#if this stirs something up inside you or you become wildly offended then put the shoe on Cinderella because it fits

[scooobies]

The ACOTAR fanbase is insanely vocal until you bring up whitewashing and the defense of racist behavior and suddenly it gets real quiet. Bet you it's the same people who turn a blind eye to the tswift kind of feminism who are still buying Starbucks but y'all ain't ready for that conversation are you.

[asweetprologue]

my burden to bear

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Piggyback Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets hurt during a hunt and Geralt has to carry him back to town. Jaskier has mixed feelings about this. ao3

“You’re hurt,” Geralt said. Jaskier groaned from his position on the ground, more at Geralt’s tone than any amount of pain.

“I think I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. When they’d come to the woods, they’d been working under the assumption that the creature plaguing the nearby village was nothing more than an overactive godling or maybe a hag. Neither of them had been expecting a leshen, and no amount of staying back from the fight did any good when your opponent could sense your location through the ground. While Geralt was valiantly slaying the beast, Jaskier had been darting away from roots shooting up from the ground and attempting to impale him. They’d not succeeded, but they had managed to send him sprawling as he tripped over an exposed root. He’d feared he was done for when suddenly the writhing plant life had collapsed. Though he was pleased to be still in one piece, his ankle throbbed traitorously where the root had tugged his feet out from under him. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes suspiciously and offered him a hand up. 

Jaskier took it and allowed himself to be pulled to standing, only to stumble as soon as he put weight on his left leg. Geralt caught him as his knees buckled, one hand snapping out to grab him by the elbow. Jaskier’s face lit up, heat spilling over his cheeks in an embarrassed flush. “Ah, shit,” he cursed. 

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, looking down at the offending appendage with a stormy expression. “No Roach.” 

“So true,” Jaskier said morosely. They’d left Geralt’s trusty steed behind for this venture, as the brush was generally too thick for her to navigate. The village was a good mile or two away. Jaskier’s ankle seemed to throb even more intensely at the thought of the walk. “Well, nothing for it I suppose. I’ll manage.” He tried to pull out of Geralt’s grasp, gingerly testing the weight on his ankle. It felt like being stabbed in the tendon with a razor, but he would be alright. He had plenty of experience limping along beside Geralt on the Path. This time it would just be a bit more literal. 

Geralt did not release him, much to Jaskier’s surprise. “You’ll make it worse,” he said, mouth tightening. Jaskier’s pulse, only just having begun to settle down now that the leshen was dead, began to rise again. Angry Geralt he was plenty used to, but angry-at-him Geralt was not something he enjoyed. They both knew that Jaskier was a liability at best on hunts, and he was well aware that he was only ever one misstep from being left behind, at least for the truly adventurous moments. He hadn’t realized it would be an actual misstep that did him in. 

“I can manage, Geralt, I swear,” he protested. “What else am I meant to do? Stay here forever? I’m sure I could make a nice home out of the leshen’s abandoned burrow. House. Whatever.”

“They don’t have those,” Geralt said dismissively. “I could get Roach.”

“Sure. So I can be eaten by the wolves that ran off when you killed the beastie. I’m sure they’ll be eager to finish the fight once the huge man with the swords fucks off. I’ll walk, it’ll be fine, I’ll -”

“I’ll carry you.”

Jaskier blinked, and then blinked again. He must have heard wrong. “Come again?”

Geralt glared at him, as if daring him to offer up a different solution. “I’ll carry you. It’s not that far of a walk, and I still have Thunderbolt in my system. It wouldn’t be hard.”

If Jaskier had thought he was flushed before, it was nothing compared to now. “Ah, well. Um. Are you certain? I suppose - I really can walk, truly -” He took a step backwards, away from the warm hand that still cupped his elbow, only to nearly drop to the ground when a bolt of pain shot up his ankle. Even his knee ached with it. Geralt caught him around the waist, hauling him upright again and, unfortunately, directly into the witcher’s space. Jaskier gasped at the contact more than the near tumble, though he hoped Geralt thought it was just the surprise. 

“I can see that,” Geralt said dryly, their nose barley inches apart. Jaskier swallowed. 

“I take your point. How, uh, how do you want to do this?”

Geralt released him, allowing Jaskier to take a deep, fortifying breath. Leaning all his weight on his good leg, he waited while Geralt turned around and knelt down on the mossy forest floor. Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Put your arms around my shoulders,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier ran a hand along his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “This is so infantilizing,” he grumbled, but he leaned over and pressed his chest to Geralt’s back, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. He was extraordinarily grateful for Geralt’s armor, separating him from the heat of his body. As it was, he still felt like he might spontaneously combust when Geralt’s large hands came up to grip under his thighs and raised him effortlessly into the air. 

Holy fuck. “Melitele,” he said, “do I weigh anything to you?”

“No,” Geralt said with an amused huff. He began to take sure steps through the clearing and back the way they’d come. Jaskier shifted to find a more comfortable position for his arms, and found that he could lift them away entirely without Geralt dropping him an inch. 

“I feel like a toddler,” he groused. 

“Next time watch your step,” Geralt grunted. 

They made their way through the forest slowly, Geralt carefully navigating the underbrush. Jaskier was aware that he was being more delicate with his footwork than he typically was, avoiding any areas that might throw him off balance or land Jaskier with a face full of branches. He was being nice, Jaskier realized, not even getting back at him for the fact that he had to carry Jaskier’s sorry ass through the woods. Always so chivalrous. 

That was Geralt though. Even when he was grumpy and upset and probably worn out from a fight, he was always going out of his way to be kind. He wasn’t always nice, Geralt, but he was almost always kind. It was a miracle, honestly, that he didn’t lose hold of his temper more often than he did. They would bicker, often, and fight, sometimes. But even when he was mad, Geralt was often still considerate, still worried about Jaskier’s safety and comfort. He was always taking absurdly underpaid jobs, even taking payment in a simple meal or a roof over his head sometimes, just because there were people in danger. This village, for example, had scraped together a tiny purse to offer a passing witcher, desperation writ on their faces. Seven people, including two children, had disappeared in the last season. It was a small village, only a little cluster of houses, and such a loss must have been felt deeply. Geralt had looked at the purse, a frown maring his features, and pushed it back into the alderman’s dirty hands. The job had ended up being even more dangerous than he’d assumed, but Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t take payment beyond maybe a warm loaf of bread and some hearty stew from the alderman’s wife. 

It was wildly unfair that the reputation of witchers remained so heavily tarnished. That Geralt’s reputation still suffered so. It was starting to mend - in the decade since Jaskier had begun traveling with him, the White Wolf ballads had become popular, enough so that many towns they passed through were already ready to throw their crowns and orens at his feet. But the further north they went, the closer to Blaviken, the less people were swayed by his songs. People didn’t always see what Jaskier saw. Not everyone felt the depth of affection swell in their breast at the sight of his silver hair and golden eyes, regardless of how many times Jaskier tried to put it to words. Maybe it wasn’t something he would ever be able to capture. This haunting, aching thing inside him that just loved and loved and loved Geralt of Rivia. 

He wished he could do more, more to alleviate Geralt’s pain and stress. And instead here he was, only putting more weight on his shoulders. Literally. Jaskier rested his forehead against the leather of Geralt’s armor with a sigh. That was the story of his life, though. Try to help, get in the way, get pushed aside. An infallible cycle. 

“Alright?” Geralt asked suddenly. Jaskier blinked back to himself, attempting to shake off the shroud of self pity that had settled over him. 

“Hmm?” he responded, lifting his head from Geralt’s shoulder. “Alright what?”

“I’m asking,” Geralt said. “You’re quiet. That only ever happens if you’re writing a song or you’re dying.” He paused. “It’s only your ankle?”

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, stirring the hairs at the base of Geralt’s neck. The silver strands were pulled back into a short pony, leaving the pale expanse of skin beneath exposed. Jaskier had to tamp down the swift and overpowering urge to tuck his nose into the spot just behind Geralt’s ear, to press his lips to the scar just above the line of his armor, where some monster must have gotten in a lucky hit. Forcing himself to focus, he said, “Just the ankle, I swear. I’m only thinking.”

“So it is a song,” Geralt said darkly. 

“A great ballad about how the White Wolf of Rivia once again saved a humble bard,” he agreed, eagerly latching onto the half lie. “You’ve made a bit of a habit of it.”

Geralt grunted, sounding unamused. Suddenly there was a burst of sunlight across Jaskier’s vision, warm on his face. They stepped out of the forest and onto the small dirt track that led to the village, which Jaskier could just barely see peeking out over the rise of the next hill over. The sky was a sprawling blue tapestry above them, not a cloud in sight. “I don’t like it,” Geralt said, stopping to scan the road briefly. 

Jaskier’s throat felt tight. “Saving me?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative and began walking again, towards the village. 

Jaskier let out a long breath, equal parts annoyed and hurt. “Well no one’s asking you to,” he snapped. “I know it’s, I don’t know, part of your job, but you don’t need to go out of your way.”

Geralt shook his head, nearly hitting Jaskier in the face with his short ponytail. “It’s not a fucking chore, Jaskier. I just don’t - I wish you didn’t need saving.”

“Well, you and me both,” Jaskier said. “I know you think I do it on purpose, but I don’t actually want to get in the way.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out. Truly annoyed now. “Nothing you do could keep me from doing my job.”

“Well obviously you always finish the fight, I wouldn’t imagine you’d just quit on my behalf -”

“I don’t like it,” Geralt interrupted, “because I don’t like this.” He moved one hand to Jaskier’s injured ankle, the touch feather light. Jaskier’s knees tightened automatically to hold himself in place, but it was barely necessary. Geralt was strong enough to hold him in one hand. It made Jaskier feel deeply fragile, but not necessarily in a bad way. More like something precious and delicate. Worthy of being preserved. It made his fingers tingle where they were latched together between Geralt’s collarbones, just at the base of his throat. 

“Oh,” he said, at a loss for words. “I didn’t know that it, um. Well - I’m really fine.”

“I know,” Geralt said, sounding tired and a little amused. “You always are, mostly. I still don’t like it.” He tapped a finger against the heel of Jaskier’s boot, still light, and then put his hand back to support Jaskier’s thigh. “Sometimes I forget that you’re not like witchers.”

Jaskier laughed outright at that. “I can’t imagine how you could lose track of that piece of information. I complain about my bad eyesight and sore feet daily, as you are certainly aware. I’m the same as any other human.”

“You’re really not,” Geralt said, so quiet that it almost seemed to be said to himself. Jaskier stilled at that, startled and somehow warmed by the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” he finally said. They were nearly to the outskirts of the village, where hopefully they would find a warm welcome with the alderman or another grateful peasant. They might be given a place to rest for the night, maybe a few, while Jaskier’s ankle healed. Maybe they would be asked to move along, and Geralt would let him ride on Roach for a few days, and in the evening he would give Jaskier the salve he used for bruises and pulled muscles. Maybe even rub it into his swollen foot himself.  “I’m sorry to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden, Jask,” Geralt said. Then he laughed, a dry rasp that Jaskier never tired of hearing. “Well, alright. Technically you are at the moment. But I don’t mind.” As they reached the first house, he gently set Jaskier on his feet, turning to offer support. Jaskier let him slip a broad arm around his back, Jaskier’s own stretched out across Geralt’s shoulder to grip at the rough leather there. After having Geralt’s face hidden from him on the walk back, the sudden confrontation with golden eyes and square jaw was enough to make Jaskier flustered. Their faces were close now, and it felt almost too intimate, too raw after being unable to see Geralt’s expression during the rest of their conversation. Geralt quirked a small smile at him, a fondness there that Jaskier felt echoed in his own chest. “I don’t like it when you get hurt, but I don’t mind saving you.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile back, even though his heart was racing and he knew his face was flushed from their proximity. “I suppose I’ll have to let you keep doing it then,” he said, only the tiniest bit breathless. 

“Good,” Geralt said, and together they took their first steps into the village. “But for the love of the gods, at least try not to get yourself into trouble.”

Jaskier laughed even as his ankle flared with renewed pain and he spotted a few villagers stepping out of their homes, concern plastered across their faces for the injured bard. So it would be hot stew, he thought giddily, and a warm place by the fire, and Geralt would still probably rub that salve into his ankle. He could be satisfied with that. “Geralt, my dearest, just try and stop me.”

[wave0fg00dvibes]

You’re my Home - Spencer Reid x Reader

Murders, betrayal, violence, and corpses. Or, in other words, a typical day at work for Dr. Spencer Reid.

He felt the overwhelming exhaustion of the day start to catch up to him as he climbed the concrete steps to the house. His messenger bag somehow seemed heavier than usual as his limbs began to give in to the stress the day had brought. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, making sure to lock it behind him and reset the alarm system.

The little house was silent. Not eerily so, but peacefully. Spencer closed his eyes, took a deep comforting breath, and smiled. He was home.

Home was the place where he didn’t have to worry about bodies dropping left and right. There was no one to pressure him to work harder or move faster. No profiling, combat, negotiation, or death. His only worries in this house involved toddler meltdowns and diaper changes, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Spencer walked past the living room to the hallway, noticing the many toys and books scattered about. Dirty dishes sat in the sink, and daily crafts were scattered across the kitchen table, long forgotten. He smiled to himself. He could only imagine what destruction your smart, chaotic, beautiful children had caused today.

He slowly made his way down the hall, arriving at the first door and quietly pushing it open. The princess night light cast a pink glow around the room, illuminating the face of his daughter, sleeping soundly.

She was turning 5 soon. Where had the time gone?

He seemingly blinked and Ava had transformed from a fussy baby into a tiny, wildly intelligent human that understood his racing thoughts. Though so very little, she was already discovering the wonders of books and knowledge, and striving to learn all she could get her hands on. He knew from the moment she was born they had a special bond. She is one of the only people who truly understands his mind, because she shares it.

He slowly crept into her room, sitting on her bed gently, as not to wake her. He attempted to subtly kiss her forehead, but she stirred and sleepily opened her eyes, taking a moment to process what was happening.

“Daddy?” She whispered. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Hi baby. I’m here.”

The excitement in her face was quickly replaced by her small body’s urge to fall asleep again.

“I missed you today.” She drowsily muttered.

“I missed you too.” He whispered back.

“Mommy read me Chaucer, but it wasn’t the same without you. It’s okay though. We can read some different subjects together! I want to learn more math, but she doesn’t like reading those to me as much as you do.”

Spencer felt his eyes slightly water. One of his greatest fears was missing these little moments with his children. He wanted nothing more than to read books and learn with Ava all day.

He also knew that you were an incredible mother who would read the entire phone book to Ava if she asked. You weren’t offended at all by Ava’s requests to read with her Dad. You knew their bond was special, and couldn’t be matched.

“I would love to learn some math with you. We can do that tomorrow though, okay?”

She nodded, smiling brightly as her eyes drifted closed again. His heart could hardly take the amount of love he harbored for that smile.

“Goodnight, Ava.” Spencer whispered, attempting to get up. She grabbed his hand before he could stand.

“Daddy, will you please stay just a little bit longer?”

She had him wrapped around her tiny finger.

“Of course I will.”

He held her hand and smoothed her hair back as she slowly but surely fell back into a deep sleep. Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead, slowly put her hand back, and tip toed out of her room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Next, he made his way to the nursery.

He crept down the hall and into the baby’s room with ease. Ever so quietly, he leaned over the crib to observe the little boy, sound asleep.

Grayson had just turned 6 months old. It seemed like every time he got home from work his son had grown another inch.

Spencer didn’t want to wake him. Lord knows you had enough on your plate with the little sleep you got. He didn’t want to add to that stress. So, he simply watched Grayson’s tiny, adorable body squirm in his sleep.

It seemed like just yesterday he heard Ava’s first cry. How could time be flying by this quickly?

“Goodnight, Grayson.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead.

As he turned to leave the nursery, an intense feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. Lately, he was so caught up at the bureau that he barely saw his children in the daylight. He wasn’t able to read with Ava, hold Grayson, or spend any time with you, his wife, his life partner.

Spencer would rather die than abandon his family the way his father abandoned him. He couldn’t bear the thought of his babies not knowing him, not trusting him, never knowing how much he would give up for them. He felt his mind begin to spiral. So, as with many other intrusive thoughts, he pushed it away. He could deal with those feelings another time. Right now, he needed to sleep.

He stepped quietly into your bedroom, noticing that you left his lamp on for him. He smiled softly, heavy heart lifting a bit at the thought of you waiting up for him. He quickly put on his night clothes and padded to the bed.

Your shoulders rose and fell with every relaxed breath. Though you were facing away from him, he could tell you were wearing his favorite t-shirt. He smiled again and gently pulled back the covers.

You were pulled from your sleep as you felt your husband slide into the bed beside you. You sleepily, yet excitedly turned your body to face him, smiling and reaching your arms out to hold him.

Spencer surprised you. He gently cupped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, longingly, passionately.

It must’ve been a really tough day at the BAU.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave your face and you pressed your forehead to his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You gently asked.

“No.” He stated. Kind, but firm.

You nodded. He would tell you later, when he was ready. He always did.

“Did you say goodnight to the babies?”

“Of course. Always.” You could hear the drowsiness in his voice as you felt the tension in his muscles begin to relax, but there was still something bothering him.

“Hey, what’s up?” You gently prodded, running a hand through his hair. He let out a deep sigh.

“It’s really nothing. I promise.”

You looked him straight in the eye. Your glance saying more to him than your words ever could.

Don’t shut me out, Spencer. I’m here.

He averted his gaze, but you brought your hand to his face, turning it to meet your eyes again. He could see the concern blooming, and was reminded how little he could hide from you. His partner. His person.

He couldn’t help the flurry of loving thoughts running through his mind as his eyes responded.

You are so beautiful.

You smiled. You knew he meant it, but there was something more. However, the bags under his eyes suggested it could be a conversation for another time.

You leaned in and pressed a light, lingering kiss to his lips.

He smiled back at you, thankful for your understanding. He turned his bedside lamp off and promptly pulled you as close to him as possible, limbs intertwining, hearts finally whole again.

You laid like that for a solid couple of minutes before his racing mind couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you think they will resent me for not being around?”

You slowly opened your eyes and pulled back to look him in the eye, not having the faintest idea where he was going with this.

“What?”

Spencer sat up in bed and turned the light on again. He took a deep breath, and all at once you knew what was coming.

“Did you know that children who grow up without a father figure in the house are two times more likely to drop out of high school?”

“Spencer…” You attempted to reach for him, but he was too focused now.

“Or… or what about the fact that they are more likely to have behavioral problems? Or that they are 279% more likely to carry guns and deal drugs than their peers? That’s a HUGE margin!”

“But Spence…” You sat up to face him, knowing this needed to run its course before you could help him. You softly rubbed his back as he continued.

“Children who have father involvement are far less likely to cause trouble. They get better grades in school, have better social skills, have a far greater emotional wellbeing, are less likely to succumb to obesity… the list is endless! And… and boys with absent fathers are more likely to become absent fathers themselves. What if Ava isn’t succeeding as much as she could because I’m not around? And what if I’m scarring Grayson’s idea of a father? And now the pressure of raising our children is all on you and I’m so afraid you’re going to start resenting me and I just…”

“Spencer. Hey.” You turned his head to face you, finally seeing the tears threatening to spill over.

Your heart fractured. How could he not know how much his family loved him? How could he doubt the utter adoration the three of you shared for him?

Your eyes welled up as you realized that this is what his job does to him. He sees violence, destruction, and betrayal every single day. He sees families turn on each other and split apart because of tragedies. He works relentlessly because if he doesn’t, people die.

Of course he questions every aspect of his life.

Words could never convey the magnitude of the love you shared. They couldn’t pull him out of this hole in his mind he had been painstakingly digging. So, you listened to your heart when it told you to kiss him so hard that he forgets why he was ever worried.

You grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his, slowly, but firmly. He responded immediately, but with reservation. A few tears tracked down his face as his arms tensed, holding onto you ever so tightly. You kissed him harder, hands trailing from his neck to the back of his head to get lost in his hair. He followed your lead, reserves fading, walls coming down. Slowly, his hands snaked under your shirt to trace shapes on your back. You smiled into the kiss and felt him do the same.

Before you knew it, his hands were begging you to come closer to him. You swung a leg over his so you were straddling him, holding his face again as his arms enveloped you with full force. He kissed you with the fiery passion you knew he held. He held you as if the universe were going to take you away any second. He showed you just how much he loved you with every frenzied movement, every soft touch, and every crash of your lips.

Impossibly close could never be close enough. Not for two souls intertwined, like yours.

You pulled away and pressed your forehead to his, breathing heavily. His breath matched yours as you both sat there, holding each other, waiting for the world around you to reappear.

When it finally did, you met his eyes again. Hoping to see the unique spark that only your husband possessed.

“I love you, Spencer Reid.”

“I love you too.” He smiled lovingly up at you, and there it was. His spark. Your heart leapt for joy.

“Forever and ever, ‘til death do us part. Right?”

He nodded, breaking your gaze to wipe away stray tears with the back of his hand. You wiped away the rest with your thumbs, softly stroking his face.

“You are a fantastic husband and father. You hear me?” You meant it with your whole heart, but his eyes questioned you.

Yeah?

Yeah. I promise.

He smiled and let out a sigh of complete relief, pulling your body even closer and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You held him, so unbelievably content to give your husband the security he craved. You pressed kisses into his hair as you rubbed his back, feeling him start to relax. He pulled away to look at you, with all the love in the world in his eyes. You smiled back, feeling your heart flip the same way it did the first time you met.

You reached over to turn the lamp off once more, and then settled comfortably into Spencer’s arms. His whole body relaxed as soon as you laid your hand on his chest.

There was so much more to say. So many things he needed to know, to absorb, to be sure of. So much love he needed to take with him to the job that tore him apart. But he was exhausted, and that could all wait until the morning. You snuggled into his chest and felt his arms grow tighter around you.

Just before you were about to fall asleep, you remembered something you knew would ease his troubled mind.

“You know what Ava told me today?”

“Hmm?” He answered, clearly also close to sleep.

“She said she wanted to wait to put the quadratic formula into practice until you got home.”

He let out a joyful laugh, and you joined, holding him tighter.

“Really? She did?”

“Yeah, she did. She loves you. More than anything.”

Nothing could match his smile at that moment. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips before letting his head fall back to the pillow.

“I love you.” You heard him whisper.

“We love you too, Spencer. So much.”

You snuggled impossibly closer, and with that you both slipped into a deep, relaxing sleep.

----

A/N: Here we go again, friends. How have I not seen Criminal Mind’s until this quarantine?!? My disguised blessing of Coronavirus. Anyway, thank you for reading, as always. Feel free to comment/critique/roast here or on my AO3 – wave0fg00dvibes. I love feedback! I have some more Reid stuff in the works… let me know if there’s anything specific y’all want to read! Love always. <3

[lilith-of-rivia]

III

The Whisper in the Stars 

Pairing: Geralt Of Rivia x Elf OC

Word Count: 2,251

Warnings: cursing? 

MASTERLIST

I woke the next morning to the sun coming threw the curtains, rudely shining directly into my eyes. It was the first time since we left home I had awoken in a bed and warm, and not on the floor of the woods. It was also the first time in many, many years I had woken to a man's arms around me. I didn't know when or how his arms had made their way around my waist. His chest to my back, and his breathing soft and calm on the back of my neck. The warmth of it makes my skin crawl. I wanted nothing more than to ravish in his touch. But I figured the witcher wouldn't be too happy about the sleeping arrangements once he woke.

Softly and carefully, I removed his hands from around me making him stir. His eyebrows furrowed together and I quickly stood up looking at him. His eyes were now open, but barely. His lips twitched into a half-smile.

"I hope I didn't offend you, princess." His voice was even deeper than normal and gruff with sleep.

"You didn't witcher. I just wanted to get a start to the day. Maybe wander around town, look for new clothes for Ciri and Dara." I said with a smile. He sat up placing his feet on the ground, I could hear his body cracking.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped your boundaries last night." I blurted. Knowing how many male elves I had been with in the past, hated when I didn't go their pace, whether it was slower or faster.

"I wouldn't have let you, little elf if I didn't want it. I enjoy your company. We all do. And your heartbeat is a great lullaby." I couldn't help but smile as I walked over to him, his golden, warm eyes looking up at me. I new the witcher never showed this emotional side to others very often, and it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"It's a good thing you stumbled upon us then." I bent down a tad and kissed his forehead. His eyes never left my face. I was more drawn to this creature than I had ever been to any man in my life. And after 1,389 years there had been plenty of men.

"Common get dressed and come with me." He nodded standing up, putting his shirt back over his head. I grabbed my dagger, sliding it into its sheath and tying my top.

Once he had his boots on we exited the room, to find Dara and Ciri sitting in a group of kids on the ground below the inn. They were playing some form of game. All laughing and smiling. It warmed my heart to see them being able to be kids. Legolas was sitting on the stairs, willing something onto his new bow. I couldn't tell what type of pattern it was but he was extremely concentrated on it. Jaskier was sitting on a log not far from Ciri writing in his book.

"Would you like to come and get some new clothes with me?" I asked walking up behind the two, kneeling down.

"Oh yes, I'd love to." Ciri cheered and jumped up Dara following.

"Thank you for letting us play!" She said to the group of kids who all smiled and waved at her.

"There was a jeweler merchant set up across the clothing shop. I'm gonna stop in there." I told Geralt who looked at me with a brow cocked.

We walked into the jewelers to see an elderly man talking to the elder that had "greeted" us. Their heads turned as we walked threw the door. The man behind the table stood and smiled brightly at us.

"Good day, Geralt of Rivia and friends. How can I help you today?" He greeted and smiled. Geralt looked down at me as I walked up to the counter, Ciri at my side.

"I have something to possibly trade," I said and pulled out the necklaces I had been wearing. I broke the chain around my neck and let the ring fall into my hand and placed it on the counter.

It was a golden ring with gold leaves that came together around a stone native to my homelands. The man took it, looking at it with eyes wide.

"This stone. Where did you get it? Why are you giving it up?"  The man asked and looked at me. I could now feel Geralt's presents behind me as he examined the ring.

"Its a stone called Adamant, a white jewel. It's one of the most valuable jewels to my people. But it hasn't meant a thing to me in many, many years. It was an engagement to a betrothal about 500 hundred years ago, I only kept it due to the value I know it holds. I'm only willing to give it up for the right price." Ciri was now holding the ring. Looking at it closer.

"I have a queen who would kill for a peace like this." The jeweler said and pulled out a chest, full of coins.

"I'll give you 3,000 Orens for it." He said as he started to weigh the gold coins. I had very little knowledge of the currency of this land so I looked to Geralt.

"Does that seem fair to you?" I asked and he titled his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I've killed monster for 3,000 orens. I feel you could do better man. If this queen is willing to kill for a peace like that, I do not believe you will only be selling it for that amount. Do not try and scam the woman." He said, his voice gruff and his eyes set in a glare. He slowly moved closer to me, his chest nearly touching my back.

"Try again." He growled.

"The highest I can go is 5,000." The jeweler said now looking even more intently at the ring. I looked up at Geralt and he nodded.

"Deal." He smiled and started to fill a pack full of coins before handing it to me. With a quick thank you, we exited the store and I tied the sack of coins to my belt.

***

"So you were betrothed?" Great asked quietly as we sat and watched the woman who gave me my clothes measure and dresses Ciri.

"I was, a long long time ago. Before my father realized I wanted to marry for love. Not for the kingdom. And I was also a fierce warrior even then. My father thought my talent would be wasted on the elven king who just wanted a bride to produce his kin. I kept the ring tho. Thought it'd come in handy one day. And it did." He chuckled softly.

"I never took you for the settle down and marry type anyway." He said glancing at me.

"I'm only open to it, with the right person. Someone willing to treat me as an equal and not just want me for my uterus. Unfortunately, many higher up elven men in my home only care about spreading their seed and continuing their line. My father was the first in many years to not go threw with a betrothal." I now met his eyes.

"I'm not a housewife. I'm not a trophy wife. I want to be a wife who's known for defending herself and her family. And not just a woman pregnant all the time." I said and he smiled a little.

"I believe any man would be lucky to have your hand in marriage little elf." He was so close to my ear as he whispered and it made me shiver.

After Dara and Ciri were equipped with new clothes and shoes, I walked to the woman who was now placing all her tools back. Placing my hand in the bag of coins I pulled out a handful and placed it on her table.

"For everything you've done. We appreciate it so much." She smiled and took the money off the counter and I turned to leave.

"Oh, my dear don't forget your cloak and new knickers." I turned to her again and she handed me a bag full of I'm guessing the new nickers which I was more than happy about. And she wrapped the cloak around my shoulders.

"Its a sheep's wool cloak. It'll keep you plenty warm out on your adventures with the wither. If you're ever around again. Don't hesitate to come to see me. Good luck young one." I smiled and she leaned up and kissed my cheek before pushing me towards Geralt and the kids who were waiting by the door. The cloak was beautiful. It was black all over but the inner fabric was a beautiful blood red.

As we exited the shop Jaskier and Legolas were walking up to us, Legolas had two new horses by his side. He handed me the reins of a beautiful black mare. She was stunning. Her main was thick and her tail was almost to the floor.

"The town elder said these were the ones he was willing to give up." I placed my hand gently on her nose and she leaned into it.

"Hello, lovely," I whispered softly, she huffed in response. I softly pressed my forehead to her snout and closed my eyes. Feeling her bond connect with my own. She had never had a true owner, I could feel her sadness and wanting for a real person to care for her. Not to just be a show pony to the town.

"Vega..." I whispered. She huffed again.

"Such a pretty name," I whispered again and stepped back from her. I slowly walked around her petting her as I went.

"I wish I could do that," Ciri said looking at me as she pets Vega's nose.

"I know you have talents of your own. Embrace those, don't be jealous of someone's abilities when you've been gifted by the gods with your own." I softly kissed her head.

"You will soon come to master those powers and become a very fearsome warrior like Geralt." She smiled wildly at me.

"Or like you." I couldn't help but smile at her words.

"I'm nothing compared to the Witcher of Rivera but I'm more than happy to teach you anything you ask." I heard Geralt hum softly before he turned and walked towards the inn. We all followed behind him, and I tied Vega to the post outside next to Roach.

We all went to our rooms to collect the items we had left in. I grabbed all the new clothes I had acquired and placed them in a bag rolling it with a blanket and, grabbed my swords placing one in my sheath on my belt and the other next to the door. I walked over to the bath and picked up the lemon-scented bar soap and looked at Geralt who was putting his armor on.

"Would it be bad if we took this. I'll leave them a coin." He chuckled softly not looking in my direction focusing on trying to tie his gauntlets that were studded along the outsides of them. I walked over to him and gently took his arm and rested it on my thigh while I tied them for him.

"I didn't need you to do that, princess." He said looking at me as I finished his other arm.

"No, but it was painful watching you struggle, witcher," I said with a smirk and stepped back.

"I'm taking the soap. You can smell pretty bad some days. What does Jaskier say, Onions?" I asked with a laugh and he just grunted, rolling his eyes.

We walked out of the inn and down to the horses. I placed my second sword in the sheath on the saddle and my pack on the end of it, strapping it in. My bow and quiver were also strapped onto the saddle. Not too long after I finished everyone else had their belongings packed to their horses. We all went to the well in the center of town and filled our water packs.

"Where to next?" Jaskier asked as we walked to the horses, Geralt mounting Roach after helping Ciri and Dara onto their own. I followed suit, mounting Vega after untying her lead.

"Where ever the monsters take us. Hoping to find a village willing to house us for when winter hits. I don't want you all out and open to the harshness of the snow this winter." He said as he begins leading Roach to the main road us following.

"Well, I think we should let Apha do all the talking. She's nicer than you Geralt." Jaskier said before he jumped into song as we left the town behind us.

"Toss a coin to your witcher-"

"No Jaskier!" Geralt yelled behind him. But the bard continued, Ciri and Dara joining laughing while they sang. I couldn't help but giggle at the Witcher's stone-cold glare. I gently poked his arm as we rode side by side and he looked at me.

"Where the monsters take us?" I asked, his lips twitched and I could see a shadow of a smile.

"Yes, little elf. Are you with us." He also glanced back at Legolas who was pulling up the rear to make sure no one was falling behind. He heard of course. With his enhanced hearing. He nodded to Garelt wordlessly.

"We're here Garelt. Where ever the monsters take us."

[lotornomiko]

The Ones Left Behind Chapter Six (Work safe I think...)

Catra POV

Earlier chapters here: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952798/chapters/8862691

There’s a ghost in my head, a wonderful yet wicked presence that has me tearing at my own hair, my claws scraping at scalp in an effort to dig her out. I might and have in the past, bled for the effort, Adora this thing that only sinks a deeper hold inside of me, settling in somewhere past the black void of my heart, laughing and smiling, and driving me mad. I’m beyond crazed with the need for her, for the life that we had once had, a happiness that hadn’t all been about sexual pleasure.

Thoughts of her flit through my mind at a rapid pace, no one memory lingering long enough for me to fully grasp hold of. A dozen kind of smiles flash in my mind, the cruel expression of a Force Captain at her worst, and the loving warmth that had once been reserved for my eyes alone. We had been lovers and soldiers at war, allies united not just against the horde’s MANY enemies, but against our own comrades too. Together, Adora and I had had each other back, our friendship the only one thing we could truly believe in and trust. Standing together against all who would have seen us fall, the two of us had been made stronger as a result, and without her, I am left hurting, a weak, hollow caricature of who I had once been.

I am dying Adora, and it’s a painful, slow death, the wounds you have left me with bleeding out onto everything. And where ever that crimson tide touches, failure sprouts up in its wake. I am tainted, Adora, rendered an ineffectual joke amid the other Force Captains. Without you to strengthen me, I can’t build up the protection that I need. I am left floundering about, missing the half that had completed me, the only bright light in an otherwise bleak and bereft world.

I’ve no one to count on, and nothing tangible to seize hold. I’m falling, plummeting down into a spiraling darkness without end, and you don’t even care. It hurts, the dream of you becoming my nightmare, torturing me with all I have lost, all that you have taken from me. Tears actually prick at the corner of my vision, the room seems hazy and blurred. I’m seeing things, hearing things, your voice this mocking echo of a past that is taunting me. Those late nights shared, the secrets expressed, the hopes we had known would never come true, I had TRUSTED you. Adora, you had been the one thing, the one person in all of existence that I never would have thought would betray me so.

But you DID.

My lips curl with that snarl, an inhuman sound escaping me, and my sharp nails are doing damage. No longer to myself, but to the room, feathers exploding, fabric ripping, I am tearing the place apart. Anything not bolted down is thrown, tables upended, and fragile things smashed. I worked my rage to exhaustion, and still it’s not enough, it will never be enough. I scream again, and slam a fist into the wall, hearing the metal groan as it caves in slightly. It brings with it a jarring pain, my hand not broken, but the knuckles will be bruised.

“Why?” I whisper it out loud, in a broken tone of voice. “Why Adora, why?”

The answers don’t come, they never do, Adora a mystery whose motivation for the actions she’s taken, that continue to elude me. She’s never once offered me an explanation, or made an excuse, never once even talked to me, since leaving the Horde, to begin her life anew. She’s completely cut me off, abandoned, maybe even entirely forgotten, did nothing that had existed between us truly even matter to her!? Had it all been one sided, had I been nothing more than some diversion, something to pass the time with, until something better had come along!? Was I just a joke to her, as pathetic a wretch as I appeared to the rest of the Horde? I’m nothing without you, Adora. I know that now, and that sick part of me wishes this was all just a test, a lesson to be learned, a reminder that I had been in need of, as if you will come traipsing back, satisfied by that display of power you have over me.

“Come back. All will be forgiven, if you would JUST come back to me.”

It disgust me, how pathetic I truly am. It’s no wonder she’s left, Adora finding a bigger and brighter opportunity that has had no room for my brand of miserable. I push away from the wall, and swear I hear her laughter one last time, the ghost of her looming just out the corner of my eye. I can almost hear what she would say now, the gentle tone chiding me for the damage that I’ve done. The Adora that I remember would have teased me, but also helped me set the room back to some semblance of normal. Now there is no one, and I don’t even have the energy to try on my own. I walk over to the destroyed bed, and collapse on its tattered mattress. Adora still lingers just out of sight, and I throw an arm up across my eyes, as thought to block out her and the light that seems to shine behind her.

I don’t know how I even sleep, but somehow it all goes dark. For how long, or how short, that I cannot say, but suddenly the door to my cabin has opened, the hated sight of the scientific genius that is my nemesis, Entrapta, standing across from me.

“Well...” She says it an ever so exasperated a tone, hands on hips, as the door slides shut behind her. “Someone’s going a little stir crazy.”

“Who can blame me.” I say, making no real effort to sit up. “After being held prisoner on this ship for nearly a week’s time…?”

“Cute.” She snapped. “Prisoners don’t get a luxury cabin all to themselves. You should consider yourself lucky, Catra. Lucky considering all your many failures should have you rotting in a Horde dungeon, instead of sending you off in style for what will probably be your LAST mission.”

“Don’t forget...” My tone is mocking, the jade of my eyes piercing her with an unpleasant truth. “If I go down, YOU go down too.” I smirk then. “Or have you forgotten, Hordak wants you to ensure that this mission AND I do not fail.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” She hisses. “Don’t think I do not have a plan for how to get off the hook you’ll find yourself on!” Her long hair twitches, and fiddles about with her surroundings, that tic a betrayal of just how nervous she truly is. Entrapta then smoothed gloves hands down the front of her outfit, before walking past me and the bed, to go dig around in the cabin’s closet.

“Expecting the mission to fail, is as good as WANTING it to.”

“It might almost be worth it, if it meant I wouldn’t have to watch your pathetic sniveling self mooning around the Fright Zone.” She’s adding to the mess on the floor, throwing clothing over her shoulder, until she finds what she is looking for. “Put it on.”

A long, form fitting red dress hits me square in the chest. “Oh, not this again...”

“You wearing this, is an integral part of the plan.” She fixes me with a patronizing look. “You KNOW that. If we’re going to get Adora back…..though damned if I can understand why Hordak would even want to bother...with her, or with you...Not when he has someone capable like ME.”

“If you were really all that capable on your own, you’d have come up with a plan not even She-ra could stop.” I point out, still making no move to put on the dark red garment.

“Fortunately, I have it on good authority, that She-ra will NOT be one of the rebel leaders meeting with the queen.”

“So there’s really no room for error.” I enjoy watching Entrapta grit her teeth at that. “If we fail...”

“If You fail!”

“IF WE fail, there really will be no excuse...” I should be shaking with that realization, life as I have known it coming ever closer to ending. Somehow instead, I am just numb, as though accepting that death would be a mercy compared to what would actually happen to me instead.

In a voice beyond exasperated, with her hair moving wildly about in agitation, Entrapta stares down past her nose at me.  “I’m in charge of this mission, as well as your keeper. We are not going to fail, and you are going to put that on, even if I have to strip you myself.”

“I hate this material.” I throw it away from me. “It’s hot and scratchy, and leaves no room for maneuvering.”

“It’s the only way you’re going to be allowed out of this cabin.” The clothing caught up by Entrapta’s hair, those tendrils then shove it back before me. “Put it on…..the sooner you do, the sooner the opportunity to get close to Adora will present itself.”

“Somehow, disguising myself as Shadow Weaver, doesn’t lend belief in the idea of Adora letting me OR her get close.” I slapped at an impudent and thick tendril of Entrapta’s hair, still refusing to put the outfit on.

“She wouldn’t trust you OR Shadow Weaver, yes.” Came the agreement. “But the sight of Catra suddenly there, when she did not expect her? That would surprise her.”

“I don’t see why. She hasn’t given a second thought to me or any of the Horde since leaving.”

“Don’t be too sure about that!” Entrapta’s hair caught around my wrist, another strand hooking a curved tip into the front of the bodice of my uniform. I hissed and snarled, letting my nails lengthen to claws that try to tear apart that offending and unnatural appendage of hers. I’m so busy fighting with her hair, I’m not paying enough attention to the words, to the point the scientist has to scream them out at me.

“You’re not the only one to have noticed!” She shouts.

“Notice what!?”

“How Adora has gone out of her way to avoid you!”

I spit out a defensive word. “So!?”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd!?” I’m sure she’d be rolling her eyes at me, but I am too busy fighting with the hair that attempts to split my top straight down the middle. “Close as you two were…?”

“Not close enough for it to mean anything.” My chin lifts stubbornly, and for one second I meet her exasperated gaze. “Or are you forgetting I am just trash that Adora tossed aside?”

“Oh come on, Catra! Stop with the pity party, and open your eyes!” Entrapta’s the one snarling now, and the hair wrapped around my wrist, tightens to the point of painful. “I may not understand it, or her, but for some God awful reason, Adora tolerated you. Out of all the horde, all the opportunities before her, Hordak’s golden child CHOSE you. A nothing with no real value to offer. Ask yourself why!?”

“Because she was bored!?”

“ERG!” It was a loud and abrasive sound, the annoyed expression escaping her as thought Entrapta couldn’t help herself. “It had to be LIKE, for her to put up with a no brain having idiot like yourself for as long as she did.”

“Like? She didn’t like me...she LEFT me.”

“But not before rocking your world a thousand times if not more.” She looked disgusted, as though Entrapta couldn’t believe what she was having to say, to do. “Adora may be many things, but a good actress is not one of them. There’s no way she would have had you in her bed for as much as it had happened, if she hadn’t had feelings for you, real ones. Sure, she might have done it once on a whim, but to keep coming back to you, standing with you united against the other Force Captains? She ENCOURAGED you for Gods sake!” Her arm flailed with that exclamation. “The Horde doesn’t do encouragement, it does INCENTIVE.”

By this point, I had stopped fighting with her hair, to stare in slack jawed shock at the Force Captain. There was the sound of clothing ripping violently, and I felt my breasts spill out of my now torn top.

“Go on, I’m listening….”

“We may never know WHY Adora turned her back on Hordak, and all she had ever known. Frankly, I don’t even care to know her reasons. I’m sure they are as stupid and vapid as YOU.” I couldn’t even truly bristle at the insult, to be busy waiting with held breath for the glimmer of hope the scientist was giving to either bloom brighter, or snuff out completely.

“But, out of ALL the Horde, every last force captain, she has faced, NONE of them has she gone to such lengths to avoid. It’s you, and only you, Catra, and I don’t know if it’s fear or just weakness at play, but Adora knows she is vulnerable to you.”

I didn’t think it possible for my mouth to fall open any further, and as unresisting as I now was, Entrapta’s hair had no problem getting the rest of my clothing off. All that was left to me was my boots, and my crimson colored gauntlets and headdress, but I hardly cared about my naked state of dress. I was too busy staring at Entrapta, letting the beat of my excited heart fill my ears.

“Vulnerable...”

“She’s never once shown hesitation in hurting her former allies, in even killing them.” Entrapta continued. “Adora has gone out of her way to prove herself to the Rebellion, to make a name for herself, and yet, put YOU on the playing field, and she suddenly disappears? Why?”

“Because she is afraid….” I whisper it in awe. “Because she is weak to me...to what we once shared...”

“She’s tempted. By it, and by you.” Entrapta then let out such a deep sounding sigh. “Personally, if it was ME? If I had been so stupid as to leave the Horde? I’d kill off every last remnant of the thing or person who might be able to sway me back.”

“She wouldn’t.” My lips curl with that knowledge, a giddy joy going off in my heart. “She CAN’T.” I almost erupt into sweet, sweet laughter, a kind of gratitude on the tip of my tongue, for the hope that Entrapta has given me. It made a twisted kind of sense, what had once nearly destroyed me, empowering me instead, remembering every mission, every battle, and how quickly Adora had turned tail and RUN at the mere sight of me from a distance.

I still don’t know her reason for leaving the Horde. I don’t even CARE about that now, too wrapped up in the euphoria that came with knowing I was the one thing that could act as a catalyst for bringing her back. I thought myself weak to her, but I had been wrong. It’s the other way around, the desperate reborn as the determined. I am the hunter now, and Adora? She is my PREY.

To Be Continued…

This is the point I start fretting big time, cause I feel like the characters just derailed me some from my plans. I’m glaring at Catra and Entrapta now, while scrambling to get things back on track some. Mainly it started to go off the rails, during Entrapta’s “pep” talk to Catra...but I like what I ended up with for the most part.

Also feeling frustrated, cause I didn’t get to include some details here. Hope to get them in a future chapter. But basically, the way I imagined it, is Catra wasn’t allowed out if she wasn’t wearing her Shadow Weaver disguise, cause they wanted no one to know Catra was part of this mission. They didn’t want to risk Adora finding out before it’s too late. The other detail I had imagined for this chapter, was Entrapta giving Catra a “gift” from Weaver. Basically one of the very potent drugs she used to use on Adora, to keep her drugged up and brainwashed. Hoping to work in these details beyond my babbling author’s note..

---Michelle

[kivaember]

Prompt #8: Crag

Z’khuqa was currently regretting her life’s choices.

Specifically, she was regretting boldly declaring herself a master of slaying antlions to the unimpressed Ala Mhigan soldier when she had never seen an antlion in her fucking life. Ala Mhigo was awash with adventurers now, plenty of people sensing job opportunities at a country tentatively crawling out of a crippling occupation, so you had to have some pizzazz, a bit of oomph, something special, to stand up above the average, run-of-the-mill, penniless and desperate for gil adventurer and land the real jobs.

Unfortunately, Z’khuqa may as well be the poster child of the average, run-of-the-mill, penniless and desperate for gil adventurer. She envisioned adventuring life being totally different to how she imagined it when she left her tribe last summer, and her dreams of glory, money and all the babes she could woo disintegrating into disappointed reality the moment she set foot in Ul’dah.

Fucking Ul’dah.

Z’khuqa grunted as she cautiously shifted on the tiny ledge she was stuck on, loose pebbles crumbling from the edge of it and pattering down below, where a hungry congregation of antlions snapped and clicked their awful pincers at her. She envisioned antlions being… smaller. These ones were three times the size of destrier Chocobos and ten times as mean.

“Please, go away,” she hissed, pressing herself flat against the jagged rock digging into her back. Below the antlions just continued to sit there, perfectly content to wait her out. The crag she frantically climbed up in her panic to escape was heavily weathered with age and war, and there was half an Imperial gunship buried into the side of it, with large, worrying cracks and stress lines cutting through the sandy rock. Z’khuqa already almost fell to her death when trying to climb higher and enjoyed the unpleasant experience of her handhold just crumbling right out of the rock.

She was stuck, plain and simple. Antlions below, ready to tear her limb from limb, and weak, heavily stressed rock all around her, ready to drop her down below for the inevitable dismemberment.

If she thought to keep hold of her bow, she could have made this work. She could have sat on this ledge, cackling as she feathered the fucking antlions until they scurried away in a huff, or died. But no, she fucking used it as a bludgeon when the first antlion had tried to drag her beneath the sands in a terrifyingly efficient ambush. The poor thing had snapped after the third whack, though it did free her enough to flee up here.

Her legs were cramping up. She was stuck in a highly uncomfortable squatting position on the tiny ledge, and no matter how she wriggled her toes and shifted as much as she dared, her legs were just aching pain. Plus, the hot stickiness clinging to her left calf that was a steady thrum of pain, where the antlion’s jaws had cut through her leather greaves. She didn’t know how much longer she could endure this.

“Go away,” she repeated, her voice wobbling on the verge of tears when one antlion, tired of waiting it seemed, started to curiously tap its front legs on the face of the crag. Thankfully they weren’t like spiders, they were too heavy to just walk up the cliff face – but it could still find footholds, could still heave itself up enough to snag her leg and drag her down.

Z’khuqa quickly leveraged a chunk of powdery stone from near her foot, ignoring the stinging pain in her fingers as the sharp edges of rock bit into her skin, and lobbed it full force at the antlion’s head. It retreated with an offended noise, snapping its jaws and settling to wait once more with its fellows.

“Y-Yeah, you stay down there,” she sniffed, turning her head to try and see if an escape route had magically materialised in the last five minutes, “Got more rocks where that came from.”

No escape route, but Z’khuqa was getting desperate enough to make her own.

“Okay,” she mumbled, pushing through the pain of cramping muscles as she slowly, tentatively, painfully stood up. Vertigo almost hit her when she felt her centre of balance shift, her fingers frantically scrabbling at the rock behind her as she forced her weight onto her heels, her tail trapped uncomfortably between her ass and the rock. She ignored it.

“Okay,” she mumbled again, scooting half a fulm to her left. The gunship was buried on this side of the cliff, its metal rusted with exposure to the elements so parts of it were gaping holes and dirty brown. She could see where scavengers had picked the magitek clean of any valuable parts, leaving the thin, metal shell just sadly embedded into the rock. The thing was, though, was that the gunship bridged the gap between this crag, and the one next over.

Well, okay, there was a six fulm gap from the very edge of the gunship to the next crag, but any Miqo’te worth their salt could make that jump. She could make it. She had to make it.

The antlions stirred below at her movements, and she forced herself to ignore the clicking, snapping and skittering noises as she edged, slowly, towards the very far left of the ledge. The gunship remains was two fulms below and seven fulms further left. She would have to either climb there or jump.

Z’khuqa critically eyed the rusting metal. She doubted it could take high impacts well.

Gods, she was sweating buckets here. Feeling her underclothes stick uncomfortably to her, she swiped quickly at her forehead, her fringe matted against her damp skin, as she started the nerve-wracking process of turning around when there really wasn’t any room to support such a daring action. She wobbled, her balance tested, and she made a very embarrassingly distressed noise before she was facing the rockface, practically hugging it as she braced herself for the next part.

She used to like free climbing, but never did she have to climb when hungry, voracious predators sat below her. It added a terrified pressure to the whole thing that she could really do without.

“Get it together,” she whispered harshly, her voice high-pitched with fear as she started to carefully inch off the inch, testing each handhold and foothold before putting her weight onto them as she made the terrifying journey to the gunship, “That’s it. You’re doing it. You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

She kept up the litany until her foot tentatively pressed against the rusted metal of the gunship’s hull. It was curved and had crumpled on impact, so it was difficult to get a steady footing when she shuffled onto it. Beneath her boots, the entire thing groaned, a metallic, eerie noise that made her fur stand on end right to the tip of her tail.

But it held. Thank fuck the metal held.

“Don’t fall,” she hissed, crouching low so she was squatting on the rusting hull. Below her the antlions were agitatedly moving about, clearly realising she was in the process of escaping, “Okay. Like you’re on thin ice, spread your body weight, move sloooow…”

The amount of willpower it took to let go of the crag was phenomenal. Breaths hitching in the back of her throat, her limbs shaking so badly she probably looked like a shitting dog, she crawled forwards on the crumpled hull until she was flat on her belly, spreading her weight out on the unstable surface. There were massive patches where the metal had rusted through, exposing the metal beams inside like some magitek skeleton.

Through the fear, there was a part of her that was elated. She was doing it. She was doing it.

“You’re fine,” she muttered feverishly, slowly leopard crawling over the hull, flinching every time the metal squeaked, groaned and screeched from her weight. The whole thing was shuddering under her, and she was sure she was leaving a wet trail from how heavily she was sweating, but she kept her gaze laser focused on the edge of the hull, where the other, more stable looking crag loomed.

You’re doing it. You’re fine. Almost there.

Z’khuqa reached the edge, where the hull cut off in a ragged tear. It looked something had ripped the gunship in half – that or its weight forced the rear end of it to just rip free. Gulping, because she could feel the entire structure start to tip warningly from her weight, she rose onto her hands and knees, eyeing the distance. It looked so far away, despite being so close. She’d only get one shot too, and yet…

The hull wobbled beneath her feet, making it fucking impossible to stand up straight and balanced. She gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut briefly, before she mustered her courage and surged forwards in a leap to make any Miqo’te proud. Behind her there was a deafening crunch of metal grinding against rock, the squeals of antlions as, for a split second, she was weightless and hopeful and-

Z’khuqa slammed into the crag.

Her hands scrambled wildly, and for a moment she had purchase. She clung onto her handhold, her feet frantically pushing into the rocky surface for a better grip when-

The rock broke off beneath her hand.

It was funny, then. Everything went horrifically slow as her body pitched backwards, her hand still clutching the broken off handhold, the other reaching out in vain for a crag out of reach. For that moment she saw a bright blue sky without even a single cloud, the rocky crags jutting high over her, and she wished something profound or cool flitted through her mind but all she thought then was ‘oh fuckballs-‘

She hit the ground.

It drove all the air right out of her lungs, her vision whiting out when a sharp, overwhelming pain lashed right through her shoulder all the way down her ribcage. She couldn’t even breathe, just writhed on the ground in wheezing agony, unable to get her limbs to coordinate enough to get up, just flopped on the ground like a dumbass beached fish, hearing the skittering and crunching of stone and fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuck-

“-et out of THE DAMN WAY BUGSHITS!”

Z’khuqa coughed and squinted through the blurry mess her vision had become at that unfamiliar yelling. A woman…? A woman! A woman, yelling and – the antlions screeching and squealing and – vibrations against the ground, scuffling, and then… silence. All Z’kuqa could see was the crag she had fallen off, with the gunship she leapt off looking several degrees lower than before, the sky and all that spinning in a disorientating circle. Gods, she was in so much pain.

“Well damn,” a voice cut through the haze of pain, and then someone was leaning over her – horned, dark scales, dark hair, bright blue eyes – “You’re alive?”

“Urghck?” Z’khuqa groaned.

“I saw that fall. Looked pretty nasty,” the unknown woman said conversationally, like Z’khuqa wasn’t lying here in crippling agony, “But hey, you Miqo’te are pretty good at surviving falls. Too bad you didn’t land on your feet, eh?”

“Nngh… ffuu… ck off,” Z’khuqa managed to grunt out, gritting her teeth when the unknown woman just chortled like that was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

“I’m just joking, c’mon,” the woman sniggered, “Never mind. Name’s Bluebird, by the way. Got any allergies to potions before I shove one down your throat?”

“Nnnoo…”

“Awesome,” Bluebird said, and there was an odd rustling noise, glass clinking on glass, “I’m guessing you’re Z’khuqa?”

“Ngh?”

“Well,” Bluebird leaned out of view, followed by the pop of a cork being pulled free, “I was sent this way, ‘cuz Jorund was saying an adventurer called Z’khuqa hadn’t come back to him about the antlion infestation she promised to deal with. Took care of that for you by the way, no worries.”

Z’khuqa said nothing, something like mortified shame creeping through the cracks of her pain. Great.

“So much for being a ‘master of slaying antlions’, huh?” Bluebird jeered at her as she leaned back into view, gently cupping the back of her head as she tipped a softly glowing bottle of potion to her lips, “Silly girl. That’s how adventurers die young.”

Maybe getting knocked unconscious from the fall would’ve been kinder, Z’khuqa thought flatly, quickly swallowing when Bluebird forced her to drink the potion. Her insides tingle, the clean aether cooling the hot pain thumping through her enough for it to be bearable – and for her to move.

“There,” Bluebird tossed the bottle away once it was empty, where it smashed audibly out of view, “Okay, my good deed is done for the day. Can you move?”

“Ngh, a little…” Z’khuqa coughed, gingerly leveraging herself up into sitting position. Her vision was still a little blurry, and her body felt black and blue, her bones aching… but she could breathe, she could move, and her vision wasn’t spotty with agony, “Yeah.”

“Good,” Bluebird pushed herself up to her feet then, brushing her hands together as she – literally – washed her hands of the matter entirely, “Have fun walking back to the Ala Mhigan Quarter. Maybe that’ll teach you to lie about being qualified for a job, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” Z’khuqa stuttered, bewildered as the woman gave her a nod and then just… walked away from her. Just like that.

… well then.

Thoroughly shamefaced – but also disgustingly grateful to be alive, albeit not in one full piece – Z’khuqa slowly climbed to her feet. The antlions’ bodies were huddled against the crag, horrifically dismembered to the point where she didn’t know where one antlion began and the other ended. It was disquieting to see, and Z’khuqa turned away, noting that ‘Bluebird’ was nowhere to be seen. Just who was she?

Probably a successful adventurer, one that hadn’t been pleased about Z’khuqa nabbing a job and bungling it. She bowed her head, taking a short, painful breath, then started to limp back towards civilisation. Bluebird was right, this whole experience would teach her to lie about her skills again. Maybe she should be content in just being an average adventurer and stick to Dodos…

Or maybe she should go out with someone else next time, give that whole party thing a chance. She didn’t like to share glory but, better to share it than end up antlion food, right?

It was a long, painful walk back to Ala Mhigo… but still, it was sweet to be alive. 

[loladelores]

Beso...

::Restless. I think that’s what I was. I’ve never experienced this feeling before but it was making me want to climb the walls. I had to cut my visit with Joaquin short because I couldn’t sit still very long and I could feel his impatience with me growing. Thankfully he didn’t send any loco birds my way, but he communicated it in the way the air shifted. I walked aimlessly through the streets. For the first time unsure of what to do with myself. Usually I had one mission in mind and that was it. I was so lost in thought that I never saw him until I ran straight into him. His hands gripped my upper arms in an effort to steady me which set my skin crawling immediately at the contact, looking up at him with wide eyes that grew impossibly wider when the recognition set in. The smirk that spread across his lips let me know he recognized me as well. He began rubbing my upper arms causing me to jerk out of his grip. He was the one to break the awkward silence. “Lola.” He made a show of appraising me from head to toe in a way that made me feel nude. “Beautiful as ever. How have you been, dear?” I opened my mouth fully prepared to say something dismissive but shut it almost as instantly, tilting my head curiously. Matias had always been quick to try and get me in bed. It mattered not to him that I was married to his best friend.:: I am well. And you, Matias? ::he stepped in closer, causing me to take a step back. His low chuckle letting me know he was amused. “Are you, really?” He shook his head with a tsk. “There’s no need to lie to me, Lola. I am a friend.” Normally I would’ve smacked him or worse. He was no friend to anyone but himself. There was a reason why him and Joaquin ran together. The only difference being that Joaquin did me the favor of remaining married to me after the money. Something he never failed to point out to me if I complained about his late nights. Matias, however, had promptly rid himself of the commitment that marriage brought so he could properly live the life of money, parties, and sex with as many women as possible. His phone ringing saved me from having to answer, and I let out breath of relief until he held a finger up at me. Something about the gesture caused me to clench my fists at my side. He spoke low and in clipped tones. I didn’t care what it was about. As a matter of fact, I didn’t care for this entire situation anymore. I turned around and began to walk away. I had made it past several store fronts when a hand grabbed me from behind and I let out a yelp, spinning around with a fist flying. He managed to duck out of the way and held up his hands. “Whoa, it’s just me. I wasn’t done with you yet.” He put his arm around my shoulders to begin walking by my side and I ducked away, shooting him a warning glare. There were those stupid hands going up again and another chuckle. My temper was starting to bubble, and I knew it wasn’t going to be long before I would find a way to relieve him of those hands. I smirked to myself, let him figure out how to woo women without them. His eyes were now appraising me again, absent was the pity or fear I saw in most people’s eyes. “Tell me, Lola, are you lonely? I haven’t heard of you with anyone since Joaquin.” I lifted my chin defiantly:: I am not lonely. ::I furrowed my brows. Was I?:: He must’ve caught the question in my face and another infuriating smirk graced his lips. He dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and presenting me with a card. “It takes a little of the excitement out of it now that you’re no longer married to Joaquin. But my offer still stands. Come see me sometime.” My hand closed tightly around the card, crumpling it into a little ball, and continuing to squeeze until I could feel some of the edges cutting into the skin of my palm as I watched him walk away. That was enough public for today. I practically ran the few short blocks to my apartment, desperate to be alone. I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it with my eyes closed:: I had grown used to the way I felt ever since Joaquin’s death. The instability and uncontrollable rage was my warm fuzzy blanket. So it was unsettling that I wasn’t falling into my usual patterns when confronted with people like Matias. Looking down at my hand, I realized I still had his card clenched in it. Slowly I uncurled my fingers as I walked over to the table, attempting to flatten it out against the hard surface. I couldn’t help the laugh at how he found a way to even make his business card sound like a pompous gloat fest. Joaquin would’ve been jealous at how far he had made his money stretch. He was well known and very successful. Something stirred in me again as I remembered his words. Was I lonely… Instinctively I hugged myself, still staring unseeingly at the offending card on the table. No, carnal desires didn’t equate to loneliness. And Matias was very much like Joaquin. Maybe if I just closed my eyes… Before I could think better of it, I was out the door again and on my way to his office. I completely ignored the woman sitting at the desk outside as I pushed my way through his door. He was sitting at the end of a long table, papers that were probably important strewn in front of him. Without missing a step I had climbed up on the table and I was crawling my way over to him. Vaguely I heard the door flying open behind me. But I couldn’t bring myself to care. My focus was set and the way his eyes darkened as he watched me growing nearer only fueled me. Soon my lips were on his, my instincts taking over. I let out a sound of protest when he tore his lips away to dismiss his secretary for the day, barely allowing him to finish his statement before I had pulled his lips back to mine. Before long he was out of his chair, flipping me on my back, and settling his body on top of mine. I had closed my eyes, images of Joaquin on top of me taking over. It had all become so real in my mind that when Matias began mumbling against my skin I furrowed my brow at the sound of his voice. “I knew you’d let me have you some day, Lola.” My eyes flicked open. The sound of his kisses grating at my ears now. My nails dug into his back, and he mistook it for passion, mumbling again. “I’ve heard the stories. I bet your crazy translates to the bedroom too doesn’t it.” The breathy laugh made me grit my teeth, digging my nails deeper into his skin. The next thing he mumbled was vile and the final straw, with surprising strength I shoved him off of me, causing him to stumble back and land in his chair. My eyes were wildly searching the room, settling on a silver letter opener that had been knocked to the ground. For such a smart man, he was awfully dense. He still hadn’t detected the change he had set off inside of me, and his hands had gone to his pants, I could hear the clinking of his belt as he undid it. But now I was reaching for that letter opener. “You know, I’m glad you didn’t come around until now. If the rumors are true…” I cut off his sentence with a slash of my hand, the letter opener leaving a trail of blood across his forearm. This only seemed to excite him more. He was up on his feet, backing me into the wall, his eyes sparkling with arousal. He attempted to grab for my hand with the letter opener, and I blindly slashed the air again. My heart was thundering in my ears as a new kind of instinct took over. I didn’t stop slashing and stabbing until he lay still and quiet on the ground. Breathing heavily, I slowly backed out of the room, only turning around when I was free of the door the only thought in my head as I ran back to my apartment was how angry Joaquin was going to be with me::