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ro-is-struggling · 7 months ago

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The Princess and The Wolf || PART 3 || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: Geralt returns to see his princess once again. Only this time he is not alone and after a year without communication he does not know if he will still be welcome.

Warnings: slow burn, grumpy x sunshine (or more like grumpy x disney princess lol), miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, me trying to write domestic stuff, mentions of past trauma (for both Ciri and the protagonist/reader), Geralt Ciri and reader being a family, canon typical violence, my attempt at creating an original monster, some very long dialogues (sorry! I hallucinated half of the story and I couldn’t leave any part out apparently), FEM READER (the protagonist is referred to as woman/she-her/princess/sunshine)

Let me know if I missed anything! (I definitely did, I've been writing this part for so long there's probably a lot of stuff I forgot lol so just lmk)

English is not my first language

Word count: 21.800 (I'm not even sorry)

Notes: I’m sorry it took me so long to post this! I promise you I’ve been working on it since the moment I posted the last part but everytime I wrote a scene a new idea came to mind and I just had to add it so here we are. That moment with Ciri wasn’t in my original idea but I just had to include it cause that poor girl needs a hug! Besides, it was a nice way to explore a little bit more about the protagonist background

I have a few ideas for the next part but please send me yours! (SEE THE END OF THE POST FOR MORE)

PART 1 || PART 2

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The cat was the first to sense his presence. Even before he knocked on the door or the sound of the horse's footsteps echoed through the hut, the cat was already meowing and pacing back and forth, going from the door to the window and back to the door. He always did that when he felt Geralt was near. He was possibly the only cat on the continent that didn't hiss and hide in the presence of a witcher, quite the opposite in fact. The feline knew he was good and trustworthy because she trusted him, so he ignored all his instincts and gave Geralt a chance. They became friends almost immediately —even though the witcher used to pretend otherwise. The cat loved Geralt as much as his owner, and had missed him almost more than she had.

More than a year had passed. A year without news of him, without a visit or a letter to let her know he was well. A year of uncertainty in which the mind of the poor princess had done nothing but think about what might have happened to him. On good days, she accepted with a broken heart that he was not going to visit her again after the disaster that turned out to be their travel together. It pained her to think that she had missed her chance with him. She felt alone and lost, but that was better than thinking that his absence was because something really bad had happened to him. Dark were the days when she woke up wrapped in sweat, with images of Geralt bloodied fixed in her mind. She had lost count of how many nightmares she had had about it, how many different monsters had been responsible for ending his life and taking away the man who made her happy and gave her purpose. So when that was the alternative, convincing herself that he had simply stopped loving her was more bearable to her poor tormented mind.

“It's not him, darling. He's not coming back here” she spoke to her cat, bending down to stroke his head. The feline meowed, as if to answer her, and jumped up onto the window sill. She let out a tired sigh and pulled back the curtains to open the latch to let the animal out.

It was then that she heard the murmurs and footsteps of a horse in the distance. The cat meowed once more and jumped out of the window, running into the darkness of the night. She followed him with her eyes, looking for him in the shadows to try to find out what it was that had him so agitated. In the distance, moving through the bushes and trees, she recognized the unique white hair of the man who had occupied almost all of her thoughts for the past year. She ran to the door, flinging it open and taking a few steps outside to ensure that her eyes were not deceiving her.

Geralt was there, not looking a day older than the last time she had seen him. She noticed that he didn't look hurt or in bad shape, so she couldn't help but wonder what was the reason for him showing up at her house after such a long time of complete silence. Though her questions were pushed aside when his eyes made contact with hers. All the pain, fear and uncertainty she had accumulated for almost two years dissolved the moment she felt his warm gaze rest on her figure. Her heart began to beat faster than it had in a long time, her stomach, full of butterflies, was twisting and turning because of her nerves.

She realized then that she had no idea how to react to his presence. What was she supposed to say to him? Was she supposed to pretend that she hadn't had the worst year of her life? Was it worth scolding him for his absence when he had finally decided to come back? Happiness and anger began to fight inside her with every step the witcher took towards her. Memories of them being happy were followed by images of the nights she had cried herself to sleep because of him, creating a conflicting narrative that did nothing but confuse her.

“Geralt...” She called his name when he was close enough to hear her. “What are you doing here?” The question sounded more accusatory than she expected, but she didn't have time to take it back —or double down on her complaints— because he stepped aside, revealing the figure of a young girl. It took the woman a moment to focus her gaze on the child since she was almost entirely hidden behind Geralt's broad shoulders. She had long blonde hair and pale skin, though her nose and cheeks were reddened by the cold wind of the approaching winter. In her hands she carried her cat, who purred happily at the gentle caresses she gave him.

The confusion about her own feelings was soon replaced by confusion about the girl and her relationship with Geralt. Her eyes traveled back and forth a couple of times, trying to piece together the reasons behind her presence and the explanation as to why Geralt was traveling with the girl. She couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, so it was hard to imagine that he had decided to travel with her of his own accord. Not after the things he had said to her on their journey together. She thought then that perhaps it was someone he had saved along the way, a young princess he had to rescue from the clutches of a monster or a poor girl who had gotten lost.

Whoever it was, Geralt didn't feel the need to tell her. “We need a safe place to stay.” Was the only explanation he provided her. She didn't insist either, ultimately she didn't need a reason to let him into her home. She stepped aside without a second thought, making room for them to enter and making sure to lock the door behind her back.

“You know, for someone that claims to not have friends you sure do have a lot.” She laughed and Geralt gave her a rather unamused look. “Who's this beautiful young lady?”

The girl looked up at Geralt, wide eyes looking up at him for his approval. The witcher nodded his head, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. She only picked up on it because she knew Geralt so well and was already used to that kind of reaction, which told her that the girl knew him very well too. It was as if they communicated without speaking, just a quick glance was enough and they knew exactly what the other was thinking. It was impressive and she hadn't seen anything like it before, especially not with Geralt. It only increased her curiosity even more.

“I'm Cirilla.” The girl introduced herself with a shy smile, lowering the cat from her arms.

It took her a few seconds to understand why that name seemed familiar. When reality hit her, wide eyes flew to Geralt with an expression of confusion and surprise mixed together. He had once told her about the feast Jaskier had dragged him to and the way the event had ended. The last time they had talked about his child of surprise he seemed to want nothing to do with that matter. When she had presented her concerns to him he had told her that he had assured the child's family that he would not claim her. And honestly she had thought it was for the best. With the way Geralt approached life she couldn't imagine him raising a child. That's why she didn't understand why he was now showing up at her house with her. What had made him change his mind?

She managed to compose herself quickly from her surprise, her eyes returning to Cirilla almost immediately so as not to make her feel uncomfortable. “That's a beautiful name, Cirilla!” She complimented her with a smile. “I'm sure you must be cold! I can run you a hot bath and then we can eat something. What do you say?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Cirilla's eyes lit up at the mention of the bath, desperate to feel the hot water against her cold skin. Since she had met Geralt her situation had improved considerably, but the cold outdoors was still something she was having trouble getting used to.

After leaving Cirilla alone in the bathroom with everything she needed to clean herself and restore her tired muscles, the young woman returned to the table where Geralt was sitting, ready to answer the thousands of questions he knew were swirling around in her head. Some of them —especially the ones about Ciri— were easy to answer, but others... he did not even want to think about it.

“I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with her.” she said, dropping into the chair across from him. “What made you change your mind?”

Geralt hesitated before answering. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her that the last few months he had spent running away from her had been the most miserable of his life. That every day he spent away from her was agony. That he woke up hearing her laughter in the wind, missing the warmth of her body, longing to smell the perfume of her hair. He believed it was best for both of them if he stayed away. They could never be together and persisting in that fantasy would only hurt them. He thought he could do it, that he could forget her if he spent enough time away from her charms. He knew it wouldn't be easy and that it would hurt, but he was convinced that it would be the best for both of them in the long run.

However, months passed and the emptiness in his chest only grew heavier with each passing day. Geralt couldn't close his eyes without seeing her smile. He couldn't sleep without dreaming of having her by his side. He couldn't see a deer in the forest or a rabbit hopping around without thinking of her, of how happy he would be in her company, of the way she would take the animal in her hands and make him stop to play with it. His days were gray and dull, cold even under the hottest summer. Without her —without the promise of feeling her hands on his body or the hope of hearing her sweet voice call his name one more time— life lost some of its luster.

He realized then that he could never forget her. She was the woman he loved, the only one who occupied his mind and heart, the only one who could make him seriously question his future as a witcher. She was his destiny, their paths had crossed for a reason that day in the forest. They were bound together by ties stronger than their own will, so there was no point in fighting against it. It was not worth running away from destiny if the only thing he gained was to deepen the emptiness that pressed on his chest. And she was his destiny, as well as Ciri was. He realized that if he wanted to stop feeling so miserable he had to stop fighting against what he could not change and face what destiny wanted from him.

But instead of admitting his feelings and being vulnerable in front of her, Geralt chose the easy answer: “Her kingdom was invaded. All her family was killed. I just couldn't leave her alone after that. She's in danger, she needs my protection.”

“So why bring her here?” She snapped back at him, sounding harsher than intended.

She wasn't upset with his presence, in fact she was glad to know that he still saw her home as a refuge where he was willing to bring Cirilla to make sure she was protected. All she wanted to know was why it had taken him so long to show up. Was he angry with her? Was their relationship broken beyond repair? Had he been preoccupied with his travels? Had he been avoiding her? Did he still love her? Those questions had been eating her up inside all these months. She thought she would never see Geralt again, so she had tried hard not to think about it. But he was there with her now and she needed those answers in order to ease her mind.

“I'm bringing her to Kaer Morhen with me, she'll be safe there. But she was getting tired and cold and since we were close I thought... We will leave in the morning if our stay causes any trouble for you.” Geralt assured her, trying not to cause a disturbance.

He should have figured that he couldn't just reappear in her life and wait for her to welcome him back with open arms. She had every right to throw him out if she wanted to, he had behaved like a complete bastard. But when he decided to seek refuge in her hut, Geralt wasn't thinking of him or her, but of Ciri. But now he understood that maybe he was asking too much of her. He was so used to using her home as a shelter that he didn't consider that the doors might be closed to him one day.

“I don't want you to leave. I want you to tell me why it took you so long to come back. I want you to tell me that there is a good reason for leaving me in the dark all this time, wondering what could have happened to you and if I was ever going to see your face again.”

“Sunshine, I...” Geralt tried to respond, but stopped in mid-sentence. He couldn't find the words to express how he felt, to explain to her how stupid he had been and how sorry he was for his mistake in a way that wouldn't make things worse. He didn't want to hurt her, even though he knew it was a little late for that.

She felt her heart squeeze at the mention of that nickname. She hadn't realized how much she had missed hearing his voice calling her by that name until that moment. It reminded her of the simpler, happier times they had shared, of long nights spent sleepless as they talked about life. It reminded her of how much she loved being called that by him and how her heart had skipped a beat the first time he had used it. She never knew what had prompted him to call her that in the first place —and she'd always been too embarrassed to ask—, but she was glad he had. It made her feel special, loved.

“Forget it.” she said as she noticed the internal conflict reflecting in Geralt's eyes. She didn't know what was making him so hesitant, but she began to think that maybe she didn't want to hear the answer to his question. Maybe it was better to live in ignorance after all. Maybe living on happy memories and moments that would never get back was better than living in harsh reality. All this time she had thought the uncertainty had been the worst, but seeing the doubt in the witcher's yellow eyes made her think that maybe the truth could be worse. She didn't know if she was ready to know that he didn't love her.

“Tell me about Cirilla. You said she is in danger, why?” She sought to change the subject, desperate to find a topic of conversation that would quell those thoughts.

“There's people after her, a black knight that has been following her since the fall of Cintra. She dreams about him every night.” Geralt explained, remembering the way the little girl tossed and turned in her sleep because of the nightmares.

“I can give her something to help with the nightmares so at least she can have one good night of sleep.”

“That's not all... she has magic.”

“Like her mother?” the woman asked curiously. She still remembered the details Geralt had told her about the feast that night where his and Cirilla's destiny had been linked. The magic that the young girl's mother had demonstrated was something she had never even heard of before in her life.

“I don't know what the extent of her power is, she doesn't talk much about it.”

“And you want me to do all the work for you, huh?” She guessed before Geralt could even hint at it. It was a long shot, but if anyone was going to be able to break through the barrier Ciri had created around her to protect herself, it was her. People always tended to open up to her, her sweet and charming nature sparked trust in even the most reclusive and distrustful person.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to. I just... she's scared, I understand that, but I can't protect her if she doesn't tell me the truth. I thought that perhaps you could get through to her better than I can. You have magic too, maybe she'll be more inclined to talk about it with someone that understands what she's going through.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She promised him, unable to refuse to help a frightened little girl who had lost everything.

The young woman couldn't help but notice the protective way in which Geralt spoke of Ciri. She wasn't sure how long they had known each other, but from the way he cared for her she would say quite a bit. The witcher's trust wasn't easy to gain —it had taken her a while even after saving his life—, but the girl seemed to have done it in record time. It was heartwarming to see the way they acted around each other. She always looked at him before answering some of the questions the young woman asked him during dinner, as if she needed Geralt's confirmation to reveal certain information about her. It was clear that they trusted each other, in a way reminiscent of a father and daughter. Which made Ciri's reluctance to open up to him even stranger.

It was strange to see Geralt in such a position. He always acted so tough, like a lone wolf who didn't need anyone's company. Seeing the way he cared for Ciri —how he urged her to take the sleeping potion she offered her, warning her how important it was for her to get a good night's sleep— was almost jarring. Even in her wildest fantasies she hadn't imagined Geralt being a father. Now that she saw it, though, she liked it. It suited him. She only wished he had given himself the chance to explore that side of him much sooner. She couldn't deny that it pained her to know that she had always been right, the two of them could have worked out if only he had let it happen.

After they had dined and chatted for a long time, she, like the good hostess she was, escorted Ciri to the extra room she had unoccupied, telling her that it would be her space for as long as she wished to stay there. “Any friend of Geralt is a friend of mine. You're welcome to stay for as long as you want.” She smiled sweetly, trying hard to show the girl that she could trust her. Ciri thanked her before she closed the door behind her, making sure she knew she appreciated her hospitality.

When she left the girl's room, she didn't find Geralt anywhere. She didn't worry too much about it, assuming he would be out with Roach or securing the perimeter of the property to make sure Ciri could get a peaceful night of uninterrupted sleep. She let him do his thing, opting to tidy up the house and get ready for bed. She waited for him in bed, one last candle burning as she read a book. She assumed he would come to sleep with her as they had always done. Now that Ciri was occupying the only free room, the other alternative was to sleep on the floor. But time passed, the night grew dark and cold, and Geralt did not come. So she put on a cloak and went outside to look for him.

It didn't take her long to find him, she just circled the property and stumbled upon him in the makeshift stable she had at the side of her garden. He was sitting on a pile of hay, chatting with Roach while stroking the animal's fur. He had his back against the wooden wall and seemed to be settled there, as if he had no intention of moving. When she approached, he fell silent, so she couldn't hear what he was saying to the horse, although she had a good idea.

“What are you doing out here? It's freezing!” She said, crossing her arms under her cloak to keep her body warm. While it hadn't yet snowed for the first time, there was an icy dew in the air that looked a lot like it. And while she understood that Geralt had a higher tolerance for extreme weather thanks to his mutations, that didn't mean she liked the idea of him being cold in the stable when there was a warm bed waiting for him inside.

“It's not that cold.” he replied and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not believing for a moment that he truly didn't feel the cold. She had been outside for a couple of minutes and could already feel the cold starting to dig into her bones. “I was taking care of Roach.”

“She seems fine. Come inside before you freeze to death.”

“You know that won't happen.”

“Geralt, please.”

It was a gentle plea, with a hint of desperation. All she wanted was to have Geralt by her side during the night again. She wanted to lie down and find that she felt the same comfort she always had, that his presence made her feel as safe and comforted as she remembered. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrap around her at night and know that the doubts were only in her head and completely unfounded. She wanted to know that he still loved her and that it had all been a big misunderstanding. She was desperate to find a way to move on, to let go of all the pain that had haunted her. But she was terrified to talk about it, so all she had left was that. If Geralt didn't accept her offer then she knew all was lost.

“I don't want to impose...”

“You're not,” she interrupted him before he could blurt out any excuses. “I'm asking you to come inside with me.”

Geralt couldn't refuse that request. Even though things between them were weird, he still couldn't resist her charms. There was something in the way she looked at him, a glint of desperation growing in her eyes, that made it impossible for him to say no to her. It gave him hope. He thought she was angry with him, and she was, but inside her still burned the flame of love they had once shared. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe he could still make things right.

He followed her back into the house, pulling off his wet cloak and muddy boots before entering the room. It looked exactly as he remembered it, not a single object out of place. It was as if time had not passed. The flowers on the window sill were still as colorful and full of life as in the spring, the books stacked in the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed did not seem to have changed their order. The air smelled of her, that intoxicating mixture of floral perfume and wet earth that he had come to miss so much.

However, the reality of the situation hit him as he laid his head on the pillow. There was no goodnight kiss or silly talk before bed. She simply laid down on his side of the bed and settled down with her back to him before blowing out the candle that lit the room. They were only inches apart, but Geralt had never felt so far away from her before. Even when he was miles away, purposely avoiding her, he still felt close to her. How could he not when images of her wouldn't leave his mind? He kept seeing her in his dreams, reliving their happy moments every time he closed his eyes, fantasizing about hearing her laughter and feeling the warmth of her body once more. But now that he had her by his side, he felt nothing but a cold emptiness pressing on his chest.

He wanted to reach out to touch her. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to wrap her in his arms and never let her go again, but he didn't know if he could —or if he should. He understood her hesitation, she had every right to be angry with him after the way he had reacted. He wanted to give her some space, some time so they could get their relationship back on track. He didn't want to pressure her, so he kept his hands to himself even though it hurt. He had to think of her first. He had no right to suddenly come back into her life after he had unilaterally decided to leave her, and demand the same treatment from her as before.

But what Geralt didn't know was that she wasn't avoiding him on purpose. She wanted to run into his arms, curl up on his chest and sleep wrapped in his warmth. But she didn't feel like she was the one who had to make the first move. Her feelings for him had never changed. She had been the one who had tried to make their relationship blossom. She had tried so hard to show him that they could have a future together. Geralt had been the one who had run away without explanation, so he should be the one to make the first move if he wanted to. She didn't want to pressure him, to make him feel like he had to do or say things he didn't want to just to protect her feelings. If he reached out to her, she needed to know that he was doing it because he really wanted to.

That was why his distance hurt her so much. Clearly there was something broken in their relationship and the most heartbreaking thing of it all was that she didn't know what to do to fix it —or even if she could.

The morning brought more pleasant weather conditions with it. The silent tension that haunted Geralt and the princess disappeared almost completely, mainly because they both sought to focus their attention on Ciri to avoid dealing with their own problems. Looking for an excuse that would give her the opportunity to spend more time with the girl, she asked Ciri to accompany her on a walk through the forest to replenish her collection of medicinal herbs. The winter was fast approaching and soon there would be nothing left but the plants she grew stored inside her house. Ciri agreed and Geralt joined them under the guise of hunting their lunch, although he had the decency to keep his distance so that they could get to know each other better.

It was a beautiful morning. Even though the autumn sun was not strong enough to counteract the cold breeze, there was no freezing mist that morning and that was already a reason to celebrate. Besides, Ciri was no longer wearing wet clothes and was well rested and fed, so she felt capable of accomplishing anything. The young woman guided her through the forest, telling her the details of the plants they needed to collect —their appearance, their medicinal uses, the potions and ointments she created. Ciri listened to her intently, fascinated and intrigued with the new information she was being presented with, wondering if she would be able to accomplish something like this someday.

“So you're a mage then?” Ciri asked, looking up at the woman walking beside her smelling a white flower.

“Not exactly.” she replied, earning a look of confusion from the girl. “I have an aptitude for magic, but I wasn't officially trained. I was taught by a healer everything I know, but magic is far more complex than what I know or the things I can do.” She hastened to explain as she knelt down in the dirt to pick up a couple of valerian leaves and put them in her basket.

“Is that how you met Geralt? Through your powers?”

“My abilities did play a part in the story of how we met, yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking.” The princess lost herself in her memories for a moment, images of that day flashing before her eyes. It felt so close and yet so far away at the same time. It was amazing to look back and see how far she had come both as a person, as well as their relationship. “He didn't tell you about us, huh?”

“He said you were an old friend, but didn't answer any of my questions. He's not particularly chatty.” Ciri said with a chuckle and she couldn't help but laugh too. If there was anyone who knew how difficult it could be to get a topic of conversation out of Geralt, it was her. She could almost imagine the girl's effusive curiosity running into the witcher's frustrating monosyllabic responses, just like it used to happen to her.

"Oh trust me, I know."

Geralt could hear them talking, but decided not to intervene. Instead he watched from a distance as they laughed together, feeling happy that they were getting along. Not that he thought it would be difficult, Ciri was a lovely girl and his sunshine was one of the sweetest and nicest people that existed on the continent. But still, it was nice to see them conversing so comfortably. It made him feel a strange warmth inside, a strange feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he liked it, he found it comforting.

“We met after I escaped my home.” The princess began to tell her story, thinking carefully about every word before she said it. It was a great opportunity to build trust with Ciri, to let her know that she could understand her better than anyone else since she had also been a child frightened by her own powers. “You see, a long time ago I was a princess, just like you, trapped in a kingdom that had forbidden magic long before I was even born. I had to learn everything I know in secret, hiding from my parents and my own kingdom. Ruling wasn't my calling, especially in those conditions, so one day I decided to run away.”

Ciri's interest was piqued, her eyes growing wide with curiosity as she listened intently to the story the young woman told her. She told her about the monster that prowled the forests of her kingdom and how she used it to fake her death so she could escape a future she didn't want in a kingdom that didn't appreciate her. She also told her that was the reason Geralt showed up at her town, having been hired to kill the monster and avenge the death of the princess. But instead of encountering a beast, he found the young woman hiding in the forest.

“He could have taken me back to the castle. My parents probably would have paid him more to return their presumed dead daughter and heir to the throne home, but he didn't... he listened to my pleas and had mercy on me. He saved my life... everything I am today, everything I have, I owe to him. Geralt gave me a second chance in life and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

The princess smiled, remembering the details of their first meeting. Geralt had truly saved her life. She had failed to properly prepare for her escape, acting hastily and recklessly after an argument with her father that ended with him yelling at her that she was a disgrace to his family for not wanting to marry a lord who didn't love or respect her and only saw her as a way to gain more power. No matter how well she knew those woods, she could not have gotten very far on her own. And if anyone else had found her, they would have returned her to her parents without a thought, condemning her to a life of misery.

But Geralt had not done so. He had taken pity on her, putting her well-being above gaining greater wealth even when he did not know her. He had given her the opportunity to discover herself in complete freedom, far from the demands and mandates of her parents. Everything she was, was made possible by him. That's why she was always willing to help him, no matter how angry or upset she was with him. She couldn't let go of the hand of the man who had taken hers and pulled her out of the dark pit that was her former life.

“He saved my life too.” Ciri said with a sad smile on her lips. “He's the only family I have left.”

“I'm sorry about that,” the young woman offered a smile, resting her hand on the girl's shoulder and giving it a supportive squeeze. “You shouldn't have to go through all that violence and pain, no child should. But you are in good hands with Geralt, he's going to take good care of you. Don't let the big, grumpy frown and the stories about witchers fool you, he is a big softie with a heart of gold.”

They shared a few chuckles and continued on their way, searching for the herbs they had yet to gather. The princess told Ciri about the Celandine plant and its medicinal properties —telling her to keep her eyes open in case she saw a four-petaled yellow flower—, and about the Eyebright plant and how it had cured an eye infection in a girl's eye in the village. She also shared with her some of the stories of her life, how she had practically grown up in the forest and the peace she felt when she was in contact with nature.

Ciri liked to hear those stories, especially when she told her about the difficulties she faced in understanding and learning to control her powers in the beginning. It made her feel less lonely to know that she wasn't the only one who had to go through something like that alone and without much guidance. It gave her hope for her future. Watching as she bent down to heal the broken wing of a bird on the side of the road, Ciri thought that if she had managed to understand and control her powers then there was still hope for her too. Maybe one day she would stop being afraid of her own abilities. Maybe she would come to understand what was wrong with her and the purpose of her powers.

“Why did they prohibit magic in your kingdom?” the girl asked curiously, marveling at the healing capabilities of the runaway princess' powers. It only took a touch of her hands and the utterance of some words she did not understand for the bird to recover, flying from her hands to get lost in the treetops. Ciri could not understand how something as wonderful as that could be seen as a bad thing. Her powers were nothing like hers, so it was hard for her to think that they would be viewed as displeasing to anyone.

“No one really talked about it, and I was always too afraid to ask. But from what I understand, magic ran in the royal family, but it had never brought the kingdom any luck, only chaos and destruction.” she explained returning her attention to Ciri now that the bird had disappeared from her vision. “Apparently it made people too unstable to rule. My great grandmother was the last one to have magic before me and she was the reason it was banned, but no one really talked about it so I don't know exactly why. For the most part everybody just pretended magic didn't exist, especially my parents. I think they knew that I inherited my great grandmother's abilities and they thought that maybe if they didn't mention it might go away. But the only thing they accomplished was to isolate me.”

She paused in her story and Ciri could notice in her eyes the pain those memories caused her. The joyful and sweet expression that graced her face was replaced by a sad and melancholic look. It was only for a second, but her face changed so much that she looked like a completely different person from the one who was standing next to her minutes before. Ciri wondered what kind of horrors she would have had to go through in her old home and if that expression was so different because it belonged to the princess she had left behind.

“When I started showing the first signs of chaos, I didn't know what was going on with me. I was terrified.” She cleared her throat and then her face lit up with its usual sweetness again. “If it wasn't for the new court physician I would have never learned the truth. She was a mage on the run, hiding in the last place she thought they were going to look for her. She noticed the signs immediately and took me under her wing, taught me everything I know... how to control my powers, how to use them in the art of healing, and more importantly, she taught me to not be afraid of them, to not let the fear of others influence me.”

She gave Ciri a small smile, hoping she understood the meaning behind her words. She wanted to be that positive figure in her life, to pass on to Ciri the knowledge and confidence that had been passed on to her in her training. It wasn't much compared to what other mages could teach her, but it was a start. She was willing to be the guide she so desperately needed, if Ciri would let her.

“Were they afraid of you because you were different?” The girl asked, looking at her with wide eyes full of curiosity. It was a question she was asking both the woman beside her and herself. The princess recognized that, so she stopped in her tracks and turned to look Ciri in the eye. It was important for her to hear and understand what she was about to tell her.

“Probably, yes.” she admitted with a sigh. Ciri lowered her gaze and she took a step forward, reaching out to grab her chin and make her look up. “But you have to understand that fear is one of the most common reactions people have to the unknown, to that which they don't understand. It's not personal, they just can't help it. One important thing I learned over time is that reaction is something you can't control, there is nothing you or I can say or do to stop those who don't understand magic from fearing it. But what we can control is our own fear. And it is important not to let the fear of others affect one's perception of oneself.”

“But what if they are right?” Ciri's voice was close to a whisper, almost as if she struggled to utter those words aloud. As if she was afraid to admit what her mind had been repeating to her since the fall of Cintra, fearing that saying it would make it real. “What if magic only brings death and destruction?”

It was clear to the princess that Ciri was referring to her own powers. She didn't need to know her too well —or even know the details of her powers— to understand, she could see it in the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It broke his heart to see the little girl in that state. She was just a child, it wasn't fair that she had such dark thoughts clouding her mind at that young age. Fate had been very cruel to her, taking away her family and home in a single act of terrible violence that she had had to witness without being able to do anything to prevent it. Not only that, but now she had to face her future and the development of her powers with no one to guide her. No child should have to go through something like that. All she wanted to do at that moment was to hug Ciri and tell her that there was nothing wrong with her, to assure her that everything would be alright and that her life would get better. But before she could even utter a word, a strange sound echoed throughout the forest, distracting her attention from the girl.

Her gaze instinctively searched for Geralt, who was already alert. His eyes searched the surroundings as his hand slowly approached the handle of the sword resting on his back. She felt Ciri's hand squeeze hers and returned her gaze to the girl. She was met with her expression of terror, which only got worse as the rumbling of what could only be described as a deafening shriek was heard.

“Geralt!” The woman called his name, hoping he would give some sort of explanation for what was happening.

Though he didn't need to say anything, because at that instant a figure came into view in the distance. It was a monster, but not one like anything she had ever seen or read about. It was large, with multiple legs and eyes, and a long tail that ended in a sharp point. It was like a strange, disgusting mix between a scorpion and a centipede, a large creature that towered tall above them. It stood still for a moment, keeping a relative distance, as if searching for something specific. The princess pushed Ciri behind her, instinctively seeking to protect her. The creature shrieked again and Geralt pulled out his sword.

“Run!” He commanded them before advancing towards the beast with his sword held high.

The princess hesitated for a second, feeling the need to reach out to him to help him, but Ciri tugged on her hand and reminded her that she needed hisprotection. They ran through the forest holding hands, helping each other keep their balance when they stumbled due to their nerves. She tried to keep Ciri safe, positioning herself a few steps behind her to protect her from a possible surprise attack with her own body. From time to time she looked behind, searching the horizon for the figure of Geralt or that monster to know in which direction to flee. But it was difficult to follow the fight when she was also worried about looking after Ciri. She needed some sort of vantage point that would allow her to observe the enemy so she could prepare for its attack.

“Is it gone?” the girl asked in fright as she tried to catch her breath. They had stopped momentarily when they saw that the monster was no longer at their heels. They couldn't hear it screeching either, so they thought maybe Geralt had taken care of it.

“I don't know.” she answered honestly, pushing Ciri against a tree to hide in case he came back. “I don't see Geralt anywhere.”

“Should we go back to look for him?”

“No, that's too dangerous... we need to get to higher ground.”

Before she could say another word, the beast made its presence known again. It came out of nowhere, screeching and moaning, no doubt hurt by the witcher. But in spite of that, it rushed towards the direction of the two princesses with the same voracious determination. Ciri screamed and grabbed the hand of the woman at her side to start running once more, but she stayed in place.

There was no sign of Geralt anywhere and given the amount of legs that beast had, it was clear that they couldn't outrun it. Ciri wouldn't be able to escape from there without someone to give her a head start.

“Run north, up the hill and hide there. Don't look back!” she ordered and the girl looked at her with confusion.

“What about you?”

“I'll come look for you, but I need to buy you some time to run.” She explained quickly, keeping her eyes on the beast that was getting closer and closer to them. “Go, Ciri! Now!”

The girl hesitated, finding the scene all too familiar. The number of times she had had to leave someone behind to save her life was more than she would like. It never ended well and she felt responsible for all the lives that had been sacrificed to get her there. She hoped Geralt's friend wouldn't join the list, she didn't know if she could tolerate one more death on her conscience.

As soon as Ciri started to run, she concentrated on attacking the monster that was chasing them. She moved out of the girl's way, seeking to draw the beast's attention to her to distract it. But to her surprise, it didn't seem to care. It continued on its way in the direction of Ciri as if she were not in that forest. And if it wasn't because she invoked the sign of Aard the beast probably wouldn't have bothered to attack her. It was clear that its target was Ciri, although she could not understand the reason.

She used what little knowledge she had of magic outside of healing to attack the monster. She relied on the Quen sign to protect herself when the beast came too close, just as Geralt had taught her. And she summoned Aard's power to throw the beast away from her, slamming it into every tree and rock she could find in hopes the impact would stun it and give her a chance to escape. She put up a good fight, but it was clear that she couldn't beat him with her limited skills.

Luckily, she didn't have to. Geralt appeared just in time to save her, crossing his sword with the beast's pointed tail before it could hurt her. They shared a simple, quick glance, but that was enough for them to communicate. Geralt's eyes assured her that he would take care of the beast and asked her to protect Ciri. She nodded to him, letting him know that the girl's safety was her priority before running after her.

It didn't take her long to find Ciri, she knew that forest like the back of her hand. She was hiding in the bushes, ready to attack anything that came near her. The girl almost hit her in the stomach with a log when she approached her hiding place, fearing it was an attacker coming to hurt her. She stopped just in time though, wide eyes looking at the woman in front of her with surprise. She hadn't expected to see her there —not after learning the fate of all those who had stayed behind to give her a chance to escape danger—, but she was glad she was all right. Ciri felt safer with her by her side.

“Where is Geralt?” asked Ciri worriedly, looking behind the woman's back for her protector's white mane.

“He's fine.” she assured her, approaching the edge of the hill to look down for movement that would indicate Geralt's whereabouts. But she saw nothing. Nor did she hear the shrieks of the beast pursuing them. All was quiet, almost too quiet. It gave her a bad feeling. “Come on, we have to keep moving.” She indicated to Ciri, taking her by the hand once more.

But before they could get more than a couple of steps away, the monster reached them, cornering them against some rocks and the ledge. It was so sudden, that the princess could do nothing more than create a protective energy field, enveloping her and Ciri's figure in a semi-transparent whitish bubble that kept the beast away from them. She pushed the girl behind her and told her to prepare to run when she gave the signal. Ciri protested, refusing to let her face the beast alone, but she assured her that she would be fine. The truth was that she didn't know, but she had no choice but to stand between the monster and the girl it so desperately sought to attack. She was going to fight to her last breath to protect it because it was the right thing to do —and because it was what Geralt expected of her.

However, her countdown only reached two before a sword pierced the beast's body. It let out a shriek of pain and tried to lunge at its attacker, but Geralt plunged his sword even deeper, giving it one last thrust before withdrawing it to let the creature bleed out. The beast collapsed to the ground, spreading a viscous dark green liquid oozing from its mortal wound onto the earth. It writhed a couple of times until it stopped moving, signaling that life had left its body.

The princess let out a sigh of relief, breaking the energy field now that it was safe for Ciri. The relief didn't last long, however, because Geralt collapsed next to the beast, dropping his sword with a loud clang. She and Ciri ran to him, calling his name with concern. He was still conscious when they knelt beside him, though he looked weak.

“Let me see.” she asked when she noticed Geralt squeezing his thigh with one hand. He moved it, allowing her to inspect the wound closely.

There was a tear in his pants and beneath it the skin of the witcher's thigh was swollen and reddened. There was a puncture wound that leaked drops of blood mixed with a thick black liquid. Making a closer inspection, she noticed the small black lines branching out, veins standing out on his skin as they slowly began the work of spreading the poison through his system.

“Fuck!” she muttered under her breath as she tore a piece of the skirt from her dress.

“What?” Ciri asked worriedly, watching as she tied the piece of cloth around Geralt's thigh, just above his wound, and tied a tight knot that caused the witcher to groan in pain. “What is it?”

“Poison.” she replied simply, picking up Geralt's sword from the ground and using it to cut the stinger from the tail of the monster lying lifelessly beside him. Then, she removed her cloak and used it to wrap the tail in it, making sure it was safe to carry without coming into contact with the poison the stinger held. If this was a new monster —or at least, one she didn't know about— she was sure that having the direct source of the poison would be of vital importance to save Geralt's life.

“We need to get him back home. Now.”

Luckily, Geralt was still lucid enough to walk. The slow beating of his heart and the tourniquet she had improvised with part of her dress helped keep the poison from spreading through his body quickly, but it still needed to be treated urgently. Ciri helped her carry him, each of them putting one of Geralt's arms around their shoulders and holding him tightly to help him move with more ease and speed. They were not far from the hut, but it was not easy to travel with Geralt in that state, so it took them longer than usual to get there.

Once home, the princess settled Geralt on the bed, just as she had done so many times in the past, before running to get her potions and ointments to treat the wound. Ciri sat beside him on the bed, looking at her protector with concern as he mumbled in pain. She noticed that the wound on his leg was getting worse with each passing second and for a moment she was afraid that something bad was going to happen to him. She couldn't lose him, not after going through so much to find him. Geralt was the only thing she had left, her only hope, she couldn't lose him.

“Ciri, could you help him drink this?” The woman asked, handing her a small glass vial with a yellowish green liquid inside. The girl was grateful to have been entrusted with a task, something she could do that would help her feel her presence was useful. “It will help his body battle the effects of the poison.”

Ciri took the bottle with one hand and Geralt's head with the other, lifting him slightly off the bed so he could drink the potion. While she brought the bottle to his lips, the princess tended to the wound on his leg. First she carefully washed it, using warm water and a clean cloth to remove the blood and drops of poison that remained on the skin. Then, she spread an ointment of her own creation on the wound while uttering an incantation in the ancient tongue.

She concentrated all her energy on him, repeating the incantation with increasing strength and conviction. She was treating it as she would any wound infected with poison, but the reality was that she didn't know if that would work. The creature that had attacked him was new to her, so she didn't know if its poison would respond to conventional treatments. So she devoted all her energy to him in the hope that it would be enough to save him. And while arranging some herbs on the wound before bandaging it, she prayed to the gods that her beloved would wake up.

Geralt heard her sweet voice in the distance, and felt the warmth of her fingers brushing the skin of his leg. He tried to let himself be carried away by the warm energy that she transmitted to him, to drown the pain he felt in the peace that her voice awakened in him. He tried to concentrate on her so as not to faint, clinging to the scent of her skin and the melody in her voice as if his life depended on it. But even his stubbornness and unwavering willpower were not enough to combat the effects of the poison. And though he fought against it, eventually his eyes closed and everything went black.

The last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was the sweet voice of his sunshine telling him, “rest.”

Ciri did not move from Geralt's side. She insisted on taking care of him and controlling how his condition was progressing while the princess investigated the stinger she had extracted from the beast. She began by extracting some of the venom that was still inside it, being very careful not to let it come into contact with her skin while she transferred it to a glass vial. She did some tests with it, studying how it reacted when in contact with different herbs and medicinal plants, as well as some of the potions she had in her catalog. None of the results she got were what she expected, so she began to worry. Maybe this thing was different after all. Maybe she couldn't save him this time.

“I think something is wrong!” Ciri suddenly exclaimed, breaking her concentration. The princess didn't ask her any more follow-up questions, she simply followed her into the room and approached Geralt to examine him.

He was definitely not looking like he should. He had been resting for a few hours, yet his physical appearance had worsened. He looked paler than usual and his breathing was irregular. A thin layer of sweat adorned his skin, and when she reached up to touch his forehead she discovered that it was hot.

“This is wrong.” she muttered to herself, undoing the bandage so she could examine the progress of the wound on his leg.

“What's wrong? What's going on?” Ciri questioned the woman, desperate to hear her professional opinion.

Lifting the bandage, she discovered that the wound had only worsened. The skin was swollen and hot to the touch, and the black veins stood out even more against the pale skin, extending until they were lost under the tourniquet that was still tight around the witcher's leg. “He's getting worse...” she murmured, concern and confusion mingling in her voice. “He's not responding to the treatment.”

“There must be something we can do!” Ciri insisted and the woman looked at her, not knowing what to say. She didn't know of any other ways to treat a wound as such, at least not ways that weren't pure legends. She could always research and try some alternative method, but she wasn't sure she had enough time for that.

“Kaer... Morhen...” Geralt stammered weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Vesemir will know what to do.”

She just gave Ciri a look and the girl ran off to the stable to prepare the horses for the journey. She stayed behind with Geralt, grabbing a couple of her remedies and the beast's tail before carrying the witcher on her shoulder once more, dragging him with some difficulty to the door. When Roach saw the state his owner was in, she lay down on the ground to allow him to climb onto her back more easily. She gave the mare a few gentle pats and kind compliments before helping Ciri mount Brego, the horse she had personally raised after finding him badly injured and forgotten on a road. Once the girl was safe and settled, she mounted Roach behind Geralt, wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place as she took the reins and they set off.

She didn't know the exact road to Kaer Morhen, only that it was south of where she lived. She had a few clues that gave her more details from the stories Geralt had told her about his life, but that was all. She had never asked him much about it, she knew that after being attacked the witchers kept to themselves and she didn't want to pressure him to reveal those details. She thought that maybe, if someday he felt comfortable enough with her to tell her about his home, he would. But now she was regretting not being more nosy.

Geralt was going in and out of consciousness, so while he could give directions from time to time, he was not the most reliable source. Ciri also didn't know the way since she had never been there before. However, Roach was a very smart horse who had traveled those roads many times in the past. So when they came to a crossroads, the mare advanced along the left-hand path with confidence. And before they knew it, they had reached Kaer Morhen.

“We need help!” she shouted and a middle-aged, white-haired man ran to meet her, startled by the commotion. His eyes fell on Geralt and she noticed the concern in them as he reached out a hand to touch the witcher's forehead.

“What happened?”

“He was attacked by a creature. He's been poisoned and I don't know how to stop it from spreading.”

“Get him inside!” At his command, a group of men grabbed Geralt and carried him inside. The young woman grabbed Ciri, holding the girl against her body so as not to lose her as she very timidly followed the others.

Both she and Ciri refused to leave Geralt, so Vesemir —the name given to them by the man who received them— had to work under the watchful eye of the two. He asked them about the attack and the young healer explained as best she could the details of the beast that had chased them. She didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified to discover that an experienced witcher like Vesemir didn't seem to know what kind of creature she was describing.

“This may help.” She said, pulling the beast's tail covered in an old cloth from her bag. “I tested the poison against every plant and healing element I know of and nothing seems to work.”

“That's not the only problem.” the man said, gesturing for her to come closer. “You see this inflammation here? It's full of the creature's venom.” Vesemir lightly pressed the lump on Geralt's skin and a couple of black drops escaped from the puncture wound. “The venom is lodging there for some reason, spreading slowly to maximize the damage. No treatment is going to work until we extract it.”

“How can I help?”

“Hold him still.”

Vesemir rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a leather bag containing a couple of syringes, needles and other useful artifacts for healing a witcher's wounds. He took the middle syringe, with a relatively long needle, disinfected it and then rested his gaze on the young woman in a silent way of telling her to get ready. She nodded slightly, tightening her grip on Geralt's leg to make sure he didn't move it. Vesemir then inserted the needle into the wound very carefully. It was important that he didn't accidentally burst the bubble of poison that had been created under the skin or it might end up spreading faster.

Geralt mumbled in pain and his body twisted as Vesemir began to extract the poison, but the young woman kept a firm grip on him. And when that wasn't enough to keep him still, she resorted to talking to him, just as she always did when he showed up injured on her doorstep. She murmured sweet words of encouragement and her soft voice seemed to be enough to bring peace to the witcher. His body stopped writhing and his rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

When Vesemir finished extracting the poison, the young woman watched in horror as the dark liquid almost filled the syringe. She wondered how that beast had been able to inject so much poison in such a short time and worried about Geralt's condition. How much poison had made it through his system? She liked to think not too much since he was still breathing, but the amount of viscous liquid trapped in the syringe worried her. Vesemir didn't seem particularly worried, but she wasn't sure she could read the expert witcher's emotions as easily as she could read Geralt's.

She watched him rummage through a cabinet full of elixirs until he came across a dark-colored one. He ripped off the cap with his teeth and poured some of the contents on the wound on Geralt's leg, who groaned in pain but did not open his eyes. Then he passed the bottle to her.

“Make him drink this.” Vesemir instructed him before disappearing out the door.

The young woman was assisted by Ciri in the task. The little girl helped her hold Geralt's head high enough so that he would not choke on the liquid while she parted his lips and placed the spout of the bottle between them. The witcher coughed a little as the liquid touched his throat, but it was only for a moment.

“It's alright, you're alright... everything is going to be fine.” She murmured words of encouragement as she emptied the elixir down his throat, though she wasn't entirely sure to whom she was directing such phrases, Geralt or herself.

When Vesemir returned, two other witchers accompanied him. At the man's request, they took Geralt and led him to his quarters to rest.

“Is he going to be alright?” a very worried Ciri asked as she watched the weak and fainting body of her only protector being carried away.

“Only time will tell. The next few hours are critical, if he makes it through the night I'm sure he'll make a full recovery.” Vesemir was honest, perhaps a little bit more than he should have been with a girl like Ciri. He was already busy analyzing the extracted poison and the tail of the beast that had attacked and almost ended the life of one of the best witchers left on the continent, so he didn't realize the impact of his words on her until he turned and met the expression of fear and worry on the girl's face.

“Geralt is strong, he's not going down without a fight. I've seen him pull through worse things.” He tried to reassure her. “You are invited to stay here, if you are friends of Geralt you are always welcome. Although I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you, I have to study this thing in case Geralt's condition gets worse.”

“I can stay with him.” The young woman offered. “Keep an eye on him and call you if anything feels off.”

“Sure, that will be of much help. Thank you. Just ask one of the boys to guide you to Geralt's chambers.”

The young healer was very interested in learning about the elixirs and other things Vesemir had in that room. Some things she could recognize, some she had an idea of what they were and some were completely new. She was a curious person, especially when it came to her area of expertise, so she had a million questions to ask Vesemir. She would have loved to stay and see what tests he conducted on the poison and what things he looked for in the animal's severed tail. But her priority now was Geralt. She needed to know that he was okay and she wouldn't rest until she saw him open his eyes again. So she took Ciri's hand and headed for the door, but not before thanking Vesemir for the hospitality.

At first Geralt thought he was dreaming. His eyelids felt heavy and he was disoriented. The world around him was a blur and he could hear a ringing in his ears. He couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there, and the harder he tried to recall any images of the last few hours, the more difficult it became. It was like trying to remember a dream, the blurred and confused images escaping from his mind as he struggled to capture them. Yet somehow, in the midst of the chaos that was his mind at that moment, he found her. She was lying next to him, curled in on herself in the small space on the bed that he did not occupy. Her beautiful, delicate face was partially covered by her hair, but he didn't need to see it to know she was asleep. He found her before anything else, a beacon of clarity in the midst of the darkness clouding his mind. Only then, his mind decided to cooperate, recognizing images and patterns around him that helped make sense of where he was.

And yet, Geralt remained focused on her. If the dizziness didn't make him feel like in a dream, seeing her like that, so relaxed and peaceful next to him, definitely did. It was a scene that almost didn't seem real after a long year of distance and yearning. It was a sight he hadn't had in a year, her curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully next to the warmth of his body. There was no weird tension in the air or unspoken discomfort like that other night. She genuinely looked comfortable and calm next to him and Geralt couldn't help but smile.

But beyond that, her figure sleeping next to him was a beautiful sight he had never had the pleasure of having in his own home. Their encounters always occurred outside, in the maelstrom of the real world or in the calm of her hut in the forest, but never in his home. Geralt had awakened many mornings with the young woman in his arms, but none had been in his own bed, covered by his own blankets, hidden in the safety of his own room. He discovered then that he liked the feeling of sharing that space with her. It made everything he felt for her feel more real. It made his longing to stay by her side seem more feasible. She was there with him, caring for him and keeping him company, and the world seemed right again.

Geralt tried to sit up in order to better admire her beauty, but instantly regretted it when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He let out a low grunt, bringing his hand to the bandage wrapped around his thigh with a grimace of confusion. Then flashes of the last few hours overwhelmed his mind. He remembered fighting the monster that chased them in the forest. He remembered the sharp sting of its tail and the burn of its venom. He remembered Ciri's worried look and reaching Kaer Morhen. But most of all, he remembered the gentle touch of his healer on his fevered skin and the sweet sound of her voice lulling him to peace as she always did. Her voice echoed in his mind and the mere memory seemed to be enough to silence the ringing in his ears and ease the pain in his weak and tired body. That didn't surprise him, though. Geralt had long since ceased to be amazed by the effect she had on him. He had learned to accept it, just as he accepted the day turning to night or the winter turning to spring. She was his light, a warm sun on the first day of the equinox that lengthened the day and melted the ice to allow the fields to bloom. She was his sunshine and he realized now that he had spent the last year living in an eternal winter to which he never wished to return.

The movement of the bed beside him brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He leaned over just in time to see his princess open her eyes as she stretched slightly. He could admire the confusion in her expression for a few brief seconds as her sleep clouded mind struggled to figure out where she was. Then her eyes opened wide and her gaze fell upon him. He was glad to see a glint of joy in them at finding him awake and had to bite the inside of his lip to hold back the smile as he saw her jump up in bed.

“Geralt! Are you okay? How are you feeling?” She questioned him with a strange mixture of excitement and concern in her voice.

“As if I had died and was brought back.” He replied with his classic dry humor, though it wasn't that far from the truth. His injured leg still ached when he moved it and his muscles felt tired as if he had spent all night battling a striga.

“You're not that far off.” She shrugged, rising from the bed to pour him a glass of water. Geralt accepted it gladly, drinking the contents in a couple of long sips. Boy was he thirsty!

“How long was I out?”

“Considering you've been in and out of consciousness since the attack, I'd say almost two days.” Geralt was surprised by that answer. In his mind it had only been a couple of hours, but apparently he remembered less than he thought.

Then, Ciri's worried face presented itself in his mind. “Ciri!” He exclaimed, jerking upright. He regretted moving once more, though, when the pain forced him to let out a grunt.

“She's alright!” The young woman hastened to say as she helped Geralt sit up. She took the pillows and stacked them carefully against his back, giving him a softer surface to lean on. Then she helped him recline on them, taking advantage of the moment of proximity to run her hand over his forehead and check for fever. “She's sleeping in the room next door.” She explained as she arranged the blankets so he wouldn't be cold. She knew he had grown up there and was probably used to the cold temperatures, but boy was the witchers' lair cold! “That girl refused to leave your side! I had to fight her to get her to go to sleep. She wanted to be here when you woke up, but I didn't want her here in case...” she trailed off. In case he didn't wake up was what she was going to say, but she couldn't bring herself to utter those words. Although she didn't have to, Geralt knew it when he noticed the sudden sadness that flashed across her face. “Anyway, I had to promise her that she would be the first one I would look for when you woke up to get her to go to sleep. And even then she stayed for another hour here.”

Geralt laughed, that sounded like Ciri. “Thank you... for keeping her safe.”

A silence formed as she took it upon herself to check his vitals. His breathing seemed normal, the same with his pulse —well, normal for a witcher. He no longer had a fever and when she uncovered the wound on his leg she noticed that the skin around it was in better condition. There were no more black lines or reddened areas. It was still somewhat swollen, but the skin was no longer warm to the touch, which was a good sign. Geralt enjoyed feeling her hands on his body, traveling from his forehead to his cheeks and gently brushing the skin of his leg. He swore the warmth of her fingers was all he needed to make the pain in his body go away. He felt a little more alive with every caress, every accidental touch. The magic of her touch slowly melted the hard layer of ice that had formed around him after a long year of harsh winter, but this time Geralt didn't fight it. He wanted her to do it, he wanted her light to finally allow spring to come. He was done running away from her.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a soft, almost inaudible voice as she changed the bandage on his leg. “I should have done more to help you... I just... I didn't know what to do.”

It took Geralt a few seconds to understand what she was saying, not because of the low volume of her voice, but because he found it incredible to hear the guilt in her words. “You saved me.” He pointed out as if it were obvious and she let out a snort.

“You almost died because of me!”

“I almost died because I was too slow and I got attacked by an unknown creature. I didn't expect you to know what to do, even I wouldn't have known what to do. But you brought me here in time and you keep Ciri safe, that's all that matters.”

The young woman smiled, not as big of a smile as Geralt had hoped, but enough to know that his words did have some sort of effect in easing the guilt that for some reason he didn't understand, she felt for what had happened. “That's nice of you to say.”

“It's the truth.”

“Whatever,” she said as she put away her leather case of ointments and healing potions. When she sat back down on the bed, Geralt noticed she had a nervous look on her face. “I would like to stay here with you and help you get back on your feet. I feel like I owe you that. It wouldn't be for too long, I mean, you had a great recovery so far and I'm sure you'll be alright, but I wouldn't feel right leaving you before I know for sure that you're okay... I know this place is... special, I guess, and that you don't let many outsiders in... and I wouldn't want to intrude, but I just couldn't leave without making sure you're okay.”

Geralt found her nervous rambling adorable. He would like to say that the feeling she felt was unfounded, but after how he had treated her he understood why she would be uncomfortable talking about such a thing. The last time she had made an effort to bring their worlds together he had rejected her. And not only that, but he had completely disappeared from her life for a year. He completely understood her nervousness and felt terrible knowing it was his fault.

“I want you to stay.”

Those simple five words were enough to arouse a sense of joy she had not felt in a long time. Those were the words she had waited all this time to hear, the confirmation that Geralt was willing to share some of his world with her after all. She would be lying if she said she didn't feel somewhat special. She knew that not many people had the privilege of walking through the gates of Kaer Morhen not having been raised there and she felt honored to be one of those few. A small smile tugged at her lips and Geralt knew then that his words had had the desired effect.

“Besides, I think your presence can be a good influence on Ciri. You can help me guide her on the right path and keep her safe.”

“I'll try my best, but I don't know as much about magic as other mages.”

“That's not the only thing you can teach her.”

Geralt knew very well that she had not been professionally trained. She had never gone to Arethusa to have her talents molded and sharpened, but that wasn't important to him. Geralt valued her for more than her magical abilities, he always had. For him one of her best traits was her personality, her way of facing the world with courage and optimism. She was one of the strongest people he knew, and he wasn't sure she knew it. Ciri needed someone like her, someone who could guide her through the dark shadow of tragedy and loss that clouded her path to reach the side of light. He could give her the tools to defend herself and face her fears, but she could teach Ciri to see the world from another perspective, a more positive and joyful one, something she desperately needed.

“I think it will do her good to have someone like you around.” Geralt smiled, his hand reaching for hers on the blanket. He felt the energy coursing through his body as they touched, her warmth melting the ice around his heart. The atmosphere in the room changed, suddenly more intimate and special. He wanted to tell her that her company was good for him too, but regretted it at the last moment. He didn't want to overwhelm her or sweet-talk her into forgiving him. If she decided to stay by his side, he wanted it to be her own decision.

The moment was cut short when the bedroom door opened, revealing a freshly awakened Ciri. The girl's eyes lit up with joy as they met the figure of a very lucid Geralt sitting up in bed. She uttered his name in an exclamation of surprise and crossed the room in a matter of seconds to throw herself into his arms.

“Careful!” the young woman warned her, “He's still hurt.”

“You were supposed to call me!” Ciri ignored her, choosing to scold her for not waking her up.

“I was just about to come get you.” She laughed, stepping aside so the girl could sit next to Geralt on the bed. “But since you're here, I'll go let Vesemir know Geralt's awake so he can come take a look at him.”

Contrary to popular belief, witchers were capable of feeling human emotions. That was something the young woman already knew, although living in Kaer Morhen surrounded by the last remaining witchers on the continent allowed her to appreciate the degree of emotions they felt. They were a strong brotherhood and cared deeply for each other, as evidenced by the tree of the fallen, as she called it. A place where the medallions of all the witchers who had perished hung, with more being added with each passing winter. But besides that, she learned that they were quite a fun group. Perhaps it was because they were in the safety of their home, resting after long months of hard work, but their attitudes were not at all what she expected. They kept telling jokes and playing tricks on each other, admittedly rather ordinary for her taste in some cases, but they didn't fail to make her laugh.

They were respectful to her —she suspected Geralt had something to do with that—, but still made her feel welcome in their home. She found it interesting to be surrounded by the most intimidating and roughest looking men on the continent and feel as safe as she did in her own home. She was sure that if her first encounter with many of them had occurred outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, her opinion would be different. Just as when she first met Geralt, it was very likely that the imposing figure of the witchers would have intimidated her and it would have taken her a long time to discover that they were actually very nice people. Lambert and Coen were her favorites, their constant bickering always amused her greatly. Although sometimes she had to confront them to make them be nicer to poor Ciri. They were training her along with Geralt just as Vesemir had trained them and it was the woman's job to remind them that she was just a child.

Vesemir was very good to her as well. Not only had he not complained when Geralt announced that she would be staying with them, but he agreed to indulge her curiosity. He let her watch him work on the analysis of the tail of the monster that had attacked them, even asking for her assistance in some things. They did not reach any satisfactory conclusions, but it was interesting to participate in the process. She learned a lot about the witchers and their creation from Vesemir, as well as the elixirs that helped them on the battlefield. He was a very wise man, and she was honored that he trusted her with his knowledge.

However, her favorite thing was seeing Geralt so relaxed and free, laughing with his siblings and acting like a father to Ciri. It was a side of him she didn't know. Of course he laughed and had fun with her when they spent time together in her hut, but that was different. Their encounters were always filled with this... tension in the air, tainted with unspoken feelings and silent longings. It was a constant countdown, the black cloud of reality always near no matter how hard they both tried to ignore it. From the moment Geralt walked through the door of her home, she knew that the clock had started ticking and that the happiness that was invading her at that moment would come to an end sooner or later. But there was no such thing in Kaer Morhen. There was no rush and no time, so Geralt could relax and be himself. And thanks to that she had discovered a much more... playful and joyful side of him. And she loved it.

What she also loved was the nickname that others had for him. The first time someone had called him wolf, she thought she had heard wrong. They were eating at a table all together and the shouting made it hard to even hear Ciri sitting next to her. But the next time it happened there was no noise to block her hearing. She and Geralt were in the kitchen since this time it was his turn to prepare dinner. He had gone hunting in the morning and now he was in charge of skinning the animal for her to cook. She didn't pay much attention to the conversation Geralt had with Vesemir when he appeared in the kitchen, focused on cutting the vegetables for the stew without hurting her fingers. But her ears pricked up when she heard him utter that nickname.

Wolf

The word echoed in her mind for a while, drowning out whatever was going on around her as she cooked. It was a fitting nickname for Geralt now that she thought about it. Everything about him screamed wolf, both externally and internally. Beyond his imposing presence, great hunting skills and impressive agility, he often hid behind a cold and hostile appearance. When he entered a room he could evoke the same fear and respect in people who did not know him that a wild wolf evoked in a traveler who stumbled upon it unexpectedly on his journey. The witchers had a certain reputation among the common people, built on myths and lies long spread across the continent. And while they were not true, Geralt found them convenient. It was easier to travel the world when people feared him —at least, most of the time. But that cold attitude was a sham, a shield protecting who he really was. He liked to present himself as a lone wolf who didn't need anyone, but in reality he cared about people, especially those closest to him. And just like a wolf protecting his pack, Geralt was willing to do anything to care for those he loved the most. Sometimes she thought that was exactly why he decided to stay away from people. He cared too much and that could be terrifying, not only because of the state of vulnerability it left him in, but also because of the degree of atrocities he would be willing to commit to protect his own.

“Wolf, huh?” She muttered as Vesemir left. She discovered she liked the nickname even more as she uttered it aloud. It was sweet and it felt good to finally have something to fight back with when he called her sunshine. “I like it,” she smiled, ”It suits you.”

“How so?” Geralt arched an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a rag before taking a few steps towards her. The woman pushed aside the knife she held in her hands, looking up to stare at the witcher.

“Well, you're imposing and agile as one... you're incredibly observant and great at hunting... and you're willing to fight tooth and nail to protect your own.” She spoke thoughtfully, listing characteristics as they came to mind. Geralt admired her with a slight grimace of amusement, thinking how much he missed having those kinds of conversations with her. “You're like a big scary white wolf who acts all tough but that's all for show, lots of bark and little bite.”

Geralt let out a snort. “It is?” he inquired and she nodded, even though she knew it wasn't technically true. He was quite capable of actually following through on his threats when he made them, but it was much more fun for her to tease him about his soft side.

“Yes! I mean, it took me a couple of weeks to earn your trust and then you were rolling over and showing me your belly like a dog asking for pets.”

Geralt let out a sarcastic laugh, but the truth was he couldn't quite say anything to contradict her. He wished he could wipe the smug smile off her face, but she was right, he had taken a liking to her rather quickly. And worst of all, it had happened without him noticing until it was too late. He became accustomed to her company — to wake up to the sound of her voice and listen to the sweet melody of her laughter— to such an extent that when she was gone the world felt wrong. He could not pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with her, one day she was a frightened girl asking for his help in the forest and the next she was the ray of sunshine that brightened his days. Just like that, without warning, she had made a place in his heart that she refused to give up no matter how hard he tried to push her away.

“But it's okay, I like that duality.” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You're my big, scary, but surprisingly gentle white wolf.”

The young woman smiled tenderly as she used her fingers to push a lock of hair away from Geralt's face. It was an unconscious thing, a movement engraved in the memory of her muscles after having done it so many times in their long nights of conversations. When she realized it, she felt the urge to move her hand away, embarrassed by her audacity. Their relationship was in a very gray area, things were not clear at all. She was no longer angry with him, but things between them had not yet returned to normal, so the intimate gesture seemed out of place.

Or at least that's what she thought until she saw the way Geralt leaned over her hand. It was probably an unconscious movement as well, but she used the moment to test the waters. She let her fingers trail along his temple, slowly making their way down to his cheek. She did not dare to look him in the eye, so she focused her gaze on the movement of her hand, admiring the marks and scars that adorned the witcher's skin. She noticed that there were a couple that were new and couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. What kind of adventures had he had while he was distanced from her? What monster could have caused those injuries? How had he healed them? Had it been him or maybe it was someone else's work? Had someone else taken her place in the time that had passed?

She didn't like where her thoughts were going, so she covered the marks with her fingers, cradling Geralt's cheek. Then she mustered up the courage and looked up, curious as to what might be going through his mind at that moment. She found the witcher's golden eyes were fixed on her, admiring her with longing and, dare she say it, love. There was a warmth in his gaze that drew her to him. It made her feel seen in a way she hadn't felt since the moment he left. He was the only one who could make her feel that way, so safe, so desired... so loved. And he was the only one she wanted to look at her that way.

She didn't realize how much closer she had gotten to Geralt until she felt his nose brush against hers. His warm breath mingled with hers as it escaped her half-open lips, caressing them with the promise of that long-awaited kiss that never came. She wanted to move, to close the little distance that separated them and finally discover what it would feel like to kiss him, but it was impossible for her to do so. She was trapped under Geralt's intense gaze. Like a moth to the flame, she was lost in the golden glow of his eyes, waiting expectantly for his next move.

But the kiss never came. Only this time it wasn't because she backed down or because he regretted it at the last second as had happened in the past. This time it was Ciri's interruption that broke the moment and forced them apart.

“Lambert sent me to help you because he says you're taking too long so- OH! Sorry, sorry!” The girl blushed upon finding them in such a compromising position. She instinctively backed away, ready to run out the same way she had come, but the woman stopped her.

“It’s fine, Ciri! Stay, please. I’m definitely going to need some help cooking enough food to satisfy those gluttons out there.”

“Come on, focus! I know you can do it.” The woman tried to encourage the girl, who was having trouble generating any kind of magical reaction from the moment they had started the lesson.

She didn't know much about magic outside of healing, so that was her starting point. From what Geralt had told her about Ciri, the girl had much more power than she did, so she figured that teaching her to channel her magic in one aspect gave her enough tools to begin to control other aspects of her powers. She began with easy lessons, remembering the things her mentor had taught her when they were just starting out. She had previously told her about the potions she made and the type of plants she needed for each as a way of easing her way into things. But several lessons ago she had moved on to more complicated things that involved more active use of her powers.

They were sitting in the common room, near the fire. It was a cold day, though that hadn't stopped Ciri from going out to train with her wooden sword. Geralt was the one who had to drag her inside to meet the healer for her magic lessons, and she didn't seem very enthusiastic about it. For that very reason she had given the girl a relatively simple exercise, the same one they had been practicing for two lessons. In a pot was a dried plant. Its stems were still green in some places, but much duller, and the leaves were withering more and more with each passing day. The goal they were working towards was to revive the plant, although she would settle for any kind of progress. The woman remembered that the same exercise had taken her quite some time, so she showed patience to Ciri. But on the other hand, the girl was supposed to have much more power than she did, so she was slightly concerned about the lack of response.

Ciri snorted. “I'm trying! It's not easy.” It was clear that she was frustrated but she had to keep pushing if she wanted to get any kind of reaction from her.

“Not hard enough!”

She was not referring to Ciri's efforts in her lessons, it was clear that she gave everything she could. The problem was that she always arrived tired, if she arrived at all. She wasn't giving her magical training the attention it deserved, preferring the sword and the training ground outside to mastering her natural abilities. She understood it to an extent, it was easier to train the body than the mind, but she needed to see how important it was to learn to manage her powers. Those were the ones that would be with her for the rest of her life, the ones that could save her in a situation of extreme danger, and she needed to know how to use them to her advantage.

“You're focusing too much on learning how to fight when this is just as important.”

“Maybe I am because at least that's where I'm making progress.”

“I know it's hard, Ciri, but you have a responsibility. Your powers are something extraordinary, but you owe it to yourself and everybody around you to learn how to control them.” Her voice was not accusatory or dismissive. On the contrary, she made an effort to sound soft and empathetic. She wanted to make the girl understand the importance of her lessons and knew she would not succeed by making her angry. Besides, she knew very well how frustrating it could be when things didn't go as expected, she had gone through that too when she was the one learning to handle her powers.

However, Ciri didn't take it as kindly as she had hoped. “What do you know about responsibility? You abandoned your own people! At least I'm trying to fight to avenge mine!” The girl raised her voice, jumping up from her seat and giving her mentor an angry look.

“Ciri!” Geralt, who was sitting in the corner of the room fixing his armor, wanted to intervene. However, the woman waved him to stand aside. She understood that it was misplaced anger and didn't need him to jump in for her.

“It’s fine. You are right, Ciri. I abandoned my own people because it wasn’t a safe place for me… or anyone like me, if I’m being honest. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make… Realizing that my own home wasn’t safe for me was heartbreaking, but strangely liberating.” The girl's gaze softened and she resumed her place beside her. “I was trapped in that place, surrounded with people that hated me for who I was, for things I couldn’t control. My own parents thought I was a disgrace… they hid me, silence me, broke my spirits in the hopes I wouldn’t become my great grandmother. And for the longest time I let that get into me. I let them define who I was. I hated myself and my powers because everyone else did… and the more I tried to ignore them, the more I tried to suppress them, the worse they got. I had to learn to let go, to stop focusing on the negative things because it was doing me no good.”

Ciri looked at her with glazed eyes, the anger in her expression slowly morphing into sadness. “How do you do it?” her voice was almost a whisper that broke the woman's heart. She could hear so much pain in those simple words that she couldn't help but reach out to entwine her hand with hers. Suddenly, the girl's inner struggle was evident on her face. She could feel the sadness and weariness that overwhelmed her. She had been through so much at such a young age, it wasn't fair. “I can't let it go.”

“You don't have to… you just have to take control of yourself and stop letting your fear and anger control you.”

“How can I do that when everyone I love is dead… when everywhere I go I bring blood and destruction?”

“You make a choice about who you want to be because you are the only one that has the power to do that, to define yourself.” The woman moved a little closer to Ciri, lightly tightening her grip on her hand in support. “You see, magic is extremely connected to our emotions, to our most instinctive reactions. If you see it as a bad thing, as a burden, a curse… if you see yourself as a monster, a murderer that can only create chaos and destruction, then you are letting your fear define who you are. You are limiting your abilities and the chance to explore your potential.”

“How are you so sure that I'm not… a monster?”

A tear rolled down Ciri's cheek and the woman was quick to wipe it away with her thumb. She had to hold back her own tears, focusing on being a support for the girl at that moment. But she would be lying if she said she wasn't able to see herself in the frightened eyes of the young princess. She knew that fear very well, she had experienced it firsthand and that's why she wanted to help her overcome it. It was not fair that she was going through it, no one deserved to go through the horrors she had gone through at such a young age. Ciri was alone, homeless, without family, and forced to discover the terrifying foreign world at the same time she was discovering herself. It was an extremely vulnerable position to be in, but the witch would try her best to accompany her every step of the way. She didn't have to go through it all alone.

“Because nobody is born a monster.” The girl said with gentle simplicity, a sweet smile growing at the corner of her lips. “I grew up ashamed of who I was. My parents dreaded the day I was old enough to take over my kingdom. They couldn't wait to hand me over to the first nobleman who seemed competent enough, so that if one day I became unstable and dangerous because of my powers he could stop me from destroying everything they had worked so hard to build... No matter how hard I tried to make things right, they trusted a stranger more than their own daughter. Most of my childhood was clouded by this dark shadow of sadness and loneliness, until I realized that was exactly what they wanted. They wanted me to be afraid, to be alone and ashamed because then they could control me, mold me into whatever they wanted me to be. Choosing something else... choosing to be happy with who I am, choosing to help others and use my powers for good was a decision I had to make... it's a decision I make every morning when I wake up, and it's not an easy one. The easy thing is to be consumed and paralyzed by fear. Seeing the good in life and in yourself is a conscious decision that you have to make. It is one that only you can make, but I promise to be there for you when you need me. You don't have to be alone in this.”

Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms and she held her tight against her chest for as long as she needed. She buried one hand in the girl's blonde hair and gently rubbed her back with the other until she could no longer feel her sobs against her shoulder. Her eyes searched Geralt's with a worried expression. Ciri had so much bottled up inside her that suddenly the potential danger of her unexplored and uncontrolled magic ceased to worry her. However, when her eyes met the witcher's she found nothing but calm in them. He admired their embrace with a knowing smile and she knew then that he approved of the way she had handled the situation.

Seeing the way Ciri opened up to her, Geralt was glad he had asked for her help. Swallowing his pride had definitely been the right decision. The girl didn't just need protection. She needed guidance, support and an understanding that he, as much as he wanted to, could not give her. But his sweet sunshine could, she was always open to help whoever came to her door. Geralt knew from the start that he had to take Ciri with her, not just because of her knowledge of magic or her empathic abilities, but because she was the one he always turned to when he needed guidance or a reason to keep fighting. She had a way of brightening people up that was unique. He used to think it was part of her nature, her warm, positive personality that was finally able to shine through once she was out of the prison she used to call home. Although after hearing what she told Ciri, he realized that brightening others and making them feel at peace was an effort she made every day precisely because she knew the dangerously cold and dark depths to which the mind could descend when there was no such support.

“You can rest for now, my dear. It's fine, you have done enough for one day.” The sweet voice of his sunshine brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He watched as she patted Ciri's back as the little girl wiped away her tears.

“No, it’s okay. I want to try it one more time.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, we can continue the lesson tomorrow after you have a good rest.”

Ciri insisted so she stepped aside to let her proceed. The girl took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm her emotions as her mentor had taught her. She raised her hands to the plant that withered with each day she failed and closed her eyes. She tried her best to quiet the voices that always echoed in her mind, the ones that scared her and held her back every time magic was mentioned. She erased the images of Cintra in flames, the figure of the dark knight chasing her and the horrors that followed her every time her powers were activated. She replaced those dark visions with her mentor's words of encouragement, repeating them over and over in her mind as a way of convincing herself that all would be well and that she had nothing to fear.

Then she felt a warmth tickling her fingers and heard the gasp of the woman sitting next to her. She opened her eyes instinctively, concern already written in her expression as she looked around for answers —and to make sure she hadn't hurt anyone. The woman smiled at her and motioned with her head to look at the potted plant resting on the table. The plant itself hadn't changed much. It still looked dry and dull, but the stems were a brighter green and some of the leaves had turned from dark orange to an almost greenish yellow.

“You did it!”

“I did it!” Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms once again, only this time with a big look of happiness on her lips. When she pulled away, she took the pot in her hands to admire her work more closely. “Geralt, look! I did it! I finally did something!”

Geralt joined in the celebrations, giving Ciri a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement to let her know he was proud of her unbreakable spirit. She fit in so well with the rest of the witchers that he was starting to get a little scared. She was as stubborn and broken as most of them. But she was also as hard working and fierce as they were. He could see a lot of himself reflected in her, in fact. She had the same eagerness to go out and prove herself in the real world that both he and his brothers had when they were just starting their training. That same impatience that Vesemir had fought so hard to quell and that reality had finally destroyed. He had to keep an eye on that.

When the moment of euphoria was over, Geralt sent Ciri to rest. “You have done enough for one day” he told her and this time the girl disappeared up the stairs with a smile on her lips, happy to have proven herself.

“I was nice what you said to her.” Geralt spoke once he was sure Ciri could not hear them.

“I just told her what I wish someone would have told me when I was her age.”

“You never told me about it… what your parents did to you.”

“Well... it's a part of my life I don't like to remember often.” She shrugged, leaning her hips back against the table as she stared at a fixed point on the wall in front of her, lost in thought. Geralt admired her delicate profile, and with a heavy heart he wondered what kind of sad memories might be swirling through her mind at that moment. “Although, in a strange way, it made me who I am today, so I guess something good came out of all that shit in the end.” She also thought that thanks to her parents' mistreatment —and her consequent escape— her path had crossed Geralt's and she would always be grateful for that. However, she decided not to mention it.

“Just when I thought I couldn't love you anymore, I discover that your act of rebellion against the world that treated you horribly is to be the kindest, sweetest person on the continent.” Geralt let out a laugh, returning his attention to his half-repaired armor that had been left forgotten on the table. But she remained silent, frozen in place.

Geralt had not thought carefully before speaking —something that happened to him more often than he would like to admit when he was with her. He didn't even realize the implications of his words until it was too late. He just stated a fact, a simple fact that had been on his mind ever since he had overheard her talking to Ciri: finding out that after all the bad things she had been through she was still the sunshine she was, made him love her even more. Geralt had always known that she was a strong and extremely brave woman, but this was the first time he really knew the extent of that strength. He had seen honest men be consumed by resentment and hatred for far less, so the fact that she strove to be a source of light and positivity not only for herself but for everyone who crossed her path was a reason to admire her.

He was so entranced by her that he didn't notice what he said —what he inadvertently admitted— until a few seconds later, when he wondered at her sudden silence. When he looked up, he found her eyes fixed on him. Those beautiful eyes that normally brought him peace, now put his insides in knots. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Geralt was paralyzed. His mind was completely blank, not knowing what to do or say, as he waited for some sign from his sunshine.

“I-” She started to speak, but before she could say anything else the doors to the hall opened, ushering in a group of noisy witchers who had just come in from hunting for dinner.

After the moment was broken, neither she nor Geralt brought up the subject again. They both thought about it countless times, wondering in the nights before bed what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. However, they were too afraid to face the situation, so they let the tension linger in the air, increasing with the growing list of unanswered questions.

Another great thing she had discovered about living in Kaer Morhen was that there was a pack of wolves nearby. The first time she had seen them was one afternoon walking around the fortress with Geralt. He hadn't let her get close, of course, claiming it was too dangerous since they were wild animals. That hadn't stopped her at the time and luckily it had never resulted in any injuries, but one never knew when their luck might change.

“That's why you're here,” she had replied, ”you'll save me if they try to eat me.”

“I don't know, will I?” He had joked in his characteristic dry tone. “If you get hurt after my warnings it is entirely on you.”

She snorted and punched him in the arm, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course you will! You can't live without me.” She had said that as a joke, but it was much closer to reality than she probably imagined. He was willing to do anything to keep her safe because he truly couldn't live without her. He had tried for a year and had been miserable every second he was away from her.

After having to drag her away from the wolves that day, Geralt really shouldn't have been surprised to find her playing with them weeks later. He knew her and the effect she tended to have on animals, but even so, he found it impressive the way the wolves reacted to her touch. She was sitting on the cold ground covered by a thin layer of snow. Next to her rested an adult wolf who closed his eyes with pleasure every time she stroked his head. In her lap a puppy let her scratch its belly, stretching out on her with every movement of her fingers as if preparing to take a long nap. In the distance the rest of the pack watched the two brave –or foolish— enough to approach a human, making sure they were safe.

She was speaking to them, Geralt could see in the distance that she was moving her lips, and hear the whisper of her voice on the wind, but he could not make out what she was saying —though he could almost imagine it, he had been through a few similar situations with her in the past. He was lost in thought as he admired her playing with the wild animals like they were mere domesticated dogs. A smile formed on his lips as he thought that at least he wasn't the only one completely enraptured by her aura, the entire animal kingdom joined him in that sentiment. Even his own horse loved her more than him. But he understood Roach, she was someone special and he had been lucky to cross her path.

“I see why you like her.” Vesemir's voice startled him, when had he arrived there? “She is a lovely woman.”

“She is indeed.” Geralt agreed without looking away from his princess, who was now laughing in amusement at something the wolf cub in her lap had done.

“Are you sure you're doing the right thing?” The older witcher spoke again and Geralt's brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. “Are you sure she is compatible with our way of living... with our life's mission? There's less of us every winter and something big is coming, I know it... I can lose you, wolf.”

Geralt was silent for a moment, contemplating Vesemir's words. The gods knew that he had asked himself that same question multiple times since he had met her. The answer always changed depending on his mood. Sometimes —especially when he spent a lot of time with her in her hut— he was sure that his future was at her side and that nothing could ever keep him away from her. Other times, when the pressures of reality forced him to abandon his fantasies, he recognized that their relationship was complicated at best and impossible at worst. But all that had changed after she was attacked by a Bruxa.

After failing to protect her that time he convinced himself that their relationship should end, not because it was incompatible with his life itself, but because he was too afraid of losing her. The images of that attack had not left his mind in the year he had spent away from her. It plagued his nightmares when he slept and his thoughts when he was awake. He was so horrified at the thought of losing her because he was unable to protect her from danger that he was willing to endure a life of misery just to make sure she was all right. In his experience, missing what could never be was better than mourning the loss of those who were gone and could never come back. So he endured the gray days and sleepless nights, finding comfort in knowing that his princess was safe and sound in her hut, far from the danger he represented.

Geralt had convinced himself that this was for the best because it was the simplest option, the clearest solution to his problem. Keep her safe by staying away from her and wait for the time to pass and help him forget about his feelings. But now he was not so sure. Maybe it was the thrill of being reunited with her after yearning to feel her touch for a year. Or maybe it was the optimism of his sunshine speaking through him, but Geralt was beginning to consider that maybe there was a future for them where neither of them had to suffer. It probably wouldn't be easy, but life's hardships hadn't stopped her before, so why should they stop him?

“We can make it work.” He finally said and for the first time since she had entered his life, Geralt felt a sense of certainty as he spoke those words.

Vesemir didn't answer him, although Geralt didn't give him much time to do so because seconds after those words left his mouth, he was walking towards her. When he approached her, the first thing she did was make excuses for what she was doing, expecting Geralt to scold her for not listening to his warnings. But he wasn't interested in that, he had far more important revelations to share with her.

“I know what you are going to say, it's dangerous and all that, but they came to me for help!” she hurried to say while petting the wolves to make sure Geralt's presence didn't disturb them. “This little one was hurt! I couldn't let him die, he's too adorable and fluffy! I saved his life and now they like me.”

“Do you remember what you told me when I arrived at your home with Ciri?” Geralt ignored her rambling. She looked up from the puppy gently nibbling her fingers to meet his eyes. He wasn't sure if the look of confusion on her face was due to his sudden question or because she didn't know the answer, so he continued speaking. “You wanted to know why it took me so long to come back... I've been thinking a lot about that, especially after hearing you talk to Ciri the other day.”

The woman rose on her feet from the cold ground, leaving the wolf pup next to his brother. “Geralt, what is this about?” she inquired, wide eyes watching him curiously and somewhat warily, like a deer startled by the presence of a noisy stranger.

“All my life, the one I remember at least, I’ve worked towards one goal and one goal alone… kill all monsters on the continent. It’s what I was trained to do and I never questioned it… I never wanted to do anything else, until I met you. What I feel for you…”

Geralt paused, struggling to find the right words to describe the way his day brightened with her mere presence, how his mood improved if he saw her smile.

“I never felt anything like that before,” he let out a sigh, resigned to the fact that he could never explain in simple words what she made him feel without even realizing it. “That scared me. I was scared of what it could mean for the future, but more importantly, I was terrified of losing you. So I convinced myself that running away from you, from what I felt, was the right thing to do to protect you and keep you safe from all the shit I bring along... Now I know I was just protecting myself. You tried to tell me, but I wasn't ready to listen.”

She took a step toward him, looking up at him with wide eyes that sparkled in the weak winter sun. “Geralt, what are you saying?” She needed to hear him say it. After so much time of feelings left unsaid, she needed to hear the words coming out of his mouth so there would be no more conflicts or misunderstandings. She needed to be sure of what he felt.

“I'm saying I'm sorry... I'm saying I love you and I want you at my side, If you still want me too.”

She replied in the most direct way she could without using words. With a quick step, she closed the distance that separated them and joined her lips to Geralt's. As much as she had longed for that kiss, it was a timid one. Her lips barely brushed his, their noses brushing against each other as they leaned in a soft, intimate caress. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth that flooded her body as she felt Geralt reciprocate her kiss immediately. Their lips moved slowly, savoring the moment. It didn't last long, but it was enough to take her breath away.

When they pulled apart, she looked up at Geralt through her eyelashes. She met the amber of his eyes shining in a way she had never seen before. His hand rested on her cheek, calloused fingers caressing the soft skin. It was nothing new, yet the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. There was a softness in his eyes that she did not recognize. He admired her as if she were a lost relic, something of priceless value that he couldn't believe he had in front of his eyes.

And in a way, that was true. Even though he had just bared his soul to her. Even though she had kissed him. Even though deep down, he always knew his feelings were reciprocated. Despite everything, Geralt still couldn't believe that a woman as wonderful as her would choose to love him. Of all the people on the continent, of all the places that existed, she loved him and wanted to be by his side. As happy as he was that she did, it didn't feel real. Geralt did not feel worthy of the love of such a good woman, but he was willing to work hard every day of his life so that she would not regret her decision.

Geralt was the one who initiated the second kiss, which was much more confident than the first. His hand remained on her cheek while the other found its place on her waist, holding her close against him. Her lips were soft and warm against his, like a summer morning breeze —just as he had imagined them. When he sucked on her lower lip, she let out the subtlest moan, her hands clinging to his shoulders for support. Geralt became addicted to it instantly, feeling a strange sense of pride at having elicited such a reaction from her. He repeated the action, taking a mental note of the way she reacted to every little movement of his lips. He was desperate to know more about her, to find out the other sounds she made and the various ways her body would respond to his touch, but he restrained himself from deepening the kiss any further. They would have time for that.

“That was...” She tried to speak when they broke apart, her mind clouded with euphoria struggling to find words to describe what that kiss made her feel.

“Late.” Geralt finished for her, resting his forehead on hers.

“I was going to say 'better than I imagined', but 'late' works too.” She let out a chuckle. “So, what now? How do we go on from here?” It was a genuine question she had. She had fantasized many times about this moment —the big confession, the first kiss, the way it would all feel—, but it never got any further. It felt so far away, so impossible, that she had never really spent time thinking beyond happily ever after.

“Well, we can start by getting you out of the cold.” Geralt smiled, finally pulling away from her to start his way back to the fortress. He took her hand and noticed how cold it felt against his own. “Come on, we need to get you inside so you can warm up.”

She smiled playfully. “Only if you help me.”

I hope you guys liked it! Sorry for the long wait, but it wil probably happen again lol

I have a few ideas for the next part. Without spoiling too much, I think it's time Yen makes an appearance to explain some of the gaps it the timeline when Geralt was away... so, lots of jealousy and angst coming!

BUT I'm not 100% sure of how thing are going to play out, so if you guys have any ideas of things you would like to see in the story (for this next part or future ones!) please drop an ask/message/comment thank youuu ily

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt x fem reader #henry cavill x reader #the witcher

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aziraphales-library · 3 months ago

Note

hey guys!! do yous have fanfics about their first time where they’ve got no idea what they’re doing and it’s messy and funny and they’re laughing and it’s emotional at the same time?! thank you!! :))

We have #first time and #loss of virginity tags. Here are some with laughter during sex to add...

Orbiters by hibye (E)

"Fabulous. I'm not nervous." "I... I didn't ask. Now I think you're nervous." "I just told you I'm not."

Don't Let Me Sleep Alone by aelske (E)

This is a rewrite of the end of Church Scene (you know the one) with the bulk of this being an addition of its aftermath.

First Time by darkwarf (E)

He licks his lips unconsciously, missing how the demon’s hungry eyes follow his tongue. “It’s something I’m ready to do. Or…at least try.” Crowley’s whole body freezes up. He can imagine the demon’s wide eyes behind his sunglasses, especially when he practically squeaks, “With me?” Aziraphale can’t help smiling at that, taking a bold step forward and, even bolder, touching Crowley’s forearm. “Yes, my dear,” he says fondly, “with you. Only you.” That’s apparently what Crowley needed to hear. Because once those words leave Aziraphale’s lips, the demon surges forward and finds the nearest wall to press him up against.

When Dawn Came Stealing Up (All Gold and Blue) by Calliope Starling (E)

Aziraphale changes his mind while in the elevator and returns to an extremely hurt and angry Crowley. Angst, feels, and sex ensue. You know, typical fix-it stuff

In The New Beginning by EyesOnHisThighs (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley were free. No longer at the mercies of Heaven and Hell, they retained their ranks and their power, but could move how and when…and with whom they pleased. That meant they were free to be together and to openly love one another. After the second near-ending of the world and the threat it had posed to their relationship, Aziraphale and Crowley took advantage of their new found freedom. They learned that their millennia-long habit of hiding feelings had not served them well and they were committed to being more open and exploring this new aspect to their relationship. That they had loved each other deeply since the beginning was undeniable. They had never named it despite the millions of ways they had shown it. They now freely shared “I love you,” the first having been a moment that felt like it could fracture time and space. They were finally - finally! - comfortable in their expression. They were learning to be more comfortable in one another’s arms. Crowley’s desperate kiss was a bittersweet memory and a lesson on how they wanted to be with one another now that they were safe.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #first time #laughter during sex #adult omens #mod d

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illyrian-dreamer · 2 years ago

Text

Our girl – Part 5

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Summary: You wake after succumbing to the mating bond.

Word count: 5.1k

<<< Part 4

Strands of hair tickled your cheeks, a warm, gentle breeze kissing your face as you groggily blinked awake.

A spring breeze.

You jolted upright, urgently scanning around you. It was a lavash guest room, soft white sheets settled over your body, lush pillows piled to have cradled your head. You had no idea who's clothes you wore, but you knew you were at the Spring Manor.

As if on queue, a house maid opened the doors to your room, behind her a healer. It was the same perky house maid that had greeted you when you first visited Tamlin.

“Oh good, you’re awake, she pepped. The healer wordlessly approached you, pressing her thumb to your wrist. She gave the maid a quick nod before leaving the room, without having spoken a word.

“She’s mute,” the maid explained.

Oh. You stared back at her. So were you, it seemed.

“The High Lord will be eager to hear you are awake. Will you take his visit?”

You nodded silently, unable to form the thousands of questions as your brain came to wake.

Tamlin was in your room in no less than a few minutes.

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked. You hadn't really thought about that. Looking within yourself, you felt it there, a swollen heart, alive and beating and thriving, but also aching from a deep wound. You were nautious and weak and so gods damned angry. How could the Mother be so cruel?

“How long was I asleep?”

“Just a day.”

You nodded, running your hand through your hair. “And we’re in Spring?”

Tamlin nodded. “Feyre and Rhys winnowed us here.”

You were too tired to gawk, so you blinked instead. “Pardon me?”

“And your… Azriel and Cassian are still here, waiting for you to wake.”

You must still be dreaming. “You opened your home to them?” you croaked.

Tamlin shrugged. “We wanted to bring you to your Uncle’s, but you could see to a healer faster here. Besides, there was no fitting five fae in that cabin, especially two Illyrians.”

“They could have slept outside,” you ground out, and Tamlin chuckled.

“You do… remember what unfolded at the wedding, don’t you? That Azriel and Cassian are your mates?”

“Do not call them that.” Taming the bite in your tone was beyond you, even for your friend. You had to clench your eyes shut to stop the reel in your vision, your whole body clenching as you remembered that awful, fated moment.

Tamlin didn't falter. Instead he dropped his eyes before reaching for your hand and squeezing it sympathetically. “Are you in any pain?”

“Yes. No. I don't know,” you said plainly, pinching at your nose. It did hurt, this unwanted binding to the two beings you resented most in this world. It hurt to resist them, to resist it. As if there was a home, beckoning you inside to warmth and food and comfort, and instead you stood outside in the hail and cold, despising it for ever being built.

Tamlin’s eyes were soft as he watched you shift uncomfortably. You hated that look too, as if he was sad for you, as if this bond was your fate and you had no say in the matter.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he blinked.

“As if I’m some mindless female destined to forget and forgive and go running back with a kiss to each of their cheeks.”

“I don’t think that–”

“Because I’m not, and I won’t. I still have my head, and my senses, and some gods-damned self respect.”

Tamlin sighed then. “No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to Y/N. I won't allow it.”

You cast your eyes to the roof then, blinking away the sting of tears. “And what of us, Tamlin? Suppose I was free to explore a future with you?”

Tamlin moved to hold your one hands in his, running a thumb in your palm. “You are free, sweetheart.”

“And you would court me, knowing I’m cauldron-bound to not just one, but two others?”

His thumb stopped rubbing then, and his lips pressed to a thin line.

You stared hard at Tamlin, eyes piercing. Don’t lie - that look said - we do not lie to each other.

And as Tamlin raised green eyes to yours, in their softness you had your answer.

“Your silence is answer enough,” you bit, letting out a sharp breath as tears slid down your cheeks, snatching your hand from his.

It had started – your choices, your freedom – fading away already. Curse the Mother.

“Come now Y/N, I will always love you, and we will always have each other, however our relationship might change.”

“Lies, Tamlin. Fucking lies,” your voice broke as tears streamed down your cheeks. You were flushed with anger then, kicking off the sheets that were now too hot, your skin beginning to tingle. Gods, not now you begged, holding your breath to stifle the sting at your fingertips.

“I do not lie to you, Y/N.” Tamlin said sternly.

You swung your legs from your bed, standing in a hurry as blood rushed to your head. “You’re just another disappointment,” you said coldly, pacing as you shook your hands to rid of your power.

Pain flashed in his eyes, and he recoiled slightly before straightening, his eyes hardening. “You’re being unfair.”

“You males are all the same! You treat females as if they are objects, owned by one male and therefore not to be touched by another. An unspoken exchange, as if I were cattle and not an actual fucking being.”

Tamlin pinched his nose then, his jaw tightening. “That is not what is happening here. You cannot punish me for not wanting to entangle myself in your mateship, not when I’m doing it out of respect for you.”

You were being unfair, and quite unforgiving, but your words were as unstoppable as your power in this moment, zapping and dancing at your skin.

“Is that what you define as respect, High Lord? Because despite a year of friendship, all it took was one gods-foresaken moment for you to side with what they want, and start dismissing me. You believe in the bond, and you respect Azriel and Cassian enough to house them, and agree that you won't so much as look at me again. You have chosen them over me, plain and simple.”

Tamlin’s face was grave, and you knew you were twisting an old wound of his. And perhaps you were being rash, but you didn't care. You would shut him out, or anyone who thought they knew what was best for you.

“I thought I was helping you by allowing them here,” he said defensively. “I thought perhaps you’d feel safe here, but would still want them close, to be able to talk to them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re gods-damned right I want to talk to them! I’ll tell them exactly what I think of this couldren-made-shackle, of what I think of the Mother if they think for one second they can–” You swayed on the spot as you spat a string of curses, vision blurring slightly.

Despite the cruel words you had cast his way, Tamlin approached, steadying you by your shoulder’s, biting down on the pain that stung him at his touch.

“I understand your anger, Y/N, I do. But you’re still unwell, you should rest now and–”

Tamlin should have know better than to test your stubbornness.

So you marched for the door, flinging it open as you stormed through the manor, using that tether you so loathed to cast out your mates. Tamlin was on your tail, trying to reason to take a moment or calm yourself before doing anything rash. But you didn't turn once as you found the room that beheld your mates, ripping the doors open without so much as a knock.

They knew you were coming of course. Azriel stood near the bed, and Cassian had just risen from the armchair he sat on in the opposite corner – their faces grave, worried, with a sickening kind of longing.

It was as if the flesh between your bones went soft, your body begging to give out or give in and relish in the proximity of being close to your mates. But you forced yourself to stay stiff, holding a glare that could cut glass.

“Wipe those looks off your faces,” you bit, stalking into the room.

Azriel cast his eyes to Tamlin who held a look that said I tried to stop her. He knew better than to linger, pulling the doors closed behind you.

“How are you fee–?” Cassian tried, but you raised a hand to silence him.

They waited in silence, and you darted your eyes between them.

“You think this means I forgive you?”

They knew better than to answer that.

“You think this means you can have me, because the Mother wishes to see us mated?” you continued, your voice laced with ice. “Well it doesn’t. I will not head to fate and forsake myself, not even for the cauldron.”

Azriel sighed then, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. “Of course you won’t,” he said plainly.

You scowled. “Is that sarcasm?” you bit, even though you felt his sincerity creeping through the tether.

“No. It’s knowing.”

You blinked.

“We know you doll,” Cassian said as he too sat back in the chair, running a strong hand through his hair – a tell sign of stress. “Not because of the bond. But because we’ve loved you for almost a decade now. We know there is not a thing that can set you apart from your principles.”

“And we would never ask that of you,” Azriel added.

You shuffled, your arms crossing defensively. “You won't try to convince me to go back with you?” you asked stiffly.

Cassian shook his head. “No, it was wrong for us to ask that of you in the first place.”

Azriel stood then, moving closer to a settee in the centre of the room. “We do ask that you might let us explain. We have so much we've wanted to tell you, even before you left Velaris. And there is a lot of truth we’ve withheld, things you deserve to know.” He slid his hands behind his back, waiting at the seats – a silent offering to join them, to hear them out.

It was a temptation you couldn't deny yourself. You moved swiftly, sitting on one side, a low reading table separating you as Cassian took a place next to Azriel.

“We had suspicions of the bond from when we first began to court you.” Azriel began. “It was so rare for us to long for the same female, but the true hint was in the lack of jealousy we felt between each other.”

Cassian nodded. “We agreed to court you as, well, as partners. It wasn't anything we had explored in our 500 years, but with you, it felt so natural.”

“And your ease too, that was a big sign,” Azriel added. “We half expected you to flee, or never speak to us again.”

“But you were so comfortable, you made it feel… right.”

You were frowning slightly. You didn't remember feeling natural or at ease at all, in fact you were sick to your stomach with nerves when you first began dating. But perhaps they had a point, exploring your first relationship with two males hadn’t added any more challenge than regular dating for you. You had put that down to your friendship of many years.

“Over the period we dated, and as we fell in love with you, we learned to love each other too. We were brothers, but you showed us how to be more than that, igniting something not even they Cauldron dared show us.”

“We wanted to tell you of our suspicions, but it didn’t feel like the right time. You were so focused on your work, so determined to do well. And I suppose we thought it was a hopeless dream – it didn't feel right to distract you with that.” Cassian explained, leaning into his elbows that rested on his knees.

You weighed up their words, eyes darting between the males. It had never occurred to you that a mating bond was at play. You would have never believed yourself to be cauldron-blessed if they had suggested it – or cauldron-cursed rather.

Azriel cleared his throat, cutting through the silence. “It wasn't until the moment that I killed Alvar, that I felt the bond snap,” he breathed out, his voice husky and his hazel eyes cast downward, grimacing as he recalled the difficult memory. “I watched the life leave his body, and then I heard a snap, a force so strong it made me falter. I was reborn in that moment, my new purpose to solely fill your needs, to care for you, protect you. I could feel your desires overriding mine, and in that your determination and hunger to avenge your sister. And I knew then, that I had made the biggest mistake of my life.”

There was a downward tug of your lips, your face muscles jerking involuntarily as you tried not to cry, imagining that moment that changed everything for the worse.

“I have dreams of Alvar, still alive and at the mercy of Trutheller. I dream that I sheath my sword and step away, returning to a world where you are waiting for me at our home. And your embrace is warm and true, because you love us, and we never did a thing to ruin it.” Azriel’s voice broke as he flashed those hazel eyes, lined with tears.

Two silent tears slid down your cheeks, your chest tight with the shallows breaths you kept to keep yourself from crumbling. You didn't respond – what could you say? Instead, you cleared your throat, grasping the arms of your chair even tighter. “And what of you?” you asked Cassian.

“It snapped for me in that same moment. But I was journeying home from the northern training camps in Illyria.”

You blinked in shock. The bond had snapped for the both of them, with that greater distance between them while Azriel was across the sea?

“As I was flying back to Velaris, and I heard the snap in my ears before I felt it course through my veins and wounding my heart. That realisation, that same pain that Azriel described, the devastation at what we had done… it sent me crashing into the thick of forest.”

You closed your eyes as you imagined the great War General, bought to his knees by such a thing.

“It seems none of us have been welcomed to this mateship gently,” you said tightly. Why had the Mother forsaken so much pain?

“I could hear Az then, speak to him through the bond in the same way Rhys and Feyre speak in our minds. I could feel his panic too, his fear of having to tell you, to break you in such a way. I calmed him down as best I could, and reassured him that we would do it together, as soon as he returned.”

Your eyes turned cold again. “But that isn’t what happened.”

“It was a cowards choice to ask Rhys to be the one tell you, we know,” Azriel said with dismay. “But the concept of hurting you, of wounding our mate so deeply? It was unfathomable.”

“Its not an excuse,” Cassian added. “But we hope you can understand, there is an instinct there that twists our concept of what is wrong and right. Rhys understood that, it was the same instinct that kept him from telling Feyre about the risk of birthing Nyx. I think that’s why he volunteered to tell you, to protect us from something that would wound us so deeply.”

“We are learning, Y/N, and we are so sorry that we hurt you,” Azriel said, hazel eyes pinning you with their intensity. “But we are trying, and we will do better by you.”

You looked between the two of them, pulling your hands to your lap as your fingers trembled. It was just all so much.

Closing your eyes, you imagined what it would be like to say those words – I forgive you.

You could see it, relief flooding the bond and breaking those solemn gazes, their embrace and warmth and scent surrounding you, fulfilling your primal desire. Their lips on yours, their hands on your body, yours on theirs, puling each other in and never letting go. There was a thrumming in your heart, a pulsing through your veins. It felt so right.

But then you thought of the life you had made, the path you were forced to walk by yourself after what they had done. They had broken you completely, and you had put yourself back together, now stronger than ever. Your mission work, your life in Spring, the pain you endured and the scars that remained from doing it alone – it was a part of you now, and you could never let that go.

You were at a cross roads – one path leading to the overwhelming promise of unconditional love that tempted your heart, the other promising freedom and choice and sense, tempting your head.

“What are you thinking?” Cassian asked, his voice soft from where he still sat, anxiously fidgeting with his hands.

You took a deep breath. “That I am overwhelmed.”

Cassian nodded, and Azriel watched you before speaking softly. “That is understandable.”

You didn't have an answer for them, not even for yourself.

“I don't know what to do,” you whispered.

Cassian continued to nod, casting his eyes down sadly. “Whatever you decide, Y/N, we will do right by you.”

“Of course we dream of you accepting the bond, of becoming our mate, we won't deny that. But we want you to want it,” Azriel added.

You gulped, anticipating the pain that would come from your next words. “And what if I decide to break the bond?”

Cassian’s head dropped as he let out a wrangled sob. Azriel’s shadows recoiled so fast they disappeared entirely. The latter gripped the chair, his knuckles white as he slipped into that place he so often had to as the Spy Master – a place where nothing could hurt him. “The choice is yours.”

“Please,” Cassian breathed out, tears streaming down his face. It was a plea, even the thought of the bond breaking unbearable to him.

It unbearable for you too, and fresh tears slid down your face as your arms coiled tighter around the ache in your stomach. It would sicken you, perhaps almost kill the three of you. But it was what they deserved.

You were exhausted, and keeping that wall up through the bond, stopping their emotions from tampering with your own – that alone had you begging for your bed.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you said with a broken voice, guilt slipping through at the sight of the General sobbing before you.

Azriel put an arm around his brother, comforting him as best he could. “We know that, sweetheart. Of course we know that.”

You cast your eyes sideways as you blinked through more tears. “But I don't have an answer for you.”

Cassian nodded, running his hands over his face as he tried to collect himself. “Take your time,” he said after a few moments, his voice shaky and breaths forced. “We will wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“And you don't need any more bargains from Rhys or Feyre,” Azriel added. “We will respect your privacy Y/N, any and all distance you might need. Let us prove that to you.”

You nodded then, forcing yourself to your knees despite the scream of protests in all of your muscles and joints. Gods, is this how the rest of your life would be, forever fighting a higher cause? Perhaps you’d go mad before you could ever hope to forgive them.

“I will…,” you trailed off, not knowing what to say. “Good bye, Cassian and Azriel,” you forced out, your voice thick from the cry that begged at your throat.

Cassian’s lip wobbled, and Azriel’s brow broke upwards as he spoke. “Take good care of yourself, Y/N.”

Cassian’s head felt to his hands, and you forced yourself to close the doors behind you, quieting the sound of his cries.

————

You spent three weeks at your Uncle’s cabin – mostly in bed and unspeaking, even to Finbark. He dotted over you, trying to pry you from your room to spend some time outside or eat a full meal. But that familiar pain had returned, that same weight that kept you bed bound for days in your old apartment. It was grief, in all shapes and kinds.

You hadn't broken the bond, but it was rejected good and proper for now. And it hurt so gods damned much. Your waking moments were consumed with the tug and pull of what was right, a constant reeling battle that exhausted you to every extent.

The mission aid work carried on without you – you had a competent team of friends that you trusted to continue to provide care across Spring Court. You were grateful for their passion and dedication – while your desire to help others was unreachable in those moments, and you felt completely numb to what you once had thought was your life’s calling. You despised the bond for changing you so.

You wondered of the wild Geranium, if it had been harvested yet and if Tamlin or your team had made any progress on bottling its healing pigment.

And there was pain and guilt when you thought of Tamlin too. You had hurt him – you were malicious in your anger and said so many things you hadn't meant. You weren't angry at him, not really. Your anger lied with the Mother and your mates, and you could not fault him for not wanting to complicate relations and involve himself where he knew he shouldn’t. He was true to his word – he was open and honest with you – and you had punished him for it.

Tamlin hadn’t sent word, and you knew he was respecting the distance you sought, perhaps even licking his own wounds. So you would start there, apologise to him, and help just one person hurt less from the recoil of your poisonous mating bond.

You sent word to his Manor, asking him to meet you in three days time.

————

Tamlin was at the stables, brushing down his steed when you trotted up on Podie.

He wore his riding pants again, boots to his knees, a shirt tucked in at his tight abdomen, strong forearms moving the brush gently across the horses back. You cursed the Mother that the sight of him didn't have the same effect on you as it had a few months prior – the bond chipping away at what you had once known to desire.

Your heart did clench at the sight of him in a sorry way, his blond hair pulled back as he worked humbly. You had missed your friend dearly, and even the Mother could not stop you from feeling that.

Tamlin turned, his face neutral as he watched you approach, neither of you speaking. Green eyes followed your dismount, and you lingered for a moment before you rushed at him, wrapping your arms at his waist and burying your face into his chest. The scent of mountain dew and fresh cut grass filled your nose – gods you had missed that.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked before sobs overtook, muffled by his clothing.

Tamlins arms were still in the air, shocked by your approach. But he loosed a breath, bringing them to hug you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

Relief found you then, and you melted further into his touch. A sign of truce. “I’m so so sorry Tamlin.”

“Shhh, it’s alright Y/N. It’s alright.”

You shook your head, pulling away and looking up at him. “You were only trying to help, and I was so cruel. The things I said, I–”

Tamlin shook his head gently, hushing you. “I don't understand the instincts of a mating bond, but I do know what it is to say things out of anger.”

“I didn't mean them,” you swallowed with guilt.

He smiled softly. “I know.”

You took a deep breath. “Please forgive me.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes playfully then, a smirk now on his lips. “I already had.”

You tried to smile back, but it came out all wobbly, so Tamlin pulled you in again, swaying in a hug as he kissed the top of your head.

After some lunch and a stroll through the gardens, he watched your carefully as you fingered the roses.

“Do you know what you’ll do of the bond?”

You stiffened, your eyes not leaving the row of flowers before you. “No, I really don’t,” you said sadly. It was true, you hadn't a clue what to do next.

Tamlin nodded.

After a deep sigh, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “But I do know what I want for my life. I want to continue my mission work, expand my horizons and work across Prythian. I suppose I need to approach the other High Lords, and harvest the Geranium if you’re still willing?”

Tamlin smiled, his eyes warm as he seemed to find relief. “It’s all yours.”

You nodded, smiling back. There was relief for you too – you recognised your old self in those words. Your passion to help others was still alive and strong – and that meant the cauldron hadn’t changed you beyond recognition, and if you fought hard enough, it couldn't if it tried.

“I’m so grateful to have you in my life, Tam,” you confessed, your chest swelling with sincerity.

Tamlin raised his brows in question.

You gave a half smile. “You make me feel… like myself. No matter the circumstance.”

Tamlin’s face softened in a way that made you wonder how long it was since he was shown a genuine kind of love – especially after what happened with Hybern.

“You are wonderfully you, Y/N, with or without my help.”

“Always the humble High Lord,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “But I would not have made it this far without you. You’re my dearest friend.”

Tamlin reached and squeezed your hand. “You’re dear to me too, Y/N.”

You squeezed back, and you swore to yourself that the bond would not interfere in this friendship ever again.

————

6 months later

The High Lords meeting was held in Dawn, in an impressive wide cast room, marble sprawled from floor to ceiling, glassless windows arched at every wall. All seven High lords and one High Lady seated at a wide-spanning table, a cartographic map of Prythian etched within the wood.

Fingers tingling as you shook them out, and skirts kicking at your feet, you paced anxiously on the other side of the double doors to the meeting hall.

Today was the day you would propose your mission to expand refuge aid across the whole of Prythian, asking the High Lords to consider opening their borders and contributing resources and volunteers of their own.

Your team had worked tirelessly to get to this point – the wild Geranium was now harvested and a new batch was already seeding, and you had worked for months on your proposal, researching natural resources, writing guidance sheets on how to train volunteers, identifying what each court had to contribute and when.

The challenge that lay ahead of you now was to appeal to spectrum of powerful leaders waiting on the other side of those doors. You knew of their egos, of the rivalry and sensitivities between courts – this was no easy task.

“Tamlin must certainly be a terrible lover if this is how wound up he leaves you.”

You threw a scowl over your shoulder, knowing that voice and whitewood scent.

“And what of you, Eris? Waiting for daddy to finish his meeting like the good dog you are?”

Eris gave a half grin, one that didn't reach his eyes. He strolled over, leaning against the wall as he watched you try to calm yourself, delighting in your nerves. “Speaking of dogs, I heard your mates are cooped up at Night Court, the both of them suffering from wounded hearts.”

Your bared your teeth before you could think twice. Eris knowing that both Cassian and Azriel were your mates was dangerous, but the primal snarl had escaped you for that insult alone.

Eris’s eyes danced with satisfaction. “Oh, don't go feral on me now, Y/N. From what I hear, you haven't so much a secured the bond with a fuck.”

“I will–“ your hands curled into fists as you stalked up to the male, overcome with a shaking rage.

But Eris stayed leaning, cleaning his nails with arrogant nonchalance as he cut you off. “I suppose they’ll have to satisfy each other instead, how sad.”

Your hand was raised, ready to strike, and fire glowed in Eris’s eyes.

“Try that, girl, and your pathetic mission turns to dust. You can forget any allegiance from Autumn, and it’s likely others will back out too.”

You faltered, your arm swaying slightly. He was right – the prick. A sounding slap was not the way to heed your proposal.

He grinned with smug satisfaction as you lowered your arm and turned away. “Such a violent response from someone who preaches to only want to help others. Perhaps you’re not the peaceful messiah you claim to be, Y/N.”

“I’ve never had a problem defending what is mine,” you threw over your shoulder. “And my aid is offered to those in need, not to arrogant princelings, or lapdogs and the likes.”

A snarl tickled at Eris’s lips, and you were glad to have landed at least one blow, be it verbal.

“You consider those overgrown bats yours?” he asked with distaste. “So it’s true then, about the bond?”

Blinking, you played back the words that had found you so naturally. Was that how you felt?

Chewing on your lip, you decided to ignore Eris’s question. You would think of that later – you had a meeting to focus on, and you’d be damned if either the mating bond or Eris distracted you from it.

You didn’t have time to throw a final insult his way before Thesan pulled the double doors open, eight pairs of eyes now set on you, and Eris no where in sight.

“Y/N, we are ready for you,” Thesan said with a soft smile.

You gulped before straightening yourself, stepping into the room and facing the most important moment of your entire existence, whether you were ready or not.

--------

Part 6>>>

AN: SURPRISE guest appearance by Eris ;) ;) ;) Hello hello lovelies, thank you so much for your patience on this part, I know it took a while ❤️ I am so so excited to finally explore a bit of Cazriel's perspective, and get their side to the story. I hope I've done all the characters justice so far! And there's still so much to explore – I am very keen to share the next part and see how this High Lords meeting goes down (let's face it, there will be TEA). As always, I LOVE hearing your thoughts and opinions on the fic, so pretty please drop me a comment or ask anytime! Hope you're all well and are taking care of yourselves too. MWAH! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

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lecsainz · 1 year ago

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hi! can you write some travis kelce x reader angst? thank you!

DIFFERENT THINGS

parings: travis kelce x girlfriend!reader

summary: the one where you decide to break up with travis because your future ideas are different.

an: about the super bowl, WHAT A GAME!

( my last work || go to my main masterlist )

The cold Kansas City wind bit through your coat as you stood on the doorstep, clutching the handle of your suitcase. The walls of our apartment seemed to close in on you, echoing the weight of the decision you were about to make. You had known Travis since our college days, and your love had weathered through many storms, but now it faced a tempest that threatened to tear you apart.

The sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts. The familiar creak of the door swung open, revealing Travis, still in his Chiefs jersey, the exhaustion evident in his eyes. A victorious smile painted across his face faded as he registered the somber atmosphere.

"Hey, babe! We did it again!" he exclaimed, expecting your usual enthusiastic response.

You managed a weak smile, your heart clenching at the realization that this would be the last time he'd see it. "Yeah, you did great out there."

He furrowed his brows, concern etching his features. "What's going on, Y/N?"

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling as you clutched the handle of your suitcase tighter. "Trav, we need to talk."

His eyes searched yours for reassurance, but the heavy air in the room told a different story. "Okay, talk to me. What's on your mind?"

"I... I can't do this anymore, Travis," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Our paths, they're going in different directions. You want a family, a home. I want to build my career, travel, explore. I can't give you the life you want."

His eyes widened, disbelief and hurt clouding them. "What are you saying, Y/N?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought to keep your composure. "I'm saying, I think we need to end this, Trav. It's not fair to either of us to keep pretending we want the same things. You deserve someone who can give you the life you dream of."

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, a mix of frustration and sadness painting his expression. "But I want you, Y/N. I thought we were building a life together."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "I thought so too, but I can't ignore what I want, and I can't ask you to ignore your dreams. It's better this way."

He took a step closer, desperation in his eyes. "Can't we find a compromise? Work through this?"

You shook your head again, aching to reach out and comfort him. "We've tried, Travis. But compromises won't change what we fundamentally want from life. It's time to let go."

Silence hung heavily between you, broken only by the muffled sobs you couldn't contain. Travis reached out, his hand hovering in the air as if uncertain whether to bridge the gap. In that moment, your love, once fierce and unwavering, crumbled into the heartbreaking reality of your diverging paths.

With a heavy heart, you turned away, pulling your suitcase behind you. "I've already packed my things. I'll be staying with a friend tonight."

He remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. As you reached the door, you hesitated, a part of you hoping he'd stop you, convince you that you could make it work. But the words never came.

"I'm sorry, Travis," you whispered, opening the door to a world where your love was now just a bittersweet memory.

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lowkeyrobin · 1 year ago

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Hiiiiii just wanted to put in a request of Trevor Spangler x reader angst where reader is trapped with a hostile ghost, just in the mood for some angst 🤭

ooooo okay okay I see the vision ; thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy! I need gbfe to release on digital bc I'm in desperate need to get new banners/headers. sigh ; post writing robin here, I missed the whole angst bit somehow bc idek how to write good angst so I apologize

TREVOR SPENGLER ; hostile ghost exposure therapy

summary ; youre a scientist in the making working with the ghostbusters squad and expose hostile ghosts and ghouls to human kind. sometimes it can be rough, though

warnings ; language, choking, weird ghost shit

disclaimers ; ik ghostbusters usually focuses on the ghouley types of ghosts but standard ghosts were the idea for this lol. I've been watching The Boys explore haunted places all day so what can I say

word count ; 783

masterlist

Proton barriers this, ghost containment that. Whatever Lars was speaking about didn't matter to you at this moment. What did matter was trying to help this new, very hostile, ghost adjust to being in the presence of a human.

The barrier quickly slips down, then right back up once you step inside the room. Glass surrounds the exterior, then Lars steps away, leaving you to do your thing. Lucky waves a few feet away, wishing you a silent good luck before getting back to work.

Trevor and Phoebe talk about with Lucky, Lars, and Podcast, testing out one of the newer machines in the lab. You face the approximate direction of the ghost, not exactly able to see it without its permission.

You carefully sit down in a chair across from the one left empty from it, bathing in the silence before speaking.

"My name's Y/n, what's yours?" You ask, not really expecting an answer. Thank God this was a standard ghost and not a ghoul. You didn't think you had the patience for that today. "It's alright if you don't want to tell me. I just want to know why you're so hostile to make you that way. I'm not here to judge, I have good intentions. I promise you that"

Step one, build trust and rapport.

Silence.

You internally nod, moving your legs in a criss-cross manner to get a little more comfortable. Apparently, the ghost didn't like this silence and chucked a ceramic vase, which sat on the coffee table between the chairs, towards you. It just barely misses you and breaks on impact with the wall behind you, causing you to flinch a bit. The dusty, broken ceramic clatters onto the floor, creating a million pieces out of the used-to-be one-piece vase.

You keep your composure, not giving the undead the attention that she wanted. You sit in silence, a clear look of 'not taking shit' on your face.

"Stupid bitch" It whispers into your ear, catching you off gaurd. You feel a shiver run down your spine as a wave of coolness washes over you.

You lightly sigh, "We can sit here and insult each other all you want. I'm just here to help" You speak, leaning back in your chair.

Over the course of the next ten or so minutes, you hear petty insult after insult, like this ghost was trying to dig into your skin and was just miserably failing. You'd gotten used to this long ago. When would they ever learn?

Suddenly, you feel a tight sensation around your throat, which you nearly panic at feeling, considering you can feel the air suddenly leaving you. You grab at your throat, choking and gasping for air, trying to get whatever hands were on you off out of pure human instinct.

This has happened a few times, where the ghosts will put hands on you. It's never escalated to immediate choking, though, which was why it worried you so much. This was a very hostile ghost. It wasn't just going to stop. It wanted to hurt.

"Get off of me!" You joke, instinctively kicking out towards the ghost, who's obviously unable to feel it. "I want to help you!"

You feel your face grow cold, and your eyes become heavy. The transparent figure now becomes slightly visible, still very much opaque as it stands in front of you, arms stretched out to squeeze down on your throat.

You hear some muffled shouting outside, then a lot of mechanical wirring and beeping. Lars and Trevor came to your rescue, the older man cautiously pulling down the proton fields while the teenage boy ran in to help you.

You don't know exactly what happened within the next few seconds, but the forceful grip on your throat was pushed away, and you were quickly ushered past the proton barrier again.

Trevor holds you up as you choke and gasp for air, already feeling your throat begin to bruise.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" He quickly asks, sitting you down on the floor.

You nod and cough some more, trying to regulate the amount of air swarming to your lungs. You pound on your chest like you were choking on an actual something, wanting the painful choking to stop.

Once it does end, Trev quickly wraps you in a hug, trying to make sure you were okay.

"I'm okay, I'm fine. Just fucking hurt" You nod

"Are you sure? Phoebe, go get them some water." He quickly speaks, turning back to Phoebe, Podcast, and Lucky, who were concerningly watching from afar. Phoebe nods and quickly jogs out to the kitchen/lunchroom area.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm okay. Thank you"

#lowkeyrobin #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters x reader #trevor spengler x reader #trevor spengler #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader

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the-s1lly-corner · 2 years ago

Text

He accidentally hurts you (Eyeless Jack edition)

I've been meaning to explore something like this and I'm still hungry for angst! Very heavy on my hc of "eyeless jack is cursed and has moments where his monstrous side takes a hold of him especially when it craves flesh",

Basic idea is reader gets hurt, jack smells blood, curse immediately totally takes over, blah blah things happen

More fan fiction-y than my usual short headcannons, but still using the bullet point format since I couldnt commit to the bit

Cw for mild injury, blood, mentions of SH but I wont dwell on it

Not proof read we die like Jack's self esteem

It wasnt too often that the ugliest side of Jack's curse showed itself; at least that's what you thought. You were under the impression that it happened rarely, due to the fact that you only visit Jack when he gives you the go ahead, on nights where he knows it wouldn't be an issue

But tonight, as your anniversary draws near, you decided to drop in unexpected for a night with your boyfriend. It was hard enough getting to his cabin, what with the rain and it being dark..

When you made it to his door, you could hear... noises..

Growls, hisses, howls; all pained. It sounded like there was a fight happening on the other side of the door... the sound of things being thrown and someone's body slamming against the walls made your worry spike

Of course you opened the door, fearing that someone had intruded into your partners cabin.. but when you threw it open, you saw that Jack was alone. Covered in bruises, and his arms bloodied with claw marks and bite wounds; showing off his blackened, inky blood. The man's small body heaved with ragged breaths as his empty sockets locked onto you

You quickly explained yourself after assessing that he was in one of his.. low points..

He wanted you to leave, but the rain had become to pour harsher outside; far too dangerous to walk out alone

And how could you leave him be when he was so obviously wounded? You insisted on patching him up, to which Jack reluctantly agreed to.

So you took him to the bathroom and took out his small first aid kit, and got to work.

Washing the wounds, adding pressure to where he needed it, added bandages. When you were done, you placed a light kiss on his arms

That seemed to soften him up, even through his building bloodlust and hunger

"I'll go get some bedding and we can set camp out in the living room," you said, trying to keep him pacified. He seemed to enjoy the idea..

He was smiling.. that's good, and his breathing seemed to calm down just a touch, though it was still on the.. hissy growly side..

You headed to his room, gathered some of his comforters and pillows, and walked to the living room, then went to his room a second time to grab his radio, knowing it can help keep him calm.

Unfortunately; due to the cabin being run down, one of the wooden floorboards was loose and lightly curled upwards... and, well. You tripped. You managed to save the radio, somehow, but your face slammed down onto the floor

Instant nosebleed

You cursed, and pressed a finger up to your upper lip.. yep, that's blood.. lots of it, the burning in your face intensifying as the pain set in, making your eyes water

Before you even had time to process anything else, a growl caught your attention. Spinning around, still on the floor, you saw Jack. The leaking ink of his eyes doubled in pace and volume; making a mess of his face and shirt as his bared teeth flashed down at you, nose flared and ears peaked at attention. Because of course, how could you forget, the smell of blood is basically a death sentence when Jack's curse is flared.

Your mind raced as you scooted backwards, Jack seemed to be fighting himself; but he lost. Before you could choose between running or bracing, he jumped on you

Bracing it was, then. Your arms shot up in front of you, and you felt white hot pain almost immediately

But just as soon as he jumped on you, you felt him pull himself off. Blood was all over his jaw, and getting spread all over the floor as he began to force himself to spit it out. Growls were replaced by low whines, before he scampered off, leaving you alone

It all happened so fast you were left confused on the floor, holding your arm. It felt worse than it looked; his teeth didnt seem to go that deep, and since he didnt... pull at you with his teeth still in, you were still intact... that was nice, at least..

Your mind went back to racing as you processed what happened.. you needed to get cleaned up before Jack slipped again

And that's exactly what you did; you rushed into the bathroom you were in just earlier, and began the process of cleaning the wound..

After a minute, the door cracked open; Jack peered in, more mellowed out than before but guilt was written all over his face. It was clear he was still struggling with his hunger, and you can tell just by looking that he was debating whether or not to approach you

His face twisted in pain when he, although hard to tell due to his lack of eyes, seemed to glance at the wound

"Its not that bad," you insist, but he shook his head. "You could have died.. I should have dealt with this sooner, you shouldn't have to.." he trailed off, "get hurt," he finished. His ears drooped slightly as he slumped. He pushed the door open, and entered the bathroom

His hands shook slightly as he removed yours from your arm. "Its my fault, I need to fix it.." he mumbled. You didn't push him away, although it may have been a dumb idea to let the starving man eater handle your bloodied arm

Cleaned, applied pressure, bandaged

He stared at the bandages, still holding your arm in his hands

You finally noticed just how cold he was. Jack was always on the cooler side, but at the moment he was freezing, even though he was covered in a layer of sweat

He ran his clawed fingers along where the wound would be, as light as a feather, as not to risk hurting you again

He leaned down, and lightly pressed a kiss to the bandages; just as you done for him

"Im so sorry," he whimpered, leaving another kiss

"You shouldn't have to be put in danger just to try to help me," his eyes welled with inky tears, and he left another kiss

"You shouldn't have to see me like this," his voice creaked out, another kiss

He was about to lay down a fifth kiss, but you stopped him

You reassure him; it wasn't exactly his fault. He didnt ask to be cursed, he didn't mean any of this to happen, he had been roped and manipulated into the situation that made him this way. You reassured him that you'd heal, and you weren't going to think badly of him, how you took the chance for something like this to happen when you first got together. Things like that. Though, this will call for a more in depth discussion about how to prevent this in the future, make a system and means of communication so he can warn you ahead of time during flare ups... but right now, comfort was top priority

It took a minute, but his tears slowed and he got control on his breathing. He whimpered, before peeling himself off of you

He backed off, but you tugged him into your arms

Cue the waterworks, again. You both hugged, not speaking.. just standing there for a few minutes. He rested his head on your chest, and you rested yours in his shoulder. You pulled away, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Do you still want me to stay?", you asked. He looked conflicted. He didnt want to run the risk, but he didnt want to be alone. Besides, the storm was still raging outside

"Why don't you.. stay here tonight, I'll step out.." he said softly as he stepped back. He cut you off before you could respond, "I'll be back soon, I just.. need to get this.." he gestured to himself, "dealt with, I don't feel safe having you around.. its only a matter of time before.. " he trailed off. You nodded, "I understand.. be back in the morning?"

He hesitated, before nodding back, "I'll be back as soon as I can be," he said quietly

You let him make his way to the front door, tugging his hold and mask on

"I love you," you said as you watched him open the door

He paused.

"I love you, too," he said, the cracks returning in his voice, likely choking down his emotions again

"We'll talk.. more about this in the morning," he added, smoother this time

"Alrighty," was all you said

And he left for the night, closing the door behind him

WOOOO

I hope that wasny too bad

This was really just a VERY vague idea I had for a few days that i wanted to write but I'm too lazy to do proof reading and rough drafts <\3 and im not used to writing longer detailed stuff like this, let alone dialogue

I hope it's not too cringe, I feel like the ending it rushed because

Erm

I didnt know how to end it

Yay

Eyeless jack angst

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack #eyeless jack angst #angst

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kyeop-tato · 3 months ago

Text

Whispers Between Shadows

genre : fluff, romcom, slight angst

pairing : non idol! lee juyeon × fem! reader (got mentions of other idols / ocs further into the fic too)

summary : fleeing from an arranged marriage and seeking freedom in your parents' homeland, you believe you've escaped—until you meet Juyeon, who might either complete you or bring to your downfall

── .✦ 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

— ⋆. 𐙚 ˚CHAPTER 1 —

"YAH! YOU REALLY FLY OFF TO KOREA?? ARE YOU CRAZY OR JUST HAVE A DEATHWISH?" Minji's shriek echoed through my phone, making me flinch. You bowed apologetically, a blush creeping up your neck as a gaggle of impeccably dressed passerbys gave you curious stares in the gleaming lobby. The air thrummed with the low hum of conversation, punctuated by the sharp click of high heels on polished marble around you.

"Tone it down, will you... And yes, i did. Did you honestly think I'd go through with my parents outrageous plan to marry me off to some random… jerk? God knows what he even looks like" you tossed your hair, a defiant gesture that felt oddly liberating.

"You're looking for trouble, you know that? What if he uses his power and tracks you down? Kinda like a predator stalking it's prey" Minji's voice, usually so bright, was laced with genuine worry. I could almost see her fidgeting on the other end of the call, her perfectly manicured nails probably digging into her palms. You pondered this for a moment, a faint smile playing on my lips, "And what he's gonna do? drag me out from my own country? The very idea is inhumane! I'm not even his wife"

"Don't say I didn't warn you! I've heard rumors of how he tend to do anything to get what he wants, and I just don't want you to get hurt – by him, or your parents," she said, her voice softening slightly. "Aww, you're worried about me, how cute, Kim Minji," you teased, a warmth spreading through you despite the underlying tension.

"Of course! You're my one and only precious friend. Anyway, so how's is it there, so far?" Minji asked, her curiosity evident in her tone.

"Hmm, communicating is definitely a challenge, but it's manageable. I haven't explored much yet; I barely just checked in into my hotel apartment," you replied, your gaze drifting to the panoramic view of the city sprawling outside the window. The city lights twinkled, a mesmerizing display of vibrant energy that both excites and slightly intimidated you. A sense of unease settled in your stomach. It wasn't just the language barrier; it was the feeling of being watched or perhaps it's probably just you being paranoid, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Later, you luxuriated in a warm bath, the lavender-scented bubbles clinging to your skin like a silken second layer. Steam fogged the mirrored walls, blurring the reflection of the opulent bathroom – marble countertops gleaming under the soft light, plush towels piled high, the scent of jasmine subtly mingling with the lavender. The tension in your muscles slowly unwound, melting away with each sigh. But even the soothing warmth couldn't completely erase the lingering unease. The city lights outside your window seemed to pulse with a silent warning.

Dragging yourself from the comforting warmth, you reluctantly stepped out of the bath, the cool air a sudden shock against your skin. The plush carpet was a welcome relief underfoot as you padded into the bedroom, the day already fading into a blur, swallowed by the deepening twilight. Slipping into your pajamas felt like shedding the last vestiges of the day's anxieties.

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

Sunrise had snuck in unnoticed, and the afternoon sun was already slanting through the blinds when you finally woke. Your phone buzzed with a furious symphony of notifications – missed calls from my parents, a relentless barrage that forced you to silence the device. Honestly, you hadn’t had a plan beyond the impulsive flight, this trip had been a whim, a desperate act of defiance against a parental edict you couldn't fathom. Why the vehement refusal to return to Seoul, the city of their birth? The question gnawed at you as you prepared for the day, lost in a sea of your own uncertainties, a stranger in a land that held both a mysterious pull and a daunting unknown.

Technology, thank goodness, was your lifeline. A few taps on the smartphone, a quick translation of a tricky word or phrase, and you could navigate this unfamiliar city with ease. It wasn't that you didn't know Hangul, you just hadn't spoken it fluently since growing up in the States. The sounds felt clumsy on your tongue, foreign and awkward. A misplaced syllable, a wrong inflection, and you risked causing offense – a risk you couldn't afford in this unfamiliar country. The chaos back home was enough; you needed a break from the constant turmoil.

The day had unfurled with a sense of quiet promise, a hum of normalcy, until calamity struck in the form of your shoe's betrayal. The sole gave way as if it, too, had grown weary of life’s endless trudge, flapping lifelessly with each step. To compound your misery, the streets were a writhing mass of humanity—workers shedding the burdens of their day, students savoring newfound freedom, lovers entwined in the fleeting glow of evening. And there you were, stranded amidst the throng, a solitary figure in a sea of togetherness.

As you navigated through the crowd, clutching your injured shoe like a fallen comrade, someone collided with you. The impact jolted the last shred of your patience free, and you lashed out, your voice sharp and unkind.

"Watch where you're going, idiot! Can't you see a person in distressed here?"

The man, caught off guard by your outburst, lowered his phone, startled. But as his eyes fell upon you, a shift in his expression became apparent. He wasn't going to launch into a witty retort or unleash a volley of sarcastic remarks as you had anticipated. He simply stared, concern replacing annoyance as he took in the sight of you, one bare foot scuffing the pavement, the other holding the remains of your broken shoe. Whatever barb he had prepared melted away, replaced by something softer. Pity, perhaps.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he murmured, the phone slipping from his ear. His posture shifted, the faintest hint of an offer of assistance beginning to take shape. Yet before the moment could fully bloom, the tide of passersby surged again, shoving him out of your orbit, his figure swallowed by the crowd.

And just like that, the possibility of reprieve—of an unexpected kindness—was lost to the chaos of the street.

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

To make matters worse, every store you entered in search of a replacement for your broken shoe only added to your frustration. Just when you finally found a pair that caught your eye, your card declined. Again. And again. You knew this was coming—deep down, you had expected it. But the realization didn’t make it any less infuriating.

"It’s none other than Dad freezing all my cards—ugh!" you burst out in frustration, earning a startled glance from a nearby couple.

With the sun dipping below the horizon and the shadows of night creeping in, you pressed your phone to your ear, nails brushing against your lips in a subconscious gesture of nerves. You waited for the call to connect, a familiar tension knotting in your chest.

Finally, the gruff voice of your father came through the receiver.

"Dad!" you hissed, your voice sharp with indignation. "Are you seriously leaving your own daughter to starve in an unfamiliar country? You froze all my cards!"

His reply was cool, unyielding. "Come back home this instant if you want them unfrozen."

You rolled your eyes at his commanding tone, already prepared to snap back with a firm, stubborn "no." But before you could get the word out, something shifted in the air. A shadow loomed behind you, and before you could react, a cloth was pressed over your mouth.

Panic surged as you thrashed against your attacker, muffled cries escaping into the fabric. The phone slipped from your hand, hitting the pavement with a sharp, resonant thud. Your struggles grew weaker, the world blurring and spinning until darkness swallowed you whole.

The last frantic thoughts racing through your mind were an echo of Minji's warnings. Was this really the end? Would you survive whoever—or whatever—had come for you?

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

a/n : hey everyone! i'm back with another fic , finally! if you had not read my 1st fic, pls do 😉 happy belated new year btw! 🤧

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princess-lvcifer · 7 months ago

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round of hugs

ihsahn x f!reader • drabble • hurt with not much comfort tbh

summary: Emperor's last dinner before most of them end up in prison

A/N: This is similar to my previous Samoth x F!Reader drabble and is going to be similar to my next Ihsahn x Samoth and Ihsahn x Faust drabbles because I love exploring the angst of a loved one going far away for months or years. I wrote the first paragraphs and I thought "Wait this could be also yaoi... What should I write...? Fuck it I'll write every version I have in mind."

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

He was always aware of the things his band members and other friends were doing, he didn't agree and didn't want to participate, but he kept quiet and just like them thought they would never get caught, but Varg ruined everyone's party. Øystein's murder at the hands of Varg the year before culminated the fun in the Norwegian black metal scene.

The months between then and now had been very hard, with all his band members and other friends being questioned and judged, including himself. His girlfriend, who was also his best girl friend, was a great support to him.

Vegard had a year to psyche himself up, and yet he was still hurt and furious that absolutely all the members of his band were going to prison for church burning, robbery, possession of explosives, grave desecration, extreme violence and even murder. He was furious with all of them for what they had done, and although he knew they deserved it, he was also angry at justice — on Terje and Bård's part he thought it was understandable, but Tomas? It was no big deal, and fortunately he had only been sentenced to sixteen months, but at the same time it seemed like an eternity. He was his best boy friend, he loved him madly, and although they could still communicate by letter and maybe talk on the phone and even visit him, it wouldn't be the same. They would spend a long time apart and the future of the band was uncertain.

There were still a few days left before they were to enter prison, and before that they would go to their parents' house to spend their last days of freedom with their family, so Vegard's girlfriend told him to have a farewell party, just the band.

"It doesn't have to be a party party," she said, lying next to him on his bed, "it can be a chill party. The four of us drinking beers with some pizzas or kebabs, lying on the sofas."

"The four of us?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "The five of us."

"Me too?" she asked, surprised and confused.

"Fuck, you're the one who came up with the idea. And you're friends with them too, especially Tom," he added trying to hide his sadness, and she looked at him, grimacing with understanding at his sadness.

Clearly spirits were not high, but the three future prisoners appreciated the gesture of wanting to cheer them up and invite them to dinner and drinks, and they all dined and drank together one last time.

"You'd better not get married while I'm locked up," Tomas joked, pointing to the couple with his beer in hand before taking a sip from the small bottle. She laughed and blushed, and Vegard just smiled wistfully, nostalgic even for a moment he was still living.

"God, to think that by the time I get out they'll be married with children..." said Bård before taking a sip from his can of Coke.

"We'll all be bald by the time you come out." Terje added as he chewed a bit of the slice of pizza he held in his dominant hand, while covering his mouth with the other.

And quicker than they expected it was time to say goodbye the next morning, with the future prisoners clutching their suitcases in their hands and leaving the house mostly empty. There was a round of hugs with her, who was teary-eyed, and finally with the band's vocalist, who played hard to get. The hugs between the men were peculiar, different from those given to their girl friend: shorter hugs, a seen and unseen where there was hardly any physical contact between their chests, simple pats on their backs. His girlfriend, observant, noticed this attitude between them and other friends at the scene, and wondered: was the pressure of their self-imposed toxic masculinity so great that they wouldn't even allow themselves to hug properly at a time like this?

Luckily the hug that lasted the longest was the hug between Tomas and Vegard, which was a macho hug plus a short hug, an ordinary hug.

"Write me, okay?" Tomas said in his ear as they embraced.

"Sure, same here," he replied as they parted.

And as he watched them walk away and his girlfriend approached him to put her hand on his back, he closed the door and was left alone with her.

"For a moment there I thought you were going to kiss, you know?" She joked as she rubbed her eyes, and he smiled tiredly. "I wouldn't have minded," and after scanning his face in a pause, she added, "Come on, come here," she said more seriously now opening her arms, and he accepted her proposal by leaning in to embrace her, giving her a longer hug than any he had given his friends minutes before, even though he had wanted it.

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

A/N: English isn't my first language, sorry if something was weird expressed.

Crossposted on AO3. 🇪🇸

#emperor band #ihsahn #vegard tveitan #ihsahn x reader #metal #black metal #true norwegian black metal #trve norwegian black metal #trve kvlt #metalhead #norway #1990s #lords of chaos #fanfic #classic rock

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08melancholie · 6 months ago

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Healing Hands. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Micah Bell/Reader, Micah Bell, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romantic Fluff, Healing, Healthy Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Sexual Assault, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Dark Past

summary: You shake in his grasp, his rough palms brushing every curve and slope of your body slowly, feasting on the feeling of your skin under his calloused touch. "I gotchu." And he does have you.

a/n: this fic is honestly shorter than i imagined it to be, but i think its a sweet little addition to my collection for times when i need a quick fix to my emotions:')

words: 1,179 | AO3 LINK

warning: NON-CON IS A PAST EXPERIENCE, ONLY BRIEFLY MENTIONED IN FIC

His hands feel like little blades of grass when they glide over your sensitive skin, exploring the surface slowly as if savouring the feeling of you under his calloused fingers. At least he knew how to be gentle.

Micah knew all too well why; why you asked him to leave space between you at night; why he had to leave the tent when you changed; why you needed time, before he could feel the smooth skin that lay underneath your various undershirts, pants or skirts.

The trauma has haunted you all your life since it occurred, the one singular moment in your life that changed everything, for both you and the people that surrounded you. No amount of revenge on the men who did that do you would make you feel the same again, but at least the support you got was more than enough to keep you sane.

Most of it came from your long-time partner.

With the—reluctant—help of Charles, Micah had went as far as tracking down your assaulters, which wasn't hard; seeing as they were the filthy O'Driscolls any of you could recognise in a heartbeat. He had them all judged before God for the unforgiving crime acted upon you in less than two days. And everything else from then on, was just never the same.

Nobody had any experience with this type of situation, really—Micah even less than the others. He respected every one of your wishes, even if they sounded damn absurd to a third-party, he wouldn't waste a second in agreeing to your terms. That's where he stood out most to you in these tough times.

You appreciated him wholeheartedly.

Night was approaching you both again, finally—after almost a month or so—able to share a cot with him again. You got into your nightwear and called Micah back into the tent. He parts the canvas flaps of your shared tent, stepping back in. "Thank you, doll," He hums as he takes a seat on the cot, per usual routine. "can't wait for some shuteye.." You take your seat next to him, and you relish in your silence for a moment.

"Say," Micah breaks the meekness surrounding the tent after a moment more, still looking ahead. "would 'ya let me try somethin', sugar?" He asks carefully, aware of how much you disliked testing the waters with this whole thing, nonetheless wanting to propose an idea. He continues after you, a little reluctantly, nod. "And, you stop me as soon as yer uncomfortable, 'ya hear?" He rises from the cot and prompts you to do the same.

You stand as well, and he has you stop in the middle of the tent. "Okay, trust me enough to close your eyes?" He prompts. Of course, you trust he won't do something too bad, so you close your eyes. "No peeking now, darlin'." He chuckles and you hear the sound of his boots walking on the ground, circling around you and stopping when behind you.

You tense up slightly when he puts his hands on your sides, your breathing doing some weird mixture of hitching up and quickening at the same time. "Relax, baby." His chin rests on your shoulder and he whispers to you quietly, trying to keep you calm for him. "I gotchu." He adds quietly as his hands stop at your waist, patiently waiting for you to either calm down or tell him to get off. But you choose to go with the first option.

"I'm not them, my girl.." He coos quietly into your ear as he, very slowly, moves his hands, fingertips digging gently into your sides as his digits get familiar with your body again, touching it how he has before. "You know I wouldn't do that to you," His sizeable hands go down, sinking to your hips as he leaves a small, easily missable peck to your temple before resting his head on your shoulder again. "my sweet, sweet darlin'..." He gently presses his fingers into your body over the fabric of your clothes, as if trying to sink into your body to be one, never wanting to part from you again.

He slowly loosens them, and they start going up, slowly tracing the outline of your lower torso. His hands stop at your ribs, and he slowly cups his hands over the underside of your chest. "Stay calm now, honey, I gotchu.. Not gonna touch you there, aight?" He gently drums his fingers over your bones, your slightly more rapid breathing making your chest move and ribs stick out slightly with your sharp inhales, the thin material of your shirt making it easy to trace the small bumps of your ribcage. He slowly sinks his hands again, digits dragging from the underside of your boobs down to your sides again.

"Good girl.. did so good, darlin'. How was that?" His small, worried frown swiftly disappears when you give positive feedback, mentioning your worry at first but alas feeling good; you had no problem with Micah touching you, seeing just how much you hated even the thought of becoming too afraid to let your lover touch you again.

But you love to be touched by him, so delicately as if your skin were made of porcelain, fragile and sacred. That's how you felt when being touched, for the first time in months.

He lays you back down on the cot, shuffling in next to you. "And.. 'ya wanna try again tonight?" He's making an implication to a few nights before, when you and him gave in and tried cuddling—safe to say it didn't go too well. You ended up sleeping on separate surfaces that night, but this.. it felt different. You could do it, and you trusted he could too. And so, with prayers in mind and fingers metaphorically crossed, he opens his arms to you. And with a ton of faith in yourself, you scoot closer and closer to the warm embrace of the blonde mans' arms, one you missed so very much, more than you could describe and more than anyone will ever be able to understand.

At first, it all comes back dark and tough; you feel as if you've got palm prints all over your body, and as if he can see them—as if anyone can, for that matter. It's an indescribable feeling as well, you wouldn't even wish this on your worst enemy. "I'm here, 'ts just me, doll.." And it's as if his voice is a light to your darkness, a softness to the toughness the situation brings you into, and it slowly starts to pull you out of it, your hearts rapid beating and heavy breaths starting to calm. Calm, it's a feeling you missed, and its one only he, the man holding you tight to his chest, as if shielding you from the bad and horrible, disgusting and wretched of the world you're in.

And as your arms meet around his upper body, and you both relax with a synced sigh—finally, you feel okay.

Now that you made it to the end—or if you've read the word count—you might notice this is my shortest fic yet. I usually push myself to get to at least 2.5k words per fic, seeing as I deem something 'too short' to be 'enjoyable' a lot, but that isn't true. Don't pay so much mind to the quantity, but not quality either! The goal with this was to get it out of my drafts, and we did that. Gold star! ⭐️

Kudos on AO3 heavily appreciated! Thank you for reading and the massive support, as always <3

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dootznbootz · 8 months ago

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Don't get me wrong, I hate the telegony with every FIBER of my being. HOWEVER!! I feel like there's so much yummy angst potential with Odypen.

Like?? Imagine Penelope holding Odysseus' dead body. And it reminds her so much of when he'd fall asleep in her arms, in their bed holding an infant Telemachus. Because little baby Telemachus wouldn't stop crying so he had to be held in his papa's arms :3

But he's still crying to this day,, crying in the background, sobbing, hugging his mother from behind as she's holding her dead husband. Her husband that she waited 20 YEARS for. Her husband that's literally been threw hell and BACK, yet who never gave up because he wanted to see HER and their SON!!

He could've stayed with Calypso, he could've stayed with Kirke, he could've. But he DIDN'T. And I know damn well the moment he came back, and she saw him, she SAW on his face he's been threw shit. And imagine that, imagine the pain of someone you love more than the Sun experiencing that. Imagine that, and they did all of that, to see you.

People undermine that Penelope loves Odysseus just as much as Odysseus loves Penelope. It's been 20 years. She had every right to assume he's gone or get remarried. But she didn't. She had faith the entire time.

And she waited so long, and he went threw so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching.

And for Telemachus, who never even KNEW his father. To suddenly see him again, to see how happy his mother is, how happy he is. Just for some bastard he has to call his half-brother to kill him. Telemachus knew so little of his father, only the stories Penelope told him. And now, sadly, it'll stay that way.

Telemachus and Penelope would fucking despise Telegonus. They've been waiting so long for this man, and this man has waited and had to go threw so much. All three of them did not go threw all that just for Telegonus to kill him. I don't care if it was an 'accident'. It doesn't matter if the killer didn't want to do it, it matter's that the victim's family lost someone they FUCKING LOVED.

Penelope would NEVER marry Telegonus, and Telemachus would never marry Kirke.

But Odysseus death gives us some JUICY angst. I hate it. But good god it scratches that angst-loving part of my brain SO GOOD. 😼

Feel free not to answer since this is a rather long ask/ramble :'D And ye, take care Mad! <3

Oh, also, just so it's not ALL just angst, a few Penelope and Baby Telemachus headcanons/shenanigans? They mean the world to both Odysseus AND me 🥹

So, this is a really fun ask...But I don't think you're going to get the answer you'd like from me :')

As many folks know, I am a big lover of fluff and very soft stuff. I have angst but even then I would consider it more hurt/comfort in a way as I do plan for the "comfort" to be what's most important :) I also just think of "angst" as just the "something that makes sense storywise".

The Tele-GONE-y to me, is just blatent whump. Not really my cup of tea.

Also the Tele-GONE-y has the whole bullshit about Odysseus doing fuck all in random war, getting married and having children with a random af woman, before coming back to get killed. So that's just...ew. All of it is ew.

And I don't even like the idea of Telegonus existing in any form. At most, Telegonus would only exist in my mind as Polites' son. (not based on Epic at all. This Polites is my own special guy. He's my lil weird goober of my own design reeeeee) My dear friend thehelplessmortals is the only person who I feel explores it in a way that makes sense to me and seems canon.

As you put it into words:

"And she waited so long, and he went through so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching."

And it's just TOO heartwrenching for me :') I can't do it. It's honestly such a horrifying scenario that I got nauseous the first time I heard about it. (that's not even getting into the gross out of character marriage circle and Odysseus fucking around away from his family)

For me, I cannot see Circe (my Circe definitely) as a mother regardless. She wasn't made for motherhood. Also Odysseus and her only have sex once in my writing in exchange for his men to be turned back into humans. (as it's only stated explicitly once in the Odyssey)

The Odyssey also says that Odysseus' line only has one son each. That's Telemachus. (OdyPen can have a daughter though! >:3 Girldad Odysseus is very tasty for me)

If you're just into the angst of Odysseus' death, I got a bit of that though :'D

Penelope being 75% Naiads will live a long life. And Odysseus, being her husband, gets the advantages of having a magic Water wifey and that affects him in how he will live a long life as well (Calypso also gave him ambrosia/nectar to keep him alive. as he was nearly dead when he washed up.)

BUT. He is mostly mortal. He lives way beyond what is normal for Mortals but still.

His hair now fully gray. His breathing raspy and slow. He's slow to move...

Penelope lives a bit afterward. Sleeping and taking comfort in their nest that cradles her as she sleeps. She feels him everywhere. She grieves him endlessly.

Their nest starts to wilt. Only when she goes too does it come alive again.

And for some random Penelope and Telemachus headcanons :P

Nereids have lined bioluminescence, while NAIADS have spots. Like the black spots on the beloved rainbow trout 🥹 (they don't have the black spots. they just have spots that glow in their own control lol)

Telemachus gets "spots" from both his mama (naiad scales/glowbit) and his papa (freckles) 🥹

It's what they use to communicate underwater. And it's nice because even if you're not full naiad and don't have as many scales, you can still communicate as it's about the flickers :3 (Odysseus can understand these to a degree)

Very rarely do they "just randomly glow" as you know, don't wanna give away your thoughts. But it's cute because Odysseus will occasionally have a lightshow when one of them is dreaming.

I know a lot of people have Penelope see Odysseus in Telemachus constantly, and while she does to a degree, she is actually one of the few people who really emphasizes that he's his own person. You don't have to be good at whittling, you make such beautiful pottery. You like green, not orange. You don't have to pick that color when it's not your favorite and because other people simply get excited about you being like your dad sometimes. That type of stuff.

You take care too, Dear Anon! :D

#Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #my headcanons #Water Wife #penelope of ithaca #tele-GONE-y #anon #ask #My Odysseus would...not be well about Telegonus to say the least. I don't want to think about that.#I already have daddy issues. Odysseus and Menelaus are two loving husbands and dads. they're my “dads” now lol #Sorry I don't mean to get heavy but oof. I'm a fluff person in a whumpy world :')#lol the mention of lightshow is really funny to me now because people will see a lil blue rave happening when she sleeps sometimes xD

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paikothecateater · 1 month ago

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Oh, you KNOW I love me some Nordics angst

I've always wanted to see how Norway would react if something terrible happened to Iceland, if he was injured or in a dangerous situation.

Protective big brother mode instantly kicks in.

It's only really angsty if it's in human AU because normal AU Iceland getting hurt goes kinda like... :

Iceland: it appears I have broken my neck.

Norway:... Need ice?

I have noticed that while a lot of people seem to like Iceland angst, there's not a ton of it which is very strange to me because Iceland has the most angst potential out of the Nordics in my humble opinion.

Iceland dying in a fic is inarguably the most devastating death you could have because Iceland is such a complicated character and his own reaction to his life being on the line and eventually being lost can be so interesting to explore.

I've said this before, but when people are actively dying in fics and their response to that is to comfort those around them, it's very heartbreaking and effective at making the death more tragic. That is, in most cases. When it's a child, especially one like Iceland who's too distrustful of everyone around him to show vulnerability, it can be even more effective to have them respond to it with terror and finally, their built up need to have the ability to be vulnerable contributes to their final moments desperately seeking comfort in their admittedly terrifying situation.

Take the plot of gutters for example. Denmark, an adult, knows that his death will be more painful for Sealand than it will be for him. He's not scared to die, and he's already made peace with it by the time it's clear that nothing can be done. He spends all of his remaining energy trying to calm Sealand.

If you switch out Denmark with Sealand, the whole situation is flipped upside down. Denmark is the one who has to be strong for Sealand and comfort him in his final moments. He has to ignore his own grief to make sure that Sealand doesn't suffer more.

That's just how I personally like approaching this type of situation. Though, with Iceland, I feel like he'd be a mix of the two.

There was actually a fic request for an angst plot in which one of the Nordics (who we've obviously decided has to be Iceland) contracts a terminal illness.

I actually have a lot of ideas for it, but I obviously have a few personal boundaries with this type of plot.

Obviously, I won't be specifying which terminal illness he'll suffer from. Not only is it irrelevant, but given that I intend to give this fic a sad ending, I wouldn't want someone who happens to suffer from a similar illness to read it and feel even worse about their own condition. It'll be described vaguely and actually be referred to as multiple different conditions that come together to form something a lot more dangerous.

Otherwise, I think I could manage to make a ton of you cry with my evil angst magic. I know I did several times when coming up with ideas for how this story would go.

#aph angst #aph nordics #aph iceland

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insert-witty-user-name-here · 1 month ago

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20 Questions with a Fanfic Author

Thanks for the tag @andthekitchensinkao3 and @loki-is-my-kink-awakening 💕

1. How many works on AO3?

A nice even 20

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

335,746 and counting!

3. Top 5 Fics by Kudos

To Stay- some Lokius porn with feelings (my only exclusively Lokius smut fic).

We’ll Fix It Together- just your classic Loki S2 fix it fic.

Here- a Thor and Loki reunion fic.

Rising From the Ashes- written in 2021, how I would have written S2 if it were up to me.

Moments In Time- a Lokius proposal story (but really just an excuse to share some headcanons I had laying around).

(I don’t think I’ve ever shared my fics listed by kudos but a reminder that kudo count is just one way to list your fics and is a complicated marker. My top two fics by kudos were posted quickly after the Loki S2 finale. I like those two fics but I definitely wouldn’t say they’re my best. As always, what makes a fic get “a lot of kudos” is about so much more- like timing, fandom following, etc- than writing ability).

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly just Lokius lol. But you never know when the inspiration will strike.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I used to be a very shy commenter so now I try to always reply to comments when I can (And leave comments of course)!

6. Angstiest Ending?

We Could Have Been (Good Omens)

The penultimate scene of Good Omens season 2 from Aziraphale’s POV. My only hurt/no comfort fic (followed by a happy ending in another fic of course). My way of explaining Aziraphale’s actions to myself and Michael Sheen’s acting in the scene was incredible.

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Most all my fics have a happy ending (usually angst with a happy ending but happy nonetheless)

Sharing two:

Happy Memories (Loki Series)

One of my only pure fluff fics, Loki and Mobius spend an afternoon cleaning their hall closet and take a path down memory lane.

We Last Forever (Good Omens)

One of the endings that’s given me the most closure- three semi-connected one-shots of Aziraphale and Crowley getting together and eventually settling down in their South Downs Cottage. How I would write an epilogue to Good Omens season 3 if it were up to me.

8. Do you get hate?

No, thank goodness. I think most people who don’t like Sylvie know to see themselves out with my fics.

9. Do you write smut?

Generally no. Took me a while to figure out but I am 100% on the demi/ace spectrum. But I have written smut, it’s such a great way to explore character dynamics! I am always in awe of those who write smut fics on a regular basis because it is a SKILL.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven’t but I’m not opposed.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic?

Yes- currently!

Dividing Lines, a Lokius fic inspired by Severance

It’s been a joy to combine our two niche obsessions into this fic and I’ve been thrilled to see others are interested in joining @lgwilt and I for the ride!

14. All time favorite ship?

In case it hasn’t been clear: Lokius. The way they compliment one another both in their differences and similarities is something that deserves thousands of words of analysis IMO 💚🤎

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I prefer writing long fics which means most of my WIPs are those I doubt I’ll ever finish 😅

At one point I toyed with the idea of doing my own take on Good Omens S3. At the time, I decided not to write it for a lot of reasons but given my own feelings about Neil Gaiman, I might pick it back up again to give myself closure for Good Omens.

Also sometimes will still dabble in a story focused on Ravonna Renslayer teaming up with Kang to re-establish the Sacred Timeline (before-spoilers- learning she doesn’t need him and comes into her own power 🧡)

16. Writing strengths?

I like to think I’m good at character arcs. Also I used to hate writing description but now it’s one of my favorite things to do! I love when the plot beats and dialogue are written and then I have time to really sink into a scene, using the description to further set the tone at that moment in the story or mirror characters’ emotions (in other words- yes, I do like to analyze why the curtains are blue).

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Many (overuse of adjectives, specific phrases, characters’ names) but to name one I am slow writer- idk how others do it. My first draft is always, always a random list of tell-y sentences (Loki looks sad. Mobius walks to the door. The sky is blue.) that takes hours upon hours to fashion into something I’m ready to share. I’m content with this as part of my writing process but I am always in awe of people who can crank out gorgeous fics in mere hours!

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

YES! Definitely do it if you can.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First fic posted- Lokius.

Ever? Hmmm idk I’ve been writing as long as I can remember.

When my younger brother was learning to read he got really into the early-mid 2000s Lego properties like Bionicle and Knights Kingdom. I have fond memories of helping him learn to read with those books and then spending the afternoons drawing and writing new stories expanding upon the adventures of the “Toa Mata” or “Jayko, the blue knight.” I suppose that counts as fanfiction. Wish I still had those little books we crafted 🩷

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I’m a broken record at this point but it’s Rising. First fic I ever posted. I have a habit of starting and not finishing things but in 2021 the stars in life aligned for me to have lots of free time to write. So, I wanted to see if I could write something through to the end and am proud to say I did. Will always treasure that fic for many reasons especially for introducing me to so many wonderful people 💕

Tagging some writer friends: @queen-of-meows @dewdropreader @mirilyawrites @starport-seven-five @devilbearingtrouuble @blackbirdofasgard @kcscribbler @lgwilt @thosegayoldmen

(Apologies if folks already did this and I missed it, the last two weeks at work have been the weeks from hell 🙃)

#tag game

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commander-rahrah · 1 year ago

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Talking to the Moon: Part IV

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~4700 Warnings: swearing, PTSD, trauma, past/implied abuse, fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here

Summary: Set at the end Act II in the Gauntlet of Shar. Shadowheart finally faces Reader/Tav's blessing from Selûne in the temple of her dark mistress.

Notes: We finally got to the angsty part between Reader and Shadowheart muahaha. I've had a couple of these lines stuck in my head FOREVER. Does anyone else play the game and immediately start thinking of the scenario and more detailed dialogue for their specific Tav?? No.. just me? ahaha...

Also — Shadowheart rejects Shar in this, as an FYI. If that isn’t your cup of tea or prefer other decisions, etc. that is your discretion for your own game, etc.! For the purpose of my fic and this specific Tav, that is the route I took and don’t want it to be a debate! 👍🏽 Cause I know that happens in fandom sometimes - and that’s not what this fangirl is about baby!

I also just really really love the idea of letting Astarion and Reader/Tav explore things sloooooooooowly. Like little tiny fingertip touches and touching shoulders. I think that Astarion being emotionally vulnerable with someone first and slowly building up to being physical intimate is just MUAH chef’s kiss.

ANYWAYS Ted talk over — Thank you so much for reading and interacting! It means so much to me ♡♡♡

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“Tell me another thing.”

It was Astarion’s new favorite game — asking for you to confide in him, to tell him about how you see him. The things that made you fall for him.

Each one had made him feel more and more seen. More and more safe. Some had been surprising characteristics he would have never assigned to himself — but you had explained them so earnestly that he couldn’t help but believe you. You had said he was strong, that he had more strength than he realized. That he was funny (obviously). That he was open-minded.

He was collecting the compliments and observations, letting them stroke the flame inside of him that he had long thought dead.

“Hmmm…,” You were sat on the worn, dirty floor leaning against a crumpling wall. The group was taking a moment to rest after another harrowing trial in Shar’s Gauntlet. Squinting your eyes you pretended to study him, before speaking, “I like how materialistic you are.”

“Oh." Something akin to shame flooded through him. "I don’t like this one, pick another.”

A chuckle escaped you, shaking your head. “That’s not how this works.”

The vampire frowned at your laughter, “This one seems like some back handed compliment." He turned his nose up, trying to mask the small twinge of pain spreading in his chest, "Just tell me I’m pretty instead.”

You finally recognized the hurt, the smile vanishing from your face. “Astarion, I swear it's not a backhanded compliment. It’s something I genuinely like.” You sounded earnest, you looked solemn.

He met your wide eyes, nodding as he believed you. “Hmph. Why?”

“Well, you know I come from a noble background… I grew up with certain luxuries and I miss them." You admitted, your nose scrunched. "It’s nice to have someone who also appreciates the finer things in life.”

He realized that you thought it was trivial to admit such things, surrounded by death as you all embarked on a seemingly impossible mission. But you were being honest and vulnerable with him in the broken hallway of the dark temple.

He kept his tone light, smirking at you. “I do have good taste.”

“Excellent taste. You would love the keep I grew up in, the art and amenities…" You closed your eyes as if you imagined them right there. "I dream of them on cold nights on my bedroll.”

“Hmmm, tell me about them tonight when we are holed up in our tent.”

Our tent. A slip of his tongue, but it really had become that way. You rarely were in your own tent anymore, only enough to change and store your things before you were slinking into his.

“I’ll take you there someday and you can see it yourself.”

His eyebrows shot up his face, shock morphing his features. You thought that far ahead? Taking him to see your home? Meeting your family?

You smiled at his reaction, before filling in for his stunned silence. “And… you’re very pretty.”

A puff of air escaped through his nose, his lips quirking. “Oh I know.” He stretched his fingers, before sweeping his thumb across the back of your knuckles. “Thank you," He whispered.

You smiled at his touch, your eyes darting to where his pale fingers met yours.

The pair of you stayed in that quiet moment, until it was broken by the sound of a swear echoing down the length of the crumbling hallway. "Shit!"

Karlach and Shadowheart were sat across the hallway, the tiefling putting on a new bandage across the half elf's small palm — or was attempting to. The cleric had sliced her palm three times now, offering her blood in the name of her dark mistress before every trial. The party had winced every time she did it — but the woman never faltered.

And she didn’t not heal it with her divine abilities, instead letting the wound remain, cutting into it deeper with each trial and then only wrapping it up. She said it was intentional, purposeful pain that her Goddess demanded. And that she alone would pay the price for it.

Astarion had immediately marked the strain in your face as she said it. Knew that you wanted nothing more then to remind her that she was not alone, that she could be anything, anyone she wanted to be.

But the words had remained unspoken. Like you didn't have the right to say them to her anymore.

The vampire was now watching you watch them — studying you once again, trying to decipher how you were feeling. Karlach continued her efforts, but her large fingers fumbled as she tried to tie the knot and the bandages fell off again.

"Godsdammit! Sorry, Princess." She said sheepishly, snatching the bandages up quickly.

"It's okay, Karlach." Shadowheart shook her head, looking down at her hand and squeezing it into a fist. She winced from the pain, a hiss coming from her mouth.

"May I?" Your voice was soft, quiet as a mouse. But not so quiet that Shadowheart did not hear you. She flashed her eyes over to you, her face contorted with genuine surprise. The cleric said no words, instead nodding and offering her hand out.

Astarion remained sitting, watching as you stood up and crossed the hallway to the two women. You knelt before her, bowing your head slightly as you grabbed the bandages and began to wind them tenderly around Shadowheart's hand. If it were another moment, another person, the vampire would be jealous. Wishing he had a wound himself so that you could offer your services and gentle touches.

But this was monumental. Not only was it a rare sight — one blessed by Selûne taking care of one of Shar’s disciples. But it was an olive branch, a silent offering that meant much more then those bandages. An offering of peace and acceptance.

He was sure he saw Shadowheart's eyes lining with silver as you worked, the bob of her throat as she swallowed thickly. With a slight cough, you made to stand back up. "All done." You said in a hushed voice. But before you could stand up, the cleric grabbed your elbow.

"Thank you," She choked out. The gratitude was for more then just this moment, he imagined.

You bowed your head again, "Of course." As you marched back across the hallway, Astarion stood up to meet you. He ducked his head to look at your face, a silent conversation passing between you as your eyes met. An art the two of you had begun to master already.

Are you alright?

I will be.

He blinked and nodded in understanding, before falling into step at your side.

• • •

Every place they explored in the Shadowlands somehow topped the previous wretched place. If Astarion never had to step foot in a temple of Shar again, it would be too soon.

The air surrounding them was freezing, and the hairs on his arms and back of his neck had been standing up for what felt like hours. It felt like eyes were always on him, trailing after your group and judging every step taken.

Glancing behind him, he waited for you to step onto the disc with the rest of the party. You were hesitating on the edge, the smallest tremble in your hand as you stared down at the floor. "Darling?"

Your face shot up, like his voice snapped you back to reality. You looked rattled, completely shaken.

Astarion extended his hand out to you, beckoning you forward. He grabbed your hand easily, pulling you into him with a questioning glance before letting go. The rest of your party was looking at you, worry forming in their features.

You had all but stepped into him, your shoulder pressed into his. He actually didn't mind it one bit.

“You look pale, are you feeling okay?” He kept his voice low, his mouth downturned.

You gathered yourself for a moment, before flashing him a smirk. “I’m pale? Coming from the vampire himself?”

“Ha," He rolled his red eyes. "Trust me, my sweet. I’ve memorized the flush of your features by now — something’s off.”

Your eyes settled on Shadowheart for a moment, before looking down at your boots. “I think it’s being in here… Her gift is straining inside me.”

Her gift, Selûne's blessing. You didn't dare say the Goddess' name in Shar's ruined temple. The rest of the party had heard the tale over the campfire about a week ago. While most of their faces had been filled with awe and astonishment when you had told them then, now their faces were only anxious.

“Oh gods, you’re not going to...?" Wyll trailed off, his brows furrowed together.

“Drop dead? I hope not.” You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

“Not funny.” Astarion hissed, flashing you a look. The sentiment was echoed by Gale, chastising you for saying such things.

You quirked your mouth, before wrapping your arms around your torso. "I'll be fine."

Suddenly, there was a loud click and the disc you all stood on began moving — descending deeper into the ruins.

Astarion heard the heartbeats of the entire party begin to increase, the thrumming pounding in his ears. None were as loud as the rhythm of your heart.

Then the scent of your fear filled his nostrils.

He could think of no words, no quips or jokes. The dark ruins had been taxing, draining. And he did not know what to expect at the bottom of this temple.

But he was afraid too. Afraid for you, for both of you.

The disc settled below with another audible click, and as the rest of the party began to move off of it and deeper into the next area you stayed planted where you were.

The vampire stayed with you, eyeing your complexion that was turning paler by the minute. Your breaths labored as you blinked, long and slowly. His red eyes followed your line of sight — to Shadowheart and Karlach.

The half-elf and tiefling were standing before large ornate doors, shoulder to shoulder. Their hands were intertwined, fingers laced together as they continued to stare the door down.

Your eyes were fixed on their hands, before you licked your lips and spoke quietly — only for him to hear. "Would you be okay with that?”

His brows furrowed together in confusion. “With what?”

“A touch like that.”

A bewildered look crossed his features. Here? Now? This is where you wished to discuss such things. Moments before stepping into the unknown darkness of the mistress of night. He stepped in front of you, his back to the rest of the party as he looked you in the face.

“Holding hands? What next, you want to cuddle?” He teased with his sharp tongue.

The smallest twist in your features was your only tell. Anyone else would have missed it — a flash of sadness at his rejection.

He suddenly realized it. Longing. You had been looking at the pair holding hands with longing, yearning to be touched like that right now. "You want that, don't you?"

You stiffened, as if you had said the wrong thing. You stumbled over your words, immediately backtracking, “Not if you don’t want to. I'm sorry, I just thought—“

His eyes softened at your reaction, “You’re upset.”

“No, never." You shook your head, your voice unwavering. "It’s your choice, Starry.”

“I’m not the only person in this—" In this, what? Finish the sentence, Astarion. He thought to himself. "Is it, something you would like to do?”

“Maybe." You licked your lips, before nodding self-consciously. "Yes, but only if you were okay with it.”

“I can try." He whispered sincerely, before looking back over his shoulder to the group. Shadowheart and Karlach remained at each other's side, their fingers still intertwined in a tight grasp. "I just— I don’t really understand it. The touch I’m used to is… sensual, erotic. Or incredibly violent. I thought touch was only supposed to lead to some explosive end, one way or another. What’s the point of it?”

“It’s comforting, holding the person you care about. Feeling their presence with you, when you need it." You admitted, your eyes unguarded as you looked at him.

He recalled how he felt when you had held him in your arms in the river. How he had let his fingers linger and hold onto you as you pulled away from that first hug. The overwhelming urge he had sometimes to just be near you. He could understand that feeling, he knew that feeling now. He just wasn't sure how to act on it.

"I think I'd like that." He agreed, the corners of his mouth pulling up with a hopeful expression. "I will try."

You smiled back at him, the pair of you momentarily forgetting where you stood. What was to happen next. What could happen next.

As you made to finally step off of the disc, he called your name softly — halting your movement. "We will get to try."

It was a promise. A vow.

No dark mistress or Absolute or bastard vampire master would stop him from having you.

You nodded, smiling back at him before moving to join the others.

The group was cautious as they entered into the final chamber, the hundreds of candles in the room suddenly lighting with an eerie purple flame. The coloured flames flickered and cast dancing shadows on the stones around them, all leading to a pool of still water. A ginormous, untouched statue of the Mistress of Night stood in it — her arms outstretched, beckoning you forward.

"This must be the last step. I need to pray. Only by Lady Shar's grace did we even make it this far." Shadowheart fell to her knees immediately, offering silent prayers to the intimidating figure ahead. Karlach stayed loyally at her side, but her brows were crinkled with worry.

Everyone lingered behind, unsure of how to proceed.

"I'm ready." The dark-haired cleric spoke, determination flashing in her features as she stood up. The spear she had fought and bled for in the trials strapped to her back. She held a boot over the unmoving water for a moment, hesitating for a moment before stepping into it.

A voice spoke throughout the chamber, echoing and rattling the stones. The candles flickered with her voice, as if the magnificent voice caused the cold breeze that suddenly filled the room. "You are so close, my child. So close to fulfilling your destiny. And is that another trophy you bring for me? You honor me with your dedication.“

The party turned to stare at you. Shar was aware of who you are, of what lingered in you. Astarion swear he saw Shadowheart’s bottom lip tremble as her gaze fell on you again.

But you put on your practiced expression of calm, nodding at your companions to continue. But as you stood on the precipice of the pool, Astarion noticed your fingers twitching at your side.

It should have been be so easy for him to reach out and hold them, like you said you wanted. He had been daring himself to touch you more lately — a brush of his knuckle against yours, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. He was trying. He wanted to, so badly.

But something was holding him back. A weight on his chest and lungs that made it feel him feel so tainted and undeserving for such things.

He hesitated for too long, and your hand was moving away as you stepped into the sparkling water. So he took his own steps in. The water was ice cold, instantly sending goosebumps over his entire body. Then a frozen sensation that went deep into his half-dead body. It began clutching at him, at everything he was and ever could be.

His red eyes widened, searching frantically for you beside him — his hand reaching out wildly for you before he was suddenly pulled under.

• • •

The last thing you had seen was Shar’s menacing face —looming over you, spelling your end. A blanket of cold had surrounded you, tightening unbearably around your ankles and wrists before yanking you down into the darkness.

You had never been afraid of the dark before.

You could no longer say that.

With a gasp, you wretched your eyes open to find yourself somewhere new. Standing on a craggy rock, floating in raging winds and surrounded by streaks of lightning. A living storm of black and purple swirling around you.

"Lady Shar...," Shadowheart's voice was quiet — her tone a strange mixture of astonishment and fear. "I can feel her all around. This is her domain. This is the Shadowfell.”

“Bloody hells.” Gale muttered, the wizard's mouth a hardline.

“We best keep moving.” Lae'zel ordered, eyeing the surroundings with a look of disgust on her face.

You all murmured in agreement, before traveling down the precarious craggy rocks until you were at the very bottom. You hesitated at the site of a person— a pale, large woman dressed in only shredded rags.

The Nightsong.

She stood in the centre of several complicated sigils, the symbols radiating a sickly green. Her head flicked up to your group, her eyes narrowing as she inspected every single party member. Before they settled on you, and softened.

“I recognize you." Her voice was hoarse at first, like she hadn't spoken out loud in ages. "You aren’t a sibling… But I recognize you. Why are you so familiar to me?” She cocked her head at you, her eyes studying you. There was a flicker in them — hope.

Her hair shined silver like yours, but her eyes glowed even brighter. Much more than any mortal could. Your mouth fell open as you realized. She was not blessed by a divine being like you, she was immortal herself.

“You are...“

“A child of the gods.” She finished for you, and even clad in nothing but rags she stood tall at the words.

“Selûne’s?”

Your mind raced as you put together the pieces, the ritual on the stone similar to the secret room of Balthazar. Kethric’s undying nature. She was bound here in the Shadowfell — being syphoned like those fairies in the lanterns. And the dark justiciar’s — they used her, killed her like a bounty for their goddess. Over and over. As Shadowheart was meant to do now.

But you. You were bound to nothing, and you were not born from the goddess — only a mortal woman, who feared for her child. A mortal mother who was thousands of miles away, not knowing where her child now stood, not knowing that they were waiting to see if a spear would be driven through their chest too.

"My mother spoke of you once. I don't think that even she knew we would meet." The daughter of Selûne eyes shone with quiet understanding. The flicker of hope in them still catching light somehow in the dark storm in the Shadowfell as she stared at you.

Shadowheart stepped forward, toeing the edge of the ritual symbols carved onto the floor. Her face was stoic, determined. Yet she refused to look at you.

"But you.” The woman’s eyes dragged to the cleric, her voice a vicious snarl. “YOU. You, who have come to seek the praise of your wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart."

"Not a dagger — a spear. My Lady Shar's spear. Your fate is mine to seal." You noticed Shadowheart's hands were trembling fists at her side.

"The fate that you seal is your own. To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy — only servitude." Karlach stiffened next to Shadowheart, concern etching every feature of her red face. "Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you. And there is much she does not tell you — a terrible blood price that may extend beyond my own death. Beyond your companion's."

The cleric looked over her shoulder to you, her eyebrows furrowed. You said nothing, keeping your face steady.

But it was the first she looked you in the eyes since you found yourself in the dark place. Truly met your gaze. And the rage and betrayal you had first seen in them that day she learned the truth about you had lost their heat. Instead you saw only pain and regret.

Astarion made to move in front of you, to act as your shield as Shadowheart turned her attention on you. But you waved your hands at your side, silently asking him to stop.

You knew the rest of your party waited with bated breath for you to intervene, to speak up for this woman, for yourself.

But instead, you held Shadowheart’s gaze and waited.

The Nightsong spoke again, drawing her attention away from you. "You may think you know what they are, but do you know what I am, little assassin? For I know you — a lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark."

"What did you say?"

"Much has been promised to you, hasn't it? But what has been taken from you?" She asked sadly, her eyes piercing through Shadowheart. "What do you know of your own heart — your own life? I sense more in you then you know."

"I—" The spear was suddenly summoned into her hand, her light coloured eyes widening as she feels its weight. It was as if Shar would wait no longer, and would thrust the weapon into her hands and guide it through the Nightsong if need be. "I..." She raised it up, inspecting the intricate designs and deadly tip of the spear. The bottom of her eyes filled with silver as she studied it.

And just as fast as it was summoned, it was gone. Soaring over the party's heads, away and into the swirling storm below them.

You let loose the breath you didn't know you were holding.

It was echoed by a sigh of relief from the rest of the party.

Shadowheart's mouth was agape, staring into her empty hands and then to you. A humorless laugh escaped her, like she was in a state of shock. "I can't believe I just did that. Lady Shar will disown me... what will happen to me?"

"Not what will happen — what will you do? Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed. Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite Sharran, and I will fight the battle that been waiting for me this last century." The large woman knelt before them, bowing her head. "Then — oh then, we will have much to discuss. All of us." She looked up to nod at you, still standing on the edge of the circle.

The cleric stepped forward with more certainty then she had in most of the trials in Shar's Gauntlet. Her head held high before she grasped the child of the god on her shoulder. Suddenly the green of the binding ritual turned into a bright, silver light. The woman fell to all fours as the silver light traveled through her.

"Our lady of Silver. Hear me! She Who Guides, the Moonmaiden Selûne — mother of the so-called Nightsong. THE NIGHTSONG IS NO MORE!" Then she began to levitate in the air, a shining light of white and silver wrapped around her before large wings spread from her back, and spectral armor and sword appearing upon her body and in her hands.

The group was amazed as they watched her fly up and up. Before she landed with a gentle thud.

A child of a god indeed.

"I am resplendent. You have given me a great gift, little warrior." She nudged Shadowheart's chin with a gloved hand, before stepping back. "Come now — there is a battle to be fought."

"My kin," She looked back to you, her eyes and brow set in a determined line. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" You asked, stepping forward until you were at Shadowheart's side.

"To kill Ketheric Thorm." She flashed a wolfish grin that was filled with a controlled rage. Vengeance and justice was to be served by that glowing spectral sword in her hand. With a large woosh, she was soaring into the air and vanishing back to the mortal plane.

• • •

It wasn't until you were out of the Shadowfell, away from Gauntlet and endless depictions of Shar that you all finally spoke.

The cool air of the Shadowlands was welcoming for the first time since you had arrived. Astarion watched as you took large gulps of air, your hands resting on your hips as you centered yourself again. The colour was already returning to your cheeks, your heart slowing to a familiar rhythm.

He made to reach out for you, but Shadowheart got there first. A look of surprise flashed across your face as she threw herself at you. "I don't— I don't know what to say." She muttered into your shoulder.

You swallowed hard before holding her back fiercely, your mouth quivering. "You don't have to say anything. I forgive you."

Astarion blinked. You gave her your forgiveness so easily, much easier then he would have. But wasn't that one of the things he was so fond of? Your kind heart, your innate goodness. That even though he didn't feel he deserved your attention, or that Shadowheart deserved to be forgiven, you still granted it to them. Your kindness was not just for him, but for everyone in the group. The hubris wizard and seasoned fighter who didn't think they were enough. The warlock and barbarian ripped from their homes. The manipulated manipulators who were used and discarded.

“You can't—You can't just forgive me." She pulled away from you, staring at you like you had gone mad. "What I did, what I almost did — I almost didn’t bring you back that day, oh gods—" Her hand moved over her mouth, her brows meeting in the middle.

“But you did.”

“But if I didn’t—" Her voice broke.

You grabbed her by the shoulders, ducking your head to look at her. “But you did. And we will not speak of the past any longer. But we will get you answers for your own, okay?”

"What she wanted me to do in there, what she's made me do..." A sob escaped Shadowheart, the sound breaking something in Astarion. Something that hit a little too close to home. His red eyes flickered to his boots as he tried to keep his own emotion at bay.

Your next words were a whisper in her ear, too low for even his elven ears to hear. But you both nodded together, before Karlach was pulling the cleric into a hug of their own. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, whispering her own affections to her.

Before the vampire could even try to will himself to do the same things for you, you were in front of him. He could see no hint of expectation on your face, only relief as you took him in.

He ran the tip of his finger down your wrist, to the back of your hand, before trailing it in your palm. "That was all a little dramatic, wasn't it?"

A tired chuckle escaped you, "I'd thought you'd learned by now that we have a flair for it, don't we?"

"We certainly do."

Suddenly, flashes of divine white power swept above you, before shooting fast across the sky — the light silhouetting a set of large wings. Without further thinking, Astarion threaded his pale fingers through yours, squeezing them slightly as he watched the light head closer and closer to the imposing tower in the distance.

He gulped as you squeezed back.

Your party watched the sky for a moment, silence filling the air before you all stared at each other. Your tired, aching bodies were begging for rest. But the world would not wait for you to rest.

"To Moonrise?" Gale asked, a sad, tired smile on his face.

"To Moonrise." You nodded, starting to march forward and lead the group forward.

Astarion curled his pinky around yours as you meant to pull away, not quite ready to let you go again.

Read part V here

#bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #astarion/tav #astarion/reader #astarion fanfic

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