#but when you think about it this is an inspiring tale! girl with no sense and very little ability to withstand life's trials

[gideonisms]

Okay okay final degree paperwork finalized I THINK and I THINK I get to just move downstairs for $50 cheaper. So now I just need to focus on jobs & getting this place spotless

[tennco]

it's clear that ZUN has a fascination with folklore and mythology and heavily romanticizes that aspect in his works, the same way he romanticizes some traditional aspects of life, as most people do. but fundamentally he's not stuck in the past, and he's shown he's willing to innovate at his own pace whenever possible, without entirely dismissing the new before trying it out for himself.

i think that translates into his works very nicely. in the sense that he's created a fantasy world mixed with modern elements that, most of the time, don't feel out of place or tacked on just because. like for an obvious example, when you first hear about there being a nuclear reactor in this game about magical girls you may think "ok that's kinda silly", but then you read more about it and no it makes perfect sense actually. or also just how he often gives his own spin on the different tales and figures he draws inspiration from, and in doing so creates something new from them.

[leavemebetosleep]

do you have any good fluttercord fic recs?

OH BOY DO I. In no particular order (except of when I thought of them):

1: Non-Entity by Captain Wuzz: An AU in which, instead of being turned to stone, Discord was shot in the head with a magic arrow that takes away his sentience and magic for a 1,000 years. Fluttershy mistakes him for a wounded animal and brings him home. I loved it so much.

2: Chaotic Neutral by C-Puff: The magic is starting to fade from Equestria, and the Main 6 and Discord go on an adventure to find out why, and reverse it. A bit of AU, in the sense it was written before the show was done, so it diverts in some places because of that. Super sweet, and I love the character development here.

3: Time is Taller than Space is Wide by Dott. Can also be read on Ao3 if you prefer. Soulmate AU (?) fic with a Groundhog Day style twist. I rarely see fics play with the idea of what if Fluttershy and Discord's friendship had started when they first met, so this is fun.

4 & 5: Blank and it's sequel Reconnection by @geekcat. Can also be read on fanfic.net. AU in which, before Discord can choose friendship over ruling Equestria, Twilight remembers a "reformation" spell. He is stripped of his free will, and Fluttershy does her best to bring him back. If you don't like the idea of Twilight being a villain, you might not like this one, but I think her villain arc in this is done in a perfect way for her character. It's super heart wrenching in many places, but in a good way.

6: Our Fair Lady of the Chaos Lord, also by GeekCat Can also be read on fanfic.net. Fairy tale inspired AU in which Fluttershy is a princess who's father is pressuring her to marry noble knight Sir Big Mac. Wanting to be sure he's a good person, she makes a deal with the Chaos Lord, letting herself be "kidnapped" so she can test his character. You can guess who she falls for instead. Honestly I've enjoyed all of GeekCat's fics, so they're getting an extra mention. Check out the rest of their fluttercord fics if you like any of these.

7: The Draconequus with the Dragon Tattoo by A M Shark This is a major case of, strange premise, kick ass results. Basically an AU based off Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson, with Discord as Lisbeth, and Fluttershy as an amalgamation of Mikael and several other characters, but focusing more on the murder mystery aspect of that book, and less on the...everything else. If you're familiar with GwtDT, don't worry, there's no rape scenes. Again, it's more about the murder mystery part. If you're not familiar with GwtDT, then don't worry again, because you don't need to know the original to enjoy it. It's just Discord and Fluttershy playing detective and solving a murder together. It has two sequels, but I haven't read them yet, and it didn't feel right to rec something I haven't read.

8: The Corpse Bride by Bad Horse. Dark fic. No relation to the Burton movie. Fluttershy dies in a tragic accident, and Discord brings her back from the dead as his zombie wife. Her friends (sans Pinkie) are horrified. Has a fantastic twist ending. If you like some of the darker stuff, def worth a read.

Bonus: Comic rec: The Last Adventure by Eveeka. Taking place after the final defeat of Tirek, Cozy, and Chrysalis, Discord gets into a depressive funk after shouldering the hatred from Ponyville citizens for his latest actions, but also because his friends seem to never be available anymore. He starts to think maybe Equestria would be better off without him, as he can't seem to exist with out making everyone miserable, and decides to hide away in the Everfree forest. Fluttershy, worried when he doesn't show up for tea, asks her friends for help, only to discover there's a monster running lose there he and the rest of Equestria might be in danger from. This fic has two endings, so keep reading even when it seems like it's over. You've got one more ending left. This one nearly made me cry.

[chaikachi]

Little Red Riding Hood, The Big Bad Wolf, & The Silver Bullet

Aka I did an Oscar as The Little Prince analysis and now I wanna do one for Ruby's allusion in honour of the 10th Anniversary.

I know most if not all of us are familiar, but I'm still going to start with a summary.

Little Red is a story about a young girl in a red cloak who is sent into the woods at her mother's behest to bring baked goods to her sick grandmother. There, she meets a malicious wolf that asks her many questions, to which she answers all truthfully and without hesitation. The wolf takes this information and uses it to beat the girl to her destination where he then swallows her grandma whole and disguises himself in the woman's clothes. There he waits for the child to arrive and come closer so he can swallow her up too.

There are actually two popular versions of this story with different endings that we often look back to.

In Perrault's story, there is no happy ending. They're both eaten up, the wolf is content. The end. But in the Grimm version, there is an additional character... the Huntsman (aka the woodsman). He hears the wolf snoring after its meal and ends up cutting the beast open & saving the victims. Then, with the help of Little Red Riding Hood, he kills the wolf before it can do anymore harm.

All in all, it's a story about childhood innocence being lost, learning not to trust strangers, and being mindful to always follow the correct path. For if you stray too far, you may lose track of time, invite unwanted danger, or find yourself lost.

In RWBY, we have some very clear allusions here since it's the basis for so much of the show as a whole:

Little Red - Ruby Rose

The Mother - Summer Rose

The Grandmother - Maria

The Hunstman/Woodsman - All Three of Them

The Wolf - Salem and her Grimm (but ESPECIALLY The Hound)

They're all pretty self explanatory.

Ruby has the red cloak, her og trailer is clearly inspired by the tale, she loves baked goods, she's referred to as "Red" and "Little Red" by Torchwick & Cinder. She's also a huntress. And, by and large, her entire arc is about losing that childhood innocence and the view that life "is like a fairytale" as well as struggling with what the "right path" to follow is.

Summer is the mother (baker of cookies) and also the huntsman (slayer of giant monsters). The battle axe being her weapon choice alludes well to the alternate name, Woodsman, as well.

While Maria as the grandmother makes the most sense. Another silver eyed huntress that becomes a mentor figure for Ruby.

And while Salem, her war, & the Grimm (that are all emblematic of that loss of innocence) can absolutely symbolize the wolf... There's a reason why I want to focus on The Hound.

All three previous characters are connected by a very specific common denominator: Silver Eyes.

And the hound is no different.

Just another huntsman... but one devoured by the malice of a canine. And, if Ruby's theory is right, that's the same fate that Summer met as well.

And if you think about Silver Eyes specifically... What is one of the most famous lines from the original fairytale?

"My, what big eyes you have grandmother." "The better to see you with, my dear."

Which, when applied to the grimmification of SEWs, is HAUNTING.

Terrifying when you remember "Woah... you have silver eyes". Also thanks to Behind The Scenes content, that Ruby's hair design was always meant to "be a bit wolf-y". And that since Volume 4, Salem has been interested in capturing Ruby alive... I am WORRIED ABOUT HER.

Some interesting things about silver though that ARE worth noting...

1. "In folklore, a bullet cast from silver is often one of the few weapons that are effective against a werewolf or witch."

2. "The term silver bullet is also a metaphor for a simple, seemingly magical, solution to a difficult problem."

3. "In the Brothers Grimm fairy-tale of The Two Brothers, a bullet-proof witch is shot down by silver buttons, fired from a gun."

The lyric "Yeah I'm a girl but I'm also a gun" from Triumph really tells us point blank (lol) why Ruby is so important to this war against Salem, huh.

I'm gonna end this meta on a fun little easter egg; a hidden fifth character allusion to the original Red Riding Hood fairytale: The Woods.

Now I know what you're thinking, the woods aren't a person, they're a location. But they're INCREDIBLY important to the story.

Overall, the woods are the world outside of the cabin that Little Red grows up in. Whenever she travels beyond it, she's liable to meet all sorts of horrible tragedies and monsters. But I want to talk again specifically about The Hound & just where Ruby first meets them: Atlas.

Or, more specifically, Ironwood's kingdom.

For those unfamiliar, while Jimmy's main allusion is the Tin Man from Oz, his last name gives us a hint to another subtle allusion: Járnviðr. Aka the Iron Wood of Midgard in Norse Mythology (a mythos that's been alluded to a lot in RWBY).

Whiiich if you look at a stanza (40) in the infamous Völuspá, a historic poem which is chalk full of Norse myths, you get the following passage:

In the east sat an old woman in Iron-wood and nurtured there offspring of Fenrir a certain one of them in monstrous form will be the snatcher of the moon

A poem that talks all about the Biggest Baddest Wolf of the Norse pantheon, Fenrir... who is the offspring of a powerful Witch...

and is destined to eat the moon...

All within the Iron Wood, a character Ruby spends an entire volume contemplating on whether or not she can trust...

And the moment she does finally tell Ironwood the truth? The secrets she was keeping? The woods become unsafe, the witch and the wolf appear, and everything else falls apart. Resulting her and her team lost and very far from home.

Say what you want about analyses like these but CRWBY knows what they're doing, okay?

[princesssarisa]

One of the most fascinating pieces of movie analysis I've ever read is J.B. Kaufman's thesis of the "two different Snow Whites" in Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

He writes about this in both of his two books on the making of the movie, The Fairest One of All and its companion piece Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs: The Art and Creation. His argument is that Snow White's two leading animators, Hamilton Luske and Grim Natwick, each gave Snow White a slightly different personality when they drew her. A close look at the movie, and knowledge of who animated which moments, reveals subtle differences in Snow White's expressions and body language. Luske, her head animator who handled the majority of her scenes, portrayed her as a more purely innocent, childlike character, while Natwick, the creator of Betty Boop, gave her a little more maturity, sophistication, and sauciness.

You can see the difference, for example, when comparing her girlish interactions with the animals in "With a Smile and a Song" and "Whistle While You Work" (animated by Luske) to her flirtatious smiling at the Prince from the balcony, or her "mothering" of the dwarfs as she examines their dirty hands (animated by Natwick). Or her responses to Grumpy in the scene before the Washing Song: as she asks "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" she looks at him with a devilish grin (Natwick), but then when he sticks out his tongue at her, she reacts with the most wide-eyed, girlish shock (Luske).

Now, I don't know if these two men really held different views of Snow White's character, or if it just worked out that Luske drew Snow White's more innocent scenes while Natwick was assigned her more grown-up moments. But either way, Kaufman argues that this "tension," the movie's constant push-and-pull between "Snow White as a wide-eyed innocent girl" and "Snow White as a self-assured young woman," makes her an especially interesting Disney Princess. I tend to agree, especially because, miraculously, there's no sense of inconsistency in her character. She comes across as a young girl on the verge of womanhood, who naturally can still be naïve and childlike in some ways, but more grown-up and clever in others.

This thesis makes me wonder if certain "tensions" in other movies are the result of different viewpoints within the creative team.

For example, in Beauty and the Beast.

Linda Woolverton has often talked about her feminist goals in writing Belle's character, which sometimes clashed with her collaborators' visions of Belle as a more traditional fairy tale heroine. It just might have been those clashing viewpoints that created the dichotomy in Belle that I personally think makes her interesting. On the one hand, she's a strong-willed misfit rebel, partly inspired by Jo March in Little Women and by Katharine Hepburn's screwball comedy heroines, who longs for adventure, isn't looking for romance until she unexpectedly finds it, stands up to men (and beasts) who abuse their power, and refuses to let anyone dominate her. On the other hand, she's a sensitive dreamer with delicate beauty and balletic grace, who wears pretty, ladylike dresses, adores fairy tales and love stories, and is sweet, nurturing, and almost motherly to her friends and loved ones. Yet somehow these two sides of her character co-exist with no sense of inconsistency between them.

There's also the dichotomy between the two different views of the Beast that the movie seems to present at once. On the one hand, there's the Beast as an unseemly brute, who's beastly form is both a just punishment for his flawed character and an outward symbol of it, and who needs to be "tamed" into proper "human" behavior, culminating in his physically turning human again. On the other hand, there's the Beast as a suffering, self-loathing outcast, unfairly hated, feared, and dehumanized, whose plight under the spell can easily be read as an AIDS allegory, and who needs to be accepted and loved as he is. I suspect that this also stems from different goals and viewpoints in the creative team. (For example, Howard Ashman's clash with the directors over whether the Prince should be a child or a man in the prologue – the former would have made him more "tragic" but the latter makes his punishment more "fair.")

I'd like to read an analysis of these "tensions" similar to Kaufman's analysis of the "two different Snow Whites."

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Strawhats Favorite Book Genres

I'm personally a bookworm and wanted to give my thoughts on this~

Luffy: Picture books, not because he can't read, but he likes looking at the funny pictures and making his own stories. He can be pretty creative about the twists and turns, even if they don't make much sense. He loves pirate tales and as a kid he would always put himself in the stories as Captain Luffy!

Zoro: This man does not read. However, he's always enjoyed action stories people have told him - full of adventure, daring fights, the rise and fall of character arcs. It enthralls him to hear it being told to him far more than if he ever attempted to read the same story from a book. That being said, if someone just started telling him a story they were reading, he'd act annoyed but then say, "Yeah? Then what happened?"

Nami: She is a sucker for a good romance. Specifically the ones where the main plot is fraught with danger, action and angst. She doesn't often take the time to read, and will sometimes take suggestions from Robin in her downtime.

Usopp: This boy loves urban legends and fairytales. He's always appreciated the way those stories can be both silly and dramatic, and he'll often recall them on his own adventures, making comparisons from what he remembers.

Sanji: He doesn't really care about reading now as an adult, but it was his escape when he was a kid. He loved to read about far away lands and adventures that involve groups of friends. He's always been seeking that found family dynamic and hasn't even realized he's fulfilled that dream. This is where his interest in the all-blue comes from! Sometimes he's been known to pick up a cookbook and tear it apart piece by piece, scoffing and insulted by how juvenile the recipes are, thinking of ways to make them better.

Chopper: This one's obvious, but the only books Chopper reads are medical books. He likes to expand his knowledge and continue training to best support his crew. He is more than willing to listen to the girls talk about their books, but those stories dont really tend to be his taste.

Robin: This girl loves mysteries. When she's not reading history or nonfiction, she eats up any mystery or drama she can get her hands on. She loves to try and guess the ending, always excited when she's correct. Robin loves to talk about the books shes reading and will gladly share her thoughts on the story.

Franky: He doesn't read anything aside from manuals. He's willing to hear someone talk about the stories theyre reading, but its just not something he personally gets. He'd much rather be working on new inventions, the Sunny, or making his own adventures. He does love to hear a good story from strangers at the bar, though, and will be completely enthralled in whatever they tell him.

Brook: This bag of bones loves nearly any kind of story. He doesn't often make time to read, but he's more than willing to read stories that provide some kind of inspiration for his songs. More than reading, Brook enjoys writing and reviewing the adventures that the crew has logged, reminiscing on their adventures.

Jimbei: Strictly non-fiction and history. He doesn't typically read, but when he does, he uses it as an opportunity to expand his mind. Biographies, informational books about new lands, you name it. He's not interested in reading something fictional, not really seeing the point in it.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 13

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the  Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of  Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700​​​ @jinlizz-dragondrama​​​ @firelightinferno​​​ @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl​​​ @achromaticerebus​​​​ @sleepyamygdala​​​   @smalltownbigheart​​​ @qmabailor​​​ @genderfluid-anime-goth​​​, @0chemicalwaste0​​​, @deadunicorn159 @silvercobra​​​​

The silence in the room was deafening as Radagast finished speaking. You stared at him for a very long time, your brow furrowed and your eyes betraying your shock... your hurt. He had lied to you? All these long years? He had not simply adopted a poor orphaned elfling out of the goodness of his heart?

Could this truly be real? Could you actually be... Gil-Galad’s daughter? A princess, of all things?

You thought of the High King then... all those times you had read his history over and over and every time you had felt so, so sad. Could you have known? Something in your soul, at least? Somewhere deep down? You could hardly bear to think about it.

“I...” Was all that seemed to want to come out of your mouth. Your excitement over Thranduil asking to court you had been short lived and, while Radagast had just told you that whole story, he did not name the prince of the Greenwood because he was not a central figure in the tale, your tale... not yet, and you knew the king of this forest as only the Elvenking. You had read many books in your long life but your quiet, secret, sheltered upbringing - and the fact that Radagast had curated a collection very carefully - meant you had never actually learned his name. You still did not know they were one and the same. You still believed Thranduil to simply be a soldier.

“I am sorry, my dear girl, truly I am... but you must understand, I-” Radagast began but he was cut off when you suddenly realised something.

“Uncle, if what you say is true. If you speak honestly... then how can I be standing here?” You looked bewildered all of a sudden. “You said the cradle was hit, the Enchantress killed the baby.”

Radagast shook his head. “No.” He breathed. “No, the child - you - survived. The High King sent for me later, after the... bodies of the queens had been moved and after all the guests had been sent away.” Radagast could remember it as if it was yesterday. Gil-Galad’s pleading eyes, full of shameless tears, his face twisted with an agony that had already penetrated so deep it could never be removed. “You had been injured but not terribly. Not fatally. You were very much alive, though the Enchantress did not know it. He was adamant that no one could ever know. He begged me to sneak you out of Lindon and raise you in secrecy and safety until after your four thousandth year when he...” The wizard’s eyes lowered, flickering to the floor as his voice grew quieter with each next word. “Until the danger of the Enchantress was over and then he... he could come for you.” Radagast’s face was full of regret.

You averted your own gaze and fell silent again for a moment after hearing that. Gil-Galad had died over two thousand years after that day, in the Last Alliance. He never got the chance to come for you. You would never know him and he would never know you.

“Fine, she... I did not die.” You were still having great difficulty equating you and this princess as the same person. “Then what about the curse? It is still in effect, is it not? And you say I must leave here. That I must to go the Elvenking’s Halls. So...” You paused, weighing it up in your mind, but it was all that made sense. “She is here. I am in danger. Yes?”

You were clever, Radagast had always known that. Sheltered and not socialised as well as others may be yes, but intelligent. He had not kept you entirely helpless. You were a gentle soul but you were not useless. “I am afraid so, child.” The wizard said solemnly. “But... fear not. She will not be able to reach you in the halls of the Woodland Realm, this I know. However, if it puts your mind at ease there is a... silver lining, perhaps, though I am a little loath to call it such.”

Your frown only deepened and you reached up to wipe away tears of both frustration and grief as they began to trail down your cheeks. “What?”

“When your father summoned me, he begged me to do something, to remove this awful curse.” He shook his head, his face full of regret. “Alas, I cannot do such a thing. The curse was already in motion, I could not erase it... but I found that I could add something to it, shape it just a little.” He explained. “So I added something of a loophole. You will not die. Should you ever prick your finger on devil’s thorn plant, you will... fall into a deep slumber.”

“Sleep?” You cried, shaking your head. What good would that do? “So I will not die, I will just sleep... forever?” That honestly sounded worse in so many ways. You had images of yourself lying somewhere, numb and blind to the world around you while the years passed and the seasons changed. Unable to think or see or speak or move. A shudder ran up your spine.

Radagast shook his head quickly and held up a hand to try and pause your racing thoughts. “But it will not come to that, child. You will be perfectly safe-”

“But what if I am not!” You could not help but cry out in response, your eyes wide as you looked back at the wizard who had raised you. Your trust in him had not wavered even in the wake of this revelation. “What if something unthinkable happens?!”

Radagast took a small step towards you. “Breathe a moment. All right? Just breathe.” 

After staring incredulously at him, and with some frustration, you eventually gave in and took a deep breath. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Then you looked expectantly at him, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

Radagast gave you a mildly reproachful look but there was not much fire in it. He understood what you were feeling. “Devil’s Thorn does not grow in this forest. I have made sure of it. However, if the worst should happen - which it won’t! But if it should. There... there is technically a way... to wake up. To break the spell.” Here, he looked quite embarrassed and averted his gaze, fidgeting. 

You narrowed your eyes slightly because you knew that look, but still there was a feeling of hope in you now. “Break it? How? What do you mean?”

Radagast sighed. He simply knew you might not like the thought of it. “It is true love’s kiss. Once the spell is in effect... that breaks it.”

You blinked, staring at him in silence as the words sank in. “I...” No more words escaped you for a few more seconds and Radagast watched your mind working through the facts. “Wait.” You made a face and turned away, shaking your head. “Someone... somebody is expected to kiss me? While I am asleep?”

Radagast cringed a little at the way you put it but he supposed that was the reality of it. He forced an anxious chuckle from his lips. “Ah... yes, yes, I am... afraid so.” He frowned. “Look, I was... there was barely time to... to think, there was a lot of pressure.” He sighed heavily. “Truthfully, my dear... it had to be something that the Enchantress simply... well, does not believe in.” He explained somberly. “So if she ever, ever found out that you lived, and what I had done with her curse... her guard may not be so raised.” 

If there was one thing the Enchantress underestimated, always, it was love in any form. She had underestimated King Oropher’s love of his son above all else (even peace) that kept him from handing the Enchantress what she wanted. She had underestimated Gil-Galad’s love for his daughter too, for he had sacrificed her entirely, broken his own heart further, simply to keep her safe. These were things the Enchantress did not understand. She believed in power. She did not believe in love. Though it was hardly surprising... she had, after all, never experienced such a thing.

There was a lot of information coming at you at once here - so much that it was incredibly difficult to keep up - and for a moment you were quiet again as it all washed over you.

Radagast was quiet too, thinking back to that day, to that moment. When he’d introduced this loophole. He knew how it sounded to you to say that it was a kiss that would wake you but it wasn’t just... any old person who would have been able to get to you to kiss you. It would need to be a genuine love match - the spell, he already knew, would not allow anybody else to pass close enough if their intention was merely to try. It had its own protections in place, that was just how these things worked. His loophole was now working directly with the Enchantress’ curse, they were one and the same. So what would keep you powerless in sleep would also allow you to wake should the right actions be carried out. He did not say anything else about any of it for now, aware that you needed time for it all to settle. He would tell you every little detail you could ever want to know once you were safe in Thranduil’s realm, he decided. 

“I know this is very difficult for you.” He said gently. “I am sorry.”

You sighed, turning back to look at him. You blinked a little helplessly but suddenly you remembered Thranduil in the forest, the love you had felt growing for him since you met him. That was real. True. He could kiss you if you fell foul of a sleeping curse if it was to save your life, you would not be upset. It would work too, there was not a single doubt in your mind that it would. You looked at Radagast again, your eyes shining, but he could already tell what you were about to say - that he must go and fetch this mystery man should you fall victim to the curse.

He shook his head and held up a hand to stop you speaking. “No, stop it. You will not fall to the curse because you will be safe inside the Elvenking’s Halls. This is a fact, you must trust me. She cannot, under any circumstances, get in there.” Truthfully, Radagast also was not sure he believed this Elven man was even true. How could you know what love was, after all? Had he not kept you far too sheltered? He could not be sure and he also could not rule out the fact that it could have all been a trick, some ruse, because the Enchantress had been lurking in these woods for long enough... and he knew already she had made contact with you once. Who was to say she had not been aware of you for longer than he realised?

You sighed but you gave in, nodding. “All right.” Your expression turned glum again as your thoughts turned to the Elvenking. What was he like? You did not much care and you did not want to marry him... you wanted to marry Thranduil.

“Come, child, come,” Radagast’s voice pulled you from your reverie once more. “There is no time to waste, you must gather your things, we must be away at once.”

“At once?” You shook your head, preparing to put up a fuss. It would wait until after tomorrow night, surely? Thranduil was coming then! “But tomorrow! I told him-” 

“No!” Radagast cried and you saw his hand shaking slightly, fingers trembling as they curled around the wood of his staff. You realised then just how afraid he was. How frightened he felt in the knowledge that this Enchantress woman was here, so close to you, and you realised too that he could not actually protect you... and that that fact terrified him.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat and your eyes looked unhappy but you nodded as you turned and hurried through to your bedroom to throw some of your most beloved possessions into a bag. Your mind was all over the place, your thoughts tangled and twisted, in complete disarray. Gil-Galad was your father. This... feeling that you had always had inside of you... this... this sorrow. This almost longing whenever you read about him. It had meant something all along.

You tried to push all of these thoughts from your mind as you threw everything you needed into the bag and then slung it over your shoulder. It was all too much at once and you wondered how you would ever come to terms with this. With one last look around your room, you turned and went rushing back to Radagast, trying to conceal the deep sorrow in your heart.

He saw it anyway. 

His sharp eyes softened and he set aside his staff to draw you into a hug. You hesitated only for a second before you wrapped your arms around his middle, nestling into his large, long robes and hiding your face against his shoulder. You weren’t angry at him, not really. You were sad and confused and you did not want to leave home and be kept in the confines of the Woodland Realm. When would you be able to walk beneath the trees of the forest again? See all your little animal friends? You needed your freedoms! The clearing you so loved!

Still, you could not really protest and deep down you knew that this was the only way to keep you safe... alive. Or at least awake. 

So after a few more moments, the two of you parted and you slowly followed him outside to his faithful rabbits. You got onto the sled with him and the large bunnies were off like a shot, carrying you and their wizard master through the forest, towards the Elvenking’s Halls.

[themousefromfantasyland]

A Fairy Tale Rabbit Hole

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is the movie that it started it all for Disney Animation and it's the most influential fairy tale movie ever. Its tropes and its tone still inspires fairy tale media to this day, either as parodies, or homages.

But what less people know is that Walt Disney was inspired to make this movie because of a peculiar silent movie that he watched when he was a teenager.

That movie was Snow White from 1916. Its writer, Winthrop Ames, adapted it from his own Broadway play. An example of American fairy tale theater.

This kept me thinking.

The Wizard of Oz is one of the most iconic fantasy films of all time, and it was made in direct response to Snow White. What people don't know is that the scene where Glinda saves the gang from the deadly poppies with a snowstorm came straight from a fairy tale musical from 1902. It came from The Wizard of Oz, a fairy tale musical "extravaganza", with direct input from L. Frank Baum, only two years after the original novel.

Actually, stage musicals seem to take a slight part in the creation of Oz. The Marvellous Land of Oz, the sequel, seems to be inspired by this stage culture. General Jinjur and her army dresses like chorus girls, Ozma/Tip may be inspired by the crossdressing in children roles, and this was the book's dedication:

"To those excellent good fellows and comedians David C. Montgomery and Frank A. Stone whose clever personations of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow have delighted thousands of children throughout the land, this book is gratefully dedicated by THE AUTHOR"

These were actors of the 1902 stage show.

Two years later, on 1904 Peter and Wendy premiered. This play is also one of the most famous children stories ever. Walt Disney himself acted as Peter in a local production of it and Tinkerbell quickly became a mascot for the studio.

This all led me to think more about fairy tale theater specifically.

Since the ending of the 18th century and through the 19th century, a genre of stage show developed through Europe. It was mostly comedic and light-hearted, mainly inspired by fairy tales, and it was geared towards children and families. It involved lavish fantasy spectacles told through operas, ballets, and what we today would call "musical theater".

It had many different names and variations depending on the country.

On England, it evolved through the pantomimes and it became a Christmas tradition.

In Russian, it was mainly through ballet, called the ballet-féerie, often considered a lower-class, more commercialized entertainment than traditional ballet. Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker are among some of them. Sleeping Beauty would later inspire Disney's telling of the story.

In France they were called Féerie, and it was a mix of music, dancing, pantomime, acrobatics, and stage effects. It influenced the development of burlesque, musical comedy and film.

From Wikipedia:

With his 1899 film version of Cinderella, Georges Méliès brought the féerie into the newly developing world of motion pictures. The féerie quickly became one of film's most popular and lavishly mounted genres in the early years of the twentieth century, with such pioneers as Edwin S. Porter, Cecil Hepworth, Ferdinand Zecca, and Albert Capellani contributing fairy-tale adaptations in the féerie style or filming versions of popular stage féeries like Le Pied de mouton, Les Sept Châteaux du diable, and La Biche au bois. The leader in the genre, however, remained Méliès,[37] who designed many of his major films as féeries and whose work as a whole is intensely suffused with the genre's influence.[38]

Once you realize a huge chunk of fairy tale media has roots in family friendly stage shows from 19th century, a lot of it started making sense.

The focus on romance, the focus on damsels in distress, prevalence of lighter tones, the everlasting connection to music and dance.

They may be the main reason why some fairy tales are more famous than others. Some became source material for a continuous stream of operas, operettas, musical extravaganzas, ballets, plays, and others simply not.

And besides the Victorian Era storybooks that bowdlerized fairy tales for children, I think this whole genre of the theater was responsible to firmly establish fairy tales as a child friendly media, decades before Disney ever released Snow White to cash in that nostalgia.

If you have something to add or if I just got something wrong, feel free to correct me.

@ariel-seagull-wings @princesssarisa @adarkrainbow @the-blue-fairie @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @natache @tamisdava2 @thealmightyemprex

[andromeda-grace]

Writeblr Introduction

Hi, I’m Andromeda (she/they). I am returning to Writeblr and decided to start a new blog for my WIPs and writing updates! I want to use this blog to shout out other Writeblrs, make posts about my current WIPs, and experiences in publishing. I mostly write original fiction but write fanfic when the inspiration strikes. I love Writeblr games and asks!

This blog is a safe space for all identities, gender & sexuality, neurodivergence, race, and religion. I do my best with content and trigger warnings.

My Writing: Genre and Representation

I love horror, sci-fi, and fairy tales 

I don’t enjoy romance (if it’s only the pursuit and drama), but I love writing nuanced love stories where people communicate well and put effort into building relationships

Lots of queerness and queer relationships

BIPOC main characters

Neurodivergence- shout out to the undiagnosed ADHD queens, the anxiety, and masking/coping behaviors

Trauma, out of context, is seen as personality

Smut- sex is a part of life and it’s fun to write. Get down, make mistakes, get messy. My sex scenes aren’t just conventionally attractive people putting on a show. I emphasize body diversity, complexities of gender identity, and emotional state

Tropes:

Found Family

Villains

Redemption- working to be a better person, even when it’s hard

Poly-Amory- we often have more than one close friendship, and have variety and nuance in those different relationships, so the same thing goes for romance

Morally gray/Feral girls- women have so much responsibility put on them for the emotional wellbeing of others, but what if they aren’t capable of that? (think Broad City/ Bottoms)

Finished works:

The Devil You Know- short story- Out now! Find your copy here

Genre: horror, vampires, fairytale

Vibe: The Green Knight x The Witch

Anya has built a quiet life for herself, trusted as the village healer as long as she keeps her magic hidden. All of that changes when a strange traveler arrives at her doorstep. The man looks human, but Anya senses an old and powerful magic within him. Intrigued, she allows Owen inside. He claims to have been an apprentice to a witch, and Anya, despite her suspicions, finds him to be a kindred spirit. They begin a romance, both finding comfort in one another.

Their peace is broken when a family comes to Anya in crisis. Their child has been cursed, and is transforming into a monster. Desperate to save the boy, Anya asks Owen for help. He can grant her the power to break the spell, but it requires blood and forbidden rites. Knowing that she can’t break the curse alone, Anya faces a choice with deadly consequences.

WIPs:

Bubblegum Capital

Genre: Queer Cyberpunk

Vibe: 1984 x Legally Blonde

Novaczek is on the brink of fame. They’re an amateur gamer about to break into the pro leagues. But their dreams are crushed when work denies them time off for the championship.

Novaczek decides to play on shift and is caught. Everything comes crashing down. They find themselves at rock bottom having lost their job, company housing, and girlfriend all at once.

In a world where your value is measured by your social ranking, Novaczek has to claw themselves back up, hustling for money and favors from friends. As they work their way back up the ranks they discover an underbelly where nothing and no-one are what they appear to be.

Love, Asunder

Genre: Gay Vampires, Family Saga

Vibe: 1917 x Hellboy

James Townsend was supposed to be starting his new life, an American abroad, with a Fellowship at Oxford University. All of that changes when Germany marches on Paris. James can’t remain in the classroom while teachers and students leave their desks for the battlefield. So James enlists as a volunteer ambulance driver on the Front. The days stretch long with violence and misery, but he finds purpose and friendships in the trenches. 

Then he meets a man, a smuggler providing supplies and information to the Allies. Etienne is so different from the soldiers, bright and charming. They begin a secret romance, disappearing together when they can, and writing letters in between. 

An opportunity comes to meet in Paris, and James is overwhelmed at the opportunity to spend time with Etienne in the City of Love. Free to spend their days together, James quickly discovers just how much Etienne has been hiding from him, and enters a world of magic, beauty, and death. 

Tropes and fun stuff:

Butch witches

Femme werewolves

Playing the vampire tropes straight

Magical Underground

Found Family

Bio-Family responsibilities

Many, Many different kinds of love

I'll be sharing moodboards and snippets along the way! Looking forward to learning more about the other talented Writeblrs out here!

tagging: @hillnerd-art @suffrajett @starknstarwars @em-dashes @blind-the-winds @leave-her-a-tome @athenswrites

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 5

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: You meet Yennefer and Ciri, learn more about the location of a djinn, and have a painful realization.

Warnings: Brief descriptions of plague/sickness, fire, blood, and being choked (not sexually).

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for your patience as I got this chapter out. It was a rough one while I figured out everyone's dialogues and characterization, but I think I got it in the end. Thank you all SO much for the beautiful response I've gotten for this fic, from art to comments to asks, it's kept me so inspired and excited to get this out to you. Without further ado - enjoy!

The word danger has many a meaning to you. 

All your life, you’ve known danger, and all your life, the danger has been different. When you were little, it was the wolves howling in the forest outside your door. Tales of plague maidens, thirsty for blood. Bedtime stories of whispering spirits locked away in trees, and evil women that ate up children like treats.

As you grew, so did the number of dangers; growing with you, their shapes ever-changing. Danger began to mean plague, bandits, and war. Adult words that came with painful memories. A woman shivering with fever, her face crimson and splotchy, breaths coming strained and painful. Fire, red-hot, eating away little by little, and black smoke that smothered the senses, blinding and burning and choking the lungs. A pair of ice-cold, bleeding hands that gripped your neck. Tight enough to bruise. Tight enough to kill.

All of those dangers have brought you fear, and never anything else. But today, you find that is not the case. This danger chills you to the bone, carries the scent of lilac and gooseberries, and she fascinates you just as much as she frightens you. The type of danger you simply can’t seem to look away from, no matter how you try - the way a lightning bolt is paralyzingly beautiful as it strikes the earth. 

And so, seeing as you’re in danger, your brain does what it does best. It turns to one of its three engrained paths of action. Fight or flight, of course. Or freeze. The first two are more well-known, because they’re actually helpful. Better to take on the danger, or get yourself away from it as quickly as possible. 

Freezing only happens when the brain realizes it can neither fight nor flee. Essentially, when, for lack of a better (and less crude) term, you’re shit out of luck. And, staring up at the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, knowing that she was Geralt’s lover? Knowing that in about two minutes, this woman is going to hate you?

You are shit out of luck. 

As she approaches the table, Yennefer shakes her glossy, dark curls over her shoulder and observes the scene. She says nothing, but her shimmering, intelligent eyes speak volumes as she scans over the lot of you. Her gaze contains warmth for some and ice for others. A mixture of the two for Geralt. 

When it lands on you, it bears nothing but a silent, curious question. A question that wants to know who you are. Well, you think to yourself. If I knew how to answer that, Geralt and I wouldn’t be here.

Following behind her is the ashen-haired girl - Ciri. You know it must be her. She’s carrying two swords on her back, and even resembles Geralt, with their white hair and matching scars. But she and Yennefer share a similar elegance in their stride, a silent authority. An authority which melts away when she takes two steps in, sees Geralt standing next to where you’re sitting, and leaps straight into his arms.

“Geralt!” she exclaims, clinging to his shoulders and laughing as he spins her around. “You’ve no idea how I’ve missed you!”

“Think I have a clue, actually,” he says, setting her back onto the floor. He’s smiling, and not the muted smile he usually gives, but a wide one with white teeth and a flash of sharp canines, gaze warm and so very fond as he watches her. Geralt, truly happy… is this the first time you’re seeing it?

“Ciri!” Dandelion exclaims, jumping to his feet. You really shouldn’t be surprised that the two of them know each other. “How are you? It’s been too long!” 

As Ciri greets Dandelion, Priscilla and Zoltan - clearly friends of hers, too - Yennefer lingers toward the doorway. Geralt’s gaze fixes on her, and when she raises a brow, he smiles. 

“Hey, Yen,” he greets, leaning back against the table. The words are more casual than you’d have imagined them to be. You’d expected stiffness. It’s not there.

“Geralt,” Yennefer replies. The ghost of a smile brushes across her lips as she gazes at him, violet eyes shining in the light. “My, what a surprise. I’ve just gotten information that claims you’re in Skellige.”

Geralt shrugs. “Had a… change of plans.” 

That’s certainly one way to put it.

“Naturally,” Yennefer says. Her gaze turns toward Ciri, and something flickers over her expression for a moment before it’s shut out. You know it, though. You’ve seen enough people in agony to know the sight of pain, even just a flash of it.

“Dandelion says you were looking for me,” Geralt continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mentioned some kind of curse?”

“And you decided to come running to the rescue?” she muses, not bothering to expand any further. Geralt’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t press her. Instead, he follows her gaze over to Ciri, who is now carrying a bottle of spirit from Zoltan and making her over to the table.

“Let’s celebrate, shall we?” Ciri says, spurning a round of cheers. “A reunion!” Her eyes land on you, and she flashes you a bright smile. “Hello! I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ciri!”

The room’s commotion almost drowns out her words. Dandelion is opening a bottle of wine, Priscilla is pulling up more chairs, and Zoltan is already on his second pint of Mahakaman spirit, crooning out an old drinking song. Still, she steps closer to you, holds out a hand, and you gladly shake it, introducing yourself loud enough to be heard.

“Very nice to meet you!” she says. “Are you a friend of Dandelion’s?”

You’re not sure how to answer. You’re more acquaintances. Can you even be considered Geralt’s friend? “I’m not sure,” you finally respond. “I just met him yesterday.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Geralt tells you. “He’ll be hurt.”

“Who’ll be hurt?” Dandelion asks, returning to the table. His cheeks are already flushed with drink, and he plops back into his seat from earlier.

“You,” Ciri answers playfully. 

“Me?” His eyes widen. “Was someone talking about me?”

Geralt jerks his head in your direction. “Just said the two of you aren’t friends.”

Traitor.

“That’s - Geralt!” you exclaim. “That’s not true!” 

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, and you lightly swat at him - a movement he dodges easily, grabbing his pint and gulping it down.

“I can’t believe this!” Dandelion cries, looking wounded. “I’m being insulted in my own establishment!”

“No, no!” you exclaim quickly, sending Geralt, and now Ciri, into another round of laughter. You send a kick in Geralt’s direction (and miss again), then adamantly shake your head. “Dandelion, I swear, I only said that I wasn’t sure if we’re friends because we just met.”

“Of course we’re friends!” Dandelion says. He sets a glass of wine in front of you, flashing you a charming smile. “And, of course, you’re the subject of my new ballad.”

“Is that so?” Ciri asks dryly. “And what’s this new ballad about?”

“Nothing,” Geralt firmly interjects. “C’mon, Dandelion. Already told you-”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Dandelion says. “But say I just took inspiration-”

“As much as I hate to interrupt,” Yennefer cuts in, arms folded tightly across her chest, “I’m afraid this cannot wait any longer. Geralt, I must speak with you. Privately.”

Silence slowly falls over the room, stifling the conversation as every one of you aside from Ciri and Yennefer gradually realize the same thing. 

“I, uh… can’t,” Geralt finally says.

Shitty choice of words, Geralt, you think. Every trace of warmth leaves Yennefer’s expression, and you instantly shrink down in your seat, frantically gulping at the wine Dandelion placed in front of you like it might save you from her wrath.

“You can’t,” she repeats coldly. “In that case-”

“Yen, hang on,” Geralt quickly interrupts, expression pained. “Not trying to argue. I can’t.”

Something about his tone must get to her. She exhales sharply, raises a brow, and stares at him for a long, agonizing moment. A silent communication. Then she finally gives a soft smile. 

“I see.” The chill in her voice is gone, suddenly replaced by a light, teasing tone. She must have read his mind, you realize. How much did she see? Placing her hands on her hips, Yennefer fondly gazes at him, then shakes her head. “I assume you’re going to remedy this… predicament?” 

“Yeah. Working on it,” Geralt replies. 

The whole room relaxes as she pulls up a chair and sits next to him. “Very well,” she says. “In that case, I’ll cast a shielding incantation around the two of us so we may speak. Alone. I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

She speaks some words you don’t understand, then raises her hands. Immediately, a shimmering blue shield surrounds the two of them - making it impossible to see them or hear what they’re saying.

Ciri, looking bewildered, stares at you. “Is… is there something I’m missing?” she asks. You let out a sigh, trying to think of what exactly to say, but there are just never enough words to properly explain. 

“Wait!” Dandelion says, hiccuping. “Let me - my ballad!” He reaches behind him and pulls out a lute, and you can’t help shrinking down in your chair again. Oh, gods. Surely there’s no way he’s already written something, is there? But your question is preemptively answered when he strikes out a chord and begins to sing:

A dangerous thing is the truth of a wish

For the future we ne’er can see

And djinns have been known to twist things amiss

Tainting with mischief and cruelty.

He pauses for a moment, hiccuping again, then claps his hand against his forehead. “Oh, blast it! I just can’t figure out the next line.”

“That was… really lovely, Dandelion,” you tell him. To your surprise, you don’t have to fight to make the words sound genuine. You’d actually liked it. The melody he’d chosen is no common earworm, but a haunting, beautiful tune, bound to leave a mark on whoever hears it. When he’d mentioned a ballad, well… that wasn’t what you’d pictured. And he’s right about wishes being dangerous - maybe the story can serve as a cautionary tale, discouraging one from repeating your mistakes.

Then again, a cautionary tale requires you to talk about the things you’ve done and the consequences you’ve suffered, and you’re not quite ready to tell anyone about that, much less the whole of Novigrad. As for the current, most prevalent consequence - being trapped with Geralt… you can see it now, whispered among crowds of giggling women, flushing at the thought: who wouldn’t want to be trapped with a handsome witcher?

“Aha! I knew I’d win you over,” Dandelion says brightly, giving a little bow over his lute. “Now Geralt will have to let me write it!”

A glance in Geralt’s presumed direction shows that the bubble around him and Yennefer is as prominent as ever. You can’t help wondering what they’re talking about.

“Oh! I need the details!” Dandelion exclaims suddenly, his gaze fixing on you with bright interest. “I can hardly write a story when I don’t even know the beginning, can I?” 

Reaching for the last bit of your wine, you anxiously thumb the stem of the glass and manage a weak smile. “I… I’m not sure about that. I don’t think it’ll make for a good story. Maybe you could just make something up?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Dandelion says. “I can make anything into a good story.”

“He truly can,” Priscilla chimes in. “Don’t worry at all.”

But a terrible headache is coming on. Your skull throbs, and your throat squeezes as you try to speak. “But… it’d - I mean, I’ve…” Your words trail off, but all of their eyes are now fixed on you, waiting for you to go on. Curse it all. “Awful things happened because of me,” you say flatly. “It’d ruin the story.” 

With that out in the open, you finish the rest of your glass and wait for the inevitable. Only… Dandelion doesn’t look phased in the least. Neither do any of the others. 

“Well, surely you haven’t been sitting here thinking we’re all saints?” he asks. “No one is perfect - that’s what makes the story engaging, relatable!”

You shake your head. “Of course I don’t think you’re saints, but-”

“And… what’ve you done that’s so terrible?” Zoltan inquires, interrupting your words. His mouth is full of some kind of cake that he’s chewing, his cheeks are pink, and he clearly doesn’t believe you’ve done anything bad at all.

You’re not in the right mind for this. The wine is making you lightheaded, your head is still pounding, and it all feels like a far off dream. “I - I killed someone,” you blurt, feeling sick to your stomach. And thirsty. Very, very thirsty.

Silence takes the table, but just for a moment. “Did you have reasoning?” Priscilla asks. “Was this person going to hurt you?” You give a single, sharp nod and swallow hard, wishing you had more wine. As if reading your mind, Dandelion pours you another glass.

“Well, then. I don’t think you’re awful,” Priscilla says.

“Nor do I,” Ciri agrees. 

Stinging tears are brimming at your eyes. You fiercely blink them away. None of this makes any sense. How can they all admonish you from your guilt without even hearing the full story?

“But you don’t understand,” you protest. “It was my fault I was in that situation in the first place. And that isn’t the only awful thing, I - I’ve done other things, too.” 

“Well, I’ve done many things I’m certainly not proud of,” Ciri tells you. “I think all of us have.”

You quickly wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your arm, avoiding her gaze.

Priscilla reaches over and gently pats your hand. “Let’s put it this way. The things a person wishes for says a great deal about them. And, for your final wish, you wished for protection. That sounds like someone who’s afraid. Not greedy. Not evil. Just trying to be safe.” 

“You’re clearly torn up about it,” Dandelion adds. “Believe me, I’ve met my fair share of truly horrendous people, and they aren’t capable of a shred of remorse.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and your futile attempts to blink them away don’t work very well. Soon, they’re coursing down your cheeks, and you could die of embarrassment right here and now. Thank the gods Geralt isn’t here to see it.

Ciri soothingly rubs your back. “I understand,” she says gently. “It’s never an easy thing, having to kill. Even in self-defense. I’ve found that speaking about it with people I trust helps.”

“Aye,” Zoltan agrees solemnly. “Geralt’d know how it feels - take a moment when ye can, discuss it with him. Might surprise you, even make you feel a bit better.” 

“He already knows,” you reply gloomily. Admittedly, he doesn’t know all the details.

“And?” Priscilla asks. “Surely he didn’t call you an awful person?”

“No,” you confirm. “He told me that… that I don't seem like a cold-blooded killer.”

“That’s settled, then,” Ciri says brightly. “If you were awful, Geralt certainly wouldn’t have any problem telling you.”

You swallow hard, wiping quickly at your eyes again. When you speak, your words are no more than a whisper. “Even if he can’t get more than ten steps away from me?”

Her answer comes with no hesitation. “Even then.”

Feeling as though an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders, you gratefully gulp down more wine and attempt a smile. “Thank you,” you tell them, even though you’re not entirely convinced. None of them know the full story, and you aren’t in any state to deliver it to them. But if they’re looking to see you comforted, you’ll gratify them. At least now you know that Geralt hasn’t been hiding some secret animosity for you.

“Of course,” Priscilla says, her tone balming as she speaks. “Poor thing. Are you still hungry? Can I get you anything else? You look as though Geralt’s been dragging you around all day.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m alright.”

“Forgive me for the change of subject, but I simply must ask,” Ciri exclaims. “Was I hearing right? You used a djinn to ask for protection, and - and now you and Geralt can’t be more than ten steps apart?”

“You heard right,” you confirm. “I… I asked for protection to always be with me. So we can’t be apart. Gods, I feel awful for him.”

“Ah, dinnae worry about Geralt,” Zoltan says, chortling. “Lad’s not suffering any more than Dandelion in a brothel.”

Your cheeks burn.

“Excuse me,” Dandelion protests, narrowing his eyes. “I am a changed man. I’ve mended my ways, which you very well know!.”

“Wait,” you say quickly, “Wait, Geralt and I - it’s not like that.”

“No?” Dandelion asks, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, hush,” Priscilla says. “Don’t mind these boys. They’re only fooling around.”

“And truly, don’t worry about Geralt,” Ciri says. “He’s gotten himself into things much worse than this.”

Then a bright flash of light interrupts the conversation, and Geralt and Yennefer appear alongside you once more. 

Geralt surveys the crowd, gaze landing on you. You barely have the time to hope that your cheeks are fully dry, that he won’t somehow be able to see that you’d been crying with his witcher senses. He’s on his feet now, leaning against the table. “Hey,” he says. “Hope they weren’t too rough on you.”

“Don’t worry,” Ciri says cheerfully. “Only a few tears were shed.”

Geralt does a double-take, then straightens. “That a joke?”

“Relax, old friend,” Dandelion croons. “The tears were only over the brilliance of my ballad, which was so lovingly received by all that you’ll have to let me write it.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grumbles, running a hand over his eyes.

Your gaze, however, has turned to Yennefer - who seems calmer than before, but still vaguely out of place. You can’t help thinking about the way Dandelion and Zoltan had spoken of her yesterday. And Lambert, for that matter. Can so many of Geralt’s friends and loved ones dislike her? And does that speak to her true nature, or is Geralt seeing something the rest of them aren’t?

In some strange way, you feel sorry for her. You’d hate to be in a room of people that dislike you. Hate to be surrounded by the loved ones of your lover, and have them all hate you. 

She meets your eyes, and a sense of immediate panic rises in you. Gods, please don’t read my mind, you think. She’d see everything you’ve done, see everything you want - and, gods, you know she’d hate you for it.

But as she looks at you, a strange sensation falls over you. Something buzzes faintly under your skin, tickles at the back of your neck, and your head feels heavy and strained. And then… nothing. It fades away, and Yennefer is left with a strange, unidentifiable expression on her face: brows pinched, lips pressed together, but none of the icy rage from earlier. Just something empty. Another question.

“Changing subjects,” Geralt says pointedly, “Yen’s heard of the djinn Priscilla was talking about. Yen, mind explaining?”

“Very well,” Yennefer replies, her expression instantly shaping into a mask of coolness. Calm. Composure. She’s a master at it, wielding it at will, and you envy that about her more than you can say. She folds her arms over her chest, fingers gracefully tapping against her arm, then slowly starts to speak. 

“A few months ago, a powerful source of magic appeared north of Loc Muinne, somewhere in the Blue Mountains. Very powerful - an aura strong enough to disrupt teleportation within fifty miles, even.” 

She pauses and looks around, as if confirming that all of you are listening, then continues. “When a series of mages went to investigate the source, they found a newly unearthed passageway of elven ruins, and an unfinished notebook - kept by a prestigious, well-regarded, and now-missing sorcerer. His disappearance seems to have coincided with the appearance of the aura, and, according to his writings, this magic had been the main subject of his recent studies. It carried a presence that had evolved new plant and animal life in the caves, unlike any he’d ever seen. And he’d been experimenting with the new forms of plant life, testing for various reactions on different species.

“He then went on to say that he’d recently discovered a djinn, that he believed it was some form of… sign that was on the right path. He hoped to use it to harness the power of the ruins. But the day after he mentioned it in his writings, he disappeared. His notes end abruptly, as if he’d vanished into thin air while writing them. And, his last entry was dated for the same day the aura appeared.”

She swallows, then goes on, all of you hooked on her every word now. “Some suspected foul play, of course - that the djinn had been taken from him and he’d been killed. That, when it was unleashed, it caused the activation of the aura. Others believed he’d been killed by something in the ruins. A search party was taken up to look for him, but he was never found. Unfortunately, everyone who’s gone in the caves to look for him has neglected to return, and… I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Her words sit in the air for a long moment as you all process what she’s saying. She pours herself a glass of wine and drinks it down, and you numbly take her words in. No one’s come back. When you bite the inside of your cheek, you taste blood.

“Ah… shite,” Zoltan says, scratching awkwardly at his beard. “Not very encouraging.”

“No,” Geralt agrees. “It isn’t. Dangerous journey to get there, too. ”

“And I don’t know how to fight,” you add. “So I’d be putting both of us in danger.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Dandelion says, cheeks still ruddy with drink. “Geralt’s taken me along plenty of times.”

“Times where you could run and hide if there was too much danger,” Geralt points out. “This is different.”

“And,” Yennefer chimes in, “as I said, the risks are too great to teleport anywhere near the area. Even for Ciri.”

Ciri? you think. She can teleport? Is she a sorceress? But no - hadn’t Geralt said that she was a witcher? All of this bouncing conversation is making your head hurt again.

“Luckily,” Ciri announces, “I happen to be headed to Ard Carraigh as it is. Two witchers will be more than enough protection for the journey, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s brows pinch. “Sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she affirms, grinning. “It’s been ages since we last rode together! I’d love to accompany you - and, of course, hear the story of how you two met; in more detail, preferably.”

Geralt mulls it over, frowning. “Be happy to have you,” he finally says, relaxing. “Just gotta be careful. Thanks, Ciri. Yen?”

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Yennefer replies. “I have urgent business to attend to. You’ll manage, I’m sure.”

Geralt nods. “Appreciate you telling us about the djinn.” 

“Mm. Of course.”

The room is silent for a moment before Dandelion pulls out more wine - an expensive vintage, apparently - and the table instantly comes back to life, returning to their debate about Gwent decks. 

Ciri gets up to grab another drink from behind the bar, but you stay where you are. It’s clear that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t done talking, and you have a terrible habit of eavesdropping. Pretending to be absorbed with a flyer for The Chameleon, casting an occasional glance at them, you listen in. It helps that Geralt can’t get very far away.

“Never did tell me what that curse was about,” he says.

There’s a brief pause before Yennefer answers. “Clearly, you were busy. I didn’t want to pull your attention away from more… important matters.”

“Yen,” Geralt says. “You know I’m happy to help. If you were looking for me, if there’s something you need-”

“- but there isn’t,” she interrupts. “It was a complicated curse, yes, but I’ve managed. Istredd assisted me, since you were nowhere to be found.”

You don’t know who Istredd is, but you get the gist of her words. Particularly from the fact that, when you quickly glance over, Geralt looks as though he’s been slapped. Pain again, even just for a moment. If Yennefer sees it, she says nothing of it.

“I must be going,” she announces instead, gaze fixed on Geralt and Ciri. Then it softens. “Be safe. Both of you.”

“You’re going?” Ciri asks, rushing to give Yennefer a hug. 

They cling to each other for a moment, and Yennefer strokes Ciri’s hair and holds her close. It’s very clear how much they care for one another. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ciri tells her.

“Never. I’ll contact you once you’re in Ard Carraigh,” Yennefer replies.

After Ciri’s gone back to her seat, Geralt lingers near Yennefer. “Won’t let anything happen to her,” Geralt says softly.

Yennefer smiles. “I know you won’t,” she replies. “I know you.” For a moment, her mask of composure slips - she hesitates. Then, she smooths down his shirt, leans up on her toes, and kisses his cheek. “Goodbye, Geralt.” 

With a final squeeze of his arm, she’s gone, exiting out the door. Leaving you and Geralt staring after her. 

You recover faster than he does, tuning back into the conversation at the table - which has turned into some story revolving around Dandelion and a sword. Geralt, though, stands frozen in his tracks for a good minute or so. 

When he returns to his seat, he’s silent. In fact, he hardly says another word until the two of you have turned in for bed, bidding everyone good night. It’s planned that the two of you will leave with Ciri tomorrow morning, after getting some supplies for the journey. You don’t know if you’re relieved, or scared. 

One one hand, the two of you will be actively moving toward the solution, and that saves you from the anxiety of sitting still. On the other hand, it means a long, dangerous journey which ends with you and Geralt being parted.

When the two of you are back in the room and you’re finally able to breathe, you slump onto the bed. Geralt sits next to you, lost in thought, and as you eye the protruding lump of a bandage under his shirt, you suddenly remember the scratch you left this morning.

You sit up with a start. “How’s your arm?” you ask.

The words rouse him from his thoughts. Geralt’s brows rise - clearly he’d forgotten, too - and takes off shirt in a fluid moment that makes your heart skip a beat (which you pray he doesn’t hear). Of course he’d need to take off his shirt to access the wound. Calm down, you tell yourself. Don’t stare.

When he pulls away the bandage to show completely healed skin, you sit there, stunned. It’s just as he said. It’s gone. Completely gone. The scratch hadn’t been that bad, but it’d still pierced the skin and very much should still be visible, at least for a few days. But there’s not even a hint of scarring, anything to show that it’d been there. It’s fascinating. And you really should have believed him, but it’s one thing to hear it, and a completely new thing to see it. 

You can’t help yourself. You run your fingers over the area where it should have been, and find it completely whole. 

Geralt’s skin is surprisingly soft and warm. He stays still as you touch him, the sound of his breathing soft and even. Then, slowly, he places his hand over yours, trailing his thumb down your wrist. His fingers enclose over yours, callused fingertips and strong tendons that gently wrap around your hand.

“Dandelion’s ballad really make you cry?” he asks softly. His eyes are warm and fixed on you, and you draw in a sharp breath. For a moment, you consider Zoltan’s words. That you might feel better, if you’d just tell Geralt everything. But given all that’s happened today, it simply doesn’t seem like the right time. 

Maybe one day, but not now. 

“What can I say?” you tell him, smiling weakly. “The lyrics got to me.”

He frowns. “Could tell him to stop,” he says. “If he’s pressuring you-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, he… he isn’t. Really. You have some really great friends, Geralt. And Ciri, she’s wonderful, and… and just like you.”

He smiles a little and raises a brow. He’s still holding your hand, gentle but firm. “Think so?” he asks.

You swallow hard. “I do. And don’t think I’ll be forgetting your little jest with Dandelion, master witcher. That was very rude.”

His smile widens into a boyish sort of grin you haven’t seen before, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. You know he can hear it. There’s that sharpening in his gaze again, the way his eyes trail down to your lips, the way the smile turns into the hint of a smirk. You gingerly tug your hand from his grip, not trusting yourself, and start pulling out your sleep clothes. 

“All that walking wore me out,” you tell him. “I’d better get some sleep for the journey.” It’s a poor excuse, but he takes it - or, at least, doesn’t argue. You can feel his eyes on the back of your neck. 

If you hadn’t seen him and Yennefer the way they were, maybe you’d… well, it doesn’t matter now. Starting tomorrow, the two of you will be with Ciri for weeks, and it’s too complicated for you to consider anything outside of the trip. No matter what you want.

Even if he might want it, too. 

You’re so unfamiliar with the concept of romance that, for just a moment, you start thinking that you might have imagined it. The look in his eyes. But you really do know better, and it’s time to stop fooling yourself.

There’s something between you and Geralt, something that’s been there longer than you’ve wanted to admit it. Since you sat at the river and he caught you staring at him, thinking about how handsome he was. Since he bandaged your hands with careful touch. Told you he could hear your heart beating, that he could tell when you lied. 

Like a deafening wall of glass, it’s lurked between the two of you, getting simultaneously bigger and frailer with every day. Ready to shatter at any moment. You’ve pulled away from it, but you’re less and less able to deny that it’s there. Or that you want it to break.

That’s your real crime, isn’t it? The one you’ve held guilt for as long as you’ve known. The one that’s poisoned your fate from birth. You always want for things you can’t have. It’s exactly why the djinn was so dangerous, why you’re being punished the way you are. He must have seen straight into your soul when you were making that wish, and gave you the exact retribution that you deserved.

Because you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you ever got what you really wanted, it might rip you apart. You’ve never been built for good things. You’d just ruin them. Like you have with everything. And it might have been one thing to ruin your own life, but you know you wouldn’t survive it if it was Geralt. If he ever hurt you, or you hurt him… 

No. You couldn’t. And, even though it’s ridiculous, you cling to that wall. Even despite your conflicting emotions, you shut yourself off. Because it’s better than the alternative.

You’ve tried to halt yourself from wishing for anything ever since you got that djinn, because you really should learn from your mistakes. But as you get into bed, you allow yourself a single, mindless wish - safe because you know it won’t come true. 

You sit there in silence, chest aching, and wish that Geralt would wrap his arms around you.

More bad dreams come that night. You sleep feverishly, trading off between visions of hands on your throat and the mouth of a cave, summoning you in with a sweet song you can’t resist. When you finally wake, you find Geralt already up, organizing your things. If you’ve overslept, you don’t feel an ounce of that rest.

“Hey,” he says. “Sleep well?”

You shrug and smile at him wordlessly. Your throat feels tight and the ache in your chest has only gotten worse overnight. Your silence already betrays your emotions to an extent, but if you speak, you’re afraid everything might actually start pouring out of you. That if you open your mouth, every fear, every secret and guilt and want might come slithering up your throat in a single, slimy mass and give you away.

So you don’t talk. And you pray that you won’t have to any time soon.

It doesn’t take long for you to dress or pack your things. Your stomach has just started growling when there’s a light knock on the door. 

“Ready, you two?” comes Ciri’s voice. “Breakfast’s just been finished, and we’d better eat before it gets cold - it might be our last good meal for some time!”

“Coming,” Geralt says. He hoists his things over his shoulders, and you follow straight behind him.

“Good morning,” Ciri says brightly. “Dandelion’s prepared a farewell meal for you two. I think he’s written more of that ballad.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Hope he doesn’t play it while I’m eating.”

“It’s Dandelion. Of course he will,” Ciri says. Then she looks at you. “How’d you sleep?” she asks. “Feeling any better this morning?”

Geralt stares at you, concerned, but you avoid his gaze. “I… I slept well,” you tell her. “And, yes, I feel alright now. Thank you.”

Both of those things are lies, but Ciri just smiles. “We’d better head down before Dandelion loses his head. He’s been strutting around like a peacock ever since you complimented his ballad. Can hardly wait to show you the new parts he wrote.” 

That makes you laugh. A real, genuine laugh. “Should I start writing my apology for bolstering his ego?”

“Yeah,” Geralt says. “Make it short.”

“Short and sweet,” Ciri adds.

“Alright. Dear Novigrad citizens - and all others affected,” you drawl. “I’m deeply sorry for bolstering Dandelion’s ego. How’s that?”

Geralt rubs his chin. “Dunno,” he says. “Seems a little long.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him. “Fine, then: I’m sorry, Novigrad.”

“Perfect,” Ciri says. “I’m already envious of the response it’ll receive. Come, let’s head down.”

Eskel and Lambert are at the main table once more, clearly enjoying the partakings. They both look tired and a little worse for wear, but alive. “Morning, Wolf,” Eskel says. “Hear you’re heading out again.”

“Mhm. Eating breakfast first, though,” Geralt replies, taking a seat. You sit next to him and grab a plate, mouth watering.

There’s more food here than you’ve ever seen served for a single meal. Fresh bread and butter that fills the air, spiced sausages, apple tarts drizzled with honey, plates adorned with grapes and pears and plums, perfectly ripe. Sweet buns coated with sugar and roasted ham and tiny, colorful candies that litter the table. And, judging by how full the three witchers have stocked their plates, not a bit of it will go to waste.

You fill your plate and dig in, so ecstatic that you almost don’t hear Dandelion greet you. “Good morning,” he says, laying another plate on the table. “Oh, good, you’re hungry! Eat up, eat up!”

Priscilla strides up next to him, tsking as she looks over the table. “Good morning, everyone,” she greets. “As you can see, Dandelion’s gone a bit overboard with breakfast. Are you sure you three won’t stay any longer? We’re happy to have you.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Sorry. Wish we could. Might come back here afterward, though. If not…”

“If not, then Dandelion, Zoltan, and I will see you at Yule,” Priscilla says sternly, taking a seat. Dandelion sits next to her, and you watch the two softly chatter with each other, imagining how it might look - Yule with Geralt and friends. Sparkly, you think. Shiny and warm. 

You’ve never had much of a Yule. Not that your parents hadn’t tried. But for some reason, seeing their gifts - gifts you knew they’d slaved away hours of their life for - only made you feel worse. The year when their gifts turned into coin for Oxenfurt Academy had been a relief if only to not feel their eyes on your face, praying they wouldn’t see disappointment.

“Oh, yeah,” Eskel says suddenly, turning to Geralt. “We wintering with you at Corvo Bianco again this year?” 

Corvo Bianco? you think. You aren’t familiar with the words.

Geralt raises his brows. “Yeah. Be glad to have you.”

“Then we’ll see you there,” Lambert responds. “Can’t fuckin’ wait.”

“Still miss Marlene’s cooking,” Eskel agrees. 

In the midst of their conversation, there’s a striking realization that they must be talking about Geralt’s home. You’d never thought much about it - mostly, you’d assumed he lived from place to place, never staying anywhere long. You wonder briefly about this Marlene, heart sinking down to your stomach. There’s so much you don’t know about him.

“So - you three are really off to find a djinn?” Lambert muses. “Good luck, I guess.” 

“Thanks,” Geralt says dryly.

There’s a moment of silence before you surprise yourself. “You know, Lambert, I think that might be the most genuine sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Eskel, Geralt, and Ciri laugh, to your delight, and Lambert scowls. “Ah, fuck off,” he says, but he’s hiding a begrudging smile.

“Alright. Before I forget,” Ciri starts, her gaze fixing on you. “You and Geralt. How did you two meet?”

Your cheeks go warm. Maybe because everyone is now staring at you, and you hate the attention. Maybe because you hate talking about this subject. “Well… he fell out of the sky.”

Geralt huffs, smiling a little. For a moment, you hope he’ll say something, but he doesn’t. He just waits for you to go on, along with everyone else.

“Um. Well, I made the wish,” you continue, “and for a while, it seemed like nothing was happening. So I wandered around, thinking about every possibility of my wording, wondering how the djinn had taken it. I hadn’t really - thought about it when I made the wish. It just… came out. I wanted to believe it was some invisible protection, but everything just felt… off, and I knew deep down that it wasn’t the case. And then a portal opened up, and he fell out, and I saw the two swords on his back and realized what it meant.”

“Yeah. Djinn dragged me out of Skellige,” Geralt adds. And now they’re all waiting for you to speak again.

 “Anyway,” you proceed, “once I realized who he was, I asked him to move away from me, to see if anything would happen. And he wouldn’t - he didn’t really trust me, then. So I did it instead. Once I was a certain distance away, we both felt it. I actually don’t know how it feels for him, but for me it was like… like something was ripping me apart. Squeezing my skull in. I couldn’t fight it at all.”

“Yeah. Felt like that for me, too,” Geralt agrees.

You nod. “So after that, I explained to him what had happened, and he said we should come here, see if anyone knew anything. And… now, we’re here.”

“And we’re very happy you are,” Priscilla tells you. 

“And?” Dandelion exclaims. “Was there any danger on the way here? What was it that made you wish for protection? And the other two wishes - I’ll need to know those for my ballad.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the thought of telling anyone at this table about those nights, about what happened. No, you’re not ready. 

Time to attempt one of your old tricks. If anyone is a sucker for flattery, it’s Dandelion. 

“It was a little dangerous, yes,” you answer, trying to keep your voice even. “Geralt and I ran into a foglet. But he killed it, and I didn’t even get a scratch on me. It was very impressive, honestly.” Now for the important part. “Oh - Dandelion, speaking of your ballad,” you lead in, adding a little sweetness to your tone, “Ciri told me you wrote more of it. Will you play it for me?”

“Of course I will!” Dandelion says, eyes lighting up. “But don’t let me distract you - I want to hear about this djinn. Was he made of red mist? Were you ecstatic when you found him? Do you still have the seal?”

Shit. You hadn’t really minded his questions before, but with how standoffish you feel, they’re becoming incredibly invasive.

“Dandelion, quit pestering,” Priscilla interrupts him, but not quickly enough. 

You shut your eyes at the stream of memories that come pouring in at the sound of his words. The exact images you’ve been trying to block out. “I was scared.” The words are shaky, unstable. You suddenly feel sick, placing down your fork. “I wasn’t ecstatic, wasn’t happy. All I remember is being scared.”

Dandelion pulls out a parchment and begins scribbling on it. “Scared… foglet… not a scratch…” he mumbles. “Perfect.”

Your body has started trembling. Maybe it’s because it’s more than you’ve ever revealed about that moment, but your stomach is churning and you’re shaking, and thank Melitele, Geralt notices.

He clears his throat. “Priscilla - you already started on the plans for Yule?” he asks. “Anything I should bring? Might not get to that djinn for a while.” 

Under the table, he places his hand on top of yours - a small, reassuring action. Not entwining with yours, but there. Comforting. Then his thumb brushes over your pulse point. Taking in a deep breath, you give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

Thank you, you think.

Priscilla takes the bait immediately. “Well, I’ve not started the plans exactly, but I have been considering some loose ideas,” she replies. “Dandelion and I were thinking about writing a new show, getting people into the spirit and such. Using the funds we make as donations for some form of charity. Of course, nothing’s been settled yet. As for what to bring - just bring yourself and anyone you’d like to invite. Though, a bottle of wine from your vineyard would never be turned down.”

“Mhm. Our first year producing wine,” Geralt tells her. “Harvest finally came in. BB says it ought to be a good one.”

“Really?” Priscilla asks. “All the better. I can’t wait.”

The conversation has given you time to manage your emotions. Geralt might be able to hear your heart thundering in your chest - and, now that you think of it, Eskel and Lambert might, too - but no one else has anything else to off but your face, which you hope is in a mask even half as collected as Yennefer’s had been.

A quick look over shows that Eskel and Lambert are glancing at you curiously, but they return to their breakfast as soon as they see your gaze on them. Well, that answers that question. No wonder Geralt had been able to tell you were lying so easily. If Eskel and Lambert, sitting several seats down from you, can hear a change in your heartbeat - and be able to tell that it’s yours they’re hearing - then… frankly, you’re horrified to think about what else he might hear.

And, thinking even more, did you just hear that right? Geralt owns a vineyard? Corvo Bianco. It’s all piecing together.

“I didn’t know you owned a vineyard,” you tell him. His hand shifts a little on yours, and blood rushes up to your face. You’d somehow forgotten it was there - as if his touch had melted into you, was so natural that it became a part of you.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Got it as part of a contract from the duchess of Toussaint.” 

You’ve never been to Toussaint. You’ve certainly never met the duchess. Somewhere in all this chaos, you’d nearly gotten used to the fact that a large number of the people in this room are famous. But not anymore.

You don’t even know where to begin to imagine a vineyard. Miles of grape vines? A hot, baking sun, fruit stinking in the heat? You can’t picture Geralt in it. The two images are disjointed, as if they couldn’t possibly mix.

You don’t know why this guts you. Maybe it’s the reminder that you don’t really belong here - among all these people, Geralt’s friends and family, knowing basic things about him like where he lives. 

You suddenly can’t eat another bite, but the sight of your half-filled plate makes you just as sick. How many times would you have killed for food like that, only to let it go to waste? Almost all the others have finished their food.

“Are you still hungry?” you ask Geralt, pushing your plate toward him a little. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“He’s always hungry,” Ciri answers.

And Geralt shrugs and takes the rest of your food, looking more than happy to finish it off. Thankfully, he moves his hand back to his thigh, and you force yourself to take even breaths when he does, because he surely can hear you. You try to remain calm, but overstimulation is rising in you like a growing tide. You’ll miss this place fiercely, but you can’t wait to get away from it.

“What’ve you got there?” Geralt suddenly asks, and you realize the question is directed at Lambert. 

Lambert, who was bent over a paper, snaps up defensively. His arms cradle over the paper like he’s afraid Geralt will somehow lean over half the table and read the contents, and he scowls. “None of your business,” he says.

“Better not distract him,” Eskel snorts. “Lambert’s writing a letter to his girlfriend.”

Lambert’s scowl deepens. “Shut up.” 

“Meant to ask - how’s Keira doing?” Geralt asks. “You two fighting again?”

“No,” Lambert snaps. “We aren’t.”

Eskel’s expression sombers. “Keira, uh… she went to check out a magical surge. Hasn’t come back yet.”

You suddenly feel like ice has run down your back. As if something has gone terribly, irreparably wrong.

“Where?” Geralt’s tone is intense, demanding in a way you haven’t heard it before, and you can tell that the sudden shift is making Eskel and Lambert uneasy, too.

“Kaedwen,” Lambert answers. 

“The Blue Mountains?”

“I don’t know, maybe. She didn’t exactly say. Why?”

Geralt doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Yennefer was here last night,” you tell them, even though the words feel like glue on your tongue. “She said that… that somewhere in Kaedwen there are some ancient elven ruins spreading a powerful aura of magic, and that some mages went to investigate, but everyone who’s gone in there hasn’t come back out. It’s close to that djinn Priscilla was talking about.”

Lambert pushes out of his seat, looking furious. “Fucking what!?”

“She’s fine, Lambert,” Geralt assures him. “ Yen is Keira’s friend - if something happened to her, she would have mentioned it.”

“Save your bullshit,” Lambert hisses, pacing back and forth frantically. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Geralt is right,” you say - even though you’re a little out of your league here. “Yennefer said that the magic was affecting teleportation within fifty miles of the caves. I’m sure she’s probably just trying to find a way back.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Lambert asks. “She teleported over there!”

You feel as though you’ve been slapped. You snap your mouth shut, anger simmering in your chest - anger directed toward yourself. Why had you gotten involved? You’d only made it worse. 

“They’re right,” Eskel says, but his tone is more convincing, more soothing. “Yen would’ve told us. Losing another sorceress from the Lodge? That’s a big deal.”

Lambert slackens, draping a hand over his face as he takes it in. Then sits down, grabs his mug, and pours himself a drink. The tension in the room feels thick enough to suffocate.

“We’ll keep an ear out for her,” Geralt says. “Ask around. See if anyone’s heard anything. Soon as we learn something, you’ll be the first to know.”

Lambert gives an almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

There’s a moment of silence. “We ought to head out,” Ciri announces. “I’ll help clear up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Priscilla scolds. “You’re our guests! We’ll take care of this.”

But Ciri gathers up the nearby empty plates and neatly stacks them anyway, and Geralt adds his old plate and the newer, now-empty plate that used to be yours.

Priscilla sighs. “You two,” she murmurs, smiling to herself, “are far too similar.”

You’d have turned in your dishes, if you’d had any. But you don’t. You’re grateful when Geralt stands, gathering his things.

“You’re going?” Dandelion asks - he’d been in the middle of more writing. “But I haven’t even gotten to play the next lines of my ballad for you!”

Geralt looks down at you where you’re still sitting, a brow raised. You know he’s giving you the option - that you can leave, if you want. 

But then you think about what Ciri had said earlier, that Dandelion was so excited to show it to you. Strutting around like a peacock, giddy on the compliment. You think of his kindness at the table yesterday - how kind they’d all been, even to a stranger. Reassuring you that you weren’t awful without even being asked.

“I’ll gladly hear it,” you say. 

Dandelion beams and pulls out his lute, and Geralt returns to his seat to listen. And then Dandelion strums, and in that haunting, lovely melody, he sings.

A dangerous thing is the truth of a wish

For the future we ne’er can see

And djinns have been known to twist things amiss

Tainting with mischief and cruelty.

With a trifle of words, our tale must begin

An uttered request, humbly made 

Beseeching protection from the ‘fore-mentioned djinn

Protection for always, they prayed.

The answer received came up from the land

Where resided a lone witcher of yore

And the foul, ruthless djinn locked the two hand in hand

And he bound them for evermore.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

[pengweng-quack]

Being a Witch with Vampires

Carlisle Cullen x Witch!OC

Summary: Stella (A witch) and Carlisle (A vampire), and how they blossomed from roommates to friends(?) to partners

Chapter 2/7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Notes:

This was inspired by this fanfic on tumblr by lis-likes-fics titled "In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised"

This is also on Ao3 under the same title and same username too if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448940)

Posting is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

Word Count: 4609 words

TW for this chapter: SA mentions, blood mentions

Timeline: First Twilight to Start of New Moon

Masterlist

~2005~

“So, you’re telling me that Edward saved this girl, showing his vampiric speed to her? And his first thought into not revealing the Cullens was to gaslight her into thinking that it’s not true?” Stella asked Carlisle as he reads more about what happened in the report

“According to Alice, that’s what happened.” Carlisle calmly answered as the confident witch with him started thinking of ways to back Edward up on that one

“You think Edward did that due to other reasons?” Stella asked as she rested her head on Carlisle’s chair, reading the report behind her vegetarian vampire

“What are you thinking?” Carlisle asked her

“I don’t know, the possibility that the girl is Edward’s mate maybe.” Stella suggested, earning an understanding nod from Carlisle “It’s not the first time that a human was deemed to be a vampire mate. What’s your term for that, blood singer?”

“Edward will deny that, we have to ask Alice for a vision.” Carlisle agreed with her “And yes, you’re called blood singers.”

“Me included?” Stella asked, resting her hand on the chair to play with his hair

“Anyone that has a beating heart can be a vampire’s blood singer. That includes you.” Carlisle answered plainly, getting a whiff of Stella’s blood despite holding his breath

‘She’s so close.’

‘Very intoxicating.’

‘So, so, perfect.’

His thoughts were yelling at him, no amount of holding his breath could help when his blood singer was just behind him. She was addictive, and Carlisle had to do everything in him to stop his desires from taking her and offering her to be his mate then and there.

“So, like, if a vampire found their blood singer, does that make the blood singer the vampire’s mate?” Stella asked curiously

“Always.” Carlisle answered “Though it doesn’t work like that for witches though.”

“How’d you know?” Stella teased “Considered me to be your blood singer?”

Stella knew that her question was dangerous. Of course, she was Carlisle’s blood singer, there was a reason why he was so devoted to her despite thousands of humans and vampires alike that were throwing themselves to him. How he managed to have lived with her for so long despite being his blood singer still baffles her.

Would she have to change to a vampire for him?

Would he have to change into a witch for her?

She didn’t know.

“Well, for starters.” Carlisle pondered before answering her question “Your blood only leads to three scenarios; first, it could drive the vampire mad. The second one is that you will calm them, and you’ve seen how your blood calms us. The third one is rare, no one has lived to tell the tale, or so I’ve heard.”

“What is it?” Stella asked

“The vampire offers the witch to be their mate.” Carlisle answered “No one has ever told a story where the witch accepts the vampire’s offering. They always end in the vampire’s demise.”

“Where do you lie then?” Stella asked quietly, so quiet that if Carlisle didn’t have his vampiric senses, he wouldn’t have heard her

“For what it’s worth.” Carlisle answered in the same quiet tone “I would never pressure you into being my mate.”

At that moment, Stella wanted nothing more but for Carlisle to be lying. She wasn’t gonna be his demise.

She was gonna accept it with her whole heart.

She was gonna accept him with her whole heart.

She’s accepted him with her whole heart.

“You’re really smart, have I told you that?” Carlisle asked after a long silence, moving his head to the side and looking at her

He was so close to her face, he acknowledged to himself. One move and his lips would be touching hers…not that he wants that, right? His mind was confused, Carlisle knew that if he had a heart at that time, it would be thumping hard.

“Oh my god.” Stella said, rolling her eyes at him “You always tell me whenever I get any idea.”

“Well, all of your ideas are smart anyways.” Carlisle teased, leaving a small peck on Stella’s temple as a sense of assurance

~~

“Edward’s having Bella over today.” Alice announced. Stella and Carlisle exchanged glances, acknowledging that there was a good chance they were correct with their assumptions about the reasons why Edward had done what he had done for Bella.

“Then we must prepare something.” Carlisle invited to everyone “About time that someone else other than dear Stella over here uses the kitchen.”

“Not my fault that I’m the only one that could cook.” Stella said with a fake frown on her face

“Not our fault that we really don’t need to eat.” Carlisle said back, mocking the fake frown on Stella’s face

“Will they just date already?” Jasper whined quietly; it would be a shock if the two hadn’t heard what he said “We’ve dealt with this for far too long now.”

“Imagine what me and Edward had to deal with?” Rosalie asked him, rolling her eyes at their two coven leaders

“No wonder Edward is desperate for a mate.” Emmett joked

“Come on, enough with the teasing.” Stella lightly scolded to everyone “Anyone willing to go to the store to get some ingredients?”

“For what?” Jasper asked

“Is Bella Italian?” Stella asked, which was answered with shrugs from everyone “She’s Italian now. We’re cooking Carbonara.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Carlisle teased, mocking a salute at her

“You love me.” Stella teased, blowing a kiss at him

Stella was certain that everyone was hearing how hard her heart was beating. Part of her didn’t enjoy it when Carlisle flirted with her, it panics her because she fears that Carlisle has figured out what she feels for him. Though, some part in her enjoys when he’s flirty with her, it gives her some hope that maybe things would be like that for them in the future.

~~

“Rosie, stay here.” Stella ordered to Rosalie, who nodded in agreement as she quickly flees away from the Swan’s house. She had just gotten a call from James, and that he had Bella held hostage already.

With the help of her magic, she quickly made it to where Bella was. She was confident with her skills, but there was a high chance that she was outnumbered. So, she prepared for the worst

“And the witch came.” James taunted, seeing as she gets so defensive, preparing her magic

“Drop your defenses and I’ll let the girl go.” He added, his grip on Bella’s hair was painfully tight. With one gulp, one sign of her nervousness, she lowered her hands. She watched as James threw Bella in a further distance and moved to her with his speed

“I’ve always wondered what a witch would taste like, and now I have the chance to know.” He taunted. And just as he was to attack her, Stella casted a protection spell, throwing him a distance away from both him and Bella

“Bella, run!” Stella ordered, blasting spells at James and keeping him knocked down on the floor

It all happened too fast, James had gotten to Bella, biting her with the intention of drinking all her blood. But before he could even get a full taste, he was tackled down by Edward

“I’ll handle him!” Stella told Edward, using her magic to hold him back “Go get Bella!”

“You know I can’t—

James had used his speed to attack Stella, knocking the both of them down the wooden floor. And before Edward could tackle him away from her, Stella used all her strength to yell at Edward to attend Bella instead of helping her.

If she was bitten by a vampire, she would live, but it would weaken her at the time, maybe even causing her to pass out. She understood the stake of the venom being left in her body, but she also knew that if Bella was left alone, she would change. And the prospect of being transformed without Bella’s permission was bound to haunt Stella. Especially when she made the attempt to save her.

(TW: SA Mentions)

She was using all her physical strength to push James away off her. James did a bite on her neck, and another on her shoulder, and another on her arm, and another on her thighs. She felt the venom in her blood, causing her to yelp out in pain. James kept biting her, feeding on his desire to feast on a witch’s blood. She was trying to push James off her, tears starting to stream down her face as he continued to rip off parts of her clothes just to feed off her.

“So much for being the savior.” James taunted, ripping her top off fully before going and biting her again, this time, doing much deeper bites to where blood was dripping out of Stella’s body every time James pulls away “Now, you’ve just granted me to be the first to taste a witch and live to tell the tale.”

“You get close to her and I will feed off your human, go make your decision.” James quickly yelled, noticing that Edward was gonna rush him

“Edward, stay there!” Stella yelled at him; it was obvious that he was having a conflict in his thoughts “Bella needs you more!”

Stella lost count on how many bites James did on her, her head was spinning from all the venom in her. She was growing weaker, she felt that already. She couldn’t use her magic to help Edward and Bella as she was using it to keep herself awake from passing out

She felt at ease when James’ weight was removed of hers, she could faintly see Carlisle’s figure near her. She could see from her peripheral vision that Jasper and Emmett were dealing with James and Alice was with Bella and Edward, trying to see what she could help with

“Stella.” Carlisle called, shaking her lightly, removing his scarf and covering her bloodied torso

Carlisle’s dead heart broke when he saw Stella so bruised and battered up. He was internally panicking, seeing his confident witch crying in pain from what a monster like him did to her

Her whole torso had some sort of bite marks in it, some deeper than the others. James focused by her chest, where her heart rested. Some of her pants were ripped too, bite marks evident on her legs. James violated her, in more ways than one. He took his time on her, feasting on her as if she was a full-course meal.

And for that, he deserves a place deeper than hell.

(End of SA Mentions)

“Attend Bella.” She muttered, gathering strength to continue talking as Carlisle removed his coat to cover more of Stella’s bloodied body “N-needs its m-more.”

Carlisle wanted to argue, but he could only see one thing in Stella’s pleading eyes: Bella’s human, I’m not.

“Emmett, look out for her.” Carlisle ordered, knowing that if she didn’t listen to Stella’s order that it could lead to Bella’s end as human

Stella couldn’t fully understand the next few events as she too was struggling to keep her yells lowered. She was hearing Bella moan in pain, and Carlisle trying to help Edward find the will to stop from sucking Bella’s blood. She felt Emmett move her body to rest her in his lap. He was playing with her hair, whispers of ‘you’re so strong’ and ‘don’t give up’ was coming out of his mouth.

“Carlisle, you have to attend Stella now!” Emmett yelled, not knowing what to do with Stella’s cries of pain

“Stella, dear, are you hearing me right now?” Carlisle called, shaking her lightly, he rested her hand on her cheek, trying to shake her to get some kind of response from her

She could feel him shake her body, but the pain was too much to let out any way of response.

Carlisle felt Stella’s eyes on him. He looked back, her eyes said nothing other than pleading. She was pleading, no, begging, him to make the pain stop.

“You have to suck the venom out. You’re the most capable of keeping your control among all of us.” Jasper said, sensing the pain in Stella’s feelings “There’s too much venom in her; you have to act now.”

Stella couldn’t formulate words, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt the anguish. Carlisle's lips were on her neck in an instant, attempting to suck out all the venom that had flowed through her veins, which frightened her. When Carlisle knew that it became too much for Stella, his hands made their way to hers.

Carlisle backed away after he had a tiny taste of Stella's blood, telling him that all of the venom had been drained out. He felt in peace that he got to stop, only to find his confident witch unconscious. The image made his lifeless heart skip a beat. He quickly rested his head on her chest, seeking to hear some kind of heartbeat, even if it was a feeble one, to hold on and believe that she’s still alive. He started doing chest compressions on her, hoping that it will be enough to at least get her heart to start again

“She survives, Carlisle.” Alice assured him instantly “We have to take them both to the hospital, now.”

They quickly took both Bella and Stella to the hospital, Carlisle not once wanting to be separated from Stella. Emmett has called Rosalie as well and told her what happened, causing an angry Rosalie barging into Stella’s room.

“She’s resting.” Carlisle warned her

“And she’s acting reckless!” Rosalie argued. Rosalie and Stella had formed an unbreakable friendship as a result of her being the lady who helped her with her vengeance years ago.

“You think I haven’t acknowledged that?” Carlisle asked calmly. Rosalie, on the other hand, noticed that he was just as frightened as she was, if not more so.

“What happened?” Rosalie asked, calmer than how she was earlier

“She must have used herself as bait to allow Edward to save Bella.” Carlisle guessed

“Emmett told me—

“She forced me to attend to Bella’s aid first.” Carlisle continued “She begged me to.”

“Why did you listen to her?” Rosalie hissed angrily

“Vampire blood reacts differently with witch's blood. It wouldn't turn her into a vampire since the venom in a witch’s blood is stronger than a vampire’s venom. Vampire venom just makes her weak, but she's our strong witch, and we'll have her back in no time.” Carlisle said. Rosalie could see that he wasn't saying it to console her, but rather to persuade himself

“We’ll have her back.” Rosalie agreed, before sitting in silence with him

“Can I ask a question?” Rosalie asked after few minutes of silence

“I’m listening.” Carlisle answered

“Did she— did she suffer the same way that I did before you turned me?” Rosalie asked quietly

Carlisle kept quiet; he did not know how to respond, Rosalie’s death before being a vampire was a sensitive topic. Carlisle’s silence itself was an answer for Rosalie.

“Why— why did you let her?” Rosalie asked, a betrayed look on her face “I thought James wanted Bella, what changed?”

“James also wanted Bella at first.” Carlisle answered, vividly remembering how violated Stella looked after James has taken his time in feasting her

“Had a change of plans. Stella instructed Edward through mind that whatever happens, to not leave Bella because she was much more fragile than she was.” He continued as Rosalie covered her mouth in shock and disgust from what James did “Thought he would be able to be the first one to taste a witch’s blood and live to tell the tale.”

“Stella’s kind were considered myths among vampires, no one has lived to tell the tale of what a witch tastes like.” Carlisle said, opening another story to Rosalie

“Or the tale of being a witch’s mate, all witches have denied a vampire. Stella said that she’d denied multiple before being with me.” He continued

“What happens when a witch denies a vampire?” Rosalie asked

“It’s like a ritual, fully offering yourself to a witch.” Carlisle explained “When a witch denies a vampire, their magic takes all of the vampire. An exchange, as what she’ll say.”

“Has anyone ever lived to know what happens if a witch does accept the offering?” She asked quietly

“No one knows, all the vampires that we’re courageous enough to pursue a witch were all denied.” He answered

“No one except you.” Rosalie corrected “You’ll live to know because she’s your blood singer. And you know she’ll accept you if you ever ask.”

“How’d you know?” Carlisle asked quietly

“No one needed telepathy to know that you two were mates.” Rosalie answered cooly

“Rosie, you know what a witch’s blood could do to us.” Carlisle said back quietly

“You said that the third one was up to the witch.” Rosalie immediately argued “How sure are you that Stella would not accept your offering?”

“How sure are you that I would be able to offer?” Carlisle asked her “Anyone who knows how to offer could offer to be her mate, especially the Volturi.”

“But she has to accept the offering.” She argued, acting as if she knew everything about what it means to being a witch

“She will accept yours wholeheartedly, Carlisle. You two didn’t spend 300 years for nothing.” Rosalie added

‘She made a great point’ Carlisle thought to himself. Stella could decline anyone’s offer to be their mate and it would be like nothing for her too.

So, what difference did he have from the others for Rosalie to think that Stella will wholeheartedly accept him?

~~

It was Bella’s birthday. Everyone was indulging Alice into throwing a party for her. It made Stella giggle that even Bella wasn’t into the idea of it.

“Do we have to join?” Rosalie asked as she was getting ready

“Oh hush,” Stella scolded lightly “It’s just a day. And I promised to get you that new car that you’ve been eyeing.”

“She doesn’t want this just as much as I do.” Rosalie whined quietly, looking at herself at mirror in Stella and Carlisle’s room.

Why do they have such a wonderful room when only one of them needed to sleep? Rosalie questions

“You ready girls?” Carlisle asked, knocking softly and opening the door

“Yeah, about to go out now.” Rosalie answered “And for the love of god, please get Stella to dress you up.”

“I know, I know.” Carlisle said, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat as Rosalie leaves the room

“She doesn’t want to join the party, does she?” Carlisle asked, getting ready as Stella stays in the room to accompany him

“She’ll warm up.” Stella said with a soft smile “She just needs time.”

“Do I look good?” Carlisle asked, facing Stella

“You always do, don’t listen to the kids.” Stella answered earnestly

‘You’re the most divine being that has graced this world.’ She wanted to say. She knew that Carlisle was scared of even thinking that they were mates in fear that she would deny him if he ever offered.

Not once has she thought of denying his offer.

The party looked wonderful, Rosalie gifted Bella a necklace (though it was actually Alice, she just wanted her sister to look good to Bella), Emmett gifted her a sound system for her truck. While Stella and Carlisle gifted her plane tickets, teasing that she’s turned a bit paler.

All hell broke loose when Bella opened the (unofficial) couple’s gift, having gotten a papercut, which triggered Jasper. Edward pushed Bella to the wall, causing her to get a deeper wound and trigger Jasper some more

Watching all of this, Stella broke one of the vases near her and wounded herself on her palm, causing the room to calm down because of her blood.

“Take Jasper out,” Carlisle ordered to Emmett, soon everyone followed the two

“Stay,” Carlisle asked to Stella who was following behind Edward “Let me just wrap up Bella.”

“I’ll be just fine,” Stella comforted “The kids need me outside.”

Stella didn’t hear what Carlisle said next, having walked outside to where the others were.

“You’ll have to patch that up.” Edward quietly pointed out as Rosalie rips off the edge of her dress as a makeshift bandage, passing the cloth to Edward for him to do the wrapping

“I’ll be fine.” Stella comforted them “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t see this in my vision,” Alice said with a frown, she was beating herself up because she hadn’t look long enough to see that something like that would happen

“Don’t do this Alice,” Rosalie comforted “You’re not to blame here.”

“I-I think I can handle now.” Jasper stuttered out, getting Emmett to slowly remove his hand off Jasper

“Let’s go hunt, I think you need it.” Emmett invited, pulling Jasper with him. Alice followed slowly behind while Stella, Edward, and Rosalie stayed by the house

“What now?” Rosalie asked “I told you—

“No one expected this. Do not even think of blaming Bella.” Edward answered almost immediately, the tension was increasing between the two, with Rosalie’s resentment of Bella and Edward being overly protective of her clashing

“Rosie,” Stella called “Go join the others, I’ll go check on them.”

Rosalie begrudgingly stood up and went to catch up where the others are. Stella went inside the house and to Carlisle’s office.

Bella was clutching Carlisle’s shirt by his waist. The sight itself made Stella’s blood boil in jealousy. She stayed just outside the room, her bandaged hand balled up in a fist as she listens to the two of them

“Carlisle, you couldn’t be damned.” Bella argued to Carlisle “You couldn’t. It’s impossible.”

“Thank you, Bella.” Carlisle answered, Stella hated how such a simple interaction Carlisle had with Bella had such a big effect on her “You’ve always been very…gracious about us.”

‘Of course, she would be, you’re stitching her up right now’ Stella thought to herself. She was tuning Bella and Carlisle out, listening more to her thoughts. She saw how Carlisle softly pinched Bella’s chin.

That was her last straw. She wanted to blast Bella’s head then and there. Stella knew that Bella’s loyalty was with Edward, yet her jealousy was blinding her from thinking straight. She had to leave.

Stella walked out the house, but not before grabbing another vase and throwing it to the floor but this time with frustration. Stella knew Carlisle heard that, anyone near the house would have, but she couldn’t be damned. Her jealousy was blinding her thoughts, she knows that her squeezing her hand was forcing more blood to come out, but she couldn’t care less.

“Stella! How dare you think of that?!” Edward yelled. Stella knew she was fucked, her jealousy was overwhelming his thoughts, and it consisted of her antagonizing Bella too

“How dare you yell at her like that?!” Rosalie yelled, rushing to be in front of Stella in a protective sense. Emmett, Alice, and Jasper were behind, confused with the sudden outburst between the two

“Go on,” Edward taunted, an amused yet demented smile on his face “Tell her what you were filling your thoughts with. Tell them.”

“Rosie,” Stella hushed quietly “Drop it. Edward has every right to get mad at me.”

“Doesn’t mean he could yell at you like that.” Rosalie said back, glaring at Edward “Frankly, it’s his fault for continuing to listen to your thoughts.”

“Drop it.” Stella repeated, Rosalie let out a huff before going to be next to Emmett, not before glaring at Edward

“Just—

“Your jealousy is too overwhelming. What happened?” Jasper asked, hinting what has gotten Edward so riled up. Stella had forgotten that Jasper could feel emotions, now she was deeply fucked

“J-just drop it. Edward has every right to get mad at me.” Stella assured to everyone, sending an apologetic look to Edward

“Stella?” Carlisle called from inside the house, Bella behind him like a lost child “Come, let me check that out. Edward, she’s all patched up, take her home.”

“I’m fine.” Stella answered, not having the confidence to face Carlisle. He knew.

Of course, he knew.

“Please.” Carlisle pleaded, walking out to where she was. Edward grabbed Bella and left without bidding a goodbye to anyone, he was furious.

“Edward and Rosie did good with patching me up. I’ll be fine.” Stella denied again, her heart pounding heavily

“Let me just check, please?” Carlisle asked again, softly holding her bandaged hand with such gentleness that Stella felt worse than how she did earlier

Stella didn’t answer with words. And Carlisle took that as an answer, pulling her to his office with such care that she was getting more guilty with every step.

“What happened?” Carlisle asked, unwrapping the bandage on her hand

“You heard it.” Stella murmured quietly, not having the guts to look at Carlisle in the eyes

“I know.” He answered, softly grabbing Stella’s face for her to face him “I want to hear it from you.”

“Why?” She asked him, watching as he prepares what he needs to patch her up

“I’ve been with you for 300 years; you’ve welcomed them all with open arms. Not once have the kids, especially Edward, been that angry towards you.” Carlisle answered in a matter-of-fact tone “Annoyed? Probably. But never that angry. Add the part that your blood is out in the open as he was mad at you. It meant that he was furious.”

“Never mind that.” Stella answered quietly “Edward has every right to be mad at me.”

“I would like to hear what happened from you.” He said, his tone was gentle yet firm

“I was just infuriated.” She lied. Carlisle grabbed her chin, softly making her face him

“With what?” Carlisle asked “With how close Bella was to me earlier?”

Stella didn’t say a word in response. He had caught her, and she did not want to deal with whatever he will say next.

Carlisle let out a chuckle, shaking his head and finding the situation amusing. Stella was jealous of her son’s mate because of how close Bella had been to him.

“You have nothing to worry about, mi amor.” Carlisle whispered lowly, moving his face closer to hers “Bella is with Edward. Just as I’m yours.”

Carlisle didn’t let her say another word, but instead left a soft kiss on her forehead, before burning the makeshift bandage and cottons.

“You know,” Carlisle said, a teasing smile on his face “You’ll have to pay for the vase that you broke.”

“Fuck off.” Stella said, hiding the smile forming on her face “You don’t get the kids to pay when they break anything.”

“Well, they are our kids.” Carlisle replied, the same teasing smile from earlier.

“But you, my dear wife, still needs to pay for the damages. No matter how tempting it is to give you a pass.” He continued, pinching her chin lightly

Stella figured out what Carlisle was doing. He was trying to calm her down with little jokes. There was a glint of happiness in Carlisle’s eyes, it was working good on her. His efforts made her blush, all anger she had from earlier disappearing into thin air.

“Damn, don’t they say ‘happy wife, happy life’ anymore?” She teased him back, a smile on her face

Carlisle was happy that his little jokes was working on her like a charm. He didn’t understand what had gotten her so riled up with him patching Bella up earlier. But all he cared now was that she was smiling and giggling again

Happy wife, happy life indeed.

[goingravager]

okay i am going feral over this. it's 2023 and no one was going to point out to me that the title doesn't translate to Revolutionary Girl Utena wtf

like. i legitimately never noticed. idk how obvious it is if you're a native Japanese speaker, or if it's actually acceptable grammar to put the adjective after the noun and this is just an alternate way to say Revolutionary Girl, but... growing up with so many "Magical Girl X" shows, "Revolutionary Girl Utena" sounded so normal to me that I never looked at the Japanese.

and like, the French subtitle that they throw in there is la fillette révolutionnaire, which does translate to Revolutionary Girl

but, thinking about it, if it really is that, shouldn't it be "Kakumei Shoujo", not "Shoujo Kakumei"...??

so the reason this has me feral: if it's true, it's yet one more bait-and-switch they threw in there, right up front, and it was in plain sight all this time. caution: heavy spoilers for the plot of the show follow.

so like. it's my opinion that the OP, both song and video, of Utena are an extremely clever bait-and-switch. in that they make one kind of sense going into episode 1, and they make a completely different kind of sense once you've finished the show.

like. when you first watched Utena, and you saw the intro, wasn't it basically exactly what you thought the show was going to be like? two girls having a meet cute, there's duelling, fairy tale elements, Utena is badass, and oh no she's going to have to struggle to hold onto Anthy metaphorically because of the Rose Bride thing, which could tear them apart at any time!

it's delicious, it's dramatic, and it's... not what the show ends up being.

but then you watch episode 39 and you realise. the intro is a complete description of the entirety of the show. two girls meet, they have some cute romantic moments early on, there are duels. Utena fights everyone. the castle collapses. they storm the heavens, Utena on her princely white horse of innocence and ignorance, Anthy on her dark horse of... being the dark horse of the plot, lol. Utena cannot be the one to save Anthy, she both metaphorically and physically cannot lift her out of her burdens, and Utena is left alone, curled up on the ground beneath the self-imposed weight of her defeat.

meanwhile, the song. the song!! going into the show cold, "rinbu revolution" seems like a pretty standard song for someone like Utena. but it's not Utena's song at all. it's Anthy's.

Even if I dream, even if I cry, even if I get hurt... ...reality keeps on coming recklessly. I wanna find out where I am, the value of being me. Gonna take who I've been up till now and find the strength to throw it all away. Strip down to nothing at all. Become like a rose petal blowing free! Even if the two of us are ever torn apart l swear that I will change the world.

who, in the plot, finally accepts the reality of her situation? who starts out lacking self-worth and struggles to eventually carve out, with her own hands, the place where she belongs? who heroically finds the strength to throw it all away, stripping herself of her prior role?

not Utena, who up until the very last clings to her "princely" ideals, into which she has placed all her worth and sense of self. in the last episode it's made clear that she hasn't changed the world one bit, nor brought revolution, as the world quite literally forgets her and goes on without her exactly as it was.

except for Anthy. Anthy remembers Utena, the only one who does, even though they are torn apart. she frees herself, changes her own reality by escaping the cycle of abuse to which she had become conditioned. Utena undoubtedly gave her strength and inspiration, but she could not lift Anthy out of her suffering, and believing she could (and had to) was her downfall.

let go of me, Anthy says, as their hands part, to an Utena who firmly believes that she can only make a difference by playing the hero. i'll go my way. the revolution is hers, not Utena's.

which is why, if the title is purposely misleading, it's so damn brilliant. we start out thinking, "of course! Utena is a revolutionary girl! She wears the boy's uniform* and duels, and she'll surely bring the revolution and save Anthy!" but what occurs is simply a "girl revolution", a Shoujo Kakumei, that is completed by Anthy herself.

*(no she doesn't, it's actually a unique uniform design. neither this nor that but a third thing.)

but maybe we can go deeper.

we know that Utena means calyx, while Anthy means flower. a calyx is the tough, protective outer layer of a flower bud, matching Utena's role in relation to Anthy. once a flower blooms fully, the calyx is no longer needed to protect it, and retracts or withers. i'm not a native Japanese speaker, but from what I have studied, it would seem that "Shoujo Kakumei Utena" could be read as "girl-revolution protector". not the one who brings the revolution, but the one who protects/shields the revolution-bringer, who nurtures Anthy while she is vulnerable. then Utena, the calyx, crumples, and Anthy blossoms in her own time.

and i think that's beautiful.

[midnightechoes]

Okay, so My Adventures With Superman was everything I hoped it would be and more! Clark is a fun, charming, earnest himbo. Lois is a driven, confident reporter with a knack for finding a story and not really thinking of the trouble it'll get her into. And Jimmie is an eager conspiracy theorist who's ready to uncover the truth with his friends.

I honestly love this version of the main trio. They're funny, energetic, and lively and they go together well. And most of the background characters are fun so far. Perry is fantastic as their perpetually tired and fed up with their bs boss. This Ma Kent is FANTASTIC. And this version of Livewire is an interesting (and hot) take on the character.

And I love how immediately into each other Lois and Clark are. Their obvious crushes on each other is refreshing and done really well, leading to a lot of cute moments just in the first two episodes.

So okay, when I watched this, my first thought, after just "holy shit this is great!" was that WOW, for a completely straight show, it just kind of feels gay. Like, it has a very queer vibe to it. Somehow, despite Lois and Clark being a het relationship it kind of feels sapphic as hell in the way it's done. And I'm sorry, but this version of Livewire was designed for lesbians:

So I looked at the credits, and yep, it made sense.

The show was developed by Jake Wyatt, who worked in the animation department for the Duck Tales reboot and Steven Universe. Josie Campbell is the co-producer, who was a writer and story editor on She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. The first episode was directed by Jen Bennett, who directed 17 SPOP episodes, including Princess Prom, Promise, and Save the Cat. And the second episode was directed by Diana Huh, who was a co-director and storyboard artist on SPOP, and a storyboard artist on the Duck Tales Reboot, Infinity Train, and DC Superhero Girls.

My point is that there are a number of SPOP alum working on this show and it shows because somehow, someway, this silly little (so far) completely het show about one of the oldest superheroes and America's boy scout, feels fresh and gay as hell.

And who knows, maybe there'll actually be some queer content down the line. I mean, Kara is supposed to show up at some point. 😏 A girl can dream, can't she?*

My Adventures With Superman feel fun, fresh, and very anime-inspired and I 100% recommend checking it out. It airs on Adult Swim and HBO Max, and the first episode is free to watch on Adult Swim's Youtube page.

Also, I want you all to know that I worked really hard to make this a decently coherent post and not just a lot of squealing about how great this show is and how adorable fucking Clark and Lois are.

*For real, if, against all odds, this show was somehow the show that pulled off Supercorp, I would LOSE. MY. MIND. I know, there is a 0.0002% chance of that happening, but again, a girl can DrEaM!

[lavender-rosa]

Kny Characters + What stories would they write?

Ok last one for now I just had a lot of ideas

(Also kind of a modern au)

This is also really long, it contains the majority of the characters

Tanjirou: Pens a very lovely and whimsical tale about a boy who goes exploring in a sunny wood and comes across various talking animals who often say funny, charming and sometimes deeply profound things about the nature of the world. Think Le Petít Prince meets Winnie the Pooh. Half of the people who read the story thought that it was a delightful read while the other half thought it needed more conflict (lameasses)

Nezuko: When she was a human she was too busy taking care of her younger siblings and doing laundry to write down her little tween girl self-insert fantasies of joining Robin Hood's band of merry men and becoming the new leader who steals Robin Hood's heart <3 and other similar characters who fight sexily against injustice.

Zenitsu: Writes cringy self-insert fanfic both in modern au and in the taishou era. He writes selfcest fanfic (but don't you get it? It's actually a metaphor about the duality of the self, and he's working out his inner demons UGH don't make fun of him!!!!!) and is that guy who writes really dark, fucked up fanfic about cartoons (he has watched a lot of anime). He's really into theaters, plays, operas, musicals you name it. He went through a big Tennessee Williams phase and tried to write exactly like him to.....middling success. He tried to write a musical once only to realize one song in, that an advanced sense of hearing and proficiency in multiple musical instruments doesn't actually equate to having any compositional talent. He'll stick to critiquing and leave the creative writing to people with more style and imagination.

Inosuke: He narrates a story about a boy who escapes an opressive society and goes to start an anarchist commune in the woods with other refugees. The fact that there are no rules and everyone does what they want is epic and he doesn't miss his old life at all even a little bit and then they all live happily ever after, the end. Shinobu claims that while his narration style is direct and incisive, the story ultimately lacks nuance.

Genya: He had a really big crush on Mulan and Li Shang when he was a kid and when he saw the garbage straight to DVD sequel it dissapointed him so badly he vowed to rewrite it so that it was good now, actually. He got three pages in before it occured to him that this was a waste of his time because no one but him would ever actually read it, and he abandoned it. Little did he know that little Nezuko would have loved to read it, but he didn't know Nezuko yet. Alas.

Kanao: She writes a series of diary entries from the perspective of a teenage girl. At first she's just talking about stereotypical teenage girl stuff, like the boy she likes and the mean thing her friend said at the mall, but then at some point the narrator realises that she's in a story, and her diary entries get introspective and frantic and meta as she is ultimately crushed under the weight of her own narrative. Her teacher deems it "brilliant" and suggests submitting it to literary magazines for publication to which Kanao replies "no thanks Λ_Λ 🫧"

Aoi: She once wrote a story inspired by "Over the Garden Wall" about two characters who are clearly her and Kanao navigating a sinister, mysterious forest together. It really helped her work through some stuff.

Senjurou: He makes an artbook of his crafts, paintings and photography. It has a very special place on Rengoku's shelf.

Rest of characters under read more

Shinobu: She writes a story about a lesbian pirate who has an affair with a bisexual tavernkeeper who is cheating on her shitty husband right under his nose. One day the husband finds out and gets violent so they kill him and serve chunks of his flesh to stray alley cats. Her friends and family really enjoy the story but others don't understand "why everything Shinobu writes needs to have such an agenda"

Sanemi: He pens a tragic fairytale about an empress who loses all of her children to various causes and ultimately kills herself. The style is very poetic and beautiful but the story is so unbelievably sad that anyone who reads it is prompted to ask "what was the point of this" and "if you need help i have a pretty good therapist i can recommend"

Giyuu: He once wrote a novella about a miserable, traumatised young man who causes problems for himself for no reason. Shinobu reads it and says "Wow Giyuu, this is an amazing piece of satire I never knew you had such a great sense of humour!" And Giyuu is just like "it wasn't meant to be comedic" and Shinobu's like "Oh......." Many years down the line Sanemi reads it too and argues that the protagonist needs to be punished more by the narrative and Giyuu responds "thanks...I'll keep that in mind....."

Gyomei: While not a man of many words, the novel he has been dictating reveals a very beautiful, sensitive, poetic soul and may move you to tears.

Muichirou: Doesn't read books and now you want him to write one???

Uzui: He wrote touching and hilarious letters to his wives whenever they were apart, which they keep stored in a small wooden chest and pull out to read whenever they are feeling wistful. Besides that he has no desire to write anything. The most he ever writes is when he is writing letters to other Pillars, which always say the same thing "Hey come over here so I can talk to you in person. Fuck you. Tengen"

Mitsuri: In the Kimetsu Gakuen comic series she along with Shinobu brainstormed a manga called "Sishinta and Friends" where all the characters are pieces of sushi and the romantic rival is a piece of shrimp called Ebi that looks like Rengoku and gets into conflict with a fried piece of salmon called Yakishake that looks like Akaza, who wants Ebi to get fried because if he doesn't he will spoil and die, but Ebi argues that getting spoiled quickly defines sushi and that he would never become fried and thus the two engage in a vicious crustacean vs aquatic vertebrate battle. Not kidding, it's chapter 11

Iguro: He writes a story from the perspective of an electron that doesn't know that it's entangled but can sometimes still feel that it is connected to something across the universe when it spins. It is a brilliant poignant story about starcrossed love and the significance of relationality across the cosmos that almost none of his peers understand "because it all sounds too sciencey"

Rengoku: Had a diary detailing his childhood, his mother and her passing, his father's descent into alcoholism, his little brother, his training exercises, his missions and his unsuccessful attempts at making his father proud. As the years passed the diary entries became shorter and shorter until one day they completely stopped...

Kagaya: Writes a dark comedy about a horrible, pathetic man who makes everyone around him miserable including himself because he refuses to adjust his insane principles even when presented with tangible evidence that contradicts his beliefs, at one point he commits multiple murders and gets away with them until the end of the story where he is killed by his own myopic greed. Muzan claims that the hero of the story "is greatly sympathetic" and that "he deserved a better fate" Kagaya is just like "yeah...I kinda knew you would say that... :)"

Tamayo: She pens a lot of theory that is highly abstract, very dense, overly cerebral, sprawling and bordeline illegible. Her works are sort of like if Feynman and Derrida had a baby and also that baby was in highly need of an editor that could whittle down every four pages into one sentence. She writes theory on every scientific field imaginable, including fields she all but invented. People who can actually figure out what the hell she is saying insist that she is a genius and that her ideas changed their life, but most people don't even bother or just pretend to have read her stuff.

Yushiro: He writes academic criticism/theory/research, which is ever so slightly more lucid and succinct than Tamayo's.

Kyogai: Writes a story about ghosts throughout time occupying a single house together, haunting each other, ever temporarily overlapping in a cacophony of grief. While coherent it is very dense, and most of his publishers don't bother actually unpacking it, so they mostly just complain about the non-linear timeline being "too confusing" (lameasses)Tanjirou loves it though.

Rui: When he was still a human he had diary entries, which served as a treasured outlet through to vent his supressed and overwhelming feelings regarding his illness. He didn't write every day, and sometimes his entries were longer than others. In the weeks between him meeting Muzan and him murdering his parents, Rui's diary entries took a turn for the messy, rambling, dramatic and graphic. His diaries were well-hid under a rug in his room and thus never found.

Muzan: He writes about an ubermensch who is able to valiantly resist the liberal indoctrination of the pathetic sjws who are triggered by his inner strength and sharp intelligence. It reads almost identically to Kagaya's story (except with a vastly different prose style), but unlike Kagaya, it is completely sincere and not remotely a satire. Unfortunate.

Kaigaku: Writes a story about a "really cool" alpha male whose girlfriend unfairly dumps him after their wannabe sigma male acquaintance who was jealous of him because he loved his girlfriend gets him cancelled on Twitter for saying a slur 10 years ago. But it turns out said guy who steals his girlfriend is actually a terrible person who treats women like shit despite posturing as a feminist for clout. Zenitsu reads it and is like "wow, this could actually be a very well thought out critique on performative allyship and how any kind of man can be equally abusive to the women in their lives....if not for the fact that THE SIGMA MALE IN THIS STORY IS CLEARLY A STAND IN FOR ME ???????"

Daki: She def has a "went through a phase of writing hardcore slash fic" vibes, I can't explain it but she does. She's also incredible at writing roasts. She gives a speech at every birthday party she has been invited to and it fucking kills.

Gyutaro: The first and only time he ever attempted constructing his own story was when he was very young, where he devised a truly gruesome story about woodland creatures that accidentally made Ume cry. Whoops!

Gyokko: He wrote the japanese equivalent of Donatien Alphonse Francois Marquis de Sade's "120 Days of Sodom" the book that inspired the well-known 1975 film Saló (on a sidenote: I have read the book and it's much worse than the movie, just read the wiki summary to get the idea) Anyways if you are familiar with the book or the film you should know that whatever the hell Gyokko wrote is not suitable for human or demon consumption alike.

Hantengu: Spent a couple decades or so publishing a series of action-adventure-erotica novels under a pseydonym. Once you've been around for long enough, you just start doing shit.

Akaza: When he was young he wrote about a brave and valiant samurai who goes off to slay an oni and bring it's head back as a trophy for the shogun, only to learn that the oni was really just minding her own business, leading him to question everything he thought he knew about the Japanese feudal government, and ultimately beheading the shogun instead. His teacher deemed it "intriguing, but slightly concerning" (Lame!!!) Also probably had a Magneto and a Robin Hood phase.

Douma: Publishes a book that is one part self-help, one part gloating memoir, one part spiritual guide, one part personality quiz and 100% barf. Hakuji cannot believe that Koyuki has read it cover to cover multiple times, as if it contains wisdom deserving to be gleaned even once. He'd burn it if he didn't know that Koyuki would just immediately go out and buy another copy, giving even more money to that bastardly scammer.

Kokushibou: He finds most novels insipid, poetry either boring at best or nauseating at worst, and fanfiction a hobby practiced only by the most simple minded buffoons so he doesn't think he's missing out. He once sent a letter to Douma but never received an answer from him, so when he asked him about it when they met face-to-face Douma simply told him that attempting to read through and trying to comprehend Kokushibou's highly antiquated and dense writing was sheer torture for him so he just gave up ❤ he advised him to modernize his writing, even just a tiny bit. Kokushibou could do that....but he refuses to ❤️

[chasing-ghosts-silhalei]

Background Face: "The Goddess Artemis" by Linda Lhermite Double Exposure Photography

Chasing Ghosts - AO3

This fic is a dark, gritty, tragic mystery with LOADS of fluff and humor to make it all better.

There are many layers to everything. When you think you know, you really don't. I love a long game.

[ Only viewable by registered users due to AI theft and hate bots ] [ If you'd like an AO3 membership code, please ask - I got you ]

🖤🤍💜🖤🤍💜

A life of freedom with her closest friends and the denizens of the wild on her side. What more could a girl want?

Not a damn thing, except to be left alone.

When Mithra pledged to go to the Conclave, she thought it would be a quick job and she could get on with her life. Unfortunately, this tattooed, beat-up, foul-mouthed, prickly Ranger finds herself trapped in a...challenging situation.

She'd be gone immediately if not for that hole in the sky. Until it's sealed, she must adapt and keep her secrets close. Of course, fate's twisted sense of humor would reveal them despite her best efforts.

Then there's those fucking fade rifts.

And why is love trying to sneak up on her? She doesn't have time for that shit... But-

[ This tale is a backstory & healing journey ]

[ Smut is separated into its own chapters + clearly indicated ]

[ Disturbing Content / Trigger Warnings are in the Chapter Summaries ]

🖤🤍💜🖤🤍💜

My Ranger concept is based on the DA:O Specialization. I've turned it into a magic-based power because "summoning." The existence of Mabari war hounds, Avexis, and that conversation with Morrigan about understanding animals for shapeshifting have inspired the finer details.

SO! Dalish Rogue 'Apostate' Inky x Solas and/or Cullen

[ Jealousy and pining ] [ Complicated Love triangle ] [ Enemies to Friends to Lovers ] [ Long Fic - Slow Burn / Romance ]

And there may or may not be a dog in the story.

Other pairings: Sera x Dagna Dorian x Bull

🖤🤍💜🖤🤍💜

Here's a Six-Song Soundtrack to give you the vibe.

Also a very bad drawing of Mithra

And a hilarious scene with Sera

Rated Explicit for violence, occasional gore, eventual sexual themes (separated from the meat of the story), and strong language.

Trigger Warnings, Notes, and [ the first three ] Chapter Summaries are below the cut.

This fic contains guts and mental illness Fair warning.

There's a second link at the bottom of this post.

🖤🤍💜🖤🤍💜

I love twists, making people laugh, and crushing souls.

There's tons of drama, fluff, heartache, broiling angst, fun, comfort, healing, pranks, cuddling, and heart-rending romance.

I honestly crack myself up and make myself bawl writing this.

Chapter 2 kills me, but 3 is one of my favorites. Shit gets really twisted in Chapter 10.

Mithra might be a little crazy. In a sadistic, stabby sort of way.

Okay, so she's a dumpster fire, but she has a heart of gold and would die for those she loves without hesitation.

More info can be viewed optionally in the fic's opening notes on AO3.

🖤🤍💜🖤🤍💜

Fic Trigger Warnings Include:

Past rape attempts, past rape threats, death threats ( past and present ), self-harm attempts, character death ( past and present ), past torture, past family loss.

Extremely graphic violence, graphic animal attacks ( C'mon - Ranger ), descriptions of injury, descriptions of gore, broken bones.

🖤🤍💜🖤🤍💜

Chapter Summaries (just 1-3):

Chapter 1 - The Lone Survivor

Dressed in a Valo-Kas uniform, Mithra assaults the Breach She's badly injured. People scramble to save her. A few things about her are discovered and discussed.

Chapter 2 - Awake

There's a lot on Cullen's mind Mithra wakes up Cullen fetches Cassandra [ Poor everyone ]

Chapter 3 - The Herald

Leliana escorts Mithra into the dungeons. She's so amused. Petty pouting ensues. Mithra meets someone while in time-out.

There's much more, but I don't want to list every chapter or spoil things.

Fic Link: Let's fuckin' GOOOOOOOOOO!!

[detectiveneve]

"you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch." for astarion/emrys? or whoever you feel inspired to write for it

prompts list. thank you! <3 this got away from me a bit. hereeeee's astarion bloodied up a bit, and paladin's lay on hands can be so personal. intimacy is stored in the healing spells and the snarky comments.

He likes this part the most. 

The slide–the click–the turn of a deadly mechanism. Hands steady, heart not pounding, dead in his chest, but he thinks it would be if it could. Astarion plies open the tiny compartment in the gargoyle's mouth, revealing the tiny ticks and turns of the incinerator within. Tools touch metal gears and teeth, twist, a slow... slow... turn. 

It's nothing to pick it apart; a twist, a flick of the wrist, job well done, rendering these deadly, stone beasts obsolete. 

Satisfied, he rolls back on his heels, stands, his knee-joints aching from the held crouch. 

That should be the last of them. There are two more incinerators a little further back, cracked open and unmade the same as this one. Alongside that, several pressure plates litter the temple's hallways, but he's marked them in his mind. 

The others tend to have enough collective sense to mind when he points them out. Tend to, being the operative word. Whether they explode or not, he'll smugly declare them all inept without him either way; wink and sly and, oh, she'll call him unbearable, and he likes it ever so much when she does.

Emrys comes into view first. She leans set against a wall, her head bowed low, red curls sweeping over her brow. Sunlight floods through the cracks in the ceiling, dappling her in shades of armored silver and fire and deep blue. Gale stands beside Emrys, leaning on his staff, and Shadowheart next, clenching and unclenching her aching god-wound. 

"Your temple awaits," he does a little bow and turn of the hand, tilts up his chin, waits patiently for his well deserved praise.

"Good." Emrys gruffs, straightening up. 

"Oh, not even a thank you? A little appreciation for how you’d be lost without me, perhaps?" 

Emrys gives the smallest, smallest shade of a smile, then turns away. 

Tch. Typical. Astarion steps back as she reasserts herself in the front, greatsword set on her shoulder. 

Gale says, "thank you kindly," and Astarion waves him off with an augh. Just not as fun. He thinks he hears Gale mutter something about no niceties for him anymore.

"Let's get a move on, yeah?" Emrys says. "Want to be out of here by sundown." 

"Worried about something?" says Astarion. He points out one of the pressure plates, and they all move to the side, stepping where he steps.

"Place feels wrong," she shrugs, "don’t want to spend the night here unless we must, is all." 

"I'd rather not linger either," Shadowheart pipes up from the back, looking around cautiously–as she tends to, so he doesn't feel much about it. "There's the stench of death all over this place."

"Yes, that's probably the death." He says, maybe a little snidely. "There's tombs at the end of this hallway. Might have valuables left behind. Worth a look at least..."

"No, we came to investigate. No dallying. No grave-robbing." Emrys returns, sidestepping another one of the plates. Ah, of course. The pitying little village girl they'd met on the road told them such sordid tales of disappearances in the night. Tadpoles, cultists, an unfortunate accumulation of greater enemies looming in the distance, and they stop to inspect strange sounds and, quote, "screaming in the night."

Lots of reasons for there to be screams in the dark, and not one of them could be less fun than this. He sighs dramatically again–far be it for him to not declare his general displeasure at any given opportunity–even as Emrys keeps her back to him, pointedly not taking to the bait. 

After another sigh, and still no reaction, he finally says: "Not even a little?" A little pouty and cloying maybe, but.

Emrys pauses. Grunts. Then gives him that particular headshake that says she won't interfere so long as it doesn't slow them down, and she doesn't see it happen. 

Excellent. For all her stubbornness, she really isn’t hard to wear down. A victor's grin spreads across his lips, and he waggles his eyebrows at Shadowheart. Shadowheart rolls her eyes and steps forward, ahead of him.

Pity. Well, he won't be sharing the spoils with her then.

"This architecture is fascinating, you know..." Gale babbles in the background, pointing out the unique nature of the struts or some such. Truth be told, Astarion isn’t really listening, and they make their way further in. 

The corpse-stench floods his nostrils as more and more tombs come into view. Tombs recently disturbed, it seems. 

Well, that could mean anything. Including undead, a very likely possibility, or worse, someone’s already raided this place for its valuables; also a very likely possibility, and terrible for him. If he doesn’t get someone’s family jewels out of this little expedition, there really will have been no point to it.

Turning all of this over in his mind, he misses it. 

There's a soft hiss, and the floor dips under his left foot.

Shit.

"Stop," he barks out, and the others freeze instantly, their heads swiveling to him. 

He points at the triggered plate with one finger, not daring to do much more. What did this trigger? How did he miss it?

At once, juts in the wall open with a soft, mechanical clank; inside, pointed spears are aligned and ready to fly. 

In a second or less, several things happen at once: Gale steps in a blur of magic, there and gone across the room. Shadowheart darts for cover, a radiant shield thrown up as she does. Shit. Shit. He’s too far from cover himself. He dodges, slides, too exposed, and–

A shout, hers, "move!" and the soft shing! of metal, tipped and cutting, flies past him.

The full weight of Emrys’ hard human body slams into him, throwing them both to the ground. Stinging. Ringing ears. His teeth knock into her pauldrons. Her greaves dig into his leg. Scent of sweat and iron. Her forehead cracking on his. A clatter as she covers his head with her grated arm, hand curling into his hair, forcing him to the metal. She curls over him, and a shimmering ward covers them both.

The piercing darts bounce off her armor in rhythmic thumps, hard exhales with each blow. Cheek to cheek, he can hear the way her teeth grind as the last darts and spears fly free. Not all of the darts hit them, but one cuts a chunk out of his thigh, and he swallows a groan through his teeth. 

A heartbeat passes, thigh burning and with it–hot breath on his scalp, warm throb of blood pulsing under her skin, her neck as close to him as anything now. 

They wait for another wave of projectiles to fly loose. One second. Two. 

No new darts, or flying spears. Not even a minor wave of fire. Emrys pulls away, just enough to meet his eyes. 

There’s a cut on her cheek, small and red and vibrant as paint. She murmurs, soft and low: "Are you alright?" 

"I’ll live," he grunts, hardly able to breathe and speak beneath her, "but you are crushing me."

"Ah. Sorry."

She comes off near completely, setting herself up on one propped foot. Her hand rests heavy on his shoulder, her downed knee between his own two, everything about her still coiled, tense and ready to dive again if something goes wrong. His chest twists a little, an ugly churn of something. 

Resentment. That’s what it is. He would’ve been fine without her interfering.

Emrys says, "you’re bleeding," and whatever the soft of her was, it’s gone again, returned to a hardened frown. Good. 

"Tch." Blood rivulets from his thigh, blending seamless with the black of his trousers, dull-red on the stone beneath. The throb pulses under his skin, through the blood; but he’s endured much, much worse. Still… "So much for your brave sacrifice." 

He goes for the snide blow, and winces for it. She had tried.

But she’s unfazed as always. "I’ll let you get skewered next time then."

"Oh, please do. At least I’ll never have to run errands for whimpering villagers ever again–ah–" 

She takes his thigh in hand, untender with her grip. Fresh burst of burning.

He locks his hand around her wrist, instinct to pull her away right before he restrains himself. There’s a flash, a tinge, a moment like this over and over again, but from one second to the next it's gone.

She freezes, confusion clear across her face. "Do you want me to heal you or not?"

"Gentler, perhaps?" He hisses. Her grasp is clumsy in its armor, and Emrys’ expression flinches. Sympathetic? Or merely irritated? He can never tell. But she considers something, and takes off her gauntlet. It hits the ground with a soft clank. 

Sweat rings around the divots of her fingers, he notes. Her palm is flushed and ruddy and meaty, heavy on the wrist. But she’s gentler, like he asked, and slower too as she bears her grasp on him again. The slightest touch of her thumb ghosts across his unmarred flesh as she turns his thigh over. Her four other fingers, he can feel through the cloth. The weight of them, so certain and untrembling. 

"It’s deep, but not too bad. Lucky it’s on the outside. Missed everything important."

"Ugh, yes. To bleed out in this wretched place would be a horror." He hisses through his teeth, looking at the split in his skin chunked and wretched. "But objectively hilarious."

"Here," she ignores his whine, her hand taking on a soft blue light as she presses it to his thigh. His blood slickens on her palm. The soothing flow of healing magic slides into his veins, warms him down to the bone like morning sunlight. 

This is, he hates to know, a kindness. He didn’t even need to ask. 

Close like this, he can see how sweat makes her curls stick to her forehead. Each individual freckle that spreads across her crooked nose. 

And more than that, he can watch how the cut on her cheek seeps slow like tree sap; it’s a steady streak of red now, curling sweetly under her jaw. And the smell. His throat itches. Sweet. Sweeter-scented than the rot of death and decay and smell of his own blood coating the floor.  

He reaches out with a mindless sort of impulse. In an instant, her free hand wraps tightly around his own. Halting, but not pulling away. 

"Just trying to be helpful?" He tries, blinking innocently.

"Aye. How kind."

"Aren’t I just? You can call it your good influence on me." 

"That would only insult us both." 

"Hm," he swallows the laugh, keeps eye contact, pointed. 

She doesn’t throw his hand aside–noted–and he continues on. His fingers caress to the curve of her ear, a lover’s touch in another scene, but here it’s all the proximity he needs to swipe the trail of blood away with his thumb. Her own grasp on his leg clenches, the blue light dimming out as her spell fades.

He tests the waters, jerking his wrist a little, and she lets him go; watching intently, but not stopping him. And how good that is for him. He never believed in waste; at least, not waste like this.

A pause. A breath. 

He slides his tongue across the red of his thumb, keeping her gaze all the while. She’s robust, like spiced wine, warm in his mouth. Not so satisfying as a drag down his throat, but a thrill all the same. 

He almost thanks her, but it sticks up on his teeth before he can get the words out, so he grins instead, wriggles his eyebrows, just to see what she’ll do. 

Emrys makes a quiet eugh sound, mottles to the cheeks, her face crushing into annoyance so severe he backs out a laugh. But just as he thought, she still stands and offers him that same, bloodied, bare hand to help him up. Gallant to the end, a fact that makes her endlessly easy to con.

He lets her yank him to his feet, muscles fluid and gliding, seamless again with her magic shuddering through him still. 

"Good?" She says, leaving herself open to the blow. 

"Oh, you’re always delectable, darling." 

And she doesn’t rise to that. Spoilsport.