes.

"Would you have let him go if I was at your place?" He asked, his voice soft yet demanding. My breath was stuck in my throat but he didn't let the question slip away.

"You are my best friend in the world Haz," I answered honestly.

"And you are more than that to me."

My heart crumbled like a piece of paper. None of us spoke for minutes, just stood there on the same spot, motionless. I swallowed slowly, taking in a breath.

"It's... It's just... High school crush."

I couldn't believe my own words but he rolled his head back and laughed.

I waited for him to stop laughing. He did, and his expressions again turned serious.

"Time will tell that. But the main thing is... No one deserves what you suffered. And he needs to be punished. That's justice. And to be honest, if you were even a complete stranger to me, I would have said the same thing."

Well... He has too many reasons to be my high school crush.

I nodded in understanding. I should stop saving that evil Chris. Harrison is right.

"So you are coming with us? You can forget that more than friends thing, we'll talk about it later or maybe never, as per your wish. And definitely sexual orientation." He said rubbing his neck.

I thought for a minute.

"But... I... I am a boy. It's very shameful to admit that I was raped---"

"If anyone should be ashamed, it's your ugly uncle. Being a boy or a girl won't change the crime. You shouldn't be ashamed." He stated and again pulled me into a hug.

"You should never be ashamed. Never." His voice cracked and I knew that he was the one crying now. I placed my hands on his torso and pulled myself off his chest.

I looked at his tear-stained face. I wanted to grab his face and plant kisses all across it. But all I felt were his hands again holding my face. He brought his face down and planted a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingered on the spot for a few seconds, whispering the word 'Never'. When he parted, I didn't even waste a single minute and grabbed his face.

I crashed my lips into his. His lips were sandwiched between mine. I slowly and gently sucked on them as his hands travelled to hold my waist. He let out a small moan and my heart fluttered like a butterfly. When I broke the kiss, his eyes were still closed and mouth half-open. His chest was rising and falling with every breath he inhaled and exhaled. It felt as if the kiss wasn't yet over for him.

I don't know why but I was also breathing heavily. His lips slowly curved into a small smile and his eyelids half-opened.

"You know you are my first kiss, Tom?" He said slowly as if he was satisfied.

"I wish I could say the same for you," I said but with a sad smile. His hand moved from my waist to my face. He slowly pushed away the fallen curls on my forehead.

"It doesn't matter." He leaned towards me, his breath lingering on my lips.

"It's the first time I am going to kiss someone. Please don't mind if it's not that good." He whispered. His words only made my heart go even more crazy.

He softly attached his lips to mine. I felt his throbbing heartbeat in his chest and his firm stature. I pulled his face closer to mine, he moaned again, his mouth slightly parted. I swiped my tongue over his bottom lip. He took in a sharp breath.

I loved how his body reacted to everything I did. I never felt this crazy in my life. So... so... so... crazy. Kissing Harrison Osterfield was crazy and him kissing me back was even crazier. Who knew he could get this nervous and cute?

When he finally broke the kiss, I couldn't stop but kiss his pink, flushed cheeks.

"I feel crazy." He said giggling.

"Same."

"You'll come with us?"

"No doubt on that."

I smiled and looked at the sky. It was still empty but my heart was full of warmth.

Was it how it feels to fall in love?

Crazy... Crazy... Crazy...

I love crazy...

*THE END*

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A/N: Everyone- your likes, comments & reblogs mean a lot to me. Love you guys. I know this pairing isn't getting me much notes but still I wanted to write this and I genuinely enjoyed writing this. Thanks for everyone who supported me. It gave me strength to write what I desire. Thank you so much guys.

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