ratofthemedievalsewers

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Danse Macabre - A Heart that Dare Not Beat for Loving is Terrifying

Danse Macabre

Chapter One is out!!

Welcome to the beginning, I hope you enjoy!

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Danse Macabre

Astarion x M!Tav / Astarion x M!Dark Urge

TEASER - Can be read as a stand-alone

A03 Link: Danse Macabre

Warning: Vague explicit content

Dain gave a frustrated huff as he threw the strip of leather he was attempting to use as a hair tie into the dirt beside him. This had been his third and decidedly final attempt at tying his hair up; wanting to keep the mix-matched strands of snow and onyx out of his eyes while he fought. He ran bony, calloused fingers through his hair, freeing the now mostly tangled waves from each other. 

“What a mess.” Dain spun round at the sudden sound of another’s voice, dagger unsheathed from the hilt that always sat snugly on his lower back. He lowered it when he recognised Astarion’s bright white curls, the colour reflecting the moonlight like a dulled mirror. “What is it you’re even trying to do?”

Dain felt a frown twitch on his face in the slight embarrassment at being caught, ‘noble hero of the grove’ defeated by his own head of hair. “... I wanted to tie my hair up… it keeps getting in my eyes when I fight.” He always felt himself struggling to speak when it came to Astarion, with every word the vampire spoke his mental self was on his knees taking in each drop the other provided like he was a beast dying of thirst. 

He thought himself vile. Some sick, twisted part of him knew, without a doubt, that he would be dead in the other man’s hands if they had met in Baldur’s Gate during Astarion’s slavery to Cazador. Found wanding in the night-blanketed streets, it would only take a few honeyed words and Dain would follow him like a lost puppy, drunk on false love to the very clutches of the Vampire Master. He was a simple, easy-to-manipulate fool, his soul lost and his memories along with it.

Maybe he should be glad someone else had found him first.

“Why not cut it shorter then? Save the faffing about and getting all in a huff.” Dain looked at Astarion as if he had just punched him directly in the stomach, his face contorted in a look of obvious disapproval at the suggestion. “Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” Astarion gave a dramatic sigh and sat himself behind Dain, the other’s shins pressing firmly against his back, trying to get as close as he could to the other. 

Dain did not stiffen as he did with the others’ contact, Astarion’s touch never burned in the way others’ did - instead it felt like silk, the contact tingling but never in a way that was unpleasant. It was a sensation he had never felt before and he craved it and hated it in equal amounts. Dain’s mind, for reasons he himself did not know, found himself refusing the smallest touches of another, but with Astarion it was the exact opposite. He would never ask though, for that would show his weakness to a predator that was seeking the cracks in his “hero” facade.

“Brush,” It took a moment for his mind to come back to reality. He passed the wooden comb he had begrudgingly borrowed from Shadowheart a few hours prior. Astarion took it, cold, undead fingers brushing against his gloved ones. Granted, the gloves were quite possibly the reason he was struggling so much, but he had become accustomed to always wearing them that taking them off made him feel as if he were naked.

Astarion began with the ends of his hair that rested just past the middle of his back, where his waves became closer to loose curls, slowly working his way up. Dain allowed himself to get lost in the little tingles another brushing his hair caused at the base of his skull, a suppressed shiver travelled up his spine and he felt his shoulders begin to lower as he relaxed. Then there were gentle fingers at the back of his neck, pretending they needed to manipulate his hair in order to properly run the comb through. Then the comb was running slowly, languidly over his scalp and then all the way to the very ends before repeating the motion. Over and over. 

Dain felt himself start to lean back to the presence behind him - he stopped himself before he was fully laid in Astarion’s lap. It scared him a little; that he fell so easily into the roll of prey when it came to the vampire. Maybe it was his scent, a trick of his smile, something magical in his aura that anyone could fall victim to? No, the others weren’t falling so easily into his arms, the root of the problem began within Dain.

Was it a problem?

He gave it a little consideration, yet the only conclusion he came to was that he did not truly care. Dain would willingly, even happily let Astarion drain him utterly and completely whether he held him like a lover or like a boar he found sleeping in the alcoves of the forest they had set up camp in. It was shameful and exhilarating all at once.

Dain found himself tilting his head to the side as an offering, words of ‘Are you hungry?’ no longer needing to be spoken between them. Astarion let the comb fall through Dain’s hair one last time, the tangles being loosened many minutes ago. Both of them had been lost in their own minds it seems.

“You sure?” Astarion spoke just above a whisper, as if his words would disturb the surface of the lake that sat in front of them, its surface having acted as a mirror for Dain before Astarion had supposedly come to his rescue. Those same gentle fingers brushed away the few strands that had stubbornly laid themselves across the junctor of Dain’s neck.

“Only if you are.” 

Dain heard Astarion shift behind him as he uncrossed his legs to rest on either side of Dain’s. With another’s arms wrapped around his middle, he pushed himself backwards into Astarion’s body; he felt the other’s chest against his back, cold seeping through both their camp shirts, unsure who it belonged to. 

“You are always so cold, yet your blood runs warm.” Astarion spoke against his ear now and Dain had to suppress the shiver that threatened to pass over him, the other felt the way he tensed and a small, wolfish smile played on his lips. A hand moved from his waist and fingertips caressed up his throat in faux consideration before his whole hand wrapped around his neck and softly guided his head to the side. “I could only describe your taste as nectar, crafted by the gods themselves. Cruel gods no doubt… for to give in to my desires and have all of you would kill you… and I would forever be left without the very things that caused my addiction.”

Astarion placed a gentle kiss on Dain’s neck, a small apology for the pain that came next. 

This time Dain could not hold back his reaction. He heard the moan leave his lips before he even realised it was his, and felt his back arch from Astarion’s chest before he could hold himself still. Astarion let out a gentle hum as the taste of his blood wet his tongue, the hand that sat comfortably on Dain’s hip moved to rest low on his inner thigh, applying the smallest of pressures to where he knew Dain desired but would not ask nor seek it. Astarion wanted him to give in to this little dance they played, wanted him to fall complete victim in his arms. 

It took every peice of Dain’s will to hold his own hips in place. His breathing became airy as his mouth fell slightly open and the vampire’s venom began branching out like roots within the earth. He could feel its tendrils curling and twisting through his veins; up his neck, down his chest, gently burning as it moved. If his blood was not being slowly drained from him he would blush; the tips of his ears, cheeks and across his nose turning a soft lilac against greyish skin. A tender heat settled between his legs as the sensations begin to overwhelm him.

Astarion brushed his thumb over Dain’s heat, the pressure barely noticeable through the albeit thin leather of his trousers, but Dain keened, a long exhale parting from his lips. He took what was offered to him and savoured it. He would not ask for more.

Dain felt his body begin to go limp as he became bloodless; he barely had the energy to move his hand that had been gripping the dirt below them. He tapped Astarion’s lower thigh twice, a signal they had silently agreed on to mean ‘no more’. Another moment and the vampire pulled away, licking the twin little dots of blood that began to pool at the opening of Dain’s wound. 

Astarion was a little dazed with his stomach now full. He propped himself up with one arm behind his back, the other now removed from Dain’s thigh to hold him around his chest, hand over where his heart should beat, keeping him upright as the other leaned against him. Through his foggy mind, Dain felt another tender kiss placed on his neck, just above the bite the vampire spawn had given him.

“Full?” Dain asked, somewhat breathless himself.

“Sated,” Astarion whispered in response, slowly guiding Dain to sit upright, holding his shoulders in case he fell back again. 

“Now… back to your hair.” Dain gave a small chuckle, brain barely functioning with what little blood was left in him trying to keep his cogs turning. The gentle caresses against his scalp returned, but only briefly as Astarion began the plait his hair, gathering more hair as he went so it would follow the curve of his skull before running down his back, preventing it from possibly swinging and hitting Dain in the face if he were to quickly turn. Although, the idea was somewhat amusing. “I’ve never seen someone with hair like yours.”

“You’ve said better lines.”

“I’m not trying to flirt, darling.” He could feel Astarion’s eye roll as he spoke. Dain reached for the leather tie he had thrown to the floor earlier as Astarion reached the end of the braid, but when offered Astarion ignored him and pulled his own leather band from his wrist and wrapped it around the end of Dain’s hair. “I swear it's darker, especially after our little clash at the goblin camp.” Dain gave a simple shrug, mind still too drowsy to think clearly. After a long pause where he assumed Astarion was thinking, he finally spoke again, breaking the awkward quiet that had begun to settle. “My dear, you are a mystery to the fashion world.”

“Thank you… I think.” Dain stood as Asatrion did, swaying slightly on his feat like a common drunkard. “We should get back to the others before their minds start cooking up something nefarious.”

“No doubt they already have, everyone here has such simple minds.” Dain gave him a deadpan stare, crossing his arms to further his lack of amusement. “Apart from you, of course.” Astarion tucked one of the stubborn, pale strands that refused to be tied up behind Dain’s ear, a crooked grin plastered on his face. It was Dain’s turn to roll his eyes.

*****

Teaser 1

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Danse Macabre

Astarion x M!Tav / Astarion x M!Dark Urge

TEASER

A03 Link: Danse Macabre

Warning: Depictions of v*olence and t*rture

Prologue

The whip cracks with a harsh tone, splitting the silence that hangs heavy in the darkness. The man beside him begins to chant; it's apathetic and cold, the words unintelligible to the man who kneels in front of the preacher. 

Dain cannot make out the place that surrounds him, as it hurts too much to open his eyes. But he can feel the floor beneath him; freezing, rigid stone cruel against his aching knees, vibrant pain shooting down his shins and up the muscles in his thighs. His hands are held up above his head in shackles that pull him apart; they have been held up for so long he can no longer feel his fingers and a humming numbness buzzes through his arms, setting at the junctions of his shoulders.  He dare not move, he does not know if he even could.

The flail hits his back and the words the preacher mutter stumbles along a crescendo; he fumbles at his pronunciation, but he does not bother to correct himself. The prayer no longer matters, it stopped holding its meaning many years ago when discipline became twisted pleasure. 

Through spotted vision, Dain takes in what details he can of the man who punishes him for crimes he did not commit. The preacher wears a robe that was, at some point in its life white, the cotton now beginning to stain grey along the seams and hemming as the grime begins to cling harder at the fabric, burying itself like an infestation. It is adorned with a symbol he does not recognise, but it resembles a brilliant, blooming sun (his blood now blemishes the saffron yellow and some part of him believes it to be ironic). Draped over his shoulders are heavy gold chains, coming together to meet the same symbol cast in metal.

Dain burns the blazing sun into his mind, cursing the image in what few languages he remembers. 

*****

Dain tastes iron and smoke on his tongue when he coughs. The fractured glass beneath his fingertips threatens to pierce his skin if he is not careful, so he lifts himself slowly, mindful of the pounding in his head, settling contently behind his left eye. His body is aching deep within his bones, muscles stiff, sore and unused. Standing upright on his own two feet grants a pained relief - when he stretches he feels unknown tendons spasm and cramp. 

The ground beneath him feels solid yet moving; it is an odd sensation as if being carried. The rumble of something mechanical, the harsh shudder and swerving of quivering wind. Dain is moving all while staying still. A vessel of some sort?

It takes a moment for his hazy vision to focus and what greets him is the dilapidated hull of unfamiliar surroundings. Unbothered fires burn in the edges of the room, flicking and stroking against the wine-coloured, foreign metal that makes up the walls and fixtures. 

He feels as if he should be panicking; not many would find themselves in a burning room, potentially burning ship, and remain as calm as a fox within its den. However, the fire is (currently) not spreading and the walls are yet to collapse on top of him. Maybe then he’ll run and scream.

What truly worries him is the loss he feels. The untargeted rage and hurt. He searches his mind yet all he feels is a strange sense of regret amidst the fog of his memories. Dain forages and scrambles through a kaleidoscope of images and fragments, unable to piece them in a way which makes any sense. A flash of dark eyes, streaks of red, a flutter of wings, twisted black and a bold sun. The throbbing behind his eye intensifies and he feels his stomach begin to turn with nausea.

He retracts himself from his own mind with a shudder, cold regret seeping through his chest until it stabs at his heart.

‘A second chance, my child. For the both of us.’

*****

This story, due to its size, will be uploaded to AO3, however any important/chapter updates I'll post here :)

I can't wait to share this one with all of you, it's gonna be juicy

xx

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

My Heart Bleeds Whenever I Look Upon You, But I Can Not Bring Myself to Turn Away - Part I

Solas x Dalish, Inquisitor, Male Reader

Word Count: 2.8k+

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, canon typical violence

Part I: Even in darkness Vhenan, I shall guide you home.

"Ir abelas, Mythal save us!"

Y/N woke with his heart clawing to escape from his own chest, bed sheets soaked with sweat that had seeped through the simple, white cotton nightwear shirt. He felt it stick to his skin, clinging desperately to the curves and forms of his body. His breathing was ragged and untamed, causing his brain to fog and his head to feel weightless as if it could just simply roll off of his shoulders.

Slow, deep breaths.

In... Hold... Out... Repeat.

So many nights practising the same routine.

Y/N turned to the beds that lay a few steps beside his own, thankfully his nightmare had not woken those who he shared a bed chamber with. He knew some nights simple dreams would turn into him screaming, pulling him from those same dreams with a burning throat and aching lungs. Thankfully he hadn't had one that bad while in Haven.

It surprised him nonetheless, that his friends who slept with knives beneath their pillows and swords by their fingertips had never heard him. Not when he woke as if he had been drowning, or when he slipped from the tacky covers to feel his bare feet on the cold, stone floor or when he slipped through the door of their shared room out into the hallway.

Another routine; slithering through the halls of the Chantry building, avoiding the night shift guards that forced their tired eyes open, pushing against the sleep that threatened to claim them where they stood. Y/N would move through the shadows gifted by low burning torch light, finally letting out a breath when his back pressed against a heavy wooden door and all that stood in front of him was a ladder leading to the roof.

Even during the warmer months, Haven was frost ridden. Nestled snugly between the mountains it never received the warm winds from the north, instead, the snowy ranges kept a blanket of cold stillness across Haven. With Y/N used to the milder, damper-heavy forests the frigid air made his muscles ache and his bones creek at any movement. Even standing still for too long made his limbs go numb.

Sitting on the rooftop of the old Chantry building did nothing to help the creeping feeling of slowly being paralysed by frost. The tiles beneath him were like fresh ice, jagged and unwelcoming, making even his skin feel raw beneath his heavy sleeping trousers. The light wind that had found its way through the hills was bitter and cruel as it caressed the thin layer of his nightshirt and bare face.

The scar within the heavens shone brighter than the stars, its crackling, green lighting harsher in the dark, the Lichtenberg figures the static created twisting and gripping onto the sky with too many fingers to count. Within the eye of the storm there was a window to an unknown world Y/N wished he would never have to return to; its towering, gravity-defying pillars of jagged rock, dense, choking fog, and the creatures that scuttle and crawl within it.

He shivered and pulled his arms tighter around himself, ignoring the protests coming from his aching back.

"It'll be hard to save the world if its mighty hero catches a cold." Y/N violently turned at the voice, almost slipping on the tiles in the process. Solas stood there with a gentle smile gracing his lips, eyebrows slightly raised in an almost concerned way. He took a moment before approaching, an ugly-coloured blanket draped over his forearms.

Solas was careful as he sat beside Y/N on the awkwardly sloped tiles; not too close, but close enough that he could drape the scraggily blanket over the other man's shoulders. It did not keep in any warmth as there was so little in the first place, but it acted as a stronger barrier against the wind, which seemed to whine at the loss of someone to torment.

"Thank you, Solas," Y/N's throat still felt raw from trying to keep his sobbing quiet, the remnants of dried tears still clinging to his blushing cheeks. He held onto the blanket in a vice grip, pulling it tighter around him, bunching up his shoulders in a practised defence, "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"No bother, I was not sleeping," Solas' voice was like mulberry silk, soft and delicate, yet his voice would cut through the thick fog like a freshly sharpened blade. "I could hear your dreams in the Fade."

Y/N stilled, his knuckles growing white as his grip became like iron on the fabric. "What did you hear?"

Solas pondered for a minute, head tilting to one side. "Hear is the wrong word perhaps, but to say I sensed it is not correct either. I did not hear what was said nor what occurred. Instead, I felt its symphonies... its purest emotions. Maybe if I pried I could get a clearer picture, but something as private as a dream should not be invaded."

Some of the tension that clung to Y/N dissipated, a sigh escaping his lips. "It'll be hard to save the world if I'm too busy running from my nightmares."

Something that could be read as concern finds its way into Solas' features as he turns more of his body to face Y/N, shifting his balance so he does not fall from the tiles. "What are your nightmares?"

A dry chuckle leaves Y/N as he watches the forest sway. From so high the trees are so small, so fragile, it is hard to imagine that stood at their base the branches and leaves would tower high above his head.

"Part of me wants to be able to say the big hole in the sky, or maybe the ugly as fuck demons falling out of it. I would prefer it if I was fighting them, it's easier to fight what you know is real."

There is a ram that drinks from the flowing parts of the river, the water not yet consumed by ice. Its ears are twitching as it listens, legs braced in case it needs to dart back into the protective arms of long grasses and thick tree trunks. But nothing has come for it yet, it is allowed a moment to rest.

"Do you miss the forests?" Solas had followed Y/N's gaze to the ram, now watching it too.

"Yes... Gods yes," A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips.

"What is it that you miss most?"

They sat in silence as he thought for a moment, "The privacy for one. Some days I feel as if I can't piss without someone's watching eyes, waiting for me to turn into a monster or reveal my villainous plan." Y/N carefully adjusted his seating as the base of his back began to sting at the numbness. "I think... I think I also miss the freedom. Even when Cassandra removed the bonds from my wrists I still felt the ghost of them... and sometimes the cord tightens and I can feel the circulation being cut off from my wrists to my hands."

Y/N took a breath, lip quivering as he held onto the last few strands of willpower he had spent so long weaving.

"I want to run Solas... even now when the world gives me a chance to breathe, I want to run back to forests and just sit under its canopies. To listen to a songbird's melody, to smell fresh dew atop soil... anything that isn't..." he flails his hand in the air, "...this."

"Yet you stay... and that is braver than almost anyone here." Solas moved closer, just by an inch. "Many forget that you are not a divine being sent by the heavens, you are just a man and that is all that should ever be asked of you. You have not trained your whole life with a sword, you have not commanded armies, and you do not get to hide in the shadows and listen to a person's deepest secret or topple someone with a few intricately laced-together words. Yet you stand tall with what you do have and you build up from nothing but rubble and ash."

Y/N's eyebrows knitted together as he let Solas's words sink in. "Thank you... I think..." Y/N turned to better face Solas as well, his knee bumping against the others at the difficult angle. "I do believe a lot of that was insults though before you got to the compliment."

"You will have to grow used to it if you wish to gain the allyship of those with their noses pointed to the sky... they may even forget the compliment at the end."

"I didn't realise you were capable of telling jokes, Solas."

The elven mage lets out a soft laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the smile it forced on him. "Incredible, a compliment and an insult in one, you'll be strutting your way through the courts in no time."

"Dirthara-Ma." The lashes came fast and heavy, settling into a confident rhythm. With the pattern, he was able to relax his muscles once more to make the next hit more tolerable. He just needed to hold on a little longer, for if he let himself fall it would only start over when he woke.

Y/N woke once again to sweat-soaked sheets. His head was calmer this night though, something soft stroking against his mind in an effort to soothe him. It was gentle, not attempting to make its presence known or to try to hide it either; just the tips of fingers gracing against hair around the crown of his head.

The first sunlight peeked through the stained glass windows, decorating the floor with colourful, abstract, illustrations. Y/N just lay there, allowing himself the indulgence in the comforting sensation. He took a single, deep breath that expanded his lungs to their limit and let it flow out of him once more as his feet touched the cool stone. As he did so, the presence went, but it left behind the mental peace it gave him when he woke.

The day was almost at its end once more, it was a blessing that he finally found the time to search for the man he sought. Tucked away beneath the old Chantry building, sat in its little dungeon library, Solas let his fingers skim over the books, taking in their dust-ridden titles and worn-down spines. He looked half interested, but there was little to do in Haven for most apart from complain about the cold.

The Room was only illuminated by a single brazier and a few scattered candles, leaving creeping shadows to settle comfortably in the little nooks and crannies the litter dotted about the room caused. Crumpled papers most likely old, incorrect notes, tossed books and writing equipment. Perhaps a scholar's or researcher's old room, but why would it be down here?

"Was it you?" Y/N cringed at how loud his voice had sounded, echoing throughout the empty halls - he did not mean it as an accusation, but the walls of the Chantry made it so. Yet Solas did not tense, he did not even turn at the sudden displacement of noise behind him.

"Yes, it was," His hand slid from its hovering position at the bookshelf and fell to his side as he finally turned towards Y/N, "I apologise if I overstepped my bonds."

Y/N thought for a moment, cracking every joint in his hand - a nervous tic he still had yet to grow out of. "No... No, I-" He stopped himself and collected his thoughts once more. "It helped... the nightmares, I still feel them, experienced them... but not alone... Thank you."

A soft, yet hesitant smile tugged at Solas' lips. "I'm glad." He took Y/N's hand from its place at his side in his own, his other hand coming to rest on top, fully encompassing it. "You needn't fight alone, we... I am your ally. I am here to help you win any battle."

"This is not a battle I think I... we can win, even with your aid," Y/N found his gaze lingering on their intertwined hands, allowing himself to give in and feel the warmth that seem to radiate from Solas' palms.

"Have faith."

A beat passed between them... then a second.

Then Solas pulled his hands away, a look on his face that was unreadable, but not wholly negative. The sudden cold of the cellar hit Y/N's bare hand which had been marked by the anchor and he shivered.

"Find anything good to read down here?" A casual conversation, yet the question felt awkward upon Y/N's tongue. He found himself scanning the few titles that had been discarded and left upon the cobweb, dust-ridden desk.

"Nothing so far. There are some of Varric's pieces here."

"I think I shall pass, thank you," A book of tales and fables written in a variation of the elven language caught Y/N's eye and he gently blew on the cover, attempting to clear the detritus that riddled the front. He was gentle turning the pages, so afraid to tear the delicate paper.

"Not a fan of romance?" Solas turned just briefly before returning to the wall of books, a genial smile once more gracing his lips.

"I'm not a fan of the romance Varric rights, too much swooning for my taste," Y/N closed the book, his fingers resting on the cover for a moment before he left it to its resting place. He did not have the luxury to spend time reading fantasies. "Don't tell Varric I said that or I think I might end up with a crossbow bolt buried in my skull."

The other man laughed, muted in its hesitance, but genuine. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, Falon."

Solas stood in front of Y/N now, less than an arm's reach between them. The air seemed to still in its own anticipation, almost seeming to watch with gated breath. A moment passes once more and something careful passed through Solas' eyes, a single thought that he seems to immediately blink away, breaking his study of Y/N's features.

"Take it," He pushed the book that Y/N had been ogling on the table into his stomach, not forcefully but with a commanding push, "Read before you sleep, it will help you rest." Then in a breath, he was gone.

*****

The stench of blood hit him first like a slap across the face, a spark of panic shot through his body and it awoke him to the scene that surrounded him. The smoke was next, coupled with the roaring flames that burned hot as they brushed against Y/N's skin, stripping away the small hairs.

The fire engulfed the wooden hulls of the aravels, reaching into the gaps it had paved away with its sharp claws and tearing them apart until they were unrecognisable. The crates and chests that sat idly by them suffered the same fate, the flames blanketing them in twisting red and orange heat.

A shrill, piercing scream hit Y/N's ear but he could not find a person to connect the voice to through the burning aravels. The smoke settled like a heavy fog obscuring his vision and the light from the fire blinded him. Y/N lifted his hands to his eyes in an attempt to shield them as he stood, feeling the creaks within the joints of his protesting, aching knees.

The first step was agony, almost sending him toppling back down into the dirt - the second step was not much easier.

The third sent him falling back to his knees, the pain shooting through him like a thousand small knives, reaching up through his thighs to his hips. He let his arms fall back to his side as he wept, unclear if the tears came from the smoke filling his eyes or the pain he felt racking his entire being.

"Ir abelas," Y/N felt the words leave his lips before he could stop them. "IR ABELAS." The tears flowed freely now, cutting through the filth that coated his cheeks, leaving pathways atop his skin.

It took a moment to notice the sitting wolf through blurred vision.

It was towering, twice the size of that found within these forests he'd spent his life travelling through. Its fur was not dissimilar to that of charcoal but held a shine compared to that of obsidian. The snout was long and pointed, the same as its ears, the shape of them narrower than to be expected. Its eyes were a dim red, but as Y/N stared into their hollow colour he swore he felt it staring back.

The tears stopped flowing and his heartbeat quietened in his chest, even as the flames danced and the cries sounded around them.

He was calm.

"Ir abelas" - I am sorry.

"Dirthara-Ma" - May you learn.

"Falon" - Friend

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

To Walk Among the Gods - Part I

Steven Grant x Male, Avatar Reader

Word Count: 3.9K+

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence and Language

After the soul has passed into the next world its heart shall be weighed. Should it be balanced and pure then it shall venture to the A'Aru, the Field of Reeds. Yet if the soul is cruel; filled with hatred, brutality and deceit, then it shall be cast away to the desert and dragged beneath the sands - Their journey ending before it could even begin.

Aside from the groups of local school children, the museum was barren, as it often was in the middle of the week. The Egyptology display was quiet, seeming to emit an ominous aura, not helped by the towering replica statues that stood, intimidating, at the display's entrance. Y/N seemed to be in a silent sort of contemplation, focusing on one of the Ennead displays. Behind the glass case, the jackal-shaped statue of Anubis sat, withered and worn with its great age. Text detailing the history of the Anubis Shrine sat in front of the display, clear for the viewer to read.

"Anubis is often mistaken as the God of Death and Evil, but he was actually a protector of burial sites and graves..." The sudden voice beside Y/N made him jump, ripping him out of his thoughts and to the man beside him.

"He would also guide souls into the afterlife," Y/N spoke up, seeming to wince at breaking the silence that had surrounded the both of them.

The man beside him, whose nametag read as 'Steven' gave a smile. "Anubis also judges the souls that pass through to the underworld, the Duaat, with a set of scales. But even though he is the God of Death, he's not the god of the dead, that would be-"

"Osiris, who is a god of both life and death, is also associated with agriculture, which is probably why their heaven is a field of reeds." Y/N turned back to the display of Egyptian artefacts, finding it hard to look into Steven's doe-like eyes any longer.

A moment of awkward silence passed between them, with Steven taking a sip of his, notedly empty, coffee cup just to fill the space. "Do you..." He cleared his throat, "Do you come to the museum often? I haven't seen you around before."

"No, this is my first time visiting," Y/N tugged on the loose thread of the dark jumper he wore, paranoid of the ink beneath becoming visible. "I could use a tour guide though?" He said that line as more of a request, turning his head again to Steven, but keeping his eyes trained on the open space beside him.

Steven sputtered for a moment, unsure if he had read between the lines correctly, "I... I could give you a tour... if you would like? I'm not an actual tour guide though... I just work at the gift shop... I'm a gift shopist," Steven internally cringed at the sound of himself rambling, unsure if he had immediately scared the other man away.

But instead, Y/N just smiled and chuckled slightly under his breath.

"I'd like that."

Steven let out a small sigh he didn't know he had been holding, releasing his grip on the to-go coffee that had caused it to slightly deform.

"Oi, Stevie, you're late... again," Donna called from just outside the barrier of the Egyptology exhibit, tapping the cheap watch on her wrist, a foul look on her face. "And stop bothering the customers."

Steven blushed in embarrassment as if he was a kid caught with his hand directly in the cookie jar. "Gotta dash," With an apologetic smile he turned, following Donna like a guilty puppy. It was only walking away that he realised he had no idea what the other man's name was, let alone a way to ask about their date-

No, not a date, just a tour.

*****

The rain was harsh as it spat on his face, the cold and damp soaking through the thin, light layers of his clothes and seeming to pierce his bare, ink-covered arms. The wind brushed up against him, pulling at the loose fabric of his clothes and tugging at the material of his hooded cloak. The ornate dagger he held in a tight fist glistened in the light of the moon, the refracted light hitting the loose stone of the rooftop.

"There is much work to do in a city of this size. With souls so corrupted their cruelty spreads like a plague." The jackal's voice was gravelly with its little use, it was unusual for him to speak unless it was to give orders to his avatar.

"What a ray of sunshine you are," The hooded figure's voice was muffled behind the half mask - The inside was shaped like the lower half of a human's face to sit comfortably, but with the outside moulded into elongated, tear-shaped nostrils and an open mouth, displaying sharp, beastly canines in a constant snarl. Paired with the relaxed eyes of its wearer, the mask didn't match the current tranquillity shared between the two.

"What I am trying to get across is... We shall be staying here a while longer than usual." The jackal crossed his arms over his chest, standing tall and almost defensive with his back completely straight.

"Anubis, we've talked about you being all cryptic and mysterious before." Y/N turned to face the god completely, mirroring his stance as the two stood in a combative silence together, one waiting for the other to crack.

The jackal sighed, relenting. "At the museum, the... gift shop-ist you spoke to, he seemed... interested in you."

"He also seemed interested in you, which is why I'm assuming you're giving me this little blessing of yours." Anubis let a smile grace across his animal features before his expression became sullen and serious. "Oh Christ, here it comes," Y/N muttered under his breath, not caring if the god heard.

"The work I give you can be a lot for a mortal mind to process. You need friends... connections, to keep your head to the ground and away from the vastness of the clouds and their foggy distortion. But as your time as my avatar, there have been too few and too brief moments you have truly allowed yourself to be in the arms of another."

Y/N gave Anubis a raised brow. "Are you saying I need to get laid?"

The god gave a sigh, "pesky mortal souls... but yes, I the Great Egyptian God of the Dead, Mummification, Embalming and Burials am telling you to get laid."

*****

Steven had jumped into the air like a scared cat when the to-go cup was placed on his desk. It was marked with the logo of his favourite coffee shop that just sat around the corner. Next to the small illustration of a bouquet of flowers was the name 'Y/N' written in rushed handwriting, the black ink of the permanent marker crisp and clear against the off-white of the cup.

"Looks like you could use a pick me up," Y/N leant on his arms against the desk, careful not to disturb the containers and displays of cheap, yet expensive, museum gift shop trinkets. He took a sip from his own to-go cup, shivering at the pleasant warmth that passed down his throat and settled against the bottom of his stomach.

Steven just stared for a minute, his brain not fully caught up and comprehending. "Th... Thanks," He took a precarious sip from the cup, not sure what to expect, but the taste on his tongue left him pleasantly surprised. "How did you..?"

"Psychic," Y/N wiggled his fingers in a playful manner. "I read the label on your cup yesterday and then prayed for the best." With his arms now resting on the counter again Y/N mindlessly played with the ends of his sleeves, tugging and picking at several loose strands he had been working on earlier that day. "So, when are you off work? You still owe me a tour."

"Erm.." Steven hastily checked his watch, forgetting for a moment how to actually read the time. "I'm off in an hour or so, is that too long?"

"I don't mind waiting. I'll be over by the display from yesterday when you're ready."

There were more people surrounding the Egyptology exhibit than yesterday, their voices hushed between each other but still disturbed the comfort the room offered. Even the large display of Set, a deity of chaos and disorder, offered a corrupt peace - A prayer statue of the Egyptian God sitting with his eyes in a state of repose that chilled Y/N to his bones. Something about it was disturbing.

"Nasty bugger was Set, but I guess you would be if you were a god of violence and storms and so on," Steven walked slowly to Y/N's side in an attempt not to scare him, speaking with a hushed tone so as not to disrupt the other people that slowly meandered the room, feigning an intellectual interest in the blocks of texts that sat in front of Egyptian artefacts they had already seen in the leaflets and adverts.

"He also killed and mutilated his brother Osiris," Y/N still held the to-go cup in his hand, now empty with the plastic lid warped at the edges with teeth marks. "But Osiris did marry his sister, so he kind of had it coming."

"The political aspects of Set are also quite interesting. You see, Set was always associated with foreigners, but during the later periods that held larger amounts of colonisation he became more associated with oppressive foreigners such as Persian and Kushite empires..." Steven spoke a hundred miles a minute as if the information contained within him could no longer be held or it would for sure cause him to burst.

"What got you into all this?" Y/N made a vague gesture with his arms as he asked Steven.

"Well..." He didn't know how to answer, "I just find it fascinating, like an interlocked, two thousand years old story. With so many interpretations and translations you can always find a new aspect of it to explore."

A moment passed between them.

"What about you? What got you into all this?" Steven copied Y/N movement, causing both to smile in amusement.

"A mix of interest when I was young and my career. I've always had a fascination with the Egyptian Gods and their history, there's just something about it that just seems to pull you in." Y/N turned to the statue of Anubis, sensing the god now present in the shadows of the room. "Anubis had always fascinated yet terrified me the most out of all the gods. His complete grasp on not just your life but your soul, your destiny... where you'd spend eternity. He can see everything you have done in your life, what you might have done given the chance and he judges your very existence on those thoughts, those tiny, unimportant thoughts."

Steven let out a long huff of air, "Blimey," He didn't exactly know how to respond to such a statement, "well let's hope he didn't see me nicking digestives from the biscuit tin."

"I'm sure he'll give you a free pass on that one." Y/N cracked the lip of the disposable drinks cup lid once more, his fingertips brushing along the edge of the new sharp splinter within the plastic, almost breaking the first few layers of skin. He could feel the harsh stare from Anubis, the feeling forcing the hairs on the back of Y/N's neck to stand tall. He shivered.

"Are you cold?" Steven moved before the other could reply, peeling the cargo-material jacket from himself and laying it on Y/N's shoulders, careful to not accidentally brush his fingers against his skin.

"Thank you."

Steven kept his promise in regards to giving Y/N a tour of the Ancient Egypt exhibit. They moved from one exhibit to another, with Steven rattling on about each artefact, his hands waving wildly in the air to further articulate each sentence. Y/N let him talk, only speaking up to add his own little pieces of knowledge or ask a question he genuinely didn't know the answer to.

"It is time."

"I enjoyed today Steven, thank you." Y/N still held onto the jacket that had been draped over his shoulders, pulling at the opening gently, already mourning the loss of the warmth provided before taking it off. "Would I be okay to give you my number?"

"Uh yeah... yeah, that would be brilliant, thanks," Steven took his jacket back when Y/N held it out to him, holding it on his lap despite the chill that had crept across him throughout the evening. "I really enjoyed tonight too, not many - or, well, anyone - listens to me ramble like that."

"Y/N, you are wasting time."

Y/N stood, attempting to ignore the bordering threatening voice that spoke at the side of him. "I'd be happy to listen to you ramble like that again." His arms twitched with the desire to hug Steven, but he kept them awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do with them now.

A beat of delicate silence passed between them, both trying to find the words they wanted to say.

"I'll see you soon... I hope," Y/N made his move to leave first, shoulders hunched in self-consciousness, embarrassed by his own lack of social skills.

"That was hard for even me to watch."

Y/N cursed at Anubis under his breath.

*****

Y/N had not seen or heard from Steven in a few days.

It had been almost a week since Steven had given him a tour, followed by a few days of awkward, yet sweet conversations over text. Neither had drawn up the courage to arrange that second date; Every night Y/N would stare at the blinking line in the text box, the empty space mocking him with silent laughter. On those few occasions, he had the capacity to write the first few words, but none of them ever seemed to sound quite right.

Anubis had taunted him relentlessly over his 'weeping heart' every time he checked his phone for a notification he might have just missed.

The museum was more crowded today than it had been the day they met. With so many heads surrounding Y/N, he couldn't pick out Steven's. The counter at the gift shop was occupied by another face, one that looked mind-numbingly bored as they scanned items and handed receipts to customers they barely spoke more than a few words to. Maybe he had a different shift?

Y/N felt Anubis' presence beside him, the people surrounding the both of them moving through the god as if he were a ghost.

"There is something wrong here."

Those simple words send a spike of anxiety straight into Y/N's core, the cold wash of adrenaline already circulating through him. He thought of Steven first and he made a move for the Egyptology exhibit out of impulse. "What can you sense?" Y/N spoke under his breath, barely moving his lips in an attempt to keep his question to the god between them.

"It is faint, but I can taste the ancient power behind it... tread lightly."

Y/N felt their presence as soon as he passed the threshold of the exhibit, the hair at the nape of his neck bristled as the centuries-old instinct of terror nestled its way into his gut. He kept himself to the shadows that the replica obelisk graciously provided from the overhead lights.

"I'd assumed Steven Grant was an alias, imagine my surprise to find you here," An icy chill washed over him - he knew that voice. It's gentle, bittersweet tone that promised a paradise yet spoke of an apocalypse.

He heard Steven flag one of the security guards in a desperate attempt to escape, but he was surrounded by Ammit's followers - Harrow's lapdogs.

"Mate, I don't have your bloody beetle, I swear. I..." The desperation in Steven's voice made Y/N's heart ache.

"Oh, no. The scarab doesn't belong to me, it belongs to her. Do you know Ammit?"

"Do I know Ammit... No, not personally." Y/N summoned a dagger, to his hand, following Harrow as he backed Steven into a corner. Harrow's company was annoyingly organised, forcing Y/N to continuously weave through the spaced-out displays and columns. "Egyptian deity, right? Er... World's first bogeyman."

"She was only the bogeyman for evildoers," Steven knocked into one of the displays, causing it to almost topple over, "She grew weary of having to wait for sinners to commit their crime before punishing them. Would you wait to weed a garden till after the roses were dead?"

"I- I wouldn't do that?"

"The justice of Ammit surveys the whole of our lives. Past, present and future. She knows what we've done and what we will do."

"Great. Okay. Well, the books must have left that part out." The doors that Steven had been meticulously backing towards now slammed closed as another of Harrow's men stood in front of it, eyeing Steven with a look of challenge.

"Consider this. Had Ammit been free-" Harrow had made a move to take Steven's hands in his own, a potential death sentence should Steven's heart be unbalanced. Y/N had no doubt that Steven's heart would be true, but he was not willing to risk the unfair justice that Ammit brought.

"Had Ammit been free the world would have been bathed in nothing but fear and innocent blood," Y/N now stood from his place behind one of the displays, aiming to take Harrow's attention away from Steven long enough for the other to get out of arms reach. Y/N held the knife parallel along the inside of his wrist, concealing it from the other's view. "A soul is only guilty when its crime is committed. If they are taken from the physical plane before they are able to commit this crime then they are still of pure heart."

Harrow sighed in clear annoyance, picking up his cane for a moment, battling with the desire to slam it in frustration. But he kept his emotions under an unnerving grasp, softly placing the cane tip back on the laminate tile floor.

Steven was an easy character to read, his emotions flowing through his movement, saturated in the tone he used when he spoke. But the look on his face now was muddled and perplexing; Fear mixed with confusion and maybe something of betrayal laced within it.

"You are friends with an avatar of Anubis, Steven?" Harrow turned away from Y/N, an odd power play, willingly displaying his back to the enemy. He read the emotions etched onto Steven's face, his eyebrows knitting together as he solved the puzzle pieces. "You didn't know?"

"W-We've only just met."

"Then I assume you don't know of the contract that he has signed, or why he had to sign it in the first place," Harrow turned, a predatory look within his eyes as he locked onto Y/N.

"Don't." A small whisper under his breath, close to pleading.

"They say Anubis' meets his avatars once they have already passed over and their heart has been weighed. He never chooses those whose scales are balanced..." Harrow tapped his can on the floor twice, before Y/N could register its significance, two sets of hands grabbed hold of his biceps, locking him in place. "...instead he takes only those who accept that their scales will send them to the sands... I wonder."

Harrow rolled up his sleeve before he gripped Y/N's wrists in each hand, the underside of his forearms facing the ceiling to reveal the scales.

They didn't move.

Harrow gripped harder as if it would force the scales to weigh Y/N's heart. His hold finally loosened when he was certain that what he suspected was true.

"Fascinating," He spoke under his breath, more to himself than another. Still keeping one hand wrapped around Y/N's left wrist, he moved the thin fabric of his jumper sleeve, revealing the black ink beneath. The scripture of an Egyptian death right. "A living corpse, tied to Anubis on a leash. I wonder, what crimes did you commit in life to bring you to this moment."

"No worse crime than what you have committed Harrow, Amit is a hypocrite."

"Amit is desperate... She was betrayed by indolent fellow gods... By even her own avatar," Harrow made his way back over to Steven as he spoke, a look of fear still stricken on the other man's face. "Sometimes you must fight fire with fire."

"Steven has no part in this, let him be."

"There seems to be quite a few secrets kept between the two of you."

"Are you going to kill me?" Steven's voice cracked with the terror that had been growing inside him. The lights of the museum cracked and sparked with foreign energy, but only for a moment.

"It's maddening, isn't it?" Harrow's voice was low and soft as he spoke to Steven, Y/N had to strain his ears to hear him clearly. "The voice in your head. Relentless, forever unsatisfied. No matter how hard you try to please, it devours you until there is nothing left but a hollow shell." Harrow pulled up the sleeve of his right arm again, clearly displaying the scales to Steven who flinched at the sight of them.

"Harrow don't," Y/N pulled at the tight hold of the guards, a third holding him back as he saw the other two begin to struggle.

"And the more you ask for help, the more you begin to sound like the boy who cried wolf," Harrow held onto Steven's wrist with a gentle grip and in his fear Steven couldn't bring himself to move.

"I can't help you," Steven's breathing was heavy, panicked.

"I am trying to help you."

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM!" Y/N roared as he tried to break free once more, managing only for a moment before he was tripped over onto his hands and knees. He couldn't tell how many bodies know lay holding him down as he fought against them with strength just beyond human.

"I saw you kill that woman in the alps."

"I only told her what millions more will soon learn. Do you want to know the truth?" Steven didn't pull away, instead, he looked at Harrow with eyes filled with conflicting thoughts.

Y/N heard the distant, ethereal ring as the scales began to shift. He had no doubt that Steven had a balanced heart, even from the brief time he had spent with him; there was no doubt about his crystal pure soul.

The scale didn't balance, but it didn't stop moving either.

"There's chaos in you," Harrow spoke in but a whisper.

The doors to the Egyptology exhibit opened and those that held Y/N down clambered off in a controlled rush. Steven pulled his arms to his chest as if now burned by Harrow's touch. Looking between both Harrow and Y/N, his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, struggling to get the words out - he only managed a single sentence.

"Stay away from me."

His eyes met Y/N's as he turned and left.

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

The Fire I Breathe Shall Burn You Too

A COMPLETE WORK

Geralt of Rivia x Male! Dragonborn Reader

THE ORIGINAL SERIES:

PART I

PART II

PART III

PART IV

ADDITIONAL ONE-SHOTS FOR THIS WORK:

*coming soon*

EXCERPT:

Every muscle in his body burned with strain. Pain to the beat of the thundering heart that pounded within his tight chest.

The adrenaline that had driven him forward now left his arms aching and legs shaking, yet he held the hilt of his silver sword tighter and locked his knees into a defensive stance. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel bile threatening to rise at the overexertion.

The mud and grime clung to his boots, the ground beneath him over encompassed with moisture from the heavy rain that pelted down from the sky above, disturbing and churning the soil like dough until it almost became quicksand in viscosity; Boots sinking, pulling Y/N down while he tried to stand tall and on his guard.

His sodden hair was in his eyes and it stung, yet if he tried to blink it away he knew he’d miss a pivotal moment; That one millisecond that he knew the other would make his first move.

It was checkmate.

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

The Fire I Breathe Shall Burn You Too - Part IV [FINAL]

*NOTE: YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING OF SKYRIM FOR THIS WORK - Any lore will be explained within the story itself, you don’t need to know any details of Skyrim.

Inspiration from @fanficsforheartandsoul

*****

Geralt of Rivia x Male, Dragonborn Reader

THE COMPLETE WORK

Word Count: 3.7K+

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Canon typical language, Very brief and hidden suicide ideation

The high reaches of Skyrim had always been bone-numbing. The cold would bore deep beneath the skin into the muscle tissue below, gripping him with its icy claws, making it a constant uphill battle just to keep moving through the snowy landscape. The furs and leathers on his back could only keep in the heat for so long; the melting snow dampening the material until it hung heavy on his shoulders.

The wind rumbled past the Dragonborn's ears, beating against him like a drum, the ever-growing pain at the front of his head growing stronger and bleeding into his temples, creating a vice-like pressure that made his eyes sting.

"Lok Vah Koor."

His voice boomed, cutting through the storm and forcing the winds to submit. The weather still nipped at his skin like a playful pup, testing his ever-thinning patience. The mountain grew steeper now; each step that fell through the freshly fallen snow met ice beneath, threatening to throw Y/N onto his back and into it's harsh clutches.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?" The voice of the bard was panicked, his pitch high in his fright.

Several moments went by and yet he was not answered.

The body that carried his own was warm against his frozen skin, burning the flesh that it touched. Y/N could feel the tightness brought on by anxiety within the other's muscles; How the other stumbled as he quickened his pace, the uneven weight making it easier for him to slip in the sodden and slick ground.

"Hold him up." The new voice that spoke was raw, as if speaking those three words took much more effort than it should.

Y/N felt his body being moved from that warmth into the hands of someone weaker, shaking with the strain of holding someone else's entire weight. It only lasted a minute or two until he was pulled away from those unsteady arms and saddled on a horse. The warmth from before was now flush against his back, with an arm wrapped around his middle to keep him upright.

The peak of the mountain had always been so peaceful, the silence a juxtaposing quiet to the journey it took to reach it. The Throat of The World, the tallest point of Skyrim, able to see out into the cities and villages that surrounded it; From Solitude with its prominent guard towers and ornate decoration, to Winterhold where the battered college sat protecting its precious secrets of the arcane.

Despite seeing so much life, despite being able to look into the lives of the people below it was so lonely, so distant. Being as close as they were to the heavens made one realise why gods and the divines always sort out the comfort of mortals - So different from their own kind, but so willing to embrace and worship them with open arms.

Y/N turned away from the perch, the hollowness in his throat making him feel sick.

Instead he turned to the curved stone that the path lead to - The face of a warrior of unknown creed sat utop, looking down over the faded inscription he guarded, his eyeline following those who dared to read. The Dragonborn brushed his fingers along the carved words of the dragon tongue, wishing he could make out such ancient inscryptions of his people that came before.

Lonliness made one so desperate.

"Kul haas, dovahkiin." He had not heard or felt the flap of wings as Paarthurnax had joined him, sitting at his usual place at the edge of the curved stone. It was still unusual to see him as a soul; Where great grey-brown plates should sit were instead translucent blue scales, their form oulined by a lighter glow.

"It is good to see you again, Wuth fahdon." Paarthurnax gave his beast's version of a content smile that reached his eyes, happy to see the Dragonborn using his own language.

"You have progressed well... pruzah... with your pronunciation beyond that of the Thu'um."

"I had an excellent teacher," Y/N gave his own smile, sadness tinged within it. "I am lost Paarthurnax. I did not understand the severity of your warning..." He paused for a moment, "Fate has taken me... as it has taken you."

"Dez... Fate did not take me... I chose to... Bo both nii... Take her hand..."

"You said destiny was my enemy."

Paarthurnax hummed in a way that sounded like a cat's pur as he thought. "Destiny... meyz... something new..."

"But I am already dead."

"You are dying... Nu tiid."

Y/N huffed an amused laugh, "There's still time? I am left with nothing and no one. This 'gift' destiny bestowed upon me has become nothing more than a curse that has lead me down the wrong path time and time again. It would not let another man rule the land I swore to save and I ended up coating it in the blood of the men that were my allies."

"The empire and the stormcloaks... krent... Neither were worthy to rule. Skyrim would have been lost." Paarthurnax lowered his head as his voice became a whisper, as if speaking ill of the land would cause it further harm.

"Skyrim was lost anyway, with no ruler-"

"She is free... Ahst drem..."

He could not hear anything but the pattering of rain within the trees and the sound of the two horses galloping. Y/N could barely feel the drops of water on his numbed skin like hair thin needles of ice piercing his cheeks.

He managed to crack his eyes open ever so slightly, squinting in hopes to focus on the blurry colours that made up his vision. The horse's brown head bobbed rapidly as he ran, his main trailing behind and brushing against Y/N's hands that lay limp at his sides. The pale hands of another stood out against the dark clothing he wore. One hand held the reins while another rested on his stomach, fingers spread to hold Y/N up straight.

"Geralt," Some one to his left spoke, the voice shaking and exhausted, "He's waking up," The hand on his stomach held him tighter and the weight on his back grew heavier as he was pushed against it.

Y/N placed his palm on the lowered snout of Paarthurnax, just allowing his hand to sit there for a moment, fingers splayed to feel the convex shape of the bridge of his nose and the way his scales fit around it. It did not feel the same as when Paarthurnax was alive, there was more texture to his skin like it had been through centuries of life. Yet now it was smooth like fine silk.

Paarthurnax closed his eyes at the touch, a content sigh leaving through his pointed nostils. "You cannot stay... Meyz... Bo..."

"But I don't know what I'm meant to do now," The Dragonborn pulled his hand down the snout, slowly repeating the action. "While my path may be foggy, the destination has always been clear."

"Hin Miiraad... The Witcher," Y/N swore he could see a mischievous smile playing at the dragon's lips. "He can tame the dovah within."

"And if I do not wish to be tamed?" Paarthurnax raised his head as he spread out his wings and Y/N's hand fell back down to his side.

"Then history... Hin vod... shall repeat."

Y/N felt the power that still rested behind those great wings as Paarthurnax pushed himself up, taking flight once more into the skies of Skyrim.

The ground the Dragonborn stood upon fell beneath his feet and the abyss that swallowed him stole their air from his lungs.

*****

Y/N woke with a start, gasping at the sudden pain in his side. His head became dizzy with how quickly he was upright. Attempting to move a hand to feel for the wound, the leather straps binding him to the phasistian's table tugged, keeping his arms from moving anymore than an inch. Looking down he saw the restraints, a matching pair around his ankles. He had been stripped of his armor, leaving him in thin black trousers and a dark grey cotton shirt, that by the size, he guessed was not his own.

It had been a long time since the Dragonborn had felt like this; chained and filthy like a dog. He could feel days' worth of sweat and grime coating his skin and clogging up his pores - Most likely from a lasting fever. He smelt the odour seeping from him, making it easy to picture protruding, comical green lines . Never before had he wanted to bathe so desperately.

"You reek," As if able to hear his thoughts, a man bearing the same pendant as Geralt spoke. He stood casually across the room, grazing the sharp edge of a sword with the pad of his thumb - not directly threatening, but an action to get the message across. He wore green padded clothing and had his mousey brown hair half tied up, a few strands hanging across his face in an unflattering way. There was something cocky about him that made Y/N want to challenge his patience.

"Are you sure it's not coming from you?" The man pushed himself from the wall with the sword raised, a look of anger flashing in his eyes. Y/N sat straighter to challenge him, but winced as he pulled on the stitches that held the wound on his lower torso closed.

The man stopped, lowering his sword and huffing an amused breath as a smile played on his lips. "You remember who did that to you?"

Y/N cringes at the thought, "Geralt."

The man bent down so their faces were only inches apart, "If you try anything I won't hesitate to do the same, but don't think I'll give you the courtesy of a second chance like he did. Step out of line and I will kill you."

Naturally not finding being threatened pleasant, Y/N spat in his face, grinning at the look of absolute irritation on the other's face.

The door to the room opened before anything truly interesting could happen. Geralt stood within the doorway, attempting to assess the scene, with two sets of food and drink.

"You can leave now, Eskel," The sound of Geralt's voice sent a subtle shiver down Y/N's spine, but his ego wouldn't let him break away from the staring contest he was currently locked in with, who he assumed to be, Eskel.

Eskel huffed before he turned away, bashing his shoulder against Geralt as he walked past. The Witcher did not seem phased by his attitude, more concerned with the water that had been knocked from the cups he held.

Geralt placed down the food and drink at the table before closing the double doors for privacy. Y/N harshly swallowed as he felt the building, almost suffocating tension, between them. What do you say to the man who, not too long ago, stabbed you?

"Charming friends you've got." Y/N inwardly recoiled at how his voice sounded when he spoke. He didn't realise how noticably breathy and tired it was until now.

Geralt didn't respond to him for a moment, instead, he just looked at Y/n with his brows knitted.

"I will release you," He placed both hands on the cuff closest to him, squeazing his wrist through the thick leather. "But you must tell me everything that I need to know."

A moment of silence stood between them and in that moment Y/N noticed that Geralt's eyes were much more gold around the cat-like pupils and the iris shone a similar colour to the petals of daffodils in their peak bloom.

"Can I get a bath as well?"

A smile pulled at Geralt's lips for a moment before he undid the cuffs holding down Y/N's wrists, handing him the plate of food afterwards - It was a simple platter of basic meats and cheese, with a torn corner of bread to fill. The Dragonborn pretended not to notice the silver knife that sat at Geralt's belt, the harsh material standing out against the comfortable lounge clothes he wore.

"You don't smell any worse than some of the other Witchers here." Geralt sat beside the table, close enough for Y/N to reach him, but only by the brush of his fingers.

"Other Witchers?" There was a danger within the thought, but he did his best to ignore it. Y/N took his first bite of the food and relished in it, not realising how hungry he had become.

"To treat your wound I took you to Kaer Morhen, the Witcher school I was trained at," Geralt took his own first bite after he finished his sentence.

"Why here?"

"I only trusted you in the hands of my teacher, Vesemir," He cocked his head as if in thought, "That and I don't know what you are... or if a regular physician could have healed you. Vesemir would have been better equipped."

"Why?" One word felt like such a heavy question, but it was all he could manage, there would always be something left unsaid. 'Why give me this chance? 'Why go through the trouble?' 'Why even bother?'

Geralt downed the cup of water and placed it back down a little too harshly.

"I'll go heat some water for your bath," He left behind his plate still half full with food and the bounds that had been around Y/N's wrist still undone, an unspoken invitation to leave if he wanted, but with no awaiting arms if he ever wished to return.

*****

Y/N had managed to make it most of the way there without much help from the hallway walls or Geralt, but his legs still shook as he walked and he was forced to take it painstakingly slow. It did not hurt his wound per se, but spending several days unconscious and after losing so much blood it had become a less than easy task.

The room that Geralt lead him to, whether it was on purpose or out of his control, was up several flights of stairs, but the journey was worth the effort.

The double doors opened up into a wide, open room within one of the towers of Kaer Morhen, a lit firepit sitting in the middle, with the billowing smoke being tunnelled out of a hole in the centre of the steep, thatched roof. There was a homely aspect to it like this place was lived in even after being left for a while; Open books sat on a desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and half-melted candles. The bed covers opposite lay messy and unmade, with one of its pillows out of place and almost hanging off of the side.

A bath sat by the other set of open double doors, the steam from the hot water being blown inwards by the gentle winds from over the balcony. The tub was a simple wooden one, clearly old and worn, but still strong and stable.

"Never pegged you for a romantic," Y/N was facing away from the Witcher, but he liked to imagine that there was a blush on his pale cheeks, but he did hear a faint, amused chuckle. He made a move to take off his shirt, yet immediately winced as white-hot pain shot through his sternum, leaving behind a stronger dull ache.

"Here," Geralt stepped in front of Y/N and held the hem of his shirt for a moment, waiting in case of objection. With nothing said he began to pull the shirt up, gently bunching up the fabric within his hands, lifting it over the other's head first, before sliding back down Y/N's arms so he wouldn't have to move and cause any more pain. It was an action that only lasted a brief few seconds, but the intimacy within it made Y/N's heart speed up at the notions that came with it.

He had no doubt Geralt heard his tell-tale heart.

"I can do the rest," He spoke quick, in no more than a whisper, afraid that he might burst at the feeling of Geralt's fingers accidentally brushing his skin once more. The other nodded and turned to leave, believing Y/N was asking for privacy. "No," He grabbed his wrist, immediately pulling away at the sudden action that he did not expect to come from himself, yet he went with it, afraid he may not have the opportunity again if he let this one go. "Stay... please?"

Geralt did not hesitate before he nodded once more, turning away as Y/N removed the rest of his clothing.

"I don't mind if you look," Y/N let out a content sigh as he stepped into the hot water of the bath, the temperature making his skin instantly turn red where it touched. The dragon within hummed at such a simple delight. "I don't wish to hide anymore... at least not from you."

Geralt had seen brief flashes beneath clothing of raised and pink scars before but did not imagine how far they travelled beneath. The outline of an unfamiliar armour coated the Dragonborn's skin, only ever broken by the known neat cuts from blades or jagged scratches from claws and teeth. Although, despite the intriguing pattern, what stood out most was the brand that had been clearly burned into his skin. Despite being healed, it looked angry - It was the silhouette of a dragon, its wings and tail forming in an almost diamond shape.

Geralt could not help but kneel beside Y/N and trace his fingers along the outline of the sigil.

"The Seal of Akatosh," Y/N spoke gently, placing his hand overtop Geralt's before he could move it away in his embarrassment, not fully realising what he was doing. "It was a mark of the Empire." Geralt did not try to pull away though, but instead met his eyes with Y/N's, asking an unspoken question. Y/N let out a small sigh, "I killed the emperor during the civil war within Skyrim and then once the war was over I killed the man who I fought alongside."

"I take it there's more it the story?" Geralt asked, still gently caressing the scar, most likely subconsciously.

"They were both corrupt men... just like me, both hungry for power. I could see it within them. I had no right to be their judgement, but no one else could put a blade to their throat and end it," Y/N looked through the double doors at the scenery that waited below the balcony; So high up and so far to fall. "In the end, my judgement came to, but they did not know how to kill someone like me... so in the end, they striped everyone and everything I had and cast it in flames in front of me, just adding to the death that surrounded me."

"I had saved Skyrim from so many monsters before. From my own kin, the Great Dragon Alduin, but once those monsters wore a man's face it didn't matter if they had killed thousands in a hunt for power, or brothers for his own inflated ego. In the end, because of what I was and what I could do... they were too afraid. They banished me here because they didn't know how to kill me," Y/N turned back to Geralt, unable to stop the subtle shaking of his body now. "Sometimes I wish they bothered to find a way... Sometimes I wish they had ended it on the mountain that they announced and delivered my punishment."

They sat in silence for a moment, holding each other's gaze. "I'm glad they didn't," Geralt whispered, placing his free hand on the curve of Y/N's neck where it met his shoulder.

The water hit the wooden floorboards with how quickly Y/N moved, forcing it over the sides of the wooden tub, also splashing Geralt in the process. Although the Witcher didn't seem to care, too taken aback by the feeling of the other's lips pressing against his own. He didn't hesitate to pull himself closer, his fingers gracing one scar to another as his hand reached Y/N's waist.

The Dragonborn let his fingers tangle within Geralt's hair, pulling at the tie that held the upper half out of his eyes and letting it fall over the their faces as they kissed.

A part of Y/N roared within him, kissing Geralt harder as if a challenge to take it further. The Wither complied without question, biting at the other's bottom lip to accept.

Y/N kissed like he fought; rough and vicious, but with the skill of someone who held control over both himself and the battlefield before him. Geralt was much the same, but entirely opposite, adapting to what he was given by using his decades of knowledge and accomplishments. If the Witcher was to give up his control, it was with the knowledge that he could take it back any moment he pleased.

The Dragonborn had never hesitated to fight dirty and no was no different; he let his nails drag down Geralt's back back, bunching and grabbing at the material until the other tore it from his body and threw it aside. Y/N followed the line of scars that marked the skin of the other, both impressed at how well he fit them and angered at who or what had inflicted them.

"You are... beautiful," Y/N did not know he had spoken until the words had left his swollen and blushing lips. Geralt held a look of surprise for a moment, an expression he had not seen so clearly on the man before he could not help but let out a light laugh. "I mean it in honesty."

Geralt looked as if he did not know what to say. Y/N shook his head and kissed the other's look of shock away, his hands pulling Geralt's face close again by his cheeks. "Would you care to join me?" He whispered against the Witcher's lips, smiling as he did so, something more committal hidden with the offer, his warrior heart racing with nerves he believed to have lost a long time again.

"Yes," Geralt spoke, once he was able to find his voice again.

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

The Fire I Breathe Shall Burn You Too - Part III

*NOTE: YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING OF SKYRIM FOR THIS WORK - Any lore will be explained within the story itself, you don’t need to know any details of Skyrim.

Inspiration from @fanficsforheartandsoul

*****

Geralt of Rivia x Male, Dragonborn Reader

THE COMPLETE WORK

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Canon typical language

*****

Every muscle in his body burned with strain. Pain to the beat of the thundering heart that pounded within his tight chest.

The adrenaline that had driven him forward now left his arms aching and legs shaking, yet he held the hilt of his silver sword tighter and locked his knees into a defensive stance. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel bile threatening to rise at the overexertion.

The mud and grime clung to his boots, the ground beneath him over encompassed with moisture from the heavy rain that pelted down from the sky above, disturbing and churning the soil like dough until it almost became quicksand in viscosity; Boots sinking, pulling Y/N down while he tried to stand tall and on his guard.

His sodden hair was in his eyes and it stung, yet if he tried to blink it away he knew he'd miss a pivotal moment; That one millisecond that he knew the other would make his first move.

It was checkmate.

*****

Several hours earlier...

The Edges of his leather armour were beginning to fray. Granted, they were cheap, but cost what little money the Dragonborn had been able to pickpocket from drunken noblemen. At least when he first found himself in Skyrim he had the aid of Ralof and a few of his friends in Riverwood, but on the continent, he had found himself alone. He would have taken another close shave with execution if it had meant a bit of coin, rather than being dumped in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the damp. freezing clothes he had been wearing.

Geralt caught his eye; his hand methodically moving a whetstone over his silver sword, the sound grating and unsettling to Y/N's ears. The other sat stiff, his back hunched as he worked with that usual stoic look that only ever seemed to leave his face when the moon turned blue.

"Geralt, I swear to god," Jaskier slammed his leather-bound notebook shut on his lap, "An artist cannot work with you making all that racket."

Geralt gave an unconcerned grunt.

"Composing already?" Y/N spoke up, humouring the bard as it was too early in the morning for one of their one-sided arguments. He didn't pause his work restitching the looser threading on his armour; As it was a skill he spent so long performing he was able to divide his attention.

"I felt quite inspired... by you actually, just Y/N."

The casual smile drifted from his face and he shook his head, still facing down at his work, "I've had songs written about me before, can't say I enjoyed them." Geralt's eye line flickered up from his sword to look at the others for a second, a sign that his interest had been peaked.

"I've got to hear this, sing one for us," Jaskier sat forward on his seat/rock.

"When we've slain this dragon and you've paid for a few rounds of ale, then I'll think about it."

"You know, you two are a pair of grumpy gits. Neither of you knows how to have fun, actual fun, not just killing things, drinking and fucking."

"Jaskier, not every man's idea of a good time is running away from an angry lord with his trousers bunched around his legs and dick blowing in the wind because he's just been having an affair with the lord's wife and three of his serving girls."

Jaskier was silent for a few moments before quietly replying, "It was four serving girls actually."

"You told me it was three."

"You told me two," Geralt spoke for the first time that morning, voice still laced with a hint of grogginess.

The rose coloured blush on Jaskier's cheeks that had been slowly spreading across his face was now beginning to reach down his neck.

"Jaskier?" Y/N drew out the syllables of his name as if he was a scolding parent talking to a misbehaving child.

After the intense gaze of his two companions became too much he finally broke, the entirety of his face turning cherry red. "Okay, okay jeez... There weren't any serving girls... and..."

"Go on," The other two leaned in as if it would peel the bard's sentence off of his tongue faster.

"... it was the lord's mother." The bard hung his head in suffocating embarrassment.

"Told you." Geralt called from his seat, a smug look on his face as Y/N tossed a small bag of coins his way.

"YOU BET ON IT?" Jaskier was about to explode.

"I knew you were desperate for a shag, but I didn't realise you'd go as far as a granny," Y/N's face twisted, feigning disgust in an attempt to further embarrass the bard.

"She looked younger after several tankards of mead... and in the dark." Y/N shook his head and stood, patting the top of Jaskier's head as he passed by and said nothing, furthering the bard to give reasons for his unfortunate choice in coupling. "I swear she didn't look sixty-four."

"Whatever you say."

Geralt cleared their temporary campsite of their gear while Y/N prepared their horses for the rest of their journey, all the while Jaskier continued to list excuses until it turned into senseless ramblings regarding one topic or another that rapidly fell into white noise.

The Dragonborn could sense the other Dovah close by.

There was a gentle hum in the air surrounding him; Jaskier was oblivious as he continued his chatter, but with how Geralt's knuckles had turned white from gripping the reigns of Roach he knew he could sense it too. It felt like small static shocks, prickling along with the exposed parts of his skin, brushing against his hands and kissing along his cheek. A sign of unbridled power lurking ahead.

Y/N stopped his horse and so Geralt, Jaskier taking a few seconds to notice the sudden halt, too absorbed in his own conversation with himself.

The forest was silent. No birds sung their songs, no horseflies buzzed around them, not even the leaves of the birch trees dared to move. Y/N could feel the anxiety of his horse through its gentle shaking, only following the commands given to it due to how it was bred and trained.

Without a word spoken between them, Geralt and Y/N dismounted, Jaskier following shortly after, a confused look on his face when he noticed the jagged change in mood of his companions.

"Stay with the horses," Geralt spoke first, Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled the reins of the horses to tie them to the closest trees.

"And why do I have to stay with the horses?"

"Because I don't want to have to carry your charred corpse back."

"... that's fair."

Y/N had already notched his first arrow and pulled the bow slightly taunt, easily holding the light pressure steady. The weapon was held by his side, the arrow pointing to the ground and his non-dominant arm straight, ready to lift it up into a position to fire. His back was hunched as he crept through the shoulder height bushes, keeping his footsteps slow and purposeful, as to make as little noise as possible on the detritus of dry leaves and fallen twigs beneath his feet. Geralt followed close by in a similar stance, only he traded a bow for a silver sword, the blade facing backwards so it trailed behind him.

The area around them lacked adequate cover from the fire of a dragon's breath, save for a few protruding rocks; short in height, but wide in length. There were no broad trees that would be able to take a few seconds of a burning onslaught, only partially grown saplings and half bald bushes.

They were too out in the open and held the disadvantage regarding territory; they needed to be the ones to initiate the attack and for that first strike to truly count.

The dragon sat just a few metres ahead, on flat clear ground. They were the same colour as obsidian, only with the usual shine of the freshly cut rock dulled by a build-up of fine dust. With their wings partially extended to relax comfortably, the Dragonborn could see where the skin frayed at the edge, like a worn fabric, signifying great use and age. The horns protruding from their forehead twisted and curled behind it, spinning together as if in a dance.

They were nuzzling a shallow wound on their back, right leg. There were five claw marks from another frantic beast it had most likely threatened just by their presence alone. The bleeding had stopped and it looked a few days old, but in such an area it still hurt the dragon to move and apply pressure to that leg. Their right side would be more vulnerable, attacks they would make using their right would threaten to throw them off balance.

Y/N stopped and sat with one knee in the dirt and one leg ready to push up and run. His non-dominant arm lifted up the bow in the direction of the dragon, while his dominant arm pulled back the string. His thumb was pressing into the fat of his cheek and he closed one eye to aim. He could feel the tension of the wood burning in the muscles of his back, the bow feeling as if it was about to snap under the tight pressure.

The Dragonborn aimed the arrow just below his target and fired.

The string made a deep 'twang' noise as tension was rapidly released, followed by the pained shout of the dragon. The tail end of the arrow he had just fired could be seen buried in the dragon's golden, left eye, blood already running down its face, outlining the shape of its scales in a deep red, almost brown colour.

Geralt ran forward from behind Y/N, sword raised and already cutting through the air before the dragon could recover.

The beast made their first strike in retaliation, using the length and size of their large, right-wing to push Geralt back, sweeping across the ground in front of them, pushing up dirt and gravel. In an attempt to shield his eyes from the debris, Geralt raised his left arm but temporarily blinded himself in doing so.

The dragon used this opportunity to push back on their hind legs and use their body mass to plummet on Geralt with their front legs. Just before that moment, Y/N had used a chance of his own to pull his sword from its sheath and run behind the dragon while it was focused on the other. He brought his sword down on their right, back leg, the sudden wave of pain on an already weaker limb caused them to lose their balance as it buckled beneath the weight. They swung their wings frantically in an attempt to right themselves, hitting Y/N, sending him tumbling backwards.

Y/N grunted as his back hit the ground, immediately rolling to the side as the dragon's tail came flying towards his head. He ducked back down just in time to miss the spear-like spike that was on the end of their tail, the barbs just knicking his cheek and missing his eye by an inch.

When Y/N turned he could see Geralt push his sword through the left-wing of the dragon, running with the sword still piercing the flesh, tearing the wing apart. The thin, now loose skin hung from the muscles it was still attached to, the edges trimmed with pink of the fresh cells beneath. In anger, the dragon went for Geralt with its jaw wide open, a blaze of red hot fire following its movement.

Geralt was fast enough to drop to the floor and roll away from the blaze behind one of the larger basalt rocks that surrounded their natural arena. The dragon continued to channel fire in his direction, causing the rocks to glow bright orange with the heat.

"KRII LUN AUS!" The Dragonborn let out a shout in the tongue he shared with the dovah and the beast turned in a state of bewilderment as a wave of barreling, bright blue light came barreling towards them. For a moment the beast was stunned, but they quickly shook off the effect of the dragon shout.

"TARATHO'OR," They bellowed in return, before shrieking out another cry of fire.

Y/N ran beneath the dragon, spinning as he swung for its stomach, cutting at the thick, unprotected skin that lay there. Blood from the deep gash spurted into the Dragonborn's face, the red painting his leathers and exposed skin. It was warm and he could feel the splatters of the fresh liquid already running down his face, soaking into his hair and skin.

The dragon within him called out their encouragement.

He couldn't deny that the blood felt good on his skin. It made his heart beat fast enough that he could hear the pounding in his ears as it pumped blood filled with his fear fueled adrenalin to every muscle in his body.

Y/N had been distracted only a second by the feeling before a hand made of claws swiped towards him. He deflected the attack just quick enough that it missed him, the sword vibrating as it hit the hardened talons. From the edge of his vision, he saw Geralt charging, using the dragon's steered away focus to power a final blow.

The Dragonborn roared in newfound anger, bolting for Geralt and catching him by surprise, unlocking the opportunity to grip the witcher's shoulder and throw him back with an unnatural strength. Geralt fell against the floor in a deep cry, the wind being knocked from his lungs as his back hit a series of rocks that jutted out at awkward angles.

Y/N didn't pay the other any attention, his eyes trained on the dragon before him. His vision had clouded into a light topaz colour, the edges rimmed in a deeper red just bordering on crimson. The dragon was hunched over, bracing themselves on their front legs with what energy they had left. Their head hung low enough that Y/N could leap from the ground and, with his free hand, grip onto one of their oversized horns.

The dragon thrashed their neck, in a final attempt to throw the Dragonborn off, yet it was too weak. Y/N almost stumbled for a second, but held onto its horn with a firm grip, before plunging his sword into the softest part of the dragon's skull, just between their eyes, on the flattest part. He felt the bone break with the force and continued pushing until the hilt pushed against the dragon's scales.

The dragon collapsed.

It only took a couple of seconds until he felt it - a few more until he could see it.

Spirals of bright energy were ripped from the dragon's corpse, collecting just above the Dragonborn in a circular ball of glowing gold. The soul gave out one last wail; the supernatural shape mirroring the form of the body it mourns before Y/N reach his hand and felt himself drink in its power through his skin.

And then there was quiet, just before the rain started.

A small trickle at first that quickly became a tremendous downpour, quickly soaking the two men and the dirt ground beneath their feet. Y/N could feel those piercing yellow eyes akin to a cat's, but paid them no mind, too absorbed in the known power running through him anew.

The Dragonborn held up his hand where he had first felt the soul of his kin touch him - His fingertips still tingled. He felt the energy move through the branches of capillaries in his arm and meet in the thicker tunnels of his veins. With how rapidly his heart was beating it didn't take long for the feeling of that dragon's spirit to completely wash over him. Y/N couldn't even feel the rain pouring down on him, he just indulged in the feeling of familiarity.

It took several moments for him to ground himself again. The rain was ice cold and he still held onto the buried sword with what strength he had left to balance himself on top of the dragon's deceased body.

Geralt had not lowered his sword.

Y/N pulled the weapon free, causing it to make an abhorrent wet, fleshy sound. The dark blood that coated the metal was quickly washed away by the harsh rain, leaving the blade gleaming and looking all the more sharp and dangerous. His vision still hadn't corrected itself, his eyes still held the reptile-like shape of the creature he had just slain.

The dragon now thrashed loudly inside Y/N's chest, growling and lashing to taste more blood. It no longer cared who's, it just needed more of that victory.

The now sodden mud splattered as Y/N's feet hit the ground.

He kept his eyes trained on Geralt, who returned the courtesy, and raised his sword to mirror the Witcher's defensive stance. He cocked his head and bared his teeth like an animal, attempting to goad the Witcher into attacking first and breaking his own defence.

The Dragonborn grew impatient. Fueled by the war cry of the dragon within him, he propelled himself forward, leaping up and bringing his sword down on Geralt. Pushing up on the slick mud didn't give him the height he desired and while the strength was enough to knock the Witcher backwards a step, it was slow enough that the movement was easily parried.

The clanging of metal was dampened by the rain but still rung loud in Y/N's ears.

Exerting another push of strength, he used the contact of their swords to push Geralt back further, giving him a chance to throw his sword forward again. His attacks were not calculated, only fueled by the animalistic desire to hurt his opponent, making them easy to evade and block.

Y/N growled and threw another hit, but with a larger strike. Geralt turned to avoid and made the first attack of his own; Beginning with his sword, securing a basic hit that Y/N easily blocked,. With his attention drawn to the blade, Geralt took the chance to raise his boot and kick him firmly in the chest, hard enough to send Y/N to the ground, losing his sword in the process.

The Dragonborn let out a cry of frustration and pushed himself up just enough to grip onto Geralt's left calf and pull his leg out from under him in one quick motion. Grime and filth covered them both now, dirtying their leathers and socking into the cotton of their under armour. It weighed them both down; Along with the exerted stamina of the previous fight, their movements were clumsy and sluggish.

Managing to bring himself to all fours, Y/N threw himself forward to try and land a fist on Geralt. His hand collided with cheek once before his wrist was grabbed and he was pulled down back into the mud, the Witcher on top of him. He felt hard, calloused knuckles strike his cheek once and then twice, his ears ringing and head dizzying with the amount of force. The other hand that was still wrapped around his wrist pushed his dominant arm further into the malleable ground beneath him.

With the third hit, he was brought back into the moment. He reached his free hand up - his movements hindered with how heavy his limbs felt - and dug his nails into the skin of Geralt's cheek, tearing the skin enough to draw fresh blood. The Witcher's hold on Y/N wavered only a moment at the new sensation of pain, but it was opportunity enough for him to roll them over.

In the same second, Y/N straddled Geralt's chest, digging his knees into his biceps to keep them held in place. His hands were wrapped around the other's neck, watching and feeling as the muscles strained and his pulse began to race. He watched as Geralt's mouth spasmed open and closed, trying to draw in breath. The Dragonborn squeezed harder, pushing his nails into the skin until they drew red.

With his attention so enthralled with taking Geralt's breath, Y/N didn't notice Geralt's right hand reaching out, his fingertips just brushing the handle of his sword. Y/N didn't notice the glimmer of wet metal until punctured his side, several inches of silver embedded in his lower torso.

Y/N's vision had finally cleared.

The hold he had on Geralt's neck slowly loosed and he heard the other take in a deep gasp of air. He pulled his hands away from Geralt in a mix of shock and confusion, before reaching for the blade that had penetrated him.

Without thought, Y/N pulled the blade out, whimpering at the pain of the sharp edge moving against the exposed nerves. He pressed a hand to his side, putting pressure on the wound to stop the blood flowing from the deep cut. He looked around him, clearly disorientated. The world spun as he tried to stand and he found himself back in the mud, on his knees and clutching his side harder.

"...Geralt," He didn't recognise his own voice with how weak and breathy it sounded. With black dots clouding his sight he lost his balance and found his back hitting the ground again, barely able to make out the Witcher's form beside him. He didn't turn to face him; Whether it was guilt, shame or just lacking the energy it took to turn his head he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Zu'u los Krosis." Y/N heard himself mutter quietly with what he had left. He watched as the rain fell from the clouds above, blinking when the droplets hit his eyes, until his eyelids were finally too heavy to keep open and the world went dark. In his final moments of consciousness, he felt the crisp rain hitting his skin and a warm, ungloved hand pressing into his cheek before the ground beneath him fell from under him.

*****

The final part - 3/05/22

*****

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

The Fire I Breathe Shall Burn You Too - Part II

*NOTE: YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING OF SKYRIM FOR THIS WORK - Any lore will be explained within the story itself, you don’t need to know any details of Skyrim.

Inspiration from @fanficsforheartandsoul , thank you for all the support!!

*****

Geralt of Rivia x Male, Dragonborn Reader

THE COMPLETE WORK

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Canon typical language

"Sizaan... You will lose yourself, Dovakinn... Hi los ont vod... Just as all dragons do." Parthunaax's voice was soft as it travelled along with the breeze, he spoke as if trying to calm a screaming babe.

The scene before Y/N was one of a victorious battle; The ground damp and congealed with heavy precipitation and the warriors' blood of both Skyrim and the Empire. The mud was trodden and kicked up by sturdy leather boots and iron sabatons. The weapons of fallen soldiers stand tall and challenge the sky, while others lay beside their owners - fingers reaching out and almost scraping at the hilt, their eyes wide open in fear, while no light shines within them.

The Dragonborn can smell thick, dreadful smoke; It's pungent as the fog strengthens and carries it through the field, the charred remains of vegetation and overturned carts still burn a dim amber, the fire holding onto whatever source of fuel it can, refusing to be snuffed out.

He closes his eyes and he can hear it. The harsh, ear-piercing sound of clattering metal; steel hitting iron, hitting silver, hitting corundum. The cries of men and women fighting for their lives and their land sung in the background, a voice occasionally shrinking into silence as the holder fell dead.

Y/N opened his eyes again and he saw the bodies once more, painted in dread as their gaze lay straight ahead, looking at nothing but their end.

He glanced down at his hands as he felt a sticky substance cracking and flaking, while simultaneously damp and congealing. Y/N's arms were painted in brilliant shades of deep red and muddy brown, his skin colour peaking through the creases of his palms and joints where the blood had dried and cracked in the folds of his skin.

None of it was his own.

The Great Dragon within him purred at the sight and the smells, curling around the feeling of triumph within the Drangborn's chest.

"Your legacy, Dovakinn, is coated in... sos... blood... and reeks of dinok... death." The disembodied voice of Parthunaax grew louder as it grew stronger with passion, the rumble of anger within it raising the hairs on Y/N's arms. "Vennesetiid fen du hi... destiny is your enemy."

The Dragonborn sat straight in the wooden cot of the Inn. The room still bathed in soft candlelight, highlighting the perspiration dripping down his forehead and onto the coarse cotton covers.

It took a moment or two to calm his breathing once more, his head hurting from how loud the voice had been in his dream.

Parthunaax was dead, or at least his body was lost, destroyed by the Emperor's son. He had been a great ally during the Dragonborn's battle against Alduin, yet Y/N is the reason he is now gone.

Some nights, when these dreams plague him, he wonders if the voice he hears is real. Whether Parthunaax's soul has been able to reach him across such deep and far waters. Part of Y/N dares to hope, but not enough for the dragon, his friend, to forgive him for what he had become.

*****

"So... Please enlighten me... Why are we going after a dragon?" Jaskier was pacing in front of the table where Geralt and Y/N sat, bouncing on his heels with anxious energy. Some of the other patrons turned their heads to briefly glare at the commotion the bard was seeming to create just by existing. "I mean... it's a dragon."

"It would make for an excellent song though." As it was only morning the tavern was fairly quiet, with only a few patrons save for an amused Dragonborn, an indifferent Witcher and a somewhat distraught bard.

Jaskier raised his finger as if to protest, but behind his eyes, you could watch as the cogs of his mind turned. "It rather would, wouldn't it." Y/N wiggled his eyebrows at the bard, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"So..." Geralt broke the atmosphere, "What do we know?"

"Its arrival here must have been recent, no more than a month, but no less than a week or two going by how the bogland was almost completely clear. Despite their ability to fly, dragons are slow to migrate, especially in new territory. They usually have a home base, one to fly out from and then return whenever they please. But if that home is lost then so are they. They become disorientated."

"That's a good thing, right? It's not its home turf so we have the advantage?" Jaskier leant against the table, both hands holding his weight.

Y/N grimaced, "Not necessarily. They'd become desperate, like when you tried to pet that feral cat. Everything is a threat, so they'll be on high alert and lash out at anything and everything."

"And that's why we have to kill it?"

"Imagine if they stumbled onto Cintra, a dragon of that size and of that mindset would destroy it. Even if they managed to neutralise it, hundreds of men, women and children would be killed."

"Ah... not good."

"If we follow the line of "disturbances"-"

"Like the Kikimore."

'-like the Kikimore, then it'll create a path straight to the dragon, then it's just a matter of slaying it."

"You make it sound like killing it is the easy part."

"That's because it is." Geralt smacked Jaskier on his shoulder blade, a "friendly" gesture, soft as to not hurt the bard, but brutal enough to send him stumbling forward from the force.

Y/N stood from his seat, the others following suit as he placed a small pouch of gold on the table; Enough to pay for their drinks and their night's stay, with a little bit extra for hospitality.

Roach dug his front, left hoof into the ground in front of him, the boredom of waiting for Geralt resorting him to kicking up the dirt of the stable floor. Brynjolf, a broad, dark-coated stallion stood by roach in the same stall; Considerably more behaved yet held an air of arrogance about him.

"I still think it's a dumb name for a horse," Jaskier commented, leaning against the wooden support of the stables as the other two prepared their horses - The bard was yet to find a mount of his own, for now, he would pester his two companions for a ride on either of their horses, more often than not it was Y/N that gave into his winging of sore feet and tired legs.

"He's named after a dear friend," The Dragonborn repeatedly moved his hand down the strong snout of the stallion, while his other hand tested at the straps of the saddle, "Its a better name than 'Roach' at least."

"Hey." Geralt spoke up, a false look of anger on his features that made Y/N smile.

"A dear friend? Pray tell, who is this Brynjolf that tamed the heart such a strong, cold warrior?" Jaskier waved his hand up in a flourish, before letting it fall back over his chest where they both lay crossed.

"He was a thief, commander of the Thieves Guild to be exact after I... dealt with their previous leader."

Jaskier furrowed his brows before his eyes widened along with his mouth at the realisation. "Oh, so you..." He pulled his finger across his neck in a slicing motion, while making an exaggerated cutting noise.

"In fairness, he was trying to kill us too, besides he was a bit of a cock."

"I don't think that warrants-"

"Oi! mutant! We don't want your kind 'round here, all you bring is trouble." Jaskier looked somewhat offended at being interrupted. Just to the side of him stood a man, most likely a smith or a leatherworker; his clothes were ragged, fraying at the edges with the seems barely holding the pieces of fabric together. Like his clothing, the visible skin of his arms is covered in dirt and grease, the gradient getting darker when the stains reach his hands.

"Oh, piss off," Y/N kicks him, hard, in his lower stomach. He falls to the ground, groaning in pain, before retching and coating the floor with that morning's breakfast. The three other men not dissimilar to the now downed man looked between themselves, before running off, leaving their fallen comrade, that held as much grace as a newborn deer, behind. "...What?"

Y/N looked between his two companions, eyes flickering to each of their faces as he tried to read their rather perplexed faces. Geralt shrugged, more to himself, before mounting Roach. Y/N followed, climbing on top of his own horse. Jaskier adjusted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder before clutching to the hand Y/N outstretched to him and used it to pull himself up to settle behind the other man.

"You see Geralt, this is called being nice," Jaskier threw his arms out wide, "Not once have you offered to give me a ride."

"You've been on Roach before."

"Now you see... that doesn't count, because I was dying."

The sun sat directly overhead the forest canopy, those travelling beneath it shielded from the warm rays, yet the leaves acted as a blanket, encompassing the forest with a gentle warmth. Despite the source of light being blocked, it was bright with the leaves' flourishing greens and rich yellows, even the bark of the birch trees seemed to glow as they soaked in the midday air.

It was a moment of peace that someone such as a Witcher or a Dragonborn rarely got to relish in.

Jaskier let out a loud, obnoxious sigh.

Thankfully, that peace would soon be broken.

"So... Y/N... Just Y/N, where are you from, exactly?" Jaskier broke the soothing silence. Geralt let out a sigh of his own, only his was quieter and did not disturb the local wildlife.

"Are you trying to make small talk?" Y/N turned his head slightly to glimpse at the bard from the corner of his eye.

"Maybe," Jaskier sat hunched over to one side as to avoid Y/N, his chin sat in his hand as he held it up from his elbow on his thigh. "I'm bored and my ass hurts. Geralt has never been one for good conversation so I was hoping you might be."

"We could play a game?"

"What game could we possibly play on the back of a horse? It better not be Eye Spy, I've beat sour puss over there too many times for that to be fun anymore."

"No, it's called 'Who can be quietest the longest?'"

"Hah, I'm not falling for that one... again," For a blissful moment, Jaskier was quiet, "I don't even know where we're going."

"Somewhere not even the flies and maggots could find you," Geralt spoke up for the first time since the Inn. His tone was its usual low cadence, but the hint of a smile played upon his lips, out of view of the other two.

"Har har, very funny. You're as bad as each other, a match made in heaven."

"He could be entirely serious," Y/N turned his head again to give a slightly wicked smile to Jaskier, "I don't even know where we are."

Geralt let Jaskier stew for a moment, a faint look of horror slowly ghosting over his features. "There's a rock clearing up ahead. Old dragon territory from when they still thrived on the continent."

It wasn't too much further until they reached the clearing.

They each climbed down from their respected horses, tying the mounts to a grand birch tree close to the entrance.

It was almost entirely encased in tall, basalt columns, save for a naturally formed archway acting as an entrance. Dotted around the expanse were clusters of the basalt columns, some were thin and reaching tens of feet high, while others were stubbier, just slightly taller than an average man. Several cave entrances lay empty around the circumference; the opening directly opposite the archway being the grandest.

The history within this place thrived and burned hot. The Dragonborn could feel it gently pulsing in his veins, trying to pour out, silently screaming with the history of his kin.

The dragon within him could feel it too; "Zeymah... Briinah."

Y/N took in a breath; nothing back in Skyrim could compare to this kind of sight. It was rather astonishing. He traced his fingers across the closest of the rock walls, his fingers dipping in and out of the rivets made by the hexagon shapes of the rock. When he pulled his hand away the skin was coated in black soot that spread when he massaged it with his thumb. Y/N brought the hand to his nose and sniffed at the substance.

"These scorch marks are fresh," He muttered, more to himself but loud enough for the others to hear.

"Can you smell that?" Geralt called out, crouched down and surveying the ground.

"Horse shit?" Jaskier said but was swiftly ignored.

"Sulphur." Now mentioned the smell became more pungent. Y/N repeatedly brushed his hand on the material of his trousers, removing the majority of the soot, some specks stubbornly remaining in the creases of his skin. "We'll set up camp close by tonight and follow their trail in the morning. If we end up coming across them tomorrow then we'll need to be well-rested to face them."

Despite the clear skies overhead, they took refuge in one of the smaller caves on the edge of the clearing. The night air would be cold and a small fire would lose its heat almost instantly, so the walls of the cave were a comforting change, blocking from the harsh, freezing winds.

The fire that had sat at the mouth of their temporary accommodation had now withered into nothing more but a few dull embers, glowing red against the colour of the night. The outline of the basalt columns was highlighted by the full moon; The Dragonborn traced them with his eyes, finding himself often getting lost in the structures.

He could not sleep, as he found most nights, but the quiet (save for Jaskier's snoring) was welcome. He daren't let himself think, knowing it would either be a winding path to salty tears or burning hatred over a home he had been forced from so unjustly.

Could he have called Skyrim his home? While he fought for that land and its people, in the end, he also apparently fought against it. He couldn't even be certain he was born there or was even raised there. So many uncertainties, yet the only answer that remained clear was that he could never return to Skyrim.

"Can't sleep either?" Y/N jumped, reaching for the hidden dagger in his boot, so enwrapped in his own thoughts he didn't hear the other man come up behind him.

"Can't say I find rock a comfortable bed." At the reply, Geralt sat beside Y/N, fidgeting for a second to make himself more comfortable, which failed.

"Jaskier seems to have managed," At the mention of the bard they both turned to watch him, the sleeping man none the wiser and coincidently letting out another loud snore. Y/N rolled his eyes and a small smile played on his lips as he turned back to face out against the cave mouth. "I could practically hear you thinking. What's keeping you awake?"

"The man at the inn called you a mutant?"

Geralt could sense the deflection from the question, but humoured Y/N, he pulled a face before giving his answer. "Witcher's were once human, but... now changed." He let out a sigh took a moment, thinking over what he was going to say, "We're taken in as children, and forced to undergo a series of... trials. Some of those trials include alchemic processes and mutagenic compounds... Not everyone that goes through it survives. It remakes us, takes away the parts of us that are human."

"Some would say that's a good thing... removing the human parts."

"But it takes the good, not just the bad," Geralt lent forward, resting his forearms on his knees, avoiding eye contact. "They say Witcher's are unable to feel emotion. Not joy, nor happiness, not even hatred... only animalistic desires."

Y/N let a dim smile play on his lips, "That's the truth of it all though. People only ever say, they never actually know. They tell themselves stories to make themselves sleep sounder at night... It's easier to think you're asking a beast to fight for his life than it is a man."

"And what are you, beast or man?" Geralt faced the Dragonborn head-on, not allowing the other to face away as it would be submitting to the challenge. "You speak of dragons like they are wolves easily slain. You hold your chest high in the dens of creatures that could rip an ordinary man to shreds. If you were just a man you'd be a fucking idiot."

Y/N huffed a laugh before lightly chuckling, Geralt quietly joining in. "In all honesty Geralt, I could not tell you what I am... I can only piece together fragments of what I could be from other peoples' reality... If I am a man then I am nothing, just a figment of a lie, but if I am a beast then I am no better than what you and I put down with the metal of our swords."

A beat of silence.

"Why did you leave Skyrim?"

Y/N took a moment to ponder his answer, "My departure was what was best for everyone."

Not a lie, but a veil over the truth instead.

Deciding not to push the matter, Geralt stood. "Get some rest." He slapped the shoulder of Y/N, a friendly gesture, as he walked back into the mouth of the cave, leaving the Dragonborn to the peace of the clearing in the night.

While not yet tired, he let his eyes fall shut as he sat, falling into a peaceful meditation. He brought himself back to the dream from the night before, the battlefield of fallen soldiers, drying blood and charred wood.

Those words; he could hear them again. Yet this time, they spoke on the wind that brushed through the basalt pillars, whistling in high pitched tones.

"Vennesetiid fen du hi."

He opened his eyes; Pupils misshapen into two black slits, sclera and pupil now a blazing gold the same as a roaring fire. Scrutinizing the air in front of them, picturing the owner of the voice that dare haunt him.

"Zu'u los ni sahlo... I make my own path, fate has no hold on me, wuth fahdon."

*****

Rough translations for those who are interested:

"Sizaan" - Lost, to lose

"Hi los ont vod" - You are already gone

"Sos" - Blood

"Dinok" - Death

"Vennesetiid fen du hi" - Fate will devour you

"Zeymah." - Brother

"Briinah" - Sister

"Zu'u los ni sahlo" - I am not weak

"Wuth fahdon" - Old friend

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

The Fire I Breathe Shall Burn You Too - Part I

*NOTE: YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING OF SKYRIM FOR THIS WORK - Any lore will be explained within the story itself, you don't need to know any details of Skyrim.

This work was inspired by @fanficsforheartandsoul who wrote a brilliant Dragonborn Reader work, definitely worth checking out!

*****

Geralt of Rivia x Male, Dragonborn Reader

THE COMPLETE WORK

Word Count: 3.4K words

Warnings: Canon Typical Witcher Gore

The Dragonborn was forced to kneel, like the prisoner he was, in front of the crowd that had been gathered behind the Emperor's son. The winds of Skyrim were harsh against the thin cloth he had been forced to wear at his "trial" and the cold penetrated his skin, chilling deep into bones. The snow beneath his knees soaked into the scratchy fabric of his trousers, the hard stone he rested upon causing his joints to lock up and ache.

He refused to let them see him shiver, he refused to show any weakness against the people that had chained and muzzled him.

The iron shackles upon Y/N's wrists made them burn as the metal was too tight and dug into his skin, the cold further enhancing the pain of the irritation. The muzzling forcing his jaw shut cut into the bridge of his nose, harshly crushing down on his cheekbones, he could feel the bruises forming, outlining the cage over his mouth.

All that he had built and rebuilt, everything that he had discovered, founded and collected was now either tarnished or burnt to ash if it held no use for the greedy Emperor's son. Y/N had come to Skyrim with nothing to his name, not even the memories of his life before arriving at the chopping block of Helgen all those years ago.

The Dragonborn arrived with nothing, so it was only fitting that he left with nothing also.

The Emperor's son stepped forward, adorned in fine, bold robes and thick furs to shield him from the cruel snows of Skyrim. The polished gold of his jewelled necklace shone in the glaring sun; Y/N recognised it as one of the first of many gifted treasures from the people he had saved when he first set out on his campaign.

He had twisted into a different man during the war. The Dragonborn had become a shadow of Alduin, the Eater of Worlds, the Great Dragon who had ravaged these lands. The same dragon Y/N slaughtered in glory for these people who so quickly turned against him.

The Dragonborn did not blame the people for their betrayal, but his hatred for the Empire and the Emperor's son still burned hot.

"As the rightful Emperor and ruler of these lands, I cast you out. The Dragonborn shall face exile for his crimes against the empire and the people of Skyrim. With the magic brought to us by the College of Winterhold, you are to be banished!"

At the announcement, a small group of college mages stepped forward in a circle around Y/N, whispering a chorus between them and lifting their arms towards him. The light was blinding as the doorway to another land opened up in front of him, the swirling azure tones were nauseating as they twisted and turned in a jagged spiral shape. The mages chanted louder behind him, their voices rising as the portal grew in size until it began to consume Y/N.

"Never return to Skyrim, or you will face pain worse than hell." The son of the Emperor whispered this into the ear of the Dragonborn, needing to bend down only slightly to reach his level. Y/N could not spit back a response, the metal over his mouth preventing him from speaking. His Thu'um, his voice, burned in the pit of his chest, for the power of his rage to rip these people apart for their disloyalty.

The dragon inside Y/N screamed.

As the mages reached the end of their verse the portal consumed the Dragonborn. He could do nothing but stare, with a deep loathing, at the man who had exiled him from the land he had fought so hard to rule for himself.

*****

The tavern was loud and stunk of ale and sweat. It seemed every inn across the lands, not just this one, exuded the same overwhelming stench of drunkards and gambling fools. Y/N sat alone at one of the corner tables, hidden away in the darker area near the bar. He just listened; entertaining himself with the coloured tales that came out of drunken men's mouths, stories of beautiful women and fictitious hunts. Still, it was amusing nonetheless.

The people of this village were kinder than most, their only fault was that they were so close-knit; one of the smaller but still tiresome issues of being a traveller that wished to go unnoticed. In villages like these word spreads fast about newcomers, causing rumours to quickly sprout that can garner unwanted attention. It wouldn't be long before Y/N would have to move on again.

The mead sat untouched in front of him, his hand not even reaching for the handle since the barmaid had placed it on the table in front of him. The drink here was bordering on water compared to that of the Black-Briar Meadery back in Riften.

An eerie silence fell upon the tavern as the door opened and a large, broad-shouldered man entered. He was adorned in studded, black leather light-armour, with two swords resting on his back. One seemed to be made of iron, with a bronzer tone to the metal, while the other was a silver, a blueish shimmer to the finish of the blade. Around his neck sat a medallion of a wolf, with the back of the chain disappearing into the white of his hair that was discoloured by dirt and grime.

He had a dark look upon his features, evidently unsettling the villagers in his immediate presence. The cause for his annoyance appeared to follow behind him as he stepped further into the tavern, a younger-looking bard wearing much more comfortable clothing seemed to be talking and had been talking for quite a while.

"Oh come now Geralt, all I'm asking for is a little bit more of a share. After all, I am the one who's bringing these little jobs of yours in. Without me, no one would know of the Great Witcher, Geralt of Rivia." The bard seemed to speak, regardless of his company's irritated glare. He spoke mostly with his hands and posture, asserting a word with the flare of his hand or a wave of his whole upper torso.

"One room and for someone to care for my horse," The taller man, which Y/N figured to be Geralt, threw a moderately sized cloth pouch of gold onto the bar top, the coins making a flat 'clunk' sound once they hit the wood. "And a tankard of ale."

The barmaid gave a sheepish nod towards the man, not saying a word as she grabbed a clean flagon and began to fill it from one of the large, wooden barrels behind her. She gingerly placed it in front of Geralt, quickly excusing herself to attend to another table, looking behind her with her eyebrows knitted together in an unreadable emotion.

The bard went to reach for the flagon, but it was quickly swept away by the other man, some liquid sloshing over the rim and dripping onto his fingers with the force.

"Get your own," Despite his harsh scowl and words, there was no actual animosity towards the bard.

"I would, but it's hard to buy things when you have no money, Geralt!" The cadence of the bard's voice rose as he reached the end of his sentence and he crossed his arms over his chest, responding to Geralt's stare with one of his own.

The Witcher rolled his eyes and brought the drink to his lips, stopping for a moment and letting his eyes scan the room. Y/N ducked his head for a moment, finally bringing the tankard to his lips in an effort to hide his face as Geralt's gaze passed over his dingy little corner table.

"What's up?" The bard spoke, the playful tone no longer there.

Geralt paused for another moment, before turning back to face the bar again. "Nothing," even with the monotonicity of his voice, his uncertainty was clear. The bard took a look around the tavern for himself, a clearly puzzled look on his own face.

"Witcher?" A group of the local men had stood from their table and made their way to Geralt. The leader of the squad held his cap in his hands just in front of his stomach, fiddling with the material out of nerves. "We need your services."

Geralt turned to face the group of villagers fully, still holding the flagon in his right hand, as his elbow rested against the bar and held his weight. He raised an eyebrow when the leader of the group didn't continue but instead scrunched up his hat more in obvious discomfort.

Another villager to his left stepped forward. "A kikimore... There's a kikimore terrorising the eastern side of the village. They live closest to the woods bordering us... we've not been able to hunt for days and the farmers daren't tend to their fields."

"Are you sure it's a kikimore? There are no bog lands or swamps surrounding the area, it would be far from its comfort zone." Geralt stood to attention now, taking a final swig of his drink, before placing the empty container back on the bar.

"Do you take us for fools Witcher? We know what has been plaguing us." The villager stops for a moment, bowing his head and facing towards the ground, collecting himself with a breath. "There was a small effort but a night ago, some of our younger men grew tired of the beast's torment and attempted to claim its life for themselves. They did not make it. We heard their screams that night... and when the sun rose we saw the trails of blood leading back to the forest." He placed a hand on the leader's shoulder and squeezed it gently, "His son... was one of them."

"Will you help us, Witcher?" The barmaid spoke up from behind the group, placing a hand of her own on the leader's other shoulder in a sign of comfort for the teary-eyed man. "We have coin."

Geralt considered for a moment, before stepping forward, now standing a mere metre away from the group. "I'll take payment after."

The door to the tavern swung shut with a loud 'THUD' and from outside a horse let out a shout before its hooves we're heard hastily moving away from the tavern. The table where Y/N had sat now lay empty, save for a tankard of untouched mead and a few coins to pay for the drink.

*****

The Kikimore shrieked with a wailing cry as Y/N swung his sword at one of its eight, spindly legs once more. Dodging when it countered his attack and made a strike of its own.

The Dragonborn had seen many foul looking beasts in his time, but this was certainly one of the more grotesque. Even the necrotic flesh of the draugr or the disfigured forms of the seekers, in the realm of Apocrypha, were tough competitors.

It cried out again as Y/N turned on his heel and made a hard slash at one of its left legs, cutting the limb from the rest on its body. The beast stumbled backwards with the lack of extra support; with a sense of desperation, it made one last final charge at the dragon born, throwing its whole weight at him as it surged forward.

Y/N took his chance, leaping above the kikimore and driving his sword down into the top of its head, slicing through the bone of its skull and the much softer tissue of its brain. With the weapon still buried in the creature, he held on as it fell to the floor, kicking up the loose, moist dirt of the ground and splattering Y/N's leather armour.

It had been a while since the Dragonborn had killed something more than a pheasant or a deer, something that could fight back, something that made his blood pump through his veins and his body ache with the sudden exertion. It felt good to fight again; the blood staining the blade of his sword, dripping down, onto his fingers when he observed the red liquid in the light shining through the gaps in the forest canopy.

The dragon inside him let out a content sigh at the smell of the fallen kikimore's blood.

"WOW!" Y/N spun and held up his sword at the sudden sound, the tip of his blade pointing towards the bard from the tavern, his not as impressed companion close behind. "Now THAT was awesome. Did you see him Geralt?" The Witcher let out a grunt.

"You were from the tavern," Geralt spoke as Y/N lowered his weapon, pointing the blade towards the ground as he kept his eyes focused on Geralt. A smile tugged at his lips.

"Sorry for taking your kill... you can take the payment for it, I'm not interested in the coin." The Dragonborn made his way closer to the pair, watching the Witcher for a reaction that told him he was getting too close. "Your eyes... what is a Witcher?"

The bard beside them let out a small gasp, "does no one appreciate my music these days? You never heard 'toss a coin to your Witcher?'"

"A few too many times, to be honest, every bard across this land seems to sing it. Granted, it's better than some of the ballads we had back home- I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" Y/N turned to the bard.

"Jaskier, the greatest artist in all of the land at your service. In fact..." The bard clears his throat and steps forward, one arm behind his back and the other with his hand placed on the centre of his chest, "allow me to be the first, humble stranger, to write you a ballad of your own detailing all of your glorious-"

"You're wounded," Geralt interrupted Jaskier; the bard, in turn, dropped his arms in a defeated huff with an offended frown now plastered on his face.

Y/N looked down to his right shoulder where Geralt was staring, fresh blood slowly oozing from the small gash. "It's nothing, I'll treat it when I get back to the inn."

"It'll get infected... here," Geralt pulled a small glass jar filled with a thick, pale yellow liquid.

"Oh, so you offer your fancy healing solutions to the new guy, but never to me," Jaskier commented from the side of the two of them.

Y/N didn't take the potion, instead, he looked at it in Geralt's hands distrustfully. The other took the cork from the top of the potion, the action making a small 'pop' sound, and took a small sip from the potion for himself first, to prove it was safe to drink.

"It's called swallow, it'll help heal your wound and prevent infection." After another moment Y/N took the small bottle and brought it to his lips, smelling the potion first.

"Swallow? Couldn't have thought of a better name?" The Dragonborn tipped back his head as he drank the potion, pulling a face at the rather disturbing taste.

"It doesn't need a fancy name."

"The instructions are the name... Is everything about you so straightforward?"

"Is everything about you so mysterious?" Geralt bit back, a challenging glint to his eyes. Y/N matched the look, pushing back with his own scrutiny.

The back and forth gaze was broken when Jaskier spoke up again, oblivious to the mental battle between the two men. "That is quite a good point actually, what even is your name?"

"Y/N."

"Just Y/N... no title or anything?"

"Just Y/N."

"Your accent... you're not from here," Geralt crossed his arms over his chest, still watching Y/N like he was studying a new beast.

The Dragonborn let out a quick breath and smiled, his head slightly bowed to the forest floor. "No, I'm not. I'm from a land much further north."

"Why come here?"

Y/N shrugged for a moment, knitting his eyebrows as he tried to think of a good reason. "I'll have to come back to you on that one," he moved to untie his white mare from a tree close by, stroking at their broad neck as he guided them into a more open area and mounted the saddle. "When we next meet... I'll let you know."

*****

The tracks of the kikimore Y/N had killed were old, but still clear enough that a trained eye could follow them to the bog it had come from. It stunk, to say the least. The mix of rotting detritus, saturate mud and animal faeces left his eyes watering. moving through the stagnant puddles of water kicked up the smell further.

Through his teary gaze, he saw a familiar hulking figure. His white hair was striking against the dull shades of brown and grey. He hadn't acknowledged Y/N, that is if he knew he was there at all, even on his own the Witcher was still tensed, his shoulders hunched in a defensive position.

"Has it been bugging you too?" Y/N was the first to speak up as he came behind Geralt, the other seeming to jump at his voice, a hand on the hilt of his sword as he spun.

"Not many can sneak up on me... but yes." His hand fell back to his side, but he didn't take his gaze away from the other man.

"When I found the kikimore it seemed skittish, something that seemed foreign for a creature that looked like that. It was like its whole world had been knocked on its side." Y/N brushed his hands against the claw markings Geralt had been staring at in one of the larger cottonwood trees; there were two gashes, one significantly deeper and thicker than the first. The Dragonborn furrowed his brows at the familiar sight. "We do not have kikimore where I'm from, am I right in thinking it was strange?"

"Yes, Kikimores are usually dominant creatures," Geralt watched as Y/N traced the gashes with his index and middle finger. "You never exactly told us where you're from."

Y/N dropped his hand back to his side and turned to Geralt with a somewhat melancholy smile. "That's the thing... I don't actually know where I'm from, I just remember waking up... Not here... a place called Skyrim... Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say I have."

"I guessed. The land is encased in high, snowy mountains in most directions and the rivers which one could sail through is frozen over for most of the year. Skyrim itself is gloomy, with the only actual colour being that of blood either from the civil war, bandits or some human sacrifice to one of the nine divines. Not many people would want to go there if they've even heard of it to begin with."

"I can see why you left."

Y/N huffed a small laugh, "Even with all of its flaws, it was still home. I can't say this shit hole is any better."

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they searched further. The only sounds of the swamp were the rustling leaves of the canopy and the squelching of soaked mud beneath the pair's boots.

"Look here." Geralt called over, crouching down over a large footprint. It had three long lines pointing forward from a rounded, triangular base, a smaller, thicker line pointing in the opposite direction from the point. There were deep holes at the foot of each line, clearly large talons. "It looks like a dragon's print... but the size... I've never seen one this big."

Y/N crouched down beside Geralt, his hand hovering over the print. "An Elder Dragon... she's a long way from home..."

"She?"

"Her claws... on a female, the middle claw is usually longer while a male's are often even in length."

Geralt grunted, "We do not have elder dragons here. How would it of made it here without anyone seeing it?"

"It must be from Skyrim. Dragons, where I'm from, are intelligent... but an Elder Dragon's sheer size... I don't know it could have gotten here without being noticed." The Dragonborn's eyebrows furrowed once more as his head was filled with questions he couldn't answer. "We must find her, Skyrim was plagued with dragons. Despite their intelligence, they still do not think twice when it comes to destruction."

"I'm sorry, we?"

"Yes... we. I can take the dragon on myself, I don't need your help with that. But I have little knowledge of this land and considering you're here looking at mud I take it you have nothing better to do?" Y/N didn't give Geralt more than a second to respond before speaking again. "Great, I heard you take payment after?"

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Memento Mori - Part I

James "Bucky" Barnes x Male Reader

*CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT*

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Brief mention of homophobia, angst

Link to the Song within this chapter: https://youtu.be/UC_VzbtRGr0

April 17th, 1937

"C'mon Buck, these are the third girls this week." Steve was already exhausted with Bucky's antics, doing best to ignore his grinning companion leaning against the bar. The lime soda in his hand was making it wet with condensation, as he drew lines in the moisture with his thumb.

"Well you haven't gotten anywhere with any of the others, so I'm trying to find out your type, that way I can narrow it down a little." Bucky took a sip of his drink, trying to conceal the face he pulled at the taste. "Listen... I got a blonde and a ginger, what do you think?"

"I think neither."

"I'm not letting you die alone Stevie," Bucky raised his arm towards the entrance of the bar, signalling over to the two dressed up girls who just walked in. They came rushing over to him, clearly ignoring Steve. "Evening ladies."

Steve didn't know why Bucky bothered, no matter how many girls Bucky tried to throw at him, none of them stuck. The closest he had ever gotten to speaking with one of them was a small smile. It could be worse he guessed.

"Steve here would like to offer you both a dance," Both the girls looked at each other hesitantly as Bucky shoved Steve forward, clearly giving no one an actual choice in the matter. The two girls shrugged as they walked over to the bar's dance floor, Steve following behind.

"Another round?" Bucky jumped slightly when the Bartender speaks up, holding up a bottle of whiskey to refill his glass with.

"Christ, yes please. Make it a double, would ya?" Bucky gives a slightly pained smile as he pushes his glass forward, catching the eyes of the bartender for a little longer than necessary.

"How many girls is this now? I've lost count." He filled the glass, giving his a little more than a double, feeling as though the poor man needed it.

"Me too," He shot half the drink and leant forward onto the counter, letting his head drop. "Its just... I don't want him to be left alone if something happens to me, he's too good to just be kicked to the side. None of them can look past his appearance though. As he says, no one wants a dance partner you might step on."

"It takes a while to find the right partner. Let him find some one himself, forcing him onto some one will just push him further away." Bucky's grim smile turned soft as he turned to look for Steve, only to find the two girls dancing together and Steve on the side lines watching and politely clapping. "Give him a chance to make his own path."

"You a bartender or a shrink?" Bucky turned back to the other man, finishing the rest of his glass and pushing it forward once more.

"If I were a shrink I'd be getting paid more than forty cents an hour. A tip would be nice though."

"What's your name?"

"Y/N. Enjoy your night Bucky, don't make your buddy do all the work, at least help him entertain those girls."

*****

The night was a lot calmer than usual, most likely helped by the light drizzle of rain urging the city to get home early and cuddle up inside. But this was Brooklyn, it never truly slept. It was almost half eleven, the bar should close spot on eleven o'clock, but there was always one last stain to scrub and a last glass to clean.

"If I try putting these chairs up any louder they're gonna break, could you please take the hint that I'm trying close up." Y/N had been tidying around Bucky for the last half hour, watching the other man from the corner of his eye as he slowly sipped on his whiskey, which had now become mostly water as the ice completely melted.

"And here I was thinking you were enjoying my company," Bucky softly chuckled as he turned to Y/N, giving him a small, half smile to indicate he took no offence.

Y/N stopped and sighed, drumming his fingers on the chair's legs he had just put up, thinking for a moment. "There's always worse company." He went back behind the bar and took the drink in Bucky's hands before pouring it down the sink.

"Hey! I was drinking that." He stood with his hands out, genuinely surprised by the action.

"You're killing me, sit back down and I'll make you something you might actually like." Y/N spoke while pulling out two clean martini glasses from the shelf beneath the counter and a metal shaker. He cringed as he filled the shaker with ice, hating how the noise disrupted the peace.

"Are you making me a cocktail?" Bucky raised an eyebrow as he watched.

"You look like the type. I might shoot myself in the foot if you pull that face again. Its every time you take a sip, you're not very good at hiding it. I'm beginning to think you're a masochist." Y/N pushed one of the two glasses forward. "Have a taste."

Bucky hesitated at first, eyeing the drink cautiously before taking a sip.

"You didn't pull a face, I'm going to take that as you liking it."

"... Fine, I'm a cock man. What's in it?"

"Never say that sentence again, please or next time I'll add rat poison." Y/N finished his drink in one motion, using it to hide a faint tint to his cheeks. "It's called a Maiden's Prayer. Its a mix of London dry gin, Cointreau, lemon and orange juice."

"Fancy."

They fell into a relatively calm, yet tentative quiet, the radio playing softly in the background to fill the space. There was a moment of silence as the last song faded and the next played, Bucky shifted in his seat, his eyes flicking between his glass and Y/N.

"Dance with me."

"...Okay." It took a moment for it to sink in what he had just agreed to, but not a ounce of regret crossed his mind. His footsteps were nervous as he made his way around the bar to where Bucky stood, a hand outstretched for Y/N to take.

The lights were low in the bar and outside was quiet with the exception of the continuing downpour, but nervousness still settled within Y/N's stomach. If they were to be caught they could get into some serious trouble.

Bucky moved slowly to interlace their fingers and rest his hand on Y/N's lower back, giving the other every chance to back away if he became uncomfortable or reconsidered. Instead the other man let his hand rest there and held his other hand slightly tighter, wanting to assure him he was okay with this.

"I... don't really know how to dance," Y/N whispered, feeling as if he spoke too loud the moment would shatter.

"I'll just have to teach you." Bucky took the lead, gently guiding him with the hand on his back. "just don't hesitate and you'll be fine."

Y/N let the tension fall from his shoulders, but couldn't bring himself to look Bucky directly in the eyes, his nerves keeping his eyes trained down at his feet.

"Hey," Bucky untangled their fingers and used his now free hand to lift Y/N's chin up, "I've learnt over the years that if you expect yourself to trip then you will, trust yourself a little more, doll."

*****

They both sat on opposite sides of the bed, their backs facing each other and a heavy silence in the air. Y/N fiddled with the loose string on the cap that matched his uniform, running his fingers over the material in his hands. Bucky sat in his daily clothes, tie now pulled away from his neck and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned. They both had tears in their eyes, but neither acknowledged them.

"When do you leave?" Bucky broke the silence first, trying not to choke on his words.

"A... erm..." Y/N voice cracked, he cleared his throat before trying to speak again, "The train leaves a few days from now. I'll be in New Jersey for about a month and then we're given our orders and shipped off."

There was quiet again, "You shouldn't be going."

"I've got no choice James."

"It's not-" Bucky's voice cracked and tears began to fall from his eyes again. Y/N stood and sat by his side on the bed. "It's not fair."

"It's war... its not exactly fair on anyone." Y/N sighed, tears rolling down his cheek as well now. He took Bucky's hand in his and squeezed it tight. "Whatever it takes, I'll come back to you."

They sat there for another moment, just holding onto each others hand, trying to stop the flow of tears.

"Dance with me."

*****

The music was too quiet to be heard over the sound of singing and cheering soldiers. The ice in Bucky's drink had long since melted, but the taste of ration whiskey was worse than what he used to drink.

"Stevie, can I ask a favour?" Bucky turned to his friend, still dressed in the questionable uniform Stark had fashioned him. It was certainly... patriotic. Steve turned, a look of concern knitted in his brows but a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"Of course, what do you need?"

Bucky swallowed. "Do you remember Y/N?"

Steve paused a moment to let himself think, "Y/N... The bartender from the place back home you insisted on going to nearly every night?"

"Yeah, I was wondering. If he's still..." He stopped himself, "Could you transfer him? Here I mean?"

For a moment Steve looked a little stunned, "To join the Howling Commandoes?"

"Yeah, I mean. If your fine with it and everyone else is? Its just been a while," Bucky took a swig of his drink to try and stop himself from rambling, immediately regretting his action as the taste hit him.

Steve let out a small chuckle. "I take it you miss the cocktails he always made you?" He paused for a moment and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'll see what I can do Buck."

*****

"I'm freezing my fucking ass off." To say it was cold on top the mountain side was an understatement, it was well below zero. Captain America and the Howling Commandoes had been stood around waiting for the past half an hour, listening into the Hydra radio chatter, making it hard to keep warm.

"We'll be moving in on them soon," Steve patted a hand on Y/N's back as a sign of reassurance. "Just gotta hold on for a little while longer."

"Easy for you to say, super soldier," He did his best to smile through chattering teeth, as he pulled the thin, military issue coat tighter around himself.

Bucky was staring down at the tracks, trepidation clearly spread across his face. "Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

Steve followed his gaze, "Yeah, and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback is it?"

"Now why would I do that." Steve chuckled as he eyed the wire that crossed the two mountains and ran overtop the train tracks below.

"You all good?" Y/N came to stand at Bucky's side, a gentle hand on his arm.

"Fine... Could be worse?" He shrugged, trying to play off the uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach.

"Drinks are on me when we get back, I'll even make you a Maiden's Prayer... well try to, the army aren't exactly fussed about lemons and oranges."

"Then we'll go dancing?"

Y/N opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Jones, "We were right, Doctor Zola is on the train. Hydra dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad."

The peace was immediately broken and the nerves that had only just settled in everyone flared again. Even after doing this so many times, pulling down so many Hydra bases, it always felt like the first time all over again. The fear of becoming another yellow telegram with K.I.A next to their name hung in the air.

Steve pulled on his helmet while Y/N and Bucky readied their guns, slinging the straps of the weapons on their shoulder and fitting them to rest on their backs.

"Lets get going because they're moving like the devil."

"We've only got about a ten-second window. You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield." Steve readied himself to jump as the others stood behind him, waiting.

"Mind the gap."

"Better get moving bugs."

Dernier spoke out his own phrase in French.

Steve let himself fall, Bucky following behind on the wire, then Y/N, then the rest following.

The wire jumped and pulled, making it hard to keep tight grip on the handle, but they each made it, landing with their feet solid on the top of the train.

Y/N could feel the harsh, cold winds hitting his face as he followed Bucky and Steve down the ladder and inside of the train, the immediate temperature change hitting him all at once. His ears and nose tingled with the cold.

It was quiet inside, the only other noise was the muffled sound of the train's wheels moving along the tracks. The unease grew within Y/N as he lifted up his rifle, looking down the nose of the gun as he slowly made his way through the carriage, finger on the trigger.

Steve and Bucky were in front when the carriage doors shut, separating them both from Y/N. He saw the bullets hit the wall beside him and immediately ducked to cover, losing sight of the both of Steve and Bucky through the portal window.

Y/N shot at the two soldiers that had entered the carriage from the opposite end, using the cargo boxes as a shield. The gunshots were deafening in such a closed in space, making his ears ring with pain.

One down.

The other soldier was hid behind the racking, making it barely possible for Y/N to hit him from where he was crouched down. He shot at him again, but nothing happened as he pulled the trigger.

No ammo.

The door to his carriage opened beside him and a pistol was tossed his way. Steve counted on his fingers as a signal before running and shoving one of the smaller creates through the racking, forcing the Hydra soldier out of his hiding place. Y/N shot him.

"I had him on the ropes," Y/N threw his arms out as he spoke.

"Sure you did, doll." Bucky followed in behind Steve, resting his gun on his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing at his lips. The sound of a gun powering up broke through the carriage.

"GET DOWN!"

Steve jumped in front of them as the weapon was fired and a hole was blown into the side of the train. Both Y/N and Bucky opened fire, with Bucky holding Steve's shield. Then the Hydra soldier fired again and Bucky went flying and so did his Shield.

Y/N shouted out and ran for Steve's shield, throwing it at the soldier and hitting him square in the chest. Only when he turned did he see Steve reaching for Bucky.

Then Bucky falling.

Then the sound of him screaming.

Then nothing.

Steve held onto the broken side of the train before Y/N pulled him back inside, but still staring down at the snow Bucky had fallen into. He knew he wouldn't be able to find him, not when they were already so far away, yet he couldn't take his eyes away from the vertical drop.

He felt a strong hand pulling at his arm, trying to drag him away from the open side of the carriage. "Y/N, we gotta go."

Y/N took great pleasure punching Zola when they finally found him at the front of the train. He took even more pleasure when he held him up off the floor by his collar and punched again. Then for a third time.

Zola fell to the floor as Steve dragged Y/N away, barely breathing and with blood dripping from his broken nose that was quickly beginning to bruise.

*****

Music flowed from the radio that on the end of the bar counter, every one else was quietly drinking, almost as if they knew. But it was the war, everyone had their own dead bodies to mourn.

Y/N sat in the corner of the room, back resting against the wall as he sat sideways in the chair, fingers brushing around the rim of his martini glass. He didn't know if the bartender had given him a weird look when he asked for his drink, he was too beside himself to care what the others thought. He could barely see the faces of others anyway, his eyes were too red and puffy from how much he had cried since the taxi had dropped him off.

The other commandoes had offered to come with him, but he declined. He wasn't a part of their group really; he hadn't met them when they had all been captured, he hadn't met them when they were all locked up together, he hadn't met them when Steve had saved them all and broken them out. He had met them when Bucky had asked for him.

James.

He was gone.

Y/N's eyes began to water again with what few tears he had left, but he did his best to blink them back.

Another customer stood and made his way over to the radio, turning it up just a little more. The song flew around the room with its melody until it hit Y/N.

It was the song from the first night they had danced together.

And he wept.

*****

Part ii coming soon....

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part II

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 3.1K+

Content warning: Mentions of PTSD and descriptive pain

Original game dialogue is taken from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

The AX400 had last been sighted at a human only motel in a run down, back alley area of Detroit, which was saying something since every part of Detroit was rundown. It was the kind of area even the task force was reluctant to send us down since it was usually a sea of paperwork, with the exception of when it becomes a mayor's little pet project. In summary, it was a great place to hide if you were on the run.

Hank pulled up to the curb and grumbled under his breath at the downpour of rain that just so happened to hit while we were on duty. While the jacket I wore was warm most days, it was far from waterproof and there was every chance I was getting soaked.

"The longer we wait the worse it'll get," Hank gave me a glance as I spoke up, both of us watching the rain from the front of the car window.

He grunted, "Come on, lets get this over with."

I shivered as cold water hit my neck and ran down my back, under my coat. Connor followed us both as we crossed the road to the dingy motel, seemingly unbothered by the rain - well you would be if you weren't able to feel anything.

"What do you think we'd find with a black light at this place?" I nudged Hank with my elbow.

"Several hundred health code violations probably and another crime scene for us to deal with."

The entrance to the Eastern Motel was covered in neon signs and laminated notices. 'No androids' was pasted on the front entrance right above the $40 overnight fee. Already knowing that the suspects took money from a local shop, it just left the question regarding how the android managed to pass as a human.

Hank was the first to enter, seeming to startle the man behind the desk as he pulled out his badge.

"Lieutenant Anderson, Detroit Police." I stood behind him and let Connor take his side. "We're looking for a female android, robbed a store down the road last night. You see anything?"

"An android? No, I don't take androids here."

Looking around the front entrance of the Motel nothing stood out. The usual brochures from local businesses, 'No Smocking' signs. Past the office style blinds, however, a laundromat was visible. Could explain how an android was able to change its appearance to appear human - we know it's able to commit theft and murder already, stealing someone's clothes isn't a massive leap.

Connor held up his hand, projecting a picture of the AX400 hundred in front of his palm. Pretty neat trick. "Have you seen anyone that looks like this?"

"Fuck, I knew something was weird about her," The man behind the desk shifted his weight and stood straighter, "She came in last night - she was dressed normal, you know... There was no way I could tell." Guess I was right, should ask Fowler for a promotion.

"Is it still here?"

"Yeah, probably. Room 28." Wasting no time I left the front office and pulled out the gun holstered at my belt. Hank and Connor followed behind.

"Ben. It's still at the motel. Send uniforms and cordon off the area in case it decides to run. Unknown if android is armed, but is potentially dangerous. Heading to room 28 to engage." Depositing my phone back in my trouser pocket I searched the door numbers, room 28 was on the second floor.

"You wait in the car." Hank turned to Connor, I rolled my eyes knowing it was going to be the start of another argument.

"I think it's best if I go with you." Connor was probably the only thing in this world that wasn't rattled by Hank's angry tone.

"Listen, I'm tired of you talkin' back to me. You're a machine, so shut the fuck up and do what I say!"

I grabbed onto Hank's shoulder and called his name, trying to grab his attention.

"All I want is to accomplish my mission, I'm sorry if that upsets you."

"Wanna see the end of your mission? Stop busting my fucking balls-"

"Lieutenant Anderson, this isn't the time. You can both wait in the car if you're just going to waste time. So both of you, kindly, shut the fuck up." Hank looked taken aback for a moment before an annoyed look overcame him. Without giving him the chance to respond I turned and made my way up to the steps to the second level of the motel.

Standing outside the window I looked inside. The lights were still on but I couldn't see any movement behind the curtains. In both hands, I gripped the gun a little tighter before bashing my dominant shoulder against the door and forcing it open. I heard the wood splinter as the door frame broke and the metal door handle his the adjacent wall.

I cleared the front room first, sweeping my gun over the area, holding my breath as I waited for someone or something to jump out. The bathroom door was ajar; keeping my gun held high I pushed it open slowly and turned on the light. Also nothing.

I finally let out a breath and dropped my gun to my side, but kept my finger on the trigger. Connor and Hank stood at the doorway, the latter with a sour look on his face and his own gun in his hand.

"Clear... it's gone."

We must have missed it by minutes. I stomped past Connor and Hank, accidentally hitting my shoulders against both of them, but not bothering to apologise to either.

"What a fucking waste of time." Several officers had already begun to show up, little urgency about them, "and you two were no fucking help."

"What have we done?" Hank threw his arms out in his own frustration.

"Well maybe if you spent last time drinking and more time actually doing your fucking job then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't have so many failed fucking cases on your desk."

Hank's face turned grim and he gave a defeated sigh. "We'll get it next time, don't get your little panties in a twist."

The guilt of what I had just said diminished the flame and I gave in, "Yeah... lets just go."

*****

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime."

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

It was still dark when I woke up, the remnants of that same dream still echoing in my head. The jagged border of scar tissue where skin met machine was itching again, almost burning. The medication used to try and mentally "harmonise" the two pieces of my body was working less and less everyday, only some days I could convince myself it was real.

Running my hands over the bed sheets I could feel the cotton, but it was always in too much detail. I could feel every fibre as they weaved under and over each other, how taught the strings were and which were close to coming loose. It shattered the illusion.

Running my hands under the tap I could feel the water soak into the skin of the hand that was still my own, but it would just run off the synthetic skin like it was waterproof. Holding up my now cold and damp hands to wash my face I could feel every pore, the heat radiating off my cheeks and the built up sweat.

The illusion would always shatter. It was funny, CyberLife seemed almost too good at making people.

That was something that always seemed to push against my mind. Androids are superior to us physically, in every way, there is no doubt about that. Whether they are as intelligent as us or even more so depends on your view of intelligence. They can solve maths equations in seconds, quote Shakespeare's entire life work to you without pausing or stuttering - yet whether they could tell you the meaning behind those words, tell you how love feels in the form of a sonnet of their own making.

'The android that saved me... maybe it... he could.'

*****

"Get your ass over here, we've got another deviant," It takes a certain amount of skill to balance your phone between your cheeks and shoulder while jumping to get your jeans on, I was someone who lacked that skill. I swore as I dropped my phone on the floor for the second time.

"Yeah yeah, I'm on my way. Kind of need you to send me the address though so I know where I'm going."

"Whatever, just hurry up." I heard the phone call end and threw it on the unmade bed before finishing buttoning up my jeans and pulling on a DPD logoed jumper, it was finally starting to feel like winter in Detroit.

It was still raining from last night and despite being on the radiator my coat was still damp. "Ah, fuck it." After a minute of staring and debating I left without it, no doubt the rain will let up anyway.

*****

"Hey Connor, you good?" I gripped his shoulder. His eyes were closed, but the muscles around them were twitching lightly and his LED flashed yellow. A second after I spoke his eyes opened and he relaxed back into his usual façade.

"You ran out of batteries or what?" Rolling my eyes at Hank I followed him out the piss smelling elevator.

"I'm sorry, I was making a report to CyberLife."

"I wonder how much he has to sensor in his reports because of you," Hank grunted as I spoke, but his lips tugged in a slight smile at the comment.

"Well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?"

"No... I'm coming," Connor said a little too defensively.

Whether the apartment complex had ever seen better days was questionable, the walls were made of more more mould than plaster at this point and you could tell how many times the hallway was redecorated in the layers of the peeling paint.

"So, what do we know about this guy?" I turned to Connor, falling behind to walk alongside him.

"Not much."

"That's helpful."

"Just that a neighbour had reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbour said he saw a man hiding a LED under his cap."

Hank Spoke up from in front of us. "Oh Christ, if we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we're gonna need more cops."

Connor took the initiative to knock first, gently, three times against the apartment door. Hank shrugged as there was no answer and Connor knocked again, much harder this time.

"Anybody Home?" Still nothing. "Open Up! Detroit Police!" A hurried, crashing noise was heard from inside.

"Stay Behind me." I pushed Connor away from the door as he replied with a quick 'got it' and complied, Hank following.

I drew my gun from its holster and pointed it towards the door before kicking it by the doorknob, causing the wooden frame to splinter and the door to swing open, hitting the adjacent wall with a 'THUD'.

There were only four rooms to the apartment including the main hall, yet each were empty. There was no chance for the deviant to escape, the windows weren't damaged and too small to fit a full grown adult through either way. It was still here. I nodded towards Hank as he came through the front door alongside Connor, keeping my finger on the trigger of my gun. I jumped as a swarm of pigeons flew out from the main room, a few hitting my face as they moved past.

"What the fuck is this?" Hank waved his hand wildly in the air to swat at the pigeons, clearly just as startled as them.

"Look at these markings..." I traced the lines of the geometric, maze like pattern on wall with my free hand. It was captivating, but also, "fucking freaky."

"'R.T', probably initials." Connor spoke up, breaking me from my fixation on the unusual pattern.

"He put his initials on his jacket? That's something your mum does when you're in first grade."

Ignoring Hank I followed Connor as he searched the main room and adjoining bathroom. "You think it's trying to find an identity?"

"Possibly," I followed Connor's gaze as he assessed the bathroom wall, the code 'RA9' was repeatedly written and carved into the wall.

"Any idea what RA9 means... its similar to an android model, but its not one I'm familiar with."

"Written two-thousand, four-hundred and seventy-one times. It's the same sign Ortiz's android wrote on the shower wall. Why are they obsessed with this sign?"

"Could be a name? An infection? Either way its common among deviants, but until we understand what it means its fucking useless." In slight frustration I turned from the wall of madness and saw Hank staring at one of the geometric patterns on the wall.

"Looks like mazes or something?" Hank was getting restless, I could see it in the way he was fidgeting with his hands and unable to stay in one place. "I need some fresh air."

"You wait in the hall, I'll babysit." He left without a 'thank you', too eager to get out. Granted this place smelled like damp and bird shit, couldn't exactly blame the man. I was about ready to get Connor to pack in his Sherlock act so we could leave, but guessing with the way his LED was flashing yellow, he had found something.

"It's LED was in the sink." He turned over the broken light in his fingers, before placing it down back where he had found it.

"Not surprised. An androids LED is what gives you lot away, yet ripping it out wouldn't interfere with your systems. If anything the LED is for us, it helps us read you." Connor didn't respond, he was focused and drawn in to the task now. I moved out of his way as he strode past, back into the living room.

Connor was following a trail neither Hank or I could see. It lead him to the far corner of the room, mine and his eyes trailing up towards a hole in the ceiling, a chair beneath it that the deviant most likely used to lift himself up. The grip on my gun tightened as Connor moved closer and I heard the wood of the ceiling creak.

"Conn-" I went to shout his name but the deviant had already knocked him onto the ground while jumping down. "Fuck," A flock of pigeons that had been in the roof too flew out after the deviant, knocking off my aim and ruining any chance of a clear shot with my pistol. Connor was up on his feet again, looking slightly dazed, "What are you waiting for?! After it!"

Connor was faster, but that didn't stop me from running after the both of them out of the apartment and past a very confused looking Hank. It threw racking in our path, Connor jumped over it easily with me just behind and copying him but not as gracefully.

The fire door to exit this floor lead to the rooftop; the Deviant and Connor were already on the next building, an agricultural roof covered in wheat that was being cut and collected by computer controlled combine harvesters. Its safe to say, if one was to trip and fall under one of those they would become human minced meat.

I was only a few paces behind, there was no chance I'd catch up to the two androids, but if I was lucky the opportunity would arise to cut the Deviant off.

Lifting myself up the side of the building wall pulled and strained at my prosthetic, it felt like the the skin was beginning to tear, but the rush of adrenaline from the chase numbed the pain enough for it to not hinder me.

"FUCKING CHRIST!" At first I hadn't noticed the sloping glass and the shattered window, I had made the last minute jump by the skin of my teeth. The agricultural androids stood and watched as the three of us ran past, forcing us to weave and swerve past them. I followed Connor to the longer glass slope, copying his movements to avoid the open windows, then I heard the sound of the train. "You are fucking kidding me." The horn blared in my ears and I watched the other two jump, giving me no choice to follow or it'd be a long drop.

Everything went silent and the world slowed as I made the jump. My right foot hit the train's roof, but my left foot slipped. Without a second thought I dug my left arm into the train's top, the force ripping away at the synthetic skin. It burned and felt too real; the pain sharp, hitting me all over, yet I managed supressed the scream.

I was further behind now, but I saw as the android and the deviant ran ahead, off the train and onto a ladder. I jumped off at the next "stop", running along the rooftops parallel to the deviant and Connor.

'This could be my chance, just turn left.'

It did.

I cut it off at the last moment, grabbing onto the front of its jacket, but it was stronger and more desperate than I anticipated. It threw me off of it and I stumbled back, catching the back of my leg on the low-rise wall and falling over it.

Vertigo hit me all at once and my heart dropped to my feet as I scrambled to grab the ledge. The pain of scraping the open fibres of my synthetic hand against the concrete was white hot and I lost my grip, I could feel myself falling.

The a hand gripped my forearm and I screamed. That tearing feeling between my prosthetic and my muscle hit me all over again, but with the added weight of my own body it was blinding and nauseating. I didn't feel myself be dragged back onto horizontal ground until another pair of hands were on my shoulders.

"Y/N, easy, easy now," It was Hank's voice, panicked but attempting to be reassuring. It took me a moment to realise I was still screaming, clutching my left arm to my chest with my right as the prosthetic fingers twitched, repeatedly clenching and unclenching. "Connor, do something."

Dizzy, everything was dizzy. I couldn't keep my eyes open and the pain was too much.

I couldn't....

*****

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

MASTER LIST

All my 'x reader' works are male readers

-The Witcher-

Geralt of Rivia

THE FIRE I BREATHE SHALL BURN YOU TOO [COMPLETE]

-Dragon Age-

Solas, Fen'Harel

MY HEART BLEEDS WHENEVER I LOOK UPON YOU, BUT I CAN NOT BRING MYSELF TO TURN AWAY:

Part i - Even in Darkness Vhenan, I Shall Guide You Home.

-Marvel-

James "BUCKY" Barnes

MEMENTO MORI:

part i (can be read as a one-shot)

Steven Grant

TO WALK AMONG THE GODS:

part i

-Detroit Become Human-

Connor

HEART OF STEAL:

part i

part ii

-RESIDENT EVIL: VILLAGE-

Karl Heisenberg

CRYSTALLISATION:

part i

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Crystallisation - Part I

Karl Heisenberg x Male Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Content Warning: Canonical Resident Evil horror

Each one of your bones felt like fragile glass about to shatter, the throbbing of your head seconds away from cracking open your skull. It was hard to breathe with the tightness of your muscles pushing down on your chest, your own skin suffocating and trapping you. It hurt too much to even begin to register the pain your body was in and for each second that passed it felt like an hour had gone by.

It was the shouting that woke you. The dull ache of your head grew and a groan escaped your lips as you made a move to sit up. Your arms threatened to give out as you pushed up to your knees, a simple task that seemed to be bordering on impossible. The floor beneath you was dirty and hard, but the coolness of the stone was a small blessing on your aching body.

Giving your eyes a second to adjust, you could see the room you had awoken in. A church or open hall of some kind. It was a tall figure you saw first, their presence looming and daunting, in front of them was a figure gesticulating wildly. Their movements were hard to follow; Trying to follow their blurry, swinging arms made your eyes ache and the burning sensation in your head grow.

"The cadou experiment failed," Their voice was feminine but authoritative and it came from the taller of the two figures. "It wasn't even able to heal a few scratches. He is worthless to us."

"He hasn't even been awake long enough to show what it's capable of-" You assumed it was the other one that spoke, this voice was gruffer and more masculine with an accent that you wouldn't be able to place even with a clear mind.

"-If he is capable of anything."

"Enough... both of you." A third voice; authoritative like the first but was more controlled and stern. It came from a figure further back in the hall and was much harder to make out with your blurry sight. "He will be disposed of, there is no further discussion."

"wait... what the fuck are you on about-" Your throat was hoarse like you hadn't drunk water in days, making your voice gravelly and scratchy. Speaking caused you to let out a few harsh coughs in order to clear the phlegm in your throat.

"Heisenberg, I trust your lycans are capable enough in taking care of it."

"To the dogs, to the dogs. Feed it to the dogs." An ugly doll in a white dress jumped across the floor, a little too excited at the thought of you being ripped apart.

"Mother Miranda, if I must-"

"Now, Heisenberg." Something shifted in your gut, an intense feeling of dread. You made your first attempt to stand as the lycans within the hall began to stir, an air of eagerness surrounding them as they jumped down from the higher ledges and beams to the floor you woke upon.

The second one to speak, Heisenberg you gathered, let out a sigh, and began to make his way over to you. The lycans were behind him, fidgeting and twitching. "I'm going to count from five and then you're going to run. Got that?"

"Heisenberg, this is no time to play your childish games." The tallest of them spoke.

"It's just a little fun for the lycans, they get restless if they don't get any excitement." He let out a chuckle. "You ready?"

There was no use in arguing, you gathered that much, so you glared. Granted it wasn't exactly going to do anything to help, but cursing the man that was about to count down to your execution was all you could do.

"Five."

Oh shit.

"Four."

You could see the doll jumping up and down again on someone's lap, while something that could only be described as an accumulative bob of flesh gave its version of a chuckle.

"Three."

Exit, need to find an exit.

"Two."

A door was behind you, but between you and it were knocked over church pews and broken rubble, getting to it would be most likely kill you and you would already be risking it by betting that the entrance was unlocked. Granted, it was your only option. The floor was beginning to swarm with lycans.

"One..."

He dragged out the last number and you didn't hesitate to bolt it before he even reached zero.

"RUN!"

*****

You were absolutely fucked.

Your pounding head and aching chest had all but been forgotten the second a wave of adrenaline had rushed over you, it was the only thing pushing you forward through the village below the church. Every turn you took you prayed it didn't lead to a dead-end, but your feet were becoming harder to carry and each step forward was almost another stumble.

A glance up and you could see some of the lycans on all fours, jumping and sprinting over the rooftops of the village houses. Some of them stopping to shout and howl to cheer on their brothers.

Correction from a previous statement; Absolutely fucked wasn't even half of it.

You crashed through two metal gates, not giving a second thought as you run into the open house to your left. You slammed the door without glancing behind you and barricaded it with the shelving next to it. if you had been a second later the lycans chasing you would have made inside with you, most likely ending your little jog into the sunset there and then.

You had minutes before they would break-in. The wood of the door frame was already beginning to splinter under the repeated banging of their weight against it. A minute to find a weapon, another to find a way out - that's all you needed.

Dust and grime kicked up around you as you searched through the two downstairs rooms of the house, climbing the stairs to the second floor to search would waste too much time. By some miracle, you found a weapon. In the tucked away cupboard by the stairs was a woodcutter's axe, probably only previously used to chop up the household's firewood however, its dull edge was better than nothing against a pack of lycans eager to tear you apart.

You had wasted too much time. The packs front leaders came crashing through the door, it was only luck that caused them to fall over themselves, giving you those few extra seconds you needed to run through the house to the back room.

Jumping through a closed window probably wasn't the smartest idea, especially while clutching an axe to your chest. The broken glass made several shallow cuts along your arms and face, but there was no time to care. In seconds you were back on your feet, pushing past the aching in your legs, hoping shouting against the protesting muscles would help.

The weight of the axe swinging in your hand felt like it gave you extra momentum to run faster and acted as a small shield as you push through thin, scraggly branches, hoping the surrounding vegetation would slow down the pack, even if was just a few extra paces between the two of you.

A correction to the previous correction; Absolutely fucked didn't even begin to scratch the surface of the towering shit pile you had found yourself in. You had run straight towards a cliff edge, beneath it a stream impossible to swim against and would most likely lead you straight into the mouth of hell.

The excited yips and howls behind you made you turn. The lycans had gathered in a semi-circle around you, blocking off any chance you had of running in the opposite direction. They began licking their lips and slobbering down their chins as they inched closer towards you. Some jumping forward just to tease you and cause you to flinch. You held up the axe with two hands and you could swear you heard the lycans laughing at you.

"Back. OFF!" You made a swing at the first lycan that charged towards you, but the exhaustion from running so long had made you slow and it dodged easily before making its own swing at you in return. Its claws ripped through both your skin and shirt, cutting across your upper torso. "FUCK!" The adrenaline had chosen that moment to wear off, the pain of the deep gashes making you light-headed from the sudden white-hot pain. They laughed again as you fell to your knees, using the axe to hold you up from completely faceplanting into the snow.

Between being torn apart and drowning, neither were good options. Although drowning did seem to be the more pleasant choice of the two.

You scrambled and threw yourself over the cliff edge, barely missing the swiping hands of the lycans. It was almost funny to hear their angry shouts before the crashing of the river water surrounded you.

*****

The freezing temperature of the water knocked the air out of your lungs and panicked instinct caused you to take a breath while your head was still fully submerged by the water. You were choking, unable to grab a clear breathe as the current took you along, repeatedly bobbing your head under the surface of the water and let you out long enough for you to cough up only some of the water before bringing you back under again.

You were fading, losing any sense of what was up or down, your left to your right. Your head was fuzzy and you could feel the water in your lungs splashing and swirling inside. It was harder to push to the surface to get air now, your arms were rocks dragging you deeper.

It was the rock that hit against your back that gave you the rush you needed to pull yourself out. It broke the current's hold it had on you and you pulled yourself up and onto the riverbank, grasping your fingers into the thick mud to drag yourself out until it was only the bottom half of your legs left in the water.

The water finally rose to the surface and you vomited it up next to you before coughing against your first clear breath. You couldn't drag yourself out any further, you could only lay with half your face in the mud as you took haggard breaths. The constant adrenaline that had been running through you now left you feeling nauseous, the splitting headache in your skull intensifying the feeling as your vision spun.

One moment it was still bright, the next it was pitch black. You swore you had only closed your eyes for a second to blink away the mud in your eyes, but now it was night.

The water from the stream was now lapping at your waist, its tide had risen a few inches over the hours you had been out cold. With how freezing it was in this godforsaken place your clothes were still soaked through from your little voyage in the river, not only chilling you further but adding extra weight for you to carry as you tried to sit up. Mud and dirt clung to your skin and shredded clothes, the water practically glueing it to you. If the blood loss from the gashes on your chest didn't kill you the infection surely would, but that was a problem for your future self to deal with.

It was hard enough pushing yourself to your knees, let alone standing. The axe in which would have provided some level of support was now long gone, either back on the cliff edge or somewhere at the bottom of the river. It had only been a small comfort for a few minutes, yet you found yourself missing it all the same.

Wrapping your arms around yourself to preserve any hint of body warmth you had left, you made your way up the small embankment outlining the river, taking it slow in hopes of not sliding back down again to where you had started. Just like before, every step was hell, but in a sense, you had become accustomed to that sensation now. Quite frankly, you had no idea what kept pushing you forward through this nightmare.

By this point, you didn't care where you were going, the building that sat on the horizon looked like heaven compared to where you were now. The looming greatness of its size was welcoming by this point and the smoke billowing out of its main tower might as well have been a cosy fireplace in a dingy forest cabin.

You could hear static from the speakers that rested on the corners of the building like the place was alive and speaking, while the land around it was dead and frozen. The feeling of relief was beginning to dissipate as you pushed on the heavy metal door that lead inside.

There was nothing else surrounding you and this was your only path forward. Each choice you made seemed to be another way to die, you were just prolonging your end. Still, if you were going to die whether it be by some monstrous psycho dog or a raging infection, you might as well be warm. And Christ was it warm inside the factory.

The building was no doubt alive in a more metaphorical sense. You could just faintly hear the sharp clanging of metal and machinery through the walls, the sound making the floor and the litter that laid on it vibrate. Oil drums, metal sheets, poles of various lengths were scattered in the corners and against the walls of the room you had found yourself in.

You grabbed one of the shorter poles that would be easiest to carry. While the pole was hollow it was also heavy, your attacks would be slow, but you could gather enough momentum within them to land a hard hit if anything was to come your way.

The first door you pushed against was locked from the other side by a deadbolt, but the door adjacent to it was unlocked and lead you down a narrow, poorly lit hallway. Grunge was one way to describe the factory, filthy was another. With such little light, you repeatedly found yourself tripping over discarded pieces of junk and metal. Each 'clang' and 'clunk' you made as something was knocked over made you grind your teeth together as if it would help dampen the sound.

Pushing open a set of double doors revealed the factory in its entirety - it was much bigger on the inside than what it appeared to be on the outside. You hadn't gone up or down any flights of stairs yet you found yourself staring down at several storeys that had been beneath the factory. It was disorientating; large pipes and vents emerged from the stone walls billowing steam and smog, large cogs turned as production conveyor belts carried along the hanging bodies-

"What the fuck?" You felt that nausea return as bile rose in your throat. Bodies, hundreds of them just dangling and swinging. Yet their shadows were wrong; their figures were distorted, chests too large and bulky compared to their much thinner legs and arm. Arm singular, one of their arms seemed to be larger and longer than the other like there was something attached to it. From this distance, they were too small to make out properly. You leaned against the balcony barrier and squinted your eyes in hopes it would help you get a better look.

The high-pitched sound of a large drill caught your attention on your left side. Through the smog from a nearby vent, you could see a dot of red light. The drilling sound picked up again, but this time twice as loud and several more red lights joined the first.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. For a moment it was a standoff, one waiting for the other to move. Despite the fog separating the both of you, there was no doubt you were staring at each other.

And again you found yourself running, not even bothering to glance at what was chasing you this time; whoever or whatever ran after you was large by the sound it made on the metal walkway.

You were so tired of running. Your legs were protesting against you to just stop and your lungs felt like fire due to the constant abuse and sharp breaths. You couldn't keep doing this.

Just fuck it.

Gripping the metal pole in your hand you turned and charged at what was behind you. The pole impaled straight through the chest of the not-quite-human figure, missing the very important looking light the rest over its heart. On any other occasion, what you had done would have disgusted you, but with your mind running a hundred miles a minute, it couldn't process anything.

One moment your hands were splattered with blood that wasn't your own, the next you were on the floor after being kicked down by whatever you had just run through. This time you weren't getting back up on your own.

"What the fuck are you idiots doing?" That voice from earlier, what was his name again? "Christ, looks like you've been through hell." There was something akin to amusement in his tone but easily turned to annoyance. Whether that annoyance was directed at you or someone else you couldn't tell.

Heisenberg, that was his name, the one with a funny accent you couldn't seem to place. He crouched in front of you, appearing to be examining you, shifting your shirt with the tips of his gloved fingers to get a better look at the wound that the lycan had made. That felt like forever ago now.

"Well, could be worse... you could be dead. The fact that you've made it this far is impressive though." Heisenberg grabbed one of your wrists before standing back up and pulling you along against the floor, the tension it caused against the gash on your chest caused you to let out a hiss from the pain. "Time to go."