#about the white wolf and the white crow meeting

[pumpkin-cake]

Family Man Farmer Logan

dad!logan howlett x fem!reader

i cannot get this out of my head- logan out in the country with his little family has my brain rotting!!!!! also girl dad logan has me in a chokehold!

part two

divider by @cafekitsune

The rooster's crow echoed in the wide open space of land, stretching across the fields and barns and the small wooden playhouse he himself had built. To ensure Logan's consciousness, the small alarm clock started ringing. He groaned. He hated that damn thing, but oh well. His wife insisted on keeping one around.

That wife, you, were regretting your decision. You matched his groan, shoving Logan as the beeping continued to invade the silence you'd been enjoying. "Turn it off." You grumbled, and he grunted in response. He reached over and sloppily felt for the button and hit it like it had personally wronged him. He inhaled deeply and rolled over to wrap his buff arms around you.

"Mornin'." He said in his raspy morning voice, his beard tickling and pricking your neck. You didn't mind. It was a good look on him.

"Morning, honey." You yawned, turning around to face him. "Who's on daughter duty this morning?" You murmured, and Logan's heart fluttered seeing your eyes open halfway sleepily. God you were perfect, even with a bedhead.

"Baby duty." He corrected a bit grumpily.

"She isn't a baby anymore, honey."

"Yeah she is." He said, absolutely no room to argue. He sat up and stretched, his back popping as he did so. He gave you a kiss. "I'll meet ya in the kitchen, yeah?"

You offered a tired mutter in response. He chuckled and left the room, dressed only in gray sweatpants. He gently creaked open the door to his little girl's room, which was filled with toys and anything of the like. She had a lot of wolf plushies. Her favorite animal. It made him feel warm, like she subconsciously loved him everywhere. She of course didn't know what the hell an actual Wolverine was (she called it a woofewine), but word association apparently.

His heart swelled at his sweet girl passed out sleeping in her new big girl bed that he had built for her. He'd painted the wood white and found some stencils of some butterflies, which were painted yellow. Her favorite color. Logan gently sat at the edge of her bed, reaching over and gently shaking her shoulder.

"Hey, sweetie. Time to wake up." He whispered, like he didn't actually want to wake her up. He loved the peacefulness of her expression when she was sleeping. Looked so much like her mother.

His little girl squirmed a bit, whining and trying to pull her blankets over her face. It just made him laugh a bit, softly but firmly pulling the covers back down. She squealed.

"Daddy!! It's cold!!" She exclaimed, trying to reach for the blanket with her eyes still closed.

Logan laughed and grabbed her from her spot, gently pulling her into his lap and holding her tight. "How's this? Daddy's warm, yeah?" He smiled.

She huffed sassily. "Not as warm as the blankies." She argued, and Logan just laughed again. He grabbed the blanket you'd knit her and wrapped her up. "Better, Daddy." She hummed, leaning into him. He stood up off the bed and kept her close.

"You need to go potty?" He asked her as they walked to the bathroom so she could brush her teeth. Never in a million years did he think he'd have a perfect little girl who he was asking to go 'potty', but God did he not care about whatever dumb child lingo he had to use. Especially if it meant less dirty diapers. Ugh. Sometimes the smell was unbearable.

"No!" She said simply, letting him place her on the bathroom sink's counter. He handed her the Bluey themed toothbrush and she frowned. "You do it!" She demanded.

Your words echoed in his head. "She needs to be a little more independent, she can learn to brush her own teeth."

He sucked in a breath. "Why don't ya give it a shot yourself, sweetheart?" He asked, trying to keep his voice from straining. "You have a big girl bed, how 'bout brushing your teeth like a big girl?"

Your little girl just pouted. “No, Daddy.” She said firmly, baring her little baby toofers. “You do it.”

His heart strained. Oh her little eyes. They were so cute but she had the same little crease he himself got when he was upset. “Okay, sweetie. Maybe tonight.” He gave in almost immediately. It was pathetic, he’d killed so many people without a second thought, but this little girl had his heart in the palms of her itty bitty hands. Just one look and he was giving in.

He held the little toothbrush and got a small amount of bubblegum toothpaste (she didn’t like the ‘spicy’ kind) and gently held her face while he took care of her teeth for her. She grinned the whole time, very proud of herself for winning once again.

After that ordeal was done, Logan picked her up in the blanket and brought her to the kitchen where eggs and bacon reached his nose. You stood in nothing but Logan’s shirt and very short shorts, yawning while you cooked for your family.

"Mommy!" You heard your child shout, and you looked over your shoulder to see her snuggled up against Logan's hairy chest.

"Good morning, sweetie. Did you brush your teeth?" You asked.

"No! Daddy did it!" She chirped, and Logan smiled rather sheepishly at your unimpressed look.

"You know I can't help it." He sighed, placing her in one of the ranch chairs at the table. He tried to make up for it. "Breakfast smells delicious, honey." Well, he would have said that either way, but it made you smile as you served the food, two egg eyes and a bacon smile.

"There's more if you want seconds." You hummed, sitting down and beginning to eat.

Your daughter freed her arms from the blanket cocoon so she could eat. "Can I feed the horsies today?" She asked happily, pointing to the apples in the fruit bowl.

You and Logan exchanged glances. "'Course, babygirl." Logan said simply. The two horses at the farm were both gentle, but your baby could be pretty loud and scare them. You trusted Logan to keep her safe.

"You have to listen to Daddy and be careful." You warned, really not wanting your baby getting bitten or kicked by a horse.

"Okay, Mommy!" She said, hurriedly finishing her breakfast and was going to go outside.

"Clothes, sweetie." Logan reminded, and she ran back to her room to change. He smiled at you. "She'll be fine, darlin'. I got her."

"I know, I know." You said softly as Logan finished eating and went to change too. The two came back down in matching denim: Logan with jeans and your little girl with overalls.

"Bye Mommy!" She said and ran out, the screen door slamming shut.

"Bye, hon." Logan said with a wink, heading out to spend time with his girl.

i'd love to do a part 2! i probably will, thank u for reading!

[echo-bleu]

While I’m staying away from all the speculation, all those posts and memes about Jaskier either being the only one who can see Geralt is different or the only one who can’t and keeps insisting that yes of course, that’s Geralt, are giving me ideas.

Namely: faceblind Jaskier. Bear with me. He can’t recognize any face, including his own in the mirror (when he finds a mirror, it’s not that often). That’s why he flirts with everyone, flirting is just his default mode in case it’s someone he’s met before, because at its core it’s kind of roleplaying. While people may not respond to it well, they mostly don’t bat an eye at cheesy joke-y pickup lines where Jaskier ‘pretends’ to meet them for the first time (”Do you come here often?”). Meanwhile it buys Jaskier time to figure out if he has in fact met them before.

(Demi or ace Jaskier? Who flirts for the reasons above and mostly has sex with people because he figures it’s expected of him?)

It’s also the reason he makes so many enemies. Sure, there are actual cuckooed husbands who hate him, but really it’s mostly former lovers who are horribly offended when Jaskier ‘snubs’ them at a reception because he just didn’t recognize them. Or former lovers horribly offended that he tried to flirt with them again pretending not to know them after they threw him out. There are also plenty of people who were never his lovers at all but are just offended because nobles are Like That.

(There have been some really embarrassing situations. Like the time he tried to flirt with Valdo Marx, his eternal rival, who still laughs about it every time they see each other.)

He latches onto Geralt because Geralt is recognizable. There just aren’t two white-haired wolf-eyed muscular men around. Jaskier never has to worry about seeing him and being unsure if it’s actually his friend and not some random stranger with the same haircut. Geralt also never changes his haircut or his appearance in any way, which is refreshing.

Yennefer is mostly the same, with her violet eyes, although Jaskier does have to get close enough to be sure. They have a few weird encounters where Jaskier starts to flirt with her, gets within a few feet, and immediately backtracks the hell out with a disgusted face. That’s how she figures it out, but it takes her a while. After that she takes great pleasure in teasing him about it, but only in ways that no one else will clock (hence the crows’ feet comment. Jaskier doesn’t even know himself in the mirror. He can’t tell if she’s right. He does obsess over it the whole way up the mountain, but he has other things to think about on the descent).

The witchers of Kaer Morhen, when Jaskier meets them, are so refreshing. They’re all different! Eskel is unmistakeable with his scars, and while they’re within the confines of Kaer Morhen it’s very easy to distinguish Lambert’s red hair from Coen’s shaved head and darker skin from Vesemir’s white beard. Ciri is of course the only kid, so that’s not a problem. For the first time in his life, Jaskier doesn’t feel like he’s playing catch up to a game whose rules he doesn’t know. It’s relaxing.

The witchers, on the other hand, are quite surprised about Jaskier. They’ve been told (many times, over the years) that Jaskier flirts with everyone under the sun. Now Geralt isn’t always the most reliable source, of course, and Eskel never expects anyone to be attracted to him because of his scars (which is a subject for another day), but Jaskier doesn’t even try to flirt, even just friendlily, with either Lambert or Coen. He’s not afraid of them, they would be able to smell that, he seems perfectly comfortable with them, but he doesn’t flirt. At first, they figure that it’s because his newly mended relationship with Geralt is still fragile.

One night they’re all a bit drunk and the witchers are talking about how Jaskier’s songs have helped them on the Path, how many humans are much nicer to them, and in general how hard interacting with humans is. And Jaskier is just nodding along, “Yeah, yeah, interacting with humans is so hard.”

“But you’re always going out of your way to talk to people and flirt!”

“Well yes, I like making friends, but they have so many expectations, and they get angry so easily.”

“That’s only when you flirt with the wrong people,” Geralt growls.

“But how am I supposed to know it’s the wrong people when I can’t recognize them?”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks.

“Faces are hard! I don’t know how people do it, I mean, obviously your scars are distinctive, and I’d recognize Geralt’s hair anywhere, but most humans all look the same!”

Geralt blinks very slowly as it all slots into place in his head. Jaskier’s very strange flirting methods. The way he keeps making enemies without meaning to. Hell, he’s seen Jaskier say hello again to someone they’d seen just minutes before, or completely ignore one of his bard friends at a festival until she came right up to him. “You don’t recognize people?”

Jaskier, who didn’t survive forty-three(ish) years without figuring out that this wasn’t normal, freezes and suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights. “Uh... no?”

“So if, say, Vesemir was to shave his beard, you might confuse him with Geralt?” Lambert asks.

“I’d... probably be able to tell from up close? Geralt’s taller.”

“Wow.” Lambert seems ready to tease him about it, but Eskel stops him.

“How did you never notice?” he asks Geralt.

Geralt just grunts. Jaskier answers for him. “I’m very good at making people feel like we’ve always known each other, I guess. Mostly I just buy time until I can figure out if I’ve met them before.”

The witchers have a million questions, but they never make Jaskier feel like he’s deficient somehow. Jaskier has always been ashamed of it, but to them, it’s just another quirk, like not being able to eat raw meat.

The next time they’re on the road, or at a festival together, Geralt is brooding just as much as usual, eyes darting this way and that, but before Jaskier can go and greet people (with his usual fake-it-till-you-make-it technique), Geralt stops him.

“Your friend Essi’s wearing a yellow dress with red accents,” he mutters under his breath. “Marx has a green doublet, that shade you hate. Avoid the man in the bright purple doublet and the brown pants, you slept with him last time and he threw you out. That woman at the right of the stage with the braid, she has a husband, you tried before.”

Jaskier gets so emotional that he can’t speak for a solid minute, and he ends up hugging Geralt instead. “Didn’t know you paid attention,” he says eventually.

“Just look at me if you’re not sure who someone is, I’ll tell you who to avoid,” Geralt says gruffly.

It’s not a perfect system, but Jaskier doesn’t offend a single person all day.

[missisjoker]

Lost Prince!Jace x Cregan Stark

A short foreword: 1. Boltons flay people because they can "steal" others' magic by wearing the skins.

2. Dragons can't fly over the wall because it breaks their connection to their riders AND breaks their connection to any warg that might be controlling them.

***

On his 10th nameday, prince Jacaerys takes his first flight. It goes splendidly well, and later that night, he sneaks out of his room to fly on Vermax again. He doesn't know that far in the North, a Bolton is wearing the freshly flayed skin of a skin changer and trying to warg into Vermax. When he takes to the skies, Vermax gets "snatched", and flies straight to the Dreadford. But they get caught up in a storm, get disoriented, and end up North of the wall. The moment Vermax crosses above the wall, control is lost, and he crashes down to the ground, taking Jacaerys with him.

The boy regains himself in White Tree, wildling village north of the Wall. The wildlings keep him alive because he is "magical" to them. They start training him in their ways, teaching him, and forcing him to fight. Sometimes bleed and starve him for their "magical" rituals.

Sometime later, during a hunt, he sees a group of Night Watch riders, and tries running to them, hoping with all his heart they listen and take him back to his mother - but almost gets killed. He starts hating the Crows for abandoning him, and hating his family for getting him on that dragon and then forgetting about him.

Years pass. Jacaerys grows into a fine wildling leader, smart and brave and ruthless, because wildlings are unforgiving- and so is he. His people call him "Prince".

He learns that a neighboring tribe has been worshipping the Others by leaving newborn babies in the mouths of weirwood trees for the Others to "eat". He is horrified, but...It's not his business what others do onto their children- after all, his own family left him for dead, so why should he care? He also has nightmares where a distant gnarly voice talks to him, promises to flay him and wear his skin like a cloak, and mount a dragon. Or, maybe, break him instead, and warg into him. And then return to Kings Seat and become the King of the 7 kingdoms. He doesn't know what it means, but feels glowing eyes watching him from the dark.

One day, he learns that the Crows raided the neighboring village, snatched a sacrifice baby, and now, judging by the sudden onslaught of Winter, the Others are pissed and are coming to kill everything breathing north of the Wall.

He leads his men after the Crows. His ambush is almost successful, he even sees the child- a small bundle of flesh and skin writhing in cold snow- he thinks of keeping the child alive, but then decides that killing it IS a mercy. He doesn't get to finish the job though, because a stone wall of a man in a wolf fur cloak slams into him. They fight, and the fight is brutal, and even though Jace is one of the best wildling fighters, he finds himself outmatched. He's disarmed, thrown on the floor, and a sword pressed into his throat. He has a flash thought "this is valyrian steel", and realizes- this must be someone from the South, perhaps a lord. A lord in the North? A Stark? "Killing an unarmed opponent? I thought Starks were supposed to be honorable." The man grabs him by the hair and drags him up to meet his gaze, "Honor is reserved for those who deserve it. And there's no honor in killing a suckling babe", and then Jace's world goes black.

He wakes up bound in a cave, near a fire, with Crows around him and with a Stark man watching him with the grey-blue eyes of steel. "Stop staring, it's impolite." "You whisper in your sleep." The man comes closer, and Jace feels uneasy under his piercing gaze, "Was I whispering your name?" The man smiles, and Jace begrudgingly admits that the man is handsome. "You're the one they call Prince?" "Yes, but you can call me Jace." "Hm." The man lifts his chin and runs a thumb over Jace's jaw- the same spot he clocked him in earlier. "Admiring your work?". The man's lips twitch in a half-smile, "And what if I am?"

There is a sudden commotion outside, and Jace finds himself alone. He crawls to the fire and burns the ropes around his hands, trying not to scream when fire licks his skin. He gets out of the cave expecting to run into a centinel, but outside is a massacre. There is a pack of wolves attacking the camp. He sees the Stark man- throwing off a beast off his men, face and cloak drenched in blood. Jace wants to run, but then sees a giant bear going straight for Stark. So, he grabs a half-broken spear from the frozen ground, screams, "Stark!", and throws it at the bear. Stark turns, and his eyes widen in horror because the spear only nicks the bear's side, and the bear roars and charges Jace. Jace moves and evades, but the beast still catches him with one of his paws, knocking him on the ground, and starts to claw at his chest. Jace hears his own bones break and skin tear, and screams when the bear goes for his throat, but in that moment a valyrian steel blade runs the bear's head through and exits thought his maw. Jace sees blood dripping on the snow and doesn't know if it's his, or the bears- and the world goes black, yet again.

When he wakes up, he ... is lost. His body aches badly, but he is warm, and his bed feels softer than he ever remembers feeling. He is covered in furs, and a brightly lit fireplace licks stone walls and arched ceiling with amber glow. He tries to move, but a firm hand stops him.

"Try not to move".

The Stark man is sitting next to his bed. His face is covered in scratches, but his eyes are ... soft. Jace feels a sting of something in his chest.

"Where..."

"Winterfell. You were badly hurt, so I brought you here with me."

Stark cups his head and helps Jace sit. His hands are rough from handling a sword, but strong and gentle, and Jace melts into the touch. The man gives him a sip of water,

"the bear..."

"It was a warg."

"A warg?"

"A skin changer. A man who controls animals from afar, makes them do their bidding."

Jace swallows hard,

"Is he dead?"

"No, he's not." A moment of silence follows, then,

"I Wish to go back."

"No."

"Am I your hostage then?"

"It isn't safe for you back there, your Highness."

Jace's face burns,

"Your Highness, is it now?"

Stark looks at him for a long moment, gaze unwavering, and Jace feels his skin prickle.

"Your name isn't Jace."

"What?"

"You kept repeating a phrase in your sleep. Se anogar hen zaldrizes iksos isse issa." The northerner's accent sounds a bit wild, but the words are undeniable. "The blood of the dragon is in my veins." You're Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Rhaenyra Targaryen and the Crown Prince of Seven Kingdoms."

Jace feels treacherous tears burn in his eyes.

"Jacaerys is dead."

Stark stays quiet for a while, then sighs, "Maybe so. But, whatever it is- stay here until your wounds heal."

Jace's heart is hammering in his chest and he turns away from the man, hiding a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"I don't need your pity".

"I am not offering you pity, I am paying back my debt. Stay here as my guest, and once you recover, if you still wish so, I will escort you back North of the wall."

Jace's eyes search the man's handsome face,

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. As long as you don't kill any more of my men."

He offers a hand to Jace, and Jace shakes it.

"Then it's a deal."

The man smiles, and Jace wonders for a second why does his hand fits so perfectly into the man's.

[adiduck]

anotha question ✨

there’s gotta be some icemav pining for each other that’s borderline verbal abuse of one another that makes the daggers think they hate each other (affectionately)…or everyone can tell they like each other cause 22’ is right there

You know what? I think I can do this. I'm gonna give a few different snippets (some of which I have already posted) which, in totality, I believe paint a picture:

Pushups with Bradley (already posted)

“Strong silent type,” he says finally. “No worries, no worries. I can fill the air for all of us.”

“He can,” Ice says, because he’s a damn good wingman and knows when Maverick needs a backup straight man in a conversation.

“One of my many talents,” Maverick agrees, gratefully. “Right under fucking up high yo-yos in new aircraft.”

“One-seventy-one,” Hondo says, and his voice shakes a little like he’s suppressing a laugh. Maverick looks up and winks at him while he’s doing his pushup.

“I got him into a defensive spiral and pulled out right before we hit the hard deck, and he reversed positions and got me on lock when I didn’t drop down to weapons envelope,” Rooster says suddenly.

Maverick pauses and then whistles low. 

“One-seventy-two.”

“That’s closer than I got,” Maverick says. “Fucker using the hard deck against you. One of our instructors did that to me first day at Top Gun.”

“And you broke the hard deck to get tone,” Ice interrupts, voice very dry.

“One-seventy-three.”

“And it didn’t count, because of the fuckin’ hard deck,” Maverick agrees. “Probably made the right call there, honestly. Saved yourself a reaming from the brass.”

“Not that Mav’d know anything about that,” Ice offers up.

“A third talent,” Maverick says easily, grinning.

On Ice’s other side, Rooster’s starting to relax a little.

“You really can just run your mouth, huh?” Rooster asks.

“You have no idea,” Ice drawls.

Rooster snorts.

“Alright, that’s enough chatter, gentlemen,” Hondo says, amused. “One-seventy-four!”

-

Football

“Come on, Captain Mitchell, take it off,” Phoenix crows, just after they’re back in the water post-lunch. The Captain, midway through pulling his white t-shirt over his head, starts to laugh, whole-bodied and amused.

“Been a while since I’ve been objectified by someone under my command to my face,” he says, peering out the neck hole as Phoenix grins, unrepentant. Very helpfully, Hangman puts two fingers in his mouth and wolf whistles, and everyone else cracks up.

The Captain’s played with them for the first half of the morning--keeps up, makes it pretty clear that he’s still meeting those medical standards for flight. He takes a few breaks--Maverick makes sure to tell him to remember to hydrate--old people are more susceptible to heat stroke, right?--and to be careful not to break a hip every time he comes back. Like clockwork. It makes the Captain’s jaw tick, which is hilarious enough Maverick doesn’t mind getting his ass kicked the next round every time he does it.

Eventually, though, it’s just too hot, and the guys start stripping shirts off. Maverick’s been enjoying the view, actually. There are a lot of very pretty people slated for this particular mission, and that’s not even counting Ice, with his wide shoulders and swimmer’s build, the freckles across his shoulders and eyes shining with challenge.

Maverick’s not stupid enough to hit on any of them when he’s gonna need to fly a suicide mission with them in two weeks, even on the down-low--Hangman’s definitely watching Maverick under his lashes when he thinks nobody’s looking, he’s not fucking subtle--but the point really does stand.

The Captain’s just about the last to give in, and honestly it probably is because he’s feeling old next to everyone else, if Maverick had to guess.

But here he is, joining the rest of them in shirtlessness. Maverick grins, soaking in the sun and comradery and good cheer, and knocks shoulders with Ice.

Ice shakes his head. “Keep it to a dull roar,” he calls. “I still have to deal with the younger version in a couple weeks after you all inflate his ego."

“Too late for that,” the Captain says, and winks at Ice, then continues to pull the shirt off over his head--

-

Later in Football

“Gotta ask, Maverick, are you also that crazy, or was that something that came with age?” Omaha complains. Over on the shore, the Captain raises his hands in surrender, laughing as he’s herded over to a chair. Still in the water next to them, Bradley scoffs and turns away.

Maverick frowns, and then shrugs, uncomfortable. “I have a pretty high pain tolerance,” he says. “I dunno, if he says Medical said he was fine, he’s probably fine.”

“So,” Omaha says. “The answer’s yes.”

“The answer’s definitely yes,” Ice drawls, he flips the football up onto his finger, gets a few decent spins before it wobbles and falls into his hand. “Hey,” he shouts at the shore. “Are we playing or what?”

“Hold your horses, we’re coming,” Hangman hollers back, as the Captain laughs again, reaches behind him to pull his dog tags to the front of his chest--

Maverick freezes. “Is he wearing a ring on that chain?” he asks, squinting.

Ice frowns, squinting too.

“Huh,” Omaha says. “Looks like it.”

“Aviators,” Bradley shouts suddenly, and Maverick startles a little. “Move it or we’ll move it for you!”

Hangman flips him off, even as Phoenix also rolls her eyes and the group starts moving back towards the water.

Maverick starts towards the shore. “Play without me,” he says.

“Come on, Maverick, if you go sit down we don’t have even teams,” Bradley says.

It’s definitely a ring. The Captain’s noticed him looking now though, flipped his aviators up to raise an eyebrow at him.

“He’s not married,” Maverick says, as Ice catches up to him. “It would’ve been in his file. Divorced? Engaged?”

“Divorced would have also been in his file,” Ice says. “Mav, if he wanted you to know, maybe he’d have told you.”

Maverick pauses. Hesitates. “It’s not Charlie, probably,” he says, feeling a bit guilty. He--well, he hasn’t been thinking about Charlie. He’s been busy, sure, but--

“It could be,” Ice says. “But if he wanted you to know, he’d tell you. Come on, let’s go back and play.”

Maverick hesitates.

“This’d be the second time you run out on me to go talk to someone about your love life, Mitchell,” Ice says. “Gonna start thinking it’s me.”

“It’s definitely you,” Maverick says automatically, and then huffs, rolls his eyes. “Well when you put it like that--”

Ice huffs a laugh, throws an arm over Maverick’s shoulder and turns him around. “Let’s show these assholes how it’s done, shall we?”

-

Drinking Game

“Star Wars and Star Trek got a complete reboot in the form of a movie. Which one really did?” Fanboy asks, grinning.

“Star Trek,” Ice says, only half a beat later. His voice has loosened to something of a drawl along with the set of his shoulders, the sprawl in his chair becoming increasingly boneless with every wrong answer. “Star Wars is only three movies, I don’t know why they’d bother remaking them.”

“Mitchell?” Fanboy asks.

“Uh,” Maverick says. He’s on beer three in about half an hour, and that’s not a lot, but it’s not nothing. And he barely knows what either of those things are. “I’m going to go with Lieutenant Nerd’s assessment over here.”

“Bite me,” Ice says easily.

“You’re correct,” Fanboy says, and Ice smirks in satisfaction as all around them everyone takes a drink. Maverick grins back, can’t seem to help it.

“Okay, next, a sports question,” Payback says. “Let’s see how well you know your baseball. Use of certain steroids was approved in 2007, or the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.”

The world stops. “They did?” Maverick says, the words bursting out of him without any input from his brain, maybe too loud.

Phoenix cracks up, leaning over the table.

“Of course you’re a Sox fan,” Hangman mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I’m going for steroids are legal,” Ice informs them primly.

“Hey,” Maverick says. Ice gives him a bland look back, mouth pinched at the corners. Asshole.

“Might as well drink, then,” Payback says. “Sox have won most recently in 2004, 2007, 2013, and 2018.”

“Yes!” Maverick says. “Fact check!”

“You don’t believe him?” Phoenix asks.“I just want to see,” Maverick says, and holds out his hand for the cell phone. “Come on, give it up. This is the best day of my life.”

-

Last run before the mission (already shared in this exercise)

“Still with me, Phoenix?” Maverick asks, swinging into the fourth turn.

“We’re with you, Mav, don’t wait for us,” Phoenix says, and Maverick grins, banking hard.

“Kinda--the point, isn’t it?” he asks through the lung compression, and leans into a bank in the opposite direction. “Can’t do it myself.”

“Red letter day,” Ice says over the radio, sounding equally winded from the banking. “Mark your--calendars.”

Maverick laughs. “You said that, not me,” he says, and turns a flat ninety degrees under the simulated aqueduct.

“Do you know what ‘maverick’ means?”

“Sounds like a story,” Payback gets out.

“Tell you later,” Maverick says, and evens out, grins. “Time?”

“Five seconds under,” Bob says.

Maverick grins. “Fuck yes. Now comes the easy bit. Bob, prep that laser--popping!”

“The easy bit, he says,” Fanboy says. “They’re calling them miracles.”

“Naw,” Maverick says, reaching the apex of his climb. And there’s the target. “They call us ‘Maverick’ and ‘Iceman’.”

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

a new kind of warmth

Grian lept off of Monopoly Mountain, unsure what or where his next life would be, but knowing he couldn't stay here any longer. Not when the sand was red with blood. He ended up somewhere in the artic.

Part of the @extremetimedchallengeexchange which I had so much fun with!

Words: 1703

AO3 here

Grian is cold.

He hasn’t been cold in weeks. He’s used to the heat of the sun, the burn of the sand, the sweat dripping from his brows and the constant red tint to his skin. 

Now he’s cold. Now there’s a bone deep chill. Now he’s freezing and his muscles are stiff and sore from it. There’s wind ruffling his feathers and the sharp pain of ice against his cheek. He flexes his hand and grimaces as his fingers dig into snow, the burn familiar and yet so very different from sand. 

He lifts his head, attempting to open his eyes and meeting only the blinding reflection of snow for miles. He shut them again as he forced himself to his knees, shaking the frost from his wings. 

This must be death then. Some purgatory– or Hell. He’d think Hell would be the fire and brimstone, but that would have been too familiar. A wasteland of snow and ice and constant wind felt like Hell enough, would be a fitting punishment for the life he had lived. 

When he finally opened his eyes again, blinked away the brightness and let himself focus, he became a little less sure it was Hell. Not definite, but the landscape was less barren than at first glance. Most of it was ice– but behind him, when he finally stood to properly look around, was a spruce forest. Through the trees, if he squinted, he could see the warm light of torches and lamps. 

He started walking. 

Soon a cabin appeared in his view, with a large fenced yard that had wolves galloping about, foxes nicking the wolves’ toys out from under them, horses watching it all from a small stable, a big slumbering polar bear sitting at the steps of the door, and over a dozen crows sitting on the roof of the cabin. It was surrounded by a mountain range and he could just barely spot another home a couple meters away built into the stone. 

If this was life after death (and what else could be when his very last action was falling from the top of Monopoly Mountain, too grief stricken to open his wings with the blood staining his hands), then perhaps this was the home of Death itself– or an angel or a demon or someone that could explain to him what afterlife he had wound up in. At the very least it would be warmer than out here (if this afterlife was even a little kind and had insulated walls).

He stumbled past into the yard, closing the gate behind him. He flinched when the first wolf came galloping up, but it merely licked at his frozen fingers. A few of the wolves barked and howled and then several crows joined in with squawks and calls of their own, probably alerting whatever being inside the home that he was out here. The polar bear poked his head up, blinking sleepily at him. He had a golden name tag hanging from his neck and he didn’t move from his nap spot as Grian approached. 

There was movement in the window and then the door swung open– “What the fuck has gotten you so riled, chat?” The man standing at the door looked… surprisingly normal. For just a moment Grian thought he was a human, his blonde hair was pulled back by his hat and he was wearing dark green and black robes. The wings, he didn't see until they shifted and spread slightly behind him, big black things that stole all the light and almost looked like voids in space. He didn't have any other feathers on his face, or clawed hands, or taloned feet– Not like Grian. 

He was an Angel then, like Skizz was, or something like it. Skizz's wings were white; the inky black of this stranger was much more intimidating. Was this like– his Guardian Angel? He didn't think his Guardian Angel would have a potty mouth. Also he was a terrible guardian given the whole– everything he just went through. 

“Oh, hello there!” He called from the steps, waving at Grian, “Wasn’t expecting visitors. Would have cleaned up for you.” 

Grian numbly waved back, stopping in the middle of the yard as he watched the Angel come down the steps, easily sidestepping the polar bear and effortlessly ignoring the dogs that followed in his heels. A few crows swooped on him and he laughed and shouted at them. 

“Hiya, mate. You doing alright there?” He asked, stopping just sort of grabbing Grian's arm. His hand was outstretched as he looked Grian up and down, “I don't think we’ve met before. I haven't seen you around the server pretty sure. I’m Philza.” 

“Grian,” he replied, staring at Philza’s wings– one of them was messed up, the skin and tissue had so much scarring that feathers, his flight feathers, no longer grew. It was something a respawn or a few potions should have fixed, not something you let heal on its own. “Are you, like, my Guardian Angel?”

Philza laughed, “The fuck? No, mate, I’m not anyone's Guardian Angel. Especially not yours. I’ve never seen you in my life.”

“That's good, cause my Guardian Angel must suck at their job,” Grian grumbled. 

“I feel that, bud,” Philza agreed readily, stepping to the side, “Want to come inside, where it’s warm?” 

“Yes, please,” he whined, taking the biggest steps he could manage with his numb legs towards the house. 

Philza was quick to show him around. The place was small and quaint, even smaller than their sandcastle. It was crowded with sentimental items and cozy furniture. Grian was quick to sink into a plush chair and bundle his wings around himself. Philza bustled about, making tea and talking about his housemate, Techno, who was out at the moment, and his neighbor, Ranboo, who was also gone. It was just the two of them, and that was fine with Grian for now. He still wasn't sure what type of afterlife he’d wound up in and having more people in his afterlife sounded like too much right now. 

A hot mug was placed in his hand. He glared at it for a moment, the steam and heat not quite welcome despite him still warming up from the cold outside. It almost made him want to drop the mug as his fingers started to burn. 

He watched as Philza sat down across from him, a few birds perching on the back of the chair. They squawked a few times, Philza’s nose wrinkling in disgust.

“So, I don’t suppose you’re used to the cold yet, huh?” Philza remarked, lightly batting away a bird that nudged his cheek.

Grian hesitated at that, especially when the birds stopped moving to stare at him. It was unnerving with how they all looked at him, watching with an unblinking stare. “I– no not really. I’m used to warmer climates.”

“Oh, warmer climates… like deserts?”

Grian tensed at that, his wings folding up closer to his body. He glanced up at the birds, who’d started to disperse, moving to perch on other objects in the room, observing him from all angles. “I-yeah, like deserts I guess. How did you–”

“The sand,” Philza gestured to the grains that were slightly dusting the ground now, “It’s all in your wings mate. That can’t be comfortable.” 

“I’m used to it,” He replied slowly, ducking his head.

“I fucking bet,” Philza rolled his eyes. He slipped out of the chair and onto the carpet, patting the space in front of him, “Come on, up! Let’s get those fixed.” 

Grian blinked down at him, “What?” 

“You’re getting sand in my chair, mate. It’s a bitch to clean up when it gets into furniture. So, come sit, I can clean them for you.”

He stared at Philza for a long moment, not sure he was actually hearing him right. It had to be a misunderstanding on his part. Preening was intimate. At least, it was supposed to be. Sure he’s had a few hermits he was less than close to brush a feather back into place or pull a pinhead, but Mumbo was the only person he’d let sit down and run his fingers through them in ages. Him and, of course, Scar these last few weeks. The only other person he evenly remotely trusted in the games once the blood started spilling (and spilling and spilling until all that was left was Scar’s blood to spill). 

“It’s just getting the sand out, come on,” Phil waved him over again.

Slowly– ever so slowly– Grian slipped onto the floor with Philza. He had to set his mug down a second to stop it from spilling on the carpet as he turned his back to the other.

A part of him expected to feel the punch of a sword between his shoulder blades. He was tense as a bowstring, waiting for the impact. 

When the fingers slipped between primaries he flinched. 

Immediately the hands were gone. Neither of them said a thing for a second, then Philza went back to it. Grian was still tense, but he tried to stay still, hoping to make the process a bit quicker. 

Philza worked deftly and diligently. “My son was an avian too,” he muttered softly after a moment, “He had his mother’s eyes.” 

Grian hummed in response, not sure how to answer that and not sure if he was supposed to. Instead the quiet lingered, but the tension was loosening. He ruffled a few feathers, shaking out a bit of sand himself. Philza chuckled behind him before grabbing the crest of a wing to still it and returning to his work. 

After that, Philza would make idle chatter, commenting on his adventures and his sons. Grian slowly relaxed under it all. The hands in his wings, the comforting warmth of the cabin and the hot tea in a pretty red terracotta mug. 

It would be morning by the time Grian woke up again, a red wool blanket thrown over him. He’d have a million things to figure out and people to find, but until then he would fall asleep to the gentle help of a new friend. 

[kaz-identified]

houseofmcallister presents

Almost (Sweet Music)

Pairing: Crow x Young Wolf , slight/implied Uldren Sov x Young Wolf

Category: One-Shot

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: 13+

Warnings: No major warnings apply

Word Count: 926

Summary: I’m almost me again, he’s almost you…

name faolan and she/her pronouns used for young wolf, in accordance with old mcallister fics.

author's note: this fic hinges on my deeply held belief that the young wolf and uldren were friends. also hozier inspired so like yay pain.

I laugh like me again, she laughs like you.

Crow is quiet when she approaches. Her eyes are concerned. It's rare to see Faolan without her helmet. It's even rarer to see her look this... disheveled. Her eyes, normally so bright and full of light, eyes like a stormy sky, are downcast, dark. The only light in her eyes was the Void twinning around her pupil, granting her a second sight, Truesight, she calls it.

She falls down on the bench beside him. Her hair is a mess, dirt and gunsmoke smudge her face.The white X across her face, her beloved warpaint, has been rubbed off in places. She's really out of it. The Nightmares took a real toll on her, huh? Maybe now isn't the time to do this... maybe another ti-

"The nightmare- he's wrong, by the way. I don't blame you for what he did."

OK, so they're doing this now.

"I- didn't think he was right..." Crow says quietly. "Don't lie to me, birdbrain," she looks up at him. God, she looks so tired. There's a triumphant glint in her eyes but she looks exhausted. "You're bad at it. Uldren was too," she chuckles. He flinches the smallest bit, but stops himself from making any visible reaction. Uldren was her friend, she's speaking of him fondly right now... he doesn't want to interrupt that. Some other perspective of who he was, a perspective that isn't how he was a murderer.

"He was?" Crow questions, his tone the kind you use for a scared animal, trying not to scare off this chance for information. Faolan swipes at the bridge of her nose, wiping away some gunpowder. "Oh yeah. Big time. He could keep secrets so well but that pride of his made it so he couldn't lie well. You could always tell, he'd grit his teeth a little bit." She smiles at the memory. Crow smiles at her smiling. "What was I- he... like? Outside of... you know." Faolan sighs. "You don't wanna know about that, Crow. You have the memories. You know what he was like." Crow shakes his head. "I don't want to know how he perceived himself I... I wanna know what he was actually like." Faolan lets out another sigh, a deeper one, and looks up at him. "He was a bastard. There's no two ways around it. Uldren Sov was, pardon my language, he was a cunt. He was a smug motherfucker that thought he knew best and everyone else was a little stupid. He was kinda right about that... as far as it went with me."

"You? Stupid?" He asks, laughing a bit.

"I was a New Light! Greener then you. Real wet behind the ears. Uldren liked to make fun of me for that, but I learned a lot from him. When he wasn't being a piece of shit he was-" she cuts herself off, looking down.

"He was..?" Crow prompts. "He was my friend," Faolan says, quietly, almost... almost reverent. "I trusted him. I looked up to him a bit, I won't lie to you," she says with a half-laugh. Crow looks at her in shock. He had thought she would have hated him. "Hunting him was... the hardest thing I've ever had to do." She finally meets his gaze. She looks like she's on the brink of tears. "Losing Cayde was the worst day of my life. But having to kill my friend? I don't think I'll ever do anything worse than that..." she barely even whispers it.

Crow resists the urge to wipe her tears from her face, it hurts him to see her like this. She should never cry, it's like seeing the sun be blotted out, its horrifying. She should always be smiling and joyful, always be able to be grinning and cracking jokes. He hopes he never sees this again, hopes she never feels anything that makes her cry again, she deserves to be joyful forever.

"I don't... I don't blame him for what happened," she says, finally looking up, wiping away at her own tears. "He wasn't himself, Riven got her claws in him. My Uldren would've said something other than bullshit when I shot him," she says with a choked laughing sob. Crow feels his heart stop for a second. 'My Uldren'... he knows she means nothing by it, nothing besides to say the man she knew but... some part of him, some part of him that holds Uldren's memories feels something intense when she says that.

She looks down at her hands. "You remind me of him, how he was when we were in the field. When he wasn't being a jackass." She looks up at him and smiles so softly. "You aren't the same person, not at all but... you have his face and you have the heart he tried to pretend he didn't have. That means something." She rests her head against the wall, smiling at the ceiling. "It's nice to know that... you're not him but, the best parts of him are still here, in you. The parts I-" she cuts herself off, yawning. "The parts you...?" Crow asks. "The parts of him I respected." She answers. She smiles at him. "You're like... what he could've been." Crow smiles back. "You think so?" She rests her head against the wall again. "I know so. And I think you do too. Now can we be quiet for a bit? I am... so tired." "Of course, of course," he says, hushing himself. "Sleep well, Old Light." "Shut up, Birdbrain," she mumbles, but she's smiling.

i was listening to the torture dance song while formatting this there are now two songs associated with this fic and only one of them makes sense.

ao3: houseofmcallister main account: houseofmcallister buy me a coffee!

Don’t repost my work or I’ll eat your shoulder blades! I do not consent to my works being used for AI training purposes.

[cateyesinlove]

ACOTAR DAEMON AU!

IT IS HERE, ITS HERE, ITS HEREEEEEE, I am extremely excited to share with everyone this exciting project! I'll be sharing the individual characters and their daemons and a little about them

"The beast plopped into the chair, the wood groaning, and, in a flash of white light, turned into a golden-haired man. From behind the man came out a golden lioness, eyes a bright amber and graceful and intimidating."

"—another High Fae: red-haired and finely dressed in a tunic of muted silver. He, too, wore a mask. A small red fox was on his shoulders laying lazily there."

"Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like his raven’s feathers, perch gracefully on his shoulders, a beautiful daemon, his pale skin, and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me."

"I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but—the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I’d laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt—felt strong, fast, and sleek. And— I could feel fur. Under my hand laid a gray wolf; Big, almost as big as Andreas had been when I took his life. The wolf opened its eyes and looked at me with bright, blue, and full-of-life eyes."

"Her bright, golden hair was tied back in a casual braid, and the turquoise of her clothes—fashioned like my own—offset her sun-kissed skin, making her practically glow in the morning light. “Hello, hello,” she chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her rich brown eyes fixed on me, her daemon a small crow standing on her shoulder. “Feyre,” Rhys said smoothly, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre.”

“You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.” Not safe. Not protected. Free. She carried me beyond the garden, into the fields, up a hill, down it, and into—into a cave— Aster following and keeping guard with Sadek and making sure no one saw anything."

"Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades beautiful in their simplicity. perch in one of their shoulders were each daemons, a bat, and a hawk."

"And maybe part of me remained mortal, because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae … as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide. She was several inches shorter than me, her chin-length black hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth, and her face—pretty, bordering on plain—was bored, if not mildly irritated. But Amren’s eyes … Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Around her neck seemed to be a dark-colored snake, black as night, observing me and Aester."

"Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again as a small white owl came into existence flying above elain and finally landing on her shoulder, her pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair."

"Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears … When Nesta looked to me … Rage. Power. Cunning. Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free—she was loose. She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth — Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her! " As Nesta slammed Lucien, a creature came into existence as it tackled Eletta, a huge cat-like creature, holding down the small and stunned fox."

[shisui-uchiha-anon]

♦️ for Tobirama

Send me a "♦"

"White wolf"

(That is the first two words that cross his mind when he hears the name Tobirama. But since there is much more going on after the things that transpired between them. There are so many words some, are not so gentle and I doubt that Tobiram would ever believe that Shisui could say them, nor Shisui would tell before him. It's been quite a while and when someone asks about Tobirama or says 'You two seemed close' Shisui would clench his fists and walk away. If a person is persistent he would dismiss them with one rude...

"Urusai! or Damare!"

Anyway not to make this too long, he kept himself away because he is not sure how he would act upon meeting the man himself again. It's easy to avoid Tobirama is it not? After all, Wolf is an earth creature, he can only look up at the sky, and the Crow has a sky to hide it.)

[lakka-arts]

WAIT

GERASKIER BUT ITS SWORD OF THE STONE AU???

SWORD AND THE BARD?

[princeescaluswords]

Jennifer Blake's first conversation with Scott in the first episode of season 3. I think it's not a reach to say she already knew of him being a werewolf at this point so it adds a different layer this rewatch. Her saying that she expects consistency and commitment and like maybe I'm digging too deep and giving Davis too much credit here but it makes me think of her past and how the alphas she knew veered off the path. Is she subtly trying to guide him here? To not end up like Deucalion and fall under his sway? Who knows!

And also, the murder of crows scene. We know it was actually her doing, using the mass death as a sacrifice to fuel her powers. The shot of her standing at the window with the oncoming murder reflected in the glass. Ominous but also foreshadowing maybe? Because we learn eventually she is the corrupted dark druid and she does an excellent job playing as the innocent schoolteacher. Telling the students to get down as the swarm bursts into the room and she even looks shaken up and out of it afterwards when asked if she's okay. But perhaps that was just her adjusting to this new energy she received. And we know she uses glamor to mask her true appearance so that view through the other side of the window with the ominous sight of hundreds of crows on the other. And she wears black and white in that scene.

You know I never thought about the possibility that Jennifer had an inkling of Scott's potential in those first scenes, but it seems reasonable. It's understandable, because I don't think that druids, even those serving as Emissaries, have some sort of special sense about werewolves. For example, I don't think that Deaton knew that Scott had been bit until the end of Heart Monitor (1x06). But, there is other information revealed in Season 3A which might make Jennifer different. Namely, Chris's revelation in Alpha Pact (3x11):

Chris: I'm sorry. But you're just gonna have to trust me on this. I knew for a long time she didn't just operate on the currents. She was in sync with them.

Scott, Stiles, and Allison all forged a connection with the Nemeton on the night Scott was bit, as was revealed in Lunar Ellipse (3x12), a connection that Jennifer already shared as we discovered in The Overlooked (3x10). Let's look at the text of Jennifer's comments about Scott falling back into old habits in Tattoo (3x01).

Jennifer: Resolutions are only good if you stick with them, Scott.

Scott: I will. I promise it won't be ephemeral.

I'm not sure if I can say one way or the other if she was fully conscious of the trio's importance at this point, because we see multiple instances of the Nemeton influencing people unconsciously (inspiring Lydia's tree drawing through her banshee powers and Scott's choice of tattoo) throughout the season but that might have been the Watsonian reason she brought up the importance of following through on promises, since she had "made a promise of my own ... to teach these monsters ..."

On the other hand, I also don't think that she caused the crow attack on the school on purpose. I think that the shock on her face during the assault was genuine, but it wasn't out of ignorance of what it could mean. She was connected to the telluric currents and the Nemeton, so she had a connection to the Preserve as well. Ravens and crows are exceedingly well known in folklore for delivering omens. I feel she was shocked because she was being warned. About what? What happened at the exact same moment the crows were attacking? Scott -- a potential True Alpha, linked to her through the Nemeton, and a component of her struggle with her enemies -- was meeting the Alpha Pack for the first time. The very next scene is where Scott helps Deucalion off the elevator and he clashes with Ennis.

One of the things I love about Teen Wolf is that it remains focused on the teenagers point of view. Scott and his pack don't know enough yet, so events seem scary and mysterious, and the show doesn't break away to give the audience a rundown on what it means. We can go back and then end and say -- oh, so that's what might have happened.

[yuppie-devil]

Familiars

“After reviewing several non official studies on the Hexenhammer, I begin to think we are missing the key role of the Familiar spirits: Spider, Bat, Cat, Rat, White Wolf, Owl, Raven, Toad, and the most important of all…The Snake”

Felt like the pictures of the familiars represented some of the characters in Yuppie Psycho so I made a post about it

Spider: This one is unclear, but I believe it could be either Nazari or the Spider guy you fight in the library. I believe it could be Nazari because the witch whispers their name when you find the “mummy” with the Hexenhammer in the library

Bat: An obvious one, but it’s Spader. In the game, he’s sometimes referred to as “Mr. Bat” and his tendency to drink suspiciously red liquids

Cat: Sosa, she’s sometimes referred to as Ms.Cat and takes care of the cats on the 7th floor. The drawing of the cat is found on her desk and there are eyes drawn next to the cat. This is symbolic of Sosa’s eyes being gouged out when the witch attacks the party.

Rat: The Forest Goblin. He is sometimes referred to as Mr. Rat and in the drawing, the rat has a piece of cheese. The Forest Goblin loves cheese.

White Wolf: It’s very unclear, but I do believe it could be Domori. Her animal features are more canine-like because of her wagging tail and pointed ears.

Owl: Another unclear one, but I believe it’s Nazari or Moeta. Both the owl and Moeta have a similar bell/chimes motif that plays when they are on-screen or when you donate to Moeta’s shrine. The owl is also in the graveyard where you eventually meet Moeta near the Sintras’ graves. But it also could be Nazari because you find the owl illustration in the room with the corpse of Nazari, and also because of the owl appearing near the mummified corpse in the Library where the voice says “Nazari.” A letter in the archives references an,” old owl man.” Perhaps this could be Nazari?

Raven: Another obvious one, but it’s Corvo. Other than the obvious point of his name is a reference to the Corvid family of birds, which includes crows and ravens, he is also referred to as “The Crow” by A.M. The drawing also includes a key, and you find the key of the graveyard in the secret floor where Corvo seemed to reside at one point.

Toad: Hugo, his alter ego is quite literally called “Super-Toad” and is referred to as Mr. Toad later on. The Witch Hunters, specifically Corvo, called him,” Tadpole.” The drawing also features a dagger, which Hugo presumably stole from Corvo after his death.

Snake: Another one that is sort of unclear, but Domori’s snake familiar seems like the most obvious one. What the crown means is also unclear but it could signify the fact that the snake was the closest to Domori and the most important of all of the familiars?

[trash-monkey]

Sunkissed Days

----------------------------------------------------------Warning: male on male content in the future of this story, don't like don't read.

---------------------------------------------------------

There are six known tribes across the land, The Crows, The Cats, The Hunters, The Stone Wall, The White Hawks, and The Owls. In order to keep the peace between these tribes they decided that someone from The Crows tribe shall travel to each tribe and spend two weeks looking for a husband before moving onto the next.

Chief Ukai has chosen you.

I let out a yawned as I rolled over on my other side on my bed of furs and straw for a few seconds more before I throw the furs off and stand up right has (Friends name) steps through the flap of my small hut.

"Finally you're up, come on the day is wasting and we need to hurry before all the food it gone." She said as she grab my hand and pull me out of my hut to the morning feast.

"Is Chief Ukai back yet?" She frowned at my question and shook her head no.

"No but I hope he comes back safe." It's  has been days since Chief Ukai left to attend a meeting with every Chief of our allied tribes and worry started to sit in my chest but I'm not the only one. We are handed a wooden bowl filled with cooked meat, fruit, and bread before we sit at a one of the empty logs that sits around the large fire that's been cooking a large deer the hunters got this morning. The fire is in front of the Chiefs hut that's in the center of our tribe were we eat our feasts in the morning and after the sun is gone we listen to songs and stories while we eat before bed but if we have guests we would eat and drink all night.

"We're all worried about him and also curious what they're talking about." She sit facing me has she eats from her bowl while we watch Takeda, who is Chief when Ukai is gone, talking to our healer Kiyoko and her assistant Yachi.

Every women in the tribe wears a large beaded neck piece that is only made for her to ware when the girl has turned into a women, which both healer and assistant are waring, also help cover her chest but have easy access to breastfeed the young. The women has a choice of waring a skirt of any length they choose or ware a loincloth like the men, Kiyoko choose to ware a skirt that stops at her ankles while Yachi is a little shorter and the only difference in their neck piece is that they have feathers to show that they're the healers for our tribe. The men only ware loincloth and small pieces of accessories over our bodies like the hunters ware a leather piece on their upper arm, unless they need to hunt something with claws then they'll cover themselves with hard animal skin, while the gathers have one on both arms. Our Chief wares a headdress of a large alpha wolf that its kind still lives on the other side of the mountain that surrounds our tribe.

Most men in the tribe likes having their hair short so it doesn't get in their way while they work but I'm very proud of my hair that stops in the middle of my back decorated with small braises, beads, and feathers but the hair on the sides of my head are short, close to the skin. I'm snipped out of my thoughts when Hinata, one of the hunters and another friend of mine, jumped on my back.

"Hey (Y/N) once you're done eating would you like to go to the lake together?" I nod when I saw that I have eaten all of my food and stood up, showing that I'm only a few inches taller then him even though I'm two summers older, (Friends name) smiled as she wave bye when she handed her empty bowl to me. I quickly hand them to the two women that are in charge of washing today before following the bright orange haired boy.

We follow the path to the lake were some other guys are already bathing, me and Hinata remove our loincloths before diving in. We stayed in for a few minutes before we decided it's time to get out and lay on the grass to dry off before a six summers old boy came running.

"Chief Ukai is back!!!" He yelled before he took off running again causing everyone to spring into action, we quickly put on our loincloths before sprinting towards the opening of the only path through the mountain that surrounds us.

_______________________________________________

[i-do-trash-fanfictions]

After defeating the Nightmare of Fikrul Thera ran back to where Crow had been while Scout transmitted away her helmet. He knelt there, head hung down in shame, and his nightmare, the Nightmare of Uldren Sov, floated above him, taunting him.

"It's why you won't help our sister either. After everything Mara's done for us." The nightmare went on.

Crow shouted back at the nightmare that plagued him. "I don't want her help!"

Thera wished she could do something to help him, but what could she say? She wasn't that good at fighting off her nightmares either. Eris came over the coms, urging him to accept the nightmare's words and to brush them off.

"NO!" He shouted. "No. I'm going to enjoy ripping him out of me."

The Nightmare of Uldren Sov sneered at Crow, dared him to try to be rid of him, and told him that he would always come back. Thera knelt beside him and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the only thing she could think to do to give him some sort of comfort. She glared up at the nightmare that stood before her and did not flinch before his glowing red gaze.

"I-" Crow choked back a sob and Thera's grip on him tightened, allowing him to know she was there, he was not alone. "Eris what do I do?" He asked.

"Retreat is not weakness." She assured him. "Breathe. We can try again, in time." And then she went off the coms.

Crow turned to look up at Thera, eyes filled with tears that he tried his best to fight back. "Sorry I let you down." He looked down at the ground again, refused to meet her eyes.

"Oh, Crow you didn't let me down." She wrapped him in a hug and he dug his head into her neck, blocking out the nightmare that loomed over the both of them. He choked down another sob that threatened to rise while she rubbed his back reassuringly. "It's okay. It's okay." Tears wet her neck but still, they sat there for a moment, Crow basking in the comfort the Young Wolf provided, until finally, they both stood, Crow wiped his face, sniffed, once then twice, and then transmitted back to his ship. Thera did the same.

They saw each other again later that day, after the report of that mission had been written and the sun had already set. Crow was still in the H.E.L.M that now lay stationed above the moon.

Thera listened to him as he told her of the white lies he spread about where he had come from and who he was, of how, after he got his memories back, he remembered that Uldren had done the same thing. "We're exactly the same!" He had told her. "Down to the instincts! It's in my blood." He also told her how he so badly wanted to prove to everyone, to her, that he was better than Uldren. They sat in silence for a moment after that. Thera had no words to offer that would comfort him. Eventually, she stood, and told him this:

"Crow, if it makes any difference, I believe you're better than him. Do you want to know why? Because if you were anything like him you wouldn't focus as much as you do on being better. Just by putting in that effort, it proves that you are a way better person than Uldren Sov ever was." And then she left.

[blxckdragonfly]

About My Blog!

“She wore the night, gentlefriends. And all the night came with her.” 

- Jay Kristoff, Darkdawn. 

Greetings! My name is Tiger or BlxckDragonfly and welcome to my blog, those who have followed me for a while or have just followed because we have something in common. 

Here's a little bit about my blog and myself in general:

🔎 True Crime

👻 Paranormal

🎮 Gaming (Skyrim. Tomb Raider. Assassin's Creed. Spyro. Resident Evil. Fallout. Far Cry. The Witcher. Silent Hill. Mortal Kombat. Halo. Etc)

📖 Reading (Nevernight/Empire of The Vampire. Gideon The Ninth. Serpent and Dove. Six of Crows/King of Scars. Vicious by VE Schwab, Mercy Thompson. Stalking Jack The Ripper. Hollow Kingdom. The Shadow of The Gods. The Song of Achilles. The Covenant of Steel. Etc)

📺 TV Shows (Supernatural. Vikings. The Walking Dead. Doctor Who. Sherlock. Dexter. Sons of Anarchy. Mr. Robot. American Horror Story. Friends. Peaky Blinders. Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The Vampire Diaries. Ghost Adventures. Red Vs Blue, RuPaul's Drag Race. House of The Dragon, Wednesday. Killing Eve. Etc)

🎥 Movies (The Crow. V for Vendetta. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. Bohemian Rhapsody. The Dark Knight. The Power of The Dog. Black Swan. Doctor Strange In The Multiverse of Madness. Spirit: Stallion of The Cimarron. The Twilight Saga. Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts. Underworld. Resident Evil. Marvel: Avengers. Venom. Deadpool. Guardians of The Galaxy. Black Widow. Spider-Man. Etc. DC: Birds of Prey. Joker. The Batman. Etc. Disney: The Lion King. The Jungle Book. The Nightmare Before Christmas. Etc)

Anime (Black Butler. Tokyo Ghoul. Death Note. Attack on Titan. Soul Eater. Demon Slayer. The Promised Neverland. Yu-Gi-Oh. Pokemon. Dragon Ball Z. Spy x Family. Twin Star Exorcists. Chainsaw Man. Naruto: Kakashi. Rock Lee. Gaara. Orochimaru. Neji Hyuga, Itachi & Madara Uchiha.)

🎃 Halloween all year round

🩸🔪 Horror Movies & Manga (Friday The 13th. Nightmare on Elm Street. The Ring. Halloween. Saw. Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Scream. The Conjuring. Hereditary. Midsommar. Candyman. Hellraiser. Longlegs. Barbarian. Junji Ito: Tomie. Uzumaki. Gyo. Shiver. Lovesickness. Smashed. Sensor. Deserter. Fragments of Horror. Black Paradox. Tombs. The Liminal Zone. Kazuo Umezu. Naoki Urasawa. Shuzo Oshimi. Etc.)

🎶 Music (Black Veil Brides (Andy Black). System of A Down. Slipknot. Arch Enemy. Cradle of Filth. Ghost. Motionless In White. Ice Nine Kills. HIM (Ville Valo). The 69 Eyes. Evanescence. MCR. Within Temptation. Nightwish. Epica. Delain. Amaranthe. Lana Del Rey. Ellie Goulding. Halsey. Lady Gaga. Megan Thee Stallion. Demi Lovato. Taylor Swift. Panic! At The Disco. Olivia Rodrigo. Ariana Grande. Adele. Billie Eilish. Post Malone. Diamante. Dorothy. Mothica. Florence + The Machine. Okkultist. Spiritbox. Alpha Wolf. Architects. Wage War. Northlane. Lorna Shore. Paleface Swiss. Sleep Token. Swallow The Sun. Twin Temple. Princess Goes. Corpse. Melanie Martinez. Sabrina Carpenter. Chappell Roan.)

Pro Wrestling (Malakai Black- who I met on 8.29.21 and is a total sweetheart. Brody King. Buddy Matthews. Julia Hart. Zelina Vega. Rhea Ripley. Becky Lynch. Lyra Valkyria. Tiffany Stratton. Roman Reigns. Finn Balor. Jey Uso. Damian Priest. Jon Moxley. Britt Baker. The Bunny. Bianca Belair. Darby Allin. Jade Cargill. Jay White. Hangman Adam Page.)

YouTubers: Markiplier. Jacksepticeye. Crankgameplays. Shane Dawson and so forth. And the occasional Unus Annus reblog (RIP).

Musicals/Broadway: Sweeney Todd. The Little Shop of Horrors. The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Wicked

I also have a tendency to write pieces from my own stories here (Darkness Finds You-- MB & Lyra/Chris & Lycia, Medicine Man/Shadows Rise aka Katstrange) and I also reblog stuff that interests me:

🖌️ Art- Dark. Gothic. Occult. Horror. Fantasy. Halloween. Skulls. etc

History. Mythology. Urban Legends. Space. Etc

Animals: 🐅🐆🦁🐊🐍🦇🐦🐎 🦊

I hope you enjoy the stay here and it’s a delight to meet you.  And remember: 

... I’ll always love you in every universe and the house always wins. 😉🖤

x BlxckDragonfly 

HMU on Socials 👇

https://twitter.com/blxckdragonfly

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[rebrandedbard]

If you are still writing 14?

Okay so this one accidentally went from a drabble to an actual fic whoops. The cure is totally inspired by the Rapunzel fairy tale, spoiler alert, where the prince falls in the thorn bushes around the tower and Rapunzel’s tears fall into his eyes, curing him.

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

wc: 4444 which is an awesome number I’m so happy lol

Robbed Blind

Someone botches a spell to steal Jaskier’s artistic vision and he’s cursed with blindness. Thankfully, he falls into the company of Ciri and Lambert. They journey safely to Kaer Morhen, but what could be the cure to his affliction?

-

She had found him, tripping over the strings of destiny, in Drakenborg. He’d been on his way to Oxenfurt when the curse took hold, and he had gone no further. Jaskier was haggard, gaunt, and looked quite worn. His hair lay flat from constant fussing. It was a habit Ciri remembered well from his visits, always combing a nervous hand through his hair before a performance. She had never seen it look so lifeless. He needed a mirror, she thought. She would soon realize that a mirror would serve him no purpose.

He was blind. He startled when she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She’d been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d run right into his arms, nearly knocking him from the stool in the corner of the tavern. Why should he not catch her as he’d always done? He’d been looking directly at her; she thought he’d merely not recognized her beneath the mud and hood.

“Let me go! Who are you? Stop—stop this now or I’ll give you such a wallop, I’ll—!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri cried, shocked. She flinched away from him as he elbowed her roughly against her temple. She rubbed the spot, standing out of reach.

Jaskier straightened up at once. “Is that—? Little cub, is that you?” he asked. He turned his head as if searching for her and reached out a hand, feeling the air. It was nowhere near.

Ciri took his hand. During their long weeks of travel, she refused to let it go again. She became his eyes, and together they started for Oxenfurt and the safety of its halls.

He’d woken up blind one day, he explained. No warning or explanation. The mage had told him what magic was at play. Someone had tried to steal his artistic vision and the enchantment had gone wrong, stealing from him his very sight.

“Is there not a cure?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “The mage said it was a botched spell. There’s no telling what will fix it, only that it must have something to do with artistic vision. The mage suggested it might be cured by the old methods: kisses and the like; gazing upon true beauty.”

He squinted and took her face between his hands. “I’m looking and looking at you as hard as I can, and I remember you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when you were first born. So what do mages know? Have you become a pox-faced adolescent or scraggly Medusa? Ah,” he chuckled, “but you’d still be a fairytale princess in my eyes if you had the face of a basilisk.”

She laughed and squirmed out of his hands. “You were always very good at Blind Man’s Bluff. Do you remember when we used to play it? Back then, you were always stumbling; you aren’t stumbling as much anymore.”

“I’ve grown used to it, I suppose. But you are a princess—do you suppose a kiss from you might cure me? How are you with frogs? Ever wake a sleeping prince?”

“No, but we may try it. There’s magic in me of a sort, I know. Here, kneel a moment.”

Jaskier knelt on the dry road and closed his eyes, tapping the lid. “Right here. Give it a go,” he said encouragingly. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll practice on a frog and work our way up.”

Ciri kissed both eyes to be sure. “Alright. Open them. Do you see anything?”

She tried not to get her hopes up, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes tight. He opened them, blinked several times, and gave her a sad smile.

“Not to worry, we’ll find a pond in no time,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light.

-

“Well! I go to find a cat and find a lioness instead. And a songbird. Must be my lucky day.”

Ciri put herself between the stranger and Jaskier, waving a large branch in warning. “Keep away,” she growled. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

The scruffy man put his hands up and grinned. “I’ve heard what sort of screaming runs in your family. Trust me, I would rather not be around for one of them. Heard it knocked pretty boy flat on his back at your mother’s little Surprise party.”

Jaskier put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I know that moniker. Geralt complained of it before.” He was quiet a moment, stirring up a memory. Then, he lit up, asking excitedly, “Did you say you were looking for a cat? A cat witcher, by chance?”

“Why? Find one up a tree?” the stranger pressed.

Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder and strode forward, extending a hand. “You must be Lambert! I’ve heard—” his hand buckled against Lambert’s chest, his stride clearing the distance too quickly “—oh, my apologies. I’ve heard about you before. I was hoping to see you under better circumstances if I ever got the chance. Or to see you at all, really. Damnable timing.”

Lambert looked at him, then took his hand. Ciri watched as the understanding settled in, for Jaskier was staring straight at the man’s forehead, a near lucky guess of his eye line. Lambert wore an expression of pity freely, knowing Jaskier could not see it, though his tone was light and cocky as before. “I always wondered what you saw in that sourpuss, following him as long as you did; now I know you didn’t see anything after all,” he joked.

Jaskier snorted. “It’s new.”

“Ah, so you’ve been blinded by love, have you?”

Jaskier flapped his hand until he felt the brush of Ciri’s sleeve at his side, then he tugged her forward and presented her. He cleared his throat, a tad flushed. “May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. Geralt’s child Surprise.”

Ciri tossed her branch aside. “You know Geralt,” she said.

“They’re brothers.”

Lambert sneered. “He got all the looks, Eskel got the talent, but I got the brains.”

“What little there were to be had,” Jaskier added.

“Oh, ho! You’ll fit right in at the keep, talking like that.”

There was a pregnant pause between the three of them. Jaskier nudged Ciri gently forward. “She’ll be safe there. And her wit is more cutting than mine.”

Ciri turned at once to protest. “But what about Ox—”

“And so would you,” Lambert cut in. “A dull knife and a dull wit can be sharpened, and I’d rather keep two knives in my belt than one, whatever their make. Don’t start that maudlin shit with me; you’re coming along.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest and Lambert raised a hand. Then, realizing how ineffective that was against one who could not see it, he recovered and smacked the side of Jaskier’s head to shut him up before he started.

“Come on; it’s a long and dull road we have ahead of us, and you’re my entertainment. I want to hear every embarrassing story you can supply. I’ve long run out of blackmail and I’m in need of fresh material. Besides, what better bait for a cat than a twittering bird? If you sing loud enough, we might pick him up along the way.”

-

They were all together in the great hall when at last he came. The figure stood in the doorway, a black dot against the stark white of winter outside. A pair of bags dropped with a thundering bang upon the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room, and the figure bundled up by the fire started awake in fright.

Jaskier patted the blanket beside him, made frantic by his sudden awakening. “Ciri? Ciri!” he called, for she had been asleep next to him what seemed only moments ago.

She paused only a moment to stare at the imposing figure in the light. Something in her shouted, compelling her to go to him. But Jaskier called for her in that voice wrought with panic once more. She flew from the circle of wolves to his side, abandoning her hand of cards, disregarding the man of destiny at the door.

“I’m here,” she said, taking his hands. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. I’m not going anywhere.” She and the others looked at each other, looked at Geralt, and said not a word.

Jaskier settled and took a deep breath. “I heard something crash. I dreamed—but never mind that.” He sighed, pressing his head to their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I know it’s safe here. I’m just not used to you wandering off just yet.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair gently. It was soft again, though not as silky as before. Lambert and Eskel had drawn him a bath for the first time in a long while, but he had not his customary soaps and oils. He was … less bright, his appearance dulled with his mood.

Vesemir had examined him. Countless hours, the wolves had huddled together in the old library, trying to find a cure for Jaskier’s condition to no avail. As time went by, the reality of his situation weighed on Jaskier. He could no longer read his notebook, nor write his music to be remembered. Ciri read his notes aloud and studied the art so she might transcribe them for him, but it was obvious how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he’d said.

And now he gave her that same false smile, the one that failed to meet his eyes. She missed the lines in the corners and wished they might come back. Perhaps they’d flown off with the crows, frightened of the winter snow.

“Go back to your game,” he whispered. “I’ll head up to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I know the way now. If someone will take me to the stairwell?” he prompted, raising a hand.

Ciri looked at Geralt. There was so little she knew of him—stories and songs … words spared in rumors and stolen from conversations where she lingered unnoticed to listen. What she knew of the wolf and bard she had pieced together with care. For all the tales Jaskier would tell, he would not disparage Geralt before her, and he would not tell the story of the dragon hunt. But dwarves talk. Stories travel and lesser bards would imitate the songs of greater. Witchers collect news of other witchers, and two adults would speak as adults when ale made easy speech. Jaskier had confided in Lambert those tearing words once flung at him upon the mountain. And thus she had put the final piece into place of the great mystery between them.

‘If life could give me one blessing…’

“Who will take him?” she asked. She kept Geralt’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Who will take him into his hands?”

It was only the barest movement, but she swore she saw the wolf of legend flinch.

Jaskier sat up with a huff. “You make it sound so dramatic. Are we playing at a quest now? Very well, who is my knight errant? The princess has thus decreed a quest is in order: a quest up the perilous tower steps, my-my! Such a task!”

“I should think a white knight is the one suited best for the task,” Vesemir grunted. He shuffled his hand, eyes narrowed at Geralt.

The white knight in question let his cloak fall. He shook the snow from his arms and dusted them slowly, looking at each watching face in turn. His hesitation was clear. When none moved to claim Jaskier, he stepped forward cautiously. Without a word, he took Jaskier’s hand and lifted him to his feet.

Jaskier clapped an arm around his shoulder, hands patting the edge of his long hair. “Ah, thank you, Vesemir,” he said. His hand slipped from Geralt’s armour and he made a face, flicking his wet hand in the air. He prodded the armour curiously. “You’re soaked; I thought you said you’d sent Eskel for the firewood.” He prodded again and bumped against Geralt’s shoulder pad. He pinched it between his fingers, figuring out its shape. He hummed curiously. “What are you wearing? Did you go hunting?”

Geralt stared. Jaskier was not looking at him. Geralt looked at the circle of men by the fireside and there sat Vesemir in silence, watching. He was struck dumb. What … game was this?

“A knight needs a knight’s armour,” Lambert called.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, of course. Such a soft touch; did you get all dressed up for Ciri? Have I woken in the middle of a game?”

Eskel tossed a card in the middle of the circle. “Yes,” he answered, “but we’ve just started on another, different game.”

“Very cold and calculated,” Ciri agreed.

“Cold and calculated. So a snowball fight has become a snowball war, no doubt born of the most complicated strategies. Shame on the lot of you. You ought to let your elders warm themselves before sending them on tasks. You’re young; you’ve got legs,” Jaskier scolded.

“It was his idea,” Eskel replied.

Vesemir nodded, keeping silent as the game unravelled.

Jaskier looped his arm through Geralt’s and stood straight and tall in an affected manner. “Come, my good knight,” he said, “and let us bid good night to these slacking youths.”

He started to walk in the general direction of the stair, Geralt turning them with truer aim. Geralt looked over his shoulder at the others, frowning. This was not the sort of confrontation he expected when next he saw Jaskier. If he ever saw him. And here was his child Surprise in their midst without a word of greeting or explanation, and the bard, the two of them together and settled within the walls of the keep.

It was too perplexing for him to puzzle out. And Jaskier was acting strangely. Where were his speeches? Geralt had expected him to argue on sight, or else to pretend all was right and greet him, “Geralt! How good to see you,” or, “Fancy meeting you here,” and play off the mountain like it never happened. Or at the very least to ignore him. But to call him Vesemir and take to his arm? What joke was he playing at?

The answer came as Jaskier dodged the first step and nearly fumbled upon the stair. He clung to Geralt’s arm with a cry and his other hand shot out to grope the wall. He flailed for it, feeling his way from the step outward, then sliding his hand up the side of it. He turned his head, looked at Geralt and laughed. “I’m still not used to these uneven steps,” he said. “Give me time and I’ll be able to find my way around unassisted. By next week, I’ll be able to navigate every pool in the hot springs, then you four will never see me fully dressed again!”

Geralt raised a hand to Jaskier’s face. He rested a thumb just beneath his eye. They were as blue as ever, nothing seemed amiss, and yet …

Jaskier’s smile weakened. He closed his eyes and pushed the hand away. “I know the three of you are working hard to find a cure. I know the jokes fall flat. But I must make them. If I don’t … Vesemir, if I can’t make light of it, the darkness I see will be all I have left.”

He turned toward the stair again, hand firm on Geralt’s arm, the other on the wall. “Right then. Up we go. Just one at a time,” he said. He stepped tentatively forwards, prodding his foot before him until he nudged the base of the first step. “Got it. First is always hardest, isn’t it?”

They carried on. Two steps, three, one after the other slowly. They were uneven by design: a final defense against those who would try to invade their stronghold. The spiral stair favored those who walked it every day, gave advantage to the men who would be at the top, swinging their swords to fight back those who would dare trespass unwitting. It was difficult enough for any stranger with sight. With Jaskier, it was a quest in itself.

Midway up, Geralt thought to carry him. They were going so slowly; it would have been easiest that way. He nearly offered, but stopped. If he spoke, Jaskier would know him. He began to reach an arm out to simply lift him, but Jaskier fumbled once more, his knee hitting the step with a mumbled curse. And Geralt heard him muttering through his teeth as he crouched upon the stair.

“I will learn,” he hissed. “This will not stop me. I refuse to be a burden to anyone. Never again.” He touched his forehead to the step and Geralt put a hand to his back. He was trembling.

When Jaskier rose again, he did not take Geralt’s arm. He reached out and took hold of the wall on either side, arms stretched wide to hold himself up. He proceeded to climb the stair alone. When Geralt reached out to help, Jaskier waved him away.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re nearly at the top. Just let me do this much. Please.”

And Geralt let his hand fall away.

Jaskier reached the landing with a powerful stomp, expecting a final step. He breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the right wall. Geralt followed behind and patted his shoulder. Small congratulations. From there, Jaskier walked down the corridor, tapping when he came upon a wooden door. He passed three, tapped each with his knuckles, counting. When he reached the forth door, he opened it. In this space, he walked with ease away from the wall. He flopped confidently upon the bed and rested a moment as one does after a long journey.

He shucked off his doublet and loosened the laces of his boots. He set these aside at the very foot of the bed where they might easily be found again. He undid the back lace of his trousers, paused, and inclined his head toward the door.

“Are you still there, Vesemir?” he asked.

Geralt did not know how to respond. He stood fixed in the doorway, but dropped his eyes to his feet modestly. After a moment’s wait, Jaskier finished undressing and climbed beneath the heavy furs. A memory stirred—that was not the final task of the evening. What was the last of their routine each night? What was left undone that made this finality seem so abrupt? Geralt realized it in the darkness of the room. He had no candle to blow out.

The truth struck Geralt sharp as a blade to his gut. He stole through the door, walking quietly toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the furs rumpled beneath him, and listened to Jaskier’s breathing. He was not yet asleep—would never be, so soon—but he did not stir.

Geralt took his hand gently.

Jaskier squeezed it back.

“I only wish that had not been the last I’d seen of him,” Jaskier whispered. “I try to remember his smile now. For all my poetry, I can’t remember it clearly. His smiles were so rare, but I don’t suppose you need me to tell you. Or perhaps you do. I don’t know if he smiled here; I know nothing his life in this place. Were you so fortunate that they were commonplace?”

Silent footsteps creeped up the stair. Ciri had waited long enough to follow. Geralt heard no sign of her under the ringing words of Jaskier’s speech. Though he spoke no louder than the breath of the wind, every last syllable echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears.

Jaskier slipped his hand free and turned on his pillow, hugging it close. “I wish I might at least see Ciri now, know how she’s grown. They change so quickly at that age. Does she look like her mother? Does she look like him? Destiny makes strange things of those it touches. She was beginning to look like him, I once thought.”

She saw him well enough, looking through the open door. She crouched behind the wall, listening as she always did in secret, for the things he would not burden her with.

“I always did wonder what you looked like. Geralt spoke once to me of his brothers, his mentor. You’re still stories to me in ways. I know you have long hair, grey with age. I know Lambert is shorn, Eskel is shaggy. I know your voices, your height, and a hundred other things. But do you share his eyes? What color is the armour you wear? How does the sun set over the mountainside? The carpets before the hearth—what pattern is woven there? What thousands of stories do you keep in that library? What do the monsters look like illustrated in the great bestiary?”

He buried his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled, but both Geralt and Ciri could hear the husk in it. “I won’t feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t mean anything—just idle curiosity. It doesn’t matter how the carpet is woven or if you wear brown shirts or red. I’ve seen a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets and stars. I don’t want them!” he barked. He writhed on the bed, his face falling from the pillow, stained with tears. “I don’t! I never needed them, not one! I don’t care—I don’t! None of them are important!”

Geralt rushed forward and took Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier struggled, beating at his chest, and refused to be coddled. “No!” he wailed. “Don’t comfort me, I don’t need it! I don’t want it! I will not be pitied!” But for his hard words, he clung to Geralt’s armour, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s unnecessary. It’s just a bunch of poetry. Useless poetry and songs.”

Jaskier pulled away, Geralt’s hands trailing from his back to his shoulders as he sat up. Geralt held him there before he could retreat more. Before he could think twice of it, Geralt leaned in, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face on either side.

“Vese—”

Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s lashes. He heard a shaky breath, felt the warmth of it upon his face. Another hot tear fell into his other eye and he blinked in surprise, for it was not his own. He sat perfectly still in shock, blinking the falling tears away.

“They were never useless,” Geralt said. “They were always important—all of them.”

Jaskier twitched, raising his head by instinct up to look at the man who held him now. “You were—!”

“I’m sorry. For not speaking before. For … not speaking then. After. And for saying what I did that day.” He wiped the tears beneath Jaskier’s eyes away, an expression of pain twisting his hollowed features. “If I’d not sent you away—I don’t know what’s become of you, but I might have—I could have tried to prevent it. You would still have your sight.”

Jaskier covered Geralt’s hands. “No, Geralt. This is none of your doing. You can’t—”

A loud bump from the hall startled him. Jaskier turned at once to look.

“Ciri,” he breathed.

Ciri had a finger to her mouth and was glaring up at a tall man. They both cowed back, being caught. Jaskier looked between them as Geralt’s hands slipped away. He stood, walking toward them. He looked at Ciri, gaping, their eyes perfectly aligned. Jaskier fell to his knees before her and took her hands without fumbling.

“Ciri,” he said. “You’re so … my good gods, you’ve grown.”

All were still as he reached out, touching her face as though she were made of glass. He smoothed her hair away, taking all of her in. He laughed, new tears falling as he pulled her close and crushed her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful!” he cried. He stroked her hair, cradling her against him as tight as he dared. “And you!” He looked up at the witcher in the hall, reaching out to him and taking his hand. “Which one are you? Say something now, quickly. Let me hear your voice and know you.”

“Eskel,” he answered. And then Jaskier was up on his feet, pulling him into another embrace.

“Eskel!” Jaskier cheered. “Eskel, you look even more heroic than I ever imagined! Oh, let me look at you. Oh, oh! Lambert! Vesemir! Where are you, come forward!”

He dashed into the hall, only to turn on his heel for another look at Eskel, for just one more eyeful of Ciri. Over her shoulder, he saw Geralt sitting there on the bed, his yellow eyes wide, the tears still clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, I see. I see.”

He walked forward, gliding a hand beneath Geralt’s jaw. He touched his eyes with his other hand. Carefully, he wiped the last of Geralt’s tears away. It dangled, a little drop at the tip of his finger and he brought it close. He closed his hands around it, cradled them to his chest.

Geralt stood slowly before him. And he smiled.

Ciri tugged at Jaskier’s shirt, her head turned away politely. She cleared her throat and said, “Jaskier? Lambert and Vesemir are on their way up. And you’re … well, you’re not at your most presentable.”

Eskel averted his eyes, his back turned to the scene, however touching. “You might want to get a bit more dressed. And quickly,” he added, for Jaskier was standing in his smallclothes.

Jaskier snorted. “All of you, turn away for decency’s sake! We’re having a moment, here.”

“And what about me?” Geralt asked. “Shall I look away?”

It was nothing but empty jest and Jaskier smiled. “No,” he replied. “No, you’re looking where you’re needed. But I suppose to be fair …”

He clapped a hand over Geralt’s eyes. He leaned forward, whispering against Geralt’s lips. “There. Now no one can see. No one … but me.”

There were no witnesses to that first kiss. It was a secret Jaskier kept for himself.

However, the second, third, and forth had quite a startled audience, as Geralt and Jaskier both fell deaf to the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Ciri took it upon herself to usher the others from the room, explaining on the way. After all, with the curse lifted, she no longer needed to be Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth, however, was currently occupied.

-

Send me a drabble prompt!

[docalu]

~ Special Day ~

It was a day like any other. There was nothing special about it at all and it wasn't like Miyano Shiho cared. After all it was nothing worth taking note of. It just was her birthday.

She got up early like the day before and she ate breakfast all by herself. She stepped under the shower, got ready and took a walk to work. Nothing was different than usual. It was just another day, another turn of the earth, another sunrise over Tokyo. Life went on and so did work. At least for Miyano Shiho.

There was just one thing that reminded the woman called Sherry that there was something off about this day. The only message on her phone. With lots of hearts and smileys her sister wished her a happy birthday and she invited Shiho to lunch. With a sigh she agreed, knowing her sister wouldn't let go of that idea. And it was alright. It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

So Miyano Shiho went to meet her sister during lunch break. She let her embrace her tightly and drag her towards a fancy little sushi restaurant, where her sister ordered the most expensive plate they had to offer. For the special day, Akemi said with the biggest smile and Shiho didn't have the heart to tell her there was nothing special about it. Celebrating a birthday was just a way to remind people that they grew older. But Shiho didn't say that. She just smiled and thanked her sister and she lifted an eyebrow when Akemi pulled a bag from under the table. The paper was colorful, glistening in all colors of the rainbow, and Akemi's smile almost met at the back of her head while she waited. She could barely sit still and Shiho sighed with a smile, while her fingers untangled the ribbon. Big green eye looked at her as she glanced inside, framed by grayish white fur. Pulling the plush dog - or was it a wolf? - out Shiho glanced at it. It had a big red ribbon around its neck and it's tongue was hanging out. It looked friendly and its smile was just as big as Akemi's. For protection, her older sister explained, and beamed like the sun. Shiho didn't have the heart to tell her that she was too old for toys.

Finishing their meal, they soon said goodbye and Akemi apologized that she couldn't kidnap her little sister that evening to celebrate properly. Work was getting in the way, but Shiho didn't mind. She had never really celebrated her birthday in the States. There had been no one to celebrate with and she had accepted it. After all, this day was nothing special.

Taking the bag with the plush toy back to the laboratories Shiho put it under her desk, before she went back to work. It went well for a while and no one bothered her. No one asked about the colorful bag. And why would they? Her colleagues didn't know about this not at all special day. No one did.

So the day went by quietly. The only disturbance was a visit she hadn't expected.

Rushing into the laboratory like an overgrown crow the man with the long silver hair and black coat came to ask for the results that weren't due until the other day. That was exactly what Shiho told him and she met his bothered stare with one of her own. It always went like that, because there was nothing special about them. Just like there was nothing special about this day.

Once he was gone she rubbed her face, when her foot pushed against the bag under her desk. Picking it up she pulled the plush toy out and she found herself staring into big green eyes. Green and deep like his.

The plush wolf found its way next to her computer screen and her fingers pushed the keys on the keyboard harder than before. It hadn't been a special day until this moment and it still wasn't. After all he hadn't said a single thing. He hadn't even touched her arm with his fingertips like he sometimes did when no one else was around. A brief touch, seemingly unintentional. But there had been none despite no one being with them. And it bothered her. Shiho knew that he knew. He knew everything but maybe he didn't care like she didn't care. In the end it was just another turn of the earth and another day.

Grabbing the plush toy she pushed it back into the bag and far underneath her desk. She didn't like being watched from deep green eyes. Not at all.

The afternoon went by like syrup. Her work had become complicated or maybe she just couldn't concentrate anymore because whenever her foot touched that bag by accident she gave it a good kick. It wasn't fair towards the poor plush and her dear sister, but Shiho couldn't help it. So this not special at all day went by and when she lifted her head it was already dark outside. She remembered her colleagues saying goodbye somewhere between a kick and another and maybe it was time that she went back to her small apartment as well. Back to a small dinner from the microwave and to an old movie she didn't care about.

Sighing deeply she bend down to reach for the colorful bag. It had been pushed so far underneath her desk that her fingers barely touched it. With a curse she stretched as much as she could, unwilling to crawl around on the ground. When she finally managed to grab the bag and got up, her back bumped against something. Something solid, but soft at the same time.

"Creep...", she growled and all she got back was a quiet laugh.

"I know."

Shiho was about to turn around when something appeared right in front of her eyes. A small golden something dangling from a delicate golden chain.

Feeling the necklace wrap around her neck, she reached up to touch the golden ginkgo leaf resting on her sternum. It felt warm as if it had been kept in a pocket all day.

Just as warm as the kiss on her neck.

"Happy Birthday, Shiho."

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To my good friend Lu!

Happy Birthday, @lucrecia84 !!!