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faundlydreaming · 1 year ago

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Sweetly Wicked Dreams

Ao3 Link

Characters: Spawn!Astarion x Named Tav (Fi, female) Rating: Mature Warnings: Mental Illness, Psychosis (Tav), angst, psychological hurt/comfort, trauma, tragic romance Word count: 1978

Summary: What happens when you finally find the love of your entire soul and you both are finally happy? Sure, things may not be perfect, but what's important is that you both have found home in one another. That, in itself, is a form of freedom, isn't it? What happens when that happiness slowly slips away in the form of mental illness, when your love no longer recognizes you, and neither of you can do anything about it? Author's Notes: This takes place about 10 years post game :) Spawn!Astarion and Fi have been together since then, but unfortunately they're not out of the woods yet with Astarion still not being able to walk in the sun and Fianna slowly losing her sense of self.

“Fianna?”

“Hm?”

Fi sat on their shared bed, unaware of the hours she spent staring into the elaborate patterns painstakingly sculpted into the ceiling of their room. Astarion’s voice sounded hard, eager, with a sorrow-filled hint of desperation that was beginning to become all too common. It sliced through her delirium like a blade through smoke, but just like smoke, it settled back into place with nary a sign of ever having been disturbed.

Once again, her brain was filled with a fog that made the world slow, her head pulsing with something akin to a headache without the pain, but all of the disorientation included in it. The world was dream-like this time, the light within their bedroom too bright and haze-filled, and the shadows clear without the usual haunts that pushed her into absolute terror. For now, the silver moonlight that danced with the flickering orange of candlelight poured through the window and bathed the pair, adding to the unearthly realm that Fi’s weary mind resided in.

Beside of her, Sasha slept on the bed, Fi’s hand finding perchance in the lupine’s soft, creamy fur in an unconscious attempt to ground herself to this reality. Fianna’s eyes slid to Astarion slow and curious, the white-haired elf a beautiful relic of their history that at the moment, she did not remember. As her vision focused on the stranger, the realization of his presence cumbersomely caught up to her and a cavernous fear struck through her like a mace to a skull.

Things weren’t so slow anymore.

The tiefling’s body tensed, her eyes once soft and ethereal now stoney and rabid. She dipped her chin into her chest, shoulders hunching as her tipped ears lowered like the familiar animal she slipped into when her mind lapsed like this.

A longer than typical whip-like tail slashed behind her as she crouched on the bed, baring her sharpened teeth at Astarion with a growing rage that switched instantly from her previous hazy state. Her thin, white chemise clung to her body like a vice that she dragged her claws across to tear through with how restricting it was, anything to bring down the threat that stood fearfully in front of her with his muscles equally tensed and a jaw set tight.

“Fi!” He yelled. “It’s me, it’s Astarion. Please, darling.”

Her snarl roiled into a low growl. She didn’t move, but she didn't relent either. Astarion’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow as he waited by the door, his fingers gripping the frame so tightly that his knuckles went white. This stranger knew when to back away from a predator. Smart. Her legs ached with how long she crouched on the soft mattress and glared her victim down. The murkiness of her mind grew into a storm of confusion, of animal instinct, that same instinct screaming at her to attack this being if she could not chase him away. There was no thought aside from a creature’s analytical prowess in order to survive. No clarity in her mind told her that she recognized this man, that they had traveled and loved and suffered with one another for years now.

That he was the love of her entire being.

“My love,” he said. His voice was a quiet caress onto a wild beast that held no effect other than for her to tilt her head at him quizzically. “Please, snap out of it. You’re home, you’re safe. I’m here. I’m real.”

For just a moment she paused, her wide, disk-like eyes regarding him with a confusion that held a flicker of recognition as she raised to stand clumsily on the bed.

A trick. She crouched again as her fingers gripped the bedsheets, ready to snap, ready to lunge at this man who claimed lies, who tried to fool her in order to capture her. She would not be fooled, he would not detain her. She would rend flesh from muscle and bone and claw and bite and scream and rage and-

“Ah!” She hissed as the pain struck like lightning through her hand. Blood began to bead on the back of her hand and on her palm as the pain of the bite mark grew with rushing heat. She snapped her eyes onto Sasha who raised her lips in a snarl, ears pinned back while the whites of her eyes overtook her amber irises. She too was balanced on the mattress with an awkward stance, her four legs spread unevenly as the claws of her paws dug into the softness below her. Sasha’s face was not one of threat, but of eyes wide with fear, her head low and tail lashing. She let loose a whine of anguish with blood that decorated her ivory teeth.

“Mother?” It was a simple question in the wolf’s singular utterance. Was Fianna there? Or was she somewhere else lost in a hells of utter terror?

Fianna fell back onto her legs as she kneeled. The fire of her hand turned into a dull ache as lines of red trailed down her fingers and onto the white sheets of their bed. She stared at the starkness of the crimson liquid against downy alabaster sheets, so different from one another, just like the shattered sides of herself. She nursed her wound absentmindedly with her other hand as she tried to force sense into the situation.

One moment she was in the spiraling dream that clutched her mind and lured her into a state of unreality. The next moment, it was the living nightmare as something vicious within her mind whispered sick and terrible lies. It was a wicked poison under the guise of a promise to ease her mind, to lose herself to full on psychosis. It was a promise that however horrid the consequences were, she wished she could guzzle that poison and finally end these episodes that often hurt her and the ones she loved the most. Like Kilbern and Sasha, who had no concept of what was going on. Like Astarion, who had lived through his own unrelenting madness for centuries before the pair met. Now he had to live through hers.

She did this to them. She forced them to walk as carefully as one would on ice as thin and as final as a wooden plank over the depths of the ocean. If it weren’t for her, they’d be free of her mental ailments that caused her to see things that weren’t there and threats that weren’t real. They would be free of her. She could finally stop the war between cognition and the mire of false dreams.

“Are you here, darling?” The vampire spawn’s voice was soft, trembling as he kept his distance while his fingers untensed. He stretched them open and closed to ease the ache that undoubtedly built up from the intensity of the moment. These were moments that were all too common, now. In her childhood, the lack of lucidity was a familiar and deceitful friend. At the apex of her thirties, it had come back with a hungry vengeance.

Her world switched once again and the fog disappeared, leaving her alone with Astarion, Sasha, and her cursed self. The torrential rain of emotions followed after.

“...Stary?” Something within her filled with the warmth of relief and the keening anguish of regret. It was Astarion, her Stary. The moon-glow of his hair, the scent of bergamot and brandy, his porcelain skin, the graceful way he carried himself like a prince or a feline. Both, really. It was all him. The recognition was a squeezing chain around her slender throat as the relief spilled into a confused whirlpool of terror and pain.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so-” Fi broke into body-wracking sobs as she curled in on herself and continued to mutter her apologies. Her tail curled tightly around her like a shield filled with shame as the knowledge of her once again losing herself came hand in hand with the returning of her normalized reality. Sasha adjusted to lean herself tightly against her tiefling mother, her long, wet kisses wiping away the blood on Fi’s hand. If it were not for Sasha, Fi didn’t know what she would have done to Astarion. She knew the elf would have allowed it, if it meant that his beloved would return to him.

Strong arms wrapped around Fianna by her waist and pulled her into his strong chest. Astarion whispered the sweetest of words into her frizzled hair, as he always did when her life pulled these wicked twists and jests. She buried herself into him, wishing that she could meld with his unbeating heart and lose herself forever within him, into the safety of his beautiful mind and out of her own.

She was poisoned, spoiled, rotten, and broken.

But he was here with her, and she believed her beloved’s promises of remaining by her side despite being so useless.

“There, there, my sweet. It’s over. Sasha’s here, I am here, and everything will be alright. I promise you.” Astarion pulled her even tighter against him as he lowered himself onto the bed, laying on his side and pulling her to fit her small body against his own. She cried into his chest, her hands balling into the crisp, white cloth of his shirt as she shrunk herself into a ball and this time, lost herself into the baneful sorrow that still yet plagued her well into her adulthood.

“It won’t stop. It’s just getting worse! I can’t live like this, Stary. I can’t put you all through this.” The words came out like a chortling stream filled with choked intonations and ragged gasps between.

“Darling, I choose this. I choose you. Weren’t you the one who stubbornly said that you wouldn’t leave my side for any reason? A pest like you wouldn’t even allow me to use the chamber pot in peace.”

“But I am leaving you. And I can’t control it. My mind is slipping, I’m forgetting days, forgetting who I am. Forgetting you. I can’t bear it any longer. Please, you’re not the only one who is losing someone. My children see this,” she motioned to herself and patted the back of Sasha’s back, who had laid down and nuzzled into her other side, “and don’t understand what is happening to me. And if you lose me, I lose you too.”

The silence was thick and heavy with the grief that played at their door. Astarion said nothing, a grimace on his face as he clenched the back of Fi’s head and planted kisses on the white of her crown. She felt the even strokes of his elegant fingers slipping through the locks of her hair, now grown from the nape of her neck down to the middle of her back. The strands splayed out behind her like fronds, mixing with the cream-white of Sasha’s fur as the wolf’s tail curled around the top of Fi’s head, Sasha’s own pointed towards their feet.

“I love you, my heart,” Astarion said, at last bending the silence between them. “We’ll find a way out of this, just like you’ve promised me that I’ll step in the sun again someday. I promise you, we’ll be happy. We’ve come too far for our little family to fall now. Besides, Karlach would never forgive me if I failed you. Us.” Words vanished from her mouth as soon as she pushed for them to spill. Instead, she nodded into the cold of his chest, rubbing her cheek against the tear-stained front of his shirt. Her tail curled around them both, and her mind spun with webs and webs of ideas, solutions, plans, anything at all that could help them both escape from the cruel fox’s trap their life had surrendered them to.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #astarion #tav #astarion x tav #bg3 #happy valentine's day #whoops #idk why i do this to my babies but i do #my tav #my writing

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eldritch-flower · 1 year ago

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Find the word tag!

cheers for the tag, @wipsbymor <3 find her post here

My words are are shock, sleep, cold, and blood!

Doing this for Zenith as usual :,)

shock

Cuán’s clawed hands closed around the edge of a bar stool; head hung between his out-stretched arms. A strangled sound escaped his parted lips, pain hidden beneath drowned shock.

sleep

His dreams weren’t pleasant – muted visions of dark and twisted creatures haunted his sleep – and Cuán woke up the next day early, mouth stale and tongue bubbling from the taste of dry, sugar-coated tablets.

cold

“Don’t lie to the Boss, little piggy,” Cuán interrupted, eyes cold. He watched Shaffer’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he thickly swallowed all his guilt and treachery. “It won’t get you nowhere.”

blood

His heart lay beating in his hands, pulsating failingly with each pump of the aorta. Those trembling, muscular veins contracted, squeezing a mist of dead blood cells into his face.

I'm gonna gently tag: @careful-fear, @junypr-camus, @at-thezenith & @cyber-sweets

your words (if you so choose) are: service, wave, bite and guide!

#find the word tag #tag games #writeblr #wip : zenith

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howyoutalktostrangers · 7 months ago

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So,

No matter where you are in Victoria, you’re never a significant distance from the immensity of the Pacific Ocean — you can hear the subtle hiss of the tide on the wind, taste the salty moisture in the air, and sometimes when the mists roll in thick enough you can truly feel lost, surrounded by white oblivion.

The fog was thick-packed cotton the night before I moved across the province. I’d taken a position at a rural newspaper called the Nelson Star, ten hours away. Looming sheets of white were impaled by the twisted black branches of scraggly Garry Oak trees and the jutting gables of sleepy homes as I passed by them, a hooded apparition in the night.

My soundscape was the quiet hum of streetlights and the distant swish of traffic bombing out towards the Patricia Bay Highway. The past few nights I hadn’t been able to sleep, anticipating the upcoming life pivot, so I’d been going for longer and longer night walks to sort out my headspace. It felt like being in an altered state of consciousness, outside of time, like wandering into a dream sequence.

It was just after 10 p.m. and I had my puppy Muppet’s leash wrapped tightly in one fist while I scuffed my way down the suburban streets in my slippers and sweatpants, taking in everything I was preparing to leave behind. I passed moss-slimed boulders surrounded by bobbing sword ferns, a nature preserve called Christmas Hill hidden up a hilly side street, and carefully manicured lawns amidst Narnian foliage.

Muppet was a shih-tzu maltese, a nervous and demonstrative little creature, and had become my daughter in the months since I’d purchased her from a small farm on one of the Gulf Islands. It felt like having a familiar, like she was channeling my energy. She strained at the leash curiously, unbothered by the deepening gloom, nosing her way through the dew-slicked grass.

I’d never loved living anywhere like I loved living in Victoria — there was some sort of vital spiritual connection there, a youthful energy — but lately I’d been feeling stifled and wasted and trapped. A few weeks earlier I’d wrapped up a book publishing internship that hadn’t turned out like I wanted. For a while I’d been contemplating a move to Toronto to pursue a Master’s in journalism, but at the last moment I’d taken the risk of applying for a position at the Star, out in a mysterious and romantic region called the Kootenays. I figured why go to school if I could just have a job now?

Now everything was packed, and in the morning a new era of my life would begin. I felt desperate to make progress with my career, to publish a book, to turn myself into a literary professional. I’d wasted too much time miserable in my basement suite, arguing with my girlfriend Paisley and consuming copious amounts of cannabis. Every day I felt an insistent sense of dread, this fear that I was somehow missing out on the life I was supposed to be living somewhere else.

Then there was the writing. For years I’d been laser-focused on publishing my first book, but I wasn’t making much progress with the thesis manuscript that I envisioned as my ticket to literary infamy. The working title was Whatever You’re On, I Want Some, and it was a collection of interconnected stories that came together as part of a larger narrative — not unlike A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan, my favourite novel. My narrative was about addiction and grief and sexual abuse, but mostly it was about the God-shaped hole inside of us all that yearns for some sort of spirituality, for catharsis, for deliverance from the banality of existence.

It was a topic that had haunted me since I’d lost my faith as a teenager.

“I want something else,” I sang to myself, muttering the words to my favourite Third Eye Blind karaoke song. “To get me through this, semi-charmed kind of life.”

The sloping entrance to Spencer’s apartment complex was lined with medieval-looking stone walls, leading up to a parking lot plateau framed by bright orange arbutus trees. Muppet was sauntering lackadaisically now, familiar with her surroundings, and sat patiently while I hit the buzzer. Spencer tolerated my canine minion in his house, but just barely, so she had to be on her best behaviour.

While I waited I gazed up at the night sky, wondering if my relationship with Spencer would be a casualty of my ambition. He was my best friend and my closest confidante, but I simply couldn’t live in Victoria any longer. It felt like life was full of these impossible choices, where you can never receive something with out first giving something up.

“Sorry dude, the buzzer’s fucked,” Spencer said, swinging open the front door in a swirling robe. He was like Julian in Trailer Park Boys, clutching a half-finished drink in one hand, and I could tell he was already stoned. He held the door for us, and gave me a welcoming thump on the shoulder.

“So you’re on the road tomorrow,” he said.

“Catching the first ferry. I’ve got like ten hours of driving to do.”

“How do you think Muppet’s going to handle that?”

“Ah, I’ll stop for walks and stuff. She’ll be fine. It’ll be an adventure, right?”

“I hate to rain on your parade, but that little dog is going to shit and puke all over your car. Just saying.”

Spencer swung open the door to his apartment, and like always we were greeted with a mysterious painting of an elderly warrior in an ornate golden helmet. He’d inherited this piece from his grandfather — nobody else wanted it — and something about it was unsettling. It wasn’t that its eyes were watching you, it was something more subtle than that. I think that’s why Spencer liked it, because it drew a sort of baffled attention, it wasn’t an ordinary thing to put on your wall.

Was he the suffering soldier, battle-scarred and staring into the middle distance? Or did it symbolize something else to him, something I didn’t understand?

After pouring me a quick drink in his sparse kitchen, Spencer led me and Muppet out to his back porch. We were on the ground floor, slightly below the lawn, so that when we sat smoking it felt like we were in some subterranean lair. We watched the sprinklers while passing a joint back and forth, gossiping sometimes but more often talking endlessly about movies and TV.

I was here at least once a week, on Sundays, to catch the latest episode of Boardwalk Empire. Starring Steve Buscemi, it was a lavish gangster epic set in 1920s Atlantic City. I found that particular era fascinating, because of Prohibition and the rise of organized crime bosses like Lucky Luciano and Al Capone.

But the true reason we devoted this much time and attention to television was because we both had the same dream of someday working in the entertainment industry. He’d been to film school, and had even directed a short student film starring our friends, but he’d become disillusioned and bitter after dropping out due to financial reasons. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still holding out hope that someday it would happen for him, that he’d find a way in, that he’d be able to escape the 9-5 life.

I could tell that he was jealous of my journalistic adventures, but he wasn’t willing to risk the financial instability that would come with making an equally bold choice for his life.

“So you’re going to be writing about the arts?” he asked, once we were settled into camping chairs. “Like concerts and movies and shit?”

“I’ll be doing a bit of everything, they say. Even sports.”

“Sports? But you hate sports.”

“It’s all the same, man. You just ask questions, get the answers, then write them down.”

He laughed, handing me his pipe. “But you literally know nothing about sports!”

“I don’t know anything about this town either. But I’ll learn.”

Spencer and I had already discussed how this opportunity would like watching the real life version of all five seasons of The Wire, a show about urban Baltimore that explored the intricacies of the drug trade and the institutions that run the city. Nelson would become my Baltimore, and then I’d populate it with a cast of characters. The amazing thing was I wouldn’t have to invent anything, because they really existed!

I wondered if I could write a book like Never Shoot a Stampede Queen by Mark Leiren-Young, an award-winning memoir about working at a paper in Williams Lake. I knew from my time working at the Whitehorse Star that this was the type of job that gave you access to places and people you would never have otherwise. I didn’t care that it was a rinky dink publication in a small Canadian town — I was going to act as if I was working for the New York Times.

“So what’s going to happen with Paisley?” Spencer asked. “She still coming?”

“I’m going up first. Then she’s flying a couple days after.”

“Separate.”

“Yeah, she needed more time to pack. Her Mom’s helping her.”

Spencer jutted out his lip thoughtfully before taking another puff. He was being as diplomatic as possible. He’d made no secret of the fact he disapproved of Paisley and thought she was ruining my life. Part of it was territorial, just him looking out for his best friend, but there was part of it was entirely justified. I was compromising myself for this woman, destroying myself even, but it was like being addicted to a drug. I couldn’t imagine a life sober of her, no matter how histrionic and destructive she got.

She was a vegan rich girl from Calgary, devastatingly beautiful, but on the opposite side of the spectrum socially and politically. We were proud of ourselves for the the little family we’d created, and the adventures we’d had all over the Yukon and Nova Scotia, but the end of our relationship somehow felt both inevitable and unattainable.

“What’s she going to do there? You know yet?”

“She’s been talking about starting a little dessert business. She makes these treats.”

“And are they disgusting?”

I laughed. “No dude, they’re okay.”

Once we headed back inside, Spencer fiddled with his projector for a moment before starting the latest episode of Boardwalk Empire. It was a familiar ritual, one I would miss. He was wearing slippers and baggy pajama bottoms, his feet propped on the coffee table while he dug into a takeout box of Chinese food.

Over the years my family had started referring to Spencer as my wife, which felt apt, because there was an intimacy between us that transcended normal friendship. I considered him a member of my family, but I was getting used to the feeling of leaving my family behind. As the action flashed across his living room wall I watched the colours dance on his face. He looked like a little kid.

The episode revolved around Richard Harrow, a World War I sniper missing half of his face. Played by Angelica Huston’s son with a mask similar to the one in Phantom of the Opera, he is a simple and loyal man capable of extraordinary violence. In an earlier episode he’d wiped out a hotel’s worth of gangsters in a blood-spattering shootout, but in this episode he was facing an even more daunting enemy: his own mind.

We watched as he trekked into the woods with a shotgun to commit suicide.

“You think he’s going to do it?”

Spencer shook his head, chewing. “They wouldn’t waste a main character like that. We’re in the middle of the season.”

“A lot of war veterans commit suicide,” I said.

“Not Richard Harrow.”

At the end of the night, I hesitated in his doorway while I struggled to get Muppet’s leash back on. She wagged her tail and squirmed out of my grasp, probably desperate for a pee. Spencer was leaning against the doorframe with a fresh drink, his eyes pink. He’d already told me that he would visit in the Kootenays, possibly in the next few months, so it wasn’t like I was never going to see him again.

We gave each other an awkward half-hug, then I began back-stepping down the hallway.

“Paisley’s going to decapitate me if I stay out much later,” I said.

He smirked, like he was leaving me to my fate.

“Drive safe, dude.”

The Literary Goon

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doublegoblin · 1 year ago

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A story of a "home"

When we think of haunted places we think of the old, the decrepit, the forlorn and forgotten. We think of the home at the end of the road with its shutters slapping in the breeze and door resting on the floor. We think of the old cabin in the woods, the exterior now a vibrant green as it is overtaken by moss and lichen. We also think of the old castle, stone and bricks crumbling to dust slowly. We think of the place where people have been, where lives were lived and lost. We think of the absence.

What is it though, to consider those places stuck in stasis? To the locations never once filled. Empty and hungry. Hollow and yearning.

Cast your mind not to a patch of overgrown farmland, nor country side citadel, or any such places of the old and gone. Cast it instead to a cul-de-sac, filled with the sounds of life.

In this place there is a plot of land. In this plot of land a home is being built. It is a home whose designs were sketched with love and care. Whose materials were bought for their quality rather than their price. A dream made real. The ground is split and flattened. Fresh lumber hauled and raised. Foundation poured and set. Yet this home would go uninhabited. Perhaps the funds ran out? Maybe the creator passed on? Who is to say? This home though, still stands, no occupants other than hope.

This house will sit quietly for a time. Spirits raised as it spies a “For Sale” sign being pounded into place. Even vacant it is maintained. The lawn is trimmed. The inside cleaned. It enjoys the moments of human habitation; brief as they might be. A home is meant to house people.

Then one day the maintenance ceases.

The sign is lifted.

And it stands empty amongst its peers.

It can’t help but wonder,

“Where have the people gone? Those who I sheltered and shielded?”

It creaks and groans as the seasons change to winter.

“Please won’t someone come inside and warm themselves?” It squeals against the biting gale.

“My insides are cold, my power long cut, but I can protect you from the wind.” It calls to the empty streets that are bathed in the orange glow.

The wind echoes through the unfinished spaces, the sad whale song of the home.

Time passes regardless and soon the winter grows brighter and hotter, spring has came.

The home coughs “Please someone, anyone, open me up. The air inside is stale and I yearn to breathe again.”

Yet none come to unseal it.

In the basement a pipe bursts. The strain of winter to spring revealed all too late a fault in construction. It is a slow trickle but without anywhere to go, subpump long dusted over, a puddle grows into an inch, and then three, and soon a foot of water sits still across the whole floor. Perhaps but unfortunate luck the city had now cut the water to the home. So there it sat.

The home gags and wretches, “Anyone help, I’m drowning I’m drowning! The water grows foul inside me. Please why won’t anyone help me!?”

Black mold creeps up the walls. Spots deeper than the home itself. The water has now grown a fetid green as life claims hold. No longer the sweet smell of timber, nor the subtle musk of stone. Acrid rot and decay are the candles of this home.

The home begs and pleads, “I feel something happening, a sharp pain! Oh dear god no, something is digging its way in!”

At first it was only a mouse, no bigger than a thumb. It chewed and gnawed at the walls of the house. It’s needle like teeth ripping and tearing the soft wood and dense drywall. Soon enough the animal entered the home.

“Not you! Out, out!” The home screamed as more mice tore into it.

“I am a home, I am meant for people not mice! You need to all leave this instant! My walls are not built to protect you, to shelter you, you are vermin nothing more nothing less! Get out of me now! You are causing me pain!”

The mice could not hear the home, none could hear the home.

Spring to summer and the dead started to pile up.

Several of the creatures had fallen into the basement and drowned in the water, their bodies bobbing and twitching.

The home cried and screamed and begged, “Please anyone help me! I can feel the water growing more vile and caustic, it is acid deep within me! I feel the mice decaying in my water! Their bodies bloating and bursting, their entrails cascading down. I feel their skin and muscles turning to slurry. I feel the maggots writhing and dancing in their floating feast. Please, I am not well! You all look into my windows, you see the clean floors, you see the dusty banisters, you see everything is well but it is not so! Please God send someone to help me, I don’t know what I did wrong!”

God did not hear the home. Nobody listened to the home.

Quietly whimpering resigned to its fate, the home waited and waited as summer to fall. The leaves turn blood red and sunset yellow. They fell from the trees and a crisp chill kissed the air. No more mice left inside, the water now nothing more than a gelatinous sludge. While sighing and silently weeping the home spies in the dim twilight a pair of figures walking towards it.

“People? Oh, People! Hello yes please come inside! Please I’ve been alone for so long, I have nothing to hide! Two of you only, perhaps there are more? Oh heaven’s me this chance I adore!”

The shutters clapped and the siding curled into a weary smile.

The figures however stood at the door.

They muttered and spoke in hushed tones.

The home strained to hear what they were saying.

It winced as one of the figures kicked in its door.

“What are you doing? Please be more gentle with me!” The house whinged.

“You are guests, you are friends, please make yourself at…home.”

They did no such thing, they couldn’t hear its words. Instead they took to the drywall with hammers and saws. The house cried and shook.

They hacked.

They chopped.

They tore.

Grabbing all of the copper they could get their hands on they made their way deeper and deeper into the home. Heading towards the basement door.

Despite all the pain the house screamed out, “Not there oh please not there! Don’t go anywhere near there! Tale anything else you want, please I beg you. Just don’t open that door!”

They did not listen to the home.

Flinging the door open the stench of hundreds of corpses and mold caused the figures to vomit and slam the door shut, cracking the trimming and wall. They cursed and heaved as they dropped all of their ill-gotten goods and fled the home. A harsh wind closing the door behind them.

Back now to the dead of winter. The malignant mass froze over and for a while the smell and feeling was gone. The home shuddered and withdrew no longer speaking. Not again. It didn’t call out to the homeless who shuffled past, it offered no solace to the squatters and their child. It was as stone now.

Then came the thawing of spring once again.

A young man walked up to the home.

His face was bright and spirits high.

He peered in through the dusty windows and brushed away the vines. Confirming the house number he set the key into the lock and the house fought to keep the door sealed.

It groaned and hissed as the man pushed and shoved.

Eventually the home was too tired and the man let himself in.

During the spring he cleaned up the dirt, he repaired the drywall, and made short work of the damage the thieves had done.

The home waited though in horrible tension, for the day the man would open the basement door.

“Pl-please go a-away.” It whispered.

“I’m not worth repairing, I’m not worth being a home.”

“Nonsense.” Said the man back, the home was speechless.

“You have walls that still stand, you have a foundation not cracked, I’m going to patch up all that you lacked. I’ll clean up the dust, the cobwebs and mold. You��ve been neglected, so I’ve been told. Please let me help you, we can go slow, before that can happen, you need to let me in though.”

The house was quiet and thought He’ll see it and run. I know that’s true, oh God please help me, what should I do?

God did not listen, the house was alone.

“You can work on the upstairs, we’ll go from there.”

The man smiled and shouldered his bag, “That’s fair.”

The man toiled away through the summer and fall. Working through most rooms, not them all. The house grew more comfortable and happy again. But soon the basement, he’d need to be let in. So during a cool autumn eve, the house spoke to the man, to admit and bereave.

“Sir I thank you for all that you’ve done, but now I’m sorry there can be no more fun. You have not gone down, down the stairs in the dark. The basement I know I’ve delayed all this time-”

The man cut it off, “Let me in home, please.”

Standing at the old cracked wooden door the man braced himself and the house did too.

The stench was overpowering as he threw the door open.

The man fled from the home.

Just as everyone else had.

Or so the house had thought.

When the man returned he was not alone. Around him was a small army of people, all dressed head to toe in stark white bodysuits. Together they all plunged down into the depths of the basement. And after days and days of working and struggling. The man waved to the others as they all departed. He then turned and walked inside, closing the door softly. Setting down on his couch he basked in the glow of his fireplace. This house was no longer to be haunted by absence. It was no longer to be empty and yearning. Yes there lingered the stench of the past. But, finally, this house was a home.

#writeblr #writing #original fiction #creative writing #not sure if it's horror or not but there are some overtones #when a story about a house may not be about a house #cw: animal death #cw: neglect #had a funky idea and I haven't done a one off for a while #I like how there is a bit of discordance in the words

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thebearme · 2 years ago

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MY EENE HEADCANONS

just going to warn you that this is long

EDgar Joseph

6'9 ft

Demi-Romantic

Caucasian

Pisces 23 Y/o 3/2/1985

Film college major (Jobs: Indie horror film maker, Animal caretaker)

FAVORITE FOOD:

Butter toast & Gravy (duh)

VIBE:

Alien Boy - Oliver Tree

Eight Wonder - Lemon Demon

Turn the lights off - TallyHall

- Arts & craft master

- Has a fursona

- Learned what a shower is

- He's still is a lil gross

- Ed changed his name to Ed so he can match with Eddy when he was 6

- Ed real name is: Bob Horace Joseph

- Lemon demon fan

- The one ed to be dating a Kankers (May)

- The oldest ed (he got left-back a year)

- Has yellow teeth becuz he didn't brush his teeth when he was younger

- Has a pet chicken from Rolf but it's at the barn, can't stay at the dorms :(

- Takes care of Rolf's animals ever so often, he loves when he can help

- Thinks of Dee like a mom figure

- Is on better ground with Sarah after BPS and once she realizes how awful their mom was to Ed

- Ed's the only person with yellow skin that because of all the gravy grease he eats

- Drop the violin to play all types of weird instruments instead

- LOVES crytids, FNAF lore and SCP

- Likes going to haunted places for fun

- Ed's drawings are now ten times more disturbing

- Draws on mspaint

- MUST. HAVE. OVERSIZED. SLEEVES!

- Ed is a food stealer

- Ed and Edd bond with the unexplainable wonders of the world (Deep sea creatures)

- Instead of getting a chewy necklace he just buys chew toys for dogs, they're cheaper and cooler

- Uses weird emojis: 🧟‍♂️🦷🧠🪳🌚

- ASD & ADHD

Disability:

* Has a fractured skull

* Brain hurts fr when he thinks hard

* Frequently lost of balance = needs a cane

EDDward (Double dee) Johnson

6'3 ft

Trans-Masc & Bi

(Afro-Vietnamese)

Aquarius 22 Y/o 2/10/1986

Psychology major / Science engineering minor (Jobs: none, scholarships & grants are paying the tuition)

FAVORITE FOOD:

Tuna fish gumbo

VIBE:

The machine - Lemon Demon

American healthcare - Penelope Scott

I threw out love of my dreams - Weezer

Pretty rave girl

- It was hard for Dee to not pick every major

- Double dee got overwhelmed with the college choices he had so he just followed the eds in to Peach Creek's community college

- The OCD got worse when he got older so the eds made a compromise to help clean the dorm often

- Santa believer

- Has a Costco supply of everything

- He likes scene but doesn't tell the eds

- Can't flirt for his life

- Dee Prays everyday that God will forgive the eds sins

- insomniac

- Double dee is trying to find a Scientific explanation for why their tongues are still dyed by the jawbreakers for years now

- Double dee has to braid his hair back before going to bed or else it would be wild in the morning

- Dee is comfortable in his body, doesn't need a bind all the time

- If you don't let Dee to say big words he'll start speaking like a bimbo unironically

- The Light-skin

- Is a ferret

- He got therapy for the 'dodgeball incident'

- Still wears his hat always, even when the eds already know about the scar

- Still passionate about learning but is slowly being a burnt out gifted student

- Even though Eddy tends to distract Dee from studying, if Eddy left college Double dee would have dropped out with him. A least for a gap year(s)

- Dee is a hugger

- Double dee found out that there's a Chemical compound with in shrooms that lessen the psychological symptoms of OCD...

- Dee has shrooms

- Dee is not afraid to be the bitchy friend to make sure the eds don't get themselves into jail

- Willing to kill for Eddy

- A certified forklift driver

- Mothers Ed

- Writes large paragraphs in text and the small amount of emoticons he uses are: =] >:-( :-D

- ASD

Disability:

* Asthma

* Diabetic (genetic, from both parents) Wears a insulin pump

Edwin (EDDY) McGee

5'3 ft

Pans

Puerto Rican (1/2 mother's side)

Italian American (1/2 father's side)

Aries 21 Y/o 3/24/1987

Undeclared major

(Jobs: whatever job he has that week)

FAVORITE FOOD:

Crafts mac n cheese

VIBE:

Soft Fuzzy Man - Lemon Demon

What's New Pussycat - Tom Jones

Lyin' Awake - Steam Powered Giraffe

Cuphead Rap - JT Music

- Eddy frankly doesn't know how he graduated high school

- Eddy loves old stuff (music, clothes, technology)

- Eddy likes underrated/unappreciated historical figures

- He can still be erratic sometimes and still haves trust issues

- Eddy does his nails

- Once he stopped wearing his brother's clothes he started finding his own style

- He is a FASHION KING, never seen in the same clothes often

- Drag queen

- Still doesn't understand personal space or the difference from complements and flirting

- Still a big sap

- Constantly sleeps in Dee bedroom instead of his own

- Insecure with his curly hair so he gel's it most of the time

- HE'S A BINGUS CAT

- Weed smoker

- Once had the eds do a breaking bad

- Surprisingly nice legs

- Insomniac

- Eddy tends to have depressive episodes

- Occasionally goes to therapy, but keeps making light of his issues or dodging them completely

- Writes his name on his food so Ed won't steal it (It doesn't work)

- Was a Premature baby

- Eddy is actually really smart and can make things, he just doesn't have the foresight or the motivation

- Eddy has a pet mouse

- He's flexible and can do acrobatics

- Eddy is still a little narcissistic

- ADHD

Disability:

* Has a stiff right wrist (has a wrist brace that he doesn't wear, prefers to just use he's left hand)

#ed edd n eddy #eene #eene fanart #ed edd n eddy fanart #eene ed #eene edd #eene double d #eene eddy #eene headcanons

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tellthatbrokebitch · 2 years ago

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and do you feel like you should, 10/10, 105k

Vecna’s mouth curls into a snarl. “You may have destroyed my link with my soldiers when you destroyed the creature, but you forgot one crucial detail.”

He lifts his arms, and the sky instantly darkens as that black storm spirals in the poisonous atmosphere, and a lump forms in Will’s throat as a shape begins to form, horrifyingly familiar.

The Mind Flayer, in all its supermassive glory, larger than ever, larger than what they’d seen even of the Thessalhydra. For the first time, his friends are seeing it, too, the creature that’s ruined his life and haunted his dreams, seeing what thirteen-year old Will had first seen that night outside the door of his childhood home.

Dustin says something, something loud and explosive and terrified, and Will doesn’t hear it. He’s staring up at the Mind Flayer, again, and he knows he’s going to die.

And Vecna knows it, too. He laughs, cruel and harsh and like skidding on gravel. “It didn’t have to be this way, Will,” he says. “But you made your choice, and you chose the hard way.” His eyes flash, and the Mind Flayer finally moves, one solitary step that shakes the ground. “Two years ago, I sent such a small portion of the Shadow after you, and you took it beautifully.”

Another ground-shaking step forward.

“I wonder, can you take all of it? I would like to find out.”

The Mind Flayer dissolves, becomes that too-familiar swirling storm once more, and something in Will is screaming, something oddly like Bob’s voice telling him to run, but he can’t. He can’t.

The storm is upon him seconds later, and he hears Mike scream his name before he’s swallowed by shadow.

IT'S DONE!!! finally!!! hope it's worth the wait

#tellthatbrokebitch #byler #byler fic #this has been a wild ride and i'm so tired of staring at a white screen lmao #but i hope you enjoy!!!#105k words.... fuck lmao #adyflys fic updates

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kimmimaru · 2 years ago

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Little teaser from my ff7 pirate fic side-story. The little mermaid if it was set in ff7 lol. Probably needs editing but it’s just sitting in my notes for now.

XXX

Everyday Tseng began to visit the beach. The nearby villagers didn’t recognise him, he kept to himself and wore clothes fit for a peasant. He walked the shore, eyes on the glittering sea as the sharp wind whipped at his hair. He watched and waited, deep down knowing it was futile but never giving up hope. The creature of the night of his rescue haunted his dreams. It had been beautiful in the way only the deadliest things of the sea are. Its shimmering scales, long tangled hair and sharp claws lingered in Tseng’s mind. He sat on a short dock used by the local fisherman, bare feet dangling in the water. He sat and waited until the sun set and darkness crept across the world. Stars appeared, tiny specs of light high above and eventually the moon rose. He didn’t expect to but eventually he fell asleep, curled up on his side on the salty wooden dock. Something woke him some hours later. The moon had set, the world was dark and a little too quiet. The sea was like glass, eerie in its stillness. Slowly, Tseng sat up, rubbing at his eyes and looked for whatever had woken him. Eyes. Cold, pale eyes, stared up at him from the water. Half a head visible as it bobbed gently with the water. The sea rippled as it drew a little closer. Tseng scrambled forward, hands gripping the edge of the dock and leaned as far forward as he could. The shawl he wore around his shoulders slipped, “You!” He said, eyes wide as the creature stared. “It is you, isn’t it? The one who saved me?” The creature drifted closer, barely making a sound. A hand reached out and grabbed the wooden dock, beside Tseng’s own. Claws dug into the soft wood and the creature lifted itself smoothly out of the sea, revealing its face and a little of its torso. Instead of skin it had scales, shimmering like starlight. Strange lights danced beneath the surface of its skin, lines of red skittering down its body. Tseng’s eyes widened, mouth slack with awe. “It wasn’t a dream.” He whispered. The creature lifted its free hand, fingers opening to reveal a smooth stone sat in its scaled palm, the stone had lines of dark purple running through it. It placed the stone on the wood between them, then met Tseng’s eyes. It smiled and pushed it closer. Tseng reached for it, picking the stone up and inspecting it carefully, “Is this…a gift?” The creature’s smile widened to reveal those dagger-like teeth, it nodded and gestured at the rock. “Thank you…” Tseng replied uncertainly. He hesitated, glancing back up the rolling sand dunes towards the glowing, warm lights of the nearby fishing village. He pressed his tongue to his lower lip before looking back at the creature. Then he set the gift down and lifted his hands to his neck, slowly he untied his necklace. It was a simple leather thong with a jade stone, carved with the crest of his family. He stared at it in his hand a moment before holding it out. The creature stared for a long while, making Tseng wonder if he’d offended it until finally, with surprising speed, its hand darted forward. Claws scratched Tseng’s palm as the necklace was snatched from his hand. The creature held the stone up to the little light there was, eyes wide. Then he hissed, somewhere behind him his tail splashed the water. Tseng saw a flash of those little red lights. The creature surged forward, bringing their faces closer. It smelt like something deep, dark and cold. It smiled and then with a soft splash sank beneath the water’s surface. Tseng tried to look for it again but all he could see were ripples.

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tunafishprincess · 4 years ago

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Darkening Seas

A DFO Secret Santa gift for Moon_Lantern

——————————

Izuku feared many things in his short sixteen years of existence.

As a child he feared the wails of ocean storms, huddled in bed with his mother as rain and wind pounded their small home, a common monster for the children of his small village. She would whisper spells of protection as he clung to her form, as if the storm itself were trying to get inside.

It wasn’t until he didn’t receive his mark that he learned that there were greater fears, the kinds that haunted him to this day. Fears of losing friends, for one. For another, fear of the village’s suspicions whenever something bad happened. The Markless weren’t a common bunch and in his childhood home, he was the only one in several generations not to be blessed by a god.

In spite of all the fears he had, however, there was always hope. His mother, even on her deathbed, always promised him a better tomorrow. Even if today was bad, there was always a chance that the next day would bring a better outcome. She was right in a way. It was hope that brought him to All Might, a hero beyond compare that bestowed his own Mark onto the boy, a power that still hummed beneath his skin.

His muddy fingers rose subconsciously, patting at the tattoo on his shoulder. Traveling with All Might had been a dream beyond comparison.

Sadly, all dreams must come to an end.

As a teen, he learned to fear more than village discrimination. At fifteen, he discovered that not all gods bestowed gifts.

All Might taught him to respect the old gods, but not to bow to their whims. When the sea attacked the land, Izuku followed his mentor to the battle, ready to die a hero. Instead, his mentor had been swallowed by the sea and Izuku---

Well, death would have been preferable at this point.

Another itch broke out near his neck. He scratched at the spot but the move did little to soothe the real problem: he needed a bath.

Begrudgingly, he stomped out the rest of his fire, gathering his things to make the small trek to the lagoon he’d been eyeing days before. There wasn’t much to pack, though he wasn’t sure whether he should be thankful or not about that. His food rations had dwindled considerably these past few weeks, his fear of exposure outweighing his need to resupply. He still had aways to go before he got back to the great city of Musutafu. Even if his ailment could not be cured he at least had friends who would care for him there.

His throat bobbed. Well, he hoped he still did.

He arrived at the lagoon within a few hours time, the area as empty as the first time he’d spotted it. It set him on edge.

As beautiful and blue as the seawater seemed, the Kamino sea lay just beyond the exposed shoal.

He licked at his cracked lips nervously. His skin ached to be cleaned and he knew he probably smelled horrendous from so many weeks on the road without washing. Peeling off his dirty clothes, he set them aside from his bag, hiding both in-between the rocks high above the waters.

Goosebumps ran up his arms as he approached the waters. The sun was still high enough in the sky, though a few clouds did beckon across the skyline, the promise of rain both a blessing and a curse with his current predicament.

Hopping onto a large rock, he observed the depths before finally taking the plunge.

Fire traveled through his veins as the curse took hold. He closed his eyes to avoid it, but he felt the changes, bones cracking and reshaping to the curse’s preference. Where once were two average feet now had melted together like butter, soon followed by his calves and thighs until it was all one limb. His nails transformed into claws as he clenched his fists. Tiny pinpricks of pain erupted across what were once two legs, the formation of scales and webbing overwhelming to his enhanced senses. By the end, he was a shaking pitiful mess, his now alien tongue running along the rows and rows of teeth inside his mouth as he took in his first breath of seawater.

He hated how much he had craved this.

His ears flipped back and lowered as far as they could go, a subconscious response to his predicament.

Old Gods be damned, he inwardly cursed, lowering himself down to the sand. He brushed his body with the coarse material, ridding himself of the dead skin and grim he’d accumulated. Moments later he rolled over on his back, repeating the process for several minutes until he was clean.

The first transformation he had cried, mourning the loss of his mentor and fearing the loss of his humanity. Now, on his fifth time, he just wanted to get it over and done with, hating all the strange sensations he had now as one of the very creatures his mentor fought back into the sea only a few months prior.

He blinked, second eyelids a half-second slower than his first, observing the underwater world around him with interest. He didn’t have much time to enjoy his surroundings, however.

The scent of food captured his stomach’s attention. Before he even had time to think his body began to move, less the awkward teen he was and more of the predator he had become.

On a normal day, he would not have been so adventurous, but Izuku had finished his last meager rations two days ago and hadn’t had meat in an even longer time. It would be fine, he reasoned, he was still in the lagoon and the sun would be up for several more hours.

The pristine sand landscape slowly transformed into a dense rocky forest of dead coral. It was a beautiful but haunting reminder of how cruel the sea could be, giving and taking away life like the gods who ruled them.

The water tickled his hair as he swam down the slope of the lagoon, the scent growing stronger as the light began to fade.

He hoped it was something edible, perhaps a glow whale like the one meal All Might introduced him to so many months ago after his first battle. His lips pulled upwards at the memory. Even the tough skin of an Armored Squid or a greasy Floor-Feeder Fish would taste like heaven at this point. His stomach gurgled, instincts driving him further and further away from shore.

Strangely, the slope seems to be reversing the further he swims, ascending until he spots a familiar group of rocks he had come across but only a few days before. The problem was, he thought with a nervous gulp, they had been part of the shoal that protected the lagoon.

He shook his head. No, no that couldn’t be right. That would mean the waters had risen by several meters and Izuku would have felt that.

But what about the high tide, the logical part of him pointed out, sending his mind into a frenzy.

His gaze flickered to the sky, noting the sun’s position with alarm. Had it truly been more than an hour? He returned his attention to the rocks. It could be his mind playing tricks on him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Paranoia had been a constant companion since he lost his mentor. The small fading hope that All Might was still alive had battled with the fear of the old gods wrecking further vengeance upon the teen for stepping into their domain.

His stomach ached. This was no longer a want, but a need. His hand glided over the Mark on his shoulder. The warmth pulsed beneath his palm. He would get the food and get back to shore as soon as possible. His tail swished impatiently as he drew out the energy of One for All. Veins of light traveled down his scales. With one kick he was zooming past the white rocks, deeper and deeper into the watery expanse.

The first change he noted was the life in this part of the waters. Tiny fish (not edible, he thought grimly) danced between colorful seaweed, the warm waters giving way to a refreshing coolness as he followed the scent.

The scent ended as he approached a dense forest of red coral, jutting out like tall trees from the seagrass. At the center of the grove, the corpse of a small glow whale lay between two rocks. His teeth sharpened, the needle structures in his mouth extending as he approached. Still, he held back from digging in.

It was a fresh kill. Strangely, however, there was only one cut on the creature’s body, a thin slice between its thick blubber. He scanned the area. It had been out here for as long as he’d been in the water at least and not one scavenger?

His stomach gurgled, overriding his thoughts. Flexing his claws, he cut off a piece from the broken skin, taking a small bite.

He almost groaned. So delicious. He took another bite, then another.

He ate as if on autopilot, human manners forgotten as the creature’s hunger took hold. He was almost halfway through his meal when he noticed it.

The hairs on his neck prickled. A shadow danced across the sands. He froze. The Mark on his shoulder burned, blisteringly so.

He looked above.

The mers he and his master fought were minuscule in comparison to this one. The creature’s tail is the first thing Izuku noticed, four meters in length and the same color as the coral surrounding them. How...how long had it been here? As it drew closer the teen took in its human features. The mer was male, he thought, judging its large upper body that was covered in scars. Most of them were old, but they all told Izuku everything he needed to know: this creature was dangerous.

He drew away from the meal, hands waving frantically as he apologized for taking its food. He hadn’t known it was his. His Mark sent pulses of pain down his arm, urging him to continue his retreat.

“Once again, my apologies,” he said, hoping his words were understandable underneath the water. “You are welcome to have the rest. I’ll just leave you to it.”

He doesn’t get very far. The creature blocked him with his tail, tilting his head as he asked in an oddly deep voice, “Where are you going?”

The sound echoed through the waters, sending a shiver down the teen’s spine. He never should have swam out this far, food or not.

Izuku lied, “My master is waiting for me.”

A dark, foreboding smile played across the creature’s lips. He caught a glimpse of several sharp teeth as he spoke, “Your master?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, pulling away as fast as he could. The more distance he put between them the better. “I have to be going now.”

“Do you now?” The mer inched closer, never allowing the teen more than a meter of distance. “Why not stay? Come. Eat.”

“I can’t. I’m really sorry. I don’t want to worry him,” Izuku replied hurriedly. His Mark sent a burst of adrenaline through his blood. Hopefully, it would give him enough energy to get back to shore.

“He won’t be worried,” the mer said, drawing uncomfortably close as he continued to circle Izuku.

“No, he really will be,” he insisted.

“He can’t be,” the creature stated into his ear. “The drowned do not feel.”

Ice filled Izuku’s veins. Without a second thought he swished his tail into the sand, drawing it up to blind the now familiar monster.

He didn’t stick around, the roar of anger more than enough to drive the teen back through the way he came.

One for All bleed through his being, the lines of light providing him distance. Unfortunately, in his panic he had lost sight of his original path, now swimming blind as the light above was fading. How long had he been eating? His breathing grew labored.

That was All for One. It had to be. He remembered those eyes, back on the day his master was swallowed by the sea, staring him down from inside the waves. He had been a lot bigger then, an unseen force of nature that belaid a constantly changing shadow of otherworldly horror.

Of course an old god could take the form of one of its creatures. Izuku would have hit himself if he weren’t swimming for dear life.

His mind worked through realization after realization at breakneck speed. So long as he held the Mark of One for All, All for One would come for him. That was why he’d cursed Izuku in this form. It had been to get him back to his domain.

Black tendrils shot up from the sand. He avoided them by twisting into a narrow group of rocks. He eyed the surface. His energy would only last so long. He needed a direction back to land.

Inwardly, he grasped onto the power All Might bestowed upon him, mumbling a prayer to god. Like an arrow he shot up from the rocky formation, too fast for All for One’s tendrils.

He gasped as he broke through the surface. The sun had been overtaken by the earlier clouds. Faintly, he could smell an incoming storm. Turning about, he frantically searched for land.

Desperation gripped his soul. Nothing but dark gray seas surrounded him. No, he couldn’t have gone out that far. The distance he’d covered was short, unless…

Unless someone intentionally made it so.

His heart rate skyrocketed. The lagoon must have been submerged into the Kamino Sea when he was under the waves. The shoal had been the first clue. How long had All for One been planning this?

The water shifted beneath him. Izuku’s eyes widened as a dark shadow spread out beneath him, steadily growing and rising from the depths. In one last ditch effort he poured the rest of his energy into escaping. He doesn’t get very far.

A tendril grasps his arm, jerking him back. Another joins on his opposite arm. Izuku frantically shifted about to shake off the tentacles. Fear gripped his soul as a hand from the depths shot upwards to grab his right fin, tight and unyielding.

Izuku struggled to escape the old god’s grasp, yet the hold on his tail dragged him deeper and deeper into the depths. Another sharp tug brought him into the monster’s arms. Izuku clawed and bit at the offending limbs. To his dismay, the skin was too tough for him to break. A low vibration from All for One’s chest began to slow his movements, muscles no longer working for him but rather against him, falling limp to the soft hum. Was the old god laughing?

“This has been fun. I haven’t had a good chase in quite a while,” the elder god chuckled.

Izuku growled. Despite how terrified he was, he refused to yield. “Let me go.”

“Now, why would I do that?” The arms tightened around the teen.

“You can’t have One for All,” he ground out.

“Oh? But he’s right here, isn’t he?”

Large fingers grasp his shoulder. His body bucked as the burning from the Mark exploded. Flashes of color invaded his vision. One moment the monster had on a younger face, unblemished by scars and cruelty. The next moment the face returned, though it had been tempered with a layer of curiosity.

“Does it hurt?”

Izuku gasped as the aches continued through his body. “Yes.”

A cruel smile danced across the old god’s face. “How interesting. Even now my little brother continues to resist me.”

They sank deeper, much to Izuku’s horror. In the distance, he heard an unnatural roar, followed by more and more, until the sound nearly overwhelmed him. The teen tried to cover his ears but the elder god pulled them down, refusing to give him relief.

The depths took on an uncomfortable chill. He shivered.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked between breaths.

All for One buried his mouth in the teen’s hair. The needle-like fangs were unnervingly close to his scalp. “We’re going home, my little guppy. Where you always belonged.”

Izuku blinked, energy leaving his body as he thought over the monster’s words.

“My home is on land,” he mumbled.

“Yes, it was. Once,” he whispered as the rest of the light faded from view. “But not anymore.”

The low hum returned. Izuku’s body loosened and relaxed, even as his mind and Mark screamed at him to move. All for One seemed to sense this, pressing him closer to his body so as to block any attempt at escape.

Amidst the blackness, he made out a great shape, a mockery of the castle he and his master once visited. The miasma surrounding it made the teen’s stomach roll with disgust.

“Welcome home, Izuku.”

#dad for one #mha fanfic #izuku midoriya #mha au #mer dfo #mer deku #dfo secret Santa

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lexosaurus · 4 years ago

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Eldritch Ghosts

My piece for Day 4 of DP Side Hoes Week! Initially, I was kinda wary about writing this one just because I usually don’t really do a ton of world building in my fics, but I’m actually pretty happy with how this one came out!

Character: Clockwork Theme: Origin

---

Every ghost had an origin story, the tale of how they came to be. For most, they were created from a dying body, driven to existence through a deep sense of purpose. Perhaps a dying wish they never got to fulfill, or an especially traumatic death that resulted in an overexertion of brain matter in the last moments. For most, this was their origin story.

For other ghosts, they were created in the Zone. Most of that group were born from the procreation of two other ectoplasmic creatures. Not all ghosts had the capabilities of reproduction, but some of the more sentient, more powerful ghosts could find a way if they so pleased.

But for a small group, they were born from the Zone itself. From the deepest, most ancient parts of this vast expanse of ectoplasmic energy. There were only a few ghosts who developed this way, but those few possessed powers that other ghosts could only dream of.

They were called eldritch ghosts.

“So what about you?” Phantom asked. He had taken a liking to a particular stuffed armchair in Clockwork’s haunt, lounging with his back to one arm and his legs dangling over the other. He asked the question lazily, his eyes more focused on the ice shapes he was creating in his palm than on Clockwork himself.

“How were you made?”

Clockwork shifted to his adult form. “I know you’re not a full fledged ghost, but even you should know the taboos of our culture.”

Phantom dissipated the ice crystals. “Oh come on, Clocky! You know how I got here.”

“I know how everyone got here. I am the master of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Phantom shook his hand nonchalantly to the side. “Master of time, god of all past, present, and future, observer of all timelines and potential outcomes. I know, but even you have an origin story.”

“Not everyone has an exciting tale of origin, ghost child.”

“But you still came from somewhere.”

Clockwork turned his attention back to a portal he was watching. It was of a young ghost child learning to ride a bike for the first time. Clockwork had seen this before, and he would see it again in the future.

He sighed, shifting into his child form and wiping the portal to show a new landscape. It was dark, black. He waved his arm, zooming in further on the scene until a bright green orb of swirling ectoplasm came into view.

“Come, child.”

“Huh?” Phantom rose from the couch. “Oh, what’s that? Is that the zone?”

“Correct.”

Phantom peered closer to the scene until he was hovering just mere inches away from it. “I don’t get it. Where are all the doors?”

“There are no doors in this realm of the Ghost Zone. No portals to other lands, other timelines, or other worlds.”

“Oh. So then why are you showing me this?”

Clockwork pointed his metal staff towards the glowing green mass. “Do you see that?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the epicenter of the Zone. We all exist around it in an ever growing mass of ectoplasm and space. Everything in this plane originated from that core.”

“Wait, the Zone has a core? Like ghosts do?”

Clockwork nodded, his purple hood bobbing at the movement. “That is correct.”

“Does that mean…” Phantom’s face scrunched up. “Does that mean the Zone is a ghost?”

“Not exactly. The Zone is not sentient, it is merely an expanse of space that emits ectoplasmic energy, the thing that creates and sustains us. Without this core, the ectoplasm in the Zone would be unable to sustain itself, and the Zone as we know it would cease to exist, along with all of us.”

Phantom’s eyes shifted warily back to the screen. “That’s sort of dangerous, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“If the core is so important for us to stay alive, then why is it so...I don’t know, exposed? Couldn’t some insane ghost just go destroy it?”

“No,” Clockwork said. “That’s the biggest mystery of the Zone’s core. Anyone who’s ever tried to get near the core has never made it back in one piece. The core is so powerful that it incinerates any ghost who attempts to get close. Hence why there are no doors around it either.”

“What if someone just like accidentally stumbles across it? Like what if one day I’m flying, minding my own business, and I get too close to this core?”

“That wouldn’t happen. Ghosts can feel it.” He shifted to his elder form and waved his hand once more at the portal, zooming in even closer to the core until the duo could see all the individual swirling speckles of ectoplasm pulsating around the core.

Phantom was silent for a moment, staring up at the bright green core with childlike wonder. “It looks sort of like a sun.”

“It is like the sun. If we fly too close, we can feel it. But it’s not hot in the way a human sun is. It won’t burn or melt you if you get too close.”

“Then what happens?”

Clockwork took a deep breath, closing his eyes. It had been so long, an eternity even, but even he could never forget the way the Zone’s core felt. How it affected his core, how it directed the ambient ectoplasm around him, guiding him away from the ancient depths of the Zone.

Most ghosts would never get that lucky. Other ghosts would cease to exist.

But not him.

“A ghost who gets too close would feel an intense amount of pressure. At first, it’s just a slight warning, but the closer the ghost gets, the more they would feel as if gravity itself is imploding around them. But if they get close enough, the core’s radiant ectoplasm would begin to interact with the ghost’s own core, and they’ll be driven insane by the Zone’s sheer power. The ghost’s core would become parasitic, and would force the ghost’s body forward until the Zone’s core can reach them. At that point, they’d simply dissolve.”

Danny shuttered. “Seems like a bad way to go.”

“It is.”

“So…” Danny started, his tone shifting into one of cautious curiosity. “Not that this isn’t cool and all, ‘cause it is, but why are you telling me all this?”

Clockwork shifted back into his childlike form. “You wanted to know my origin story, did you not?”

“Well, yeah. But I don’t see how the Zone’s core has anything to do with you specifically. Other than, you know, us being a ghost and needing the Zone’s core to exist and all that.”

Clockwork held his gloved hand up to eye level, watching as the miniature clocks adorning his wrists ticked away at their various times. “Every couple thousand years, the Zone’s core has too much radiant ectoplasm it needs to dispel. A human star does this much more often in the form of solar flares. But the Zone’s core is made of ectoplasm, and so it dispels its energy in the form of a new ghost.”

“So...you mean...you were born from the Zone’s core?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“And you’re still here?” Danny jumped up, swirling around Clockwork in alarm. “How? How did it not drive you insane and make you explode?”

Clockwork chuckled. “Child, I am the Zone’s child. Why would it kill its own creation so soon?”

“But you said the Zone wasn’t sentient.”

“That I did.” Clockwork hummed, shifting back into his adult form. He waved his staff once more at the portal, transforming the scene to a ghost wandering beyond where doors existed. If anything was amiss, the ghost paid no mind, traversing deeper into the empty landscape.

In a few hours, the ghost would be no more.

“I’m sure if I tried to go near it now, I would end up like this poor soul. But upon my creation, the core was expending excess energy. It wouldn’t have wanted to take back the energy it just spent so much effort getting rid of.”

Phantom eyed the portal, looking ill.

"Remember, child." Clockwork swung his staff, morphing the scene back into the child riding a bike. “The Zone is full of mysteries. Ones that I myself do not even fully understand.”

---

Thanks for reading!

#danny phantom #dp side hoes week 2021 #clockwork #my writing #phicc #worldbuilding #eldritch ghosts

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stories-by-rie · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 - Heart of Silver

Four years before Evelyn gets herself cursed, she meets Ariel for the first time; and a second time, featuring a stinky Mare.

words: 2665 || masterlist

It had all started in a club. It was a tiny one, close to the university, with mostly students working and partying there. For many, it was both a good way to earn a bit on the side, and to get the mind off nearing exams. The music was mostly pop, with some nichey songs in between, mixed in a way where no one could really complain.

For Evelyn, it simply was too loud. She could feel the bass in her heart. The room’s air was hot and heavy, and smelled like alcohol and sweat. People were screaming over the music, laughing, possibly also being aggressive.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

Mareike wrote, just leave, come over to mine instead, we’re having chocolate cake and watching old horror movies.

With a sigh, Evelyn typed her answer, I promised Kyla, I should at least stay a full hour. She held onto her first beer, but people pushed from all sides, so she slipped up anyway and felt the grip on her bottle lessen. Really, in such situations one had to set priorities, so she focused on the bottle, stumbled over someone else’s foot, and saw her phone fall to the ground. Over the loud noise, she didn’t hear it hit the ground, but she flinched nonetheless.

“Very sorry!” she yelled to whoever she had run into without even looking up, eyes on the ground. As she reached out to it, she saw her hand shaking slightly. Too much noise and too many people.

Her phone buzzed on the ground, the blue light showing her just where to reach.

“Broken?” A voice asked and when Evelyn looked at her phone, it indeed had a thin line running through the display.

“Just the display, I hope. Sorry, again.”

“No problem. You should have stuck with simple mobile phones, they don’t break that easily.”

Evelyn finally looked at the person who held a flip-phone in one of their hands, an alarmingly blue cocktail in the other that was only overshadowed by the bright blue of their hair.

“That’s so 2009,” was all Evelyn could say which was not a good thing for small-talk, but she blamed it on her anxiety or the alcohol.

“You don’t look like you want to be here,” the person said, tilting their head in a way that made the colourful lights reflect in their glasses for a moment.

“I really, really don’t want to be here.”

“Then why are you?”

“My… my friends are somewhere-” she pointed in the general direction of the dance floor where it was impossible to single out any familiar faces in the mass of dancing people.

“Ah,” was all the other said. For some reason, Evelyn was certain she was understood despite her stammering.

“I’m Evelyn,” she mumbled, ignoring the buzzing in her hand again. She wasn’t sure if she would meet the other again, if in any way exchanging names would matter. But she felt compelled to.

“Ariel. I use they/them pronouns, if you were wondering.”

Evelyn replied with a smile. She had been wondering.

“That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks, I chose it myself.” Ariel grinned and drank a bit of their cocktail.

And -- really, this could only be blamed on Evelyn’s anxious state paired with the alcohol -- she blurted out, “Ariel as in the Little Mermaid?”

Ariel nearly choked on their drink and shook their head. “Curses, no!” Even if they looked a bit amused and somewhat quieter, though enough to be heard, they added, “Ariel as in the Sylph in The Tempest by Shakespeare.”

Evelyn smiled and put the phone in her jeans pocket, held onto the bottle in her hand instead.

“Why are you here?” she then asked, even if it was probably a dumb question. Most people did come to party after all, but Ariel seemed to have come on their own and at least that was a bit unusual.

“I am glad you asked. I heard there’s a Mare living in the air vent in the restrooms. I came to kick it out.”

“By yourself?” Evelyn nearly dropped her beer again.

“Well, I hoped I would run into someone who is better with those creature thingies than me, but if this turns out to be fruitless, I am willing to drag the Mare out with my own hands.”

“Don’t do that! A Mare is much stronger than you and would cling to you instead! You would not even notice, just feel the pressure on your chest and suffer tremendously from bad dreams every night- that’s- that’s really not how you’re supposed to handle Mares!” Evelyn had spoked too fast, stumbled over her own tongue in haste to keep Ariel from making a mistake, and only now that she saw their -- victorious? -- grin, did she notice what she said. It felt as if she had walked straight into a trap.

“Sounds a bit like you know your fair share.” The way Ariel said it, they did not sound in the least surprised.

“You knew.”

“What are you in for again?”

“Psychology.” Evelyn took a step back, clutching her beer tighter.

Ariel followed her, narrowing their eyes. “Liar.”

“I studied Mythology and Mystical Practices before, but I didn’t graduate, so it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You still have the knowledge, though.” Ariel looked smug, sipping on their cocktail and Evelyn knew that they wouldn’t relent. But it really was not in her place to help.

“If there is a Mare in the vent, you should notify the building’s janitor, so that they can then call a company that specialises in this. The insurance might not cover the victims’ therapy if the whole situation isn’t handled following the book, so. Please, really, don’t mess with it. Sometimes it’s better to just leave these things alone.”

Nausea spread in her stomach. It was time to go. She really had indulged her friends for long enough, wherever they might be amusing themselves. Her heart beat in an unsteady rhythm, calling for sleep or distractions. She turned around, looking at the green exit sign, but Ariel kept talking.

“I already did notify the janitor, but he didn’t take me seriously. So I then contacted the owner, but he would not even talk to me. That’s why I decided to take the matter into my own hands and you will help me.”

“I absolutely will not.” The thought alone made her skin itchy, made the air in the club even harder to breathe. She looked down at her phone, several messages demanding to be read. She quickly unlocked it and opened the group chat.

I’ll head home, hope you still have some fun! Had a nice evening ^^

To Mareike’s messages of, r u home yet? just send an emoji that ur fine, she replied with a sparkles emoji.

“I’ll go,” she said, looking up to Ariel, but they were already gone. A hint of guilt crept into her bones – maybe she had been too harsh? But her heart beat so fast it made her cheeks feel hot, so she really needed fresh air. She put down her beer on a nearby table and fought her way through the sweaty bodies until she saw the night sky above her. The summer heat was not much better.

The second time she met Ariel was roughly two weeks after their first encounter, on campus during lunch time. Ariel was sitting – lounging – on a bench under some birches. The small leaves were barely enough to provide shelter from the staggering sun. Evelyn really just noticed them because their iced coffee fell right out of their hand, rolling all the way down to her feet.

“You lost something,” Evelyn said and held out the cup to them. She felt more than uncomfortable the longer she stood there, but she had started it now, maybe feeling still a bit guilty for the last time. The lid had kept most of the coffee inside but some of the cold and slightly sticky beverage still dripped down her fingers. Ariel pushed up their heart-shaped sunglasses, their own glasses underneath, and looked at the cup quizzically. Since they had last met, Ariel had gotten deep shadows under their red-rimmed eyes.

“You look awful,” Evelyn said, forgetting about the existence of her verbal filter.

“Thanks, it’s the exams.”

“What do you-”

“Doing my Masters in Curses.”

“That’s a thing?”

Ariel froze a bit and then mumbled, “I am sort of making it a thing?”

They finally took the iced coffee out of Evelyn’s hand, took off the lid, chugged it all at once and threw it into the bin next to the bench.

“Sounds very cool. And useful,” Evelyn mumbled and nearly missed how Ariel’s eyes shut again, only for them to flinch back awake. “You seem incredibly tired, though.”

“It’s the stress, don’t worry. It’s giving me bad dreams, is all.”

They looked each other in the eyes, communicating silently that they both knew that the other knew. It was Evelyn who finally broke it.

“You can’t be serious. You really went into that vent to get the Mare alone? You can’t just do that.”

Ariel just shrugged and let the sunglasses drop down again. “Well, actually I could. It wasn’t even hard. I just climbed from the toilet seat to the air vent – which is much smaller than it looks in movies, by the way – and crawled through it following the snoring sounds. Then I saw the Mare – which was the ugliest thing I laid sight upon so far, by the way – and hunted it through the maze. Just that I kinda lost it after ten seconds or so. I swear I could still hear it, but it was just too dark and I didn’t really think to bring a flash-light. Damn, it really scared the shit out of me, because I kept turning around? But there was nothing.”

“That’s because the Mare climbed onto your back and stuck to you then. I told you that would happen, but you didn’t listen. So of course you are tired now, you’re haunted by it.”

“Ah, right. You did say that.” Ariel rested their head on their hand and pouted. “That’s the bad dreams then.”

“Yeah. Mares eat good dreams, so you only have the bad ones, and more of them to fill the blanks.” Evelyn sat down next to them, a little helpless.

“I never have good dreams, though. Just weird ones. The kind where a giant slug comes and eats my master thesis and I give it strawberries as a thank. I miss the slug, I used to call it Bob.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at them, uncertain if they were being serious, joking, or if it was the lack of sleep.

“Well, maybe you will get lucky and the Mare will lose its sanity and leave you alone soon.”

“That can happen?”

“No.”

Ariel groaned and stretched, only to slump down again. “What do I do now?”

“Hire a company to get rid of it. Just know that no insurance company is gonna cover it, because you dragged the Mare into your bedroom yourself. You basically asked it to come inside.”

Ariel pulled a face and sighed heavily. “I can’t afford that. Can’t you come?”

“If you study curses, haven’t you covered mythological practices in your bachelor's too?”

“Not really. Just in theory. In more practical terms, I already only focused on curses back then. I want to be a curse-broker, so I never bothered with anything beyond ghosts. You seem to be able to, though. You never once mentioned that you wouldn’t be able to help me, just that you didn’t want to.”

Evelyn didn’t answer. They were right, of course. She had learnt everything she needed to know long before she had entered uni for the first time, growing up as the daughter of the owners of a company specializing on mythological creatures. Studying that at uni was supposed to only give her the licence to work in the field, she hadn’t gained new knowledge at any point.

“Have you ever considered that I might really suck at dealing with creatures? I might make the situation worse for you,” she then mumbled, staring at the blue sky behind the birch leaves. She said it barely loud enough to be understood.

“Do you?” Ariel worked through their bag and pulled out two lollies, offering one to Evelyn.

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I am really bad with curses, though.” She unwrapped the lolly and put it into her mouth. “Curses are more my sister’s expertise.”

Something in her voice must have betrayed her feelings. The hurt, the anger, the resentment. It was all she had to say to be understood. Ariel stayed silent for a long time as they sat on that bench, letting the lollies turn their tongues green. When lunch break was over, students walked over the campus to different buildings, but they stayed seated.

“She’s not dead, tho, is she? Wait! Did a Mare kill her?” Ariel then suddenly asked, their voice a bit shrill that it made Evelyn giggle.

“Nah, don’t worry. Mares aren’t high class enough to kill you. Maybe the after effect of the insomnia would in due time, but I don’t know many cases in which it went that far,” Evelyn explained and bit on the lolly stick after the sugar had dissolved inside her mouth. “My sister’s fine. She went abroad.” Evelyn then frowned as the trees’ shadows moved with the sun, the bright light blinding her now. They had sat there for a while. “To the USA. I haven’t seen her in a while, it’s been one and a half years.”

“You were close?” Ariel asked softly. Evelyn heard how they were more serious now.

“Yeah. I mean. I am pretty sure that I am always closer to people than they are to me. But we got along well. We were a good team. She got this really good research opportunity in Philadelphia though. It’s good she went.”

“But you still miss her.” Ariel handed her a new lolly with a grin and she accepted.

“Yeah, I do. Of course, I do.”

“Hm.” Ariel unwrapped their second lolly as well, eyes still droopy from their accidental nap. “Is she the reason you don’t go in the field anymore?”

“More or less,” Evelyn started, and the fear of oversharing hit her. But Ariel had asked, in some way at least. “After she left, I tried to make up for the gap she left behind. It did not work out well. I messed up this one job and no one got hurt, but it just reminded me that I was kinda raised into it all and it felt wrong so I left.”

“Huh. So you dumped your whole study subject?”

“Yeah. I worked without a license. My parents covered it all up, which just felt even more wrong. I should have had to face the consequences, or at least my parents. I should have gotten banned from field work anyway, so leaving was the only choice to make.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes. A bit.”

“I have just the thing. Back at home there’s a Mare that I can’t afford to kick out professionally. It’s kinda stealing my sleep.”

Without Evelyn noticing, they had come closer, a slightly mischievous grin on their lips. There really was no way to say no to them now. At some point she must have said something close to a yes, because Ariel was dragging her down the stairs towards the town and their apartment where the Mare occupied their bed. Evelyn wondered every now and then if all that conversation had been some detailed plan to lead her into that trap until she followed Ariel home to help them with the creature. But then again, she somehow had also followed Ariel into that new, quite weird friendship between them, so she did not actually mind that much.

----

previous chapter || WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

#writeblr #novella #my writing #original fiction #fantasy #urban fantasy #ghosts #curses #wip; heart of silver #heart of silver chapter 2 #tw alcohol

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brahkest-fr · 4 years ago

Text

CW: trauma, maggot/worm imagery, blood, general violence | Titan n Chimera have a moment

Titan rushed down the hall, long tail flailing mercilessly behind him, tripping cursing guards as he sprinted through ancient corridors that reeked with the stench of dust and mold. Another tundra stood at the end of the dungeon, old eyes cold and weary, not at all surprised at the other’s sudden appearance. He crossed his arms as Titan approached apprehensively. He didn’t meet his gaze but the elder bore through him with a fire that could raise the dead.

“Let me see her,” Titan demanded, rare harshness in his voice.

The other tundra squinted. “Be my guest. She will be dealt with by the morning,” he spat and pushed past him, frail old shoulder barely nudging Titan’s massive frame but the sentiment was there. “I told you something like this would happen.”

He waited until the other left before gingerly opening the wooden cell door, its creaking overwhelming the deep, pained breaths from within. His jaw slacked as he gazed over the hunched form of Chimera, kneeling on bare stone, arms folded behind her and chained to the wall. She peered upwards, head heavy and swaying. Her vision was blurry but made out Titan’s broad shoulders, haloed in the dusty light of the door frame. Angelic. She thought she was dying.

Titan conversely became aware of the dull, raspy sound of Chimera’s wheezing and the utter nothing coming from his own throat. Knees buckling, Titan faltered to the floor, hand grasping at the stone as he crawled towards her in a silent frenzy, hesitantly cupping his dear friend’s face with soft paws, head pressed to hers. Her breath quivered, recognizing the gentle touch and glimmering fur that encased her trembling form in a warmth that seemed foreign and unbelievable. He smelled like spices and sun, strong on her dull senses that have been subjected to the stale, putrid jail cell. She mouthed something weakly, spittle dribbling down her chin. He wiped it away, running his hands gently down her shoulders.

She shuddered, gray and melting in the dark of his shadow.

Chimera always saw beauty in bruises. Never was anyone more moved by the blossom of welts and the flush of cut flesh. He briefly wondered if she would have thought the way she appeared now, broken and stiff, was pretty.

She would. Even this dark place - she would.

“I’m so sorry Chimera...I should have stopped you sooner. I should have been with you before-” he gasped as he nuzzled her forehead, ignoring the blood oozing from her cuts.

Should. Should. Should. He always should have something.

“Titan,” she hissed, “It’s not your fault.”

He felt her cool blood seep into his fur, a jarring sick wetness.

He lowered himself, peering into her sickly yellow eyes that struggled to flutter open. They were pussy, glassy - tired. He ran the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away thin tears she didn’t realize had fallen. He kissed the wedge of her snout, nauseated by the coldness of her skin, the stillness of her body other than minute flinches. He wrapped his plush tail around her, fur coated in the filth of her blood and sweat. She collapsed into his body, for what little slack the chains gave her. Pressing gentle fingers to the base of her spines, he massaged her neck, earning an exasperated choke from her.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked in the smallest voice he could muster.

Chimera’s eyes widened, manic and fearful though her body remained defeated and limp. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “The same. Always the same...” she sobbed.

He constricted her body, desperate to hold her pieces in place. “Where are you?”

Chimera grit her teeth, “It’s all red. All red and flesh and fog. She’s watching me again. But her hands are around me... I can feel her nails-” she heaved into a wailing bob back and forth, Titan pressing her to his chest.

It was routine for him, holding her, talking her through her delusions. It was the same story each time but progressively getting worse, an assault he couldn’t stop. A nightmare he couldn’t end. At first he thought Chimera simply had many peculiar fears here and there, bad dreams and the like as everyone does. But when her tough facade melted away into pure terror, screaming into the morning because she thought the hand reaching from her throat was real, Titan couldn’t pretend it was nothing. He wished it was nothing.

He loathed to be helpless when he shook her awake, failing to convince her she was safe. How the paralysis of sleep and fear would take her - how his very touch would send shock waves up her spine and out her maw as whines for help. How he was a sailor lost in the midst of her storms, throwing him wave after wave into her darkness. Drowning always inevitable. But the sun would rise and she would be there, resting on the railing of their sinking ship. She’d be pale in his nightmares. Dead. But he would hold her, tell her she was really alive and really there with him. The dark would come and swallow them whole. A story he knew the end to. He’d wake up and in a mad scramble would find Chimera sleeping restlessly in the guest room, tangled in ripped sheets. He’d breathe and slide down the door frame. Content. A moment of relief betrayed by continued suffering.

Titan was her rock though crumbling.

In all their years together, she could only cope with his hands stroking the whole of her back as the terrors would keep her up at night and plague her throughout the day with visions she couldn’t understand nor ones he could ease away. Chimera was always her strongest out in the city where she put on a brave face that day after day cracked slowly, along fault lines that he knew too well - the pinches to her forehead, the distant look in her eyes, the smile that was painfully fake. She tried her best to avoid being a burden though Titan would never consider her as such. It was hard to convince her that this nightmare was his own as well, something he chose to participate in, something he wanted to help heal. She’d look at him like a bug to flick away but like a tick he stuck to her side, sharing in the cursed blood. The gods awful nights and tortured days. The unholy body in alien skin.

Often Titan’s thoughts looped back to Sorrow, the vile witch they visited years ago for some semblance of an answer. It was said she knew everything. Foolish of them to think they would get a straight answer from a creature who delighted in the plights of dragons. The snowy, angelic imperial whose divine body was draped in silk and stars smugly sneered, a soft hand trailing down her own neck to chest, indulging in the deliciousness of their desperation.

“The gods certainly like to choose their favorites, don’t they? How cruel of them,” she laughed sweetly, predatory evil behind cold alabaster eyes.

It was hardly an answer but answer enough. Chimera was a victim of divinity, an ant under a magnifying glass. But what solution they could muster would elude them.

It would break them.

And now sits Chimera, kneeling under a shadow of death, oblivious to the world around her except the all consuming thoughts worming holes in her mind since childhood. Squirming like maggots in a wound, hungry to burrow and fester, their chafing claws scratched at her ears, throbbing rustling heartbeats haunted her sleep and peeled away her resolve. She’d pick at them like dead skin, indulging in habits that would only give her seconds of relief. A fight here. A fight there. Hours of physical training. Her mood was always electric and frenzied, focused on the next thing that would distract her. The worms hollowed the space just under her skin, slithering like plump veins in sickening patterns only she could see. Scratching. Wriggling. Squirming.

Titan often had his aristocratic duties and she knew that’d she’d have to cope alone, avoided by neighboring dragons too fearful or annoyed at the ridgeback who stalked the streets with a fervor that danced on the edge of violence. She suffered in silence, other than her wails that verbalized at the cusp of dawn in the arms of her friend who forced her to share his home, worried what such terrors would make her do. What they did make her do.

The grand library was dead silent. Dark. Titan's feet froze on the cold marble floor that could not be a more obvious sign to leave. She’s gone, he thought briefly - unwillingly - and shook his head. No. No. He can help her. She’s here and he’ll help her.

He found her deep in the basement of the library, surrounded by books meant to be locked up now lay open faced, ghostly runes visibly tearing themselves from the pages. Screaming wails from nowhere bounced off the walls as Chimera sat in the middle of a magic circle, muttering a language not even the Shade knew, lost in thought. Possessed. He yelled to her, held back by an invisible force of her own creation and she turned, face wet and screaming, desperate to end her torment. While an ancient tongue left her lips, she mouthed, help me.

Please.

Titan, filled with a fury and desperation that puppeteered his movements, tore through the magic barrier with a feral violence masked by the ghostly paleness of his face: a visible trace of doubt should he fail.

Why couldn’t he be here sooner.

He pulled her away from the cursed tomes but not without a fight as she flailed, child-like and dangerous, claws narrowly digging into the scruff of his throat. In this effort he forgot how strong she truly was, tangling themselves in a heap of limbs. In a last attempt to summon some gods’ forsaken horror, Chimera flew to a book, screeching its words like a siren until Titan grabbed her by face, tearing her away along with a vibrant strip of flesh from chin to eyebrow. Reeling back in pain and blinded by blood, she collapsed, pooled in sweat and sobs as she held her cheek, crying for it all to end, for the maggots in her brain to cease their chatter. Her back arched and she tore at her scales as if covered in ants, rolling along the cool floor to disperse the heat in her muscles. Titan loomed over her, hands unsure what to hold, how to touch. It was a piercing self awareness of his vulnerability in that moment. He heard yelling from above, likely guards posted outside. Chimera kept screaming, scratching, panting, crying. He shakily stared at his paws, fur now sticky with sweat and blood and grime. He wiped his hands in frantic motions, desperate to clean himself of the viscera he drew but it only smeared and matted his fur in pungent red. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong. He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do.

He was beside her again now, no more confident than before but he could hide that, for now. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as she wailed, biting into his flesh, drawing crimson over his sunset fur. The pain was dull and fleeting while his thoughts were scattered and distant in the love he wished was enough. Her ribs cracked as she heaved in coughing fits, delicate and ready to burst. He wanted the floor to fall away, enveloping them in a comforting darkness - a place of attractive nothingness. He wished for a lot of things in that moment.

His tailed tightened, python-tight and unwillingly to let go. The torn flesh cutting across her eye festered, swollen and red. He forced himself to keep from turning away. You did that. Her sobs slowed and she was coming back to the present, away from the pit of worms who for now would slumber, buried deep under her skin, ghosts pricking their nails in anticipation against her bones. He stared at the chains bolted to the wall. Brittle.

“Chimera?”

She hung her head. Resigned.

“I want you to run.”

#I wanted to cry writing this #chimera and titan's relationship is so important to me and ugh #slam dunks my feelings into a trashcan #anyway I like commas can you tell #chimera #titan #fr lore #flight rising #trauma #blood #maggots #my art #tundra #ridgeback

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ishgard · 3 years ago

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🖊🖊🖊

Thank you so so much <3<3<3!!! - Want to hear me gush about my OCs?

🖊 SEVYN -

As aloof as he may be, he has a secret but sizable soft spot for cute things. He has adopted no small few tiny creatures (usually give food-related names), the most prominent being Sir Roast Beef and Noodle - the ladder of which he claims is a master of subterfuge and reconnaissance.

In a similar vein, he enjoys tinkering quite a lot, and has repurposed no small few magitek bits and bobs for his own use - but he's also created a number of adorable mammets. Most recently, almost immediately after encountering a certain young yeti, he set to work re-creating it's likeness (Wind-up Rudy).

🖊 KIRA -

I've tried not to nail anything down that's too solid with her yet in case we get anything that might fill in gaps, but loosely, she comes from some remote northern islands where they worshiped Freyja.

Caedrius tol Furius was charged with heading an expedition to these lands, ultimately a failure as the price spent even getting there was deemed too high. He took a young Kira as part of his 'recompense' for having incurred so many losses, and the claims are that they razed the harbor village they found to ensure no one need come back. While there is some truth to this, and Kira remembers watching the village in flames as they sailed away, the truth is likely far more complex than that - though she has no clear recollections. Nor would she ever gain clarity from Caedrius, who henceforth served as her adopted father.

Nevertheless, she is haunted by dreams and memories that do not feel like her own, and though she’s lived the better part of her life in the empire, deep in her heart of hearts she feels a pull from across the distant seas...

🖊 MANA -

She has long been accompanied by a small, red dragon by the name of Sohr Ahm that her parents discovered in the Allag ruins near their home. Though he possesses no memories from before his awakening, he’s quite the responsible little guy, if fairly feisty, and often took care of Mana and her brother Soma while her parents were away with their research. To Mana, he is an irreplaceable family member. Also, he’s absolutely inspired by Vyrn from Granblue Fantasy (though not in appearance), but with some personalized XIV twists.

#about: sevyn #about: kira #about: mana #answered #thank you again ; ;#i should really get some nice little character banners some time soon

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sweetestlamb · 4 years ago

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Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These)

Summary: A deeper look into Gang-tae's dream sequence in "Rain on Me" as requested by my bb @emanmc24.

Author's note: This is not safe for work, around friends, public transportation none of that. Okay I warned you 😂😈 This is filthy nasty public motorcycle rain sex (Jae-su, bro please don't kill me it's only a dream.) My brain tried to do its thing with inner monologues (what's wrong with me???) But I snapped it back into focus and the majority of this is just gutter smut. It's GT's dream so he's a lot more dominant and unpinned than he was in ROM, he is literally living his fantasy so it's very different from the original story. Enjoy my pervy loves!! ♥️

p.s. I made the header so it’s not as amazing as usual but I have fun learning how to do new things here! I will definitely let the pro make the next one for the wedding fic tho lol (I didn’t want to bother you on such short notice @essantial)

The rain pelts against his chilled skin icy pinpricks making his bone ache and his heart pound as it pumps blood into the tired limbs of his body. Her arms are tight vices around his stomach, her hold so strong he feels as if he might shatter under the pressure. A sandcastle disintegrating beneath the powerful devastating crash of a tidal wave.

The motorcycle rumbling between his thighs begins to stutter, hiccuping and sputtering before it halts completely, he veers to safety on the side of the road.

"Alberto, please. Please not now." He pleads with the rebellious bike, stroking the handlebars in condolence. But his endeavors are fruitless as the motorcycle remains unimpeded by his suffering and it remains stagnant beneath him.

The arms clasped around his body suddenly loosen, as he feels the comfortable weight previously blanketing his rain tormented body shift away. Her voice is muffled by the cacophonous watery downpour that cascades from the heavens. But he is entranced by the vision of her, gesturing angrily in the rain.

Said rain has drenched every inch of her lithe enticing form, her pristine deceptively angelic dress soaked to the point of transparency, tempting black peeking through the material, she resembles a goddess with her thick dark hair, long and heavy draping over her shoulder in a wet tangled knot.

He stumbles back as her hands shove into him, finally close enough to hear the words of ire falling from those haunting lips, "How could you get us stuck out here! I don't want to freeze to death, do something!"

His own frustration flare up at her accusations, he didn't do anything, how could she possibly blame him for this mishap? He was just as disheartened and upset as she was, her anger was misplaced and he wasn't in the mood to deal with her agression.

He watches as her hands shoot out once more, their target his chest once more and instinctively he catches them, snatching them easily from the air and pinning them to her side. A quiet look of surprise blooms on her face, before her lips curl into a nasty snarl.

"Get off me." She orders, twisting away from his hold, he tightens his hand, yanking her closer to him defiantly instead.

Their eyes meet in an clash, her usual dispassionate gaze lost to a swirl of fire and brimstone, almost simultaneously both their eyes drop lower, the heat between them so searing, steams wafts off in soft bellows of smoke.

He pulls her ever closer, bodies plastered together, and once again she speaks this time mockingly, "Don't start something you can't finish, Moon Gang-tae." Biting his name out, the challenge evident in her tone.

He's infuriatingly tired of her mouth.

His lips slam into hers in a move that knocks her back, releasing her hands he grabs her waist, so small that he's almost able to meet his fingers around it. Feeling her so delicate and slight in his arms awakens the dark possession he fights so hard to keep locked away. He now feels the door blasted off the hinge as he presses his tongue into her mouth.

She whimpers under his intensity, thin arms looping around his neck and with a growl he lifts her, hoisting her high off the ground, delighted as her long legs coil around his torso like a slithering snake.

Grabbing the base of her neck in a move that screams domination, he kisses her deeper, leaving no space unexplored his tongue lapping at every inch of her mouth.

She writhes in his hold, elegant fingers scratching at the nape of his neck as she grinds into the burgeoning erection digging into her skin. Shifting her in his arms, he positions himself perfectly against her blistering heat and fucks into her, cursing all the layers that hinder their joyous converging.

Striding over to the forsaken bike, he leans over, depositing her on the saturated ground, she claws at him fighting to stay in his arms.

"Stop. Behave." He commands, watching the lust unfurl in her dark orbs as she stills at his words. Fingers twitching but submitting to his order.

Power surges through his vein as he slams into her, pushing her into the ice cold metal of the bike. Her back collides with the handle bars and her corresponding gasp of pain permits easy access to her mouth that he happily takes advantage of.

Her fingers dig viciously into the hard muscle of his abdomen, leaving harsh welts in their leave, he grabs her long braided ponytail tugging hard in retaliation, plunging deeper as her mouth opens wider from the pain. The rain pools in their mouth, their kisses a sloppy wet mess as they swallow the liquids filling their orifices.

Take her. Own her. Fuck her, now.

Those insidious thoughts compel him to break the battle between their mouths and spin her around, forcing her to arch over the handle bar, as he sidesweeps her legs open further.

"Moon Gang-tae!" He chuckles at the tinge of fear he hears in her voice, his fearless prickly flower, a thorny rose unafraid of being plucked, now quivering under his touch.

He leans unimaginably close, nose pressed against the wet skin of her nape, nostrils loaded with the scent of her hair, fresh magnolias infiltrate his senses and he breaths in deep. Gently he runs his nose along her skin, aimlessly until he reaches her cheek, its blistering red heat penetrating his cold.

"You talk too much."

With that indicative statement, he is a slow languid movement, bending until he's level with her uplifted ass, swatting at it and smirking at her indignant welp before catching the soaked cloth and whipping it out of the way, baring her round ass encased in thick high waisted panties.

The dark material has been teasing him all evening ever since he picked her up, and wrapped her in his jacket, enraged at the thought of anyone else seeing her this way; this sinful view for his eyes only.

Without a moment's notice, he peels the rain drenched material off her, momentarily struggling before victoriously sliding it down her luscious legs.

The torrential rain pours down in a massive sheet of ice water and the roads are lifeless and empty, all other living creatures venturing inside to hide warmth and comfort. He finds his own slice of heaven as he pushes a long digit into her dripping wet pussy.

"Ahh mmm ah!"

She cries out at the sudden invasion, drawing away from his fingers, walls tightening around his finger in contrary with her movement.

Plunging deeper he chases her, mesmerized by the visage of his fingers sinking into her center, inch by inch he digs deeper until he bottoms out, her folds unfurled and stretched around him.

Her scent is intoxicating and he compulsively lunges in face first, tongue following the trail forged by his finger. Licking at her petals, tonguing deep inside her flower, her nectar heady and thick on his taste buds.

Now she is a woman unleashed, heaving chest laid across the shaking handle bars of Alberto, as she uses it to support her hard thrusts back onto his hungry mouth, rippling on this tongue, unabashedly riding his face.

"Gang-tae, Gang-tae ah!" The honorific squeaks past her lips as he rams a second finger into her center and his patience wears thin, the heat around his finger swelling his cock up in anticipation. Ripping away from her he grips his own pants, heavy from moisture but with deft fingers he tugs them down his legs, hissing as the rain prickles at the stringent length dangling between his legs.

When he opens his tightly clenched eyes it's to an obscenely sinful sight.

Mun-yeong on her knees, gazing up at him from under hooded eyes those lashes sparkling as they catch raindrops. Her eyes are unwavering as she salivates, his cock the only thing in her line of vision.

"Do you want it?" He asks her darkly, already sliding his hand in to extract the heavy meat, it bobs out thick liquid pooling at the head. The rain does nothing to soothe or abide the heat emitting from him.

Like throwing a cup of water on a forest fire.

Forgoing a verbal reply, she peers up at him, mouth falling open in a clear invitation.

But he's adamant, "If you want it, I need to hear you."

Her eyes narrow but her tongue runs across the surface of her mouth and he has no doubts of her answer.

"I want it."

That's all he needs to hear as he thrusts into her waiting mouth, groaning at the wet tight soft fuck that surrounds him immediately. When her tongue curls around the mushroom head, he growls sporadically grabbing her hair for leverage as he fucks deeper.

Fuck. Fuck. Oh. Fuck.

She takes all he has to give and demands more, hands groping at his hanging testicles, pulled tight and vulnerable in her hands. She slurps around him, her face a mess from his juices and the rain.

She's the fucking prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

He pulls free from her heat with a gurgling sound, filthy in his ears, as spit dribbles from her chin, she stares at him unashamed as she licks it all up, very last drop.

He smears his cock across her mouth, slipping against her cheek and gasping when she closes her eyes and leans into his dirty motion, letting him paint her face like an erotic paintbrush.

"Fuck me."

His eyes latch onto her eyes, they are screaming at him to obey.

"Please."

Brutally yanking her from the ground, he forces her back onto the bike, spread across the bars, her body limp and complacent.

Collecting the fabric of her dress, he pulls it up until it's a wad around her waist, the sight of her naked ass and her puffy lips peeking from underneath is the only incentive needed to send him plunging into her.

Her ear-piercing cry is lost in the howl of the wind and the boom of thunder off in the distance.

Slamming into her hard and fast, he loses himself in the sensation, tightening his hold on her waist to pull her back punishingly into his cock, he slams in over and over and over and over. Stamina never faltering as her tight grip invigorates him, he feels alive.

But it isn't deep enough, close enough, just-enough.

Pulling free, he ignores her shocked gasp spinning her around, before hoisting her up once more, front to front, her back curved over the bike and her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her arms reach around his neck too, the drunk desire he sees on her face as she sways in his embrace drives him to ram back into her. Their hips meet at the powerful blow, his cock piercing through her soft wet flesh ripping her apart and forcing her to mold around him, becoming something new, something exclusively his.

He wraps his muscled arms around her, smothering her as he thrusts up into her heat, her small body bouncing in his arms powerless under his barrage.

It becomes near impossible to move as her walls close in, constricting around him and he feels his release clawing at his belly, screaming impatiently as he thrusts harder, faster, longer, deeper.

And he feels it, it's so close, she's shaking apart violently in his arms, his name a sermon on her lips.

"Moon Gang-tae, Moon Gang-tae ah, Moon Gang--"

The world begins to fade around him, the rain evaporates, the motorcycle gone in a puff of smoke, he clings to her his heart racing but it's futile as she too fades to nothing.

He tries to hold on to the apparition but it's gone in a flash.

His vision blurs as he blinks awake, disoriented as he takes in his new location, before his breath is snatched from his lungs, a new heat curls around him, obliterating his dream which pales in comparison to reality. The reality of those dark eyes pinning him down as she slides down his length and strips him apart.

All he can do is hold on for the ride.

Maybe this is why they say be careful what you ask for.

#its okay to not be okay fic #its okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #ko mun yeong #moon gang tae #rain smut #MY gets rawed everywhere #I have no apologies #I am who I am

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justmeandmyinnermostthoughts · 4 years ago

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Nightmares In The Woods ~The Witcher

Hello my chickadees. Here it is. The meeting between the Witcher, the Bard, and the mysterious Mage. She’s been in my other Witcher fics but this is how they meet. Hope you all like it. (If I misspelled Jaskier’s name anywhere please let me know. I keep spelling it wrong.) Sorry for being gone so long!

Word count: 7106 (I can’t believe it)

Warnings: language, sick children, worried parents, violence (if I missed any that should be tagged please let me know.)

If you want to be added to a tag list please let me know! And requests are still open. {Credit to the creature of this image, I love it and it gave me a lot of inspiration. If anyone knows who the artist is please let me know.)

“Geralt?” Jaskier speaks quietly beside the Witcher. “Something is off here.” He sounds worried, gripping the strap of his lute case tightly.

Geralt hums in agreement, looking around the town as they walk down the main road. The town seems almost empty and far too quiet. The people seem to move with quick steps and furtive glances. There is something wrong here. Geralt sees it the same time Jaskier does.

“Geralt, where are the children?” Jaskier asks in a whisper. He looks around him, searching for children playing or running around but he sees none.

Geralt remains quiet as they step up to the tavern. He ties Roach’s reins to the post outside and leads Jaskier inside. Even the interior of the tavern seems emptier than it should be. The few people inside seem to have a haunted look in their eyes as they nurse their drinks. Geralt and Jaskier make their way to the bar, taking places to the left of its only occupant.

The innkeeper steps up in front of them, tossing one end of the cloth he’s holding over his shoulder so it hangs there. He rests his hands on the counter as he looks the two men over. His eyes seem tired and the quiet way he speaks confirms the emotion. Too tired to show the usual distrust of Witchers. “What can I get you, Witcher?” His eyes glance from Geralt’s medallion up to his golden eyes.

Geralt rests his arms on the counter. “Information. What’s going on here?”

“And where are the children? Surely a town this size should have a few dozen running around?” Jaskier speaks up and Geralt shoots him a glare. Jaskier shrugs and his expression says what did I do? Geralt looks back at the innkeep.

The man sighs and places two mugs on the counter. “Aye, thirteen or so. But they are being kept indoors for the time being. Not safe for them outside.”

“Or inside it seems.” The man at the bar grumbles. Geralt and Jaskier turn to look at him. He has deep, dark bags under his red rimmed eyes and the look of a man who hasn’t slept well in days.

Geralt turns back to the innkeep when it’s clear the other man doesn’t intend to say more. “Why isn’t it safe?”

The innkeep pours some ale into the mugs. “They are being hunted by a monster. Started a few weeks ago. A child began to get tired more often than she should.” He glances at the man at the bar. “Then she fell asleep and couldn’t be woken. She slept for days before her fever started and another child fell asleep. And then the nightmares began.”

“Nightmares?” Jaskier asks hesitantly. He pulls a mug towards him but doesn’t drink, just has a need to hold something solid.

The innkeep nods. “The other children began to complain of nightmares. Waking up screaming and crying in fear. Describing dreams of being hunted by a terrible creature. And one by one more children just didn’t wake up.” The man stares down at the counter, his eyes far away. He takes a breath and looks back up at the two men. “And then the Mage arrived.”

Geralt’s eyebrows pull together slightly. “The Mage?”

The innkeep nods. “Aye. She rode into town a week ago. Strange woman, wears a mask and a sword but speaks like a noble woman. She’s been treating the children, helping to keep the nightmares away and keeping the sleeping ones alive. She’s been putting wards around the town since she arrived. Think she's trying to catch the beast.”

“What’s her name?” Geralt asks, his curiosity triggered.

The innkeep shrugs. “Don’t know. We’ve taken to calling her Lady Mage."

Geralt hums. "And where can we find this Lady Mage?"

The man beside them speaks up, his voice tight with emotion. "Caring for Carter."

The innkeep stiffens and looks at the man in shock. "Oh, Resh, no. Not him too." The man sounds pained.

Resh sniffles, eyes a bit watery. "Wouldn't wake up this mornin'. Seemed okay last night but-" He cuts himself off and swallows thickly before taking a drink of his ale. "The Lady's been seein to him since this morning."

The innkeeper steps over to his friend and refills his tankard. "And Rilla? How's she doing?" The question is quiet.

Resh swallows again. "Still asleep. Lady says her fevers' gone down but I don't think that's a good thing." He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, pulling in a shuddering breath. "She's getting weaker, Cam."

The innkeep, Cam, reaches out and grips his friend’s arm. “Well the Witcher is here now. I’m sure him and the Lady can find the monster that’s doin’ this.”

“Nightmare.” Resh drags in another breath and lowers his hand. Cam is looking at him confused so he continues. “Lady Mage called the beast a Nightmare. This mornin’ when she was talking to Jack. Think she had a way to trap it.”

Cam pats his arm. “Then that’s good news ain’t it?”

The door swings open before Resh can respond and Geralt and Jaskier turn to look. A woman dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and pants, cloak pulled back over one shoulder, steps inside. The soft brown of her knee-high leather boots accent the shades of red that make up the rest of her clothing. A sword wrapped in a dark scabbard hangs from her left hip, strapped to a dark belt alongside a small dagger and various pouches. Her sleeves are pushed up past the elbows, hands clad in leather gloves. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face and tied back behind her head, giving a clear view of the smooth porcelain mask covering her face. The mask seems flush with her skin, running along her jawline and up to her hairline. Red lips and dark eyebrows have been painted on the white surface along what appears to be faint cracks at first glance. On closer inspection the cracks appear to be faint runes to the knowing eye. The only part of her face that can be seen are her pale green eyes that sweep the room upon her entrance. Her eyes scan over Jaskier and Geralt, noting them and moving on, before they come to rest on Resh. “Goodman Resh.” She calls, voice clear and strong.

Resh turns at his name, leaping up from his seat at the sight of her. He rushes to her with quick steps. “Lady Mage! Is something wrong? My children, are they-”

She holds up her hands, stalling the man. “Your children are the same, Resh. I have someone keeping an eye on them. That’s not why I’m here. You are the towns blacksmith, correct?” Her hands lower to her sides as she speaks.

Resh bobs his head. “Yes ma’am. That’d be me.”

She nods. “Good. Come quickly then, there is equipment I need.” She turns and steps towards the door.

Resh reaches out and grabs her elbow, releasing her nearly immediately as she begins to turn back to him. “Lady Mage, a Witcher has arrived. Perhaps he can aid you in hunting the beast?” He points at Geralt as the Mage faces him.

She looks back at the bar, making eye contact with Geralt and pauses a moment before turning away. “No. He cannot. I’ve already created the groundwork for my spells. I don’t have time to change them now.” She turns away. “The Witcher may have his chance tomorrow if I fail tonight. Come Resh, time is of the essence.” With quick steps she sweeps out the front door. Resh glances back at Geralt before hurrying after her.

Jaskier slowly pulls his eyes away from the door to look at Geralt. “You think she didn’t want your help because it would actually mess with her spells or because she doesn’t like Witchers?”

Geralt gives a noncommittal grunt, eyes still on the closing door. “Nightmares are tricky. It’s probably the magic.” He turns back to the bar.

Geralt follows the small path into the trees with quiet steps, Jaskier following along behind. He had tried to leave the Bard at the inn but the man insisted on coming along, much to Geralt’s irritation. The path narrows the farther into the trees they travel. The light dwindles as the sun begins to set.

A voice breaks through the quiet as the two men reach the edge of a clearing. “Do not step into the clearing Witcher, you will damage my spellwork.” Geralt and Jaskier stop at the edge of the trees. The Mage sits with her back to them in the center of the cleared ground, sword resting across her lap. “Why are you here?”

Geralt turns his gaze downwards and is able to make out a faint line of disturbance running around the perimeter of the clearing. He turns his gaze back to the Mage. “To offer assistance with the Nightmare.”

“And the Bard?”

Geralt turns an unamused expression to Jaskier who shrugs with no regrets and grins. “He has a problem with doing what he’s told. He refused to stay behind.”

“If I did I would never get the whole story.” Jaskier shrugs. “And Geralt won’t tell me what a Nightmare looks like. So I’ll see for myself.”

The Mage doesn’t shift from her meditative position. “Thank you for the offer. If you had arrived earlier I would have accepted it, but the spells are set and can’t be changed now. If you wish, you may stay in case I fail and give yourself a chance to fight it tonight but you cannot help me. Stay out of the circle, do not draw attention to yourselves, and stay off the forest floor. That is how you can help me now.” Geralt hums and scans the trees, looking for one suited to hold his, and Jaskier’s, weight. “And Witcher,” Geralt turns his eyes back to her. Her head turns just enough to look over her shoulder. “Don’t let the Bard fall.” She resumes her meditation.

Geralt grunts and turns back to the trees. He picks one and begins to climb, pulling Jaskier up into the tree behind him. They settle in to wait.

As the sun’s light continues to dim a faint glow begins to illuminate the edges of the circle. As the darkness continues to deepen the glow brightens, giving a clear view of the clearing but leaving the surrounding trees in shadows. The Mage waits within the circle, unmoving. Time passes and the sun sets completely, the last of its natural light blinking out and still the Mage sits unmoving.

After more time passes Jaskier shifts slightly on his branch to lean closer to Geralt. He opens his mouth to whisper a question but Geralt shoots him a glare and firmly shakes his head. Jaskier pauses and then shuts his mouth, leaning away once again.

After a few moments more Geralt's eyebrows draw together and he turns his head, attempting to catch the faint sound he heard again. Jaskier raises an eyebrow and Geralt points to his ear, telling the bard to be quiet and listen. They both strain their ears, listening to the faint sounds of the forest. Geralt's heightened senses allow him to pick out the soft sound even as the quiet backdrop of a sleeping forest fades away. Footsteps, coming closer with each heartbeat. The wind shifts and Geralt is silently thankful for his strong sense of smell as he shifts on the branch, quickly covering the Bard's mouth moments before the smell reaches Jaskier. Jaskier blinks in confusion before his eyes go wide, his heart beginning to race and his fight or flight instincts kick into high gear.

Fear is what the wind brought with it, thick and foul and frightening. It causes the heart to race and the mind to cloud over with the need to run, to get away from the heavy feeling of every terror the soul has ever experienced brought forth at once and multiplied over and over until breath comes short and shallow in the lungs and the heart constricts with the icy grip of dread.

The Witcher tightens his grip on the Bard's face in an effort to discourage the whimpers of fear trying to claw their way out of Jaskier's throat. He urges the Bard to look at him, makes the man focus on his golden eyes instead of the creature making its way slowly through the trees. Breathe slowly. Calm down. The Witcher mouths to the Bard, waiting until Jaskier gives him a shaky nod before he glances back at the clearing.

The Mage remains in the middle of her magic circle, unphased.

Geralt turns his attention back to Jaskier and his own breathing. Jaskier looks back at him, eyes less wild and breathing less erratic but still shaky, Geralt can feel the warm air pass over the back of his fingers. Geralt shifts in the tree, bringing his lips to Jaskier's ear. "Don't make a noise. Don't draw it's attention. Be still and keep breathing." He breathes into Jaskier's ear. The Bard dips his chin in acknowledgement.

The footsteps stop, leaving complete and utter silence in their absence. Geralt turns his head to face the clearing, shoulder still pressed against Jaskier and his hand clasped tightly over the Bard's mouth.

A black, hooved foot emerges from the dark trees, gently setting down on the inside of the circle. As the hoof, far larger than that of a normal deer, makes contact with the ground the grass begins to wilt and decay around it, spreading out in a wave. Another hoof follows the first and the creature begins to emerge from the trees. Slender legs give way to a thick chest and the slim neck of a deer. Large antlers spread out wide, twisting cruelly around each other, over the thick skull of the creature. Half the flesh on one side of its jaw has been ripped away leaving pieces of muscles hanging down and exposing the ghastly white jaw bones, a stark contrast to the ebony darkness of the creature. As the creature steps fully into the clearing the grass continues to decay around its feet in ever widening circles. Geralt notes decay stops at the edge of the magic circle, unable to pass beyond the boundary. The glowing light reveals horrible wounds scattered across the skin of the beast. Tares in the flesh show dark red muscle and white bones underneath. Flaps of skin hang from its hide and the creature appears to be in a constant state of decay. Dark fluid oozes from the wounds and drips to the ground, killing whatever it falls upon.

Jaskier feels his heart clench in fear and his breath dies in his lungs as his gaze is drawn to the red hateful eyes of the creature. He takes hold of Geralt's arm and clings tightly to the Witcher. Geralt squeezes the Bard's jaw and moves his head minutely to the side. This small movement is enough to allow Jaskier to wrench his eyes away from the seething gaze. He focuses them instead on the Mage.

She still sits perfectly still in the center of her circle, seemingly unphased by the monster in front of her.

The creature scans the tree line meticulously, head turning slowly as it sweeps its eyes across the trees as if searching for something. Geralt holds his breath as the creature looks their way, his fingers squeezing a warning against Jaskier's jaw. The Bard freezes, not daring to risk movement of any kind. The creature moves its gaze past them and the two men feel safe to breathe once again.

Satisfied that there is no one lurking in the shadows the creature turns its gaze to the woman sitting in the middle of the clearing. As it begins to approach her its form starts to twist and shudder, the muscles and bones moving unnaturally beneath the skin. The deer-like facade fades away as the hind legs shorten and the front ones begin to lengthen. The front hooves start to change, dark fur creeping down to cover them as they flatten, splitting and stretching into grotesque hands with spindly, twisted fingers ending in wickedly sharp claws. Its shoulders shift as its ribcage lengthens, growing taller, a hump forming between the shoulders. The bones and muscles grow more distinct under the skin, as if the skin is tightening, shrinking down tight on the body. The ridges in the spine grow more defined. The skin on its face begins to peel back, revealing a bleached white skull underneath. The skin continues to crawl backwards, stopping just past the antlers and the jaw line. Ripples along the fur continue where the skin stopped, thick dark fur begins to sprout forming a thick, matted mane that covers the neck to the shoulders, splitting to flow up over its back and down its chest. Its ears lengthen, becoming sharply pointed. Its antlers grow larger, jagged edges and ridges forming along them. Its mouth opens in a disturbing grin revealing sharp, curved fangs and the unforgiving teeth of a carnivore. Its red eyes glow darkly from within the black eye sockets, full of hunger and hatred.

The Nightmare stands before the Mage, a low growl beginning in its throat as she continues to ignore its existence. It crouches and springs at her.

The Mage throws herself out of the way in a sudden burst of speed, drawing her sword from its sheath and tossing the cover away, her movements nearly too quick to follow. With a quick skidding roll she's on her feet, weapon at the ready. The creature spins and throws itself at her again. And so the fight begins.

The Nightmare jumps and lunges, swiping with its claws and antlers and teeth. It tries to take pieces out of the Mage at every turn but she remains ever just out of reach.

She dances around the creature, taking slices out of its hide with each slash of her silvered blade. Her footsteps are quick and light. Her movements blurring together. They spin away from each other once more, a fresh lash clear in the creature's skin.

They face one another across the clearing. Clouds of steam rise from the Nightmare's nostrils, its breath billowing in and out of its lungs. The Mage flicks black icour from her blade and waits. The Nightmare's eyes flash with anger and it rips at the ground. It bellows, the sound shaking the trees. The Nightmare charges and the Mage spins away. It whips around and charges again, lashing out with its horns. The Mage moves to parry the blow but her foot catches in the torn dirt and she stumbles. The Nightmare catches her sword in its antlers and rips it from her grasp, flinging it away. It whips its head around again and catches the woman across the chest and face with the twisted structures, flinging her to the ground and tearing the porcelain mask from her face. It flies across the clearing, changing and shrinking back into a simple white mask meant to cover the eyes. It lands near the base of the tree, empty eyes seeming to stare up at the two men.

The Mage rises to her hands and knees. The beast paws at the ground, puffs of hot air leaving its nostrils as it squares up to the Mage.

The Mage raises her eyes and meets the red gaze of the Nightmare. She’s unable to move, unable to blink as she faces the Nightmare. It holds her locked in place. Without her protective wards she’s fallen under its spell.

Jaskier clutches Geralt’s arm as the two men watch the scene below. Geralt sees the fear take hold of the Mage. Her eyes widen, a stiffness taking over her limbs. His eyes flicker between the beast and the Mage. Geralt tenses, ready to jump in and lend his aid, spellwork be damned.

The Nightmare snorts and shakes its head. It paws at the ground again before lowering its head so the wickedly twisted, serrated antlers are in line to skewer the Mage. It charges with a feral roar, Geralt begins to react but is frozen in his movement. A shout echoes around the clearing. It had ripped its way out of Jaskier’s throat involuntarily. The sound of the unformed words of fear and concern is enough. It shatters the Nightmare’s hold on the Mage and her mind clears. She throws herself out of the path of the raging Nightmare. Her fingers wrap around the hilt of her sword and courage warms her heart as her protective wards once again take effect.

The Nightmare roars in rage as it rushes past her, skidding to a stop and spinning to face her again.

The Mage turns, hair flying around her and she readies herself. When she turns she reveals her face to the two men for the first time. Her eyes are bright and a determined grin is set upon her face.

Geralt feels a deep pang of surprise and recognition as his eyes flicker over the Mage’s features. He knows her. She’s gone by many names, many faces, but her eyes and that grin never changes. The last time he saw her she was disappearing into a palace garden late at night. That was well over five years ago. He thought she was dead. But he shouldn’t be surprised. She always seems to appear when he’s least expecting it. And here she is, fighting a Nightmare. She is a woman of many mysteries.

She readies herself, set against the oncoming charge. The Nightmare thunders forward, antlers poised to run her through. The Mage holds her position until the last moment, throwing herself to the side and whipping her sword up and to the side, embedding itself deep into the side of the Nightmare.

The creature screams, the sound harsh and painful in the ears, and thrashes away from the Mage, taking her sword with it. It tries to escape the weapon but it’s too late, the magic is already taking effect. The Nightmare runs into the barrier at the clearings edge and releases another agonizing scream, high and earsplitting. It falls upon its side and begins to convulse, a faint light beginning to shine around where the sword pieces the Nightmare’s side.

The Mage holds out her hand and speaks a word so old and forgotten Geralt can feel the ancient weight of it in his mind. The sword pulls itself from the beast and returns to the Mage’s hand.

Bright white light shines from the injury. The light begins to brighten until it’s near blinding. The creature’s screams cut off suddenly, leaving a ringing in the ears. A shock wave spreads out from the creature, causing a visible wave of disturbance, as the creature seems to burst into multicolored mists, dark and light colors swirling around each other in agitation.

The Mage raises a hand and begins to chant. As she speaks the incantation the small crystals making up the boundary of the clearing begin to pulse and rise into the air. The barrier begins to close in on the swirling mists, passing harmlessly through the Mage as she continues to chant. As the barrier closes in on the mists, the white cloud separates itself from the dark cloud and passes freely through the barrier. The dark cloud tries to escape the barrier but is unable to, bouncing itself off the edges over and over. It presses itself against the barrier and then swirls around in agitation as the barrier gets smaller and smaller. The barrier condenses the dark mist into the smallest sphere it can and then begins to glow and flash. The barrier begins to crystalize, solidifying into a magical crystalline container. With one last flash it falls into the Mage’s waiting hand.

The forest is suddenly quiet and dark. The only light left to light up the clearing is the faintly glowing white mist as it swirls around itself. The glowing mist swirls around in the center of the clearing, glowing brighter and brighter until it’s near impossible to look at. The light fades leaving a pale, softly glowing doe standing in the center of the clearing.

The Mage holds out her hand and the doe approaches her, ears and tail flicking.

Geralt gives Jaskier a small shake to snap him out of his shock before the Witcher begins to make his way down the tree. He reaches the bottom and gives the Bard a hand down. He takes the Bard gently by the shoulders and faces Jaskier towards the Mage and the creature. He mumbles quietly to the Bard. “Approach slowly and keep your voice down. Be respectful and wait to touch it until it gives its approval. Forest spirits are ancient and rare, do not scare it.” Jaskier swallows and nods, only moving forward when Geralt gives him a slight push against his shoulders.

As Jaskier slowly approaches the Mage, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, Geralt steps over to the fallen mask and picks it up. He turns it over in his hands, running fingers over the inside, feeling the ancient symbols carved into the strange material. Not quite porcelain, not quite glass or metal but somewhere in between them all. It’s a very old enchanted item. He shouldn’t be surprised she has it. He flips it back over and looks at the smooth white surface, noting the faint symbols on the front, well hidden but present. Spells for courage and protection, speed and strength. All things needed to fight a Nightmare. At least she was prepared. He’d bet there were similar spells on her sword as well.

Geralt turns in time to see the forest spirit nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand. He hears the faint laugh of the Bard as he approaches the group.

“So what happened?” The Bard asks, running fingers over the softly glowing fur on the spirits neck. “With the Nightmare? And how did you turn it into a forest spirit?”

“I didn’t turn it into a forest spirit. I released it from the Nightmare.” Jaskier looks confused so the Mage continues. “Nightmares are creatures that have been taken over by a negative spirit. For nature spirits like this one it can happen after something traumatic happens in its domain. The villagers accidently cut down an ancient tree. It was important to the spirit. I defeated the negative spirit and trapped it in this. “She shows the dark crystal in her hand before stowing it in a belt pouch. “It can’t harm anyone anymore.”

“Oh. Good.” The Bard looks back at the spirit, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You’re going to be just fine.” He mumbles quietly to the spirit who nudges his cheek as if to agree.

The spirit turns to Geralt as he joins the group, stepping forward and nudging its snout against his chest. He slowly raises a hand and is allowed to pet the spirit. He holds out the mask to the Mage. “You dropped this.” She takes it from him with a nod and ties it next to her sheathed sword. “What name are you going by these days?”

The Mage studies the Witcher for a moment. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you recognized me, Geralt.” The way his name falls from her lips stirs up a strange feeling within Geralt, it always does.

Jaskier can feel the strange magic in the word and glances between them. He rolls his eyes and puts a hand on his hip. “Of course you know her. Do you just know every pretty mage we come across?”

Geralt just glances at Jaskier before focusing on the Mage again. “No.”

The Mage chuckles, lips curled up at the edges. “The Witcher and I go back a long time. I think I may be his oldest friend.” She tilts her head at him, eyes twinkling in amusement. They look at each other, the weight of history passing all around them.

Jaskier faines being hurt. “And here I thought I was his only friend.” The spirit nudges him in the chest, and the Bard chuckles stroking its neck again. “I know. So rude of him not to tell me he has more friends.”

The Mage smiles watching the Bard. She turns the smile on Geralt. “I like this one.” Geralt says nothing but the Mage can see something hidden behind his yellow eyes. “Y/N. Y/N of Wraith is what I’m currently going by these days. Or Lady Mage as the villagers have taken to calling me.” Geralt chuckles and Y/N shoots him a glare, no real malice behind it.

“Feeling nostalgic?” The Witcher asks. The Mage just shrugs.

The spirit turns its head to the Mage. It takes a step forward, tail flicking, and looks at her with its large doe eyes. The Mage raises both hands and the spirit rests its head in her cupped hands. The Mage strokes the side of the spirit’s face with her thumbs. The two look at each other, unspoken words and feelings hanging in the air. The Mage presses her forehead against the spirit’s, closing her eyes.

“I know you’ve been hurt. It was not done on purpose. It was done out of ignorance and I will ensure it will be mended. But there are children dying. They need your help. I can only do so much.” The Mage speaks the quiet words, heavy with unspun magic.

The spirit lets out a loud breath. A feeling of peace and hope envelops the three people, settling into their spirits and they know things will turn out fine.

Silent tears slide down Jaskier’s cheeks and rim Geralt’s eyes. The Mage opens her eyes and two tears, shining in the glow of the spirit, fall and land upon the Spirit’s snout, quickly disappearing.

The Spirit opens its opalescent eyes and blinks at the Mage. It then gently steps away from the trio, not making a sound as it moves to the edge of the clearing and stops, waiting.

The Mage looks between Geralt and Jaskier. “Return to the village. Tell Cam the Nightmare has been dealt with.”

Geralt nods and begins to step away.

“What about you?” The Bard asks, unmoving.

“I still have things to do tonight. I’ll be back in the morning. Go on.”

Geralt puts a hand on the Bard’s shoulder and pulls him away. Jaskier glances over his shoulder as they leave the clearing to see the Mage disappearing into the trees with the Spirit.

“Where is she going?” Jaskier asks, following the Witcher.

“To do damage control probably.” Comes the quiet reply.

“How is she going to fix a tree?”

Geralt just shrugs and leads the way back to the village.

~ ~ ~

It’s passed midnight by the time Geralt and Jaskier return to the inn. Many worried fathers are sitting around nursing tankards. What little conversation there was dies as the Witcher steps into the room.

“Which one is Cam again?” Geralt mutters to Jaskier.

“The man behind the bar. Honestly, what would you do without me?” Jaskier shakes his head and pats Geralt on the shoulder. They make their way to the bar.

As they take seats Cam, the innkeep, steps up to them with quick feet. He reaches under the bar and retrieves Jaskier’s lute and returns it to the grateful Bard. Geralt had made him leave it behind.

“Any news Witcher?” Cam asks, trying to hide his hope and concern.

“Lady Mage took care of the Nightmare. No more children should fall ill. The ones that are should begin to recover soon.” Geralt speaks loud enough for everyone in the quiet room to hear.

Sighs of relief and words of hope spread through the room. Cam leans against the bar and lowers his head. “Thank the gods.” He breathes. He straightens and calls to a few men in the room. “Go home and tell your wives. Come back here if there is any change in your children. Jack!” He calls the name over his shoulder. The men stand and move to the door.

A young man, obviously related to the innkeep steps out of a back room. “Yes?”

“Run out to Resh’s. Tell him the news and stay with him tonight. If there is any change in Carter or Rilla you run back here and tell me right away. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” Jack moves quickly to the door and outside.

Cam takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He faces the two men. “Now. What can I get you? It’s on the house.” Cam asks, his spirit lighter and standing straighter than he has in days.

~ ~ ~

It’s well past mid-morning and getting onto noon before the Mage returns to the inn. A group of people had gathered in the inn, most childless and unmarried. They sit wrapped up in the story Jaskier is telling about the night before.

The door opening goes unnoticed by most as the Bard describes the Nightmare. “.... large talons and a wicked beak. And its feathers looked like they were rotting and flaking away.”

The Mage steps up to the bar and takes the seat by Geralt, one of the two to notice her quiet entrance. “So you saw something birdlike? Interesting.”

Jaskier’s head snaps around in surprise. “You’re back!”

There’s a sudden clamor of chairs moving and excited voices asking questions as the people move closer to the Mage.

She raises her hand and the room falls quiet. She turns to look at Cam who had stepped up to her on the other side of the bar, the other person to notice her entrance. He sets a steaming mug in front of her. “Has there been a change in any of the children?”

He shakes his head. “Not much. Their fevers are gone and they seem to be sleeping peacefully now but beyond that, no.”

She nods and takes the mug. “Thank you.” She looks over at Jaskier. “Please continue. I’m sure you can tell the story better than I can.”

Jaskier waves his hand. “In a moment. Did you not see something birdlike?” He leans towards her, highly interested in her view of events.

She shakes her head. “Nightmares are strange things. No one sees the same thing when faced with one. I saw a twisted version of the forest spirit. Horribly deformed and mutated deer with a tangled mass of antlers. Its face was bone and had large fangs. The skin seemed to be rotting off as it moved.” She gestures at the bard. “You saw something birdlike, probably twisted and deformed right?” He nods, eyes wide. The Mage turns to the Witcher and he lowers his tankard to look at her. “And you Witcher? What did you see?” She takes a drink from her steaming mug, smug at putting him on the spot.

Geralt lets out a quiet sigh, giving her a glare. “It was wolflike.” He grumbles, taking another drink.

The Mage pulls her eyes away from the Witcher, a faint smile on her lips, and turns back to the Bard. “See? Now please, continue.”

Jaskier does hesitantly but steps back into the story with ease.

Geralt looks at Y/N, leaning on the bar. She turns to look at him, noting his faint smile and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Geralt just looks at her, his smirk growing and an eyebrow raising.

The Mage rolls her eyes and looks away. “I planted a new tree and placed protective magic around it.” Geralt just continues to look at her. She glances at him, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “Yes, there’s more, I’m not done yet but the rest will come after the children recover.”

Geralt chuckles and raises his tankard, shaking his head a bit.

“But the children will recover?” Cam asks from behind them. The Witcher and the Mage turn to look at the innkeep. Cam holds out a pitcher and Geralt allows him to refill the tankard. Cam looks at the Mage, hope and concern fighting over each other behind his eyes.

“Yes, they will recover.” She sets her mug on the bar.

“All of them?”

Y/N gives Cam a gentle smile. “Yes, all of them. It will take time for some of them to recover but they will. And I already checked on Rilla. She is stable and sleeping peacefully now. She’ll be alright.”

Cam’s shoulders sag and he lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Lady.” She smiles and nods. Cam moves down the bar to refill more drinks.

Geralt and Y/N turn back to Jaskier, listening to the Bard and exchanging quiet words between themselves.

An hour or so passes before the inn door is thrown open. Jack, the innkeeper's son, stands in the doorway breathing heavily from the run. He finds the Mage at the bar. “Lady Mage! It’s Carter. He’s woken up!”

The Mage leaves the mug on the bar and stands. “Back to work.” She says quietly to Geralt whose lips quirk up in a tiny smile. The Mage makes her way to the door, putting her mask back on as she does. It molds itself to her face and changes, pulling down at the corners. “Let’s go.” She moves past Jack and out the door. He follows behind her.

~ ~ ~

The next few days pass in that way. The Mage checking in on each sleeping child, monitoring their progress. Each time one wakes up she would tend to them, instructing the parents and the child on what to do for the next few days. Heavy broths with proteins and limited exercise until they recovered.

Jaskier insisted he and the Witcher stay until all the children wake up, with the excuse he wants the end to the story. Geralt grumbles but agrees, not mentioning that he was planning on staying anyways.

Each child that wakes tells of the nightmares that suddenly went away and the beautiful glowing golden deer that suddenly appeared and chased away the nightmares. And before they would wake up the deer would lead them through the woods to a tree. Each child described the tree a bit different but each one said they knew it was special and very important. It was to be protected. Each child described the glowing doe coxing them to place a hand on the trunk and a strong feeling of peace folding over them before they woke up.

Within a week every child who had fallen asleep woke up. All except the first. Rilla sleeps on, unchanging for two days longer than all the others.

The Bard, Witcher, and Mage are sitting by the fire at the inn, laughing and exchanging stories when the door flies open once again. The noise within dies out and everyone turns to the door.

“Lady Mage, it’s Rilla-” Jack’s hurried words are cut off by the echo of her chair clattering on the stone floor and the Mage sweeping past him.

He turns and is called back by his father. “She’s waking up.” He answers before hurrying out into the night.

~ ~ ~

Word spreads through the village by the following day. Little Rilla woke up. She’s weak but will recover. No one is more relieved than her father Resh.

Geralt and Jaskier remain one more night before moving on. The Witcher wanted to make sure nothing else was threatening the village.

They prepare to leave in the morning. Jaskier is prattling on about something and Geralt is ignoring him as he makes the final adjustments to Roach’s saddle when someone calls out to him.

“And where do you think you’re going Witcher?”

Geralt slips past Roach to see Y/N leading two saddled horses towards them. “Moving on.” He answers shortly.

The Mage grins. “Well how convenient, so am I.” She hands the reins of the extra horse to Jaskier. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow and she shrugs. “There’s no reason for you to walk while the Witcher and I ride.” She swings up into the saddle of her horse.

“No. You’re not going with. I already have one annoyance to deal with, I don’t need another.” Geralt protests, glaring up at her in annoyance.

Y/N settles into her saddle and looks down at the White Wolf before taking a breath and squinting at the sky. “I go where I am needed, Geralt of Rivia. I travel with the wind and the seasons. Most of the time I don’t know where I’m going but I always know when I get there and what I’m needed for. And when I’m no longer needed I move on. This town doesn’t need me anymore.” She looks down into his golden eyes and her voice softens. She leans down, hands on the saddle horn. “But you, my dear Witcher, you are who needs me most right now.” She breaks eye contact, straightening up and hiding the small smile trying to make itself known on her lips. Her voice strengthens once more. “So, by your side I will remain until you no longer need me or I am called away again.” She looks down at him smugly, grinning. “And you can’t do anything about it. And that irritates you like nothing else.”

Geralt glares up at her before growling and muttering a quiet “fuck.” He mounts up on Roach and turns the horse down the road, not looking back at the Bard and Mage.

“Well,” Jaskier says from his place atop the horse, amusement in his voice. “That’s settled then. Welcome to the party.” He grins brightly at the Mage as they nudge their horses to follow Roach.

“Thank you.” She returns the grin.

A few beats pass before Jaskier speaks up again. “I hope you didn’t feel obligated to get me a horse just because you and Geralt have one. I’m perfectly happy to walk.” The Mage raises an eyebrow at him, not fully believing that and the Bard shrugs.

“I got her over a month ago in a different town I passed through. I had a strong feeling that I would need her, so I bought her. Didn’t know why at the time but it makes sense now.”

“Ah, I see. And how does that work exactly? The knowing when you are needed somewhere and knowing you’ll need something, like the horse?”

“Magic.” She grins, not elaborating more.

“...Right. Okay then.” Jaskier falls silent once more. The silence is not long lasting, however, as he strikes up another conversation with the Mage. Much to Geralt’s irritation.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher

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