#MULTIPLE mountains at him trying to stop him and he just shoulders them and keeps coming

[cave-monkey]

Favorite thing from the books that I bring up anytime I get the opportunity:

The mountain the Buddha dropped on Sun Wukong wasn't enough to actually contain him. The seal had to be added later because Sun Wukong was clawing his way out.

[theragethatisdesire]

cabin in the woods - eren x reader x jean - 18+!!!

part three of our polyverse woo! i wanted to write something intense for spooky season, but not like, a slasher fic, and you know eren would have the biggest primal play kink ever so here we are. the besties have been in their little poly relationship for a year and this is their anniversary trip <3 (and they're just so cute i need to put them in my pocket). enjoy what @fictional-d-supremacy and i came up with and....i don't even know what else to say. i love this one, prob in my top 3 of all time, i just love poly!erejean <3

pairing: eren jaeger x reader x jean kirschstein

wc: 9.5k (good lord)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

*deep breath* CWs: primal play (for some people, it may read as dubcon, so please familiarize yourself with what this means, you are responsible for your triggers!), consensual sex, established relationship, use of names (pet, baby, angel, princess, slut, bitch), breeding kink, biting, fingering, oral sex (fem and male receiving), anal play, anal sex, double penetration, mlm (eren and jean are in an established relationship and kiss at one point), degradation, objectification, multiple orgasm, threesome, bi!eren, bi!jean, dirty talk, creampie, polyamory

OKAY now that that's out of the way.....have fun babies!

-

There’s something about the crisp autumn breeze drifting in through the open windows, twisting through Jean’s Jeep with the same rhythm as the car itself winding up the side of the mountain, that sends a vicious shudder down your spine. You try to roll your window up to fight the chill, but Eren whines from behind you and thuds a heavy boot against your seat in protest.

“You said if I let you have shotgun, we could keep the windows down the whole time.”

“It’s freezing!”

“But I get carsick,” Eren grumbles, glaring at you in the rearview mirror. Jean sighs in a tone that sounds a lot like exasperation, reaching over to turn your heated seat on.

“Better?”

“A little,” you smile softly at him, laying your palm over the warm hand he rests on your knee, “are we almost there?”

“It’s just around this corner,” Jean assures you, hazel eyes flitting back over to the gravelly, curving road. You take a moment to admire him: strong brow, regal, elegant nose, pouty lips that you know to be soft from experience. The simple knowledge that Jean is yours, yours to kiss and touch whenever you want, is enough to send a thrill through you. Your moment of adoration is cut short by Eren throwing his arms over the seat, digging his hands into your shoulders in a rough massage.

“You’re going to love this place, babe,” Eren says behind your ear. The buzzy excitement thrumming through his voice makes a small grin tug at the corner of your mouth; Eren’s moods are contagious more often than not, and he’s been miraculously cheerful all day. “Mama Kirschstein’s got the hook-up.”

“You’re still calling her that?” Jean rolls his eyes, “she’s been telling you to call her Jane for the last eight years.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t mind us coming up?” You eye Jean nervously, reaching up to squeeze one of Eren’s larger hands for reassurance. “I know she had a bit of trouble, y’know…”

“When I told her it was our anniversary, she offered us the house for the weekend. I didn’t even ask,” Jean veers left onto a narrow dirt path, “I know it took her a minute to come around, but she adores you now. I promise.”

“She’s always adored me,” Eren adds unhelpfully, ruffling your beanie and consequently wrecking your hair, “but I guess she was able to find room in her heart for the both of us.”

“Eren, stop it– ugh, thank you. What has got you in such a good mood?” You turn over your shoulder to look at him, practically brimming with energy. Eren’s always despised road trips, yet he’s been the picture of eagerness all day.

“Just excited to spend some time alone in the woods with my two favorite people, what’s so wrong with that?” Eren grins widely at you, sharp canines glinting in the early afternoon light. Something about his smile seems…not insincere, more like overly sincere. It’s not at all out of the realm of possibility for Eren to have some grandiose, ridiculous surprise waiting for you in his suitcase, or for him to simply be bouncing out of his seat in anticipation of all the weekend away, anniversary sex you’re about to have. You chalk it up to one or the other, ignoring the strangely stern look Jean shoots him.

“Oh my god!” You cover your mouth to muffle the excited squeal that comes creeping up your throat upon sight of the cabin. The “cabin” turns out to be an isolated, sprawling home with several wings, beautiful beyond your wildest dreams. Massive slabs of stone make up the columns supporting an overhang that covers a ten-foot-tall door, the garden beds on either side of the walkway have been manicured to perfection, and there’s a winding stone path that leads to the back of the house through a covered walkway that connects the main house to the garage. It’s practically been ripped out of Architectural Digest. “It’s like it’s not even real.”

“Kirschstein money always gets the panties dropping,” Eren scoffs, practically kicking his door open the moment the car rolls to a stop, “I forgot how nice this place was.”

“Shut up,” Jean grumbles, rolling his eyes at Eren before setting his adoring gaze on you, “you like it, princess?”

“I love it,” you gush, jumping out of the car to get a better look, bag forgotten in the trunk. You can hear the boys bickering about luggage somewhere behind you, but all you can focus on is the vast nothingness around you, the sleepy chirping of cicadas in the trees, and the warmly lit home that belongs to you and your two gorgeous boyfriends for the weekend. Who says no one ever had it all?

“Are you excited?” Eren comes charging up behind you, arms encircling your waist and lips pecking every square inch of your neck he can reach.

“I’m so excited,” you giggle, shoving him off so that you can run to Jean and throw your arms around his shoulders, “thank you both so much—oh, we have to call your mom and thank her! Can we? Please?”

“In a bit,” Jean chuckles, scooping you up into his arms so you can wrap your legs around his waist, “don’t you want to see the inside first?”

“Yes–”

“I don’t know, Jean,” Eren saunters over, something mischievous flitting over his face that, if you were any less drunk on raw excitement, you would know immediately not to trust, “she may want to get a look at the woods before the sun goes down. What do you say, baby? Wanna go for a hike?”

“Eren,” Jean says, a very thin note of hesitation in his tone that you, in your giddiness, stampede right over.

“Just a quick one, Jean? Is that alright?”

“However long you want, angel,” Eren answers for Jean and smiles at you charmingly, entirely ignoring Jean’s widened eyes.

“Let’s do that,” you whip your wide, happy eyes back to Jean, a pleading grin on your face, “and then you can give me a tour of the inside. I just want to get a few Instagram pictures before we end up not putting clothes on again for the entire weekend.”

Jean smiles at you, some odd combination of endearment and something darker that you can’t quite make out—pity?—crossing his face. “Anything you want. Drop the bags on the porch, Eren? I’ll take her out back.”

Eren’s grin grows impossibly wider, a little glint in his eye. “Be right there.”

After your awkward, giggle-filled struggle to monkey-climb from Jean’s front onto his back without dropping to the ground, Jean, arms hooked firmly under your legs, walks you around the house, identifying little points of interest as he goes. He points out his childhood rope swing, tattered and still dangling from one of the massive oaks in the front yard, a few flower bushes that he remembers helping his mom plant. You can feel the swell of your heart in your chest as Jean walks you through his memories, snorting to himself when he recounts the tale of Eren nearly choking to death trying to hold his breath in the hot tub and growing misty-eyed when he points out his grandparents’ initials carved into a wooden bench in the garden.

You reach a point of the property where the meticulously groomed grass gives way to fallen leaves and patches of barren earth, a visible line between civilization and nature. A small wriggle from you lets Jean know you’re ready to hop down, and he bends at the knee slightly so you can slide off of his back.

“It really is a beautiful property,” you tell him earnestly, “I can’t thank you enough for bringing us here.”

“What’s mine is yours,” Jean, in that heartbreaking way of his, looks down at you like you’re the only thing he could ever want for, “you know that.”

“Still. Thank you.” You have to consciously focus on your breathing; you wonder if Jean knows he has this effect on people, if he knows that the way raw love lays itself bare in his eyes chokes whoever’s in his line of sight.

“It’s as much a gift for me as it is for you,” Jean leans down to nip at your ear, two large hands finding their way around your waist, “I’ve got you both away from work, out in the middle of nowhere, all to myself…”

“Jean!” It comes out as a clunky, airy giggle, half of the letters still jumbled in your throat where the breath is caught. He smirks against your neck, sinking his teeth in here, licking over a sore patch of skin there. The mountain breeze follows in his wake, kissing over the wet spots he leaves behind and raising goosebumps on the back of your neck.

“Getting started without me?” Eren’s voice startles you, makes you jump in Jean’s grip. Jean responds to your flightiness by spinning you on your heels and pressing your back to his chest, arms locked firmly under your breasts and head tucked onto your shoulder.

“We were waiting for you,” you answer, letting your eyes graze over Eren appreciatively as he approaches. As long as you’ve known him, autumn has always looked good on Eren. Something about the decaying colors around him makes his eyes that much more vibrant, the glow of them in the late afternoon sun almost reminding you of a predator at night, tucked behind bushes. Big cozy flannels only make his frame look broader, and the curl of his grown-out bangs around his pink ears makes you want to pinch his cheeks.

“Didn’t look like you were waiting,” Eren eyes Jean in annoyance, but the curl of his lip gives him away.

“She’s still here, isn’t she?” Jean counters, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Where else would I be?” You laugh, shoving him back from you. Eren and Jean’s eyes meet, some dangerous, tangible glimmer passing between them. “What?”

“Nothing, angel,” Eren whistles, spinning you around yet again and locking your shoulders underneath his arm, beginning to walk you into the woods, “don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“I’m not worried,” you roll your eyes, letting him drag you further into the forest, “you guys are just being weird.”

“Are we?” Jean’s arm comes sneaking around your waist, “I don’t think we are. Do you, Eren?”

“Not at all,” Eren shrugs, pulling out his phone, “looks like we still have two hours til sunset. That seems like enough time for a hike, don’t you think, Jean?”

“Oh, that’s definitely enough time.”

You tilt your head up, a slight scowl indenting your forehead, flitting your eyes between the two of them. They’re hardly paying attention to you, staring at each other in a way that you’re not unfamiliar with. That explains the oddities of their behavior today; typical boys, just excited to jump into bed later. You barely contain another eye roll, instead opting to let them have their teasing fun and focus on the grandiosity of the forest around you.

The canopy is tall, taller than you would have expected; it feels like the dwindling population of leaves above your head is in a different world than the crunch of their fallen comrades under your feet. That pesky breeze is still there, keeping your nerve endings jumpy with the ever-present chill, but the warmth of the colors around you almost makes up for it. Everywhere you look seems to be on fire, yellows and oranges and reds blending the landscape together into a closer approximation to an abstract painting than a scene out of nature.

Easily half an hour ticks by as you stroll, all three of you having fallen into a comfortable, contemplative silence. You don’t miss the way Eren’s hand will occasionally drift from your shoulder to the back of your neck, ghosting over the skin and running through the baby hairs there, making you shiver. Jean follows suit, his arm around your waist slipping a bit low once in a while, palm cupping your ass and squeezing appreciatively. You ignore them both in favor of taking advantage of the beautiful scenery, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t affecting you. That familiar warmth curls in your stomach, molten and hungry, and the tips of your fingers twitch in your pockets, aching to replace the fabric that surrounds them with skin.

Eventually, you all reach a picturesque clearing with a gorgeous overhang, and you see your opportunity.

“Wait, stop right here,” you finally break the silence, squirming in the boys’ arms to snag your phone out of your back pocket, “this is perfect.”

“Instagram time?” Jean tries and fails to keep the bored tone out of his voice.

“We only have, like, five pictures together, and we’ve been together for over a year.”

“That’s not true,” Eren protests, “I have an album full–”

“How many of those pictures are share-able?” You cock a knowing eyebrow at him.

“Um, probably like…two.”

“My point exactly.”

Through a bit of manhandling and arguing over who should hold the phone, you make out with at least three usable selfies (the boys refused to entertain your self-timer idea), which far exceeds the amount of photos you expected to leave this trip with.

“Why don’t you let us take a few of just you?” Jean suggests, reaching for your phone with an honest smile and giving Eren a subtle nudge.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Eren jumps in, nodding and smiling along, “a few pictures of our pretty girl out in the woods on our special trip.”

“And it would be cute for your Instagram, right?” Jean adds, patting you lightly on the bottom.

“Okay,” you agree, too thrilled at their sudden interest in your quest for a nice Instagram post to think too much into the way Eren’s tongue swipes along his bottom lip, the way Jean’s holding your phone so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

“Just walk out that way, there you go.” You can hear Jean’s voice, with a strange little tremor to it, growing quieter behind you when Eren ushers you off in the opposite direction. You leave your phone with Jean, alternating between a little jog and a walk away from them, moving further into the clearing and keeping your back to the boys.

“Was that cute, or stupid?”

Your nervous giggle echoes in the clearing, the rustling of leaves the only answer you receive. You make a few different poses, feeling a little silly but willing to endure it in the interest of getting a couple of nice photos. You notice the distinct lack of sound around you, how for just a moment, it feels like the universe consists of just you, Eren, and Jean, alone in these woods and miles from any other human. It hits you that that’s not entirely untrue; the last house you’d seen had to have been fifteen minutes before you’d gotten to Jean’s driveway.

You call back to them, wanting at least a little feedback and, honestly, beginning to feel a bit creeped out by the uncharacteristic silence ringing in your ears. “Are they turning out good?”

Nothing.

“What the hell?” you finally whip back around to face them, stomping your foot petulantly, “are you two like, messing with me?”

When you turn to meet them, however, all the fire in your throat dies out as quickly as if a bucket of ice water had been tossed on it.

Jean and Eren are smiling at you, which wouldn’t be too odd of a sight, if it weren’t for the threatening glitter in their eyes, the way Eren’s tilting his head ever so slightly to the right. You’ve never seen an expression like this on either one of them, never seen something so…dangerous cross their faces.

“Run.”

“I’m sorry?” You scrunch your nose at Eren, confused. His smile only grows wider.

“Run.”

“Run?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Jean shakes his head disapprovingly, eyeing you down through the streaks of sunlight bleeding into the clearing.

“Forgot what?” Your words tremble as they make their way out into the still air. They’re your boyfriends, the men that wake you up with feather-light kisses and hoist you onto their shoulders at concerts, so why are your fingers beginning to shake?

“About that little book of yours we found,” Jean answers, cocking his head. “Surely you didn’t think we’d forget, did you?”

“No, I know she remembers,” Eren grits out through a clenched jaw, bristling under the soothing palm Jean runs over the back of his neck.

The memory hits you like a train. Coming home to find Jean and Eren hunched over a smutty novel of yours, blushing furiously and frowning in concentration. Confronting them only to find out they’d stumbled across the primal play chapter, that they’d noticed that these pages in particular looked a little well-worn. Jean had asked you if you would ever try it, Eren had raised his eyebrows when you admitted that yes, you would absolutely live that fantasy out if given the chance. Your face had burned as you nervously giggled, brushing the idea off in the sense that it was unrealistic to act out such a scenario in the middle of the city.

But you’re not in the city now. You’re in the forest, alone with your two boyfriends who are looking at you like they might rip you to shreds.

“No,” you murmur, so quietly that if the woods weren’t so still and silent, it wouldn’t have reached their ears, “I–I didn’t…I remember.”

“There it is,” Eren says, eyes glinting at you and arousal practically dripping off of his words as they make their way to your ears, “knew you did.”

“Weren’t lying, right? You wouldn’t lie to us, would you, pet?” Jean’s voice is steely and sharp with the implication that you had better not lie to him.

Words are lost on you amidst the thundering of your pulse in your ears, and you simply shake your head back and forth slowly. Some survival instinct from deep in the recesses of your brain tells you not to take your eyes off of them for a second, has every muscle in your body twitching. Despite the uneasy adrenaline coursing through your veins, a firm knot of arousal has taken hold in your lower stomach, simmering and spitting in excitement from the hungry looks on Eren and Jean’s faces.

“We’ll give you a ten second head start,” Eren says, dragging his eyes over your frame and licking at his bottom lip, “just to give you a fighting chance.”

“Sound good?” Jean tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. You know this is your moment to laugh this whole thing off, to return to the cozy interior of the cabin and put your feet up, have some hot chocolate, be kissed softly and held gently between their two strong bodies. This is Jean giving you an out, if you want it.

“Okay,” you agree, fingers fluttering nervously by your side.

“Good girl,” Jean nods approvingly, clenching and unclenching his fist, “ready?”

You nod back to him, knees shaking under your frame and a cold sweat breaking out over the back of your neck.

“Then fucking run,” Eren growls, grinning feral and wicked in the afternoon sun.

To your own surprise, you turn on your heel almost instantaneously, tearing off into the woods as fast as you can. The boots you’ve decided to wear are certainly not built for speed, but the thick soles are perfect for carrying you over the rough terrain, supporting your ankles and keeping them from twisting as you sprint through the woods.

You veer left, suddenly realizing that everything around you looks…the same. There’s no identifying markers, no path back to the cabin, no way to tell one tree full of decaying leaves from another. It brings you pause, your feet coming to a halt. It strikes you that you hadn’t been paying very close attention during your initial hike through the woods, and that even if you tried, you aren’t sure what direction will lead you back to the cabin. Eren and Jean have actually trapped you out here.

The crushing realization nearly makes your heart stop. You’re unable to suspend your disbelief enough to remember that these are your boyfriends chasing you; the only thought your brain can hold onto is that you’re being chased, and that you need to run.

The thudding of footsteps approaching shakes you out of your realization, has your feet moving at lightning speed the second you hear it. You don’t slow to look over your shoulder to see which one of them it is, just let your feet carry you far away as fast as you can manage. It dawns on you that the feeling coursing through you, bringing warmth to your face, is some unbelievable mixture of fear and arousal.

You can’t tell the color of either feeling apart, can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Maybe they’re bleeding into each other, a symphony of passions ripping their way through every cord of muscle in your body, through every electrified nerve ending as you run away from what you want more than anything in this moment.

The footsteps behind you begin to fade, and as your breathing gets heavier and harsher, you realize you won’t be able to keep this pace; your best shot is running hard in short bursts and stopping to rest in between. You reach another clearing, much smaller than the one you had started out in, and lined with an assortment of bushes and a fallen tree. Just as you hunch over to catch your breath, you hear the return of those stomping footsteps, far behind you, but there all the same. The sharp pain ricocheting through your chest is warning enough to stop you from running again, and your eyes dart around in a panic, finally honing in on an area of the brush that looks thick enough to conceal you in your dark clothing, if you strip out of your light purple flannel.

As the footsteps draw closer, you hurriedly dive into the tangle of leaves and branches of the brush, ripping your flannel off of your arms as you go. You wince at the scrape of thorns and sticks on the soft, bare skin of your arms, but claw your way deeper, crouching down to conceal your body and twirling on your tippy-toes to peer through the leaves into the clearing.

It’s Jean, tall and imposing as he marches into the clearing. His chest is heaving under his shirt, hair mussed from running through the autumn wind. You marvel at him, so large and threatening, eyes blown wide and flicking from one area to another suspiciously, looking. Looking for you.

“Pet?” Jean whirls around, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you hiding from me?”

You don’t dare make a sound, positive that your heart is pounding so hard that if someone looked at your neck, they’d be able to see the frantic push and pull of your pulse through the skin. Jean surveys the area, narrowing his eyes at the brush where you’re hiding, but miraculously, turning his head the other way. You need to keep moving, especially considering that you’re so close to Jean, but with the increasingly small distance between you, there’s no way that you’ll be able to quietly sneak out of the brush. Just as you’re formulating a plan to wait and see which way he runs next, so you can run in the opposite direction, Jean’s eyes catch on something that makes your breath hitch.

“Uh-oh,” Jean exhales, stepping closer to you and crouching, his grin growing darker. When his hand comes back into your line of sight, you nearly gasp, one hand flying to the naked top of your head. He’s holding your beanie, grinning down at it. Hardly another moment passes before Jean’s eyes flicker to you, darkening as soon as you make eye contact through the leaves.

“Shit,” you breathe, scrambling back onto your hands and crawling desperately through the branches and leaves behind you, grimacing as a particularly sharp thorn scratches deep into your cheek.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jean laughs cruelly, jumping over the fallen tree trunk and towering over you as soon as you’ve escaped the brush. You stumble to your feet, but Jean’s quick, snagging you by the elbow before you can run off.

“Jean, please,” you gasp, looking up at him with wide, panicked eyes. It occurs to you that now that you’ve been caught, you’re not begging to be let go of– you’re begging to be held. Now that you’re so close to him, face to face with the shine of sweat on his collarbones, the rise and fall of his broad chest, your arousal is tangible, pumping through your veins thick like honey. You wet your lips, feeling the source of your panting move from your lungs to your core.

“Oh,” Jean’s bottom lip pushes out, “what’s the matter? Want to be my little princess again, is that it?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod frantically, looking over your shoulder and then Jean’s to see if Eren’s approaching to spoil your plan, “please Jean. Want to be your princess.”

“Aw,” Jean hums thoughtfully, cocking his head and looking down on you with pitying eyes for just long enough that you smile softly in relief, feel a rush of anticipation shoot through you. Unconsciously, you tilt your chin up, expectant and ready for him to catch you in a kiss. In the next instant, he’s gripping your arm even harder, with a jerk that makes your eyes water. “Too bad. You’re not my little princess out here.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, a clammy sweat breaking over your skin. Just as you’re about to plead one last time, Jean gives you a cruel smile.

“Eren! I’ve got her!” Jean shouts into the woods, turning his head over his shoulder to help the sound carry.

“Jean!” Your betrayal and frustration make your voice hoarse. Jean leans in to you, grinning wickedly.

“If I were you, I’d run. He’s not going to be nearly as nice as me.”

You wrench your arm out of his grasp, turning on your heel and darting further into the woods, grimacing at the feel of your wetness soaking through your panties. Jean’s footsteps are quick to catch up with you; or, at least, you think they’re Jean’s. You’re not going to break your stride to chance a look. You can’t outpace him, but you’re small and nimble enough that you think you may be able to outmaneuver him. You zigzag wildly through the trees, and it seems to be working, as Jean’s footsteps grow softer and softer behind you. Your lungs burn and your eyes water viciously, but you don’t dare relinquish the small distance you’ve managed to put between yourself and Jean, forcing your aching muscles to push harder and harder.

Suddenly, you spot it: a treehouse, with a little wooden ladder dangling from the bottom. It sounds like Jean’s footsteps are far enough behind you to afford you plenty of time to scramble up the ladder, at the very least to plan your next move. It wouldn’t be so bad if he saw you, either; the treehouse, as derelict as it may look, affords a nice sheltered spot for Jean to corner you in…

Your feet make the decision before your mind has the chance to catch up, and you’re beelining towards the treehouse, approaching it quickly. When you step on the first rung of the ladder, you feel the porous, rotten wood give a little underneath your weight, but the pounding of footsteps approaching urges you on. You make it two more steps up when one of the treacherous wooden rungs snaps under the pressure.

“Shit!” You squeal, clutching the ladder harder in an attempt not to tumble to the forest floor. You persevere, looking forward to whatever could await you if the boys were to follow you up to the treehouse. Two more steps up and you’re halfway there, but a pair of strong arms lock around your waist and pull you towards the ground with a harsh yank, ripping a yelp from your throat.

“Not a bad try,” you instantly recognize Eren’s voice, but what you don’t recognize is the rasp to it, the gravelly, dark tone, “but you didn’t really think you could run from me, did you?”

You thrash so violently that you think you must have hit him, because he drops you suddenly with a hiss. As soon as your feet hit the ground you take a few blind, wobbly steps in the opposite direction, only to run smack into Jean’s chest. You look up, wide, watery eyes blinking at Jean as your dizzied brain tries to grasp onto what’s at hand. You’re caught. They caught you.

“Going somewhere?” Jean sneers, grabbing you by your wrists and whipping you around to face Eren. The sight you’re greeted with has you squeezing your thighs together, a thick swallow sliding down your throat.

Eren’s eyes are blown wide, the bottomless black of his pupils nearly eclipsing the beautiful green you’re used to admiring. There’s a little sheen of sweat covering him, making him almost glow in the late afternoon light, and the veins in his neck are prominent with his heavy breathing. He runs his tongue over the now-split portion of his lip, courtesy of you, smearing a bit of blood over his mouth, and drags his eyes along every inch of you like he isn’t quite sure where he wants to start.

“I thought I told you to run,” Jean says, hot and taunting against the shell of your ear, “but it didn’t look like you tried very hard. Almost makes me think you wanted to be caught.”

“Of course she did,” Eren answers for you, stepping forward to run a thoughtful thumb across your cheek, making you flinch when he brushes over a cut on your face, “you want to get fucked, don’t you?”

You’re not sure what to do, whether you should nod your head enthusiastically or choke out a stuttered word of confirmation or maybe bite back; you feel frozen, overwhelmed by their looming figures and the fiery hot adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Eren decides for you, rubbing his thumb over your lips, and shoving it into your mouth. A coppery taste washes over your tongue, and you realize it’s your blood, fresh from the cut on your face. You suck his thumb in obediently, let him fishhook his thumb in your cheek, tugging your mouth this way and the other. Eren spits right in your mouth, nearly missing and splattering it all over your chin and cheeks.

“Nasty little bitch,” Eren snarls, shoving his mouth to yours.

What he does to you can barely be described as a kiss; it’s more like Eren devouring you. Teeth clack together, his tongue shoves into your mouth so violently you nearly bite down in your surprise. Eren sucks your tongue into his mouth, groaning low and hungry when you whimper.

“You taste good,” Eren murmurs hurriedly into your mouth, biting harshly on your lip and grinning against you when it makes you whine, “can taste the blood from that cut on your cheek.”

Jean stutters out a groan from behind you, his restraining grip on your wrists tightening. You feel his mouth begin to venture down your neck much like it had before, but his teeth are more demanding as they sink into your soft skin this time, more intent on taking, on marking you. One of Eren’s hands finds its way to your chest, grabbing harshly at your breast through your shirt. The ache of his strong fingers makes your back arch towards him, a breathless gasp leaving your lips.

“Show me,” Eren pants, finally backing away from you and ripping at your tank top, yanking it towards your head. There’s a shiny mixture of saliva and your blood staining his chin pink; shamefully, it makes a fresh rush of heat fly through your body, makes the wetness collecting between your thighs that much more prominent.

“We’re outside–” you try to protest, but a corrective slap to your ass from Jean shuts you up.

“No one’s around,” Jean says, mouth back on your shoulder as soon as Eren’s removed the offending garment from you, “it’s just us.”

“No one’s going to hear you scream,” Eren voices what you’re thinking with a nasty grin, bringing a hand to each of the cups of your bra and gripping the plush fabric hard enough to turn his knuckles white, tearing the connective fabric with a loud rip. 

“Eren!” You squeal in surprise, practically jumping in Jean’s arms.

“That’s it,” Eren groans, leaning down and lathing his tongue across a deep cut above your right breast, something you hadn’t noticed in your fearful escape from the bush earlier, “let me fucking hear you.”

Jean’s got your wrists contained in one of his large hands, not minding the swing of your ruined bra around each of your arms, reaching his other hand around your waist to fiddle desperately with the clasp of your jeans.

“Eren,” he says sharply, drawing Eren’s attention to the fact that your pants are still on. Eren smirks.

“Pick her up,” he answers, voice gravelly. Jean lifts you off the ground, your back pressed to his chest, feet dangling in the air. Eren rips both of your boots off, tossing them to the forest floor. Still pissed about your bra, truthfully, you jerk a foot out harsh enough to hurt him if it should make contact, trying to keep your movement spastic enough to make it look like an accident. Eren dodges and looks at you murderously, returning to his full height to grab your chin harshly.

“Did you just try to fucking kick me?” His forehead is pressed nearly to yours, voice low. Busted.

“You tore my bra.” Your voice has none of the conviction you were trying to find in the depths of your chest, coming out breathy and weak. A sound that can only be described as a snarl rips from Eren’s chest.

“Yeah, I fucking did,” Eren smacks your cheek just hard enough to stun you, make sure you’re really listening to him, “we caught you. Understand that? We’re going to do what we want with you because you’re ours. Keep smarting off, and I’ll rip your panties off next and shove ‘em in that bratty mouth of yours. Got it?”

Speechless, you nod desperately, squirming as the heat between your legs begins to grow unbearable, that tacky, sticky arousal surely beginning to leak down your thighs at this point. Eren makes quick work of your jeans and your underwear, hissing appreciatively as your panties stick to the wetness between your thighs.

“You’re so wet, pet,” Jean reaches around to swipe his hand through your folds. That alone is enough to make your knees buckle, make a wanton moan slip out from your lips.

“I–I want– oh.” You try and fail to articulate a sentence, cut off entirely by a loud groan when Eren’s teeth sink into the supple skin of your breast. Eren grins around the mouthful of flesh he holds between his teeth, raising his eyebrows at how riled up you already are.

“Pitiful little thing,” Jean chuckles, voice husky, “look how bad she wants it.”

Jean reaches down and shoves two fingers straight into your slick cunt, ripping a strangled moan out of your throat. Your hips buck into his hand of their own accord, desperate, tinny whines and whimpers leaving your mouth in quick succession. The stretch of Jean’s fingers is so welcome after all the build-up, that you don’t think you could put it into words if you tried. On behalf of your useless mouth, your body makes a great show of trying to show them just how good their attention feels, rolling and rocking into their touch, no matter how harsh.

Eren digs his fingers into the fat of your hips, your thighs, your ass, gripping you close to him and biting into whatever flesh of your upper body that he can reach as hard as he can, surely coming close to drawing blood. They aren’t the type of bites that require suction and the lathing of a tongue to soothe and leave hickeys; no, these are the type of bites that bruise on impact, little purple half-moons of teeth marks decorating your arms, shoulders, and breasts.

Jean coos in your ear approvingly each time your hips cant towards his hand, seeking more and more friction as the knot in your stomach tightens with each curl of his fingers. You can feel him pressing into your lower back, hard and promising, and your pussy flutters around his fingers at the thought of being split open by him, by Eren, by anything more that they’re willing to give you.

“Want to fuck her,” Eren huffs, “she close?”

“She’ll cum soon,” Jean affirms, licking through the shell of your ear delicately. You revel in the way they talk about you as if you’re not here, as if you possess no consciousness worthy of interacting with. You feel stripped of your higher thought processes, reduced into some pathetic, pliant creature only in search of pleasure– and you love it.

“Please,” you attempt to beg, only to be silenced by Eren’s long fingers wrenching their way down your throat.

“Stop talking,” Eren grumbles around a mouthful of your flesh, “pets don’t talk, do they?”

That draws a heady whine from you, your hips twitching forwards into Jean’s hand eagerly, a blatant attempt to pull forth the orgasm that’s been brewing between your hip bones for the last five minutes. Jean chuckles at your struggles, works his fingers just a bit faster.

“Go on,” Jean whispers, “it’s just us out here. Be as loud as you want, pet. We’re going to need you good and wet, so go ahead, cum hard for us.”

“C’mon, what are you waiting for? Fucking cum already.” Eren echoes Jean’s sentiment from your breasts, licking at another smear of blood just under your nipple.

Your body thrashes in their grip, begging for and yet resistant to the overwhelming waves of pleasure wracking through it. Loud squeals escape from your full mouth, even from where Eren’s got your lips stretched wide around three of his bulky fingers.

“Let us see what you can do, pet,” Jean murmurs, thick and warm against your ear, “just for us, come on.”

With one more vicious curl of Jean’s fingers, your back is arching violently, a muffled scream echoing into the canopy of trees around you as your release hits you hard. You can feel the wetness smearing between your thighs, feel the effort Jean’s exerting into keeping you still and in one place as you buck against him. Eren growls in approval and sinks to his knees, biting harshly into your thigh before sucking your clit into his mouth. That only serves to make you fight harder, the overstimulation getting the better of you.

Eren’s only able to lap at the sensitive folds between your legs for a moment before your twitching thighs threaten to knock him in the head, jerking closed of their own accord. Eren chuckles and smacks the inside of your leg a few times, rising to his feet and smirking at you.

“You squirming? Too much?” Eren sneers, gripping your jaw in his hand and forcing you to keep your half-lidded eyes on him. You push against his grip as hard as you can to shake your head no, earning yourself a pleased glimmer amongst the darkened green of his eyes. “More? You want more?”

When you nod frantically, Eren grins so wide his canines wink at you in the setting sun, flits his gaze over your shoulder to meet Jean’s eye.

“Get her on the ground.”

Jean complies, forcing you to your hands and knees in the dirt. Something about being so exposed, bare and open for them in the ground like this, has your blood running hot in an entirely new way. Neither of them have taken so much as their outer layer off, pinning you between them like…like their little pet. You can feel yourself grow even wetter; it may as well be dripping down your thighs at this point. You hear one of them kneeling behind you, can feel the head of a cock swiping through the mess between your legs.

“So fucking wet,” Eren hisses from over your shoulder, grabbing at your hips and kneading the skin. A hand comes to your chin, tilts your head up.

“Open up, pet,” Jean says, biting into his bottom lip. Obediently, you drop your jaw, tongue out, and blink up at him invitingly, more than eager for the weight of him in your mouth. Jean groans at the sight, slipping the tip of his drooling cock onto your tongue. You swipe your tongue over the tip, eyes rolling back at the taste of salt and sweat and Jean. Jean wastes no time in pushing to the back of your throat, tapping your gag reflex.

Any hope you had of suppressing the cough that threatens you when Jean pushes into your throat is ripped away by Eren shoving himself into you from behind, pushing you an inch too far down Jean’s cock and making you retch.

“All stuffed full of cock, aren’t you?” Eren grunts, driving into you and setting a brutal pace off the bat. You’re powerless to do much else besides squeal and whine around Jean’s cock, punctuating your muffled moans with the occasional gag when Jean taps the back of your throat.

Jean spits several times into the palm of his hand, never losing his pace thrusting into your mouth. If you had any more presence of mind, you’d frown up at him questioningly, but any doubts about his intentions are resolved when he leans over you, spreading his spit over your asshole.

“I want to take her too,” Jean says to Eren, who leans down to spit directly on your only unoccupied hole, lubing you up, “get her ready.”

Eren only offers an affirmative grunt, circling your hole a few times before pushing his thumb in up to the hilt; you’d taken them both only last night, so you don’t require all that much prep, but Eren’s thick fingers are a shock all the same. You squeal around Jean, who shushes you and runs his fingers soothingly along the crown of your head. You lean into his gentle touch, only for him to tighten his grip around the tangled wreck of your hair and shove you down onto his cock harder.

“Told you you’re not my princess anymore,” Jean chuckles darkly above you, driving his hips forward to the same rhythm Eren pounds into you from behind, “not out here.”

Eren’s been busying himself preparing your asshole, up to what feels like three fingers, but with the girth of Eren’s hands, you can never be sure. To have every bit of you full and used is an out of body experience; it’s not something you don’t experience regularly with the both of them, but to be taken so brutally out in the open, to be fucked in such an animalistic way, nearly shuts your brain off.

Eren gives you a few final thrusts before pulling himself entirely from you, causing Jean to follow suit and leaving you empty and whining. You’re tugged to your feet before you can even begin to form a sentence to beg for them back, stumbling in the crunchy leaves under your feet. Eren scoops you into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep you firmly pressed to him.

His cock drags along the folds between your legs, and he presses his forehead to yours, short, heavy breaths leaving him in huffs.

“Ready, pet?” Eren mutters into your open, waiting mouth, “ready to take what you were made for?”

Before you can offer anything more than a half-hearted plea, Jean is pressing into you, the all-consuming stretch of him rendering you mute. Eren never stops boring his gaze into yours, something sparking and spitting and wanting in his eyes, demanding more from you. He drinks down your squeal of surprise, spreads your ass cheeks open so Jean can get at you deeper, digging into depths you rarely find yourself aware of.

“She’s still so tight,” Jean growls, sinking his teeth into your neck, smiling around the mouthful when you moan wantonly.

“Give him some more, hm?” Eren, forehead still tacky and stuck to yours, grabs for Jean’s hand, angling it under your mouth. Through your desperate little hiccups of pleasure, you understand; you spit into Jean’s hand, opening your mouth so that a thick line of drool can slick his fingers up further. Eren grins, evil and satisfied. “Good job, pet.”

Jean uses the saliva you’ve given him to wet the last few inches of himself, pushing in to the base with a loud groan. You can almost feel the tangible eye contact they exchange; they love to look at each other unraveling when they’re inside you. “Your turn.”

Eren—no, Jean?—digs his fingers into your hips, making you whimper at the thought of the bruises sure to follow his grip, slides his cock into you slowly and forcefully, like he’s proving a point. The stretch of him– no, of both of them inside you, isn’t anything new, but in this setting, after all the build-up? You’re wailing, openly, your cries echoing off the trees as you thrash in their firm hold, overstimulated and overwhelmed and overpleasured all at once.

“Sh, sh,” Jean shushes you sternly, pinning your head back against his shoulder with a firm fist to the nape of your neck, “take it, don’t fight it.”

“Feel so fucking good, pet,” Eren says gruffly, giving a tentative half-thrust and making all of you moan, “like you’re fucking made for taking cock.”

“She is,” Jean coos, beginning to rock into you in the same easy rhythm as Eren, “just look at her. Not one thought behind those pretty eyes.”

He’s right; your eyes have glazed over entirely, mouth hanging ajar as they take and take and take from you. You can feel an orgasm quickly taking shape in the pit of your stomach, wrapping around itself and squeezing, threatening to pull you under. You’re so blissed out you can’t even be sure of what you’re feeling. Full, exposed, primal, half-conscious; all of those words surely would make the list if you could pull any of them to the front of your mind at the moment.

Your thighs are quivering around Eren’s waist, tightening viciously around his hips as they drive into you, suspending you between two walls of hard muscle. You know your cunt follows suit when Eren groans loudly, jaw dropping slightly.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Slutty little thing,” Eren grunts against you, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Jean, “begging to get your cunt filled like a bitch in heat.”

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” Jean practically whispers into your ear, words wrapping around the knot in your stomach and holding it together, “want to get bred, don’t you, pet?”

Eren’s eyes go wide for just a moment, his gaze fixated on Jean. You can feel him pause briefly, twitch inside of you, and then before even a full second has passed, Eren’s determined scowl has twisted his face again, and he’s hammering into you like his life depends on it.

“Is that what you want?” Eren demands of you, eyeing you.

“Tell him,” Jean says to you, like the devil on your shoulder, “tell him how badly you want it. Go on.”

“I–I–” The tears running down your face collect in your mouth, making you hiccup and spit and choke on your words. Eren grabs your face fiercely, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” Eren snarls, “tell me you want this slutty pussy stuffed full of cum, our cum.”

“I want your cum,” you whimper pathetically, words stuttering and tripping as they spill from your swollen lips, “want to be full of it, want to get bred.”

“Fuck,” Eren nearly throws his head back, somehow moving his hips faster. Your legs dangle uselessly beside him; every muscle in your body contracts and relaxes wildly as your orgasm sinks its claws into you, threatens to pull you under. The only things tethering you to your body at this point are Eren’s eyes on you, bright and feral, and Jean’s hands around your hips, keeping you in place for them to pound into. You can feel the tidal wave coming up in your throat, your moans and whines growing more and more frantic, your head feeling lighter with each passing moment.

“Such a good girl– good little pet for us,” Jean slurs, hips beginning to falter in their rhythm, “show us how bad you want our cum, let us feel you–fuck–”

“So fucking good,” Eren laughs almost hysterically as you finally snap and cum around them, slapping your face lightly and egging you on, “there she goes.”

Every nerve ending in your body feels like it’s on fire, little shocks of electricity flying down your limbs and making you jerk and flail and contract. You can feel your fingers digging into the skin of Eren’s biceps until they meet something wet and warm, and you know you’ve drawn blood, but you’re spiraling through rapturous pleasure so intensely that you couldn’t release your grip if you tried.

The way you tighten viciously around them has Jean falling over the edge right after you, his hips stuttering and coming to a still pressed against you. He tugs your face to the side, pulling you in for a sloppy, honestly disgusting, kiss, panting heavily into your mouth and mouthing around praises that he’s too spent to fully pronounce. You can feel Eren’s eyes on you both, feel the way his thrusts are starting to grow more frantic. Jean turns your face to meet Eren’s gaze, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Look at her, Eren,” Jean shakes your face a little for emphasis, “needs cum in both her holes, not just one.”

As if to emphasize his statement, Jean pulls out of you, a gush of his cum joining the mess between your legs. Eren throws his head back and groans, nods urgently.

“Said we’d stuff her full, right? Breed her? That’s what she wants, isn’t it, pet?” Jean sneers, landing a smack to your cheek.

“Uh-huh,” you babble mindlessly, body trembling with the force of the aftershocks of your orgasm, “p-please Eren, breed me, I need it–”

“Gonna cum in you,” Eren pants, grabbing your hair so hard you wince, “can you take it? Take all of it ‘til you’re bred and full of me?”

“Yes,” you whimper, nodding against him, “yes, please, I–”

“Give it to her,” Jean’s fisted his hand at the nape of Eren’s neck now, pulling all of you so close that you’re drinking down each other’s breaths, “she’s worked so hard for it, give her what she needs.”

That’s all it takes; Jean’s encouragement has Eren spilling inside you with a lengthy, choked groan. With what little energy you have left, you pepper soft kisses along his neck, knowing how his muscles must be burning with how they’re twitching under his skin. Eren’s fingers are digging into you so hard it hurts, already aching, but you let him cling to you, ride out his orgasm as Jean threads his fingers through the hairs at the base of Eren’s neck soothingly.

You all stay this way for a moment, Jean supporting the majority of your body weight as Eren begins to sag into you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The breeze swirls by, leaving cold kisses on every inch of your bare skin, reminding you that you’re out in the open, making you miss your sweater.

“Guys?” You speak feebly into the crisp air, blinking sleepily.

“Holy shit,” Eren laughs breathlessly into the crook of your shoulder, pulling you close to him in a sticky hug, “that was–”

“Crazy,” Jean agrees with a disbelieving chuckle, helping you down onto your shaky legs.

“I am…very naked.” You point out weakly, swaying on your sore thighs. Jean’s quick to slide an arm around your shoulders and tug you to him, while Eren wrangles his hoodie over his head to offer you.

“There’s not another house for five miles in either direction,” Jean assures you, lifting your arms so that Eren can pull his hoodie over you, “wouldn’t ever let anybody see you like this, you know that.”

“Better?” Eren, still a little winded, tugs the hoodie down around your thighs, looking you over. He swipes a thumb across the cut on your cheek, an impish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We really roughed you up, didn’t we? I’m sorry, angel.”

“I liked it.” Your eyes are already falling shut; you barely have the energy for a sleepy smile when Eren presses his lips to your hairline. Jean scoops you up into his arms; all the cardio that he does at the gym is making itself known.

“Was it good, princess? Have fun?” Jean murmurs against your forehead.

“So much fun.” You open one eye to see Jean and Eren glance at each other, see the spark of love between them. It comforts you; even amongst the near-constant shivers wracking through your body, the warmth of their presence and the steady rocking of Jean’s steps lull your eyes shut.

“Thank god she ended up running just about to the backyard,” Eren huffs from somewhere to your right, still sounding very much like he hasn’t caught his breath, “I’m fuckin’ beat.”

“It’s because you don’t do enough cardio, bro.” You can hear Jean’s insistent eyebrow raise and visualize Eren’s answering eye roll, chuckling to yourself in Jean’s arms.

“Cardio’s for bitches, I’m bulking right now–”

“Did you listen to anything the team trainer said in college? Honestly–”

“That was three years ago–”

Somewhere amongst their arguing you doze off, letting yourself go limp in Jean’s arms. When you wake again, Jean’s walking you up a flight of stairs, angling you this way and the other to avoid hitting your head on the railing. Jean flits his eyes down towards you and acknowledges your consciousness with a soft smile, carrying you into a bedroom and sitting you on the bed. Wordlessly, Jean and Eren go about their usual routine of cleaning up after a particularly rough session: Jean runs a bath while Eren fetches some antiseptic for the scratches on your face and arms, Eren nearly gets distracted when you start running your fingernails through his hair but Jean gets you both back on track, somehow fitting all three of you in the largest bathtub you’ve ever seen.

Before you know it, you’ve been scrubbed clean, all the grime gone from your skin and the twigs pulled from your hair, and sandwiched between Eren and Jean under a heavy duvet.

“All better, right?” Eren murmurs against your forehead, pressing a kiss to it.

“All better,” you hum, nuzzling into his chest, “but I don’t want to waste the weekend. We’re only here until Sunday– do we really need to nap?”

“I threw dinner into the smoker while Eren was drying you off,” Jean says, words floating over your shoulder from where he’s curled up behind you, “we have at least two hours ‘til it’s cooked through properly.”

“And you need a nap,” Eren grins mischievously, “you had a big afternoon.”

“I’m not the only one,” you giggle up at him, “I heard you wheezing on the walk back.”

Eren scowls, only to have the furrow in his brow smoothed over by Jean’s thumb. You watch in awe as he instantly melts into Jean’s palm, such a volatile man so easily soothed by a gentle touch. As Eren’s mood begins to settle, you feel the atmosphere in the room change; the blankets feel just a bit heavier, the rise and fall of Jean’s chest against your back quells your breathing into the same rhythm, and the circles Eren’s thumb is rubbing into your hip have your eyes beginning to flutter.

“Naps for all three of us,” Jean says, leaving no room for argument, "I set an alarm. I won’t let you sleep through the weekend, I promise."

Something about the warmth and familiarity tucked under the covers with the three of you has your mind ambling on towards sleep, even after your weak attempts to protest. As you drift off, you can hear the quiet, wet noises of Jean and Eren exchanging a goodnight kiss above your head, feel the reassuring squeeze of their arms around your waist, the brush of lips against the nape of your neck, the tip of your nose. There’s a little murmured “I love you” from each of them, and though your mouth wants to form the words to respond, all you’re able to manage is a soft, contented smile as you drift off.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Jaskier retreated from the main hall. Leaving the remaining Wolves to see to their injured and dead and readying himself for another night tucked away in his wreck of a room, determined to stay out of the way after already having been largely ignored since his arrival and then shoved away by Lambert twice. He found himself wondering if he should count the first time, considering that he probably saved Jaskier’s life in the process? Probably not. The second time though was just plain spiteful. But then, he and Geralt had been travelling together for years and the white haired Witcher tolerated his casual affection at best – why else would it always be down to Jaskier to initiate when he'd seen the Witcher freely hug and give causal touches to Ciri and Yen multiple times?

He swallowed down his self pity as he realised he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere – he definitely didn’t recognise that particular crack in the wall.

“Fuck.” He sighed as he slumped against the wall. Part of him wondered if he should maybe be feeling a little more panicked about this turn of events, considering he’d been warned that some parts of the Keep were unsafe (whilst neglecting to tell him which parts. So that was incredibly fucking useful). Then again, it wasn’t exactly like he’d be missed, even if the Wolves weren’t currently preoccupied with the aftermath of a possessed princess unleashing almost literal Hell. He closed his eyes and rest his head against the freezing stone. Sod it, this was just as out of the way as anywhere else. He’d try and get his bearings in an hour or two.

“Jaskier. Jaskier!”

Jaskier jerked awake at the shout of his name, squinting at the sun through the window, surprised by how little time had actually passed.

Geralt barrelled around the corner just as he was trying to shake some of the stiffness out of his shoulders, the Witcher looking panic-stricken as he practically ran to the Bard, “Jaskier.”

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Has something else happened with Ciri? Has Yen’s chaos - oh!” He was cut off as Geralt pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly and effectively trapping the Bard’s own between their torsos as he hid his face in Jaskier’s shoulder, “Fuck. Geralt, talk to me. What’s happened?”

“I couldn’t find you.”

Jaskier gave an eloquent “Huh?” at that, “Geralt, did you hit your head and not say anything again? You did find me. You broke me out of prison, remember?”

He felt Geralt shake his head, “No. Just now. You weren’t in the hall, or where Yen showed me you’d been sleeping or anywhere else I checked. I thought something had happened to you and none of us had noticed. I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled his face away, allowing Jaskier to fully look at him, “You scared me.”

Jaskier lowered his eyes, ‘Congratulations Julian. Yet another fuck up.’

“I’m sorry. I thought it’d be better for everyone if I stayed out the way.”

“No, Jaskier.” Large fingers tilted his chin up until sky blue met molten yellow, “I’m sorry. For pushing you away on the mountain, for keeping you at arms length here, for how the others have treated you.”

“I don’t think you have much control over the last one to be fair.”

“Yes, I do. Ciri made me realise I should have set them right as soon as I arrived back. She gave Lambert an earful for shoving you like he did after his injuries had been checked over.”

Jaskier gave a brief smile at that before the mood turned serious again, “Can I ask why though?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought we were ok after you trusted me to escort Ciri and then you just acted as if I were invisible. what did I do wrong?” He couldn’t stop the tears blurring his vision, “I know I can be too much. I was too much when we were together, I see that now and I want to try and fix things. Stop being so, well, me. But I can’t when I don’t even know what I did between the prison and here to make you angry at me again.”

Geralt looked at him like Jaskier had just been the one to sucker punch him, “You did nothing Jaskier, you never did. I acted as I did because, well, you terrified me. Still do.”

Jaskier gave a wet laugh, “I seem to be making a habit of that today.”

“I mean it.” Geralt continued, “You shoehorned yourself alongside me and you were – are – so full of life and joy and light. I wanted to keep you for myself. Something I’ve never felt so strongly before, not for Yen, not for Renfri. I wanted to know you completely and be known in return and that realisation scared me more than any monster I’ve faced. I didn’t know how to let you in like that, so I pushed you away.”

In a moment of bravery (or perhaps madness), he brushed his lips against Jaskier’s forehead, hearing the Bard’s breath catch, “You’re not the one who needs to change, Jaskier. You never were. I just don’t know how to start, but I’ll try. For you and Ciri and Yen.”

“My darling Witcher, you already have changed.” Jaskier, squirmed until he was able to loop his arms around Geralt’s waist, finally returning the embrace, “You and Yen are able to be in the same room and act like actual adults, you finally took responsibility for Ciri, and as for me-“ Jaskier gave Geralt’s waist a squeeze, “You do realise this is the first time you’ve hugged me first?”

Geralt brushed his lips against Jaskier’s brow again, firmer this time, “First of many. If you’ll allow it.”

“Always.”

[rogueddie]

Corroded Coffin Fic Rec (multiple pairings of / with the band members, e.g; Jeff/Eddie or Argyle/Gareth)

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🎸

Corroded Coffin's Collective Brain Cell

CrystalDragonette

In which all of Corroded Coffin is in love with Steve, not that he notices. He's just happy he has friends

Words : 1,205 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing : Corroded Coffin/Steve Harrington (one-sided)

AO3 : x

(This is the first of a four part series, it's an amazing read!)

Ain't no mountain high enough

Darkimpala

They had agreed weeks ago that they didn't need to anything crazy or big for their anniversary, even if it was their first.

But of course when do they ever listen to each other.

Words : 1,347 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

Pairing : Gareth/Eddie Munson

AO3 : x

Leaning on you

ravensapphire

Gareth patted Eddie's shoulder:"The worst thing that can happen is that I'm going to throw myself off the cliff of Lover's Lake because he doesn't like me back" he said "Go away, you idiot".

Eddie ruffled his hair and smiled at him with an encouraging wink.

Words : 1,550 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

Pairing : Gareth/Jeff

AO3 : x

touch me the way no one else does

starryeyedjanai

Eddie keeps touching Jeff's legs through the holes in his jeans like he doesn't even realize he's doing it and it's been driving him crazy for the better part of an hour.

Jeff's been trying to think of a one-liner that would be sufficient for what he's feeling, but all he can say is, "If you don't stop touching my knee, man," trailing off.

"What?" Eddie asks, a smirk on his face. Jeff knew he was doing this on purpose. "What are you gonna do?"

Oh. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

But he has years of learning to think on his feet as practice, so he says, "I'll drag you back inside the school and make you do something about it."

Words : 2,385 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

Pairing : Jeff/Eddie Munson

AO3 : x

I Kissed a Girl

alley_cat_toulouse, itsBudsey09

“Listen, you seem like a nice guy and I’m sorry you got dragged into this…”

Words : 2,915 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing : Argyle/Gareth

AO3 : x

[koboivanderlinde]

Arthur Morgan with a s/o who found a wild animal and wants to keep it

Hey! So sorry for the inactivity, I have a lot of things going on rn in my life and don't have much time to write, but anyways this was a request from @freakygirlforeve7-blog-blog ! I just loved the idea, it is so cute and this is just fun fluff material. I hope you like it, I feel like Arthur is kinda out of character but I tried making something fun to read and not too short since it's been a while since I got that request, really hope it's still good!

Pairing : Arthur Morgan x reader

Warnings : None

Tags : Fluff, Arthur being cautious, reader being the opposite, Hosea being your partner in crime

   The gang was in Horseshoe Overlook for a week now. The supplies were low, and food was becoming a real problem, so you and Arthur decided to go on a hunting trip for a few days. Some supplies were forgotten in Colter, so you would go get them back and hunt in the mountains. This was a bit risky, but it was important.

    The trip was alright. You and Arthur took a wagon with provisions for a few days. When you arrived, you chose to settle in a small cabin while Arthur was already gone hunting. You were putting food in the cabinet when you heard a faint noise outside. It startled you, but it sounded almost like a whimper. You opened the door and found a hurt mountain lion cub, with multiple wounds on its leg. You let out a small gasp and your first thought was to take care of the poor thing. Taking it in your arms, you carried the cub in the cabin and put it on the bed, bandaging him as well as you could. You had some meat, and decided to give him a small amount. He’s so adorable, you thought. You had the need to protect him, to take care of him. But would Arthur agree? You didn’t think so. He was very wary of wild animals, even more since John had been almost killed by wolves. But that cub was so small, unable to do any harm.. You sighed and got back to work. The little lion would not stop meowing, so you put him on your shoulder and continued to store provisions.

   A few hours later, you heard the door open. 

“Hey, I’m back. Hunting was good, I got-”

   You had your back turned to him, and couldn’t see why he stopped talking all of a sudden. You slowly turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s wrong? Did you see anything worrying?” You asked.

“What is that thing on your shoulder?" His eyes widened, as he pointed to the lion.

“Oh, him? He’s a little cub I found in front of the cabin. He was hurt, so I took him in and took care of him. Isn’t he cute?”

“Are you kidding? What if his mother is looking for him? We have to get rid of him.”

“Can’t we keep him? He’s harmless, look. I don’t think he would be here if his mother was still alive, and I can’t just leave him to die.”

Arthur sighed as he watched you gently pet the cub. It’s true, that thing was cute, but he was worried.

“Listen…just don’t let him eat all of our food and we’ll see when we’ll go back to camp.”

You thanked him enthusiastically and hugged him. 

For the two next days, you hunted with Arthur, leaving Zeus (you both decided to name him) at the cabin to let him rest. When you came back in the evening, you didn’t find Zeus anywhere. You were getting worried, and, frankly, sad.

“Where is he?” You kept saying, over and over again.

“Maybe he went back to his mother. It’s okay.” Arthur pulled you in a hug, arms wrapped tightly around you in an attempt to comfort you. Suddenly, you both heard a loud sound and saw Arthur’s eyes widen in surprise.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

He quickly pulled away, trying to reach at his back and turning it to you in the process.

“There’s something clawing at my coat! Can you see it?”

Of course you did see it. Zeus was there, hanging from the back of Arthur’s coat, hooked with his tiny claws. 

“It’s him!” 

You carefully took Zeus in your arms and hugged him. You started patting his head as Arthur looked, slightly annoyed about his damaged coat.

“How the hell did he get here?” Arthur groaned.

To answer his question, you looked around. It really seemed like he jumped out of nowhere. And as you looked around, you saw it.

“Look, the cabinet’s door is open.”

“Did he really hide there?” You both laughed. 

“Well, at least you’re not sad anymore”, said Arthur. “By the way, I think we’re done hunting. Maybe we could go back to camp tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’s alright with me”, you replied. There was a small silence, and you looked at Arthur with big eyes, obviously trying to ask for something without actually having to speak.

“What is it?” He asked, confusion in his eyes. Suddenly, he got it. “Yeah…I guess we can keep him for now. Don’t know if he’ll be allowed in camp though.”

You kissed Arthur on the cheek to thank him. Your eyes were glistening with joy, looking at Zeus like a baby. Feeling tired, you decided to go to sleep now, taking care of packing things in the morning. Arthur and you went to bed and Zeus slept next to the both of you, comfortably laid on the floor.

The next morning, Arthur helped you pack all of your things. You left the mountains at about noon, Zeus was on your lap as you were next to Arthur driving the wagon. Zeus was incredibly docile, doing nothing but sleeping, stretching and occasionally asking for a treat. His wounds had healed and he was full of energy, which relieved you. The ride was quiet, went quite fast and was pretty nice. You got to camp at night, while everyone was already gone to sleep. 

“Okay, this is convenient”, Arthur said. “Let’s just sneak him in our tent. He won’t be too much of a trouble-maker, I think.”

You carried Zeus in your tent, followed by Arthur, and you both collapsed on the cot, exhausted. Arthur kissed your forehead and cuddled you to sleep.

“Y’know, I’m pretty happy you found him. He’s cute.”

“See? I knew you would grow fond of him!”

“I’m still careful, in case he tries to steal you away,” he joked. 

Arthur and you both woke up late. You were still tired from the exhausting hunting but sleeping helped you a little. You turned over and let your arm hang over the side of your cot, your hand looking for Zeus. But you didn’t feel any fur. You got up, and didn’t see him in the tent. Where was he?

“Arthur, I don’t see Zeus anywhere.”

“Eh, he might be hiding again. I think that’s his forte.”

Still worried, you headed outside. Everyone was doing their usual activities, and you quickly waved hello to Javier sharpening his knife around the fire. Suddenly, you heard Hosea’s voice behind you. 

“Ah, you finally woke up. Come here for a second.” He was behind your tent, only his head visible. 

You walked to him, and saw him holding Zeus in his arms.

“Did you two bring him from your adventures?” 

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry, he was hurt and I didn’t know what to do, I-”

“I like him,” Hosea said. “He was wandering around the camp early this morning, only me and Dutch saw him.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

“Is it okay if we keep him? He’s harmless, I promise, and he could help us hunt.”

“Alright, just keep him hidden for now. I don’t want everyone in camp to know about him yet. Dutch likes him, by the way. Did you give him a name?

“Yeah alright,” you smiled. “his name is Zeus.”

“Okay well, leave little Zeus in your tent for now, make sure he doesn’t escape and we’ll show him around tonight,” Hosea winked at you and walked away. Never in your life had you thought you would get so attached to a wild mountain lion, but now that he was here you knew good times were coming.

[apritellointeractive]

Sworn to Devotion: Chapter 2 - Part 2

>>Tie-breaker winner: HOBBIT

>> April decides to take the dirt path.

(Art by @lovelyladylavie)

April points to her right. “Let’s take the path. Maybe it’ll take us back to the main road?” 

Donatello hums as he brings a hand up to his chin. “Potentially, though it could lead us into trouble with your attempted kidnappers. Are you sure?”

April pauses, considering the potential problem he raised, then shrugs. “I don’t want either of us breakin’ a leg tryin’ to go off-road. Besides–” she knocks his chest with the back of her hand “–I’m confident you’ll protect me.” 

She thinks she sees the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks, partially hidden by the purple mask he’s wearing on his face. But she blinks and it’s gone.

Did April imagine it?

The softshell clears his throat. “Well, let’s get moving. We’re losing precious daylight.”

Together they set out on the rough dirt path. Donatello leads the way down the inclined path, his footsteps light on the dirt and gravel below him. April follows behind him, though her steps sound much heavier, the gravel crunching under her heel as she kicks up dust. The shoes she stole from the boxes in the cave are too big for her, but there’s no way she’s wearing her high heels.

Besides, they weren’t in her favorite color anyway. 

They’re quiet as they descend down the mountain. Almost too quiet. April opens and closes her mouth multiple times, trying to find some topic to talk about. But… she’s not sure what to talk to him about. She wants to ask him about what happened earlier. Did she embarrass him? Does he not like being touched? But she feels too awkward to broach the question.

She’s also not sure if it’s the best time to ask him about his inventions. His brows furrowed and his lips are straight, and she doesn’t want to distract him from doing his duty of protecting her.

So April decides to just keep her mouth shut and observe the scenery as they walk through the forest.

They’re making good progress, with April humming quietly to herself while Donatello’s completely silent except for the soft clinking of his armor. At least an hour passes before Donatello suddenly stops in his tracks, and she almost runs into his shoulder.

“Did you hear that?”

April regains her balance and looks around. “Um, no?”

They stand completely still, Donatello holding his bō in a defensive position as his eyes darting around. He suddenly jerks his head forward, looking down the winding path. April extends her head forward, eyes squinting and ears straining to identify whatever has Donatello’s attention. 

“Someone’s coming!” He whispers urgently. “Quick! Off the road. We need to hide.”

Before April can object, she’s being pulled off the path. Her guard’s hustling into the forest and away from the path, fallen leaves getting kicked up into the air. He skids to a stop right before a five-foot drop, the edge surrounded by twisting roots of nearby trees and large boulders. 

He drops down and turns to her, offering her his hand. “Princess, take my hand! Hurry! I don’t want us to be spotted.” 

April furrows her brow. “Why are you hiding? If it’s those ninja dudes you can take them.”

Donatello shakes his head. “I don’t know if it’s them, or how many of them there could be. I cannot risk them injuring or recapturing you. Please! Just take my hand!”

She grumbles but reluctantly takes his hand, letting him help her hide. It doesn’t escape her as she joins him that his hands are so much bigger than hers—her hand is practically engulfed by his, and she can’t help but blush. He guides her to sit down, and she squeaks as he pulls her close to his chest so they’re both out of view of the path. 

For a few seconds all April can focus on is just how strong he is. Well, she knew he had to be strong and capable, as he had no problem saving her earlier. But to feel his gentle but firm grip around her sent a warm flush across her cheeks and chest. If it weren’t for the armor, she bets should would be able to feel his muscles underneath his clothes.

… why is she thinking about this?

April doesn’t have time to ponder over her thoughts as the thunderous noise of what sounds like a whole platoon of people catches her attention. While she can’t see them, she guesses that they’re running up up the path.

Donatello pulls her closer. 

“Hurry up!” A loud commanding voice barks. “The princess might be still in our old base!”

The thunderous footfall continues as they travel up the path, away from their hiding spot and toward the cave. However, as the group gets farther and farther away, it becomes apparent that there are some stragglers.

“Dude, I ain’t meant for running,” one of the stragglers gasps, “Why do they need all of us to find the princess again?”

“I dunno, man,” another whines, “All I know is I need a break.”

The two keep grumbling and whining while Donatello and April remain hidden. However, it quickly becomes apparent that the two stragglers are not moving. They can’t stay here forever or they will be discovered.

April…

>> Picks up a rock and suggests they throw it. >> Unsheathes her dagger and makes stabbing motions toward the stragglers. >> Points forward and suggests they sneak away, deeper into the forest.

[azsazz]

Warrior Status

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Multiple Anon Request(s): "I’m not sure if requests are open, but maybe Az dealing with his kids as teenagers? 🥰"

"I absolutely love the children you made up for the inner circle!!!! Based on them, I had the idea to ask for a fic about them as teenagers; I feel like that dynamic would be fun to read about. Obsessed with your writing, and wanted to mention that I always look forward to your posts. I have your notifications on, so whenever u post I literally drop everything to read them❤️❤️"

In other words: Az trying to cope with his two oldest sons about to partake in the Blood Rite.

Warnings: Sparring/fighting but otherwise none.

Word Count: 2,483

_________________________________________

“Again, Baz,” Azriel demands, weapon raised high in his fighting stance.

They’ve been at it for hours, sparring with his son. They’d already run through hours of fighting fist to fist, and Azriel had more bruises inflicted by the young half–Illyrian than he’d like to admit. Now, they fight sword to sword and would finish the night with one last round of hand-to-hand combat, the shadowsinger analyzing Baz’s skills. He’s dripping sweat and feels centuries older than he is. Working as the spymaster of the Night Court and raising six kids will do that to a male.

A shadow alerts him to someone coming at him from behind and he ducks beneath Baz’s sword, twisting around just in time as his oldest – Wren – brings his own weapon down in a mighty swing, meant to cleave him in two. Azriel’s sword catches Wren’s, stopping the attempt with ease.

His free hand slides to his favorite knife strapped to his thigh. He unsheathes Truth–Teller, looking as sharp and menacing as ever, using the short blade in tandem with his longsword to block the onslaught of attacks from both of his sons.

Had they forgotten that he’d been doing this for centuries with his own brothers?

“What are we doing this for?” Baz snarls, his temper smoldering as he dodges a blow that would’ve cut his head clean from his shoulders, “We’re ready.”

“You’re not,” Azriel disagrees, parrying in defense. On the outside he’s cool and calm, stoic as he’s always been since he’s mastered himself, but on the inside his stomach coils with nerves, worried for his sons’ well-being as their day to partake in the Blood Rite nears. 

They’re nowhere near ready, by what his shadows and own eyes tell him. Wren still leans too far on his back foot when he strikes and godsdammit if he has to tell Baz one more time to keep his fucking elbow up–he exhales a steady breath, trying not to get too worked up about the flaws he witnesses. They might as well be as trained as the first years.

Baz self-corrects on his next swing and Azriel notes it with a clenched jaw. The nineteen year old has better control of the few shadows he has, a dark whisper of the mistake his father had seen in his ear, the young warrior scolding himself for it.

“What do you do when you wake up and are completely alone? No weapons, no wings, no siphons, with your brother and cousins at different points of the mountain?”

“Fight my way to them,” Baz responds, chest heaving. There’s a wicked glint in his eye, one of bloodlust and it reminds Azriel so much of himself when he was his son’s age, angry with the world and ready to tear apart anything that got in his way. “Obviously.”

“You could hardly hold your own against me hand-to-hand earlier,” Azriel comments, the cut and thrust he sends towards the more reckless of his sons shoves him off balance as he drives him around the ring, his shadows keeping a watch on Wren, who seems to be content to watch, his nose still dripping blood from where his father had drove the butt of his sword into it. 

Baz desperately tries to counter his father’s blows but Azriel does not yield.

“If you want to survive the Blood Rite you have to know these things,” the spymaster says, frustratedly.

Both Wren and Baz are nearly at the age to partake in the Blood Rite and Azriel couldn’t be more nervous. He remembers his time in the bloody test like it was yesterday. Waking up cold and alone and half-naked, his brothers were nowhere to be found. He’d fought tooth and nail against the full–blooded Illyrians, who’d made it their first task to kill him before assuming the climb. Many of them did not get the chance to reach the summit as the shadowsinger plowed through them to get to his brothers. 

His solution to all of his pent up anxiety is to make his children spar with him after every training day, making sure they’re prepared for the absolute worst.

It’s been centuries since he’d been in the Rite with his brothers, the three of them separated and having to fight their way back to each other, up the mountain itself to get to the onyx monolith at the top, securing their status as Carynthian warriors, but he’d never forget the hardships they’d all had to face to reach the summit.

“You don’t have to make it, you just have to survive.”

“We will,” Wren grits, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he comes to his little brother’s aid. They’ve been sparring together for years now but somehow their father’s skill still seems to surprise them. The seven cobalt siphons adorning his body only prove how proficient the male is at fighting.

And even though Baz has the same amount of siphons Azriel does, and Wren with five of his own, they still don’t even compare to the warrior that their father is.

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t have faith in us?” Wren asks angrily, aiming a clear cut to the back of his father’s thigh. The spymaster winces, hissing as he’s caught off guard but he retaliates with his own swing that neatly disarms his oldest son.

“I do,” Azriel pants, dipping low to avoid the left hook Baz throws his way. Always one to abandon his weapons and favors the feel of flesh against his knuckles, his son. Azriel pushes up from his crouch, delivering an uppercut that has his second oldest seeing stars as he falls back into the melted snow mixed with mud and blood beneath them, effectively ending the spar. “But me having faith in you isn’t going to help you reach the monolith.”

He offers down a hand but Baz ignores it, pushing himself to his feet and retreating towards the cabin with Wren by his side. Azriel disregards the hurt in his chest as he trails them, brushing his fingers through Jax’s hair when he reaches the home, the younger boy sitting on the steps, watching them intensely.

“Good job dad,” he compliments. They hadn’t let him join but he’s only a few years off from entering his own Blood Rite, the fifteen year old absorbing every training and spar that he can with those observing eyes.

He’s the best in his class and will be participating in the tradition by himself, unless Zuzu decides to join as well. She seems to be enjoying her Valkyrie training with her aunt, and it isn’t a requirement to become a full warrior in their legion, but knowing his little girl, she won’t let Jax go through it alone. That stubborn little girl will do anything to prove she’s as good as her brothers.

“Thanks, buddy. Why don’t you go wash up before dinner? I’ll be in in a minute.”

The teen nods, scrambling up the steps with a holler to his siblings, calling dibs on going first in the after dinner game the six of them had seemed to make up, something about rolling dice to get the highest score…he’s sure he’s missing some rules but he can’t be arsed to remember  right now.

Azriel takes a powerful leap, spreading his aching wings wide, flapping them a few times to get airborne. He just needs a few moments alone.

__________

“All your father wants is for you to make it out of the Blood Rite alive,” you explain softly, using a damp cloth to wipe the drying blood from Wren’s nose. Your oldest flinches, his face still tender, and you soothe his hair from his forehead with an apologetic look. “He will be proud of you boys no matter what echelon you become, you know that.”

“It doesn’t fucking seem like it,” Baz mutters, arms crossed against his chest as he toes at the carpet with his socked foot.

“Language,” you scold and your son just rolls his eyes.

“Mom,” he sighs, exasperated. Your second oldest huffs as you gesture him over to the seat next to his brother so you can examine his wounds.

You’d gotten pretty good at patching up cuts throughout the years you’d been with Az, and you’d even gone so far as to read up on a few things from the library during your spare time, and had been watching Madja fix up your children’s scrapes and bruises for nearly two decades after that. You could easily be a healer if you wanted to.

“Baz,” you mock, assessing his face. It’s been a long time since he’d lost his baby fat, growing into a young adult, sharp jaw like his father’s with a mouth to rival his Uncle Cassian’s. 

Azriel must’ve been agitated enough for him to have placed a well aimed hit like this, he normally stops himself before laying too much damage on his sons. They must’ve been more mouthy with their father today during training than they usually are. The Illyrian and fae blood in him will take care of the bruising within minutes, Baz has nothing to worry about.

“Nyx and Gideon don’t have to do extra training everyday,” Wren protests, and your heart aches a little because when did they all decide not to call each other by their nicknames anymore? “Every single day mom, can you believe it?”

You can believe it, pressing your lips in a tight line. Azriel is one of the most powerful Illyrians in history and he loves his children so much that this must be tearing the male apart, having to watch his sons going through this without his help. He hated all of the Illyrian traditions, would murder the entire race if he could, but the Blood Rite was the worst of them all.

“He’s worried,” you tell them, sitting between them when they scoot apart to make room. You wring the damp cloth between your hands, staring at it like it’s the most interesting thing in Prythian. “We both are.”

At the waver in your admission they cling to you. Your sons may pretend to be all big and bad, but they’re softies just like their father, aching at the sound of you unhappy. 

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Baz says, his voice raw with emotion. You lean your head against his, sighing when you hear Malos yelling at Jax in the other room. 

“I’ll talk to him.”

__________

Your mate hadn’t said a word since he’d arrived back at the cabin in the Illyrian war camp. You’d built one of your own, next to Rhys’ mother’s because your family was too large and rowdy to share the space with Azriel’s brothers and their families. 

He hadn’t even come by for dinner, and tried to ignore you calling out to him through the bond, but when he felt that frustration burning hot across the tether of emotion between the two of you, that he was in deep shit he responded softly.

It’s silent as you climb into bed next to him, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark ceiling, all of your children sleeping – or pretending to – in the other rooms of the house.

“Wren and Baz are sneaking out,” he sighs, tossing an arm over his eyes. He doesn’t know why his children even try, his shadows note everything that they do, always have. He gets that they’re young and reckless and he was too when he was their age, so he lets them off the hook most of the time.

“They’re probably going to get a drink with their cousins after the days that they’ve had,” you respond, and there it is, the reason for the rift between the two of you. Azriel worked his sons to the brink.

“What did they tell you?” he murmurs the question as he rolls onto his side to face you, afraid of what they might’ve said.

“You’re running them ragged, they’ll be too exhausted to fight in the Rite if they have to with the rate you’re going,” you tell him gently, caressing his cheek with your thumb. He looks so tired, exhausted with worry, and you can’t wait for the Blood Rite to be over, but then you’ll have to deal with your mate worrying about your other four children, even though they’re years away from their own Rite’s.

“When they have to,” he corrects, clenching his jaw. It isn’t going to be easy for his sons, they’re less Illyrian than he and everyone seemed to hate him and his brothers when they were young. He can only imagine what the rest of them will try and do to his sons.

“They’re smart boys and have gotten training from the finest Illyrian warriors for almost their entire lives,” your voice is gentle, caring. “They don’t think you’ll be proud of them if they come out as anything less than Carynthian.”

His jaw slackens in shock, “Of course I would,” he protests, “They can be any echelon and I’d be the most proud. Look at Nesta for mother’s sake, she’s Oristian and could easily defeat a Carynthian. The title means little to me.”

“I know,” you sooth, letting him cuddle into your side, resting his head over your chest as you wrap an arm around him, mindlessly drawing circles across his back. “But they don’t know that.”

“Do they hate me? For going too hard on them?” he’s scared to ask, his voice is the smallest you’ve ever heard it and your heart cracks in your chest.

“No, absolutely not,” you respond firmly, giving him a jostle for good measure. “They love you so much, Azriel. Wren and Baz seem to think that you don’t have faith that they can do this. I think it’s getting to them a little more than they know.”

He sighs, shutting his eyes as he squeezes you in a hug. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You run your fingers through his ink black hair, watching him. Your beautiful mate, always thinking he’s done something to upset his children.

“You didn’t fuck up, you just need to explain to them that you’re worried. Be open with them and I think you’ll be surprised,” you explain, kissing him on his forehead. He peers up at you, hazel eyes gleaming with thanks and love settling between the two of you, the bond buzzing.

“I love you (Y/N). More than you know.”

You return his smile, a dust of pink warming your cheeks. “I love you too, Az,” you admit, the butterflies awakening in your stomach like they always do when he says those words to you. You share an intimate kiss, soft and sweet. “Do you have any energy left for me, perchance?” you ask cheekily, squealing out a laugh when he rolls you on top of him.

“For you? Always, my love.”

[ch1-kasak0]

CUP HEAD HEAD CANONS GRRRR

A hahaha this isn't very child friendly :3 18+🔥🔥🔥

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🌞

Cup 100% spent way too much time staying up all night looking at the stars, has been punished multiple times by hat for staying up and not being awake for training :3

Cups fav dates would be staying up and stargazing or spending time walking through forests and around lakes and skimming rocks or playing with the animals at shelters

Always carries various animal treats and toys

Had a favourite pencil and would get emotional when it was taken off of him as a kid

Ambidextrous

Has tried to stack things on his dick, it worked but some almost got stuck and he panicked so much he cried

Considering bendys kick to his crotch he's probably not gonna have kids for awhile.. Or ever bendy has a really strong kick . _.

Likes driving near mountains so he can admire the scenery

Absolutely dispises people who leave their lights on for no reason at night (light pollution)

Is probably a tits man, likes laying on ur chest, man or woman since he likes listening to ur heartbeat, occasionally squeezes ur titties/chest for a giggle, makes a honk sound when he does and dies laughing everytime

Went to Scotland once and some dickhead asked him if he knew Swahili (it's a saying) and he learned Swahili just to spite the guy

Strangely likes the taste of cum... ( ͡ ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡ ͡°)

Can run through trees ninja style

Drives like a dad

Bendy sometimes likes to just hug cup for the warmth #walking heater

Is really good at massages, got a tense spot? Go to cup and it'll be gone, might even get a hug as well

REALLY likes Eskimo kisses, he loves them sm

Yells train everytime he sees one, no matter who hears him

Has tried to lick one of the pea shooters before, nearly burned his tongue off and it's still kinda scarred around his mouth n shit, couldn't eat for like a month or 2 after (this was when he first got the bullets btw)

Really scarred and veiny hands, yum

Has probably been attacked by a succubus before

Sleeps like a "paint me like one of your French girls" when he isn't hugging smth

Prefers sweet n salty popcorn over just sweet or just salty

Likes looking out of the window when on car rides

Jonathan Sims core

Really likes sushi

"Gimme a hug :("

":3"

Jewelry.

Tried to read Wilsons journal once, no thanks.

You gotta be his fav person under mugs if he can trust u to protect him while he sleeps

Has weird hobbies and interests, he could rant about cannibalism for hours and if you trust him he'd ask if you can help him w bondage stuff (just, helping him tie u up or u tying him up) he's fascinated by bondage,

Can sleep upside down

Hates summer and winter, only likes autumn and spring

used to sound like will Stetson before he started smoking, so lowkey a TINY bit why he did, he thought he didnt sound threatening:P

Unironically moans a little when he's out of breath, no one has told him yet bc regardless of how lewd it is he just has a nice voice, his vocal cords are very moanable it's amazing

Also moans a lot when he sings, dunno why, no one has tried to stop him

gynecomastia (man boobs)

One time broke into a bar, drank most of the bars whiskey and then gave himself a concussion by falling into a pool table

Doesnt like tofu for whatever reason

Can easily fall asleep in a car if he's comfortable but doesn't bc he's not

Cannot sit still

Cannot stand still

Cannot lie still

Dispises people who talk when they eat

Gets sick when he sees chewed up food in people's mouths

Really wants a pet vulture idk

Tried to drink out of his straw, thought nothing of it, then asked dementia to try... It was weird.. It felt weird.. He didn't like it

Has really tense shoulders and back, physically incapable of massaging himself but can do it perfectly for others, it's a struggle

Likes rain, doesn't like getting wet

Will flood a bathroom if he uses a bath, cannot keep water in it for some reason

Likes cuddles, might have said this in another post but who gives af

Would 100% listen to MSI, Will wood and jhariah frfr trust

HIP DIPS. he has hip dips you can't change my mind/violin hips idk idgaf

Central heterochromia 100%

Used to hum the same song as demi did to help mugs sleep when they were younger, now does it for dying animals he finds and can't help save

If it was acceptable, would wear sleeveless turtle necks n shit like that trust (would make it easier to touch his boobs as well frfr)

Is the type of boy best friend to carry tampons n shit just incase one of his bsfs get her period #slay

[tythehedgehogheadcanons]

General Knuckles HCs

Explaining my general thoughts for Knuckles and how I characterize him. I always include a lot of thoughts on the characters, as well as random things they do, their music taste, fashion sense, and all that.

My requests are open, please read the pinned message!

~ I see him as a closed-off guy, all he knows is being tough and being alone. It's hard for him to talk about feelings, so prefers to express himself through violence and yelling. In short; he would rather level a mountain than talk about how lonely he is.

~ I wouldn't say his tough-guy attitude is entirely an act, but there's definitely a part of him that wants to play it up to look cool. In reality, he's just a strong and determined guy who still has a lot to learn.

~ He is uneducated, but not stupid. He may struggle with concepts he didn't have on his island like things taught in school and ESPECIALLY social interaction, but outside of that, he is rather smart. (The fact he still has to hold his hands up to tell left from right does not mean he is stupid!)

~ Say it with me yall; Touch. Starved. He secretly craves physical affection but refuses to admit it. He's gotta keep up the tough guy look damn it!

~ I see Knuckles as a very "I don't have to understand it to accept it" guy. He doesn't try to understand something before he decides if it's good or bad, just accepts it at face value. Someone's trans? Just tell him what they want to be called and he will call them that. This does lead to a lot of pranks being pulled on him though!

~ Knuckles has anger issues he is still learning to control. A lot of small things that don't matter make him really angry, and he often lashes out in anger at times when a fight would only make the situation worse. He is very aware of this issue and is getting better at managing it, but things like teasing are still huge triggers for violent outbursts.

~ Knuckles struggles to ask for help. He swears up and down that he can do it himself when he absolutely cannot and just doesn't want to feel humiliated and ask for help.

~ That being said, Knuckles doesn't like help when he doesn't need it. It makes him feel humiliated and embarrassed that someone helped him when he could have very easily done it himself.

~ If there was a contest for who could give the best "cold shoulder treatment" he would have multiple gold medals.

~ Knuckles isn't an introvert, but not really an extrovert either. He doesn't actively hate or try to avoid other people, but he does tend to stay in areas without many people as it's what he is used to.

~ Knuckles hates small talk. If it's not something he enjoys or something important, he doesn't want to hear about it. He doesn't care about other people's business!

~ Knuckles always looks like he's pissed about something- even when he isn't. He never seems to realize this and always get's confused when people get nervous about his glare.

~ Due to Knuckle's lack of social awareness and social skills, he often stares at people in public, stands in the way, touches and grabs random things that he's curious about, and generally things that are considered rude or annoying. He doesn't mean to be rude, he just has no idea those things aren't very socially acceptable. He is often asked to leave stores after grabbing a bunch of things to mess around with (and very likely breaking them...)

~ Continuing off of that, Knuckles often just walks away when someone is trying to talk to him. If he doesn't want to be there, he will leave with no explanation and you will not stop him.

~ Knuckles doesn't care for being called a 'hero' or receiving praise for doing something small. He appreciates praise as much as anyone, but unlike Sonic, he would prefer to be praised for something like stopping Eggman, not getting a cat out of a tree. It should be common sense to help someone who needs it!

~ Knuckles prefers to spend time outside, either training or just a nice stroll. He has no idea what the appeal of "Movies" or "Social Media" is, and is very confused about how people find entertainment in it. Why fight someone with words on a small rectangle when you can go actually fight them?? (Please do not give him access to twitter.com)

~ Knuckles practices meditation and is often seen in calm or peaceful places with his eyes closed. Knuckles actually joined a local meditation group and considers everyone in that group a friend. He gets very upset when his meditation is interrupted!

~ Knuckles makes friends with some of the most random and strangest people, it honestly concerning. The store owner of a small pawn shop? Knuckles greets them whenever he sees them. A traveling merchant that sells weird and creepy trinkets? They have an inside joke!

~ I don't feel like Knuckles cares for music. He doesn't hate it, but he doesn't really listen to it on his own time- Knuckles prefers the sounds of nature instead! That being said, he DESPISES pop music.

~ Fashion sense! I always love Sonic characters in clothes, so always include this in my headcanons. Knuckles would prefer loose clothes, clothes that show off his muscles and don't get in the way of his movement. He just prefers to wear tank tops and sweatpants or cargo pants. He may wear an athletic jacket on colder days. He prefers white, black, or green clothes to stand out against his Red.

~ He absolutely asked for Amy's help picking clothing colors and begged for her to keep it between the two of them, people can't know he asked for help! He has a reputation!

~ Knuckles still has his old cowboy hat and treats it like his child.

Please reblog this to help me gain publicity, reblogs over likes! Thank you!

And please, comment with whatever thoughts you have. I love to read them all and it gives me a huge motivation boost to keep going! <3

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 15: Standing up for them

@forlorn-crows you know how I said there’d be hockey au? 

Pairing: Mountain/Rain, implied Aether/Swiss/Dew

Rating: Teen

Words: 758

Contains: Hockey AU (Goalie!Mountain, Left Winger!Rain, Defenseman!Aether), fistfighting 

I have drawn Mounty’s helmet before if you’d like to take a look!

...

The easiest way to start a fight is to fuck with a goalie. The goalie might not start something, but their teammates sure will. 

It’s halfway through the third period, the Ghouls are up four to one against the Holy Hitters, and they’re starting to get desperate. Despite their name, they play dirty. They cross check when the refs aren’t looking, elbows get thrown in every corner, and their chirps cross the line into threats. 

One of their forwards, a burly man close to Swiss’s size, gets the puck, skating towards the Ghouls’ defensemen, Aether and Cirrus. He races down the ice and Mountain gets into position, eyes not leaving the puck. Aether and Cirrus follow closely, sticks reaching but coming short as they skate backwards. 

The forward shoves through Aether and Cirrus, before setting his eyes on Mountain. Mountain bends his knees, ready to drop down if he tries to shoot. 

He doesn’t try to shoot. The forward keeps skating, full speed, turning so his shoulder is the first thing that makes impact with Mountain’s chest. 

There’s several layers of padding between them, but Mountain still feels his shoulder dig into his sternum. His skates go out from under him, and the momentum sends him back and down. There’s a resounding clang as the back of his helmet hits the crossbar, and his back hits the ice a moment later. The breath is knocked out of him, and the goal’s come off of its posts. 

Mountain shoves the forward off of himself, instinctively getting back onto his skates as the ref calls for stoppage of play to get the goal fixed. 

The whistle sounds again, multiple times, and Mountain looks over his shoulder. His mouth falls open, half astonished, half amused.

Rain’s skating hard at the forward who knocked him off his feet, gloves and stick falling to the ice. Even from here, Mountain can see the unbridled rage in Rain’s eyes. 

Rain’s not a fighter. The Ghouls players most likely to start a fight are Swiss and Dew, and Sunshine’s gotten herself into a few brawls, but Rain’s never fought. Rain’s not exactly little, like Dew, and he’s not quite as strong as Aether or Swiss, but he’s still lithe and fast. Rain grabs the Hitters forward by the collar of his jersey and starts swinging. 

The Hitter doesn’t just stand there and take it, he swings back, knocking Rain’s helmet off, busting his lip. This doesn’t stop Rain. He keeps swinging, pulling hard enough on the Hitter’s jersey that he loses balance, going down to the ice with Rain on top of him. 

Aether skates up to Mountain, gathering Rain’s dropped gear as the rest of their team watches the fight. “Are you okay, Mounty? Heard you hit the crossbar.”

Mountain spares Aether a quick glance before looking back to Rain. He shrugs, raising the hand with his catcher to try and cover his smile, which he’s sure makes him look dopey and does not help him convince Aether that he’s fine. “I’ve gotten my bell rung harder than that before. I’m good.”

Aether sighs, knocking his shoulder into Mountain’s. “Not dizzy or anything?”

“I’ve been concussed before, Aeth. I will let someone know if I start feeling it, promise,” Mountain swears, grabbing blindly for his water bottle on top of the net. He shoves his lid up and takes a drink before spraying himself in the face, washing away the sweat dripping from his auburn hair. 

“I still want you to talk to the trainer after this, okay?” Aether says, leaning in towards him. “Just to ease my mind.”

Mountain nods, pulling his lid back down. He can’t see it, but his fingers brush over the oak leaf geraniums painted just over his cheek. 

The refs haul Rain off of the Hitter forward, and he looks feral. His dark curls are sweat soaked and wild, there’s still white hot rage in his eyes, and, as he looks over his shoulder as he’s escorted to the penalty box, he grins at Mountain, licking the blood from his teeth. 

Mountain feels heat flare in his stomach as he smiles back at Rain. He turns to Aether as the penalty box door closes. “So… I know you, Swiss, and Dew have a thing, but do you think I could hit the showers first tonight?”

 Aether laughs, throwing his arm out to pat Mountain’s shoulder. “Get your head checked out first, bud. Then you can go after our left wing.”

“I think, Cap, that he’s gonna go after me.”

[rene-is-an-insomniac]

Sentient

♡ Wanderer fic

♡ 1k+

Self aware!Sagau

For those who aren't aware, Self Aware is one of the types of Aus in the Self Aware Genshin Impact Au. The characters dont come out of the game, and this does not involve Cult Au or God Au. (Where the characters are obssessed with you.)

Plot: Chaotic Adventures with a Genshin Player and their self aware characters.

This is one of the multiple types of Sagau.

Chapter 1/?

_____________________________________

"Can you stop yelling in my ears!" Wanderer yells, catching your attention from the other side of the screen. He saw you flinch before slowly turning to look at him.

He smirks in triumphant, striking his idle pose.

You eye his figure carefully. Instead of looking towards the mountains, he faces you grinning.

You lean over hesitantly poking the screen.

"Wait Scara what did you say?" You poke his cheek making him angrier.

You recoil in surprise, creeping towards your bed. His gaze follows you as you move this time. As his gaze follows you, you tilt to the left and right. "The fuck?!" He laughs.

"My exact words, Oh Mighty [player name]!" He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. You crawl at a snail's pace towards the computer. As you approach him, he smugly looks down at you.

"Down on the ground where you belong, insect?" You roll your eyes, as he sneers.

"How are you talking to me right now?"

"Everyone in Teyvat has always heard you." He makes eye contact continuing further.

"We've always heard you talk about your crush and what you want to do with them." He makes a disgusted look as he recalls hearing his name uttered again by you.

You frown as you recall Shikonin Heizou and the other characters you berated for not returning home. You can't help but worry if they'd be repulsed or terrified of you if you spoke to them.

"We hear everything Y/N." You quiver, hovering the mouse to over x button. Scaramouche's eyes widen seeing the exit symbol highlighted. Before the game ended, you heard his voice.

Itto, Ei, Ayato, and Wanderer are the current banners showing on the screen banner. Instead of their usual expressions, they were disgusted. You saw their eyes meet yours as you exited the pre-load up screen page. Your eyes were met with anger and disappointed sentiments.

You hurriedly exited the room after clicking off your computer. You didn't know how Scaramouche spoke to you, but you didn't want to see it again.

Shaking it off you began to get ready for bed.

After weeks of not playing Genshin, you returned to wish for Ayato Kamisato, whose banner was expiring. You log in and quickly launch the game avoiding their stares. When you click on the door, instead of the symbols, a message appears.

"Have you finally chosen to return?" You ignore the message while waiting for the game to load, assuming it's Scaramouche speaking.

After 5 minutes the message didn't disappear. You move your mouse clicking along the screen.

"Why so eager to return to Teyvat, you abandoned it after all~"

This was not Scaramouche talking at all. You try to exit the game like last time only for a lock to appear over it.

You exclaim in anger trying to click pass the text.

"Trying to flee so quickly? No, I don't believe so." To your chagrin, the individual, whoever it is, wants you to keep playing genshin.

"What's the deal with these new game events?" You take out your phone to look for the error message, but there is none. You gather your belongings and prepare to leave the room.

"Nope! You can keep this game Satan, i dont want it anymore!" You gather your keys and other valuables and prepare to leave the room.

"[player name]!" you exclaim as you go out of the room. When you turn around, you see Wanderer on the screen.

"Scaramouche?" You return your gaze, peering over your shoulder.

"Where are you going?" He looks at the items you had in your arms.

"I'm just going to leave for a minute." When the wish banner music plays as you try to exit the room.

"How did you do that?" You put the stuff down approaching him.

"Didn't you want to wish for Ayato?" His beautiful words drew you back into the room, closer to the computer. You return to your seat and hover over the ten pull to make a wish for him.

Scaramouche smiles darkly, as the screen goes black. The wish banner music glitches in the background.

"Scaramouche did what?"

"He spoke to me." Seeing the unamused look on your friend's face you continued.

"Then he started claiming that Heizou hated me and that Kazuha would find me disgusting." You exasperatedly wave your hands to prove your point.

"If Scaramouche really spoke to you, wouldn't you be pleased, after all "He is your husband right?"

You slowly nod calming down. "Yes, but the situation is so weird." You take a seat next to them laying back against the couch.

"How about this?" They stand gathering their belongings.

"We go back over to your house and check your genshin account. If Scaramouche really is self aware we'll send a video to mihoyo asking them to check it out."

When you returned to the house, you heard nothing except a ringing in your ears. You come to a halt in front of your computer that turned off.

"I expected him to be peeking around a corner." Your friend teased as they checked the rooms thoroughly.

When you start the game, you immediately notice the picture of the first Archon quest has been replaced with Scaramouche's photo from his promotional Archon quest. His eerie smile draws your attention to a different corner of the room.

As the Mondstadt music plays, you examine the load up screen for more information. Once you were sure there were no errors, you entered Teyvat.

Facing the TV, you were met with a albino playing a leaf like a flute.

"I swear Wanderer was here the last time I logged out." You inspect your party setup only to discover that he is completely missing.

"What's wrong Y/N?"

You show your friend the missing person from your party.

"That's strange. Let me check your character archive." They take over pulling up the character archive and hovering over Wanderer.

"You already have him. I'm curious why he's not on your list of playable characters." Wanderer was standing where Kazuha was as they exited the archive to return to the main screen.

Your friend shrugs, handing you back the remote. "Maybe it was just a glitch."

Looking at him in disbelief, you turn back to stop your friend.

"Wait no stay!" You rush over trying to stop them from leaving. While your back was turned you miss the dark look Wanderer sent your friend.

"Look Y/N, I don't know what you saw, but clearly you playing genshin for 24 hours on the weekends is starting to fuck with your mind." They eye the bags under your eyes from gaming.

"Go take a nap alright? Call me later." They let go of you returning to their car. As they drive away, you clutch the door tightly.

"I'm not seeing things!" You yell in retaliation to no one. Wanderer's voice line causes you to turn around. Instead of his normal idle line he wore a smug look crossing his arms staring into the camera.

"Are you done with your whining yet [player name]?"

Tag for this series is #scara sentient

It will be listed below.

Taglist : @teyvattales @hikomisan @pochipop @leftdestiny-posts (if you want to be added lmk)

Next Chapter

Latest Chapter

[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 7 - "A Tangle of Weeds"

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: PG-13

Tags/warnings: Spoilers for early act II, mentions of PTSD/trauma, battle, violence, angst.

Word count: 7.3k

Note: This is the seventh chapter of my first ever fanfiction!

Sorry it took so long to get this chapter made, y'all! I had 5,000 words trying to summarize all of the events in Act II and hated it.

So I had to start over. And here we are, at 7,300 words just for this chapter, lol. Big big thanks to @solmesia for taking the time to read through multiple drafts and do a beta read, and also go back-and-forth with me bouncing ideas. <3

I’ve also posted this on AO3. Fic under the cut!

The shadow-cursed lands truly were a horror to behold; Astarion ranked them with other disturbing sights, such the mindflayer nautiloid, brothels set alight, or even worse, - Wyll insisting they’d help a random stranger with no payment upfront. The other sight that had turned Astarion’s already-cool blood into ice was how quickly Halsin’s mood had shifted as soon as the shadows had thickened around them. As they descended from the hills of the Mountain Pass and into the thick of the shadow-cursed lands, the druid’s jovial smile had faded, his lips taut with focus.

“The shadow curse is just as foul as I remember it,” Halsin had said his voice almost a growl, “And… perhaps even worse.” With height to his advantage, he lifted his torch high above his head; but it hardly shed light beyond ten meters. Once the torchlight faded, their surroundings were as black as pitch poured into the air. Even Shadowheart, devotee of Shar, was unnerved by the desolation.

The walkways were cracked, uneven; the land torn apart by the sheer force of the curse’s spread a century ago. Halsin, usually more than happy to strike up a conversation, seemed lost in his thoughts unless directly addressed.

“So.. this shadow curse is Shar’s doing?” Gale had asked as they walked, keeping their ranks filed tightly. “I knew it was some sort of magic, but different from the Weave of Mystra.”

“Yes, despite the many lives lost trying to stop Ketheric Thorm’s evil from spreading across the land,” Halsin said, his tone serious as he scanned the edge of their visible range for threats. “Ketheric had abandoned Selune after personal tragedies and massed a Sharran army in his grief. Of course, loss is a part of the natural cycle; it should not be interrupted.”

Astarion glanced back at Shadowheart as Halsin spoke; her nose crinkled in a sneer. The vampire rolled his red eyes and walked closer to Karlach, who emitted a decent bit of light by her infernal engine.

“So that’s where the druids came in?” asked Wyll, who kept Scratch on a tight lead. It would not do to let the dog’s skillful nose lead him into the shadows.

“Correct, Wyll; we druids of the Emerald Grove, as well as the Harpers could not let this darkness spread. So, we joined forces to stop his army,” Halsin continued. His strides were long and purposeful. Everyone besides Karlach had to walk at double-speed to keep up. “We were successful in defeating Ketheric and his forces. We interred his body into the Thorm family mausoleum.”

“If you defeated him, then how did the shadow curse come to be?” asked Lae’zel. “It seems your blade must not have struck deep enough, if Ketheric still released the curse.”

“You may be right,” Halsin said. He released a deep sigh that made his large shoulders sag. “Shar is a spiteful goddess; with his last breath, she gave him the power to release the shadow curse. It washed over the land like a flash flood. Anything, and anyone, touched by the darkness warped was into the corrupted beings and places around us.”

Karlach’s body sizzled with rage. “And that bastard’s damage has been here for over a century now, yeah?” she asked. Halsin nodded at her question. “High time you had some help to get some sunshine out here, soldier!” Karlach beamed at the druid, who smiled weakly back at her.

“Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it,” Halsin said. He lifted his torch closer to a gnarled tree branch above the pathway. As he patted it with his large hand, it seemed to crumble into dust. “The very spirit of this land seems to have disappeared. Thaniel, as I know him… or knew him… for him to have no presence here is grave news.”

The group had been silent in response; the adventurers knew nothing of this Thaniel or nature spirit. Astarion, whose idea of ‘communing with nature’ meant enjoying wine on a veranda, had no words of solace to offer Halsin. Even the vampire, who had no interest in finding out which chirps belonged to which bird, had been unnerved by the complete lack thereof. No birdsong had rung from the twisted treetops. There had been no rustle of squirrels amongst fallen leaves.

Halsin’s additional news dropped a heavier burden on the shoulders of the adventurers. They marched in silence, with the only noise being the jangling of their own packs, the crunch of their footsteps on gravel, the crackle of their lit torches, and the occasional agonized screech of a shade. Their grunts of effort joined the symphony as they climbed a steep hill. Having the high ground was beneficial in any location, but even more so in such a foreboding wilderness. It would serve as a decent enough place to make camp for the evening.

“So you think we might find answers to the tadpole problem at Moonrise Towers, Halsin?” Gale asked, receiving a nod from Halsin. “And you think Thaniel might be there as well? What awaits us there?

Halsin jammed his staff into the coal-colored soil, using it as a post to which he could tie his torch. “I…do not rightly know, if I am honest Gale,” Halsin explained with a shrug, “But.. I think it is as good a place as any to get a start.”

****

Halsin bedded down at the front of the campsite; he wouldn’t run from the curse this time. The opening of his tent faced away from the campfire; he wanted to easily launch from his bedroll at a shadow-cursed creature.

But given how they’d lit up their campsite with cantrips, torches, and lanterns, it was doubtful that one of the twisted beings would try to slip into the light. He sat at the entrance to his tent, his knees pulled to his broad chest, and his arms wrapped around his shins. The druid stared into the distance; but even with elven eyesight, he could not see much beyond the camp’s lit circle. Occasionally the shadows would flare in the distance, blue green magic flickering like the hottest part of the flame.

The shadow curse flickered with power whenever it absorbed the life force of a creature; he recalled seeing the same visual as the curse rolled from Moonrise Towers a century ago, lapping up his friends and allies in bright turquoise flashes.

Something rustled around the edge of the tent, and a shadowy form appeared in Halsin’s peripheral vision. He slammed his hands on the ground in front of him, eyes flashing golden light as he prepared to wildshape on all fours.

“Halsin! It’s just me,” said Astarion, holding two wine glasses in one hand, and a wine bottle in the other. “I’d say I’d enjoy being ravaged, but, well, we’ve had that discussion. And I certainly would not want to be ravaged by those claws.” The vampire wiggled the wine bottle at Halsin’s hands, fingertips glowing with magic.

Halsin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was a relief and a joy to have Astarion’s company. “I’m sorry, Astarion,” he said, sitting back on his heels. His brows knit upward and a meek smile pulled at his lips. “I’m…on edge in this place.”

Astarion joined the druid, folding his legs underneath him and sliding to a cross-legged position with catlike grace. “Aren’t we all,” the pale elf said, with a lilt and a small giggle. “So I felt it prudent to raid the stocks. Better than tiefling vinegar wine, I hope?” The vampire poured a conservative serving of wine in one glass, before looking up at Halsin through his long eyelashes. “It’s so quiet here.. I know you said you don’t imbibe because you turn into even more of an oaf, but we could use some singing honestly. Regardless of how bad it is.” The vampire’s smile was gentle. Genuine.

Halsin held a hand over the glass meant for him. “I appreciate the thought, Astarion, truly, but I will have to decline,” the druid could see the disappointment in the vampire’s face, his ruby eyes rounding with concern. “But I would love your company while you enjoy it. Please, go ahead.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head back. Halsin felt scrutinized.

“It is nothing to do with you, I assure you. I was not being fully truthful with you at the tiefling party,” Halsin explained. He picked up the empty glass with his large hands and twirled the stem in his fingers. A nervous habit. “I do not partake now, because I did so too often, in the past. Specifically, after I lost Thaniel to the shadow curse. Honey mead was my drink of choice.” Halsin looked to Astarion and winked. “As suits a bear. But as for an elf, it left a sickness in me. Once I realized the damage I caused because of its misuse…I decided it was best to forgo it completely.”

Astarion’s expression softened as he nodded, his ivory curls bobbing about his ears. “I see…Well, more for me then,” the pale elf replied, swirling the wine in his glass. He held it to his nose to inhale the aroma, closing his large eyes. “So. This Thaniel. Was he a lover of yours, druid?”

Halsin caught himself from falling backwards out of surprise. “Oh no, quite the opposite,” he said. He shook his head furiously, as if to shake the disturbing thought away. “At my current age, he is like a son, to me. But I have known him since I was a young cub.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed again, and his bottom lip protruded in a beautiful pink pout. “Like a son? Halsin, if you’ve known him since you were a child, he must be hundreds of years old now. What in the hells do you mean?” He took a sip from his wine, licking his top lip. Halsin caught sight of a sharp fang tip.

The druid studied his hands in thought, before meeting Astarion’s gaze. “Well, I believe Thaniel may be many hundreds, or even thousands, of years older than myself,” he said, with a shrug of his well-muscled shoulders. He noticed Astarion’s eyes darting to them and back to his face with unnatural quickness. “Thaniel is the embodiment of this land. The.. formerly untainted purity of nature is manifest in Thaniel himself. So, as best I can tell, that is why he takes the physical form of a child.”

Astarion studied Halsin’s face over the rim of the wineglass as he took another sip. He pulled the glass away and held it daintily, a slender pinky raised in the air. “A rather apt explanation. As good as any, I suppose. Although nature is hardly innocent,” the pale elf said.

Halsin chuckled and placed a large hand on Astarion’s back. He delighted in the coolness of the vampire’s skin, even through his flowy cream tunic, which was a welcome relief from his intense body heat. “Ah, Astarion, and you say you’re not in tune with nature,” Halsin chuckled again, “While there’s no intention behind her actions, Nature has her own form of fury. You know, storms, earthquakes, and lightning. Think of a child being refused a sweet - their anger manifests in much the same way.”

The vampire nodded, his lips turned downward in thought. Halsin continued. "In earnest, his physical form matters not. But, when I was younger, it was a welcome sight to a loner whose closest friends were animals," Halsin said with another shrug. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze directed at the shadows. "He was... is... my best friend."

Astarion took another sip of wine, swishing it along his palate. “You were bound to be a druid from the start, it seems. But how do you mean, you were a loner? That’s quite a transition to go from that, to being an Arch Druid,” he said, flashing a pointy-toothed grin at Halsin.

The druid shifted the weight of his torso from one hand to the other. He felt especially restless this evening. He took a deep inhale and exhaled slowly.

"I would say that I still prefer solitude, or the company of a select few," Halsin said, smiling with his eyes as he glanced at Astarion; creating a genuine smile had become more challenging. "So when I met Thaniel, it overjoyed me to have a companion with whom I could roam the wilds. We spent many spring days playing in cool creeks and many winter evenings sharing ghost stories around a campfire."

Halsin blinked quickly, willing away the moisture at the corners of his eyes. "But as the seasons passed, and as I grew older and wiser, I realized that Thaniel was not just a boy; he was the spirit of the land. He remained the same while I grew older, and I realized he required protection."

The wine bottle gurgled as Astarion poured himself a small serving into his glass. "And now your path to becoming an Arch Druid becomes clear," he said, raising the glass in a lighthearted toast. Halsin raised the empty glass to meet Astarion’s with a ting.

"You are correct. Thaniel. He… shaped me into the person I am today. And one hundred years ago in this very place..." Halsin's words broke off. He chewed on his bottom lip before he spoke again. "It is my greatest failure, not being able to save him from this curse. One that I cannot abide."

Astarion sat beside the druid, swirling his glass from time to time before taking a sip. After a few minutes, it was empty again. The men sat in silence, facing the broken valley below. Again, the quiet was unnerving, interrupted only by Gale's snoring and the occasional shriek from the shadows. Halsin dug his fingers into the dirt, eager to hear something else, anything.

Then, a gurgle erupted from Astarion's slender stomach. Color rushed to the pale elf’s cheeks, and the tips of his pointed ears turned red. His eyes widened, and his eyebrows raised as he met Halsin’s stare.

The druid couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Astarion, you could have just said you were hungry,” Halsin said, tilting his head to the side. He then nodded toward the inside of his tent, his braids falling around his ears. The large druid did not bother to stand, but crawled the few feet to lie on his bedroll.

The vampire stared after him, with round eyes and an uncertain expression. “I - well. If you insist. Next time I will,” Astarion said, setting his wineglass aside. He stood slowly, bent over, before ducking inside the tent to kneel beside Halsin’s neck.

Halsin rolled his head to the side.

“Go ahead, Astarion, I am ready,” said the druid with a nod of his chin. He stared at the wall, his jaw set to prepare for the sharp pain. He was glad to offer this to Astarion, who would otherwise surely starve in this cursed land. I wonder how Thaniel fares wherever he is. Is he hungry? Is he safe? Is he… alive? Halsin’s mind drifted out of the tent flap, and into the darkened lands outside.

Astarion’s hands seemed to float in the air above the druid’s body, as though he were a marionette held up by strings. “I- yes. Thank you,” the vampire stammered, before lowering his mouth to Halsin’s neck.

Halsin started at the sensation of cool wetness on his jugular. He forced a smile for Astarion, just in case he looked over, before the druid allowed his thoughts to wander again.

The shadow curse brought an icy coldness, so frigid that temperature ceased to be felt; not unlike the cold-turned-to-numbness that occurred when being bitten by a vampire.

Astarion raised his mouth and bit into Halsin’s neck. The ice now coursed through Halsin’s veins, and he squinted his eyes at the sensation. He felt the numbness radiate from Astarion’s bite and the coolness of the pale elf’s tongue on Halsin’s warm skin. It made the druid shiver, a feeling he hadn't experienced since he first allowed Astarion to feed. He realized the shiver was partly from longing; but of a different form. Halsin longed for the desire he had for Astarion during their past feedings. In this moment, he could feel nothing except a sense of loss.

Astarion cleared his throat and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his pinky finger. “Er, thank you Halsin. I… appreciate your kindness,” the pale elf said.

Halsin felt the vampire’s cool gaze sweeping across his features. “Of course, Astarion,” he said, giving the smaller elf’s hand a squeeze.

The vampire didn't return the squeeze; he allowed Halsin to hold his hand as his pale head tilted. Halsin met his gaze with another forced smile. His eyelids felt as heavy as his heart in this place. Astarion nodded, his lips pressed together, and lowered his gaze to the ground as he left Halsin’s tent.

Halsin rolled in his bedroll the rest of the night, with his only tent-mate being raw, angry restlessness. It lolled tauntingly about his rumpled bedroll, heavy with desire and the faint aroma of rosemary and bergamot.

*****

The adventurers began their journey in the morning, once again at a loss for the actual time of day amidst the curse's darkness. The disrupted sleep patterns wrecked their energy levels, compounded by the general malaise of walking in such an eerie landscape and the shades lurking beyond the reach of their lights. It left each adventurer frustrated and eager to reach Moonrise Towers, in hopes of finding some answers.

Just a few hours into their tedious hike, commands echoed through the twisted and broken landscape, reaching Astarion and his companions. It sent everyone's heart, except for Astarion's, into a jolting pace. The shouts had been in Common, from humanoids untainted by the curse—a glimmer of hope.

Several in the party nearly dropped their torches in their rush to find the fray, even though seeing just down the pathway was as challenging as peering around a 90-degree corner. After running for several minutes, they stumbled upon the battle.

Astarion had never witnessed such a peculiar gathering of fighters; however, he had read about them. A magnificent and terrifying beast called a drider—a twisted drow-spider hybrid—swung a longsword at the group of humanoids. In his other hand was an intensely bright lantern, which jingled with every swing of his blade. Around his eight legs darted a hyena and several goblins, hollering chants that included the word "Absolute."

“Cultists!” Halsin said, his eye color shifting from honey hazel to molten gold. They glowed with bloodlust, shaking Astarion's nerves when he gazed into them for too long. “Karlach, Lae’zel, with me,” Halsin ordered in a half-growl as his massive back curved upward. “Wyll, Gale, control the bugbear with whatever you have. Shadowheart, I require your shield.” Halsin fell forward, his hands meeting the dirt with such force that dust flew up into the party’s faces. “Astarion, let loose upon them.” In a blaze of gold, Halsin transformed into an enormous cave bear, twice the size of the already sizable wood elf.

Astarion climbed to high ground on a rock outcropping above the slanted pathway, nocking an arrow in his short-bow. What is he planning? Thought the vampire, his lip curled upward. He’s seen us fight; he knows we excel in stealth. What is he doing? Astarion didn't need to breathe, but he did so to maintain a sense of normalcy. In battle, he held his breath to ensure his arrow would find its mark. The pale elf took aim.

Along a ridge opposite him, Shadowheart and Gale climbed, preparing to cast spells. Lae’zel and Karlach each downed an elixir of strength and turned towards the battle. The gigantic cave bear, charging headlong at the half-dozen cultists, nearly knocked them off their feet. Shadowheart dropped her arms in frustration; Halsin was out of range of her spell.

With a tremendous roar, Halsin collided with the drider, knocking it from its spindly legs. The arachnoid creature screeched in anger, and slammed his lantern into the muzzle of the bear, as well as the head of one of its goblin allies. A flurry of arrows erupted from the group of humanoids standing on the roof of a dilapidated building. Astarion loosed his arrow, laced with paralytic poison, and watched as it struck the drider’s sturdy carapace but failed to penetrate.

“Hells below,” the vampire cursed, leaving his elevated position to employ his daggers instead. He stalked the periphery, minding to stay within the safety of light, but kept enough distance from the swinging swords. Does Halsin think he’s the leader since we’re in these lands? Bullheaded oaf! Astarion seethed, sneaking behind a goblin and slitting its throat. He let it fall to the ground with a thud, not even bothering to check its pockets. He maintained visual contact with Halsin, who had galloped off to take another charge at the drider.

The spellcasters climbed from their high ground to be within range, nodding at their new allies as they joined them in the crumbling building. More arrows loosed from their allies’ bows, felling nearly all foes. Lae’zel and Karlach met the goblin and bugbear with their blades, dispatching them quickly.

The cave bear charged the drider, only to crumple at its legs as the drider’s blade fell between the druid’s shoulder blades. Halsin’s agonized roar, as well as the drider’s maniacal cackle, echoed between the cliff sides.

Astarion surged behind the drider, his anguished scream erupting as he leaped onto the drider's thorax and drove both daggers deep into its back. One dagger slid between the ribs, piercing a lung, while the other struck either the spleen or intestine,. He pulled it to the side to open the wound further. That godsdamned reckless fool.

“Halsin, get up godsdamn you!” Astarion shouted, jumping to the ground as the drider fell. He kneeled beside the Arch Druid, who had reverted to his large elven form. The wound between Halsin's shoulder blades oozed acrid pus—poison. The large elf groaned and shifted slightly; he still had life in him.

Astarion's hands shook as he rummaged through his belt for a healing potion, antidote, or anything. He could hear the clang of Shadowheart's armor as she rushed to their aid. He found a basic healing potion, which hardly healed a burn, let alone a festering wound. The vampire tried to roll the large elf to his side, groaning with the effort of Halsin’s weight and his own trembling fingers. He opened the druid’s mouth and carefully dripped the potion onto his tongue.

The vampire's vision blurred, his focus solely on ensuring Halsin's kept breathing. Astarion only noticed Shadowheart's arrival when he saw a greenish glow enveloping the druid. It was Cure Wounds, a spell he recognized from its frequent use on Lae’zel. Shadowheart cast lesser restoration, and the green pus between the druid's shoulders seemed to dry up as his wound knitted closed.

“Thank you,” Halsin wheezed, sitting up slowly. “Once again, I owe my life to you.” He held out his hand to Shadowheart and firmly gripped her delicate fingers. Astarion scowled beside him, arms crossed. The druid turned to face him.

“And thank you for stabilizing me, Astarion”, Halsin said with a deep bow. Halsin’s eyes were ringed by purple; whether from fatigue or bruises, Astarion couldn’t tell.

“Of course, Halsin,” the vampire replied, offering a curt nod. Does he even care that he could have died? That he didn’t wait for us? For me? Astarion forced air from his lungs in exasperation.

The arch druid did not seem to pick up on Astarion’s unusual lack of verbosity. Instead, he wordlessly stormed toward the bugbear, which had grasped at the dirt. Lae’zel must not have dug her sword in deep enough, this time. The vampire trotted after the druid, with a mix of curiosity and dread building in his stomach as Halsin cast shillelagh, his staff radiating with magic.

The Arch Druid glowered over the bugbear. “What are you doing in these lands?” Halsin said, his voice a desperate, angry bark.

“We will meet the Absolute, praise her!” the cultist said, wheezing against his punctured lung. “Praise Ketheric!”

Halsin took a step back at the name. "Ketheric Thorm is dead and buried. His body locked in the mausoleum,” Halsin said, his words dripping with venom, not unlike the wound he from which he had just been healed.

“Not anymore…” wheezed the bugbear. His gleeful cackle sounded more like a rattle, and he coughed blood as he spoke. “He has risen, he is immortal. Praise Ketheri-” The crunch of Halsin’s shillelagh into the cultist’s eye socket cut his words short.

“Ketheric Thorm is dead,” Halsin repeated. He twisted the staff as if it were inside Ketheric, instead of the bugbear.

Astarion was not sure which turned his stomach more; the squelch of the brain matter, or the transformation of Halsin into someone unrecognizable.

******

Their newfound allies from the battle turned out to be the Harpers. How history repeats itself, Halsin had thought with a frown, although let us hope not completely. After the battle, they had parted ways, but with a newfound hope. Within one more day's travel were the Last Light Inn and the rest of the Harper forces.

Despite the good news, the mood of the campsite took on a somber tone. The battle did not go as smoothly as it should have; they had used their valuable potions and energy for healing. To make matters worse, provisions were low, and Gale prepared the most basic of gruel stews. The party broke bread together around the fire.

Gale sat near Astarion, the wizard having noticed the vampire's foul mood and hoping to lift his spirits, even if it meant becoming the butt of a joke. Astarion scowled at the soup boiling over the campfire.

“Well, thank you again for cooking Gale. But I’m thankful for once to not have to eat, either,” said Astarion. His voice and his half-hearted joke fell flat. The vampire leaned on his knees, his brows furrowed as he stared at Halsin. Scratch sat at Shadowheart's side, his head resting on her feet, whimpering every time a shriek echoed from the darkness. Karlach stood and squeaked his ball to raise his spirits before stepping away to play fetch. A small smile crossed Lae’zel’s face at Scratch’s happy bark, and she finished her stew.

Wyll, seated near Gale, spoke first. “So, Halsin. You’re very familiar with the Harpers then?” he asked, gesturing with his spoon.

Halsin nodded and leaned towards the fire. His dinner had been plums he’d stocked away in his pouch. “Indeed. In that battle 100 years ago, they were my closest allies. Jaheira directed their forces in battle; I directed the forces of the Emerald Grove under my predecessor.”

Astarion sat up with his hands on his knees. “Oh did you, Halsin?” he snapped, tilting his head back and glaring at Halsin through half-lidded eyes. “I’m surprised you were content with playing second fiddle, seeing as how you barked orders at us during the battle.”

The druid noticed that Karlach, Gale, and Wyll shot the vampire a harsh look. Halsin flinched at his words. “I…you are right, Astarion,” he said, with a deep sigh sagging his shoulders. “It was not my place to issue orders. I have not seen this place in a century, and the fury took me at the moment.”

Shadowheart shook her head and glanced at the druid, worry on her face if not on her lips. Lae’zel rolled her eyes, a small “tsk’va” escaping her. Astarion crossed his arms, gripping his own skin with his fingertips. The firelight danced in his ruby eyes; it made his anger seem more intense.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that, Halsin. Your loss of control was quite clear as you charged in alone to get yourself killed,” Astarion said. His fangs were nearly bared under his plump top lip. Gale gripped the vampire's knee in response to his words. Halsin’s sensitive hearing picked up his whisper of “Enough, Astarion”.

Halsin’s chest felt gripped by a tangle of vines at the vampire’s anger. He knew Astarion was not wrong; he knew he had been foolish. He was repeating history in his own actions. The large elf shook his head slowly and placed his elbows on his knees. His braids fell into his face.

“That was foolhardy of me, to not wait. Your words are harsh, but accurate,” Halsin said, nodding slightly. “I truly do not enjoy leading battles. Leading… anything, in fact. It is a terrible burden.”

Wyll tilted his head in Halsin’s direction. “But you were the leader of the Emerald Grove, before handing it off to join us,” he said. The warlock’s gentle face was picture-perfect confusion.

Halsin sat up straighter. “That is correct. But that was not my choice. In the battle for the soul of these lands, I was second in command. After we defeated Ketheric, we thought we had won,” the Arch Druid said. “But not long after we sealed him away in his tomb, the shadow curse took hold. No one had seen the likes of it before. No one knew how to react. Then it claimed all those within its reach. Those who had survived the battles now fell to the shadows. The Archdruid, my predecessor… was seized by the curse. I couldn't save him; there was no time. I had to lead the survivors to safety,” Halsin continued. “That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning.”

The party listened in silence. Astarion’s expression softened slightly. He knew this story already; from reading Halsin’s diary.

Halsin went on, "But imagine if I had been faster, bolder, better. Lives would have been saved. More than I care to count. Including that of Thaniel.”

The party was silent; in surprise, or in respect, Halsin wasn’t sure. But he appreciated the silence all the same; it gave an excuse to end supper and depart. “Excuse me, my friends, but I must prepare for our travels tomorrow. If you need me, I will be in my tent,” said Halsin, before slipping away.

*********

After Halsin had left, the vampire received a proper scolding from Karlach, Gale and Wyll. The trio was insistent on kindness; they were all bleeding hearts. Couldn't Astarion understand Halsin was hurting? They had pointed out that he was clearly grieving, and we all make mistakes. But their opinions were split: Lae’zel agreed with Astarion; there’s no room for feelings when lives were on the line. Halsin made a foolish decision to give orders, and she was bitter about following them instead of trusting her own judgement. Shadowheart’s skin had rubbed raw from her chafing armor when she had run to heal Halsin. She, too, harbored frustration about his rash actions.

Regardless of their support or dissent, Astarion didn’t need their opinions. They didn’t know Halsin as well as he did. He felt an intense closeness with the druid, even though it had not quite been a fortnight since he’d met Halsin. But what delicious days they had been, the best he'd experienced in centuries, all without having to sell his body for the Arch Druid's time or affection. Moments filled with combat and comaraderie. Adrenaline and arousal. Intimacy and intelligent conversation. Until reaching the shadow-cursed lands.

A few yards away from Halsin’s tent, he shuffled his feet in the dirt. His hands twisted the strings on his tunic and his gaze fixed on the tent as he lost himself in thought. Since they arrived here, Astarion hadn't once felt the druid's calloused hand around his waist, nor received a playful nudge from his bear form. It made Astarion’s stomach churn, and his chest throbbed as if a stake had been driven through it. Has he lost interest in me? He wondered, feeling the stake twist in his heart.

Thaniel wasn't a lover, but Halsin appeared consumed by his obsession with the boy. The rotten feeling inside Astarion grew. He despised it; he wanted to support this noble, sweet fool.The vampire crossed his arms, his fingertips and sharp nails lightly digging into his skin. He wished he could cold-shoulder the druid in pettiness. But after the bloodshed of the day, Astarion was starving.

The campfire’s light cast his shadow against Halsin’s tent wall.

“Halsin? May I enter?” he asked, his tone soft and meek, filled with apology.

“Yes, Astarion, please join me,” Halsin replied from inside the tent.

Astarion’s mouth curved upward slightly. The druid didn't seem to hate him. He ducked inside the tent and shared the smile with Halsin, who had a book open in his cross-legged lap.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted company or not,” the vampire said, eyes downcast to the ground. He lowered himself to a sit beside Halsin, his nimble fingers playing with the strings on his tunic.

“Your company is always welcome, Astarion,” Halsin rumbled, looking down at the slender vampire at his side. The druid’s expression was softer than Astarion expected.

“Er…well, thank you, for that,” Astarion replied. “Even when I’m just…hungry?” He winced at his own words. The vampire didn’t come only because he was hungry. But if Halsin wasn’t interested in his companionship or affection, he couldn’t admit that he had tucked tail and come begging for anything at all from the druid.

The large elf closed his book gently. “Oh, of course. I am sorry to not have thought about it earlier,” Halsin said, closing his eyes as well. “I feel well enough to offer my blood; Shadowheart is quite the healer, despite her Sharran loyalties.” The large elf reclined on his bedroll.

“Indeed,” Astarion replied flatly, lowering his torso to Halsin's and placing his mouth on the druid's neck. As he fed, he tried all the same tricks from his first feeding: flitting hands over Halsin's torso, his cool breath on the large elf's hot neck. But Halsin only stared at the tent wall; it was like feeding from a living corpse.

Astarion blinked back the moisture from the corners of his eyes and sat up, wiping blood from the corner of hips lips. Halsin was lost to him. Once was an oddity; twice was a pattern. Again, the druid had shown no arousal, no emotion, no reaction besides a grunt of pain.

“Well, thank you for the last supper, darling,” Astarion said, his voice detached and flat. “I suppose we’re done then.” He shuffled on his knees to sit further away from Halsin, his fingernails picking at the seams on his trousers.

The druid roused slowly, as though it took a moment for Astarion's words to sink in, like rain soaking into parched soil. “Last supper?” Halsin asked, his voice low. He shifted to sit on his knees and rubbed his forehead with his thick fingers. “Done with what? What do you mean?

Astarion glanced over his shoulder at the druid; he didn’t want to face the larger elf completely. “Oh, darling don’t play coy. It sounds like you’ll get answers from your Harper friends tomorrow at Last Light,” he said. “Then you’ll be off on your merry way!” The vampire flipped his slender hands in the air.

The druid met his gaze, his honey-hazel eyes scanning Astarion’s face. The vampire felt as though he were being inspected. “Astarion, what are you talking about?” Halsin asked.

“Please, Halsin, stop with the facade,” Astarion said, waving one hand towards the larger elf. “You know your old friends are here, challenging the Absolutists,” The pale elf’s gaze shifted to his knees; if he looked any longer at Halsin, the mist in his eyes would turn to tears. “You’re obviously closer to the idea of them than to us,” Astarion’s tunic became tight around his shoulders as he rounded them, bending into himself defensively.

He heard the rustle of Halsin’s movement on the bedroll. “Astarion,” the druid said softly, “Have you lost your senses?” He was too gentle. It hurt, this feigned bit of care, and it made the abscess in Astarion’s chest worsen.

“No, I certainly haven’t, but you have!” said the vampire. He could feel the color rising to his cheeks; Halsin’s fresh blood circulated within him. Astarion shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Over this Thaniel boy. Over this curse. You’ve less self-control than a beast!”

Halsin rose to his knees, his large form blocking the candlelight within the tent. He cast a shadow on Astarion. “Do not compare me to a beast, Astarion,” the druid replied, his voice almost a growl. Astarion felt the druid's forceful exhale on his pale skin. Halsin sat back on his haunches. “People see me in battle, or see my size and don’t think I can get hurt.. or have feelings.”

Astarion felt his eyes widen, and the moisture overflowed. Cool tears streamed down his porcelain cheeks. “I.. am sorry, Halsin,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible. “I am aware you can get hurt. Too aware.” The vampire’s voice sharpened, and he met Halsin’s eyes. The druid’s thick brows knit together upon seeing Astarion’s tears. “But today, it appeared as though you had forgotten that. You’re so willing to sacrifice yourself that you don’t see that you don’t have to.”

Halsin seemed to deflate at Astarion’s words like a drinking bladder emptying its contents. “I…must not lose focus until everything is put right. I’ve wasted too much time already - and nature has suffered.” He moved closer to Astarion and placed his broad hand on the vampire’s knee. Astarion chose not to react to his touch; he had to focus on fighting back his tears.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, which startled Halsin. “Oh darling, I didn’t peg you as self-centered, but here you are, making this about yourself,” Astarion said, seething as more tears streamed down his cheeks. He met Halsin’s fragile gaze with ferocity. “Do you think that one person could have stopped the goddess Shar? Really?” He gestured forcefully toward the open flap of the tent while maintaining his accusatory stare at Halsin.

The druid cast his gaze to the shadows outside the tent. His expression shifted several times as they sat in silence. Astarion could only assume the first was offense; but his last expression seemed to be understanding.

Halsin's hand remained on the vampire's knee, gripping snugly, his wide thumb rubbing gentle circles on Astarion's kneecap. “There was no one else to blame,” Halsin said finally, breaking the silence. “And, if I centered my rage at myself, I could not lash out at others in anguish. I could cage the bear and let it wound itself against the bars…”

Astarion's fingers shook as he gently placed his hand on top of Halsin's. “Come now Halsin,” he said, letting go of the pet name, “You’re older even than me. You know as well as I do that the world is cruel more often than not. You helped me understand that being cruel to oneself won't improve matters.” Astarion meant every word; Halsin's kindness and affection had been a soothing balm for his anxieties, keeping him from seeking affection through means he'd rather avoid.

Halsin met Astarion’s gaze and raised his hand to the vampire’s cheek. His large thumb wiped away the cool tears. “You possess more wisdom than you give yourself credit for, Astarion,” he said, tilting his head as he smiled. A deep exhale escaped the druid's lips, and the sigh ruffled Astarion's curls. "I offer you my apologies."

Astarion momentarily forgot himself, savoring the warmth of Halsin's palm as he leaned into it. The touch provided a brief reprieve from the gnawing pain of no longer occupying a special place in the druid's heart. After a moment of allowing himself happiness, the pale elf pulled his face away from Halsin’s gentle hold. “I.. appreciate that darling,” he said, an airy laugh escaping his lips. “Because, foolish as I am, I'm still here with you... despite your loss of interest.” He lifted his wine-red gaze to meet Halsin's, searching for any hint of intent in the subtle expressions that played across the druid's face. What he found was utter confusion.

“Dear heart, what are you talking about,” Halsin asked, his hand falling from Astarion's cheek to his pale, slender neck. His thumb traced the vampire's bite scars with tenderness.

"Oh, please," Astarion began, his hands gesturing at himself with a hint of flippancy. "Just acknowledge that I'm just a pretty distraction to pass the time whilst our ‘fates are aligned’.” Cool tears welled up in his eyes once more, then ran down his cheeks again, like raindrops sliding off a marble sculpture. They sparkled in the gentle candlelight of Halsin's tent.

Halsin's mouth opened, his tongue twitching as he searched for words that eluded him. “Astarion, I am deeply grateful to Silvanus for allowing our paths to cross, but-” The druid’s words were cut short.

“Yes, yes, and 'it was delightful while it lasted’,” Astarion interjected, his head jerking to the side as tears cascaded down his cheeks, dripping onto Halsin's calloused hand. “But tomorrow you’ll find Thaniel, and then you'll whisk him away into the woods, leaving me to..” Astarion choked back a sob, which soon wracked his shoulders. “I'll be abandoned.”

Before Astarion could react further, he found himself pulled tightly against Halsin's broader form. The druid's thick arms enveloped the vampire's torso, his legs parting as he drew Astarion closer. Astarion was almost entirely ensconced in Halsin's embrace. “My dear Astarion,” Halsin began, his voice a deep, gentle rumble emanating from his chest. “You won't be abandoned. I want to be with you. I-"

Astarion attempted to pull his torso away but found it was a futile effort. He shook his head in frustration. “Don’t fill my head with that nonsense, druid,” he said, sniffling to clear his runny nose. “Not when I have nothing to value; only burdens to carry.” Despite the embarrassment of his tears, he looked into Halsin's kind eyes. He needed to know for certain what Halsin wanted.

“Astarion, that is untrue. You spoke such wisdom moments ago: we can rely on each other whenever our burdens are too great,” Halsin said, his voice almost a whisper. “I want to help you with yours…” The druid squeezed his arms around Astarion, coaxing a whimper from the smaller elf. “I care for you,” Halsin continued. He smiled at the pale elf - a genuine one, radiating from his kind eyes.

Halsin hooked his large finger under Astarion’s chin, to bring the vampire’s gaze to his. “Astarion, my heart does not stir lightly, and yet…it soars just to look upon you. I value you beyond measure. Think of the times you have fought beside me in battle, your prowess with arrow and dagger are invaluable; you have saved my hide more than once. And of the many evenings your company brought great comfort to me when we sit together and read. I treasure your astounding intellect, even when your well-thought arguments are against my own! And I can always depend on you to bring laughter to my lips, as sure as the sun will rise each day. Those moments are all so precious, so valuable to me…I want to never be without you.”

Astarion closed his eyes, allowing more tears to fall. The sensation of soft, warm lips on his cheek made his eyes flutter open. Halsin’s lips traveled up from his cheek, to kiss the corners of Astarion’s eyes; to kiss away the vampire’s tears. To kiss away his fears.

“Regardless of any burdens you have, Astarion,” Halsin continued, saying the vampire's name like a song, like a hymn, a prayer of tenderness and care. The druid's lips met Astarion's other cheek, kissing away his salty tears. “And despite the challenges ahead… Astarion, dear heart. My heart.” The druid paused and placed another kiss on the pale elf’s forehead.

Astarion's plush, pale lips parted, but he had no words, no witty response, no wry observation. He simply gazed at Halsin, his eyes shimmering with renewed hope.

A moment passed; thick with tenderness and desire. And when Halsin pressed his mouth to Astarion’s cool lips, only a surprised, pleased whimper escaped the pale elf. Halsin’s kiss was so very soft. Deliciously tender, as he pulled Astarion’s lower lip between his own. Passionate, as he suckled it gently before pulling away. Halsin did not slip a greedy tongue into Astarion’s mouth, like the lustful kisses the vampire had known over the years.

He placed another chaste kiss on Astarion’s now-reddened lips before pulling his own just far enough away to speak. “I am here with you now, Astarion. And I will always return to your side.”

[nostalgiachan]

Baldurian Finger Trap

Second Prompt: One of the companions has been gone from camp for a very long time

Act Three Spoiler Warning

---

“Darling, it’s Minsc,” Astarion sighed, his hand gently landing on Vier’s shoulder. “That lummox would get lost on a straight path, I’m certain. And lest we forget, he’s a grand world-saving hero…twice over, yes? So any poor soul dumb enough to try to jump him on his little outing will get the quite literal spanking of a lifetime.”

Vier reached a hand up to meet Astarion’s. In any other circumstance, she would have agreed with him. But in the last tenday or so, their camp had been met with one attempted abduction, one successful abduction, and multiple visits from a deviless who she was sure would look for any excuse to cause them problems. The party had relocated to a room in the Elfsong Tavern in hopes that it would prove a slightly more defensible location than a wide-open alleyway in the slums by the docks, but that did little to put Vier’s mind at ease. On top of all that, the last time Minsc ‘went missing’, he’d gotten a worm jammed in his skull, and before that, turned into a statue. She trusted him to take care of himself, but there was no denying the man’s a lightning rod of misfortune.

It had been a day since Minsc had headed out into the Lower City on some sort of errand. About the only person who knew where he was headed was Jaheira, who’d lightly scoffed when asked. “Why does everyone seem to think me the man’s keeper now?” she’d replied when Vier asked about him. “He’d said something about taking Boo to the marketplace. Something ‘urgent’, apparently.” She did admit that it shouldn’t have taken him this long to come back from market, and he wasn’t exactly the type to go carousing through the streets and accidentally fall asleep in an alley somewhere.

Vier wasn’t prone to assuming the worst, but in this case, she could no longer take chances. “I know,” she answered Astarion as she ran a thumb over his hand, “but I’d be much more at ease if I knew for certain. I’ll go out to look for him by myself. No sense dragging anyone else along just to soothe my paranoia.”

“Well, I’d be remiss if I let you go looking on your own,” Astarion replied with faux exasperation. “Two sets of eyes will get the job done faster, after all. I do hope you appreciate this.”

“You know I always do, dear.”

. . .

If there was anywhere Vier had expected to ultimately find the Mad Rasheman, it was not facing a stone wall just off the marketplace, two of his fingers jammed in a tiny hole. He looked deep in concentration, attempting to wiggle his hands together, apart, this way and that. He didn’t seem to notice Vier and Astarion as they approached him. The startled roar that escaped the man as Vier spoke up was one for the ages.

“Friends!” he cheered at last when he realized who was speaking to him. “Hurrah for you, that you have finally come to free Minsc and Boo from this dire situation!”

Vier couldn’t keep her clear befuddlement from her face. “What, erm…’dire situation’ is this, precisely?” she asked.

“To put simply,” Minsc began in earnest, “I am stuck. You see, Boo wished for me to take him on a trip to market. He’d heard word someone would be selling a foreign nut he’s grown quite fond of, and he would not stop chewing at my bootstrings until I agreed to buy some for him. Oh, you should have seen his joy as he stuffed his chubby cheeks!”

The mountain of a man practically glowed for a moment as he recalled the sight, but he quickly returned to himself. “But for a split second, I turned my eyes from Boo, that I might pay for his meal, and when I looked back, he had vanished! I cried out for him, looked everywhere I could, but I couldn’t see the tiniest hint of his fuzzy self anywhere!”

For a moment, Vier found herself caught between wanting Minsc to cut to the chase and wanting to listen patiently, deeply curious as to how all of that led to all of this. Her curiosity won out in the end.

“I nearly tore the marketplace apart in my search,” he continued, “but then, I heard it! The cry of a hamster in deep distress! I followed the noise, and came upon this hole in the wall here - and trapped deep inside was Boo! I wondered if perhaps he had developed a nut-induced teleportation ability, but Boo was quick to explain what had happened. As I was paying for the nuts, a young child in the market had mistaken Boo for an escaped pet of hers, and snatched him away! She’d made it quite some distance before realizing he was not, in fact, her beloved Tummytuft, and released him promptly on the other side of this wall.”

“Boo took to his tiny feet as quickly as he could, doing his best to return to me, but he made a fatal mistake. He was feeling far too sluggish to run around the wall, so attempted to take a shortcut through this hole here. But he had gorged himself on far too many nuts, and had grown too bloated to make it through. Thus, when Minsc came upon him, there was only one thing to do! I simply had to reach right in and get him out! But, it seems, my fingers are far too large, and became stuck between Boo’s girth and the stone as surely as if he was covered in sticky glue! And thus, here we are.”

There was hardly a second of silence between them before Astarion could no longer hold back his laughter. “What a wonderfully convoluted predicament,” he snorted. “You’ve been stuck with your fingers in this hole for an entire day?! Absolutely incredible!”

Vier, at least, made the attempt to be nice about it. “I assume you called out for help. Did no one answer?”

Minsc replied, “I most certainly did! And most saw fit to pass me by, notably averting their gazes. The one or two brave souls who did lend a hand, however, had little success in freeing us. In fact, as time has gone on, it seems to have become even harder to make any sort of progress. My fingers may have begun to swell in there, I fear.”

“Oh dear, alright,” Vier sighed, and she swung her supply bag off of back, setting it on the ground and rifling through to produce a brown bottle. “Fortunately, I tend to keep a bit of grease on hand for just such an occasion. Should be able to get you out with just a bit of finesse.” She dipped a small wooden applicator into the grease as she approached the stone wall. “Pardon me, Mr. Boo,” she attempted to speak into small gap between Minsc’s fingers. “You may wish to hold your breath a moment. Don’t want you swallowing any of this. Won’t kill you, but it won’t be pleasant.”

After about half an hour of wiggling, liberal applications of grease, and plenty of moral support from Astarion (read: laughter), Minsc and Boo were finally freed from their stony prison. Boo looked like he’d been through the first layer of the hells, his fur matted with finger sweat and grease, a look of pure frazzlement on his furry little face - or at least as much of one as a hamster could show. He’d be headed straight to a warm bath as soon as they got back to the Elfsong, and Minsc would be getting a healthy dose of ice against his fingers to get the swelling down.

As they tromped their way back to the inn, Vier breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, she’d been right about Minsc being in trouble, but in light of everything they’d faced up until now…well, this was just the low-stakes sort of adventure they needed.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Care to go up against me, Princess?"

Ciri looked over from where she'd been whacking seven shades out of the training dummy to where Lambert's cat, (' Aiden', her brain supplied), was leaning against the wall. She was sure he hadn't been there a minute ago.

"Why?" She asked warily, Geralt's warnings about cat Witchers coming to mind.

Aiden shrugged, "Everyone else is busy and I'm bored. Vesemir gave me the okay to oversee your training for the day. Would go and bother Lambert but learnt the hard way not to do that when he's playing with his bombs. It gets messy, and not in a fun way."

Jaskier, who had been sat bundled up by a brazier watching (read: babysitting. Ciri wasn't stupid), snorted a laugh.

"You can tell me to piss off and I can see about trading with Eskel or Coen. I won't be offended" Aiden offered with an open smile. He'd recognised Vesemir's olive branch straight away but he wasn't about to use it to make the young cub uncomfortable.

She looked between him and Jaskier, the bard merely shrugging as Ciri mulled it over. He couldn't possibly be that bad if Vesemir had allowed him to stay and with Jaskier sat right there and Eskel just in the stables, she wasn't technically alone with him…

"Alright. But just a quick spar."

Aiden's smile grew.

"Don't be afraid to move." Aiden said, leaning on his wooden training sword, Ciri stood bent double as she heaved for breath, aching and frustrated from the multiple hits Aiden had managed to land on her whilst she'd barely touched him, "You keep coming at me full frontal like that you're basically painting a target on yourself. It became predictable, which means it became dangerous."

Ciri straightened up indignantly, "The wolves are always telling me-"

"No offence to the wolves." Aiden interrupted gently, "But they're all over six feet tall and built like brick shithouses. Brute strength and stubbornness works for them. They can take the hits and keep on coming. You, unfortunately, are a bit more breakable." He very lightly poked her in the belly with the end of his sword, "But you're also small and fast. Use that."

He tilted his head thoughtfully, "If you like, I can show you some basics from my school that might benefit you."

"You mean how to fight dirty?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them. To her relief (and confusion) though, Aiden merely laughed in response.

"Is it fighting dirty if it's against something trying to kill you? And out of the two of us, which one has more bruises right now?"

He replaced the training sword and picked up the coat he'd discarded earlier, shaking the snow free, "Again you're free to say no, but the offer stands. You too, if you like." He said looking towards Jaskier, or more specifically, the small dagger at his belt as he made to leave, "I'm curious if you can actually use that."

"Wait."

Aiden stopped, waiting for Ciri to continue.

"Learning a couple of things couldn't hurt. Could it?"

Geralt smiled as he made his way back through the gates. The sun has almost set and with how treacherous the mountain could be, he knew the sensible thing would have been to hunker down and make his way back in the morning but after three days, he was too eager to see both his bard and his girl. His excitement was short-lived as the sight that greeted him at the other end of the courtyard had him immediately seeing red. Jaskier sprawled on his ass on the ground, Aiden with his back to Geralt but he spotted a very familiar head of blonde hair peeping over his shoulder as Ciri appeared to be struggling in his hold. the pommel of a sword in the hand which wasn't restraining her. Fucking bastard! He knew he should have given in and allowed the two of them to accompany him on the hunting trip!

Abandoning Roach and the game she was carrying, Geralt unsheathed his sword and charged.

"Aiden!"

Jaskier's yell came a second too late as he realised what Geralt was intending. Witcher reflexes meant Aiden was able to move quickly to drop the sword and shove Ciri away from him but not quickly enough to avoid a blow to his shoulder as the white haired Witcher roared furiously, "Get the fuck away from them!"

Aiden immediately dropped to his knees, as he turned to face Geralt, trying to look as non threatening as possible with one hand pressed to his now bleeding shoulder.

"Geralt, no !"

"What the fuck, Geralt?!"

"What the hell is going on out here?" Eskel yelled as he emerged from the stables, nose wrinkling at the overwhelming mixed scents of anger, confusion and fear.

"Eskel. Go get Vesemir." Geralt growled, not taking his eyes off Aiden.

"No need." The Witcher in question appeared next to Jaskier, drawn out of the main hall by the sudden noise. He offered Jaskier a hand up as he took in the scene, "What is happening here?"

"I found the Cat threatening Ciri with a sword."

"You mean this sword?" Jaskier asked moving forward to pick up the wooden blade and waving it in Geralt's face, "We were training, nothing more."

"By whose leave?" Geralt demanded before turning to Eskel, "And you! Where the hell were you when they needed you!"

"Hey!" Eskel snapped, "I've been in the stables since they started this morning. You really think I wouldn't have intervened if I'd heard anything untoward? Which. I. Didn't. They were never in any danger."

" Aiden!" Lambert came running towards them, panicked by the scent of blood and the sight of Aiden on the ground, "What is your fucking problem!" He yelled, squaring up to Geralt, "The old man put him in charge of Ciri's training for the day, he wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to be!"

"Forgive me if I don't take you at your word given your attachment. I don't want Ciri learning anything from him. "

Aiden was marginally surprised that Geralt didn't spit on him for emphasis.

" Enough!" Vesemir barked in a tone he knew would immediately bring his pups to heel, "Everyone inside. Now! Eskel, take Ciri and help Coen in the kitchen. Lambert, see to Aiden. Geralt, with me."

Read the rest on my A03!

[msweebyness]

DuPont School for Monstrous Youths- Cute Ship Stuff

I was in a romancey type of mood, and this is what came out of it! Enjoy, ya’ll! As always, thanks to @imsparky2002 and @artzychic27!

Due to them living fairly isolated in the mountains, yetis are used to things being fairly quiet. Because of this, Ivan is easily overwhelmed and starts to panic when things start to become hectic, crowded, or overly loud, but Mylene is able to soothe him, often by singing or just talking to him. They have a place they go to snuggle until he can properly calm down.

Mylene loves for Ivan to carry her places, whether it be in his arms, on his back, on his shoulder, etc. He doesn’t mind it as he likes being able to hold her, and in a way ensure her safety.

If you were to ask Kim his favorite thing to do with Ondine, the answer would be cuddles, cuddles and more cuddles! This boy is an absolute snugglebug and the two spend hours in each other’s rooms, hugging up on each other.

Ondine knows all of Kim’s favorite places to be scratched or pet, and uses this to calm him or cheer him up, or just to tell him he’s being an especially good boy!

Jean has written over thirty original songs and compositions dedicated to Austin T, who has heard every single one multiple times, and still never gets tired of them.

Austin T has never missed a show that Jean has performed in, and Jean has even convinced him to audition a few times, the two absolutely killing it as co-leads.

Every single song Rose and Juleka have ever performed onstage is a duet that they wrote together. Never ask them who has the better voice, because there will be a three-hour argument, with both trying to convince the other ‘your voice is way prettier than mine!’

Rose always keeps spare blood packs in her bag as snacks in case Juleka gets hungry or drained, and Juleka helps Rose do a thorough bone check to make sure she’s completely in tact before they go anywhere.

Denise always tries to pick something new for dates with Simon to help him venture out of his comfort zone and experience the more adventurous side of life. His favorite so far has been bungee jumping!

One of their favorite pastimes is to go on walks in the woods outside of school and talk about their day. It reminds Denise of their home, and Simon likes how peaceful and happy the forest makes his partner.

Alya actually has a great, bluesy singing voice and often lends it for backing vocals on Nino’s tracks. He saves every one she features on in multiple places and listens to them when he feels down or misses her.

Nino often serves as Alya’s cameraman when she films a story for her blog or the school news, which he doesn’t mind because he loves seeing how his girlfriend lights up when she’s in front of the camera.

Nathaniel loves to find unique lanterns and paint them with beautiful designs to give as gifts to Marc on their dates. They’re some of the Moth’s most precious possessions, and he saves each one to put on display in his room.

Marc often flies up to keep Nathaniel company during his guard shifts, bringing snacks and chatting with his boyfriend about their days while they watch the sun rise or fall.

One of Aurore’s favorite things she’s discovered on Earth is movies, no matter the genre. So Mireille makes it a goal to find at least three she’s never seen for each of their frequent movie night dates!

Mireille trusts Aurore so completely that she’s entirely comfortable with their girlfriend using her psychic powers on them. Aurore often looks into Mireille’s thoughts or connects their minds when she needs to calm down.

Zoé is the only one who can calm Cosette down and keep them from charging when they’re in a rage. Just hearing her voice is enough to stop it from goring someone who angered them.

Zoé has several pet scarabs that the two refer to as their ‘babies’. Cosette named half of them and usually has at least one hanging out with her.

Marinette, Adrien, Kagami and Luka alternate on who gets to pick the date destination. They always try to pick something the others may not have experienced before.

Marinette is probably responsible for 1/3 of her partners’ wardrobes at this point. She loves making gifts for them.

I love all these precious babies! Leave thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[lorei-writes]

Winter Flower

Chapter IX: Appendix

Masamune x OC [Hana] Summary: Hana wakes up in the gardens of Azuchi castle without any recollection of her past. Who is she? What was she doing there? And most importantly – what is she supposed to do now? Placed under supervision of Lord Date, Hana has to find her footing in the unfamiliar reality of the warring states. Series Masterlist

Multiple chapters will be posted next Thursday - keep your eyes open for that.

Content Warnings: panic, war

If I thought the world lost focus yesterday, then today it ceased completely, ashen greens mixing with greys, basked in light that seems blueish or blue-er. Snow took over the sky, the ground is barely there, and for all I know when I close my eyes, we could be galloping though clouds, not plains. Noise is silence, neighs are not complaints, my heart trembles, and yet… I do try to look again. By myself.

“Forward!” Masamune roars behind me. I clutch what little I can hold onto. The bridge is ready, and so, forward we go. I doubt we could turn back, even if any of us wanted to. That much, however, seems to be of no concern, his soldiers answering him with little less than a swarm of buzzing excitement. Whistling, shouts, cheers, and songs – and among them all, there is us, at the very front, and the very receiving end of this commotion.

“Why wasn’t yesterday like this?” I ask, quite convinced that I’m in a middle of some misplaced invisible festival rather than a march.

“They thought they’d have to swim through the river.”

“Would you ever have them do that?”

“Hmm…” he hums into my ear. “I wouldn’t have to in summer or late spring. They’d race towards it and jump in.”

“Pfft!” I snort. “I don’t believe you.”

“You’d better believe,” Masamune insists, amusement lurking just below the surface of his voice. He nudges my temple with his chin, urges me to keep my head straight and look ahead of us. “Lean forward,” he instructs in nearly a growl.

“Why?”

“Because we’re gonna go fast.”

No further questions on my part.

If I thought the world lost focus yesterday, then today it ceased completely, ashen greens mixing with greys, basked in light that seems blueish or blue-er. Snow took over the sky, the ground is barely there, and for all I know when I close my eyes, we could be galloping though clouds, not plains. Noise is silence, neighs are not complaints, my heart trembles, and yet… I do try to look again. By myself.

“There you go!” Masamune outshouts the thundering hoofbeat. Wind steals the words straight from his lips, and although he is close, I struggle to make out what he may be saying. “Keep at it!”

“Don’t let me fall!” I yell back, entirely too preoccupied with the world that passes us by; the future stands firm, while the rest dissolves in the rush. Not even the ache in my buttocks troubles me…

Until it does.

It does not take me – or anybody else, for that matter – long to realise that I am painfully unprepared for this sort of travel. My body hurts, from my very toes, through my spine, and then to my shoulders and neck. Truth be told, I must be quite a pitiful sight. I welcome each stop we make with a (silently; internally) clamouring relief, my body insisting on having me believe the hellish horseback ride has not yet finished. By the time it calms, we have to go again – perhaps it is only fitting of a limbo to indeed never end. Nevertheless, I do manage to fake a semi-convincing brave face, and after several days of such self-inflicted (although, I dare say, necessary) treatment, it does not seem quite as out of place. Obviously, I have to be well, so I am well.

The river is no more, and soon enough, the plains begin to cease as well – or at the very least, I can make out their end, the land beginning to raise, to eventually elevate itself into a mountain. Between the towering rocks, and dense trees, I can just barely make out an outline of a castle. It is as if it could disappear from there the moment I blink, just for the scattered scraps of white walls to reassemble themselves a breath or so later, perhaps to keep me wondering whether we truly have reached it in the end. It isn’t long before soldiers scatter into neatly organised clusters, each cell tending to a different fraction of the overarching task, all set on preparing a camp. They work like an organism – some are the teeth and throat that prepare to distribute the food around; some are dexterous hands, and so they build walls; eyes that stay vigilant, ears that listen to all noise, arms that haul the load we’ve carried along, lungs that take the air in for others when they seem to forget to breathe on their own – and finally, the mind at the centre of it all, messenger-nerves carrying handsful of words as Masamune issues commands. I don’t know what I am in this situation, but… I hope it is nothing as useless as an appendix, although I can only vaguely recall that it did not have much use. Regardless, I do not dwell much on the thought – I doubt my state has been pre-determined, so I force my body to work. All hands on deck. Somebody must need some sort of support.

It isn’t until late evening that we are done. Fires shine again, but this time they stay silent, not a whisper daring to reach out to me from between the ashes. My arms sting, but it does not matter all that much, as we all are hungry now, we all reach out for bowls. It seems only fair that I hand them out, that—

Somebody pushes a bowl into my hands. I raise my eyes, Kojuro staring me down. His entire face seems tense, his eyebrows drawing near each other as he continues to look at me before letting out an exasperated sigh. He takes the ladle from me, exchanging it for nothing else, but another bowl.

“Go eat, and take this to the young lord while you’re at it,” he orders, his attention already turning away from me.

“But –”

“I’m taking over here. Just go.”

I have no clue on what could have got him so sour. However, I can see that arguing won’t do me any good right now, so I do as he demands, my feet carrying me further into the camp. Maybe he was worried about me, or about Masamune, or perhaps something important has come up, or they haven’t foreseen some obstacle, or he needs me to see something, or… I should stop. There are more possibilities than people around me, and even though some may be utterly ridiculous (e.g.: carry the food to lord Masamune, for he has ingested poison and this now is going to be his last meal – what could be worse than dying while starving?!), I would still need to approach them to weigh their merit. I should not waste any energy on thoughts of this kind.

I find Masamune eventually, in what I assume may be the command centre, a tall table standing surrounded by a wreath of soldiers. I assume they may be of some higher ranks. Perhaps… they are formation leaders or something to a similar effect? They seem to be discussing rather animatedly, and although they do laugh, I slow my steps down.

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” one of the men shouts.

“Nu-uh. Wait for the scouts, but they’re gonna tell you just as much, lad.”

I strain my ears to hear just what it may be that they’re talking about, but alas – blue glints silver in his eye, and without a fault, I am spotted as soon as I stop. How…? Well, I suppose that much is secondary as of now. It appears he did not think he’d see me there, though, his lips quivering in surprise.

“Hana…?” Masamune asks, holding a helmet against his side. Oh? But have we not settled for the time being just now? I stop myself from wondering about the matter aloud, and instead lift the bowls up.

“Kojuro –”

“Night raid!” a scream comes from the outermost layer of the camp. I do not get to finish my thought – the most I do is stare, utterly dumbfounded as the men around me scatter, each yelling out words I can barely comprehend. Somebody grabs me by my shoulders.

“Go hide.”

I know this voice even when I am unable to match it to its owner. I do not move.

“Hana!” Masamune shouts. He shakes me, and only then do I take note of the bellowing cries erupting around us. I bite on the inside of my cheek, and I do so hard, sweetly sour taste of blood holding me in my body. At least for now. Whatever I was supposed to do, it is forgotten now, dishes having fed the ground.

“Understood!”

I move against the current of the crowd, man-made thunder in form of gunshots howling behind my back. Steel hisses somewhere far away, some vortex seemingly sucking out any noise from the surrounding air. I can see people, I can see flashes of light, but it is all perfectly quiet, even my bellowing heart having seemingly stopped. The ground below my feet trembles, winter comes over my hands, but all that occupies me is that voice from before, begging me to let it roam free in my head.

You will be safe, it promises.

I can help, it assures.

NOW! it demands.

I am not strong enough on my own. I give in to its call – my judgement clouds. My legs move on their own, as do my arms. However, this once they don’t seem heavy at all, and it does appear they know where to lead me to, white flaps of a tent flashing in front of my eyes. My hands search for something over my thighs and waist, although it does not appear to be there… and neither am I. Neither is the tent, for that matter, or the dark night sky. I raise my head, grey shells of buildings full of gaping hollows lining the streets around me. My head buzzes. Black clouds churn above, and then —

I am back, rolled into a ball behind one of the crates. I take in a shaky breath, but this time, I can hear it perfectly clear, just as the commotion outside. I try to make myself smaller, so tiny nobody would ever realise I’ve been there in the first place.

--

Series tag list: @cheese-ception @nuttytani