#'with you every part is the good part' this is so wildly moving and poetic. what the fuck. i'm stealing this for my wedding vows.

[greenerteacups]

Hello GT! I almost never comment on anything online, but (after binge-reading Lionheart in about three days) I'm overcome with a desperate need to confess that I've developed an enormous intellectual crush on you as an author. I've never been particularly drawn to Dramione as a pairing before now - or even the HP universe in general as more than a very casual fan - but after reading nearly 600 thousand of your words, I'd be craving more even if that number was 600 million. Thank you very much for sharing Lionheart with the world.

It's a rare pleasure to read something where an immense thoughtfulness shines through so brightly not simply in bits and pieces here and there, but consistently throughout every line and every subplot you stitch together. There are other works of fiction out there that I love, but very, very few of them have been carefully crafted enough to allow me as a reader to sit back and have unshakeable confidence in the depth of the author's vision. Everything you write, from the smallest descriptive details to the grander puzzle pieces tying together each book, is delivered with such intentionality. Sometimes when reading other fiction I'll find myself impatiently wondering "okay, fantastic build-up, but when are we getting to the *really good* part"; with you, every part is the good part. The oft-cited slow-burn mantra of "it's not the destination, it's the journey" doesn't even ring true for me with Lionheart - because in your capable hands, you hurl us straight at that destination with every chapter. All of this to say that my starstruck inner writer is currently pinning a hypothetical pin-up poster of you to my hypothetical writer-ly bedroom wall as someone to look up to.

One of my favourite aspects of your work is how utterly hilarious you are both in your character dialogue and your prose. You've made me laugh more than you've made me cry - and you're guilty of making me cry a lot, especially in Book Four. You balance us between hysterical (funny) and hysterical (dirty, raw feelings) without a trace of whiplash, quite often imparting both simultaneously. Is interweaving humour with Everything Else something that comes naturally to you while writing or is it a process you're consciously juggling?

I've brooded and preened over this message for entirely far too long, and it's not fair to you. Suffice it to say you're kinder than I deserve and this made me want to cry. Any and all pin-up posters of me should render me looking like a deer in headlights, as is the appropriate reaction to this kind of honor.

I'm especially delighted by the hysteria (plural)! In general, it's easier for me to write humor than it is for me to write drama. Not that either one is easy as such, but I think drama requires more architecture. You don't have to explain if a joke is funny; it just is funny, and the audience knows why the characters are laughing/amused/happy. In drama, you have to achieve a certain level of technical character work to set up the punch of a moment; there's stakes, plotting, resonance, etc., and then you have to actually deliver it in a way that isn't either flippant, ironic, or Narm. Basically, there are more axes of failure. And the stakes of a joke failing are pretty low, too: worst case, your audience is like "eh, not that funny" and they move on. If a dramatic moment fails, it can take the legs out from under a whole arc.

One of my tests for whether a moment is ripe for comedy is the question of what the comedy is doing. Is it a realistic reflection of the character's voice in that situation? And, perhaps more importantly: why am I feeling the need to put comedy in this scene? Do I want it because it's natural and tone-appropriate, or am I trying to disguise my own insecurity about the dramatic content of the scene? If the latter, I tend to cut. You can't write from fear, you know?

[panzerkatzee]

NaNoWriMo Journal Day VIII

Good morning folks!

I just slid past creative burn out, struggling like hell to write yesterday… still managed enough words… yet, I was feeling aweful.. Sooo I did what I learned in therapy.. and had some social interaction, via the phone, while going on a very nice long walk and doing some grocery shopping.

I should probably also clean my room, but I'll get to that aaafter writing for the day~

First up.. my plan for the day… is write. Nothing fancy.. If I get stuck, I will do some fancy sorting stuff on Obsidian, in hopse to make editing easier on me later, by putting all chapters into single files and splitting them up in scenes already. Obsidian has the neat function to fold up all the text beneath a headline, so that will break it down into even more manageable pieces. Last time, the sheer volume of what I had written and what had to be edited, overwhelmed me completely.. soo lets hope this new method works.

Ahh also a nice side effect of going on the walk, is that I woke up suuuper early today and I hope, I can turn this into my new wake up time, despite liking the night, it gives me more time to enjoy the light, which is quite the challenge for me in fall anyway…

Sooo.. Song of the Day: Serj Tankian - Borders are

Why is it on my Playlist? "Fear is the cause of separation"

Serj Tankian, ex-singer (or again singer) of the Armenian/American Metalband System of a Down, uses his voice as a solo-artist, to make political statements, questioning war, the enviromental crisis, capitalism and… nationalism.

The last, comes to bear in the song I talk about today, which beside one other, is on this playlist. It's about the artificial seperation of the world. And its complimented, by a very simple yet poetic video, showing a map of the world, every country painted a different shade, seperated by black lines, signfying borders between countries. Over the course of the song, the black lines fly up towards the viewer and disappear. I love this, because the different hues remain. Which I choose to interpret as an abolishing of the actual borders, while keeping our cultural heritage. Embracing unification without sacrificing what makes a culture or nation unique.

This… is not possible, as long as people are afraid. I came to this conclusion in parts thanks to Tankians song.. and in parts through learning about different cultures, their history. Immersing myself into it, helped me to concieve how a culture or a nation has become the way it is today. And this freed me of a lot of fear and made me realise… we are all humans. Which.. sounds like a no-brainer at first… but its something, I struggled with a lot and didn't really recognise until the fear was gone.

For example: When I moved to a bigger city with a high count of people who belong to the diaspora of muslim countries, my dad told me: "Be careful, daughter, don't smart mouth them, the men will have no qualms punching you in the face or stab you and leave you for dead." Only after actually talking to people from the cultures, getting to know them, I realised it to be utter bullshit. And I also realised, my Dad didn't say this, because he wants to be a racist… or is a bad person. No he was afraid.. Because all you hear in media is how a "Muslim immigrant stabbed his sister because she was in a relationship to a German man" or "Stabbing in XYZ might me a terrorist attack" "Immigrants take your doctors appointments" Sooo much the readily accessible information for the average German in form of news and media, usually only talks about the shitty stuff… because DUH… only the negative stuff actually sells.

Soo yeah.. It still might seem like fiction at this point… but that's why I write. I hope the people, who will read my books in the future, might agree with me on that, try to learn from it and maybe attempt to challenge their own fears about other cultures. Which is what this song is about… and also it wildly anti capitalist… but thats something for another day.

In the end, go check out Serj Tankian, he's amazing and deserves more ppl, listening to and understanding his music!

As this venture into music/politics/philosophy, was quite the long write - I excluded like at least a thousand words and saved them for later-, I will skip the daily challenge today and get into writing.

Okay… I started to procastinate at 10:20.. it's 11:00 now… lets eat something and stop procastination~

Sooo a little over two hours later, I am done for the day.. energy waning already… well it has a few reasons, one being my mother wanting to meet up in an hour or so, which means, I have a minor deadline, that tells me, I have to stop soon.

Also.. I am not really feeling it right now… therefore, I am going to do some selfcare and then get started on the whole ordering of chapters thing :D And after meeting my mum... its room cleaning time... like the saying goes... tidy home tidy mind.. or what ever :D

Never cared for these pithy wisdoms.. but I came to realise, cleaning up, whilst a hated task, is actually beneficial for my well-being, despite all within me recoiling at the prospect of having to clean anything..

I end the writing day for now at 1545 words… which is still above the word goal, which by now has dropped to under 1000 per day. Whoop!

[queenofmoons67]

“hang on, i’ve got you” for warriors and wild? 👀 (hurt wild please) thank you!

Warriors stumbled across the field, over grass and flowers, the weight in his arms slowing him down and throwing him off balance.

“Warriors,” a voice moaned.

He chanced a glance down, then grimaced and looked away, wishing he hadn’t.

“Warriors, I’ll—I’ll be fine…”

Wild had always been skinny, more sinew than muscle, but the way Warriors held him just emphasized it. Wild’s legs hung over Warriors’s arm, and his head lulled against Warriors’s chest, bouncing with every step.

It was Wild’s arms that made Warriors’s heart ache the most, though. One arm was cradled in Wild’s lap, loose now instead of pressing against the gaping, bleeding hole like it had been at the start of their journey. The other dangled towards the ground, dripping a trail of blood.

“Hey, hey,” Warriors said, jostling Wild. “What happened to holding pressure, huh? You getting lazy, Wild? I never—I never thought I’d see the day.”

Wild grinned up at him, teeth bloody. Warriors wasn’t sure if it was from the bokoblin Wild had torn the throat out of with his bare teeth, or the bokoblin who had skewered Wild on a pike. If it was the former, it was a story to tell. If it was the latter—well, if it was the latter, it meant internal bleeding, but that was already a given, wasn’t it?

“Hyrule’s gonna fix you up real nice,” Warriors said. “But he might just kill you after. Huh, Wild?”

When we find the others went unsaid, but Warriors figured Wild heard it anyway. They had been separated when they went through a portal, but they had been lucky enough to land in Time’s world. There was only one place the others would go—even if Warriors and Wild had been unlucky enough to also land right in the middle of a group of bokoblins.

Realizing he hadn’t heard a response, Warriors jostled Wild again. “Hey, Wild, keep talking to me, ok? Twilight’s gonna want to hear your pretty voice.”

No answer.

“Wild?” Warriors glanced down, and the sight sent him stumbling over his own feet and to the ground.

Wild’s eyes were closed. His body, which had already seemed so limp before, appeared to sleep like the dead. Warriors prayed he wasn’t. Oh, by Hylia, Warriors prayed he was just unconscious.

“Wild?” Warriors rasped, and shook the boy even as he held him closer to his chest. “Wild?”

No answer—but then, even as Warriors watched, Wild’s chest moved up and down.

“Alright,” Warriors muttered. “Alright, alright.” He heaved himself to his feet. “You just hang on, ok? I’ve got you.” I’ve got you.

And Warriors soldiered on.

#

By the time Warriors reached the steps of the ranch, his pants had grown stiff with Wild’s drying blood. He hadn’t dared stop and test his heart rate, relying solely on the movement of Wild’s chest and the warmth of his breath on Warriors’s own throat. Wild was still alive—but Warriors didn’t know how long that would last.

“Time!” Warriors called. His voice stuck in his throat, and he coughed, then called again, “Time!”

The front door slammed open, and Warriors faltered, relief stealing the last bit of exhausted strength from his limbs. Time, Twilight—Legend, Sky—Four, Wind, and Hyrule, they were all there. Wild was saved.

Warriors grinned, and the last bit of his strength slipped away, sending him crashing down into Legend. The veteran’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and Warriors leant into him even as his own arms tightened around Wild’s unconscious body. He wouldn’t drop the boy—not so close to the end.

“Hyrule!” Legend called, and turned around. Warriors stumbled with him in a bit of an awkward dance, dragged along by the other man’s strength. Any other time, he would be threatening Legend with death, but right now Warriors only felt thanks. He could trust any and all decisions—the bodies of both himself and Wild—to the arms of the others. Warriors could sleep now.

The instant he felt the weight of Wild’s body lift, Warriors closed his eyes.

#

Warriors woke slowly, the smell of Malon’s cooking in his nose, and then all at once, when the weightlessness of his arms hit him. Jolting upright, he looked around the room wildly until his eyes landed on the bright blue of Wild’s tunic, hanging on a chair. And underneath it—

Warriors bolted from his own bed, throwing aside the sheets and grasping for Wild’s hand. Hyrule, sleeping on Wild’s other side, shot up with a shout.

“What have I said—! Warriors!” he squawked. “Don’t you dare tear that wound open again!”

Warriors stared down at Wild. The boy was unconscious, his usual messy yellow-blonde hair sorted into braids. The wound Hyrule mentioned was hidden under several layers of bandaging, but there was no blood bleeding through anymore.

“He’s ok?” Warriors asked, switching his gaze to Hyrule.

The traveler nodded slowly. “You got him here on time, Warriors.”

That wasn’t what Warriors had asked, but he ignored it in favor of the steady rhythm beneath his hand: Wild’s pulse.

Satisfied, Warriors slumped back onto his own bed just in time to see the rest of the Links come stumbling into the room, all in various states of disarray. Sky looked like he’d just woken from a nap, and Wind more hyper than the time he ate an entire block of chocolate. Time was at the back, Malon at his side, and his armor shined in the way that said he’d been using the task as a distraction again.

“You’re awake,” Twilight said, and Warriors nodded. “You got Wild here safely,” and Warriors scoffed. What part of the kid bleeding out when he arrived did the others not get?

“He’s alive,” Warriors said. What more could he ask for?

#

It took another two days for Wild to wake. In that time, Hyrule kept Warriors confined to the bed next to him—he’d apparently ‘overworked his body,’ whatever that meant, and the traveler didn’t trust him to stay still if he wasn’t in eye sight. Over the days, the other Links kept up a constant rotation in the room. The entertainment depended on the Link.

Wind could be counted on for stories of the ‘high seas,’ but Legend, for once, was near silent. Twilight did nothing but talk about Wild, which just reminded Warriors of his near failure, and Time waxed poetic about Malon’s eyes, which Warriors considered pointless with the real thing peeking in from time to time. Four let Warriors guide the conversation, which was nice, and Sky wanted to cuddle, which, for once in his life, Warriors just wasn’t interested in.

But it was just Hyrule and Warriors when it happened. Warriors was sharpening his sword, trying to ignore Hyrule checking on Wild’s injuries, when he heard a raspy, “Hyrule? Where—where’s Warriors? Is he alright?”

Warriors barked a single, disbelieving laugh, put down his sword, and leaned forward to poke Wild’s arm. “Am I alright? You’re the one who nearly bled out all over my good scarf.”

Hyrule turned and pushed Warriors back into his own bed, but Warriors’s attention was all on Wild’s stupid smile as he looked back at Warriors.

Wild wasn’t just alive, he was awake. Warriors didn’t think he’d ever be more thankful.

[guardianofrivendell]

I’ve Got You

Fíli x fem!reader  

Requested: Yes, by me 😂, based on this post 

Warnings: Jealous and worried Fili, cheeky Kíli, awkward Thorin and angst if you squint 

A/N: It’s finally here! A whopping 7k (when I made the outline of the story I thought about 1.5k, 2k tops but then I added a subplot and I kept going and going...) I wrote this as a treat for myself because selflove is very important and I have no shame.  Special thanks to @katethewriter​ for her advice, grammar check and helping me calm down when I thought this was rubbish!

A/N2: Another reminder that English isn’t my native language, so I’m sorry if it’s not as poetic as it should be. That’s the fault of my lack of decent English vocabulary.

Every quest comes with the possibility of danger, injury or even death. It was drilled into you by your parents, but that didn’t stop you from joining your two friends Fíli and Kíli on their quest to reclaim their home. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do and besides, you never went on an adventure before. How could you say no to such an opportunity? Not even the prospect of traveling with 13 male dwarves could stop you. You liked them, they liked you. This would be like one giant sleepover! There was some small protest from your future companions, mainly Thorin and Dwalin, who didn’t want to take you with them. A tiny woman like yourself on this dangerous quest? You would only slow them down. That’s what they said to you, but the main reason was they only wanted to protect you; keep you safe from all the dangers of the quest. After you asked them again and again - maybe even begged, but you’d never admit it to anyone - and you promised them you could take care of yourself and they needed your skills, and after both Fíli and Kíli had promised to keep an eye on you and keep you safe, Thorin reluctantly agreed. 

The journey had only been going on for a few weeks, when the two brothers broke their promise. It was the umpteenth day of constant hiking, climbing and trudging through mud, water and dirt. Gandalf had left the company, and it had affected everyone’s mood for the worst. You kept yourself at the back of the group the entire day, feet and legs sore from the constant walking, but unwilling to say something about it. You had promised you wouldn’t be a burden, so you weren’t going to be one. 

In the late afternoon you reached a gully with a rickety looking bridge. On the other side, about 100 yards from the edge was a thickly wooded forest that seemed to go on forever. You didn’t know why but it gave you the creeps. A shiver ran across your spine, making you shake your shoulders and Kíli raised an eyebrow at you. He and Fíli took turns walking next to you to keep you company, and today it was his turn. You gestured to him it was nothing, but he kept an eye on you just in case. It wasn’t like you to be this quiet and he was starting to get worried. Maybe this quest was too much for you after all. “We will cross the bridge, and take our rest for the night at the edge of the forest,” Thorin ordered. It wasn’t even near supper time yet, but the dwarven King had noticed his company was getting tired. An extra few hours of rest would do them good, and hopefully lift up their spirits. The otherwise rambunctious and loud group of dwarves were too quiet for his liking.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, Y/N,” Fíli asked you with a worried look, noticing you had been walking slower than before. He had been trying to talk to you before, but Thorin took his constant attention. Now that they were rearranging the weight in their packs in preparation to cross the bridge - that didn’t seem like they could hold their weight, Fíli thought - he had a few minutes to himself. You smirked at him. “I could say the same thing about you, Fee.” He gave you a wide smile. When you were done repacking your bag under the watchful eye of the two brothers, you waited for further instructions from Thorin. 

Dwalin had to go first, and Bombur second. If they could make it to the other side, the bridge would be safe for all of you. The bridge was in ruin, but seemed solid enough. It creaked and groaned when Dwalin slowly crossed it, and everyone thought it would break under Bombur’s weight but it surprisingly held on.

Fíli had to go next, and he looked back at you. “See you on the other side, mimûna,” he teased. (little one) You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but couldn’t stop the blood rising in your cheeks. Even though you were 4 inches taller than him, he still called you little. For a human you were on the small side, true, but what you lacked in height you’d like to think you made up for in fierceness. You hated and loved the nickname. You were the only one fortunate enough to get one - aside from his brother of course - and it made you feel important. Like you mattered. 

The others of the company slowly made their way over the bridge, one by one. It took some time because they couldn’t rush, carefully taking every step, testing the remaining strength of the next log. It seemed to you the ropes of the bridge were making more noise, and most of the logs were creaking so loud you expected them to break at any moment. Every crack made you flinch. Kíli noticed your discomfort. He was about to make the crossing, but decided he would stay with you. Ori shook his head before he took Kíli’s place. 

When everyone else had crossed the gully, only you and Kíli were left. “You go ahead, Kee, I’ll be right behind you,” you said to him. He watched you for a few seconds, before turning his head to the forest, where Fíli was. His brother would kick him into next week if he would let anything happen to you. “You sure?” “Yes! Go on, I’ll be fine,” you assured him. 

You took a few deep breaths when Kíli was halfway down the bridge, knowing it was almost your turn. The others didn’t wait for you, all of them eager to reach the forest so they could rest their feet and have a nice hot meal. When Kíli finally reached the end, one of the logs broke off and he could barely hold himself up on the tattered rope. He jumped over the hole and landed on the edge with a thump. He immediately threw his pack aside and turned around, gesturing at you to start walking. 

“Just go slow,” he yelled. I’d rather just start running and get it over with, you thought but decided against it. You carefully put one foot over the other, hands clamped over the ropes. The logs started groaning heavily under your weight and you didn’t know whether to be terrified or insulted. You decided to freeze instead. “Y/N?” Kíli asked. “It’s okay to be scared! Just look at me alright?” “I’m not scared,” you yelled back. “I just don’t trust this bridge!” Against your better judgment, you looked down. The gully seemed a lot deeper from up here! “No, look at me! Keep your eyes locked in mine, I know you want to!” Kíli laughed, his joking nature never too far gone. You did as he asked, and he guided you over the bridge one step at a time. 

Kíli was relieved he had been able to calm you down. He didn’t like how the bridge moved and protested against your movements, his goal was to get you off as quickly as possible. He kept gesturing at you to keep moving, speaking encouraging words now and then. But the closer you got to the missing log, the heavier the creaks got. The wood had endured too much with a full company of dwarves with heavy loaded packs running over it moments before. He noticed your face twisting in fear. 

“Hey, Y/N, don’t worry. It’s going to be okay!” It was not going to be okay, and he knew. He looked behind him, but the other members of the company were too far off except for Nori and Dori. “Throw me your bag, you’re close enough,” he said, trying to think of ways to make it safer. But he shouldn’t have asked you that. The minute you threw your pack, you placed your foot on another log for support. The log broke off under the sudden weight, and your foot fell through, sending the broken log pieces into the river below. In an attempt to keep your balance, you took a step forward with your other foot on the next log only for it to break as well. 

“Y/N!” Kíli cried, his eyes wide in horror. You frantically clawed at the remaining parts of the bridge, but it all started to crumble down, taking you with it. “No!” he yelled, rushing towards the edge. His yelling alerted the rest of the company, most of them turning around to see what the fuss was about. ”What’s wrong, Kee?” Fíli yelled all the way from the front. They had reached the edge of the forest and were already busy setting up camp. 

“Kíli!” Thorin yelled when he didn’t answer. 

Fíli watched his brother drop to his knees, looking over the edge of the gully. Nori and Dori soon joined him, gesturing wildly to each other. 

“What in Durin’s name are they doing?” Thorin asked him. “Did someone fall down?”

Fíli did a quick headcount, and to his horror he realized there was one person missing. They saw Kíli slowly lowering himself over the edge, confirming their suspicions. His first reaction was to look for you, and when he couldn’t find you, his heart sunk. “It’s Y/N...” Fíli realised in shock, “Y/N!!” He threw his pack to the side and ran back to the bridge as fast as his legs could take him, ignoring his uncle’s cries. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was you.  

In the meantime Kíli had lowered himself to the small ledge you were lucky enough to fall on. It was only a few yards and the undergrowth that was covering the side provided enough material to climb down without a rope. “Hold on, Y/N! I’m almost there,” he assured you. To his relief he saw you were still moving, and nothing seemed wrong at first sight. “I’m okay, it’s just my leg that’s stuck. These things are heavier than they seem.” Most of the broken logs had fallen into the river, but some of them fell down on the ledge with you, crushing your leg. You probably had some cuts and bruises too, but those were the least of your worries. You groaned when you tried to pull your foot from under the bridge pieces, ignoring Nori and Dori’s cries to keep still. The thing that was hurt the most though, was your pride. You had promised them you wouldn’t be a burden, that you could take care of yourself. And the first to be injured on the quest was you. You would laugh at the irony of it all if you weren’t so scared of the consequences. Thorin would probably leave you in the first town you would come across. 

Kíli hopped down on the ledge and started removing the logs that crushed your leg. “How is she?” you heard someone yell. When you looked up, you saw several heads sticking out over the edge. “I’m fine!” you yelled back, irritation clear in your voice. You hated to be the center of attention. Luckily both Fíli and Kíli knew this, and Fíli took it upon himself to send everyone back to camp except for Oin. Kíli lifted the last one, and you pulled your foot towards you. He let the log drop with a thud. 

“What’s the damage?” he asked with a big grin, but his eyes looked worried. You clutched your foot, it was completely numb because the log had cut off the blood flow. There was also this dull pain that started to spread in your ankle towards your foot, but you shrugged it off.  “Nothing, I’m fine,” you reassured him, but Kíli didn’t buy it. “I’ll carry you, it’s a long way up,” he offered, pointing to the edge. Fíli let a rope down, so he and Oin could pull the both of you up. “I can do it myself.” “Y/N, until Oin can look at your foot I’m going to carry you whether you like it or not. I’m not taking any risks,” he said, throwing Fíli a knowing look. 

He wrapped the rope around his wrist and grabbed it, giving it a small tug. He opened his other arm for you and lifted his eyebrow. “Are you coming?” You got up carefully, trying to avoid that one ankle so as to not give you away. The pain was getting worse with each passing second. Kíli wrapped his arm around your waist and told you to wrap your arm around his shoulder for support. “Oh, Fíli is going to love this,” he murmured to himself when you snuggled into his side. “What?” you asked him, not catching what he was saying. “Hold on to me as tight as you can!”

Fíli and Oin pulled the both of you up in no time. When you reached the top of the gully, Fíli took you out of his brother’s arms, wrapping an arm around your waist and under your knees. “Easy, mimûna, I’ve got you,” he cooed, planning to carry you bridal style to the makeshift campsite. Oin was already probing at your ankle but you weren’t having any of it. “I can walk, you know. Seriously, I’m fine,” you swapped Oin away. “You don’t have to baby me!” Fíli put you back on the ground, raised his hands in surrender and chuckled. “Fine, go on then.” You raised your chin and huffed. This would hurt, but you were tough. It was only about a 100 yards to the camp. You placed your injured foot first, and the minute you put your weight on it, a shooting pain shot through your ankle and leg and your knee buckled. Two strong arms caught you in time, and a low voice whispered in your ear. “You were saying?” Fíli swooped you back into his arms and carried you to camp, a grinning Kíli in his wake. 

Back in camp you tried to minimize your injury, terrified Thorin wouldn’t want you in his company anymore. You reassured everyone that you were fine over and over again. Oin proved you wrong when he took off your boot and a high-pitch scream escaped your mouth. Did he have to be so brutal? A little tenderness never killed anyone, you groaned internally. Three pairs of eyes followed Oin’s every move. Every time you flinched when he hit a particular painful or sensitive spot Fíli held his breath. 

Kíli patted his shoulder. “She’ll be fine.” “I know,” he smiled gratefully at his little brother, but flinched when he heard you whimper. “Careful, Fee, someone might notice,” Kíli sang teasingly when he went to sit with the others, leaving him with you and Oin. He couldn’t resist wiggling his eyebrows when he sat down on the ground next to Thorin and Balin. 

Oin was in the middle of bandaging your ankle when Thorin stood up. Everyone went quiet and kept their eyes trained on him while he made his way towards you. “Her ankle is severely sprained, but not broken,” Oin began explaining, “I’ve put a bandage around it for support, but she won’t be able to walk on it for a few days I’m afraid.” This was it, you thought. For you, the quest would end here. You couldn’t walk, and if someone had to support you the entire time, you’d become the burden you were trying so hard not to be. “How far is it to the nearest village?” Thorin’s voice rang over the campsite, asking no one in particular. You closed your eyes in defeat. “You mean to leave her behind?” Bilbo asked, eyes wide. There was some protest going around in the camp, mostly from the two princes. Fíli jumped up. “We are not leaving anyone behind!” “Fíli, don’t be foolish,” Thorin snapped. Just like Kíli, he hadn’t missed the looks his nephew gave their female companion. Fíli let his heart take over to reason, a dangerous thing to do. He will understand eventually, Thorin thought. “I will carry her if I must!” “You can not carry her all the way to the Lonely Mountain,” Thorin argued. “Watch me,” Fíli threw back.

Before things could escalate, Bofur spoke up, “I’ll help.” “So will I. We’ll take turns,” Kíli quickly followed his example. “Aye!” To everyone’s surprise Dwalin rose to his full height. You’ve never really interacted much with Dwalin, since he was against you joining the company and you didn’t want to annoy him too much. So him standing up for you now, took you by surprise. 

You had watched the interaction between the dwarves with a small heart. Fíli going against his Uncle, no, his King’s wishes in front of the company was unheard of, and you didn’t want to be the reason behind their falling out. “You really don’t have to do this, I-” “Nonsense,” Fíli interrupted you. “Let’s face it, Y/N, you’re one of us. And we don’t leave one of our own behind. Ever.” He looked at Thorin when he said his last word, challenging him to disagree. But to his surprise his uncle agreed with him, a tiny glint of mirth in his eyes. “So it shall be, everyone will take their turn in carrying Y/N until her ankle is cured.”

You didn’t sleep that night. At all. If it wasn’t the throbbing pain in your ankle that kept you awake, it were your neverending worries about the quest. Whoever was unlucky enough to be on “Y/N-duty”, was going to be a living target. With no free hands, they didn’t have any chance to defend themselves if they were under attack. You couldn’t live with yourself if something were to happen to anyone in the company. Fíli or Kíli in particular. 

You sighed, and your eyes automatically wandered to the two sleeping princes. There was no denying that you liked them both, though each in a different way. Kíli turned into your best friend almost immediately after you met him. He liked to joke around, didn’t take everything that seriously but had your back nonetheless. You’d feel sorry for anyone who would try to harm you, almost certain that Kíli would annihilate them without a second thought.  His brother Fíli was something else entirely. You joked around as well, often together with Kíli, and you knew he would go to the end of Arda for you if he had to and would also gladly destroy anyone who would even consider hurting you. But there was something else. Something you didn’t have with Kíli. Because Kíli didn’t make your cheeks flush when he changed shirts or flexed his muscles. When he rolled up his tunic sleeves and you could see the veins on his forearms your breath didn’t hitch. Your stomach didn’t flip every time he sat next to you or gave you a lopsided smile. But with Fíli, it did... Kíli stirred in his sleep, which pulled you out of your thoughts. The last thing you wanted was someone catching you staring at them. Come on, Y/N, you thought, there’s no time for self discovery. Sleep!

When the dwarves and Bilbo woke up the next morning, you were still sitting half upright against your rock, eyes wide open. Fíli rubbed his face with both hands, trying to get rid of the sleep. His eyes traveled to your figure and he frowned. It didn’t look like you had the best night. He watched you take a plate with breakfast from Ori, smiling politely but wincing when you adjusted your position. He hated to see you in pain. When Thorin announced you would take your leave, he and Kíli made their way towards you. “Ready to go?” he asked. “Well, I wanted to do my morning run before we left but I guess that’ll have to wait now,” you sighed and broke out into a broad smile when you saw his stunned face. “How do you want to do this? Do I still carry that myself?” You pointed to your pack. But Fíli didn’t want to waste any more time, seeing most of the company had already left. He scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing, and Kíli took your pack. “Already taken care of, mimûna, do not worry,” he smiled. 

Not worrying was easier said than done. Being in his arms meant that you couldn’t possibly be closer to him than you were. You had a really hard time trying to control your heartbeat, convinced Fíli could hear how it practically hammered out of your chest. If he did, he didn’t say anything about it. It was a bit awkward at first too, you didn’t know where to look. Your position allowed you to watch his face the entire time, and as much as you would want to do just that - admiring the depth of his blue eyes, the crinkles around those eyes when he laughed, his jawline and those lips, easy Y/N, get it together! - you couldn’t do that. So you kept your eyes fixed on the ground or on Kíli’s back who was walking right in front of you. 

Fíli didn’t talk much, always looking ahead. Which you thought was odd because before your injury, when you walked with him he barely kept his mouth shut. Did he regret his decision?

“If- If you want to take a break, I could try and see if I can walk for a while?” you tried. He blinked rapidly with his eyes, like you just pulled him out of a daydream, and looked at you questioningly. “You don’t want me to carry you anymore?” “No, I mean… I do! But you know, I might get too heavy after a while, or… I don’t know,” you murmured the last part silently. Fíli scoffed and lifted you above his head before he snuggled you against his chest again. “I can do this all day, mimûna. You worry too much.” You felt the blush rise again. How was it possible that the nickname still had this effect on you after all this time? It took you ages and a lot of threatening before Kíli finally told you what it meant, since you didn’t know any Khuzdûl. Luckily the colouring of your cheeks went unnoticed. 

After a while, the lack of sleep was starting to get to you. Fíli’s warmth combined with the gentle rocking of his footsteps made it very difficult for you to keep your eyes open. You jawned multiple times before you felt yourself slipping away. It didn’t take long before Fíli felt the weight of your head on his chest, eyes closed and your hands still in your lap. He adjusted his hold on you and shifted your body a little, so your neck would be in a better angle. Kíli looked behind him and smirked. “Were you that boring?” He didn’t react, letting his brother have his fun. If he had to admit, he found it oddly comforting to hold you this close, knowing he was the one who was protecting you. The words of his Uncle suddenly came to mind, and his mood changed. For some reason he didn’t look forward to you being in someone else’s arms. 

When the sun was just about set, Thorin made the company halt for the night. He didn’t let them take a break during the day, not even for lunch, so to say everyone was relieved was an understatement. Everyone, except Fíli. If he was honest, he liked to have you in his arms and was rather reluctant to let you go. 

You had only just woken up a few moments before and were still a bit groggy. While you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, Fíli lowered you gently to the ground and let himself fall down next to you. “Thank you,” you muttered with a small smile and he chuckled. You were too adorable when you were sleepy. “Anytime, mimûna.” “How many times do I have to tell you! I’m taller than you…” you laughed, shoving his arm playfully. “You need to think of a new nickname!” The both of you looked up when Kíli dropped your pack at your feet. “Your luggage, my lady,” he greeted you, doing an exaggerated curtsy. You rolled your eyes. “I’m not calling you a lord, Kee. Forget it.” “Of course not,” he smirked, opening his arms and puffing his chest. “Because I’m a prince!” “Prince or not, you can go and wet this cloth for Y/N’s ankle,” Oin appeared behind him, handing him a large piece of fabric before he turned his attention to you. “Let’s take a look at that ankle of yours, okay lass?”

When he took the bandage of your ankle, you heard Fíli suck in a breath. Your ankle was twice the normal size, a dark almost black bruise going from your foot to halfway up your leg. “Y/N…” Fíli breathed, eyes full of worry. “When Kíli gets back, we can take care of the swelling,” Oin tried to comfort you, although you had the impression he was saying it more for Fíli’s sake than yours. 

By the time Kíli came back with the cloth, you were eating dinner and everyone had come to check on you at least twice. Fíli hadn’t left your side. Their kindness didn’t surprise you - after all they had been nothing but kind to you in the past. But it still warmed your heart. “Took you long enough,” Oin said, taking over the wet cloth. “It took me a while to find a river and I-”, he said, his voice caught in his throat when he saw your ankle. Just like his brother, he looked at you with worried eyes. “And I uhm, I had to find something to carry water back here. When the cloth turns warm, you can cool it down again.” “Good thinking, lad,” Oin complimented him. “You went through all of that trouble for me?” Kíli looked at you, and winked. “Anything for you, Y/N.” He didn’t miss the hard look his brother threw him. 

Oin placed the cold, wet cloth on your ankle and you sighed contentedly. “Feels good?” Fíli asked. You hummed, eyes closed. “Leave it until it turns warm. I’ll come back later to check on you,” Oin instructed, and he went back to the other side of camp to finish his dinner. Kíli sat down next to his brother, and elbowed his side. “Heard that? I made her feel good,” he whispered. The others all looked up when Fíli smacked the back of his brother’s head, chuckling at their antics. “The future pride of Erebor,” Dwalin grumbled, shaking his head. 

The next day it was Kíli’s turn to carry you, much to the barely hidden annoyance of his brother. In his opinion, Kíli was getting a little too comfortable with you in his arms... Fíli was walking at the front of the group again, right behind Dwalin and Thorin. He would much rather have walked at the back with you, but his uncle had insisted he’d stay at his side.  But even from up there he could hear the laughter and the giggles all too clearly. It stung, hearing how you were enjoying yourself at the expense of his brother. He hadn’t been able to spend as much time with you as he would have wanted yesterday, since you were asleep most of the time. It did however give him plenty of time to think about how he felt about you… There was no denying he felt something. He just hadn’t decided what it was exactly. At one moment when he looked behind him to check on you, he saw Kíli tossing you up a bit which made you squeal. “Kíli!” he yelled before he could stop himself. All eyes turned to him, including yours. Fíli scratched the back of his neck. “Just… be careful, alright?” “Don’t worry brother, she’s safe with me,” he said, hugging you closer. “I won’t let her fall.” He only grunted in response, before he turned around and stomped past Thorin and Dwalin, taking the lead. “What?” Kíli grinned when you smacked his chest. “Be nice to your brother.” “Oh trust me, I’m doing him a great favor…”

The following day after Oin rebandaged your ankle - which was getting a little better with the swelling almost gone, the bruise already turning purple at the edges - Fíli walked towards you with the full intention of spending the entire day with you. He grabbed your pack and threw it on his back alongside his own. He’d probably regret that by the end of the day, but he wanted to prove something. “Fee, that’s too much! You can’t carry me and my pack!” you gasped. “That is why Bofur will take over today,” Thorin announced. Bofur was standing next to him, beaming at you. “Uncle, that will not be necessary, I’ve got it,” Fíli insisted. “It’s not open for discussion.” You looked at Fíli apologetically. If you were honest, you preferred to be carried by him - for no particular reason at all - but spending the day with Bofur wouldn’t be that bad either. Fíli didn’t handle it that well though, he went to the others, but not before he made Bofur promise him to be careful with you.

“Alright, lass?” Bofur smiled at you, before he took you in his arms. He wasn’t as bulky as Fíli or Kíli, but he scooped you up with as little effort as they did. He entertained you with stories and songs, teaching you a few of the songs he knew but considering the odd lyrics you suspected he just made them up as he went. Not that you minded, it was very entertaining. You kept an eye on Fíli, but to your disappointment he never checked on you. He kept his gaze straight ahead, talking to Thorin once in a while but unlike yesterday with Kíli, he didn’t turn around every few minutes. Fíli’s odd behavior certainly didn’t improve the following days when you were carried by Dwalin, Gloin and Thorin. Yes… Thorin. Dwalin you could handle… a little. It was a very quiet day but not in an awkward way, he just didn’t talk much and you kept your mouth shut. Unlike the others he didn’t carry you bridal style, but on one arm, which you certainly didn’t mind.  How quiet your day with Dwalin was, the louder it was with Gloin. You hadn’t had a chance to really talk to him before so he took the opportunity with both hands to talk all about his lovely wife and son, Gimli. You didn’t mind really, it took your attention away from Fíli who was still acting weird. 

But then Thorin himself announced he would also take his turn. You almost said you could try and stumble or hop on one leg or something to avoid what surely would be a very, very awkward day, but decided to keep your mouth shut. The thing was, while you were in Thorin’s arms - who seemed almost as uncomfortable as you were - you were also close to Fíli, since he walked next to him. You tried to talk to him a few times, but the only responses you got were grunts, hums or a simple nod. ‘Your’ kind and cheerful Fíli was gone. Instead there was a moody, grumpy person who apparently had decided to avoid or ignore you at best. At one point you looked at Thorin in a silent question, who just shrugged his shoulders. The movement made your feet bump against each other, and you hissed. This seemed to break Fíli’s walls, because worry fell over his face instantly and he asked if you were alright, to which you assured him you were. Thorin apologized, and everything went quiet again. You couldn’t wait for the day to be over. 

You decided to talk to Kíli about it. If anyone would know what was bothering him, it would be his little brother. When you were sitting around the fire, moments before everyone would start getting ready to sleep, you hobbled towards Kíli. Your ankle wasn’t cured yet, but you could lean on your toes a bit without hurting too much. It wasn’t good enough to walk on your own - certainly not for an entire day and at the pace the company held - but it made you a little less dependent on others. Fíli saw you trying to take a few steps. His joy of seeing you up was short-lived when he saw you were making your way towards Kíli. Kíli on the other hand was happy to see you and patted the space next to him. He held your hands for support when you lowered yourself to the ground. “Tell me, to what do I owe your visit?” “Your brother,” you sighed. Kíli quirked an eyebrow. He had expected this moment to come, but not so soon. “Go on,” he urged you. “Do you know what’s bothering him? He’s acting weird…” Kíli gave you a look. “Okay, weirder,” you laughed. “He’s ignoring me and that’s not like him.” He noticed Fíli was watching the both of you like a hawk from the other side of camp, his expression unreadable but he knew better. He decided to have a little fun... Kíli threw his arm around you and pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head. That’s when Fíli lost it. He shot up and murmured something about going for a walk, leaving the campsite. “See? That’s what I mean,” you told him. Kíli just smiled, this was going perfectly! “Don’t worry, Y/N. He gets like that sometimes. Heir stuff, you know.” He rubbed your back soothingly. “He’ll come around.” “I hope you’re right…”

Fíli was pacing through the forest, up and down the same path over and over again in an attempt to keep himself from bursting out. He had been watching you interact with his brother, a strange feeling burning in his chest. This wasn’t just friendship anymore. How he couldn’t see you in another dwarf’s arms, the protectiveness he felt over you, the way you made him feel just by meeting his eyes… There was no use in denying it any longer. He was absolutely smitten by you. You were his One. That feeling he had been fighting against for the past couple of days finally had a name. Jealousy. And right now, he was jealous of his own brother. Kíli had met his burning gaze and he had tried to silently warn his younger brother. But instead of taking some distance from you like Fíli wanted him to, that cheeky little bastard threw his arm around you and pulled you against his side. He even had the nerve to kiss your hair! That was when he couldn’t take it anymore and left the camp. He needed to cool down before he would do or say something he’ll regret later. He slumped against a tree, closing his eyes in defeat. Because the worst thing of all was that you didn’t seem to mind the attention. When he thought about it, you always seemed to gravitate more towards Kíli. His brother could make you laugh like no other, and although he absolutely loved how your laugh traveled over the fields or mountains like the tune of a songbird, he wished he was the one to make you laugh like that. 

He wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of your happiness. If you wanted his brother, then he would accept that. Your happiness was his top priority. Even if that meant he was going to be miserable for the rest of his life…

When Fíli returned to the camp, everyone was asleep in their bedrolls. His eyes automatically searched for your sleeping figure. To his surprise you were still up, struggling with the bandage of your ankle. “You need some help?” You were startled by his voice breaking the silence. You’d seen him entering the campsite, but you didn’t expect him to come and talk to you. “I’m just trying to wrap it back up for the night, I didn’t want to bother Oin,” you explained, followed by a frustrated sigh. “But this is a lot harder than I thought.” He sat on the ground in front of you, legs crossed. 

“Allow me,” he smiled. He lifted your foot and placed it in his lap. Without a word he took the bandage out of your hand and started wrapping up your ankle. His calloused hands worked quickly, never hurting you once. His touch was so light you could hardly feel it. And yet every time his fingers touched you, it felt like he burned your skin. Just like that day you were in his arms, you had a hard time keeping yourself together. By the time he was finished, you were a complete mess. 

“Are you alright, mimûna? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Oh no, you did the exact opposite, you thought. You just shook your head, not trusting your voice. The light of the campfire lit up his face, the flames reflecting in his eyes, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. In and out, Y/N… in and out. “Look, I need to apologize for my behavior. I wasn’t being fair to you,” Fíli began. He carefully placed your foot back and took both of your hands in his. You swallowed heavily. Was this the moment you had been waiting for? Were you getting the love declaration you so desperately wanted to hear? 

“I let my own feelings take the upper hand,” he said and your heart stopped. This was it… Fíli continued, “I was being selfish. But no more…” You felt yourself getting lighter with each word he spoke, slowly leaning in with your eyes closed for what surely would be the happiest moment of your life. Well… so far of course. “Your happiness is what matters most to me. And if it leads you to my brother, I will not stand in your way.” Wait… what? You opened your eyes again, shocked at his words. “W-what do you mean?” you asked, eyes wide. This was not going like you expected. At all. “I now know who your heart belongs to, Y/N,” he spoke softly, and you could see the hurt in his eyes. “And even though I wish with everything I’ve got that it wasn’t so, I am happy for my brother.”

You looked at him, mouth agape, absolutely stunned. Your laugh boomed over the campsite, waking up some of the company but neither of you noticed, too engrossed in your own conversation. “Now why in Durin’s name would you say that?” Fíli soon matched your stunned expression. One because you had used a Dwarven expression like it was your own, and second because... what? “Because you like my brother…?” “No silly,” you laughed. “I like you!” “You’re not in love with Kíli?” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “No! Where did you even get that idea?”

Someone cleared his throat, and the both of you looked behind you. Kíli stood there with the biggest grin on his face, hands in his pockets. “I might have something to do with that… I may or may not have tried to make you jealous on purpose.” He was obviously very pleased with himself; his little plan had worked so well. Fíli shot up from his place and Kíli took a few steps back. “Hey, hey, don’t look at me like that. You needed a nudge!”

But then Fíli seemed to remember what you said moments before. He turned so fast, his mustache beads smacked against his cheek. “Wait… you like me?” You nodded. A big smile appeared on his face. “Not Kíli? Me?” “Yes! Now will you please come back here so I can kiss you? I’m kind of stuck here,” you smiled, pointing at your ankle. 

Now it was Fíli’s turn to get all red. He hurried back to your side, and lifted you in his arms like he had done a few days before. Only now he wasn’t planning on letting you go ever again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your forehead against his. “Now how about that kiss,” you whispered. His lips ghosted yours for a second before you lost your patience and tugged at his hair.  It was a sweet and gentle kiss, and he drew away way too soon for your liking. “Always the gentleman,” you sighed, cupping his face and sneaking another short kiss because you couldn’t help yourself. “We have plenty of time, kurduwê,” he laughed. “Kurduwê? That’s new. What happened to mimûna?” “You wanted a new nickname, didn’t you?”

You turned to Kili, who was watching the both of you with a smile. “What does it mean?” “Kurduwê means ‘my heart’,” Fíli answered. “I wasn’t asking you,” you laughed. “But I do like this one better.” You gave him another kiss. Kíli groaned. “Guys, please don’t make me regret this…” The three of you laughed at that, and you promised him you would try to behave yourself. 

The others finally started cheering, letting you know they had heard the whole thing. Congratulations were given and Oin complimented Fíli on his excellent bandaging skills, after he checked your ankle. The company did give Fíli a hard time about his jealousy, and Kíli couldn’t help but contribute. “Oh, and Fíli?” Kíli said to his brother, smacking his shoulder a few times in a brotherly way. “Hmm?” “It’s still my turn to carry Y/N tomorrow.” Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​

A/N: There you go! Please let me know what you think of it with a reblog or a comment, heck, send me an ask or a dm and we’ll talk about this fic! Why don’t we talk about all the possible endings I wrote for this one, before I threw them all out and wrote what you just read?

[crackinwise]

My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Kassandra x Eivor Varinsdottir x female reader 💋

• Warnings: graphic adult content, erotica, sapphic love.

our sapphic verse, part VII.

When a touch is right, it lingers on your body and slowly sinks beneath the layers of your skin. Forevermore, a reminder that hands can be soft, and loving.

Your mind was a whirlwind of metaphors and unholy desires, yet you were present in the moment, savoring these gorgeous women whilst they savored you. Completely submerged in their ever-flowing passion, you surrendered your body to that wild dance of pleasurable touches.

Moments after you caught Kassandra’s powerful hips between your legs, you heard the forbidden call of a goddess rapidly achieving a powerful orgasm. She, too, found complete satisfaction in your sizzling flower as she gently swayed her elegant pelvis into yours. Those slow, languid movements further seduced you and left your body feeling raw and aching all over.

But oh, what a good pain it was…

Eivor groaned with pure delight as she felt the heat of your heavy exhales against her open folds. The dance of your tongue was so naturally swift and right, she quivered as she felt the pressure of your hungry laps growing stronger. You wouldn’t stop until she’d cry in bliss, until you’d witness her sharp jaw fall and her body melt in abandonment. Behind her, Kassandra hummed with satisfaction as she wrapped her palm around the base of her drengr’s throat, caressing that legendary wolf scar with her thumb. You were too inebriated to keep your eyes open, but you felt them move over you, and with each shift of Kassandra’s hips, you cried softly from the pressure of her vulva still pushing into yours.

What a divine gift it was to drink the Wolf-Kissed’s pleasure off her sweet flower as the sat there suspended in long, torturous moments of erotic bliss. She could’ve reached her long deserved climax, if only you’d let her, but the sound of her feral grunts and moans made you greedy to keep her just like this – quivering, close, and rough with you. You were robbed of the smallest hint of control when she became impatient and held your head still in her large palm. The sudden thrusts of her hips were almost ferocious and you truly feared she’d break you, but she barely hovered over your sweet mouth as she aggressively pushed her pelvis down into your tongue and fingers.

Let it be forever...

You prayed as you submitted to her lead and simply relished in the burning heat of her wet vulva. She climaxed almost immediately after unleashing that abrupt wave of passionate dominance on you. Her strong body arched against Kassandra as her head fell back and she finished with a silent, breathless gasp. Gradually, her vicious grip on your hair loosened, until the tips of her trembling, rugged fingers barely touched the top of your head.

All you could do was simply gaze at her in awe.

***

The early hours of the morning found you shifting in your dreamless slumber, as if aches consumed your body whole. There was a weight around your waist, holding you pinned to the uneven bed of cushions, and it slowly stirred you from your sleep. In the crimson glow of dawn, you saw the familiar shape of a strong arm resting heavily across your navel. Runes were embedded in that beautiful pallid skin, along the rough edges of firm muscles from wrist to shoulder – Eivor.

You remembered.

As your vision begun to adjust, you joyfully discovered two beautiful warriors sleeping soundly next to you. Tangled in silk and in each other’s arms, holding you close in their little nest of warmth and safety. You wanted nothing more but to burrow in that soft bed of cushions and savor a lazy morning with them. However, you carefully slipped free from those passionate vines and tiptoed to the temple’s marble pool.

The cold water helped to sober you up, yet your legs ached terribly and you felt a pulsing burn around your throat where Eivor marked you. Reluctantly, you touched the painful edges of her love bite, and the purple blossoms on your hips, where Kassandra had gripped you a little too hard. Suddenly, your cheeks begun to burn and you felt a dry knot in your throat - you slept with them. It was no longer a deep, hidden fantasy of yours. You were there, wearing the marks of their passion on your body.

Your heart begun to race and you couldn’t hold back a wide, exhilarated smile. Those aches felt so good, albeit nearly crippling as you sank into the clear waves of that flowery pool. The memories came rushing to you all at once, every touch, every taste, every tremor. You could almost feel Kassandra’s warm hands on your hips again, pinning you, and Eivor’s passionate mouth setting your skin ablaze. They made your heart flutter and you barely managed to keep quiet as you tried to wash that silly grin off your face.

You sought your scattered papyrus and your dress beneath layers of silk and flowers. And as you put your robes back on, you dared to glance at your two secret lovers. The sun's first rays left a golden outline on their firm, muscular shapes, the deep edges of battle scars, and most of all, the tenderness of their sleeping features. No gods above could compare to their beauty in that moment (or any other), and you found yourself longingly gazing at them in silent admiration.

Before you’d leave, you wanted to share your affections with them once more. Carefully, you drew the back of your dainty fingers along the deep scar on Eivor’s cheek and gifted her a sweet goodbye kiss. Kassandra’s chestnut tresses covered her forehead, and so you pushed them away to kiss her temple. She stirred, but she didn’t wake, thus you quietly turned to make your way down the long flight of stairs leading back to the agora.

“Leaving already?”

You heard a familiar rasp and you quickly turned, slightly alarmed. The deepest pair of blue eyes were affixed on you, hazy with sleep and last night. It was pure torture to gaze directly at her now; Eivor, the one who marked you so passionately and whose name alone made your lady core tingle. But you couldn’t look away, just like last night, and the night before.

“I’ve… work to do.”

The burn in your cheeks must’ve been embarrassingly obvious, yet you made no attempt to hide your emotions. You nervously smoothened the pages of your work as you watched her from the top of the stairs. To your complete astonishment, she stood and leisurely draped a piece of silk over her nude form. The few moments it took for her to close the distance between you felt like forever. Your heart was racing wildly.

She was so irresistibly charming, even when all she did was gaze at you in silence. Her eyes… those would be the end of you. Those bottomless glacier lakes you’d drowned yourself in so many times. A quiet breath left your lips as you felt her warm palm on your cheek. Such a tender touch, you could melt, and yet you stood unmoving, mesmerized by her. Her gaze was soft and serene as she caressed your smooth jaw down to the side of your throat. She lingered on those fresh bruises, touching them softly with the pad of her thumb.

“You haven’t told us your name.”

The Raven cawed quietly. And as your mind wandered around her hushed words, she leaned down to smooch the apple of your cheek. You stirred, as if afraid another touch would set you on fire right there and then. Amused, she let you flee from her embrace.

“Oh… you’ll know my name, soon enough.”

You answered with newfound confidence as you adjusted your papers, unwilling to allow this glorious woman to sweep you off your feet again so easily. She would be the one to fall for your charms next. Of that, you’d make sure.

“I’ll write an epic poem so good, my name will resound all over Greece.”

You smiled.

“And when that happens… find yourself in my art… and then, find me.”

With that, you gave a courtesy bow and hurried down the marble stairs. Taken aback, The Wolf-Kissed's gaze followed your graceful silhouette until you disappeared behind blooming olive trees. When she turned to look at Kassandra, she found her wide awake and equally intrigued.

These women planted the seed of pure sapphic passions within you. You’d water that little sprout with literary knowledge and poetic verse, until an everlasting tree would grow so tall and mighty, no man or god in Greece could cut it down. And you’d make that the most important journey of your life, just to make sure, by all means, that you’d meet again.

- End

Writer's note -

Thank you for your sweet support ❤

Characters belong to: Ubisoft 👑

Story by: me ✍

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.  “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Love's Endless Light

A Good Omens serial romance

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here! NEXT

Chapter 1: Calm Every Fear

2007 BC, Crete

The first time a human tried to warn Aziraphale about Crawly, Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Aziraphale’s favorite perk about being stationed on Earth was that he got to meet so many humans. Aziraphale made friends easily, perhaps because humans were drawn to the angelic aura he gave off. That might explain why humans sometimes didn’t care for Crawly— or maybe, Aziraphale mused, watching Crawly’s human legs morph into a six-foot-long snake tail on the beach in broad daylight, it was because he tended to do that.

One of Aziraphale’s human friends grasped his arm and started tugging him away. “It’s a monster!” he cried. “Run!”

“Yes, you should run,” Aziraphale advised him. “I’m going to— to check the beach for anyone else.”

The man looked at him with fear in his eyes. “No, come with us! It’s too dangerous!”

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to explain to a human that a Naga demon was still just a demon, and therefore quite inferior to an angel of the Lord. “I’ll be right behind you,” he promised, and when Crawly made a loud snarling noise, the human dropped Aziraphale’s arm and fled.

There was a splashing sound, and Aziraphale turned to find Crawly amid the breakers, salt water waves crashing over his hips and tail, turning the ends of his long scarlet hair dark against his pale skin. Crawly was— Aziraphale could never deny this— quite surprisingly attractive for a demon, with a lithe form that moved in a fascinating serpentine manner whether he wore legs or not.

Well, usually. Right now Crawly was romping about wildly in the waves with a silly grin on his face. It faded the instant he noticed Aziraphale standing on the beach. “Oh,” he said, with a tremor of anxiety in his voice. “It’s you.”

“It is,” Aziraphale confirmed. “So if you were planning to eat any humans, I’m afraid—”

Crawly made a shocked noise. “Eat— are you serious? When’s the last time I ate a human?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Never!”

“Then what are you doing? Why have you—” Aziraphale waved a hand in Crawly’s general direction.

Crawly looked down at himself, as if he had forgotten that at the moment he was a very large monster. “Wanted to go for a swim,” he said. “Didn’t feel like sharing the beach.”

“You terrorized a hundred humans just so that you could swim.”

“Wasn’t a hundred,” Crawly said. His eyes kept darting from Aziraphale’s face to his hands, and Aziraphale realized that Crawly was expecting Aziraphale to be holding something— a flaming sword, most likely. “I’ll go,” Crawly said, starting to leave the water.

Aziraphale looked down at his hands, and then slowly folded them together, lacing finger against finger, leaving no room for a weapon.

Crawly watched this with a sort of hopeful bewilderment. He rested half in and half out of the waves now, against both the cold of the ocean and the heat of the sand. It was nearly noon. The sun was high, set where God Herself had placed it, and it shouldn't have been the case, Aziraphale thought, that it could shine so flatteringly on a demon, making his skin and scales glow. Just as there was no way that Crawly’s golden eyes should have always reminded Aziraphale more of that loving sun than the punishing fires of Hell.

Aziraphale approached Crawly cautiously, letting his sandals start to make tracks in the wetter sand. “Have you— how have you been? You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you for—”

“Thirty-two years,” Crawly said, and then he looked away, as if he were ashamed to know the exact number.

Aziraphale knew the number, too. As much as he adored his human friends, there was something rather comforting about being able to speak with someone who’d known you far, far longer than any human ever could.

“Been good,” Crawly said. “Well— been bad, I guess. Doing evil deeds, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale said.

“Not eating people, though.”

“Yes. I’m sor—” Aziraphale cut himself off sharply, shocked at himself for attempting to apologize to a demon.

Crawly was staring at him, looking half-surprised and half insulted. “I’ve terrorized plenty of people,” he said.

“Of course.”

Crawly waved his hand at Aziraphale. “Suppose you’ve been doing the opposite, whatever that is. Comforting?”

“Um— yes, comforting.” Aziraphale watched as the edge of a wave reached the toe of his sandal, splashing drops of cold water onto his heated skin.

“Come for a swim,” Crawly said.

Aziraphale looked at him in shock. “What? No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not taking a swim with a demon.”

Crawly was grinning again, and it always made Aziraphale a little unsettled to see him do that, to see him look happy. Demons shouldn’t be happy, they should always be miserable. And yet sometimes it seemed like Crawly could forget all of that, forget that his soul was damned, that there was an empty cavern in his chest where God’s love should be. Crawly could somehow focus on the moment, taking pleasure in earthly things.

Crawly’s voice fell low and mesmerizing. “It’s fun,” he said. “Innocent fun, swimming in the ocean. You’ll enjoy it.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I can tell when you’re trying to tempt me, you know. And I have told you that it doesn’t work on angels.”

Crawly looked unexpectedly delighted. “You can’t swim,” he accused. “Never learned?”

“I float,” Aziraphale said, disappointed that he sounded rather morose. “Angels, you know— we can walk on water. We— we have to walk on water. Can’t sink even if we want to.”

Crawly burst into laughter and collapsed back into the ocean, letting the waves rush around him. He put up a clawed hand to slick his hair back out of his face, and Aziraphale could not look away from him. “Angels being denied one of life’s greatest pleasures,” he exclaimed. “How poetic.”

“The light of Grace,” Aziraphale informed him, “far outweighs a dip in the sea.”

“Take your word for it,” Crawly said. “I was never much for that.”

“You—” Aziraphale felt cold inside. “You don’t miss God’s love?”

Crawly shrugged, looking away. “What would a demon want with love?”

“But it— it’s your punishment, to want what you can’t have—”

“Seems to me you’re the one who wants what he can’t have,” Crawly countered. “Can’t even go for a swim.”

Aziraphale gave him an exasperated look. “Crawly, honestly. Look, I should get back to the city. Comfort the people you frightened.” If Aziraphale expected Crawly to look remorseful for having emptied the beach, he was disappointed. Crawly looked at peace with his serpentine tail floating in the waves. “I want you gone by nightfall,” Aziraphale warned him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Crawly gave him a smile that was part sadness, almost as if he was going to miss Aziraphale, when he didn’t even miss God.

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

NEXT

Why a serial fic? Because I wanted to make a Tumblr comic like all the cool kids do, but I can't draw, so here it is in prose. Updates Fridays on Ao3 and Tumblr.

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous Good Omens serial: Mr. Fell’s Bookshop

*********

Image text: Love’s Endless Light by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits) Chapter 1

As Aziraphale and Crowley slowly fall in love over the millennia, Crowley discovers that Aziraphale is keeping a very dangerous secret.

My Carrd

[st0nesnglitter]

Book club-- second meeting

You and Remus start a little book club <3

Part one

You and Remus meet up to offically start your book club

[Includes: swearing, vague descriptions of books and a cute Remus.

This is kinda shit, I’m sorryyyy]

—————

You brought your bookbag into your room and jumped onto the bed. It felt like you were floating and needed to ground yourself to keep all your expectations low. But your thought kept circling back to your interaction with Remus and the small crush that you had gathered your fifth year had grown twice it’s size. He wanted to meet you, he wanted to read your book, he wanted you to read his. In all the swarming thoughts you remembered the book he gave you. You picked up your bag from the floor and grabbed the navy blue book, it was quite thick and you knew that it would capture you every evening until your week was up. Flipping to the first page you saw the title of the book again but under it there was an inregularlity. Black ink was pressed into the parchment, spelling out a neat “Remus Lupin”. A fond smile spread over your lips and you dragged your finger over it, feeling the indent of where he had pushed his quill. After reading the first few pages you saw it again on the sixth page. As you kept reading you found more and more of his annotations, his notes to himself, or perhaps to the next reader.

During the week of classes you kept trying to steal glances of Remus but it was hard since Sirius always argued that they sat in the back of the class. He got called up to demonstrate a spell during DADA and as he walked back to his seat he winked at you and dropped a piece of paper in your open textbook. You opened it carefully so you wouldn’t gain the teachers attention.

”You have good taste in books”

You smiled at the note and turned around and pointed to him and then put up two fingers whilst you mouthed ”you too”.

After the last class on the Wednesday, halfway through the week, Remus stood outside the doors of your classroom breathing heavily and with red cheeks.

”Good afternoon” he greeted and you walked up to him.

”Why are you out of breath?” You tilted your head as you asked your question.

”I, uh, ran here to make sure that I could talk to you” he mumbled as he scratched the back of your neck. Both of your faces were now rosy as you started walking down the corridor with him.

”And what could be so important? Wanna leave the club?” You joked.

”Quite the opposite, I have an idea for it” he grinned and your head spinned as you saw his eyes twinkle. Even if you were sure that you weren’t Remus’ type you still felt over moon that he at least valued your reading hobby and that you two could share that.

”Let’s hear it Lupin”.

”After our book clubbing on Saturday we could go down to the bookstore in Hogsmeade, pick out next weeks books” he fumbled with his hands as he spoke and looked toward you hopefully.

”Of course, gotta keep this club alive” You exclaimed and his face soften from the nervous grin he had donned during his proposion. He slowed down as you got to a crossroads of two corridors and he started leaning to the left, into the new hallway.

”Great! Uh, I gotta find Black now but hopefully I’ll see you around, otherwise: Saturday. I’ll be at the tower at around noon” he started to turn around to go in his own direction but he turned to you one last time.

”See ya later, darling” he said before turning his back to you and disappeared with long strides down the corridor to your left. You stopped in your tracks as you heard the nickname.

Remus Lupin was a punctial man and he was leaning against a wall when you walked down the steep stairs of the Ravenclaw tower. He had on beige trousers and a white t-shirt. It was an unusual sight to see him without his uniform but you liked it, and the warm weather had led to teachers being a lot less harsh with dress code on students days off. You stumbled a little on the last step as you took him in and had to put your hand on the wall to steady yourself.

“Careful there, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself” he said softly and you looked down on your feet in an attempt to hide your rosy cheeks.

”I have an idea on where we should have the club” he started walking off in the opposite direction of the library. As you got to an empty corridor he looked over his shoulder before pulling out a neatly folded parchment.

”What’s that?” You asked as you saw the blank sheet.

”It’s my secret weapon” he winked down at you and murmered words you coudn’t hear and you saw how ink started appearing on the paper.

”Ah, ah, ah” he tutted and turned away from you. ”No peeking”.

You pouted and crossed your arms over your chest, he chuckled as he took in you appearance. You looked tiny from his tall point of view and the way you posed made the illusion stronger. He looked back down on the paper, on the map, and walked a couple steps until he found a particularly square stone in the wall and he pushed it in, a doorway starting to appear by the it. You gasped and looked at him like he was mad as he turned around with a triumphant smile.

”C’mon, gotta be quick” he said as he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the hallway before the stone closed behind you. He tried to keep you two moving but you stopped to look around.

”How did you do that? How did you know that?”

”Well I don’t wanna reveal all my secrets just yet, c’mon we’re almost there”. He turned on his heel and started to walk again. His head was slightly tilted so he didn’t hit the irregular stones in the ceiling. You soon found yourself to be in front of a door and he nodded for you to open it. Inside the door there was a circular room with a huge window, a small sofa beneath it and bookshelfs all around.

”Where are we exactly?” You asked slowly as you looked back at him and he looked down back at you.

”I dunno really. I think it’s an old room for some teacher” he hummed as he walked toward the little sofa. You followed him and looked out of the window. You had trouble locating where in the castle you were, but that slipped to the back of your mind as you took in the view of the trees and the beaming sun; the view was ten times better than the one from your favorite window in the library.

”I go here to read” he said softly and he held to book you borrowed him in his large hands. You smiled at him and sat down next to him and pulled out his book from your bag. ”Some peace and quiet away from the guys”.

”D’you wanna go first?” He nodded and opened the book as he started to discuss it, focusing especially on the plottwist. You tried to follow his thoughts but he talked so enthusiastically and he gestured wildly with his hands that you kind of zoned out and just looked at him. Suddenly he stopped talking and hus gaze burned into your eyes expecting an answer.

”What?” You asked dumbfounded and he chuckled softly as he moved closer to you.

”Here” he said and pointed onto a sentence toward the end of the book. You followed his finger as he read it aloud. When the sentence ended he turned his head toward you and you realized how close you two were. The scars that andorned his face were even more beautiful up close and the smell of his cologne filled up your nose.

”It’s beautiful” you stated about what he just quoted.

”Beautiful? It’s tragic, heartwrenching, it’s.. it’s painful” he countered and his thick brows furrowed slightly.

”Well those don’t cancel each other out. Beautiful and tragic walk hand in hand” you started and his brows moved apart slightly. ”Nothing in life is beautiful without a little tragedy, nothing is ever just on one side of that spectrum. You need the contrast to appreaciate both sides.. Basically everything is a little fucked up”.

His lips had parted and they turned up into a small smile.

”Well aren’t you poetic” he said and you giggled.

”Just my observation”.

As you moved on to the book you had read you were the one rambling on avout characters, plot and the overall writing. When your voice faded out you shared a beat of silence with soft eyecontact before you snapped out of it.

”Why do you write in your books?” You asked bluntly and cut through the silence.

”Cause it only feels right” he replied happily.

”Only feels right?”

He let out a breath and sat up more straight.

”Books impact you, they leave something in you. After you’ve read a book it will follow you, keep it in your mind, use the words of the book. So it only feels right that I leave something in them, leave some of my words.”

You were taken aback by his statement. From his reputation as a prankster, as a member of the most notorius group in Hogwarts you wouldn’t think he would like to discuss literature on such a personal level.

”Who’s the poetic one now?” You giggled and he smiled down onto his book. ”That’s beautiful Remus” you added, afraid that he was embarrased.

”And a maybe a little tragic” he mused and you broke out into a grin.

—————

Part three? Maybe a lil Hogsmeade date?

[ahsbitch]

Something Strange In The Air (Part 2)

Word Count: 2544

Summary: In the aftermath of your...incident with Michael, you’re still tumbling to figure out what you’re doing. 

Warnings: It’s probably bad idk, oral (male receiving), face fucking, degradation, Mean!Michael & Being Mean To Michael, blue balls, waxing poetic, lots of cursing (as always), idk i can’t think of any others 

A/N: Sorry this is really short and sorry it took so long I’m in college so I’ve been busy and I was writing a oneshot for a different fandom which took some time, the next chapter will have more plot to it and stuff I promise, my apologies for shitty writing and being a super slow writer, I’m doing my best I promise. As always, comments (even just in the tags) are always ultra appreciated!!!!!

Mini Tags: @wroteclassicaly @1-666-coven @michaellangdonstanaccount uhhh there are others but i can’t remember if i forgot to tag you i’m sorry pls remind me 

ALSO I PUT IN THE KEEP READING THING BUT IT REFUSES TO WORK SO SORRY ABOUT THAT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was poetry flashing through your mind.

Some say the world will end in fire

Bits and pieces. 

Death, be not proud

You couldn’t get him off your mind. 

Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart 

Couldn’t get your dream off your mind. 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 

The way he had looked at you, in it, how he had held your hand.

He kindly stopped for me-

Michael often called you little witch,

Leave my loneliness unbroken 

But he had never called you his little witch, as he had in the dream. 

There will be time to murder and create

He was beautiful, almost angelic in appearance, you had to admit.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

And he pulled you in, in spite of how hard you tried to ignore it

I can no longer remain away from you

It was almost disgusting, how much you thought about him. 

Curse, bless, me now with your tears, I pray

There was something about him that frightened you.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

A lot about him that frightened you, actually. 

A waking on a morn

“Y/N,” Cordelia spoke, and you could tell from her tone that this wasn’t the first time she’d said your name, “Are you with me?” 

Shit, you’d gotten distracted. 

You’d been called to a meeting in Cordelia’s office, made it to one of the chairs, and immediately spaced out. 

You hadn’t really seen Michael in almost a week, nothing more than passing glimpses in the halls and quick pulses of his energy in the air. You’d been avoiding him. Or maybe he’d been avoiding you. Honestly, you couldn’t remember. You hadn’t spent a single night in your bedroom, instead floating around to parties and going to the swamps to practice your magic rather than spend time in the study room. 

Fuck, things were getting complicated.

“I’m with you,” You smiled cautiously at her, “I’m sorry.” 

She smiled back, something you couldn’t quite determine just behind her eyes. Concern, of course, her whole aura was clearly very concerned, but something else, and then she was speaking, her voice as calm as ever, “Don’t be sorry. Are you feeling okay?” 

Of course not.

“Of course I am!” 

“Try again,” Her hands were folded neatly on her desk, and you dropped your gaze to look at them, Cordelia’s words making you feel a strange sense of shame, “I’m a little worried about you, Y/N.” 

Your ears were burning, your heart jumping wildly in your chest, “I’m sorry.” 

She sighed, shaking her head, “Don’t be sorry. Just... what’s going on with you? What’s going on between you and Michael Langdon?”

Shit.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been sleeping in your room, or studying in the house,” Cordelia looked at you strangely, and you held your breath, “Have you still been fighting?”

She didn’t know.

Thank fuck. 

“Yes,” You responded, perhaps a little too quickly, “Yes, we have. We just can’t seem to agree on anything.”

Not entirely untrue.

She nodded sympathetically, and you were relieved to feel that she believed that was it, “I’m sorry. I feared something like this might happen. But Y/N, you need to return to your room.You can’t be out every night, and you can’t do all of your studying in the swamps. You’re still a student here. You have to be present, at least sometimes.”

“Okay,” Nodding, you worked on getting your breathing fully back to normal, “I’ll be back in my room tonight.” 

“Good,” Cordelia reached out and squeezed your hand gently, “I’m proud of you, Y/N. You are a powerful witch, and a good woman. I believe in you.” 

Not able to make yourself respond, you simply flashed her a smile and bolted for the door, blinking back tears.

Fuck, she’d bee so disappointed if she knew the truth. 

You were barely out of the office when the door to a closet opened and someone tugged you inside, slamming it shut. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What the fuck, Michael?” You snapped, blinking into the darkness. 

Michael’s hand clamped over your mouth as he let out a growl, “Be quiet, little witch.” 

You worked your mouth until you managed to clamp your teeth onto the skin of his palm, biting as hard as you could. 

“Fuck,” He hissed, jerking away from you, “That hurt!”

“Good,” Glaring, you reached for the cord on the light and tugged on it, the weak bulb flickering overhead, “What the fuck?”

Glowering at you in the dim light, Michael crossed his arms, “What did Cordelia want?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Shaking his head, he scoffed at you, “It was about me, wasn’t it? Does she know?” 

It was childish to play dumb, and you knew that, but you were doing it anyway, “Does she know what? Why would we want to talk about you?” 

It took only a single step for Michael to back you against the wall, pinning you there with his hips, "Don’t even bother with that shit. Answer the fucking question.” 

You shoved at his chest, although even you had to admit that it was a halfhearted push. His proximity, especially after so long away from him, was overwhelming, and you felt your mind slipping to a place you didn’t want it to be, “Get the fuck away from me, asshole.” 

Another shove, and he wrapped his hands around your wrists, holding them over your head, “You weren’t asking me to do that last time we saw each other, were you, little witch? Now. Does Cordelia know?” 

“No,” Growling, you tried in vain to pull your hands back, “We talked about you, but she doesn’t know about that. Now let me go.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Michael laughed at you, “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not the one in charge here.”

“Fuck you,” You spat, beginning to shake with something between fury and a feeling that you didn’t quite want to acknowledge.

“This is a pretty color,” Michael shifted both of your wrists to one hand and brought the other down to trail across your lips, tapping at the soft flesh, smudging a bit of the golden sheen, “Did you put this on for me?” 

Ever since that day in the study room, not that day but the one before, you had taken to wearing more and more lipstick, coating your lips in a new color everyday. 

Today was gold, one that shimmered when the light hit it, and if you were honest, yes, you did put it on for Michael. Every time you reapplied a coat of lipstick, today and every other, he flashed through your mind, the sneer on his features, the echo of his words in your ear when his fingers were down your throat. 

“You look good like this...Gagging...You wear revealing clothes and you act like you’re doing it for yourself...But really you’re just a dumb, depraved, desperate little whore who wants nothing more than to be dicked down by your rival.” 

Fuck, just thinking about it sent a wave of wetness gushing through you, and you tensed your legs in an effort to ignore it, and the smirk on Michael’s face told you that he had noticed. 

Yes, you were wearing it for him. 

“No,” You had to crane your head to glare at him with how close he was, “I don’t know if this is the first time you’re hearing this, but not everything is about you, Boy Wonder.” 

He hummed, drawing his fingers along your cheekbone, and you cursed yourself for the way you leaned into the contact ever so subtly. After a moment he pressed his lips against yours, and although you fought to keep yourself in control, to keep from kissing him back, cursing yourself once again when you couldn’t hold yourself back, your noses smashing against one another, your mouth slipping open with a groan, quickly intruded upon by Michael’s tongue, which battled fiercely with yours. 

And then suddenly he pulled away from you and stepped back, and you fell to your knees as he chuckled, his hands unbuckling his belt, “All the same, little bitch, I think that color would look wonderful smeared all over my cock, don’t you?” 

“I fucking hate you,” You glared up at him through your eyelashes as one of his hands gripped your hair, the other pulling his dick out of the confines of his slacks. 

“That just makes this all the more pathetic, doesn’t it?” He slapped your cheek with his dick gently, and it wasn’t lost on you how perfect it was, the size and the ridging and and the pulsing veins and the furious pink of the tip all making your mouth water, “Get up and walk away if you want, little witch bitch. But I don’t think you will. I think you want this. I think that being a little whore is the calling you’re pulled to most.” 

Get up and walk away.

You could do that. 

He pulled his hand from your hair, letting your head drop back, and you knew that if you moved to stand he would release you, would let you go. His precum had leaked onto your face as he continued to hit your cheeks, waiting to see what you would do. 

Just get up and walk away. 

But you couldn’t, couldn’t bring yourself to walk away without having the chance to taste him, not when the very thought was sending arousal roaring through you, and while you wished you could directly blame this on Michael, could say that his magic was holding you in place, that simply wasn’t it. 

You opened your mouth as wide as you could and in an instant his cock was down your throat, Michael setting off to fuck your face at an intense pace. 

Gagging, you brought your hands up to his thighs, and when your nails scratched against his legs through the fabric or his dress pants Michael let out a high, desperate groan. 

Although you couldn’t quite smile at that, with how full your mouth was, there was a little voice gloating in the back of your head, and you squeezed his thigh tightly, drinking down his moans as you moved until his own back had hit the wall, his hands desperately moving from your hair to your shoulders to simply slamming down on either side of his body. 

“Your mouth is good for something, I guess,” Michael grunted, as though he wasn’t as desperate for you as you had been for him a week ago, “You’re much prettier when you’re not talking, did you know that?” 

You managed to flick back your middle finger enough to flip him off, although you didn’t pull back to make a verbal response. There was something urgent about this, and the idea of dropping him from your mouth seemed too great a sacrifice to make, when the harmony of Michael’s shockingly soft, animalistic moans mixed with the lewd, wet noises of his dick hitting the back of your throat was so disgustingly lovely. 

Michael’s hands twitched, as though he was going to grab at your hair again, and at that moment he seemed to finally notice your own magic in the air, holding his wrists in place.

“You little bitch,” He snarled, straining against the magic, but all he could do was buck his hips into your mouth even harder, letting out a hiss as your teeth grazed him, as your tongue swirled around his head, “Let me go.” 

But where’s the fun in that? 

You didn’t let him go, and you didn’t stop. If anything, you grew more intense, your hands managing all over him, sneaking past the fabric of his clothes to leave angry scratches on his skin, so smooth underneath your touch. Eventually one of them trailed to his balls, tugging and toying with them roughly as he began to strain even harder, began to make a choked noise at the back of his throat that made your thighs clench, and you knew he was going to cum soon. 

You pulled your mouth off of him. 

He looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, panting, desperate, watching as you trailed your tongue over every inch of his dick, pulling his balls into your mouth and sucking them slowly, and finally you pressed a kiss to the skin just above his cock and leaned back with a grin.

“What the fuck,” Michael growled, although his face showed a kind of manic desperation that he clearly wasn’t used to, “Get back to it!”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Your smile got even wider, although your mouth was sore and your voice scratchy, you decided it was worth it, “You call me a little bitch all the time, but who’s the bitch now, Boy Wonder?” 

“Y/N, I’m serious. I will ruin you,” Snarling in spite of the pained expression starting to grow on his face, he thrusted against you, and you let out a giggle at that. 

“It’s so cute that you say that while you’re humping my leg like an unfixed puppy,” Shaking your head, you took a step back, out of the range of his hips, and looked down to admire his flushed, throbbing dick, “You were right, y’know. The gold does look good on there .Especially the contrast it has with the blue of your balls.”

He looked down to see that your words were true, the skin becoming overtaken with a pale, bruise like color, and when Michael looked back up at you there was something murderous in his eyes, “Quit fucking around. Let me go, and finish.” 

“Why should I?”

Arms straining against their magical containment, face twisting with the growing pain in his balls, Michael’s voice had grown croaky, “Do it. I will never touch you again, if you walk away from this, do you get that you desperate little whore? You want me. You need me. Do what I fucking tell you.” 

“I think there’s been a serious misunderstanding here, Langdon. I don’t need anything from you. You keep saying you’re the one in charge, but look at you. You’re nothing but a little blonde bimbo. So fuck you,” You scoffed, trailing a single hand across his chest and giving his nipple a harsh pinch, letting out a laugh at his angered whine, “And by the way, Cordelia says I have to move back into our room. I’ll be back tonight. I’ll see you whenever you get around to being the powerful warlock everyone thinks you are and break through my magic.”

With that, you pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lip and turned away, not bothering to fix your own appearance before you went out, turning the light off before you closed Michael in the closet. 

You were proud of yourself, you had to admit. 

Scared, perhaps, of what he might do, and curious as to whether or not he’d keep the promise that he’d never touch you again-not that you wanted him to, of course, you were just curious-but you were proud all the same. 

Fucking Michael Langdon. 

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous  Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

    *Note: I dedicate this installment to the beautiful @ifimayhaveaword, who really made my day today with her lovely messages of support. People like you truly mean the world to me. I appreciate you more than you know.

      * Warnings:  Some minor angst/ miscommunication/ SMUT (m/f oral, fingering, hand job, spicy kisses) Can’t stop the smut train baybeeee choo choo motherfuckers       * Summary: You process the events of the night before, and wonder about your place with Ezra and on the Green       * Word Count: 3879 *Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR*

PART FIVE

    You Awoke the next morning feeling as if it were some erotic fever dream. You stretched your arm out across the emptiness of the cot pushed beside yours. It was only when you moved to roll onto your back that the deep pang of soreness between your legs reminded you that, yes, what you’d wanted for months had actually happened, and you did indeed feel ruined.     Ezra appeared to have left the tent in the early morning haze. You gazed upward at the ceiling of the tent, at the support beams that vaulted the cloth walls. Things were going to be different, that you knew. It did not make you any less apprehensive.     He had told you he loved you. Or, more accurately, that he had love for you.

    You could not forget the tenderness he’d shown you after you were attacked, but you were well aware that things said in the heat of passion were often a product of an intense moment and were not necessarily reflective of the truth. You chided yourself for ruminating; he’d been a nanosecond from coming inside of a warm body for the first time in undoubtedly several months. From your admittedly limited sexual experiences, proclamations of love and devotion and promises of ardent follow-through were often expressed in the heat of the moment, never to be mentioned again. You usually never saw them again.

    This was different, of course, as you literally could not leave. You were both stranded, though you still kept up the pretense of harvesting in the event an opportunity to escape should present itself. The chance of this happening had begun to seem less and less likely- the heyday of the aurelac rush had long since come and gone, and the remaining groups of adventurers to the Green operated more or less on whispered rumors and folklore.     The zipper of the tent pulled upward, and Ezra emerged. The flaps were quickly refastened, and he moved to whip his helmet off as you shyly pulled your worn blanket up to your neck. You had been wanton and vocal the night before, but in the light of the morning you felt fragile, unsure. Ezra looked to you, seemingly amused by your sudden modesty. The corner of his mouth tilted up, his warm brown eyes twinkled. The blond patch of hair, a rogue among it’s dark compatriots, stuck out wildly in response to the chaotic divestment of his helmet. He wasn’t even close to you and your heart started pounding.     “Ah, good morning to you, Dove. I was hoping you would continue your slumber a bit longer. I have spent some time in the early light surveying the Green for signs of life and transport, not necessarily in that order, of course.”     In the months since you’d first met him in the clearing on that fateful day, his arm had fully recovered thanks to your ministrations- all that remained was a cratered, puckering pink scar on the skin of his bicep. He wore a threadbare grey tee under his suit and this drew your eye to the wound. If something were to happen to you, if this did not pan out and you either died or escaped, were separated, would he remember you when he saw his scar? Would it be with fondness, or would it only remind him of how traumatic this all was?      Why am I thinking like this?     It was the fact that he had admitted, out loud, that he was looking for a way out, a way off of the Green. You knew that you would both die if you could not find a way to go, it was only logical. So why were you nursing this pang of melancholy that had emerged when you’d awoken to find his cot empty?     You came back to yourself, and noted the concern etched on Ezra’s face as he contemplated you.     “Have I said or done something to upset you, Dove? That has rendered you mute?”     He moved across the floor of the tent with a lithe grace and perched on the edge of your cot, placing a hand on your knee.     “Are you feeling alright?”     You sighed, smiling softly when you felt his touch on you, warm and heavy. “Better than alright, Ez. I….can’t….I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened last night.”     He creased his brow in contemplation and turned to face you fully.  “I must admit, I myself did not envision such intimacy occurring between us in the manner it did. I…. fear I may have been a fair bit rougher than I meant to be at the outset. I need you to be truthful if I hurt you in any way.”     You bit your lip, and your neck and face felt hot. Flashes of him caging you, filling you, his words, hot breath and hands, the way the cot had creaked like it was pleading for its life…     “I….really loved everything about last night. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone...like that. So honestly, I’m sore. But in a...good way?”     He surged forward, framing your face with his hands. His voice left his plush lips in a hoarse whisper. His eyes held yours, hypnotic and deep.     “Will you feel me with every step you take today? I’m going to watch you. I have never felt such intensity with anyone the way I felt it when we took our pleasure last night. I don’t want it to stop.”     You were flushed, your ears buzzed. Your mind filled with static. How could he practically dismantle you in this way with only words? You realized your mouth was hanging open. You snapped it shut and swallowed audibly.     Ezra’s clever tongue darted to wet his lips before squeezing your knee and standing.     “Get dressed, Dove. We’ve a day ahead of us.”

    It was another hot day in the Green, and you both resumed your digging, harvesting and cataloguing as if it were any other afternoon. For all intents and purposes, it was. Ezra waxed poetic about the juxtaposition of the beauty surrounding you beside the deadliness of the air, how the regular exchange of oxygen, hydrogen and carbon dioxide were perverted carbon copies of the vegetation you were both used to which processed and sustained an atmosphere more life-sustaining.      You hummed at the appropriate moments, but your mind was on your conversation in the tent. What he had said to you seemed indicative of the fact that he intended to continue a physical relationship. It made you feel equal parts giddy and insecure. You frowned in thought.     Snap the fuck out of it. You’re no delicate, blushing maiden. You know yourself. You’re seriously thinking like some incapable, dependent damsel the second you get some good dick??     Except you moved a certain way while crouching down and you winced, gasping softly. Ezra stopped mid-sentence and turned his gaze toward you, his eyes dark, his tongue once again flicking out to moisten his lips.     “Are you injured, little Dove?” he asked, smiling softly.     “Uh, no, not exactly. You know, what I told you before...I’m fine, really.”     He sauntered over to you and held out his hand. You grasped it, and he pulled you to your feet so that your helmets were touching.     “As cocky as I may have seemed at the outset in regards to the way I left my mark on you, do not think it is no little concern to me to see your movements impaired. My words were not meant to denote any sadistic pleasure taken in regards to your objective discomfort.”     His hands were stroking gently up and down your arms as he spoke.     You shrugged under his hands, a flash of annoyance crossing your features.     “I’m really fine, Ez. I’m not some wilting flower that you’ve irreparably damaged with your Godlike virility. I promise you, my delicate, blushing womanhood will recover.”     Ezra cocked an eyebrow in surprise. His hands stilled as he paused a beat before responding.     “Now that is something I would not anticipate. The thought that for one moment I consider you anything less than an equal, in fact a superior to myself in several ways, not the least of which include cunning and resilience. It saddens me that you think that of me.”     All at once you felt like a jerk. Damn this emotional lability, damn this stubborn pride. Ezra was genuinely concerned that you were in pain, and you were jumping at the opportunity to argue semantics and gender roles. On a toxic planet you were both stranded on, no less.     You reached for his gloved hand, squeezing firmly. His hand squeezed back, equally firm.     “I don’t know why I said that, Ezra. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I sound like an asshole, I’m sorry.”     You’ve gotten into me.

    You were back in the tent after determining that the day's work had finished. It was quiet, Ezra ruminated. The tension had surely rebuilt itself over the course of the day, there was only so much harvesting, so much concentration on work that could be accomplished, before it came to this. The both of you, stripped to your thermals. You lay as you had countless times before, facing one another on your cots. Ezra swept his thumb lazily back and forth across your knuckles. You felt like you could drown in the depths of him.      “I’m sorry again about what I said to you today. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it.”     “Though you have nothing to apologize for, Dove, I will readily accept if it will still the turbulence within you. I meant what I said, and I have you to thank for every bit of happiness I doubted I’d ever feel in this Kevva-forsaken place. My arm, my livelihood. My life. If not for you I’d have faded forgotten like so many other poor, foolish dupes. My very survival is due to your strength and intellect.”     You felt full to bursting at his words, overwhelmed by his sincerity. You couldn’t respond, so you propelled yourself forward and pressed your lips to his desperately. He stilled only momentarily, startled at your boldness, before he responded hungrily. Lips slid, teeth clashed. His tongue begged entry into your mouth, which you granted with a whimper. He tasted somehow sweet, wild. His breaths gasped into your mouth, you pushed your own back into him. Hands tangled in hair. You had yet to see him unclothed, you reached out and grasped his shirt in your needy fist. Ezra immediately took the hint and stripped it. You removed your own and his hands were at once on your breasts, large warm hands that enveloped each in turn, greedy and restless. He couldn’t touch enough of you at once.     His hands moved to your waist, tearing at your pants. You helped him pull them off and fling them to the ground. You felt like you were radiating heat, you were a thermal detonator. Ezra pinched your nipple, applying slight pressure into the bud with his thumb nail. Your nerves sparked and sang, your ass arching off of your cot like you’d been hit by an electrical current.     You gasped, your trembling hands moving to divest him of his pants.     His hand shot down to still yours. You both paused, the only sound within the confines of your quarters were the loud gasps that echoed between you.     “Is….is something wrong?”     Ezra fought to still his breathing. “Sweet girl, I have not forgotten my rough congress with you the night before. I do not want to risk exacerbating your discomfort. You should recover, first, from our mutual enthusiasm.”     You groaned in frustration. “I’ll be fine. Ezra, I promise you won’t break me.”     You palmed him through his trousers, Kevva he was so hard. So hot. You swore you were salivating. Ezra stilled, breath held in an attempt to maintain his composure.     “Please grant me this, at least for my own peace of mind. Just for tonight. Allow me, if I may, to indulge in an alternate form of intimacy, one which I’ve dreamed of sharing with you since your first trick with the Sater.” The last sentence was gritted out between clenched teeth.     Your eyes wide, you bit your lip and barely finished a frenzied nod before Ezra was pinning your hands above your head and scraping his teeth against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It was somehow different, more measured, if no less intense. You let a shiver run through your body as Ezra moved down to first one breast, then the other. He opened his mouth wide and covered the entirety of your nipple and sucked. You gasped, already overwhelmed. You felt as if you could lose your mind as he possessed you. Teeth scraped and teased, and he made sure the peak of your breast was properly slicked before repeating the motions on your other breast. You keened out into the cycled air of the tent as the wet surface of your skin cooled, warring with the sinful furnace of Ezra’s mouth on your other breast.     He disengaged, intentions clear as he continued to kiss, lick, and nip down the length of your body. You were struck mute and trembling. You didn’t realize he had let go of your hands, and you were so mesmerized that you kept them stationary above your head. Ezra reached your drenched core and settled between your legs, pressing feather-light kisses to your inner thighs as you whimpered. He was going to kill you. He paused, and as you realized he was beginning to part your inner folds you started and reflexively started to close your legs. Ezra huffed, placing a searing palm against the inside of your knee in protest.     “Don’t be shy, sweet girl. There is no shame here with me. I consider it a compliment of the highest order that you are blooming for me like this.” He moved to lay his head against the side of your thigh. He felt inches away from you. You could feel every warm exhale against your dripping sex, hypersensitive, attuned to every word and movement.     “Look at you,” he crooned reverently. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen arousal so profound. Glistening like a jewel. Every blushing fold spread open and ready. The temple of this divine cunt fluttering and weeping for me.”     You choked out a broken groan at his words and tilted your hips toward him desperately. Impossibly, you felt him closer, his breaths tiny explosions on your swollen core. He groaned back in response and dragged his fingers languidly through your slick.     “.....smell so good…”     Before you could register his words he darted forward and licked from your clenching hole up to your clit, his tongue wide and flat. Ezra ran his tongue back down to your base before repeating the motion twice more.     It was a feeling so intense, sensation so overwhelming to you, that you could not speak, only throw your head back with eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream. Your hands hammered down to your sides and you tore at the sheets beneath you.     “....taste so fucking good.”     You gasped his name like a prayer. You were incapable of speech, your mind blank. Over the din of white noise between your ears, you heard Ezra speaking your name reverently.     You forced your head up to meet his gaze. Your arousal was a wet sheen across his face, his eyes blown wide, hair wild. So beautiful.     “You still with me, Dove?” You could only give him another desperate nod.      You then watched, eyes wide and shocked, as Ezra opened his wicked mouth and let a strand of spittle drip down from his lips and roll down to coat your engorged clit.     “Ezra...oh my fucking God,” You moaned. He could kill you in this moment, snuff your life like a wasted candle and you would thank him.     When he next attached his mouth to you and began to tongue your fluttering cunt, you could not stop the noises that left your gasping mouth. You could not keep track of the groans, whimpers, screams, pleas that left you like an incantation. If you’d been able to form a coherent thought, you may have even supposed (correctly) that Ezra would be cataloguing every single one.     When he moved his mouth back to your aching clit, he replaced his tongue with two thick fingers and entered you easily. He began a slow, deep pace while his tongue danced across and upon your bud. Your legs began to shake of their own accord, muscles jumping and fluttering. Ezra placed a hand across your stomach to steady you, murmuring low praises.     “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. So good. Come for me sweetheart. Let go, release onto my tongue, spill your ecstasy into my mouth.”     He resumed the labor of his fingers within your walls and latched his mouth to your bud and began sucking.     The pressure in your belly, between your legs, through your limbs stretched tight and snapped, and you roared Ezra’s name into the void of the Green. You were shaking, you were flying apart, the world could be crumbling down around you, you did not care.     I’m dying, you thought. You could not think beyond the white-hot, searing pleasure that sparked through and lit up every nerve ending. Ezra worked you through your explosive release, easing you down with slow licks and kisses as he greedily consumed every drop of his victory. He finally relented and crawled back up your shaking body. He kissed you wantonly, gasping into your mouth. You tasted your own arousal and release on his lips and tongue- it was intoxicating. He kissed you as if he would die if he stopped, his hands cradling your face.     “Ezra,” you moaned, your breaths and heart rate finally beginning to slow. “Ezra, that was…..” You felt him smirk against your mouth. You gasped out a laugh and wound your arms around his shoulders.     “Proud of yourself, are you?” You swore on your soul that he giggled.     “While I must admit fault has never been found in my technique, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a response so….intense. You do wonders for my ego, Dovie.” He whispered, tucking his nose into your neck. You stroked his back, your limbs heavy and loose. You could have drifted away like this but for the hardness you felt against your hip.     “Hey, Ez?”     “Mmmfff.”     “What about you?”     To punctuate your point, your hand reached down to palm him through his trousers. Ezra’s demeanor immediately changed, lazy grin stilling as he gasped and groaned against you.     “I believe I told you I wanted you in my mouth last night, Ezra. I still do.”     “You don’t have to, sweet one. I wanted to take care of you tonight,” he gasped, even as he began to rock his hips into your open hand.     “I want to take care of you, too,” You whispered against his mouth. You were startled by the desire flooding into you once again- Ezra had fully wrung you out, you should be exhausted. Instead, the flames of your lust were stoked once again as you rolled him onto his back and began to undo his pants. Ezra stared down at you, his breathing hitched and baited. His hands were fisted on either side of him, he looked almost scared to move.     You revealed his swollen aching cock, red and weeping. He was so aroused the head of him was almost purple. You swore you could see his pronounced veins pulsating. Your felt your cunt clench, further shocking you. You realized your mouth was watering.     “I need this divine cock in my mouth, Ezra. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”     Ezra whined, hands clutching in desperation as yours were only a short time before.     You flashed him a salacious grin and opened your mouth to spew your own string of saliva to cascade down the head of his cock. Ezra gasped, eyes wide.     “Turnabout is fair play, Sir.”      Shudders racked his body as you lowered your head, placing delicate kisses at the base of him before working your way up. Ezra quickly became a panting, groaning mess, knocking his head into the pillow. The cords of his neck stood out in stark relief as his hips canted upward in search of more of your mouth, more of anything.     “Please, sweet girl,” he moaned, is voice thin and reedy, “Please. I need more….”     You glanced up at him as your hand slowly pumped his length, considering, before once again leaning forward. Without preamble you opened your mouth and took him down as far as you could. The cries that erupted from him at your action could have awakened any floater within a 15-mile radius. You wanted to hear it again, so you dislodged him from your mouth before repeating your action. You clasped hour hands around the sizable part of him that did not fit, lacing your fingers together. You pressed your palms against the slick shaft and worked him slowly and steadily while the obscene, wet noises coming from your mouth reverberated throughout your quarters.     Ezra was properly wrecked, sobbing and gasping, pleading for you to continue.     “You're going to kill me,” he whined, and it caused a fresh flood of arousal to run down the insides of your thighs. He was so, so close. You could feel his cock twitch and swell impossibly. You raised your eyes to meet his, mouth popping off of him, strands of spit stretching like cables between your parted lips and his glistening head. Catching your breath, you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth.     “Come in my mouth, Ezra.”     Ezra could only whimper in response, hands buried in your hair as you sank back onto him. You bobbed your head once, twice, three times, and then he was painting your mouth and tongue with his seed. You struggled to swallow it all, it seemed neverending. Ezra sobbed, shouting half-formed words and unintelligible praises into the air. His hips twitched and rolled up rhythmically as you struggled to keep him captured within the confines of your mouth.      You swallowed each spurt eagerly until Ezra tugged at your hair, hypersensitized, to pull you up his chest. His limbs trembled in aftershocks as his arms wrapped around you. His heart continued to hammer in his chest as you lay your head on him. You reached a hand up to cup his face. Ezra leaned into it, turning his head and placing a kiss to the palm of your hand.     “You are magical, Dove. Transcendent. I do not deserve you.”     You yawned and burrowed your head into the crook of his neck. You were suddenly exhausted.      You stayed entwined on your cots, breaths slowing and steadying as you both found your slumber. Inhaling as you exhaled, you dreamed of escape, daring to hope against hope that there was a way to leave and make your way to something better.      Something you both deserved.

[vampiresuns]

Something Wicked This Way Comes | Prologue, Part 1

✴︎ SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES ✴︎

As Asra gets ready to leave again, Anatole handles two unexpected guests: one will alter his future plans, and the other will give him a headache. 2.7k words. For Anatole’s apprentice timeline, compliant with all the routes.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Asra was leaving. Again. 

Anatole wasn’t thrilled about it, but him and Asra had had this conversation several times and Anatole trusted his friend and teacher enough to not enquire any further — or to enquire behind his back. He said he had his reasons, and Anatole would respect that. Besides, it’s not as if he minded being alone. Maybe he had at the beginning of his recovery, when the City was still too unknown and disorienting, too much happening in it at all times, Anatole himself barely there.

He had read somewhere that all traumatic injuries which resulted in memory loss were different. Annoying as they were, he was better at handling the by-products of whatever the hell it was that had happened to him. Somewhat. He wanted to think he was, that even though the migraines still lingered, he could handle the shop, himself, his magic (magic that had begun advancing towards places and forms Asra could only guide him towards, not teach him). He just wanted to be good enough at it all, and he supposed he’d have no one he’d felt comfortable asking for help to if Asra wasn’t around.

He sighed. it didn’t matter, well, it did, but he’d be able to handle it. He was sure Antu would gladly help.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You better miss me, Asra Alnazar. Though, must you really leave tonight?

“In the dead of a moonless night. The right time for the beginning of a journey.”

Anatole frowned; Asra was full of shit. “Is that a ritual thing? Or is it a poetic licence thing?”

The magician didn’t reply, changing the topic instead like he always did when Anatole guessed too close to the truth about things Asra did not have the means to explain to his pupil. Instead he gave him his tarot deck.

Anatole can’t remember a time Asra’s separated from it. Normally, when Asra’s gone and Anatole had to a do a reading he used his own deck. It used to belong to his aunt, his connection to it jumping to his tongue before Asra could ask him if he knew, or remembered, whom it had previously belonged to. His cards were different from Asra’s — they were quiet, they gave him analytical and interpretational leeway. Asra’s were... too alive.

He took the Deck as Asra handed it to him, looking at the cards. “You trust me with your deck?”

“I do, Nana, I’d trust you with anything.”

Anatole decided to ignore the charged nature of his words. He had discovered within the last six months he was often able to call for the intention behind people’s words, how they were feeling in the moment, or if they were being dishonest. While most of the time it was useful, sometimes it was wildly disconcerting, others exhausting, or inconvenient. Like right now.

He was witness to the in-between-the-lines of communication whether he wanted or not, being too much information to handle at times. When it was too much, it could feel from invading someone's privacy to being overstimulated.

Instead of asking Asra if he had done that on purpose, he said: “You think I’m ready to use it?”

“You know I can’t answer that for you.” 

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay to need validation, Nana.”

Anatole knew that, in theory. Though he couldn’t deny Asra was right: he knew he still needed confirmation that he was doing things correctly, that he was doing a good job, that his efforts were meriting. Even when he had something completely figured out. Out of all the things Asra had thought Anatole would carry back from the dead, his tendency to overcompensate wasn’t one he’d accounted for.

Alright, that was a lie, he hadn’t accounted for Anatole’s entire personality to barrel through death to assert itself over the blank canvas of whom he had come back as. He should’ve foreseen Anatole to manage the impossible, twice. 

“Do you think you’re ready?” Now it wasn’t the time to allow his anxieties to govern over his capacities. Breathing steadily twice, he managed to give Asra the debonair smile with an inquiring, raised eyebrow the magician adored to see on his face. He hated not knowing, and the only way of knowing was to ask.

Asra found himself smiling too. “Why don’t we ask the cards?” 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ 

As Asra said his last goodbyes, a knock on the door interrupting them both, Anatole thought he ought to ask where had he gotten his feathered hat. Another time.

Anatole wasn’t surprised Asra had already left when he went to the front of the shop to get the door, having slipped he High Priestess and her foreboding messages back into the deck. She’d have to wait for whomever had decided ‘after-hours’ wasn’t a real shop-keeping concept. Customers, Anatole swore. He really couldn’t blame Asra for leaving now. He himself hated being delayed or interrupted when he was focusing on something, and while Asra wasn’t quite the same (or didn’t have the same reasons) it was the same outcome. 

After-hours was the time he spent on himself and tonight he wanted to tackle his Zadithi. He had only just began picking it up again.

Again? That couldn’t be right.

A second, more impatient knock pulled him out of his thoughts. Anatole lunged forward to open the door, only to be met with Countess Satrinava, out of all people. He didn’t even know their shop had reached the Palace’s radar. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint right then, he didn’t know if he liked it.

“Countess. Welcome to Moonstone & Jasmine how may I help—”

“Please,” she said, paying him little mind, “you must read the cards for me.”

Like he had said before, customers.

However, Anatole didn’t need to pick up on her words to notice the Countess was genuinely troubled by something, her comment on sleepless nights confirming his suspicion. So he decided to give her the benefit of doubt, instead of pinpointing the hour she decided to come at as a display of nobility’s entitlement.

The talk about his reputation was what shocked him the most, however. The temptation to dismiss her words as hyperbole was strong, but she sounded  too honest — a by-product of her state of necessity, Anatole thought, people tended to be worse at lying under pressure (How did he know that?).

When the Countess mentioned Anatole looked different in a dream she had, he speaks as if something had possessed him, having no idea he would speak until he did. “Do you possess any sort of clairvoyance, your Highness? I have a cousin who—”

He stopped as a throb made its way through the back of his head. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any family, he didn’t have anyone but Asra and a dead Aunt, but saying he had a cousin felt right in a way he couldn’t ignore. He had never been very good at lying to himself. Once he knew something was true, it cemented itself in his head, unshakable. He preferred it that way: falsehoods, even if lasting, crumbled. When you built with what was true, you built steady.

This felt like the truth, but was it? Was it a wish, or was it a lost piece of whomever he had been before? In the before he couldn’t remember?

Pushing his thoughts away, he said: “Excuse me, Countess. I forgot myself.”

“No matter. I come with a proposal.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Come to the Palace, and be my guest for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. I ask only that you bring your skill… and the Arcana.”

His first thought was ‘no’. His second, ‘absolutely not’. He had things! Plans! The only luxury he wanted right now was to be allowed to fill his after work hours as he saw fit. But this was a customer. They could use the money for supplies, and something told him — something he couldn’t pay any attention to right now, something inside of him he could only trust — the Countess was indeed in trouble. The kind of toruble where if he refused to help right now, he’d end up in the Palace anyway.

Sometimes it is better to cooperate with the universe; he had heard that somewhere, or perhaps from someone he couldn’t remember. Perhaps he read it. One way or another, now was not the time to mourn his plans.

“It’ll be an honour.”

“I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow, but before that...”

Of course, she had come with a tarot inquiry, so Anatole redirected her to the backroom where readings and private consultations were held, finding himself face to face with Asra’s cards again.

He’d have to get used to their liveliness, sooner or latter. Unlike his own card, these spoke to you completely at random, compelling you to deliver their message, so you never knew if you were doing the reading or if the cards themselves were. Anatole didn’t love it, if he was honest. Nothing to do with the cards, though. It had everything to do with having asked Asra why do his cards work like they do, and Asra not giving him an answer which had fully made sense to him. 

He didn’t know what to make of the Countess as she talked to him about other times she had had her fortune read. His headache had moved from the back of his head to his temples. Familiar wasn’t the word for it, but she felt trustworthy, in an inconsequential sense. Like a coworker with good intentions but not enough turn out for his liking. He saw her out, opening the door for her, after her reading was done, still having not the faintest idea where on earth did he get such an impression from the Countess. He must’ve been reading too much, that was certainly it — too much politics before bed made Anatole a very imaginative man. 

As Countess Satrinava left, Anatole wondered if he should’ve told her anything about fees, at least as a joke. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the joke. 

He decided to brew something for his headache, worrying it might grow too big to sleep. Potions and brews had never been his strongest fort. He always needed to spend extra attention on them and their instructions, coming less organically than other forms of magic. Like languages. Languages were easy, even if messy sometimes. He still remembered one day, years ago, when he could speak nothing but a gibberish mess of Balkovian, Vesuvian and a very distant variation of Nopali. 

Still, it would keep his mind away from all the reputation talk the Countess had brought with her. He wanted to be convinced she must’ve been thinking about his aunt — Paris, that’s all Asra had told him — but Paris had been dead for even before his accident, so maybe... He took a breath, he was overthinking his way into a migraine again so he went back to his brew. 

He was missing enough of one ingredient, which meant he had to go to the Shop’s storage quarter, accessible only from outside and through the backdoor. As if anticipating his need, Antupillán, his familiar, fetched the keys for him and climbed onto his shoulder as Anatole made his way outside, looking for the sweet relief of willow tree bark. A victory which came at the price of getting his storage key stuck, fumbling for five minutes to unstuck it so he could go back inside. 

With all ingredients in front of him he could finally make himself a headache remedy. 

“Strange hours for a shop to keep,” said a muffled voice coming from somewhere, interrupting him.

If he got mugged, in his own house, he swore to everything he thought mattered in this world he’d spend the rest of his life finding whomever had come into his shop and making their lives miserable. He was sure no one had been around when he went retrieve the willow bark, Antu would’ve told him if there was someone. He was sure he had locked that door the moment he came in.

The thought that someone could’ve been staying in his own house, waiting for the right moment to strike made him sick, but mostly, angry. He knew he had a dagger somewhere in one of the drawers, if magic was not enough.

“Whomever it is, come out of where you are, and tell me what you want.”

“Behind you.” Anatole jumped back, giving himself more distance between this person, levelling a look to the red glasses the mask had for eye-sockets.

“So this is the witch’s lair… and who might you be?”

“Who’s asking?” He tried to sound as surefooted as possible, but the eye sockets of the mask were so vividly red, like a halo of auburn hair under the noon sun. His headache threatened to get stronger.

“I’m asking. I’d rather not do it again.”

The person lifted their hand, Anatole’s brain springing into action as it remembered the dagger was in the third drawer to the left. He lunged forward, he was quick with his feet he could just grab the dagger and protect himself with a shield if he— 

Instead of grabbing him, the stranger threw the mask to the floor. 

The flash of pain between his eyes, right where his nose begins was so intense it burned, making him wince. He patted the front table of the shop to hold onto something, fearing he will lose his balance and fall. He’s— he’s— he swears there’s a name on the tip of his tongue.

“As I suspected, shock, horror—”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s etched on your face! The gruesome reaction of facing the murderer himself. Fear not, I do not care about you, I only want information, so if you stop fooling around and tell me where is the witch.”

“The whomst?”

The man blinked, confused for a flash before he scowled again.

“Where is the witch?”

Something inside Anatole clicked. He was too tired to deal with any of this. If the intruder wanted to attack him, he would’ve done so already.

“Listen,” he said, barking back at this person who had interrupted his evening. “I have a migraine right now, so I will need you to be a little more specific. Secondly, you come into my shop, demanding things without exaplanation, manifesting behind me, and I do have to tell you, even with a migraine, I’m probably better with sharp things than you are so stand back and give me a bloody fucking second, alright?”

It wasn’t a lie. Anatole had always been good with blades. It worried Asra, for a reason he had never explained, but Anatole didn’t think it was a problem.

“You know, if you’re really feeling ill, I’m a medically trained professional—”

“Did you seriously just offer me medical help after you tried to intimidate me for information.”

“I—I, look you don’t look well… wait, did it work? Are you telling me where he is?”

“What? No, no it didn’t. There’s a lot of people who go by ‘he’ this City.”

“Not even the murderer part worked?”

Anatole shot him a death glare that made his uninvited guest look away. After finally retrieving that damn dagger, which he did just in case, he set himself to prepare his migraine remedy.

“You’re the guy who’s wanted for murdering the former Count, right?” He asked as he worked.

“Yes?”

“Wasn’t the guy a bit of an incompetent despot? Created a sanitary emergency and ran the city’s coffers dry? I’m neither of those things, nor I plan to rat you out before you try that line of intimidation, because I’m not a snitch. So please, if you could be specific.”

The intruder did not reply, instead he looked at Anatole like he was the weirdest person he had ever met. He shook himself from it. “The witch, I’m looking for him and I know he lives here...”

“Since you have no clue who I am, I will reckon you’re talking about Asra. He left. Don’t know when he’s coming back, don’t know where he went.”

“But if you don’t know, and I don’t know… why don’t you ask your magic cards?”

God, this man didn’t give up. Normally, Anatole would appreciate that, give him at least some credit as an interesting enemy to run into in the night, but right now? Right now he wanted him to go away. “Because the shop is closed.”

“That’s what the backroom there is for, right? Look, I’m already inside.”

Despite himself, Anatole couldn’t find it in himself to say no, so with a hesitant nod, he left his conoction on the counter and showed his night-time guest to the backroom, but he insisted on Anatole going first. He did, as he didn’t have time for plesantries, though he had to admit, for someone who just broke into his home, he was being very polite.

As he dropped himself into the reading chair, Antu climbed onto Anatole’s lap, sitting there, a comforting presence amid his very annoying evening. He had been his constant companion for almost two years. Antu came in one day unannounced and hadn’t left Anatole’s side since.

“Is that a Raccoon?” The stranger asked, with eyes wide open as he tried to pet him. Antu bit the air in front of him before he could come too close. 

Not forgiven yet, Antu said at the stranger, though only Anatole could listen. 

Anatole smiled to himself, making a mental note to give him extra grapes later. “His name is Antupillán.”

To Anatole’s surprise, the stranger pronounced the name perfectly. “What does it mean?”

“Not many people pronounce that correctly, look at you. People accent it wrong,” he paused, in all honesty Anatole didn’t know what it meant. Yet, once more, he found himself speaking without knowing what he was about to say. “A ‘pillán’ is a spirit, an embodiment. Antu means sun in Mapudungún, so Antupillán is the spirit of the sun.”

Anatole felt his stomach drop as he awaited for the migraine that would inevitably blotch his vision with black spots. However, it never came, the misplaced information settling into him like a homecoming he was not yet able to process.

As Anatole shuffled the deck, the stranger looked friendly, almost awkward in an endearing way. 

“Go on. No need to be shy.”

“Says the man who refuses to give out his name. I need to know it for the ‘magic card reading’, you know?”

“Julian, you can call me Julian,” he said after some stammering and a scarlet blush on his cheeks. His eyes followed his movements as closely as they could, a nervous anticipation to them.

Anatole pulled Death. It was, in Asra’s deck, a particularly quiet card. The horse skull was quiet like someone who opened their mouth to speak, but couldn’t articulate any sound. He wondered if the card in his own Deck — Anatole’s Death major arcana was a moth person holding a mask and a scythe — could hold any answers, other than white noise. It was cheating, technically, but Julian called them ‘magic cards’, Anatole didn’t think he’d mind.

Before he could do anything, Julian laughed. “Death? That means nothing to me. Death cast her gaze upon this wretch and turned away! She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

"What? Julian this isn’t how—”

He stood up abruptly, his mouth seeming to run on automatic pilotwith fatalistic statements and Julian’s hunch that Asra would come back. Which he would, Anatole knew he would. Asra always came back.

Instead of Julian’s advice about seeking him out when Asra did come back, for ‘Anatole’s own good’, whatever that could mean from a fucking stranger, he thought he ought to have accepted the medical help. Perhaps that way, Julian would’ve left earlier and his headache would’ve been dealt with.

Later, as he laid in bed drifting to sleep, he thought Asra left that day not because it was best for a journey, but because he somehowknew all of this would happen and he didn’t want to deal with any of it. 

[the-cocky-bitch]

Ok, I guess this episode of Loki was mildly improved. I only disliked a few things, like everything Loki and everything to do with him. They have really decided to make him a basic classless unfunny joke, huh. Everything about him is wrong and makes for a really tedious watch. I feel like this show will ruin Loki for any future marvel movies. He was one of the most compelling villains (and anti-heroes, on occasion), right there with Erik Killmonger and maybe Hela and Vulture. By that, I mean complex villains, who do truly horrible things and who you want to see defeated, see justice served for what they’ve done, but also some of their beliefs or motives ring true with you. Now all that complexity feels gone, or at the very least, vastly diminished.

Even his body language is wrong. I might have to rewatch the movies to compare (if this show doesn’t kill any enjoyment I have for the character), but he is usually much more agile, much more graceful and much better hidden in the shadows. True, he moves in the shadows a lot to create more drama for his showy reveals, but as the God of Chaos those dramatic reveals were part of the charm. There was a sleek style, both when moving and when attacking, almost stalking at times, his movements were more contained and inward-drawn, his body language was careful and more controlled, like someone who remained vigilant (before his mental break and megalomaniac episode, and even then it’s still there, just more obscured) and watched his back. Like someone who was used to watching his own back, even when fighting with allies. His movements here in the show feel clunky and too much over-the-top for no reason. When he fights, he is efficient, but not the cunning and contained style he used to favour, but more brute force. He is still graceful, but I don’t see anything of his predisposition to ambushes, to take out his opponents by surprise, to cleverly use distractions and illusions and slip a knife in someone’s back.

I think one of the things that threw me off the most for some reason was the repetition of the pose where both his hands are on his waist, elbows flared out and feet widely spread. What is even that? That has never been part of Loki’s body language, doesn’t fit with either his movements in the shadows, his grabs for power, his dramatic moments, or even his despondent or vengeful moments. It doesn’t fit with any of his casual body language, either. He’s always been elegant, and his movements calculated (again, unless he was in a traumatic moment, or in a power grab moment). The overuse of these encompassing and dramatic movements and poses for no reason make them lose their potency, and makes them feel so jarring every time I see them. Another thing, what’s with the constant fake laugh every time he is caught in an act (which is a lot) and he turns around to face the person who saw him this time? It’s like he expect that chuckle that is meant to sound condescending, but just comes off as fake and delusional, to what, stop people in their track? And he is subsequently stunned when, shockingly, his “brilliant” plan doesn’t work.

Also, what was that with the alcohol and getting drunk? We’ve never seen Loki drink so much, not even on Asgard in Thor 1, at the feats. We’ve seen him sip alcohol, but I rather got the impression at the time that he disdained the warriors who got so drunk and so loud and unaware, though, I admit, that might have just been disdain for the permeating warrior culture as a whole. But Loki would have never got so drunk in enemy territory. He should have reacted like Sylvie, and been on his guard and looking for openings, instead of exposing them like that. I keep expecting Loki to be looking for some advantage, some angle to play, but he just...doesn’t. He just bungles his way into messes and doesn’t even try to wriggle himself out, like we’ve seen him do (Loki always got into a lot of messes, but he also got out of a lot of them). He’s acting like a bottom-barrel version of Thor from before Thor’s punishment and subsequent growth, but even worse and without any of Thor’s good character traits. No charm when talking to people, no leadership skills, nothing. Loki also doesn’t have any motivation, nothing that particularly drives him, no complex desires, just go with the flow.

I think the writers must have been trying for Ragnarok!Loki, because that movie was so much fun and got popular real fast. But if that’s what they’re trying to do, they’re a long way off. Ragnarok!Loki was much better thought out. I felt like that was much more natural, a nice character progression for him, where he still looks after number one, but his traumas weren’t so fresh, he was free of Asgard prison and Asgardian expectations, he was having fun. Since Thor had grown, he no longer took Loki’s baits and just reacted with good humour, which forced Loki to face that he might miss the closeness he had with Thor. A lot of people have written excellent essays on why Loki in Ragnarok was brilliant, why it was so important that it was him who started the destruction of the Asgard for what the imperialistic culture had done to him, and they’ve done it much more eloquently than I ever could, so I’ll leave it at that. But all those things in Ragnarok make sense, his more light-hearted behaviour makes sense in the circumstances, and he still delivers powerful emotional moments. But here there is nothing to explain his behaviour and the emotional moments fall flat, because they’ve been trivialized and used too often.

I have a massive issue with the scene where Loki was talking about Frigga. Um, excuse me, but the line “She was good. Purely decent” is so incredibly out of place and so patently untrue, that I had to rewind the scene just to make sure I’ve heard correctly. She might have loved Loki, Loki might have loved her, and he might have softened towards her through all her visits and never giving up on him and then her death might have deeply hurt him, but I would never accept a line like that. His relationship with her might have been much better and much less complicated than his relationship with Odin, or even Thor, she might have been the one to mostly support him and teach him magic and apparently encourage him that he would be able to do anything, but still she remained silent. She remained silent about his heritage in all his years growing up, about his treatment by Odin, about the constant unfavourable comparisons with Thor. She never stopped people from talking about Jotuns as though they are monsters around Loki, even though she must have realized that it’s inevitable that he would learn the truth. She just stayed silent and/or supported Odin publicly, even if she disagreed with him in private. She only stepped up after Loki was imprisoned, that was when she finally decided she would fight for her son and won’t stop. True, Loki was deeply grieved and changed by her death, but part of that was that she died. There would have been a much longer and harder road to full reconciliation if she wanted to repair her relationship with her son that her silence damaged. So for a Loki who never experienced her finally fighting for him, relentlessly visiting him and talking with him, to say that line is absurd. He might grieve when he saw her die and learned that he led the intruders to her, that might soften his bitterness, but it is still wildly out of character for him to say Frigga was purely decent. I would have expected him to look pained, to refuse to speak of her, to say how he loves her, but everything is twisted up, how it’s incredibly complicated. If you’ve spent so long loving someone, you still love them, even when the relationship breaks, even when you hate them for what they’ve done or what they’ve been complicit to. I understand complicated feelings about family. I would have loved to see that here, Loki looking torn, simultaneously grieving for his mother, and still feeling the bitterness and betrayal of her silence. That would have given so much more complexity to him. But instead he went on to wax poetics about her without a hint of bitterness, or hurt. That was infuriating, and that’s with the fact that I actually enjoyed Frigga’s character.

[sunflowersupremes]

I’ve Got You

After Ciri’s death, Geralt felt as though he had nothing to lose, and went to fight the Crones of Crookback Bog, even knowing it meant certain death.

Whumptober Prompt: No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Context: This takes place after the “bad ending” of Witcher 3. If you’re unfamiliar, you can watch it here. Basically Ciri dies, Geralt goes to the swamps of Velen to recover her medallion (which originally belonged to Vesemir) and then he’s ambushed by dozens of monsters. The game leaves his fate to be pretty uncertain, but it’s generally accepted that he died.

Read on AO3

The swamp was littered with the bodies of monsters. The stench of rot hung in the air, turning his stomach. Dandelion swallowed back bile and nerves, well aware that he might be walking into an ambush. He’d found Roach’s body a short while away, the horse having been ripped apart by scavengers. That didn’t bode well for the Witcher’s fate.

“Geralt?” he called.

There was no answer, neither from the Witcher nor the monsters.

The bard clutched the strap of his lute and swung from his horse, creeping toward the abandoned hut in the center of the swamp.

Yennefer had told him that Geralt intended to reclaim Ciri’s medallion, but she had apparently considered it a suicide attempt, practically begging Dandelion not to follow him. “You won’t find him alive, Dandelion,” she’d said, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t want you to die for him.”

“Fuck you,” he’d told her and, ignoring her advice and the pleas of Priscilla, he’d headed off in search of the Witcher.

He was starting to realize how right she was.

His boots squelched into the mud, which seemed to be trying its best to keep Dandelion away from the hut. But he pressed on, determined to reach it, even as he became more certain that he would find nothing more than a rotting corpse of a Witcher to go with the monsters outside.

“Geralt?” he called again.

Finally reaching the door he took a deep breath, which he immediately regretted as he was assaulted with the smell of decay and death. Gagging, Dandelion shoved open the door and stumbled inside.

Geralt lay motionless on the floor in a pool of blood. A red trail led from the door, as though he’d crawled inside, to safety, only to collapse. Dandelion stumbled back outside and doubled over, retching up the meager lunch he’d had.

Then he ran back inside on shaky feet, falling to his knees beside the corpse. “Geralt!” He cupped the Witcher’s head, brushing his hair from his forehead. Tears clouded his vision.

“No, no,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “No…” Squeezing his eyes shut he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Geralt’s skin was warm.

Dandelion froze as the realization washed over him, barely able to think straight. “It can’t be-”

He pressed his hand against Geralt’s neck, shocked to feel a weak pulse thrumming beneath his fingers.

The relief threw him back into action. He raced outside stumbling through the mud to his mount and dragging the gelding toward the house. Then, halfway there, he thought better of it and headed back into the swamp.

It wasn’t hard to locate Roach, her bloated corpse right where he’d last seen it. Thankfully, the scavengers hadn’t been interested in the saddle bags, and he cut them free as best he could with one hand over his nose. Then he dragged the bags back inside the hut before returning to his own horse for the supplies he’d brought.

As quickly as he could he sorted through their combined supplies - thankfully, he’d planned for the worst and brought medicine - finding bandages, alcohol, and suturing supplies.

He fetched water from the well outside, then stripped Geralt out of his bloodied clothes, exposing his wounds. If he’d been a human, they would have killed him, but, for better or for worse, the Witcher mutations had kept him alive.

“I’m here, Geralt,” he said quietly as Geralt moaned. “It’s me, Dandelion.” But the Witcher didn’t seem aware of anything but his pain. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was use Geralt’s ruined clothes to wipe away as much of the blood as he could, then he threw the clothes outside so he wouldn’t have to smell them.

Dandelion had gotten to be pretty good at patching up wounds during his travels with Geralt, so it was habit that guided him to pour alcohol over the injuries, washing them out and (hopefully) preventing any infection. Although, given that the wounds were already a few days old, he wasn’t certain how effective that would be.

The last thing he did was his least favorite part of caring for injures. Threading a needle he carefully stitched Geralt’s wounds closed, wincing every time he pulled the needle through flesh.

But Geralt didn’t move, didn’t even flinch or groan. Somehow, that made it worse.

Outside, it was beginning to grow dark, but Dandelion barely noticed, only thinking to light a candle to better see by, as he finished sewing his friend’s wounds.

Once Geralt was as patched up as Dandelion could get him, he changed him into a set of clothes that he’d found in Roach’s saddle bags (thankfully, the leather bags had protected them from any liquids in the horse’s decaying corpse).

Then he dragged him across the room and laid him on the bed, tucking the blanket over him.

The Witcher looked almost peaceful, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Dandelion managed to feed him a bit of Swallow Potion, also scavenged from the Witcher’s bags. He only risked feeding him a few drops, afraid that - on an empty stomach - anymore of the potion would overload Geralt’s damaged system.

With nothing else to do, Dandelion sat on the bed beside Geralt, strumming his lute as the hours passed by.

He lost track of time, as he played, until a howl ripped through the night, followed by the terrified scream of a horse. His horse.

Dandelion ran to the window in time to see something - gods, he hoped it was only a wolf - dragging his gelding away into the woods surrounding the swamp. Dandelion swallowed, fear clenching his stomach.

Then, whatever it was, stepped out of the woods. He was certain of only one thing: it wasn’t a wolf.

“Oh gods,” he moaned, slamming the window shut and looking around the room in terror. The hut was in ruins from the monster attack that had left Geralt incapacitated, and he doubted it could stand up to another assault.

With no other options Dandelion shoved a shelf in front of the window, then braced a table against the door. But it still didn’t feel safe, not when he could see outside through the gaps in the walls.

He looked back at Geralt, laying perfectly still on the bed and licked his lips nervously.

Something slammed against the other side of the wall and he screamed, racing toward the Witcher and grabbing him protectively, pulling Geralt’s limp body to his chest.

Between them, Geralt’s medallion was vibrating wildly, and it took all of his self control not to through the thing across the room.

“Geralt,” he whispered. “This would be a truly poetic time for you to wake up.” But the Witcher didn’t stir, only continuing to slumber on in silence.

Dandelion shivered uncomfortably and released Geralt, sitting still on the bed beside him. He absentmindedly stroked the Witcher’s hair, closing his eyes and trying not to think about the monsters outside.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, mostly to himself. “It won’t get in.”

For a while, it seemed to work. The monster scratched at the walls of the hut, but seemed unable to locate a way in. Dandelion tracked it’s every move, watching nervously through the cracks in the damaged walls as it circled around them.

The shelf he’d put in front of the window shook as something slammed into it. Dandelion pulled the blankets over them both, as though it might offer some level of protection.

Another howl ripped through the night.

Then the door trembled.

Without thinking Dandelion jumped to his feet and ran toward it, slamming his body against the table and struggling to hold it shut. Whatever was on the other side wanted to get in, no doubt smelling the blood. Or perhaps it had already written Geralt off as a loss and wanted the much more alive Dandelion.

For a moment, he wondered if he went outside and let the monster take him if it would leave Geralt alone. But he knew that would only make Geralt hate himself all the more, so he kept pushing against the door with all his strength.

Unfortunately, he was a poet, not a strongman, and whatever was on the other side of the door had a good deal more power.

With one last great crash the door splintered and Dandelion fell back, landing on his ass amid the remains of the door and table. Wood fragments stabbed into his hands as he struggled to sit up, but that was the least of his worries.

He’d traveled with Geralt a long time.

He’d seen a lot of monsters.

He’d never seen a werewolf though, because Geralt considered them to be highly dangerous, enough so that he’d kept the bard far away from them.

As he stared at the creature that had come through the door Dandelion was certain of two things: that he was finally looking at a werewolf and that Geralt had been right to keep him away from the creatures.

A whimper escaped his lips and the creature turned to look at him, it’s eyes gleaming red in the darkness.

It roared and lunged. Dandelion rolled out of the reach of its claws at the last possible moment. The monster slammed head first into the wall, dazing it long enough for the poet to run to Geralt’s side, shaking the Witcher. “Geralt, wake up!” he shouted. “We need to run! Geralt!”

He knew what the Witcher would say, that Dandelion should run, save himself and leave him to die. But, even if everything hadn’t happened, even if Ciri hadn’t died and Yennefer hadn’t given up on Geralt, Dandelion was certain he couldn’t leave him.

The werewolf had gained its bearings, turning and coming toward them, its fangs bared, drool dripping from it’s lips. Dandelion desperately tried to pull Geralt to his feet, hoping to make a run for it, but Geralt remained limp.

The monster lunged for them.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Bewitching the Witcher Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Your sickness plays its last hand. As Geralt rushes to save you, will anyone’s efforts be enough to keep you alive? Or is this where you meet your death?

Series summary: You and The Witcher aren’t meant to be together. In fact, the only thing you two should be doing is getting as far away from each other as fast as you can. You shouldn’t. You really fucking shouldn’t. But he’s just too tempting to resist.

Author’s note: This is the final chapter in my first series for The Witcher fandom, and also my first series that I’ve written on tumblr. When I wrote the first part to this I never imagined that the story concept would get as much love as it did. So thank you everyone who has read to this point. SIDENOTE: this part doesn’t contain smut. It’s written purely for the plot. However, the parts prior to this chapter all contain plenty of Geralt love, and I will also be writing more oneshots/headcanons for both the infamous Witcher and his Bard.

You knew it was the last day of your life, but you kept that knowledge to yourself. If you brought it up to either of the protective bastards you’d come to love in the last six months, they wouldn’t let you enjoy it. And you’d be damned if you didn’t enjoy the hell out of your last day on earth.

So you didn’t bother to elaborate when you asked Geralt to make his famous roasted pork. He hunted down a worthy animal in less than twenty minutes and cooked it slowly over the fire, just how you liked it.

And you didn’t let Jaskier evade you when you cornered him in the woods and asked him the question that had been burning a hole in your brain for weeks: “Why did you never try to fuck me?”

Of course, you enjoyed the way his entire body seemed to go red as a tomato in a matter of seconds. “W-what?”

You rolled your eyes at his innocent facade. “Oh, please. You’ve groped everything that breathes. You’ve lied with every woman from Cintra to Nilfgard. So why didn’t you ever try to sleep with me?”

He looked everywhere but directly at you.

“Do you not think I’m beautiful, Jaskier?” You almost laughed at your own question. You hadn’t seen a mirror in a few weeks, though you had no doubt that you resembled a skeleton more than a living, breathing person. You’d never been further from beautiful than at this moment.

But you remembered who you used to be, when the Witcher blood ran strong in your veins. You’d been the perfect height--tall enough to look down on most people but not too gangly--with legs for miles. Your muscled body had curves in all the right places. Your breasts had been huge, your ass even bigger. Eyes followed you wherever you went, as did a line of drooling men. Back when you’d been a goddess of beauty, you hadn’t cared about any of it. Now you longed for it.

“Of course you were, Y/N,” Jaskier replied, then quickly added, “I mean, of course you are. Are, not were.”

“Just tell me why, then,” you pushed.

He laughed, clearly uncomfortable, though he knew you weren’t going to drop it. “Honestly?”

You nodded.

Jaskier kicked the fallen leaves and small tree branches at his feet, still avoiding your gaze. “I used to tell myself it was because you’d probably cut my manhood off if I tried anything.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you. Jaskier had once been terrified to get within five feet from you. Now, of course, he was like your protective, annoying older brother. That might have been the one good thing that had come out of your sickness: your newfound relationship with the ridiculously talented bard.

“I wouldn’t have gone that far,” you finally got out, still grinning at him.

He shrugged. “I know.”

“So that wasn’t the real reason,” you realized.

Jaskier finally brought his blue eyes back to yours. “No.”

You sighed. “Don’t make me beg for it, Jas!”

He hesitated. Then, “Because I knew--even from the night Geralt and I first ran into you and you tried to kill him and nearly did--I knew that you were his. You were always his, Y/N, and he was always yours. I’ve never believed in soul mates. I actually think that concept is complete bullshit. We get to choose who we love in this life, that’s what I believe. But you and Geralt... if there’s a better word than soul mates to describe the two of you, then I don’t know it.”

Oh.

You hadn’t been expecting that. Not from Jaskier. Not now--not today.

“Is that a good enough answer for you?” Jaskier wondered, breaking the silence.

All you could do was nod.

...

You convinced Geralt to take you on a hunt. There was no better way to end your last day alive than by killing a monster. And so, after an hour of pleading and convincing, he finally agreed, though probably just so you would shut up about it.

It didn’t take long for you two to find a creature roaming through the woods: a berserker. You found it ironic. On another hunt for a different berserker in a different mountain range during a simpler time, you and Geralt had finally revealed your feelings for each other. A berserker had started all of this. It was only poetic that a berserker would end all of this, too.

But before you could even strike the killing blow to the creature, your nose began dripping. Geralt beheaded the monster for you, much to your annoyance. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. Geralt’s eyes widened when he glanced back at you. You didn’t have a chance to ask him what was wrong before you were doubled over in a coughing fit. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, it was stained with blood.

Your nose was bleeding.

You were coughing up blood.

You didn’t have to be a medic to know that your time was just about up.

Geralt, on the other hand, wasn’t about ready to accept it so easily. In a flash you were in his arms and he was running back to your makeshift camp. He didn’t even explain himself to Jaskier before throwing you over Roach and climbing onto the horse behind you. Roach ran like he was desperate to save you, too.

You arrived at the nearest town in a matter of minutes. Geralt carried you in his arms, screaming wildly in the streets for a medic. Finally one approached you. Geralt followed after him.

All you were concerned about was the horrid, metallic smell of your blood. You were covered in it now. You’d also managed to dampen Geralt’s clothes with it, too. If he didn’t always wear all black, his clothes would have been stained.

You laughed at the thought, though it wasn’t particularly funny. Both you and Geralt knew it was a hysterical laugh; your time was down to minutes now.

“Hold on, Y/N,” Geralt muttered to you. He spoke so softly you could barely hear him. “Hold on for me.”

You stared at him as he carried you in his arms. Something hit you, then. The infamous Witcher, the wild beast of a man that Jaskier had written about and made famous throughout the land--most people feared him because he resembled a monster more often than he resembled a man. But with the fear in his eyes right now he looked so... human.

Your fingers were moving through his hair before you’d even realized you’d told your hand to move. “You’re so beautiful, Geralt. Such a beautiful human.”

“Y/N...” There was a warning in his voice, though you couldn’t figure out what he was warning you about.

“It’s okay, my love.” He had to know you were okay, that there was no better place for you in the entire world than in his arms, feeling his Witcher heart beat slowly against your head. “My love... you’re my love, Geralt.”

The world faded around you. All you could see was a man in the distance--a gloriously beautiful man. His dark hair was clipped short and his shining blue eyes looked longingly at a woman just a few paces from him. The girl’s blonde hair flowed in the wind, circling her tiny body.

The girl was--the girl was you. You, as a human. You, with no Witcher blood inside of you.

And the man who looked at you like you were the center of his universe--

That man was Geralt. Human Geralt.

You tried to cry out to him, to get his attention, to say something, but you had no voice. All you could do was watch as the Human You neared Human Geralt and looped your hands together. He kissed the top of your head and you swear you could feel it on your own head, your Witcher head. And then Human You and Human Geralt walked side by side until you disappeared in the distance, never needing to look back because all you needed was right beside you.

You wanted that, you realized. You wanted a long life with Geralt. More than you wanted to be a Witcher. More than you’d ever wanted anything.

You wanted him.

You wanted to be happy because of him.

You wanted him to be happy because of you.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to fight tooth and nail to get that happy ending.

...

The medic told Geralt and Jaskier that you were dead before the medic could have tried to save you with a potion or elixir. The news made Jaskier erupt into a screaming fit, only occasionally broken up by a painful wail. Geralt, by contrast, became still as a statue. He didn’t move for several minutes. Those long minutes eventually stretched into hours. The night passed. Still, he never left your bedside, despite your body growing colder with every passing minute.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier finally dared to speak up in the first light of dawn.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t do anything but stare at your body like his gaze could bring you back to him.

Jaskier called his name again. “She deserves...” He swallowed back a hiccup before beginning to sniffle. “She deserves a proper burial.”

Geralt didn’t even acknowledge Jaskier’s presence.

Jaskier moved towards your body on the other side of the bed. Finally, Geralt broke out of his trance. He jumped up and threw his arms around you, cradling you into his chest. Jaskier froze. Geralt’s gold eyes were wild and frantic, his sharp teeth blaring, and Jaskier knew that Geralt would kill him before he could get his hands on you. The Witcher resembled an untamed beast claiming his territory. Jaskier wasn’t about to get in the middle of it.

Jaskier left once the sun had fully appeared in the sky, off to get food for him and Geralt and--though he didn’t include this part--to get flowers for your corpse. Months ago, he’d heard you say that lilies were your favorite, so he went off in search of those.

Geralt remained by your side.

It was surprising, in the end, how your witcher had failed to notice anything changing within or outside of your body. His Witcher senses picked up nothing--not the first beat of your heart, a heart which now beat as fast as a human’s and not a Witcher’s; not the way the heat returned to your skin, bringing a pale color with it, brightening your cheeks and reddening your lips; not even the way your eyelids began to flutter like you were dreaming.

In fact, he was oblivious until Jaskier returned and pointed out that you looked eerily far off from dead. That you looked like you were alive and breathing and--

And that you no longer looked like a Witcher. The physical improvements that had transformed your body after you’d passed the witching test--the longer legs, the muscles that rarely tired, the nimble limbs that allowed you to move as fast as the speed of light--were gone.

Geralt watched you with a frozen awareness, waiting for--for something. He didn’t seem to know what to expect. Neither did Jaskier, which became obvious when he squeaked and moved to the corner of the room upon seeing your eyes open.

Your Witcher eyes had been silver. Not gray, not a soft shade of blue, but silver. They’d glowed as ominously as Geralt’s gold ones did.

But now, the eyes that blinked up at the two people you loved most in the world were an undeniable shade of jade green.

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier moved, unsure if you were a ghost or the undead or what.

They watched, Geralt’s hand moving to hover over the dagger strapped to his side, as you lifted yourself into a sitting position. The room was deathly quiet as you took in everything around you. You must have been staying in an infirmary, which you guessed from the sight of a million tiny jars of potions and healing ointments on the table beside your bed. That was the only decoration in the room besides the bed that you currently occupied. It was completely impersonal.

Your eyes flicked to Geralt. It was strange and unexpected, the feeling of terror that crashed through you. You’d only ever known him as a Witcher yourself, and the sight of another mutant like you hadn’t scared you. But now... now your heart was beating fast, and that was human fear running through your veins. Still, despite the warning signs in your mind screaming for you to run from him, you took in the sight of him with relief. Geralt. Your Geralt. Your Witcher.

You never thought you’d see him again.

The tears blurring his gold eyes were the only sign of his relief. His hand still hovered over his weapon, always cautious. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the stressful eighteen hours he’d just endured. But he’d never looked more beautiful to you.

You forced yourself to look away from him and turned towards Jaskier. The satchel at his side was full, probably stuffed with bread and cheese and cheap wine for him and Geralt. Orange lilies were crumpled in his hand as he took in the sight of you--very much alive, when you hadn’t been the last time he’d seen you.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” you said. Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears. Not as loud or as demanding; it no longer contained the strength of a Witcher. “But I don’t think they’ll be any good funeral. Perhaps a wedding?”

“You’re... alive.” There was no connotation in Geralt’s voice, the shock too great for him to generate a tone of voice.

You smiled at your Witcher. “I’m alive, my love.”

“H-how?” He blinked his tears away, though a few slipped down his cheeks. You resisted the urge to wipe them away. “The medic, he said you--”

“That Witcher we found a week ago,” you said, a thoughtful frown on your face, “her words finally make sense to me.”

The men just blinked at you, unable to follow along.

You closed your eyes, remembering the words of that ancient Witcher: “The only cure for my sickness is death.” The men were still frowning at you when you looked back at them. “I had to die before I could get better. Death wasn’t the sentence; it was the antidote.”

“You’re... better?” Jaskier asked, looking doubtful.

You looked between the men. “Well, that depends on your perspective, I think.” You looked down at your hands, thin and bony and small--not Witcher hands. “I’m no longer a Witcher. I’m human.”

Geralt sniffed. You looked to him, thinking he’d begun crying, and realized that he was sniffing the air--for your human scent. He paused when it hit him. His eyes went wide. “You are human.”

You hesitated. “Does that... disgust you?”

He didn’t answer with words, but rather with a quick kiss to your mouth. He held you tight against him, his arm wrapped so tightly around you that you could no longer breathe, but you didn’t dare ask him to stop. His mouth moved against yours, every touch a declaration of his relief.

Jaskier cleared his throat.

You two broke apart, looking over at the bard.

“So you’re just... you’re okay now?” He asked you. “You’re not sick?”

“I don’t think so, though I’m not sure,” you admitted. “But I think my Witcher magic was enough to fight the sickness. I think, now that I don’t have my magic anymore, I don’t have the sickness either.”

“So you’ll be okay?” Jaskier’s eyes widened hopefully.

You let yourself smile. “Yes. I’ll be okay.” You looked back at Geralt, whose eyes had never left your face. “Geralt, I’m human.”

He smiled back at you as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “So I’m hearing.”

He wasn’t getting it. “We can be together now.”

He frowned, the realization finally hitting him. “We can be together.” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

You looped an arm around his neck and pulled him back against you, giving his mouth a whisper of a kiss. “Marry me, Geralt.”

He pulled back, surprised. “W-what?”

“I want to be with you,” you said. “I want to spend every second for the rest of my human life by your side. I want to be yours--and I want you to be mine. So marry me.”

He laughed. “I never imagined myself being married.”

“Well you should start,” you told him as you slowly rose to your feet, unsure how stable your human body was. “Because I want to marry you. Not in a year, not in a month. Now. I want to marry you today, Geralt.” You pointed at the orange lilies in Jaskier’s hand. “And I want those to be the flowers I carry down the aisle with me.”

[hydrangeasimagination]

Icarus

Soulmate AU - An AU wherein which you are physically unable to lie to your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Onesided! Takami Keigo X GN! Character (Washi) | Takami Keigo X Fem! Self Insert (Phoenix)

Summary: Hawks always had a penchant for close calls, being his soulmate was no easy feat. But as problems continued to crop up, the distance grew wider and wider as he was unable to stop his break neck speeds... Keigo flew too close to the sun, wings catching in the very fire he sought. In his heart of hearts, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. As there was Phoenix to catch him, his pace slowed, just for her.

Warning(s): Unrequited Love. Angst.

A/N: Trying something new! I'm trying to use super ambiguous language but my self insert uses she/her pronouns! I'll try and give more background at a later date. This is utterly self indulgent and I wanted to get this out. IDK if it’s that good but eh?

I’m getting used to writing again.

This isn’t dialogue heavy!

Also, also, made mention of @starchaser-the-prophet​ ‘s Beacon here!!

The Torch Hero: Phoenix.

Twenty-five years young.

An underground hero with a flashy quirk.

Not well known but was able to catch the attention of the current number one hero, Endeavor. Shortly after an explosive debut about four years earlier, she fell under his wing.

It was the catalyst.

How she'd met him, Takami Keigo, the hero that flew too fast.

That ranking event, where she and another sidekick attended to support Endeavor's rise to the first seat.

The same day where she first fought alongside him... Where she showed why her hero name was "Phoenix".

Sparks of friendship betwixt the number two and this sidekick.

His lack of time in their already empty apartment were plenty, but seemed to grow as he grew close to the number one and his associates.

Their world of romance and shimmering lights became a distant thought, more and more oppressive with every passing moment.

Washi wasn't stupid.

Not blind to the growing space between them and Keigo... That seemed to continue to expand every time he left in the early morning.

He could no longer move any slower.

Stop himself from flying at the intense speed he was known for.

Unable to even stop for them.

His soulmate

Talks of life and future fading into arguments that shook the cold walls of their once beloved home. One of which began slowly snapping at the hair-thin strings keeping them both from bursting at the seams. Animosity was prevalent in every one, as his words sent daggers into their heart.

Whilst they forced words from his mouth, learning of why he could no longer look at them in the way he once had.

Admissions of guilt, of being unsure as to the validity of his feelings for them. Tensions mounting and continuing to as Washi continued to rip the truth from him, understanding at how many things he really had problems with.

With them.

With himself.

With everything he had to do.

Complaints were already plenty even before this chasm between them appeared, but were heightened as he'd leave after every single one of these screaming matches.

Seeking refuge elsewhere.

In the company of his friends.

Keigo was unfortunately an open book.

Especially to Washi themselves.

They knew him better than anyone else.

At least, they should have.

When it came to meeting those friends of his, it was unexpected for them all.

Washi felt as if they were intruding despite being his date to the event, a charity ball is where they came face to face with their Keigo's sanctuary.

The bright eyed Beacon, the stern faced Endeavor...

The polite, quiet Phoenix.

A numbness in their chest grew upon seeing her, how she greeted the winged hero with an unapologetic gentleness. His muscles of arm relaxed under their tightening grasp, the sharp avian gaze melting into warm pools of gold.

She made him smile, so softly.

Fondly.

It was something they hadn't seen for weeks....

Knots in their stomach grew tight and they held onto him, quietly staring holes into her and her delicately make up and pretty dress.

Keigo was their soulmate.

They were meant to be.

So why did this happen?

How could it have happened?

With boiling blood, they first put the blame on her. Convinced that she understood what happened and that she'd somehow managed to gain his affections. A quirk or some type of manipulation.

The accusations were on the tip of their tongue throughout the night, tongue burning from being beside their soulmate.

A wildly unpleasant sensation.

One that grew stronger and stronger as they caught his gaze lingering, searching for her when he thought they weren't looking.

It all blew up the minute they walked into their home. Met with the biting snips of denial, of fury at the implications. He was defensive, holding faith in his words without shame.

The tears always sting.

What was he doing?

Shouldn't he be consoling them?

Telling them he'd never have eyes anywhere else?

In that moment, they knew.

They knew that he wasn’t lying.

They knew that there was no going back.

"Do you love her?"

He couldn't stop the words that spilled from his mouth, even if he wanted to.

"I'm still falling."

In sardonic thoughts, under the sobs that ripped from their raw throat - aching from the words they'd wanted to hold back.

Washi thought it was fitting, poetic, the words that came to their head...

"As his wings caught in the flames, he fell, caught in the fire he'd admired."

How could this world be so cruel?

Linking soulmates just to ultimately tear them apart.

They were no longer able to cling to that hope they had.

Believing that perhaps some part of him had felt the same way.

With the sadness, with the pity - god, they hated pity - in his gaze... It's clear what his choice had been made.

Guilt twisted their stomach into tight knots.

Had they really trapped him all this time?

Caged him up to try and selfishly keep him when he belonged with someone else?

They don't know.

They almost didn't want to find out.

Heavy heart weighing them down, they continued to cling to those words he'd once said; that sounded so breathtaking... But it all just made their lead laced tongue heavier.

As Washi looked at the barren walls of their once shared apartment - drifting from the memories that led to this, there was only a certain bit of peace.

Keigo had finally slowed down, like they had always wanted.

Just not for them.

Washi hoped that those flame caught wings were something he'd wanted.

When they see each other again, they hope to see them side by side and fighting together.

He'd flown too close to the sun.

They were happy he was caught as he fell.