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slumberingcorpse · 2 years

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The Wolf and The Fox

Part 6 “Live For Me”

Summary: Remembering a terrifying event of his early years in the Keep, Geralt finds himself finding comfort in Vesemir.

Screams flood Kaer Morhan’s halls. No one knew what was happening or what started it, what they did know, was that they were being attacked, no, not attacked, massacred.

Geralt’s heart pounds against his ribcage as he tries his best to keep up with his brothers being squeezed in between the stone walls one of his older brother’s legs. There was a total of fifteen of them. From the age of five to sixteen. The oldest pups were no other than Aleksy and Birger. Ages 16 and 15 respectively. The younger witchers could hardly use a wooden sword and all of the elder witchers were below fending off the mystery invaders only leaving the two oldest to protect the younger pups.

Aleksy often went by “Wolf” around the keep. With his broad heavy build and his grey hair caused by the mutations, he sure looked like a wolf but the older witchers called him that for being the best hunter and tracker in the whole keep, having the trophies in his room to prove as such. However, the children called him “wolf” simply because he was the best at playing tag and hide and seek. No matter where you run or hide, the wolf will find you. Or that’s what the children liked to say.

Birger on the other hand was tall and thin with black curls running down to his shoulders. Around the keep, he was known as “Dragon”. Unlike Aleksy, he kept to his own or just straight avoided the younger pups by keeping to his room. That’s where he got the name. Like a dragon guarding his treasure, he stayed in his cave.

The cave was long abandoned now, however. Now there he had to guard something more precious than jewels and gold. The lives of his brothers.

“There’s so many of them...we won’t be able to hold on for much longer...” Birger trembles hearing the deafening sound of war cries only to jolt up feeling a warm hand grip his shoulder.

“They’ll be fine, focus on getting everyone out of here alive,” Aleksy says glancing over the large group of children behind them shaking in panic and fear.

Birger glances around the group, his eyes landing on one of the youngest pups, Geralt, before tightening his grip on his steel sword and sighing, “We should get to the underground tunnels. There’s a secret entrance to the library. From there we’ll be able to make our way to the cave used for the trail of echoes. We’ll be safe there.”

“That’s my boy. Lead the way, I’ll take the back.” Aleksy smiles patting the other’s shoulder before ordering all the others where to go making sure all the little ones walked ahead of him.

Birger rushed through the keep, clearing out everyone that got in his way. He might’ve been young, but his siblings didn’t call him “Dragon” for nothing. Using igni, he set his enemies ablaze leaving smothering human corpses in his wake.

Geralt yelps at the sight of the corpses. In his short months in Kaer Morhen, he’s never seen a corpse before, let alone know the smell of burning flesh. It was all too much for the small pup who fell to his knees and threw up.

In the back, Aleksy made sure all the pups were accounted for as well as making sure they weren’t being followed. Luckily, the invaders seemed to be more focused on the chaos below than the children rushing for an escape.

Noticing, the small white-haired boy on his knees, he quickly rushed to his side, “Hey, what’s wrong? Does something hurt?” he asks sweetly rubbing his back.

Geralt couldn’t speak instead of letting out choked sobs unable to process what was happening. One minute he was sleeping, and the next he was running for his life. Terrified, couldn’t even start to cover it.

Like always, young Eskel quickly rushed over. Even then, the two were inseparable. From the moment they met, Geralt and Eskel were always together. The older witcher often joked about the two being soul mates.

“T-the smell...” Eskel tries to explain by hugging Geralt close for his own comfort.

Aleksy’s eyes soften as he nods before reaching down into his boot. There he takes out his most prized possession, his hunting dagger that shimmered in the low torch light. Without hesitation, he cuts a piece of his shirt before tying the cloth around Geralt’s face.

“There, now you don’t have to smell it. Can you walk?” he asks, keeping his voice calm.

Geralt whimpers and shakes his head in response. It was all too much. He couldn’t go any further. Trembling like a leaf, his legs were useless at this point.

“Wolf! What the hell are you doing!? We’ll be killed if we don’t hurry!” Birger shouts from up ahead.

“I know! Just give me a second!” Aleksy shouts back before smiling back down at Geralt and Eskel, “I’m going to pick you up, okay?” he says before lifting him in his arms. Eskel follows suit, by reaching up to hold Aleksy's hand.

Abandoning his sword on the ground, Wolf led both boys toward the rest of the group.

The library was right in their sight and both boys quickly herded the children inside. Grabbing some chairs and tables, Aleksy and Birger blocked the door before turning towards the group.

“Everyone okay?” Aleksy pants checking over all the boys’ arms and legs for any injuries still having Geralt and Eskel close while Birger hurries to find the entrance.

The library was huge and old. Hardly anyone went up there making it a perfect place to hide. The room smelled of rotting pages and dust. Usually, unpleasant, now the smell was a comfort.

“It’s okay everyone. It’s almost over. Once we get to the cave all of this will be over.” Aleksy reassures knowing how frightened the younger pups were.

“W-what about Vesemir?” Geralt whimpers clutching onto his shirt tightly.

“He’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine. They’ll come to find us once they fend off the invaders.” Aleksy smiles giving him and Eskel a gentle squeeze just as he hears a soft click from across the room.

“Break’s over! Come on! Let’s get out of here!” Birger calls out as he opens the secret door only to be met with a crossbow bolt between the eyes.

With a soft thud, Birger’s body falls onto the library's stone floor. Silence fills the room as a crown of blood surrounds his head only to be broken by two men walking into the library.

Aleksy’s eyes widen in terror as his eyes are met with yellow glowing cat-like eyes, no different than his. Witchers, with cat medallions hanging from their necks.

“Shame, such a young kid,” One of the cats sighs before reaching out and yanking the crossbow bolt out of Birger’s skull with a wet crunch.

“Orders are orders though,” he continues before turning back to the other cat, “Kill them all.”

Panic screams fill the library as the children scattered trying to find any way to hide. Some of the older pups attempted to fight back using signs but were quickly overpowered and killed with ease.

There was no possible way to save all of them. Even with a sword, the two cats were experienced and cold-blooded. Looking down in panic and fear, Alesky glances down at Eskel trembling at his side clinging tightly to his hand. He feels Geralt’s heart thundering against his chest. With that in mind, he took action.

While the cats are busy killing the other pups, Aleksy uses aard to blast open the blocked library doors before bolting out the door with the only two pups he could carry.

“Don’t let them get away!” he hears behind him followed by the whistle of a crossbow bolt.

Bodies littered the halls, some were humans and cats, but most were wolves. Their brothers, mentors, and friends, were all killed in the only place that was supposed to be safe.

Geralt’s and Eskel’s sobs ring in his ear. Usually, they would be scolded for showing such weakness. After all, witchers aren’t supposed to show emotion, but how could they not? Their family is being killed in front of their eyes.

Trying his best to stay calm, Aleksy rushes into the armory. Normally, the room would be filled with weapons and potions but now it was empty leaving scattered boxes and rat shit.

Slowly, Aleksy set both boys down before blocking the door the best he could but he knew it wasn’t enough. Not against humans, less against bloody witchers, but that was the least of his worries.

“Are you two okay? Does it hurt anywhere?” he asks checking the boys frantically. To his relief they were unharmed.

“W-wolf...” Eskel whimpers glancing down at Aleksy’s chest. Confused, he follows the small boy’s gaze only to make the horrifying realization that there was a crossbow bolt lodged in his chest, right between his ribs.

He couldn’t remember the moment he was shot. His body was pumping so much adrenaline through his veins, it was only now he could feel the pain, followed by the dizziness of blood loss. Still, he forces a smile, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Suppressing the pain, Aleksy gets up and looks around for any escape, landing on a small window and letting in a small amount of sunlight coming from the east where the forest was.

“Thank the gods,” He mutters before coughing up some blood. He didn’t have much time. He can feel his blood fill his lungs as black spots start to appear. He leans against the stone wall and turns his attention back to his brothers.

“Eskel, Geralt, come. I’ll lift you two up. Squeeze through the window and run toward the cave, Do you two remember where that is? We went there to play hide and seek remember?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

Both pups silently nod staring at the growing pool of blood beneath his feet.

“Good,” Aleksy smiles before forcing himself to bend down to taking his dagger out of his boot and hand it to Geralt, “T-take care of each other. No matter what happens...j-just stay alive...can you do that for me?”

“B-but what about y-you?” Geralt asks taking the blade with trembling hands only to be met with another calm, sweet smile and a hand on his cheek, “I’ll make sure you two aren’t followed.”

“But you’re hurt...”

“I know...I’m going to die soon...that’s why you two must hurry,” Aleksy confesses before lifting Eskel, bitting back cries of pain as he did. Blood gushed out of his wound, it wasn’t going to be long now. With one encouraging push, Eskel squeezed through landing on the other side with a small thud.

“Eskel? You okay?” he calls out hoping their enemies weren’t smart enough to surround the whole fortress.

After a few seconds, he hears the response he was waiting for, “Yeah, it’s all c-clear!”

“Good,” Aleksy sighs before reaching out to Geralt but the small boy pulled away.

“I...I can stay...” Geralt murmurs not wanting his older brother to die alone, but Wolf weakly shook his head, “You can’t...Eskel needs you alive. I need you alive...” he explains.

“B-but...w-what about you? You need help, m-maybe I can get h-help...”

Aleksy gently pets the boy’s head, “There’s no help for me. Please Geralt, live for me...”

Defeated, Geralt nods and lets himself get lifted up. Squeezing through the window, he glances down at his brother one last time.

Bleeding out, Aleksy sat himself down against the door, looked up at him, and with a huge smile, he waved his younger brother off, just as Geralt jolted awake.

The stench of blood and smoke was gone, instead replaced with the smell of sweat coming from no one other than himself.

It’s been ten years since the attack. Ten years, since...Aleksy died saving their lives. Smiling till the end. It’s been a while since he had last remembered the night’s events. A part of him hoped he would forget as he got older but it seems like the opposite has happened. The older he gets, the more he remembers.

Unconsciously, Geralt finds himself standing in front of the medallion tree. A large ancient tree nestled deep in the keep was covered with blood-covered wolf medallions that glittered in the moonlight. He remembers Vesemir calling it the place of great power where the souls of past witchers lend their power to those who meditate under it.

It was the closest thing witchers had to a church. Vesemir would force him and Eskel to mediate here all the time. He wasn’t sure why he was there since he hated the place. It was only another reminder of his unavoidable future that scared him so much just like the hunting knife that he held in his hands.

The once-perfect steel blade was now rusted due to a lack of use. Geralt should’ve tossed it years ago but he couldn’t get himself to use it let alone toss it.

Glancing down at the leather handle, Geralt traced his fingers over the name engraved stopping before he could finish the word.

“Come to visit our brothers?” A voice echoes through the hall causing the pup to jump before turning to find Vesemir walking over.

Relaxing his shoulders, Geralt shakes his head, “I couldn’t sleep...”

Vesemir’s eyes soften, “Another nightmare?”

The young pup shrugs, “Something like that...” he mutters turning back towards the branches of hanging wolf heads.

Vesemir silently nods before heel sitting next to the boy. He knew how the boy was, pushing him to talk would only cause him to run away so instead, he closes his eyes pretending to meditate.

After a few moments, Geralt finally breaks the silence, “How did he do it?”

“Who did what?” the older witcher asks slowly opening his eyes, awaiting his response.

“Alesky. Everyone was dying around us. He was dying and yet…he wasn’t scared...he was smiling...h-how could he do that?” the younger witcher sniffles trying his best to hold back his tears.

“Alesky was a great hunter. We used to joke that if he couldn’t get enough coin killing monsters, he would make a fortune hunting game. He gave his heart and soul into everything he did, even when it came to playing with you boys, but he was afraid especially when he smiled. Fear is what keeps us alive,” Vesemir explains, smiling at the memory of the boy.

“A-are you afraid?”

Vesemir chuckles, “How can I not be? I have to face deadly creatures that can slice or tear right through me with one wrong move and with you boys’ constant reckless behavior, I struggle sleeping without one eye open.”

Geralt plops down next to him looking down at the rusted blade, “Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you do all this? Wouldn’t it be better to just leave it all?”

“No,” Vesemir answers bluntly as he rubs Geralt’s back, “I do it because of you boys. You, Eskel, Lambert. All of you three drive me nuts. I stay up all night wondering if I’m too soft or too hard on training. I worry endlessly about all of you every single day, especially on the path. And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for the world because that fear reminds me how much I love you all. You three are my boys. My children. It’s a father’s job to be scared.”

Tears run down Geralt’s cheeks as he drops his knife and wraps his arms around the older witcher, burying his face into his shoulder.

“I’m scared, papa...” he confesses causing Vesemir’s heart to flutter at the name.

“I know, and that’s okay.” Vesemir hums squeezing the boy tightly.

Geralt shakes his head, “I-it’s not...I hurt Eskel...I hurt him because I was scared...I told him that we’ll all die a horrible death and now...he hates me...I don’t want to lose another brother...” he cries.

“Death is a natural thing. Even if we weren’t witchers we would die. Everything has to die at one point or another, but it’s also natural to fear it. It reminds us how much we love life.” Vesemir comforts, gently rocking the boy in his arms.

“W-what do I do?” Geralt sniffles snuggling closer into Vesemir’s chest.

“Use your fear to live. Treat every day like your last and be happy. There’s nothing more you can do...”

“C-can I sleep in your room today then? Just in case I die tonight, I want to die next to you...” Geralt sniffles.

Vesemir smiles and gently kisses his head, “I prefer it if you would live for me.”

A/N: Sorry that this one is a bit gloomy but I promise the next update would be more fluff. I also plan to go in-depth into Kear Morhen’s siege in the future. I hope you enjoy reading.

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Tag: @wrongdodo

#witcher #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #witcher oc #geralt of rivia #witcher eskel #witcher vesemir #papa vesemir #vesemir #cat witchers #kaer morhen #kaer morons #angst/fluff #part 6 #the witcher fandom #witcher fandom

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number-1-kuaidul-fanboy · 2 years

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Scenes that should’ve been in Duel Links

Because I’m actually kinda salty about their handling of some of these characters, particularly Revolver. The source for both of these is my own post VRAINS fanfiction The Lost is Found. You can read the whole thing here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41231739/chapters/103369587

Excerpts below the cut since they’re both a bit long.

(Source: Chapter 13 of The Lost is Found, my post-VRAINS fanfiction on Archive of Our Own)

Ryoken finally turned to Ai, his eyes narrowing. “You tried to kill us.”

The Ignis’s eyes narrowed. “You tried to kill me. Multiple times. Before I did that.”

“And Takeru and Yusaku? What did they do to deserve your wrath?”

Ai stiffened. “N-nothing I just…”

“Why did you do what you did?” Ryoken cut him off. His nails dug into the couch, his body trembling with rage as he growled, “Why did you attack humanity after claiming you were on our side for so long?”

“BECAUSE I WAS SCARED!” Ai snapped, glaring up at Ryoken as his eyes welled with tears.

Ryoken raised an eyebrow. Ai fell to his knees, trembling as the memories of the simulations washed over him. The cries of his partner echoed in his mind along with images of him falling to the ground limp, so vivid it was as if they’d really happened. Happened because of him…

Ai pulled his legs into his chest, shuddering. “I… I was scared I would be like Lightning and Bohman… I hate those humans that erased Earth… and the ones who started the war… I thought that meant I would hate all of humanity eventually. I didn't want that to happen. I wanted to die before it could! Before I could hurt anyone… before Yusaku would end up getting involved and-”

It was at that moment that Ai remembered who he was talking to and shoved himself in the duel disk in a fit of shame. “I’ve said too much!”

Ryoken stared at the duel disk, barely processing the fact that Ai had just poured his heart out to him, let alone what he’d said. He had seen the Ignis’ data and the probability each of them had to have either a positive or negative relationship with humanity. However, he hadn’t considered the cause of the negative outcomes would be… anything like this. Emotional, sure but… wanting to die? Ryoken barely believed it but Ai seemed far too genuine to be lying about this.

“Are you still there?” Ai’s voice was small.

“Yes…?”

Ai peeked out of the duel disk, resting his head on his arms. “I’m sorry… here I am getting angry that you won’t apologise when I have stuff I should be apologising for too.”

Ryoken blinked. “Is that what you wanted? An apology?”

“Only if you mean it. Do you regret any of it?”

“It was… my fault the war started in the first place.”

Ai couldn’t work up the effort to get angry at Ryoken anymore, his voice low as he replied, “So you admit the deaths of my friends are on your hands?”

Ryoken’s eyes narrowed. “My actions are on my hands. And I didn’t make you act out the way you did.”

“That’s… fair. I’m sorry… you won’t believe me… but it really was all for Yusaku… to prevent… those-those simulations I saw… of him getting involved and…”

Ai couldn’t finish his sentence. The memories surged through him again and he found himself shivering and gripping the sides of his head in a vain attempt to block them out.

(Source: Chapter 15 of The Lost is Found)

Aoi sat down at the table, placing the duel disk down in front of her.

“What is it, Ai?” she asked, her gaze intent on the Ignis.

“I um… I don’t really know how to say this, I just…” Ai let out a sigh, his body slumping further into the duel disk. “I’m sorry. About… how I duelled you and your brother. It was… I was horrible to you and… and…” Ai’s voice quivered. “I’m so sorry…”

“I know.” Ai looked up at Aoi in surprise. “I mean… I figured you were. With you being back the way you were. You know… peacefully with Yusaku. Still I…” Aoi suddenly looked away. “I appreciate the apology.”

There was a far off look in Aoi’s eyes

“It doesn’t fix anything… I-I know that. I just… wanted to say it.”

“Well, it doesn’t undo what you did but… it helps me trust you a little again.”

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Small note about the Ryoken scene:

Yes, I’m aware Playmaker told Revolver about Ai’s true motive in one of the event chapters, it bothers me a little bit that Playmaker said that when Ai was so unwilling to tell anyone but him (even Roboppi) but I can excuse that as difference of interpretation. What I don’t like about Duel Links’s take on that scene is Revolver’s only response to learning that Ai was essentially trying to die, is thanking Yusaku after he stated that he felt responsible that all the Ignis ceased to exist. I don’t think I need to explain why that’s crossing a line.

#yugioh #ygo #yugioh vrains #ygo vrains #vrains #ai vrains #dark ignis #dark ignis vrains #ignis vrains #ryoken kogami #revolver #revolver vrains #aoi zaizen

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meissashush · 2 years

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I posted 738 times in 2022

That's 493 more posts than 2021!

60 posts created (8%)

678 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@garbria

@kaciart

@chippersweetbaby

@missregality

@calamity-jam

I tagged 704 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#ffxv - 624 posts

#prompto argentum - 235 posts

#fan art - 215 posts

#noctis lucis caelum - 212 posts

#ignis scientia - 173 posts

#gladiolus amicitia - 166 posts

#nyx ulric - 132 posts

#kingsglaive - 123 posts

#cor leonis - 114 posts

#my stuff - 48 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#meanwhile over here in ffxv lokichan is shippong two guys who did kill each other with a third who isn't even mentioned in their movie

My Top Posts in 2022:

Waking up 4 with CorNyx, please?

4. “Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Cor squinted up at Nyx, who had his head propped up on one hand, as he tried to process what was just said to him. Nyx was smirking, that careful quirk of his lips that was always betrayed by the softness of his gaze in the dim light of their bedroom. Cor took a few seconds to enjoy the way Nyx’s tongue peaked out to wet chapped lips before his brain decided there wasn’t any emergency worth being awake for. “Seriously, you’re just going to ignore me?” Nyx asked, shaking Cor’s shoulder as he turned to burrow his face back into his pillow. Cor got a few blissful moments of silence before Nyx was draping himself across his back. “I alert you to a source of possible critical information leaks pertinent to the security of the Citadel, and the Lord Marshal dismisses it? I could have you sacked for this, you know?” “Lotta big words,” Cor mumbled into the fabric, trying to shrug off Nyx as he pressed his lips along the neckline of his shirt. Nyx laughed into his shoulder blade. “I love how stupid you are first thing in the morning.” Cor tried to ignore Nyx as his warm hands rubbed slow circles along his back, the pull of sleep still more tempting than whatever the hell Nyx was trying to get out of him. He burrowed his own arms further under the pillow as Nyx’s attentions wandered back to his neck, trying in vain to keep warm lips and rough stubble from making their way up to his jaw. “Fuck off,” Cor muttered to the lips that were pressing themselves into his cheek. The lips smirked against him. “What do you want?” “Well, I was going to be nice to you, since you were being cute in your sleep, but now I’m not so sure.” Cor closed his eyes tightly, blinking a few times to clear away the exhaustion. “What was I doing?” “Talking. In your sleep.” “What? I don’t—” “You do,” Nyx said, rolling off him to lay his head on his own pillow, nose centimeters from Cor’s. “Not often, but usually on mornings like these.” Mornings where they both had fallen heavily into bed the night before, asleep before they had the chance to revel in the relief of finally being off their feet. The types of mornings Cor preferred to sleep through. “What was I saying?” “Something about moogles,” Nyx laughed. “Apparently they’re banned?” Cor blinked a few times, trying to recall what he had been dreaming about. There was nothing. “Weird.” Nyx was still smirking as Cor leaned forward to kiss him on the lips, soft pressure mixed with softer chuckles that devolved into outright laughter as Cor collapsed back into his pillow face-first.

16 notes - Posted November 21, 2022

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric Characters: Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Threats of Violence, but its mostly nyx being dramatic, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Mild Blood, Aggression, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crush, NyxWeek2022, Chronic Pain, Cultural Differences Series: Part 3 of NyxWeek2022 Summary:

Nyx loves a good storm, he really does. But the lead up? Not so much. Dealing with the pains of an incoming storm has always left him feeling on edge, but in Insomnia, relief is a lot harder to come by.

Written for NyxWeek2022, Day 3: Storm, Scars.

16 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

Nyx mourns his family and the traditions of Galahd that are made difficult by city life.

Written for NyxWeek2022, Day 1: Tradition.

17 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

CorNyx - either Morning 5 "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you" or Night 18 "Do you want to keep the light on?"? ♥️

18. “Do you want to keep the light on?”

Cor looked like hell. They both did, Nyx knew, but there was something so much worse about seeing the unflappable Immortal exhausted. He’d seen the edges of it before, yeah. The dark circles and the blank looks in response to bad jokes that would usually warrant at least a glare and the minor spelling mistakes in otherwise flawless reports. He’d seen the pile of coffee cups on his desk at disgusting hours in the morning. He’d even seen him with his shirt on backwards, one notable morning, and had the honor of seeing him flush with embarrassment when Nyx pointed it out. This was different. Cor was sitting on one of the cots that had been laid out for them, staring blankly at his phone. The phone that had died about three hours ago, the event of which had elicited a series of expletives from the Marshal that the rest of them had respectfully ignored. Nyx had kept silent on the subject, his own phone long since dead due to its abysmal battery-life, but he knew worry was eating Cor at the seams. Now, alone in the room designated for those ‘off-shift’, Nyx did not know how to approach him. They had only been… whatever it was they were for a short time. It was something so fragile that he was still harboring it from even Libertus, and so tenuous that he was constantly walking on eggshells. He knew Cor was probably worried. They all were, cut off from the outside world and waiting on a signal that might not come. Nyx himself had been pacing so much that he had been ordered by an under-ranking Crownsguard to go cool off, the same soldier that had the brass balls to tell Cor to take a nap in the very same breath. Now, shoved together into the tiny ‘bedroom’ of the safe-house, Nyx could feel the depth of that worry clawing at his skin. “They’re fine,” Nyx said, wincing at the hollow way it fell off his tongue. “Regis, Clarus, the prince. They’re fine. We got the alert, remember? They’re safe in the Citadel.”

Cor did not even grunt in response. He just sat, blank-eyed, staring at the plastic brick in his hands. Nyx swallowed the building unease in his throat, taking a step towards him. Cor did not acknowledge the movement, so Nyx cautiously approached. He knew, on some level, that he was being a bit ridiculous, but at the moment he felt like he was on the very edge of something unknown and did not want to stick his foot through some boundary he’d yet to encounter. “We’re on the south end,” he ventured carefully to the ledge, perching on the cot in front of Cor. “No where near your apartment.” No where near his home. No where near where he kept his heart hidden, as Nyx now knew well, ever since Cor had started to let him in. Cor kept staring at his phone. Nyx took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst, then took the leap. He put his hand gently over the blank screen. Cor’s eyes shot up to him, instantly sharpening out of their dull revere. Nyx forced down the urge to flinch, but only just. “She’s okay,” Nyx said, soft words from the man with his hand in a dog’s mouth. “You don’t know that,” Cor growled. “No,” Nyx conceded. “But there’s no reason she should have been anywhere near it. Your kid hates crowds, Cor. The speech was televised. There’s no reason she would have gone.” Cor was still glaring at him, blue eyes sharp above bruise-black circles. Watching him, cautious but not quite hostile. Nyx pressed his luck. “She would have told you, right? If she had planned to go?” Nyx did not know if his kid would have told him. Nyx did not know the kid much at all, given the way she avoided him like the plague. But he knew she was reasonably responsible and more than a little shy, and he was banking on her being the sort of kid to stay home and sleep the weekends through. Cor was still staring at him, but his eyes were losing their bite. Just a bit. “Kid’s probably sitting at home, worried just like you, but safe. She wouldn’t want you to be driving yourself up a wall all night. She knows we couldn’t call her, anyway, even if our phone’s weren’t dead. She’s a smart kid.” Nyx continued, gently easing the phone out of Cor’s hand. By some miracle, he let him. Cor buried his face into his newly freed hands, scrubbing at his eyes. “I can’t sleep like this.” “What can I do to help?” Cor glanced up at him, eyes soft now with exhaustion and gentle in the way Nyx had only seen tucked away in the dark of a bedroom. Nyx gave him a small smile. Cor barely managed one in return, eyes darting to the phone in Nyx’s hands before falling back into his cupped palms. “I don’t know,” Cor confessed to the concrete floor. “Distract me?” Nyx bit back a rueful laugh, “don’t think we have enough privacy for that, unfortunately.” Cor shot him a glare that didn’t quite manage it’s usual heat, “I meant talk. About something other than this.” “Now, that,” Nyx chuckled. “That I can do. But you have to lay down, first. I’m not catching you if you fall asleep sitting up.” Cor rolled his eyes, tipping himself backwards into the cot in a way that made the steel frame creak from the effort. Nyx placed Cor’s phone on the folding table beside them before fishing his own out of his pocket and depositing it there too. He almost stood to hit the over-head light switch, before he considered the situation more. “Light on?” “Nah,” Cor said to the ceiling. “Eyes fucking hurt.” Nyx snorted as he took a few steps to hit the switch, the room still illuminated enough from the light spilling in from the ajar door helping him find his way back to the cot. He tipped himself into it with as much grace as Cor, letting himself settle into the familiar cradle of a shit canvas cot.

He reached out across the small gulf between them, palm offered upward. Warm, calloused fingers slipped between his, and the anxiety that was still fluttering in Nyx’s chest finally settled. He rubbed his thumb along the side of Cor’s hand, slow and gentle. “Did I ever tell you about that time we convinced Crowe that unicorns were real?”

17 notes - Posted November 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric Characters: Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis, Regis Lucis Caelum, Clarus Amicitia, Libertus Ostium, Crowe Altius, Luche Lazarus Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), in which i make nyx wrestle his anxiety and do a silly little dance, no beta we die like fools Series: Part 2 of NyxWeek2022 Summary:

His Royal Majesty Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII has asked Nyx to preform a traditional Galahdian dance for him. There is nothing on Eos Nyx wants to do less, but who can say no to a king, really?

Written for NyxWeek2022, Day 2: Dance.

17 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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elinska · 5 years

Photo

Ardnis Modern AU - Hair Problems

One of the reasons Ardyn never let Ignis get back on her motorcycle. The second one was because it was Ignis who send the damned picture to Regis.

The Fluff of Ardyn’s hair is

a lie.

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oneshortdamnfuse · 2 years

Text

So many people misunderstand Gladio’s personality, but if you ship Gladnis and accept it as canon (when it’s “word of god” canon) I promise you that everything about Gladiolus Amicitia will make absolute sense because this relationship alone highlights what he values most and what he’s willing to do to protect it. It exposes his weaknesses and regrets in the way his anger plays out when Ignis is hurt. Gladio is motivated by his admiration and respect for Ignis and his unwillingness to see Ignis run himself ragged or end up getting himself killed. He has known Ignis since they were children and he has shared the responsibility of raising a young prince with him, except Gladio had many luxuries Ignis did not and he knows this. Gladio has watched Ignis for years dedicate his life to his job without a single complaint despite Ignis sacrificing his own childhood in the process. Gladio decided a long time ago that while Ignis is there for everyone, he would be there for Ignis and his empathy and concern for Ignis speaks volumes louder than any piss poor “Gladio is just a mean bully” hot take.

#gladiolus amicitia #gladio amicitia #ffxv #gladnis

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the-sympathetic-villain · 2 years

Text

Until You’re Free - Chapter 2

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: For as long as he could remember, Janus’ parents had trained him to be an exorcist but when his mission puts his cross-hairs on two young demon children, he finds himself questioning everything he’d ever been told. To spare the boys, Janus takes a chance trusting a cat demon named Virgil, but as Logan and Roman are growing older, Janus finds himself back in the city and hiding them is proving to be harder than ever.

Thanks to LynHaundend for betareading and make sure to check out @korruptbrekker‘s beautiful art here!

Word Count: 2114

Chapter Warnings: Death Mention, Prejudice against Non-human Creatures, Anxiety (Let me know if you need me to tag anything!)

A swift breeze whistled through the trees as Janus rolled back on his heels to stare up at the stars. The twisting branches of the forest towered overhead as Janus let out a slow breath and let his spirit anchor to the ground. He adored the sight of the sky. Standing alone among the sea of stars, far from the lights of the city, he had the privilege of bearing witness to the absolute magnitude of the universe.

He leaned against the gnarled bark of one of the trees and he couldn’t help but wonder how the world might be changed if people saw what he saw out here in the wilderness. The bright lights and noise of the city served to overwhelm the senses, a static lull to peace as the people lost their connection to the earth. The Order claimed it was for their own protection, but Janus knew better. Everything the Order did was all about control.

Janus let out a breath as his head dipped down to observe the sleek, black shadow staring at him from across the clearing where they had decided to rest. The demon’s piercing, purple eyes tracked his every movement and it would have been easy to forget the pure power behind the tiny, furry creature if not for the aching pain pulsing from the broken ribs under his jacket. His new companion would truly have passed for nothing more than a domesticated house cat, resting peacefully among the sleeping toddlers, if not for the fact that the creature had two tails agitatedly flitting about as they watched him.

“Your protective instincts are admirable, but if I were going to hurt them, one would assume that I would already have done so.”

Janus held his expression neutral as the demon stared back at him. Their golden horns reflected the back in the subtle light of the stars as they tucked their paws underneath the and leaned into the children’s face, checking the children’s breathing and ignoring Janus’ words in the process.

“Fine. Your will is greater than my own.”

Exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders as he reached for the holster on his waist. He could feel the nekomata’s eyes snap to him, tensing as Janus removed the weapon from his person to set it aside. His companion may be able to go a few nights without rest, but his human body would give out on him if he did the same.

“If you sense any danger, please do not hesitate to wake me.”

Virgil’s ear twitched as Janus settled down on the ground. They managed a small nod as the priest crossed his hands across his chest, wincing with the pain of his broken rib as he settled in to rest. A few more hours would put them within a safe distance of the city gates. He could find a place for Virgil to hide while he smoothed over the troubles his disappearance had caused.

He’d been gone for a few days without reporting to the council before, and assuming his companion didn’t feel inclined to kill him in his sleep tonight, they might just have made this half-formed plan work.

---

Janus’ hand raised automatically to his ribcage as the memory surfaced in his mind. They had rescued the children of the Nihil Ignis well over a decade ago now, but the memory remained as vivid as ever. Truly, he’d been lucky that he’d been young when the injury occurred. The break in his ribs had healed without the need for the Order’s healers’ intervention. Hiding the boys had been difficult enough without his superiors breathing down his neck for explanations. The pain had been excruciating, but it was well worth the misery to keep them safe.

“Dad?”

Coming out of his thoughtful stupor, Janus’ gaze turned down to acknowledge the young demon coming up behind him. The blue tint of his skin had deepened as he’d come into his magical power and the silver of his eyes now gleamed with intelligence. “Yes, Logan?”

“Do I really have to wear this?”

“Yes, you do.” He paused, seeing this own anxiety mirrored on Virgil’s face as he adjusted the kid’s hood to cover his face. “The city gates aren’t far from here and we need to be careful.”

“But the hood is itchy.”

“You’ll survive.

“Roman doesn’t have to wear this stupid, burlap sack. Why should I?”

“We’ve talked about this already, kid.” Janus felt a pang of guilt as Logan's lip curled into an irritated scowl. “You need to be twice as careful as Roman.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Tough.” Janus eyed the disgruntled kid in his periphery. “The rules of the world don’t operate on what you find convenient.”

The disgruntled kid shoved his hands away, yanking his hood over his face as he pushed on ahead. Janus let out an exhausted sigh as Roman came up from behind his brother, timidly catching Janus’ eye before shuffling off quietly after Logan.

“Logan, wait.”

“Just let him go, Jan.” Virgil caught Janus’ arm as he started to go after the kid. Their grip was firm as Janus turned toward the snarky smile curling on their lip. “We’re not close enough for him to get into any trouble. He’ll walk it off.”

“This is dreadful.”

“I know you didn’t think raising a child of the infernal realm would be easy.” His friend’s grin only seemed to widen as Janus raised a finger to his temple, applying gentle circles of pressure in an attempt to fend off his growing headache. “He’s nearly an adult. Testing boundaries comes with the territory.”

“When I was a child, I spent the majority of my waking hours doing physical conditioning and studying dead languages. I didn’t know what it meant to take a break until I started taking on solo missions as an adult.” Janus tucked a stray strand behind his ear as he fell into step with Virgil down the rough terrain of the hunter’s path. “I was certain I’d never meet a person who hated their parents more than myself, but this kid seems intent on proving me wrong.”

“Logan doesn’t hate you.”

Soft, light peeked through the dense covering of trees overhead as Janus absentmindedly straightened his posture. He hoped that Virgil was right. He wanted nothing more than Logan’s vitriol to be a consequence of growing up, but that didn’t stop him from caring.

“Seriously, Jan.” Virgil’s voice dropped as their cat-like ear twitched, a nervous habit that they had picked up long before the nekomata had accepted a contract with him. “One day, they’ll recognize how lucky they are to have you protecting them.”

Janus shook his head as he steadied himself to drop down the steep grade of the trail, ignoring the tearing and pulling of the branches on his arms as they passed through the dense underbrush. They’d chosen this path because few of the city’s citizens ventured out on the hunting trails anymore and nature had reclaimed the area.

“If hating me was the only price I had to pay to keep them from experiencing the Order’s disdain for them, I’d gladly bear whatever ire Logan can throw my way.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.” Janus instinctively flashed a glance back at Virgil as a familiar dread settled in his chest. He waited for his companion to nimbly drop down the steep hill before turning to face the trail. His hands fell to his sides, unmoving as he tried to ignore the tightening feeling in his chest. “When I think about them experiencing what you did, I can’t breathe. They don’t deserve to know that kind of pain.”

His companion’s eyes flashed with a storm of emotions as they tucked their hands into the pockets of their heavy cloak and shrugged. “Worrying is supposed to be my job.”

“I’d never dream of letting you bear the burden alone.” Janus felt a weakness in his knees as he smirked at the sour look on his companion’s face. His tone dropped as he stared at the road down the mountain. “We’re closing in on the city, Virgil. I swore I’d never bring them here—That they’d never have to experience this part of the world. By the blue spirit, it’s no wonder Logan hates me.”

“You don’t bear the weight of responsibility for the Order’s prejudice.”

“Perhaps not, but I am still the product of their mission.” Shame darkened Janus’s cheeks as he turned his gaze to the ground. “Serving in the Outer Realms has not changed the fact that I am still their prized weapon.”

Virgil shook their head as they drew a deep breath. “You don’t hurt them anymore.”

“The bar has to be higher than simply not doing harm.”

“You’ve done so much more than that, Janus."

“Dad!”

“Roman?” Janus’ heart skipped a beat as his head shot up to scan the trail ahead, spotting the shadow waving frantically back to them from the end of the trail. “What’s going on?”

“Come look!”

The kid’s bubbly voice resonated across the clearing and Janus’ shoulders automatically relaxed. He glanced at Virgil for a moment, choosing to ignore the look of distress on his companion’s face as they increased their pace to catch up with the twins. Virgil seemed hesitant to end the conversation, but Janus was all too ready to leave the uncomfortable discussion in the past.

“We can see the buildings from here! Come look!”

Janus let out a breath as he climbed up the rocks to stand next to Roman on top of the hill. The kid was beaming as Janus and Virgil approached and it wasn’t difficult to find his smile when he was staring up at Janus with wonder in his eyes. Unhindered by anger and bitterness, his eyes gleamed with a sense of wonder that made him seem so much younger than his twin brother.

He rested a hand on Roman’s shoulder as they looked out over the valley. The formidable, white stone of the city walls cast dark shadows over the tangle of trees beneath them, an eerie reminder of what lies within their borders. The tall, patchwork of buildings that provided its citizens with their homes were shoved tightly together out of necessity, an architectural wonder unto themselves. They leaned and curved all the way to the center of the city, wrapping themselves around the stark outline of the Crimson Cathedral. The massive stone arches were overgrown with Devil’s Backbone, a bright red, thorned vines that made the intimidating blood-red hall stand out among the clusters of buildings.

“This place really hasn’t changed at all.”

“Dad?”

Janus’ stomach twisted as he turned to Roman, hiding his discomfort behind a cautious smile. “We’re almost there. Do you remember what I told you both?”

Logan didn’t bother to look back at him. His hood covered his expression, but Janus could see his muscles tense under his cloak. The kid certainly hadn’t forgotten their earlier conversations. Janus forced his frown to ease as he turned back to Roman, who seemed more inclined to answer him.

“We’re not here to visit.” Roman replied automatically, repeating back what Janus had told them nearly word for word without pausing to think. “You have a job and Logan, Virgil and I are staying in the Inn with your friend until you’re finished.”

“And—”

“And we’re not to talk to anyone—Especially Logan.”

“The Red City is full of dangerous people with unfair ideas about people like the two of you. No matter what you see or hear, you need to stay with Virgil and keep out of sight.” A smile curled on Janus’ lip as Roman nodded his understanding. “It’ll just be a day or two and we can go back home.”

“Okay.”

Janus squeezed Roman’s shoulder, pausing before he turned the power of his devil’s eye to Logan. The kid’s aura glowed as he shrugged and started to move forward. Its golden color tinted his vision, accenting the aura of energy around the kid pulsing around him as he struggled to contain his emotions.

“Logan?”

“Whatever, like I care anyway.”

A dark, blue hue danced around the heart of the kid’s energy as he took off down the trail without looking back at them. The anger cast a thin veil over the fear burning close in his chest, a sign of the kid’s true feelings as he avoided interacting with them. He knew that now wasn’t the time to force his way into the kid’s personal space, but that wouldn’t make traveling with the brooding teenager any easier.

Being home was quickly becoming just as miserable as he expected it to be.

#ts #tss #sanders sides #sander sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #Janus Sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #remy sanders #sleep sanders #Until You're Free #villain writes

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nhebi · 3 years

Text

chapter vi

warning : major spoiler gameplay, mention of blood, fighting, drinking behavior, sibling quarrels, unrequited love, arranged marriage, strained relationship between major characters (earlier chapter) and major character death (upcoming chapters)

Ignis loves the way your lips curling up at a sight of small Pomeranian at the side road. You will fight your fear of social interaction with stranger who can harm you outside of Citadel just to give it a small belly rub. The owner usually won't mind about it and it makes you more than happy to see the puppy squealing at you.

Your eyes will be full of stars when there's a stock of macaron at your favourite pastry shop. You will carefully sneak in to buy two more boxes to eat as a late night snack after dinner time at your room. You keep getting caught by Ignis, who'll point at colourful crumbles on the corner of your lips. You will counter it with a small 'brain fuel' before asking him to let you go this time.

You love tending and arranging flowers, a habit you picked from Lunafreya. You will carefully cut the dead leaves and twigs with your silver pair of shears that you got as a present from a foreign land during your visit. The first time you learnt about it — you were more than disappointed when learning about its death, having Lunafreya to calm you down by gifting you another pot of flower to take care of.

You still have a hard time to walk properly like Noctis after the incident that occurred during your childhood. If Noctis will need to stop by once in a while to massage his knees, you'll need more time to recover your stamina because you keep focusing it on your legs to keep up with the rest of team.

Your hand.. it's something Ignis never paid attention to before. When he held it for the first time during the camp, he loves the way your fingers twitch slightly during your sleep and curling up against his. Your skin isn't as soft as when you were small, but it's soft enough to not having any callous or scar.

He's more than nervous when having you in his room — let alone taking off your stockings, you never had a cup of tea with him. He gulps down his nervousness, hoping it won't be noticed by you before he starts to untie your boots.

It was a pair of black leather boots with red soles. The heel is a bit tall for his taste and your safety. He's wondering how you can run and keep up with them while wearing this. The straps aren't any better, he's sure that this small dent on your skin is caused by bells that hanging on it.

No worries, Ignis. You did fine work. Now, the stockings..

He asks for your permission, raising your skirt a bit and let it rest against your upper thigh. He starts to clip off the straps from the stockings carefully, not wanting to hurt your skin.

Astrals, please forgive this man for his inappropriate behaviour!

He begins to peel off your stocking, feeling your skin against his in the process before he stops in the mid — trying to cool off his head and calm down his heart. Then, taking it off completely before doing the same to the other pair.

He can't help but frown at the small marks of blisters on your feet, knowing how painful it can be if left unattended. He begins to put a generous amount of ointment over your injuries, hoping this time you'll understand that he's worried about your well-being and stop doing something that can danger it.

Wanting to make sure you'll be alright, he asks for you to stand up — holding onto him in case you're falling. He places his hand over your waist to steady you up and the other over your back.

Suddenly, you're looking deep into his eyes — giving him an alarm for various negative possibilities that can happen, ranging from a scoff to throwing a tantrum. He's expecting the latter and prepares for it, only to find it something else.

It's a.. giggle? A very sweet one, indeed

Your eyes turn into a pair of crescents and cheeks getting rosy. You're so close, making him a bit nervous about how he can feel your chest pressed into his. He asks what you're laughing about, thinking that he might look silly from your point of view or maybe there's a food stain on his collar.

Instead, you're talking about having beauty marks and freckles as gifts from the Astrals. He's a bit embarrassed about it because he always try to cover and remove them, feeling it won't look good as a nobleman to have one — yet, he has many of them.

"I appreciate the compliment, Highness," he tries to suppress a smile, but failing at the end.

He never saw, touched or held you this close. It's far beyond his bubble to hold you in his arms — but, it's more than a great thing for him to do. He can see some of the late king and queen's features on you, something that might bring his uncle to tears if he sees you in Insomnia.

You still hold Caelum distinctive characteristic, dark hair and black eyes with fair skin. But, you have a youthful and refreshing image, almost like the splitting image of your mother during her young age from what he has heard.

"How's your feet?" You tell him that you feel better because of the ointment he gave earlier and can walk better, but still in need of a better shoes to wear.

Even if you want to buy one, it'll be a bit hard because your existence is a secret. So, he told you that he'll make sure to bandage your feet but making it not too tight or thick so you can slip into your boots easily.

He helps to put your stockings back and clip the garter, noticing a glimpse of your luscious thighs before wearing your shoes on, carefully not to give any pressure on your injury.

"Better?" He asks, looking deep into your eyes but then it keeps getting lower and stop right on your lips — a perfect combination of peach and rose, slightly shiny because of your gloss.

"Yeah," you reply before his hand land down on your cheek, pressing your lower lip with his thumb to part it. "Ignis?" You call out, feeling confused about his behaviour before he breaks away from.

"Ah, I'm— Please, forgive me," he says before he looks at your hand grabbing his wrist. You're looking at him with those rosy cheeks and shifting your gaze away from him, making him almost going crazy at such a look. Almost.

"You can do whatever you want," he widens his eyes at you, who looks flustered about it. "As long as you have my consent, of course," you reply before he sigh in relief with your common sense and rests his hand against the same spot, getting closer than before.

"May I.. kiss you, Highness?" He gulps down, keeping his eyes on yours before you give him a nod and place your hands above his.

He's nervous for sure — yet, you're not any different. You haven't had your first kiss — let alone that, you haven't been in one proper, romantic relationship like people around you age has aside with this engagement with Ignis. His breath is warm and smells of coffee (you hate it, but you won't let it become the reason why you won't kiss him). He has a faint smell of cinnamon lingering around with sandalwood perfume he always put on.

He presses his lips over yours tenderly — enjoying the feeling that envelopes him. You taste sweet like the strawberry shortcake you always eat secretly before and after meal with Prompto's help. Ignis knows it — but, he turns a blind eye to keep you away from throwing a tantrum. You seem breathless, so he pulls away and gives you time to take a breath.

"Easy there, darling," he presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes to focus on your scent — always sweet and intoxicating, making him afraid that you might kill him for being around his side.

He pulls you to rest against his chest, giving you a space to lean on him. Your hands are draped over his thigh and he's not sure if you're aware of how close they are to his pelvis. There's no complaint, cry, yell nor tantrum from your lips — only a pure comforting silence for both of you.

#final fantasy 15 #final fantasy fic #final fantasy xv #final fantasy series #final fantasy #ignis fluff #ignis scientia #ignis x reader #ffxv ignis

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castillon02 · 3 years

Text

Worthy of the Honey-Comb

Summary: Barmin told the bees about the boys who had died, listing off each and every name. He did the same when any trainee or Witcher died. “You have to tell them, or they’ll leave,” he had said to Vesemir when he was teaching him. “‘No matter how young or old, the bees must be told.’” (After Kaer Morhen's sacking, Vesemir found himself on the Path again.)

Notes: For @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo. Also on AO3

---

The mages had finally done it—figured out how to leave a cohort more alive than dead. Vesemir walked into that grim, stone room and pulled Witcher after Witcher off the mutation tables, their chests heaving, their mouths whimpering, their bodies covered in shit and vomit. Taking care of the living was usually the shortest part of this process, but not today. It was all right; the dead didn’t mind waiting.

Water, first, mixed with honey from Barmin’s hives, for healing and energy. He trickled it past cracked lips beginning to scab over, massaged their throats until they swallowed. Then poppymilk for what the mages called the growing pains, which were agony. Then cleaning. “I know it hurts,” Vesemir told each of them, the washcloth rough against nerves made new, his voice as low and soft as he could make it. “It will pass. This will pass.”

Geralt’s eyes fluttered open, bright yellow now; he held Vesemir’s gaze. “Made it,” he muttered, gravel in his voice. “Told you. I can—” His hands twitched towards the cloth, but fell back to his sides.

“You can sleep,” Vesemir said. “Like everyone else is doing. Or meditate if you can’t do that.”

Geralt nodded. His eyes closed and his breathing evened out.

“Strong boy. You did so well,” Vesemir said, when he thought he wouldn’t be overheard, and he finished with Geralt and went on to Eskel, keeping them together even in this.

The other instructors made themselves conspicuously busy during the Trial of the Grasses: storerooms needed inventoried, sword forms needed practicing, firewood needed chopped. Rennes, the head of the school, took up a new hobby every year. This year he was trying embroidery, under the guise of wanting to transcribe “Drowner Food” onto every trainee’s shirt. Probably it was just one of the cheaper activities that he hadn’t mastered yet; Kaedwen’s funding for them seemed to be drying up, smaller and smaller each year.

Vesemir made a habit of facing the things that scared him, so he was the one who volunteered, every year, for clean-up duty after the mages finished the mutations.

He looked into the faces of the two boys who hadn’t made it, and he saw his own potential death there, decades past. How often had he escaped it, and how many more times would it happen before Destiny put an old wolf down? He carried the cleaned corpses into the storage room next to the laboratory, ready for the pyre the next day.

Then, as gray dawn trickled through the arrow slits, he went to see Barmin. The mages remembered the dead with tally marks under a column labeled “Failures,” but Barmin would want to know their names.

Barmin always spent the night after the Grasses in the apiary tower, his candle flickering dimly against the closed tower window when Vesemir looked up from the fire in the courtyard. Except in poor weather, that window was always open---the bees came and went as they pleased. But Barmin closed it for the night after the Trials, the night when the Witchers took turns changing their failures into ash and smoke, one Igni at a time.

While the window was closed, Barmin told the bees about the boys who had died, listing off each and every name. He did the same when any trainee or Witcher died. “You have to tell them, or they’ll leave,” he had said to Vesemir when he was teaching him. “‘No matter how young or old, the bees must be told.’”

Every young Witcher learned this, eventually, when their name came up for a week of apiary duty. Their sweet honey was made out of nectar and memories.

“Only two,” Vesemir said to Barmin, almost triumphant, even though none of it had been his doing. As an establishment, the Wolf Witchers were improving. Growing. A few more cohorts like this, and there might be enough Witchers for some to go out in pairs like they had in decades past, decrease the casualty rates among those new to the Path…

“I heard,” Barmin said, rocking in his chair amongst his skeps, the buzzing, conical basket-hives he made out of straw. His bones jutted out more than they had when he had drilled Vesemir on his forms, decades past now, but his limbs moved steadily as he reached down to the jar of honey next to him and retrieved the dipper. He offered it to Vesemir after plucking off a pale hair from his long beard.

Vesemir swiped his finger along one of the ridges and stuck it in his mouth, licking the sweetness off, just like he had after mastering a particular riposte as a trainee.

“They’re going to give a second Trial to some of the boys,” Barmin told him abruptly, his eyes tracking a bee’s flight through the window to a buzzing skep. “They’ll test the ones who endured the Grasses best. Said they’d only risk the number of boys that would have died anyway in a typical year. It’s a chance for stronger Witchers. More mutagens, more powerful.”

Geralt, strong Geralt, would certainly be among the test subjects. Vesemir went cold. He wiped his damp finger on his trousers. “Thought they’d given up on that idea,” he said. It had been tried, of course, and abandoned quickly because it had had a one hundred percent mortality rate.

Barmin’s moustache quivered with the force of his scowl. “Mages,” he said, waving the dipper contemptuously. “They never give up, only postpone.” He sighed. “Like I’m postponing the pyres and telling the bees. Might as well do it all at once.”

Some superstition there, maybe, or maybe Barmin just didn’t want to experience the grief twice.

Melitele. He was going to have to make that journey into the lab another time, discover the dead and survivors another time, wash the bodies that he had bundled, blessedly breathing, under their blankets just hours ago.

Stop this. Vesemir tried out the words in his mind, but he couldn’t make himself say them. If the mages, crackling with Chaos, said that this was for the good of the Wolf school, then it was. And Rennes must have agreed to it. Even for someone as old as Vesemir, an attempt to countermand the leader of the school would result in a lashing for insubordination, if he were lucky; exile or death if he weren’t.

Still, he imagined bundling Geralt onto his back and disappearing into the night with him (and then swiftly changed the image to include Eskel as well, because he couldn’t very well take one without the other). It was a futile wish. Witchers were among the best trackers in the world, and there was nowhere they wouldn’t pursue the boys given to them by Destiny.

“This is shit,” Vesemir announced. The background hum of the bees would disguise his words to anyone outside the apiary; they might hear that he and Barmin were talking, but they would be unable to make out the individual words. Barmin told his best stories up here, and boys on apiary duty confessed their worst fears, and no one else heard but the bees.

He and Barmin could plot a few murders, and no one would hear but the bees. Vesemir raised his eyebrows at Barmin. Was this new experiment the line that Barmin would draw in the sand? Or was a potential schism too much of a risk?

“We need Rennes to make the Kaedweni government keep giving us money, and we need the mages to keep making Witchers, otherwise the people of the Continent will be overrun by monsters,” Barmin told him, as practical as a well-honed knife. “Just like all of the Trials, these are the sacrifices we make in order to keep the Continent safe.”

Vesemir pursed his lips. “Damn your logic, old man.” As if he didn’t have a full head of gray hair himself at this point.

Barmin reached out and patted him on the thigh. “You can’t save the dead. Just do your best to keep the living—”

“—alive,” Vesemir finished with him. Barmin had said it for decades. Small comfort.

A few days later, Vesemir found Geralt breathing in a room full of corpses. He and Barmin closed the apiary window while the Witchers below burned seven bodies, and they told the bees seven names and seven stories of boys who could have been good Witchers. Could have been good people. Couldn’t be anything but ashes in the moat, now.

Vesemir made the survivors run the walls. They staggered and limped instead of sprinting, but that was fine. If they could move after the Trials, then they could move after a wyvern gored them on the Path. They could make it to safety even while they were wounded. They could make it to Kaer Morhen for another winter.

---

Vesemir stayed, by and large, in the keep, barking at young men about their footwork in the hopes that they would survive another fight, live another day. In the hopes that when the great pack of them left to spread across the Continent in the spring, no new faces would turn up missing come winter.

However, he also went hunting at least once a quarter. It kept the other fencing instructors on their toes, kept Vesemir sharp, and kept the monster population in the surrounding area low enough that the nearest village couldn’t complain.

Useless. None of that monster-hunting sharpness helped Vesemir when he returned with a juvenile griffin’s corpse slung across his horse for study only to find that there was no one left to learn from it. None of Vesemir’s training had stopped the boys from dying on the invaders’ pitchforks.

Vesemir found Barmin’s body halfway down the apiary stairs, three peasants and a mage lying slain around him. No blood or smoke-scent further up; the long stairs seemed to have been too much trouble for anyone else to climb. Too much trouble for Vesemir to climb, too, with five corpses to carry down to the courtyard. He turned around without continuing to the top.

Barmin’s body went onto a pile with the others, but his ethos guided Vesemir’s hands. Be practical. He triaged the keep: cared for the animals that had escaped slaughter, burned the funeral pyres, dealt with the dangers in the cracked-open laboratories, patched as many holes in the walls as he could. The whole kaer smelled of smoke and death, even after he threw open the unsmashed windows and mopped the bloody floors with nose-burning lye.

Practical. Was that what Kaedwen’s mob had been, destroying the monster-makers? Recouping a drain on their budget?

Was practical what Vesemir was, dismantling all of the lab tables for scrap save one, just in case?

When Vesemir finally wound his way up to the top of the apiary stairs, the silence gaped at him, noticeable now that he had his ears pricked for it. The invaders hadn’t made it this far, but when he opened the apiary door, the skeps lay still and empty. No bees left to buzz. They had gone. Left out the open window.

Barmin’s honey jar sat half-open near his rocking chair, the wooden dipper tilted under the lid as though waiting for him to come back for a lick or two.

“Beekeeper’s privilege,” Barmin had always said when he took the dipper out for a taste.

“Century-club privilege,” Vesemir had sometimes rejoined when he was feeling his age more than usual, and Barmin had let him have a fingerful off of the dipper.

This jar was the last. Most of their stores had been destroyed, but there had been no sticky sweetness in the wreckage of the pantry. Barmin’s little jars of honey, just the right size for a Witcher to sneak into their pack, had been stolen by his killers.

Vesemir dipped his finger into the honey, just breaking the surface, and stuck the pad of it into his mouth.

The honey tasted like smoke. Like everything tasted, these days. Of course—with the window open, the smoke from the pyres would have come in the same way the bees had gone out.

Vesemir made himself swallow, set the jar back down, and closed the window and the door behind him. Closed a lot of doors that winter.

The smoke had driven off the bees. It wasn’t abandonment. It wasn’t that no one had followed the old ritual and told them that Barmin was dead, that the bees had found out from the ashes instead.

Vesemir did what he could, but it was a bitter winter for those who returned.

“I’ll take Redania and Temeria,” Geralt said before he left.

“Aedirn and Lyria,” Eskel said, the two of them mirroring as they so often did, this time hunting on opposite sides of the same central mountain range.

The others called out their intended territories, Hemminks in Mahakam and Rivia, Adon to Toussaint, all of them spreading down and across the Continent. No one mentioned Kaedwen except Lambert, implicitly. His lip curled with fresh contempt as he said, like he always did, “I’ll take anywhere but here.”

The Witcher survivors followed the bees in the spring, not a host prowling towards a monstrous hunt, not anymore, but a handful of wolves running from their den.

The keep had never been empty before, but there were no more trainees to bark at. No more animals that needed tending. (They had eaten the last of them by the end of winter.) No mages or alchemists with experiments to watch over.

Nothing left.

Vesemir, after the last of the youngsters had gone down the Killer, found himself walking the Path again too.

He was a Witcher. What else could he do?

---

“Didn’t know we’d kept any of your kind alive,” the first alderman said to him, and spat at his feet. The spittle glistened on the wooden porch in front of the alderman’s house, slightly less ramshackle than its neighbors.

Vesemir had been spat at for longer than this salty-haired idiot had been alive. Had probably been spat at by his grandfather, in fact. He waited, silent as stone.

“Been some ghouls out at the sick pit,” the alderman said grudgingly. “Give you fifty ducats for ’em.”

“Twenty-five a head,” Vesemir countered. He needed to start saving up for a horse.

“Twenty a head, and yer arse out of town right after,” the alderman said.

Vesemir nodded and left. He followed the smell of decomposition to the ‘sick pit,’ a shallow valley filled with corpses covered in post-mortem necrophage wounds. Flies buzzed around the bodies. Some villages had beliefs against interring those who died of illness in the same soil as the healthy. Most of them chose to build pyres instead, but it had been a wet winter.

Vesemir climbed a nearby tree, still damp from frost-melt, and waited for nightfall.

Six ghouls by the time the moon was high. Six monsters to die by if he got careless. A hundred and twenty ducats if he got paid fairly.

Necrophage oil on his silver blade; a couple of dancing star bombs in case he needed some distance; Cat potion because ghouls liked to hunt in the dark. Should have been like any other contract. Seemed to be, even.

He dropped from the tree and got one in the back of the knees, following through with a thrust through the spine. It collapsed without a shout, but its brethren spun around, alert to the sounds of ripping flesh and the scent of fresh-spilled blood. They moved towards him and he met them with silver.

Yes, the ghouls moved the same, bled the same, died the same.

But if they were to bite him and infect him with their venom, there would be no keep with healers ready to tend him if he could only drag himself to the top of the mountain. There would be no lit fires, no bubbling pottage, no friendly ribbing about getting slow in his old age. Nothing and no one awaited him at Kaer Morhen anymore.

Vesemir sliced a ghoul’s head from its shoulders.

Here he was, saving people near enough to the ones who had killed Barmin. They hadn’t thought about being ghoul food, had they, when they’d sharpened their pitchforks and stormed through a mage’s portal? They hadn’t thought that their isolated village might be emptied by monsters who first ate their dead, and then tore through their livestock, and then picked off their people, one by one, until they finally rampaged through the buildings, glutting themselves on everyone who hadn’t yet starved to death.

Vesemir faced the last ghoul, its teeth bared in a snarl, its face covered in flaking blood. He hesitated. He had seen many such gutted villages. What was another one, when his own home was dead? What was his life worth when Kaer Morhen lay empty and a kind of vengeance might be had for it, and all it would take was a fatal moment of stillness?

The ghoul lunged forward.

Later, he would tell himself about practicality. There were only so few of them left. Monsters still needed to be hunted. He still needed to get paid. A village could only hire him (and other Witchers, other Wolves) if that village still existed.

In the moment, Vesemir dodged the ghoul’s attack, thrust his sword to the side and under its ribs, danced behind it, and chopped through the back of its neck. He had spent over a hundred years hunting monsters. His body had been made to kill, so it killed. What power could a qualm have against the deadly force of habit?

---

A hundred ducats, not a hundred and twenty. Vesemir took them and dodged two villagers’ clumsy attempts to hide on either side of the front door and club him on his way out. He ran until he was past the treeline, walked the rest of the day, and caught a squirrel for dinner. As the weak spring sun faded, he poured the coins out of their bag and into his hands. They glistered in the light of his little fire.

Coin---always coin. An excuse to take his life, for those wretches with the ghouls. An excuse for Kaedwen to sack his home and kill his students. The peasants hadn’t made it into the keep without help. No, the Witchers had nibbled at the royal coin purse for too long, and the king’s mages and priests had been dispatched to exterminate them like ratters tearing into a nest. Perhaps it hadn’t even been important enough to be the king’s plan. Could have been some interior secretary, puffed up with importance and trying to earn a bonus with the inspired idea that they could easily divert certain resources, and it would only cost the lives of a few dozen mutants—a bargain!

Aside from the king’s funds, Witchers hadn’t taken coin when Vesemir had been in training, back before he’d earned his eyes. It had been Law of Surprise only, the Continent overrun by monsters and the Wolf School desperate for boys to swell its ranks. Fewer monsters, now. Fewer Witchers. Same Destiny at work.

She had provided before; she would again.

---

“I’ll deal with your griffin,” Vesemir told the next alder, a wrinkled woman wearing a stained apron and a starched, feathered blue hat that seemed to be a symbol of authority. “But afterward, you must give me that which you find at home yet do not expect.”

The alderwoman paled, her eyes flitting backwards into her house, perhaps towards a child or grandchild. Vesemir had seen that fear many times. “We took care of that,” she hissed, her fingers bunching into fists. “You can’t make any new ones! No more of our children lost to you freaks! The king said so!”

“The Law of Surprise predates Kaedwen by centuries,” Vesemir said. “No king can escape it; no commoner, either.”

“Leave, then,” the alderwoman said, stepping back, her hand on the door. “Better for a child to be killed by a griffin than a Witcher.”

Vesemir bowed his head. “It may not be a child,” he said. The old placating speech. “Just something unexpected. It may be a horse. A mouse. A lover.”

This narrow-eyed look he knew, too: the fierce calculation of a leader. Could she afford to risk her offspring? Could she afford not to, with the griffin decimating her people’s livelihoods? A dog, a sheep, and a calf had all disappeared, she had said, presumably down the monster’s gullet. It would only get bolder.

“That which you find at home yet don’t expect,” Vesemir repeated.

The alderwoman glared at him. “Fine,” she said, her hands on her hips. “But don’t be making a fuss when you get a cow pie on the lawn or whatever else Destiny shits out for you.”

Vesemir nodded. He left. He killed the griffin, but not before it raked its claws across his shoulders.

The alderwoman met him at the boundaries of the village and huffed at the sight of the griffin’s severed head. “You’ll find no soul in the family way,” she said as they walked back to her house. “Made sure of it myself.”

Vesemir darted a glance at her. Abortifacients?

She pressed her lips together and looked ahead.

The unexpected prize awaited them in a hollow under the alderwoman’s yew tree, going by the high-pitched whining. The alderwoman’s entire face lit up with a relieved smile. “Zupa! Get out of there, you mongrel!” she shouted, and a scrawny brown dog crawled out from between the roots, its back matted with blood, its whippy tail wagging against the dirt.

“Zupa?” Vesemir asked.

“I always threatened to turn her into soup as a puppy,” the alderwoman said, scratching the dog behind its ears. “I suppose—you won’t eat her, will you? Be a shame if she escaped the griffin only to end up down a Witcher’s gullet.”

“It’s not called the Law of Dinner,” Vesemir said. “I’m not going to cross Destiny for a meal.” Probably this would reassure her more than his personal distaste for dog.

“All right,” the alderwoman said, her shoulders dropping. “All right.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she turned to the dog. “You be good, Zupa, you hear me? Do as the Witcher says and be a good girl. And don’t go letting any monsters take any more bites out of you, you hear?”

Zupa wagged her tail, and she cried in pain when Vesemir picked her up, as gentle with her wounds as he could be, and she barked when the alderwoman went back inside with her eyes wet and her lips trembling.

Vesemir turned them around so the alderwoman couldn’t see him. “Sleep, Zupa,” he said, twisting his fingers into Axii as he did so.

Zupa slept while he carried her, and she slept while he bandaged her wounds, and she slept while he tied a rope around her neck to keep her with him. She woke up when he had a rabbit on the fire, of course, and she took her meat from his fingers without a single graze of her teeth, as sweet a dog as he had ever encountered. She slept several feet away, on a patch of grass where she could see him while also keeping watch on the nearby deer trail.

A Dog Surprise. Not a child. Not even a puppy, young enough to be trained for life on the Path, as one or two Witchers who disdained horses had done. A full-grown dog.

What was she good for, this dog? What could she do at his side that she couldn’t in her village, where she had probably herded sheep or guarded chickens?

---

“Give me that which you find at home yet don’t expect,” Vesemir said after rescuing a merchant from a pack of drowners.

“That which I—well now, if Brin’s with child, you shall have it, for a child born from two cunts would be a magical thing indeed!” the merchant said, chuckling atop her carriage, and only kept a slightly wary eye on him as he walked next to her plodding horses. The carriage carried a number of expensive things that would have been ruined by a dunking in the river, and Vesemir had saved not only her life, but her merchandise.

Zupa, sitting next to the merchant on top of the carriage, lolled her tongue out and pressed her nose against the merchant’s hands for scratches, which were duly given.

“Not much of a fighter, for a Witcher’s dog,” the merchant commented.

“Her job isn’t to fight,” Vesemir said, though he still wasn’t sure what her job was. Enabling smoother small talk, maybe?

Zupa had seen the drowners, heard his “Hie!”, and had run behind the nearest tree, just as they had practiced. She had stayed alive. He hadn’t been sure if she would, or if her fate was to die, to show him the futility of his teachings.

They walked back to the merchant’s house and the merchant found a large parcel of fine wool waiting for her inside, a shipment that should have arrived a week ago but had been delayed by the very drowners that Vesemir had killed earlier in the day.

“Your Wool Surprise, Witcher,” the merchant said, smiling a little as she heaped the box into his arms. It towered over his head.

Zupa leaped up at his side like she had springs in her toes, nipping at the box’s top corners with excited yelps.

Vesemir dodged her attempts, craning his neck around the side of the box, and asked, “How much for that goat cart in the garden?”

“How much can you spend?” the merchant asked, and she knew her business, for she got thirty ducats out of him.

A dog and a box of wool. Around lunchtime, Vesemir stopped and made camp in a clover-filled clearing. While the local bees dipped into the pale flowers all around them, he made generous use of Axii and a ration of dried meat to teach Zupa to pull the goat cart, and by the time the last of the sun’s amber light trickled behind the horizon, she was running through the field with the cartwheels bouncing along behind her.

“You have a commendable amount of energy,” Vesemir informed her when she flopped down at his side. He took the cart’s harness off of her and rubbed her soft belly.

She wouldn’t be as fast tomorrow, with the weight of the wool behind her. They would have to take frequent breaks. If he weren’t careful with her stamina, he’d wind up hauling the cart with the wool and the dog both laden atop it.

Wool and a dog. Destiny might as well have tied iron shackles around his ankles.

The next day, Vesemir turned east instead of south. He would circle Kaer Morhen rather than fleeing from it. If Destiny kept giving him slow surprises, who knew how long it would take him to make the trek back for the winter?

---

The little boy was smelling a flower as red as his hair. The chort was smelling the little boy.

Vesemir tossed the boy up the nearest tree and thanked Melitele that he had the sense to hold onto a branch once he was up there.

“Bees, bees, I’m scared, I’m scared, good bee, please be good—”

Shit. Vesemir, trying to deal with a charging chort, stopped listening at that point. The bees wouldn’t kill the boy. Probably.

“Wow,” the boy said afterward, gaping. He had two missing teeth and at least three swollen red bee stings on his face. Six years old, maybe? “That was so cool! Ouch! How did you do that? Ouch! Your sword just went whoosh and that gold shield went kapow when that thing plowed into it, and—”

“I was there,” Vesemir interrupted dryly. The pain of the bee stings didn’t seem to be stopping the boy from talking.

Zupa, sensing that the danger had passed, sprang out of the bushes with her cart behind her. She had grown used to maneuvering it around various obstacles.

“You have a dog!” the little boy shrieked, and as he said “Ouch!” he tumbled down the tree trunk and ran to her.

Zupa pinned her ears back and glanced at him.

Vesemir started dissecting the chort corpse. She was better at handling this kind of threat than he was anyway.

Eventually, amidst the rambling, the boy said, “Blessed Melitele, I could have died!” and put his hand to his chest, clearly mimicking some older person’s shock. “Thank you for saving me, sir!”

“If you wish to repay me, you can give me that which you have at home yet do not expect,” Vesemir told him. No chance of a Child Surprise here, but at least he could get the ritual out of the way.

“What I have at home?” the boy asked. “I don’t have hardly anything! Just a wooden horse, ouch, and a nice shirt for special days, ouch, and a scarf for when it’s cold out, and an old pair of socks that’s more patches than sock anymore but Mama says they’re fine and to not complain, and—”

Vesemir sighed and withdrew one of the bolts of wool fabric from the box in the goat cart. He had already sewn several pairs of soft shirts and trousers, but many of the bolts of wool remained untouched. “Here,” he said, slicing off enough material for a family’s worth of socks and a little boy’s trousers. “Let’s take this to your mama.”

The boy’s mother shrieked when she saw them approaching her garden, and she dropped what she was carrying and dove for the boy with the fierceness of a griffin. “You can’t have him!” she shouted, clutching the wiggling child to her chest.

“Mama,” the boy said, muffled, “it’s all right!”

Vesemir picked up the little basket that she had dropped. Wild strawberries. Rare, this far north, but it was getting to be the season for them.

“Take them!” the boy’s mother shouted. “Just take them and go!”

Vesemir carried the basket back to Zupa, who sniffed it but deemed it much less interesting than peeing on the chort corpse for a third time.

Summer seemed to be the season of Food Surprises, given how often monster-hunted people had come home to unexpected cheeses, ales, breads, pies, fruits, vegetables, and even roast chickens. Not the most helpful surprises. Not the worst, either. At least he had a pouch full of seeds to take back with him.

No children yet. Not in the spring, not in the summer, not in two whole seasons of calling the Law of Surprise.

Vesemir eyed Zupa, who had started to gnaw on one of the chort’s horns. She could use a little more of a rest before they moved on.

He ate the strawberries, sweet and juicy. How long had it been since Barmin had had strawberries, so long off the Path as he’d been? He left the basket under a rock near the dead chort. Then he looked up at the beehive, hanging tantalizingly above him. Hmm. Zupa would benefit from resting for at least as long as it took him to retrieve a little honeycomb, too.

---

Vesemir never took Zupa into a village with him. They would kill her for her cart, or for being a Witcher’s dog, or for entertainment. She stayed at whatever shelter he could find for her, with Axii-bound orders that if he didn’t reappear within a certain time, she should seek out another Witcher. That was what a Child Surprise would have had to do, and a Dog Surprise would be no different, he imagined. He left an introductory note in the box with the wool fabric and garments: her name and village of origin, the fact that she liked honey and apple cores but trained best with sausage or cheese, a warning that she would try to jump a full-grown deer if you didn’t keep an eye on her but that she never made a move towards a fawn.

Zupa was always waiting when he came back for her.

---

The old woman’s sopping dress had more patches than original cloth: colorful squares and ovals, sometimes flower petals or oak leaves, all fastened with tiny stitches. “Thank---thank you,” she said in between heaving breaths, and one of her strong hands gripped Vesemir’s knee as he crouched beside her. “I would---I would have---”

Drowned. She would have drowned. She had kneeled by the river with her basket of washing next to her and the rusalka had pulled her under. It had only been coincidence that Vesemir had been waiting behind a willow tree for it to surface: a contract from the next village over.

Diving in after them, one hand grasping the woman’s ankle, another forming the sign for Aard---it could have been disastrous if the rusalka hadn’t accepted the rebuff, if it had turned around and pursued them both. But this one liked an easy kill, or was shy. The first sign of magic had it dissolving back into the river water, and Vesemir had been able to heave them both onto the shore.

The woman laughed a hoarse laugh. “Not time for these two old goats to meet Melitele, it seems! We’ll get even tougher and stringier before we go into nature’s stewpot.”

“May it choke when we get there,” Vesemir said.

The woman grinned. “We would really stick in someone’s craw, wouldn’t we?” She clapped his knee and heaved herself up, her pale braid swinging behind her. “Come on, Witcher! I don’t have much at home, but we’ll see what we can find you as recompense.”

This bend in the river lay equidistant between the two nearest villages, a place not frequented by either of them, but neither quite abandoned. The woman must live alone, existing with the knowledge that it would take a long time before anyone noticed her absence if she died. If a rusalka killed her, for example. Or if a Witcher weren’t as friendly as he seemed.

Witchers lived like that too. Often, this year, no one in the sparser villages had noticed that the Witchers who usually took the Kaedweni Path, the ones who had visited them off and on for decades, were now absent. That a kaer’s population had been reduced to a cottageful. Or in the more worldly villages, who had gotten the news, they laughed about it. Good riddance to the yellow-eyed monsters.

“We’re glad to save someone when we have the chance,” Vesemir said, thinking of the pyres of Wolves he’d failed, outlasted. “Just give me what you find at home yet do not expect.”

“Easy enough!” she said. “I’m always surprised by something or other these days. Oh! I’m Marta. What’s your name, Witcher?”

“Vesemir,” he said. When had he last said it aloud? He perched her washing basket against the jut of his hipbone and followed where she led.

Her home had much to recommend it: a little paddock for chickens and goats in front of the small wooden house; a massive pile of firewood crouched at its side; a garden in the back overflowing with green vines and yellow squash flowers in bloom. All around, trees loomed in a protective circle.

An unmistakable buzzing came from the crook of a two-pronged oak: bees swarmed against the bark and roiled over each other like a small, fuzzy sea.

“Ha!” Marta said, hands on her hips. “The old hive must have split.” She nodded to herself. “There’s your surprise, all right. Do you know how to lure them to you?”

Vesemir did not. Barmin’s bees had largely materialized in the apiary without Vesemir questioning it.

“Come on, then,” Marta said. “I’ll tell you over lunch. And it’ll be a while—you can’t rush bees—so you might as well stay for dinner, too.” She poked his bony hip below the laundry basket. “Seems you could use a couple of good meals anyway!”

She led the way into the house, and if Vesemir wasn’t mistaken, there was perhaps a little more sway in her hips than there had been previously.

Melitele wept. Did his cock even work anymore?

The inside of the little house brimmed with clay bottles, deerskin books, and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. The trick to luring the bees, Marta explained to him over bowls of pottage, was lemongrass oil. You put it in a container to attract them, the bees investigated, and once the queen was inside, the rest of the hive would follow. Luckily for Vesemir, she had some oil, a spare skep, and a leather bag he could use to contain them.

“Queens are used to people following their lead, you know,” she said, her eyes warm as she looked at him. “So are hedge witches.”

Vesemir took a chance, reached out, touched Marta’s sun-spotted hand with his. “I would be happy to make you happy,” he said simply. Time was, he would have flirted about treating her like royalty; now he couldn’t stomach it.

She grinned. “Bees first. Then we’ll see how happy we can make each other.”

Hers was the friendliest touch he had had in a long time. After they were both satisfied, he pressed his face into her ample belly while she stroked over his shoulders. “Hard life,” she said, her touch warm as she traced over the scars from the griffin. “But we’re still here, stubborn as burrs on a fur coat.”

---

Zupa sniffed the bag of bees until she got her nose stung, and then she decided to keep watch on them from a distance.

Vesemir returned to the river.

“They polluted my water with their filth,” the rusalka said, breaking the surface with hardly a ripple.

“Find a new river,” Vesemir told her.

She tried to fight him rather than leave.

He caught her in Yrden, so that she couldn’t collapse into her watery form, and made her death quick.

The alder of the impacted town gave him a good blanket, knitted by her sister in secret, and far too soft and delicate to survive life on the Path with him and Zupa. He put it in the box with the wool.

A blanket for a life. No wonder he had retired to teach in his old age.

---

Marta had given him a jug of honey from her other hive so that the bees would be able to eat safely, but he couldn’t travel the Path with a swarm of bees the way he could with Zupa. They needed a place to build their hive, familiar fields to harvest and pollinate, a warm place to help them survive the winter. They needed a home.

A dog. Wool. Seeds. A blanket. Bees.

Bees instead of boys.

Vesemir took the hint and the quickest route back to Kaer Morhen.

---

The Witchers who returned that winter came back to a dog who leaped into their arms with full faith that they would catch her, new clothes made out of warm wool, a hot cauldron of pottage on the kitchen hearth, and fresh bread rolls spread with honey. Their faces lit up with barely concealed relief when Vesemir met them at the gate. The keep wasn’t empty—not again.

The remaining Witchers brought their own Surprises with them, too: sacks of grain and dried beans; a cow and her calf; a mule and a donkey; a pen full of chickens; bales of hay, carted up by a mystified Witcher who was just relieved that they had animals that would eat them. Lambert showed up with a dovecote hauled behind him, wrapped against the cold and kept warm with careful applications of Igni in its general vicinity.

“Not Law of Surprise,” Lambert said. “I don’t do that shit.” He left before Vesemir could comment that this must mean he had a thoughtful bone in his body, which was probably for the best.

The keep seemed empty, still, without rowdy packs of boys running through it and old instructors with their heads put together to share the gossip. No more boys left alive—but that also meant no more little corpses that they had to Igni into ash. They trained during the day, mitigating the flaws pointed out by Vesemir’s sharp eyes and tongue, and they drank and gambled at night. Some nights there was even a little laughter. There was life in the keep yet, and a shameful freedom, and sweetness amongst the bitter grief. Kaer Morhen was more than a tomb to mourn.

At dusk, Vesemir rocked in Barmin’s old chair and told the bees about the dead, one at a time. If there were a few nights when he strayed and told them about the day’s adventures too, they didn’t seem to mind. At his side, Zupa lay on her rug and chewed a bone or a stick. She didn’t mind what he talked about either.

Someone would need to take care of the animals and the garden after the winter. Someone would need to keep the hearth going, the infirmary stocked, the rooms ready for their occupants’ return, the training equipment ready for the winter’s exertions. When the next Witcher died, someone would need to tell the bees about it. Witchers deserved to have someone who would do that for them.

That spring, the bees stayed. Vesemir did too, with Zupa at his side, her cart full of gardening tools now.

Keep the living alive, Barmin had said. Vesemir would do more than that. There might be no future Wolf Witchers, but he could still make a home for the ones who were left.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! <3 Constructive criticism is welcome.

#castillon writes #vesemir #barmin #the witcher

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Note

Hello <3 if you ever find yourself bored, consider this: Jaskier finds a baby fiend. he is thrilled. geralt is not. Wil they find momma fiend? who knows !

I love this and I love the art to go with it! Thanks @herostag!

This is about 650 words long, can be read as Geraskier or platonically. No warnings apply. _________________

They were about a day’s ride from Posada when they found it. Jaskier was wittering away about all and nothing, trying to come up with a new song about their last adventure, much to Geralt’s displeasure. Geralt had tuned out the bard a few hours ago, not having the mental capacity to really process the constant chatter, so his senses were dulled. He should have noticed the creature before Jaskier but it was too late.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried loudly, pulling him from his thoughts.

He blinked a couple of times and refocussed his eyes. Jaskier was standing in front of him with bright eyes, glimmering with hope and wonder, a large toothy grin on his face. Geralt frowned, a happy Jaskier was never a good sign, danger was sure to follow, and sure enough Geralt’s eyes finally dropped to the bundle of fur in Jaskier’s arms.

Three yellow eyes gazed up at him, blinking one by one. Tiny horns protruded from his head, barely visible through the tuffs of spotted brown fur, behind them were a set of larger antlers. Geralt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jaskier, put it back.”

“Oh but Geralt, look at him, he’s so tiny! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Jaskier cooed and them bumped his nose against the baby fiend’s. He starting to sing a lullaby and Geralt groaned, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “You are just the sweetest, mummy loves you, yes he does!”

“Fuck, Jaskier, I’m serious, drop it!”

Jaskier pouted, holding the monster up to Geralt. “But look at him, the cutest little darling!”

“He’s a monster, and his mother won’t be far away.”

Jaskier snorted and cuddled the creature as if it were a kitten, and not a ferocious beast. “Geralt, my dear, people think you are a monster, and we both know that’s not true.”

“Hmm.”

“Now, stop that!” Jaskier snapped, cradling the baby fiend in his arms. “You are not a monster, Geralt.”

“Regardless, that,” he pointed at the fiend, one of its hoofed back foot hanging limply down “is a monster, and I do not want to meet its mother. Put it down.”

“No.”

“Jaskier!”

“Geralt!” Jaskier glared back, stubborn as ever, stroking his fingers through the fiend’s fur, wrapping the tiny tail round his fingers.

The creature had had enough of their bickering, and bleated loudly. Geralt’s medallion hummed, his hand flying to his chest to catch it in his palm. “Shit! Jaskier, drop that thing, and get behind me!”

Jaskier whined. “But what if he gets hurt?”

“It’s a fiend, Jaskier, not a cat!”

Jaskier pouted but finally lowered the baby fiend to the floor. It bleated again, nuzzling against Jaskier’s leg, peering up at the bard with wide eyes. Jaskier whined again and Geralt cursed. “Stop looking at it.”

“But he’s so cute!”

“It’s trying to hypnotise you, shit!” Geralt swore, spinning round to see a much larger fiend charging down the path. Without thinking he picked Jaskier up and dumped him into Roach’s saddle. “Look after him, Roach.”

The skittish mare whinnied and cantered away, Jaskier’s shouts of protest filling the air. Geralt rolled his eyes and drew his silver sword, it would not be an easy fight and one he hadn’t prepared for. He was hoping he could injure the mother enough to slow her down and then run after his horse. He bent his knees and raised his sword, his fingers itched on the hilt, ready to blast Igni at a moment’s notice.

The baby fiend ran to its mother and hid beneath her paws, bleating happily. Geralt sighed. It was cute, he could admit that, if its mother wasn’t about to try and kill him. He shook his head, smiling fondly at the thought of his daft bard.

“Come on then, you bastard, let’s dance,” he muttered.

The fiend roared, pawing at the ground as it began its charge. Geralt smirked, another day, another monster.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #fiends #wolfie's witcher writing #herostag

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lazella · 3 years

Text

Infinity Stones AU: Face your Fears, Part 1

I apologize for nothing. Enjoy.

Yusaku took a sharp breath in, coughing as he tried to make his lungs work again. For a moment it felt like he was back in that white room, alone and only a voice for company. Looking around, he tried to piece together the events of the past few minutes. Yusaku did recall that they had joined the Avengers on a retrieval mission and had infiltrated the warehouse but then he was drawing a blank.

“Ai...can you tell me what just happened...Ai?”

Yusaku was puzzled when he didn’t hear Ai respond right away and looked down at his Duel Disk, and spotted the Ignis with tears running down his face.

“AI?!” Now Yusaku was worried, Ai had never cried before.

“Yusaku….” Ai’s voice was quiet, and he had also not used any of his nicknames for Yusaku, “I hope that was all fake....”

“Fake?”

“Nevermind…” Ai shook his head, “That stone of yours seemed to break whatever that lady did to you.”

Yusaku raised an eyebrow, “Lady?

Ai took the opportunity to explain, “Some lady came in and hit you with this red stuff then everyone started screaming. You just kind of froze but after that I’m not sure as I started seeing stuff as well…”

Yusaku quickly put his theory together. First, they had been ambushed by an unknown enemy. Second, it seemed like she had the ability to cause hallucinations most likely based on fears. Third, it seemed that the Mind Stone could reverse the effects which is why he felt fine now even with how brief his vision was.

“We need to locate everyone else…” Yusaku got up and surveyed the room, “They must still be under the effects of that attack.”

“Good luck with that…” Ai muttered, “They all ran off in different directions attacking anything in sight…”

“Then we’ll just have to be careful……” Yusaku stated as he ran off in his chosen direction.

…………………………

The first person he found was Yugi. Thankfully he didn’t seem to be lashing out at anything and was just leaning against the wall but judging by the red haze over his eyes, he was still under the effects of the hallucination.

“Yugi!” Yusaku grabbed the smaller boy’s shoulder and gave it a good shake, “Yugi snap out of it!”

Yugi just continued to stare blankly ahead.

“Might have to do this the hard way…” Ai pointed to the Mind Stone.

“Afraid so…let’s just hope Yugi makes it easy….” Yusaku said as he placed the Mind Stone against Yugi’s forehead letting its power do its thing. Reality around Yusaku and Ai but Yusaku knew he was just now entering Yugi’s mind, and hopefully to find out just what he was seeing.

What he did see did not make any sense. Everything around them was dark and foggy obscuring anything that could be approaching. Yugi was no longer on the ground but suspended in the air by an invisible force gripping onto his wrist and ankles. But the most shocking part was that Yugi’s knee and elbow were missing and other parts of his body were slowly dissolving away.

“Th-this is bad!!!!” Ai cried out, “What kind of madman thinks of doing messed up stuff like this!?!”

“A sick one fore sure….”

Yusaku spun around and he was quite sure if it was relief or worry when he spotted Yugi’s other self, Yami, slowly pulling himself along the ground. He wasn’t looking good judging by the blood dripping from his mouth.

“Yugi’s had nightmares about this duel….” Yami panted trying to catch his breath, “I’ve tried to snap him out of it but…” Yami seemed to cough up more blood, “I’m not doing too good either…”

“I’ll warn you, it’s going to be a shock to the system….” Yusaku clenched the Mind Stone tighter, “I don’t think we have the time to ease him out of it…” Yellow light blinded everyone as Yusaku just focused on making the vision end quickly. Within the blink of an eye, they were back in the warehouse. The red haze was gone from Yugi’s eyes and he was checking himself over as if to see if his body was whole again.

“Doing okay?” Yusaku found himself asking.

“I-I think so...,” Yugi said with shaky breath, “What was that?”

“My guess is that we were hit with something that makes us hallucinate our worst fears. The Mind Stone snapped me out of it rather quickly and you were the first one I found still under the effects.”

“What about the others?” Yugi asked.

“Not sure but we better stay on our guard…” Yusaku said, “Who knows if anyone can tell friend from foe right now….”

………………………………..

They found Yusei next who thankfully was also not lashing out. Yusaku found him in a vision of a destroyed city but it ended on its own the moment Yusei spotted Yusaku. The hacker wished he could be grateful for the quick conclusion but Yusei had spent at least five minutes hugging Yusaku and Yugi tightly as he could.

“Sorry about that…” Yusei explained as he composed himself, “I know that future will never happen but still...I just needed reassurance that you were alright.”

Yuya was the next one they found. He seemed to have snapped out of it on his own but the room he was in was completely trashed. Yuya was hugging his knees in the center of the room but his dull stare made it hard to figure out exactly who was in the driver seat.

Yugi carefully knelt down next to Yuya and began trying to talk to him, “Yuya...can you tell us what happened here?”

“Yuto actually…” So it seemed that Yuya wasn’t the one in control right now. “Yuya is still processing his panic attack. Yuri buried himself somewhere in our subconsciousness and Yugo is giving all of us a headache by yelling at our bad memories.”

“Sheesh...what’s gotten all four of you worked up?” Ai asked.

“Our past….” That’s all Yuto was going to say on it as he just sat in silence until Yuya came back to the surface.

“I think I hurt Yuma earlier…” Yuya said when he finally came back out, “I’m not sure but I think I heard him crying in pain…”

“What ever happened was not your fault…” Yusei said as he squeezed Yuya’s hand, “It’s not any of our faults.”

“The real fault lies with that woman who attacked us…” Yusaku said with renewed determination, “Let’s find the others.”

……………………………………

Things started to get complicated when they finally found Yuma. The young boy had one of his swords in hand which was strange to the others as they thought he had to be fused with Astral to summon them. Yuma was swinging the weapon around in a panic while crying out…

“Give Astral back!!!! Just leave us alone!!”

Yusaku wasted no time in using the Mind Stone to bring the group into Yuma’s vision. They found Yuma surrounded by creatures made out of crystals and rock or some sort of black sludge. Laying on the ground was Astral unconscious with what appeared to be a large crack spreading across his chest.

Yusei sprang into action, charging in and punching the creatures away in an attempt to reach Yuma. Yugi and Yuya hung back behind Yusaku not out of fear, but at the shock of seeing Ai emerging from Yusaku’s duel disk and changing form into that of a mass of tentacles. Yusaku didn’t object to Ai’s actions, and let the Ignis do his thing protecting Yusei’s back and tearing the creatures to shreds.

With Ai watching his back, Yusei reached Yuma in no time, the younger boy crying tears of relief at the sight of rescue. Yusei quickly scooped him up with one arm and grabbed Astral with the other. Ai used his large mass to create a protective dome over them while he worked on getting a secured grip on them.

“Hold on tight…” Ai warned as he launched himself back towards Yusaku.

Now that he was back in the safety of the group, the red haze faded away from Yuma’s eyes as everything returned to reality.

“Wh-what...happened?” Yuma asked as he blinked clarity into his eyes.

“You just got hit with some trippy stuff no worries…” Ai grinned...forgetting that he was rather frightening in his larger form.

Yuma obviously panicked, “AH!!! Monster!”

“Now that hurts...it’s just lovely old me Ai…” The Ignis pouted.

“Has he always been able to turn into the embodiment of nightmares?” Yuya asked Yusaku.

“Since I first met him but he’s still an idiot…” Yusaku sighed.

“At least this version of me is great for hugs!” Ai demonstrated this fact by giving Yusei, Yuma, and Astral who were still tangled up in his limbs, a tight squeeze. “Just ask Yusaku, he quite enjoys them.”

Yusaku turned his face away to hide the fact he was now blushing out of embarrassment.

“We still need to find Judai...and the Avengers team as well…” Yugi said, trying to refocus the group, “But where are they?”

His inquiry was answered when Thor was launched through the wall by some sort of strong force.

“Hey boys….” Thor grunted through the pain, “We could use some assistance....”

Before Thor could elaborate anymore, a shadowy tendril shot through the hole in the wall and dragged him back through. Once everyone got over their shock, they followed Thor through the hole.

On the other side was the very definition of a nightmare. Every Avenger member was pinned to the walls by shadows and in the very center, was a tall imposing figure dressed in black and gold armor, the helmet obscuring the figure’s identity.

“Who’s this guy?” Yuya found himself asking.

Tony flipped his visor open and cried out, “It’s Judai! Judai is in that armor!”

This came as a shock to the newcomers, just what had happened to Judai?

Everyone had to scatter when another wave of shadows swept through the room. Yusei held onto Ai tightly as the Ignis refused to let go of anyone and had even grabbed Yusaku to keep him out of the line of fire.

“Ai...do you think you can get close to Judai?” Yusei asked.

“Not without letting you guys go which I am not going to do.” Ai protested as he scooped up Yugi and Yua next. The Avengers were still pinned, unable to move.

“Throw me Ai….”

Everyone turned to Yusaku in shock. “What did you just say?” Ai asked.

“Throw me at Judai…” Yusaku’s gaze was firm and determined, “Throw me and I will break through to him with the Mind Stone.”

“I am not going to…”

“DO IT!” Yusaku cut Ai off, clearly not in the mood for arguing.

Rather reluctantly, Ai took careful aim and shot Yusaku forward, a tendril still wrapped around him as Ai clearly didn’t want to let him go. Yusaku gripped onto Judai’s cape and began trying to wrestle the helmet off. It took some doing but Yusaku managed to slide the visor up revealing that Judai’s eyes were completely blinded by the red haze.Yusaku didn’t even dare try to view Judai’s vision, instead he slapped the Mind Stone on Judai’s forehead and yelled,

“WAKE UP ALREADY!!!!!!”

Yellow light began cracking through Judai’s armor, then down the shadows that were blanketing the room. With a quick flash, everyone dropped to the ground exhausted, Judai included now freed from the dark armor.

Tony groaned as he got to his feet, “That’s it….extra therapy sessions for everyone.”

Steve rubbed his head in frustration, “I still have no idea what Wanda was up to…”

This caught Yugi’s attention, “You know the woman who did this?”

“Her name is Wanda Maximoff, she’s actually an ally to us…” Natasha explained, “But the fact that she attacked us today indicates that something outside her control is going on.”

“So an outside force?” Yusei asked.

“Mostly likely…” Clint said, “Which means we’ve got another conspiracy to break down.”

“Does this happen often?” Yusaku asked.

“More often than we like,” Tony said as he hefted Judai over his shoulder, “Come on...let’s head home. And get that nightmare fuel to shrink down already…” Tony said pointing to Ai, “We already have enough trauma to deal with.

Ai huffed as he finally shrunk back down to his smaller form. He really didn’t care about this Wanda character or any supposed conspiracy theory. The vision he got was still on his mind. After all...the sight of Yusaku’s bullet ridden body was forever burned into his memories.

#yugioh #avengers #infinity stones au #gx #5ds #arc v #vrains #zexal #yugi mouto #Judai Yuki #yusei fudo #Yuma Tsukumo #yuya sakaki #yusaku fujiki #trama #hallucinations #hints at vrains ending

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter V

Once back in Lestallum, the group reported to Talcott and Jared about their finds. As they were about to leave the Leville, Noctis experiences another headache. In order to dissect the source of his headaches, they decided to take a closer look at the Disc of Cauthess from the outlook. When they arrived, they ran into two familiar faces.

"What a coincidence," the auburn-haired man smiled eerily at the group.

Gladio crosses his arms. "I'm not so sure it is."

The man strolled up to them, leaving his spiky-haired companion behind. He came to a stop in front of (Y/n). "Oh, my. You must be the lovely maiden my dear companion spoke of. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my dear." He bowed politely before trying to reach out and grab her hand. However, Prompto reached out and pulled the girl away from him before the man could touch her.

"You know this guy?" The spirit whispered to the blonde.

"We kinda had a run-in with him in Galdin Quay," Prompto answered.

The auburn-haired man was unfazed by the marksman's reaction and decided to back away, changing the subject in the process. "Aren't nursery rhymes curious things? Like this one: "From the deep, the Archaean calls... Yet on deaf ears, the gods' tongue falls, The King made to kneel, in pain, he crawls.""

Prompto, who now stood in front of (Y/n), asked, "So how do we keep him on his feet?"

"You need only heed the call. Visit the Archaean and hear his plea." He spun around to face them, his smile never wavering. "We can take you."

Prompto looked around at his friends. "We in?"

Noctis was unsure of the men and didn't trust either of them. "I don't know."

"We take a ride..." The sharpshooter began.

"...but watch our backs," Gladio finished.

"Fair enough," Ignis said.

Noctis agreed with his friends. "Let's do it."

(Y/n) hadn't been paying attention to their conversation. Her golden eyes were focused on the familiar spiky-haired man who she had met yesterday. She never got his name, but there's no way she could forget his appearance. She was torn from her thoughts when Prompto shook her shoulder. Looking away from the emerald-eyed man, she stared into the blonde's cerulean eyes. "Huh?"

"You okay?" Prompto asked. He glanced at the man who had yet to speak, then back at the girl. "Isn't that the guy from yesterday?"

"It is..." She was even more suspicious of him than the auburn-haired man. She didn't trust either of them, but respected the boys' decision to allow them to be their escort for a short time.

The auburn-haired man smiles and begins walking toward the car park with his companion by his side. "I'm not one to stand on ceremony, but such an occasion calls for an introduction. Please, call me "Ardyn." And this..." He gestures to the man beside him. "Is Callyx. He's a dear old friend of mine. Come with us to the car park. That's where I left my automobile. She's a dear old thing. Pales next to your Regalia, but she's never let me down. So we take two vehicles-a convoy of sorts. Shall we?"

When arriving at Ardyn's car, the auburn-haired man turned to face the group. "All set?"

"Let's get this over with," Noctis sighed.

"Allow me to do the honor of assigning your driver... I choose you!" Ardyn pointed at the raven-haired boy.

"Fine by me."

"I do have one final request," Callyx spoke up with his smooth voice. His emerald eyes focused on (Y/n). "Your car will be cramped with five people. The lady should ride with us."

"No way!" Prompto shouted. "(Y/n)'s staying with us."

"Yeah. We're not gonna let her go with you two," Noctis replied.

"I only wish to speak with her on our drive over to the Disc." Callyx lifted his t-shirt up a little ways to reveal the jade gemstone embedded in his abdomen.

The spirit gasped at the sight. "You're a guardian, too?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"But your eyes..."

He smirked. "Contacts."

"Oh..."

He took a step closer to her, alerting the royal retinue. Prompto went to pull the girl back when Noctis moved to stand between the two spirits. Callyx noticed how tense the four boys were and raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt her. There's something important I have to discuss with her."

"Then do it here and now," Gladio said with a faint growl.

(Y/n) broke free from Prompto's hold and stepped around Noctis to stand directly in front of Callyx. "What's so important that they can't hear it but your friend can?"

"Because I trust him and not your friends. If you don't ride with us, you'll never learn the truth about what the empire is planning."

Her mouth opened and closed. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't think of anything. If the information is important and the only cost was riding in their car, she would do it. "Fine. I'll ride with you."

"What?" Prompto gasped.

She casted a reassuring smile towards the blonde. "I'll be fine, Prom. If we can learn what the empire is doing, I'll ride with them."

"Are you certain of your decision, (Y/n)?" Ignis asked.

"Yes."

"B-But..." Prompto began.

Ardyn, however, interrupted him. "You drive your car, I drive mine, and the maiden comes with Callyx and I. With that decided, let us be off."

Prompto stared in shock, watching (Y/n) climb into the backseat of the red car alongside Callyx. He bit his tongue, deciding to hold himself back after seeing her resolve. Reluctantly, he got into the Regalia with his friends. Like a child, he pouted as he watched the red car leave the parking lot.

Outside of Lestallum, the two automobiles sat side by side. Ardyn glanced toward the boys inside the Regalia. "Just to be clear, this isn't a race, it is a chase. You're not to pass me. Lose sight of me, and you'll lose your way. And no tailgating. An accident would spoil the trip."

Noctis, who was behind the wheel, groaned. "All right, all right. Let's hit the road already."

"As you wish. Drive safely, now."

(Y/n) casted Prompto one last smile before they took off. After being a few minutes on the road, she looked over at her fellow spirit. "So, Callyx, what did you wanna tell me?"

The emerald-eyed man glanced at Ardyn for a split second before sighing. "How familiar are you with the conduit?"

"The first time I heard about it was from Noctis. Besides that, I know nothing about it."

"Well then, I guess an explanation is in order." Callyx combed a hand through his spiky black hair. "Centuries ago, there used to be seven Astrals. But all that changed when the seventh god disappeared. No one knows why and most of Eos has forgotten about him. The mighty Brahma, the creator of the universe, vanished without a trace. However, the conduit is rumored to be the only person who can hear and speak to Brahma. They are also the person the Astral has chosen to embody his power and act as his vessel in order to aid the True King."

"And what does this have to do with the empire?" (Y/n) inquired.

"The only beings possible of being the conduit are spirits. Humans are frail and unable to embody the power of an Astral. Our people are being targeted by the empire. They're slaughtering guardians left and right to prevent Brahma's return. I'm only telling you this because you need to know how much danger you are in. If you want to protect yourself, you need to find a safe place to hide. Leave those men and find a place to-"

"Oh, I don't think so," (Y/n) interrupted him. "Have you forgotten? Guardians are meant to protect those that gave them life. There's no way I'm going to leave Prompto to save my own skin. I care too much about him to leave him behind."

"You wouldn't be the first spirit to latch on to a human..." Callyx crossed his legs. "Then again, by the look on that boy's face, you mean a lot to him. Guess I'm kind of jealous."

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" She sighed.

"Yeah..."

The conversation died. (Y/n) rested her arm on the door, cupping her chin with her palm. She glanced out at the passing scenery, admiring it to distract her from the two men in the car with her. She prayed to the Astrals this road trip would end soon.

A little ways behind the red vehicle was the Regalia. Noctis kept a good distance between them and Ardyn's car to prevent an accident. While the prince, Gladio, and Ignis were chatting away about the two mysterious men, Prompto stared at the car in front of them. His fingers tapped against his knee repeatedly, his leg shaking up and down. His right arm rested on top of the car door with his hand clenched in a fist and resting against his cheek.

When Gladio noticed the blonde's lengthy silence, he glanced at him. Seeing the sharpshooter's gaze locked on the car in front of them, he chuckled. "You that worried, blondie?"

"Of course I am!" Prompto yelled. "(Y/n)'s in a car with two weirdos! Not to mention, one of those weirdos tried to hit on her yesterday!"

"You're freaking out over nothing."

"Wha-no!"

"By the way (Y/n) carried herself in the grotto, I do believe she is quite capable of handling anything or anyone who dares cross her path," Ignis stated.

"I know she's strong, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about her..." Prompto muttered. He managed to look away from the car they were following and pulled out his camera. He scrolled through the various pictures he's taken of (Y/n) so far, admiring her beauty from every angle.

After spending 15 minutes scrolling through pictures, Prompto lifted his head and realized they were pulling over. He glanced around in confusion as they pulled into the Cauthess Coernix Station.

Noctis pulled the Regalia up beside Ardyn's car just as the man got out and asked, "What say we call it a day here?"

""What say" we continue on to Cauthess?" Gladio retorted as he and the other boys climbed out of the Regalia.

"The Archaean's not going anywhere."

"Neither are we, under your stewardship," Ignis replied.

"So we make camp...with Ardyn," Prompto groaned.

"Hell no," Noctis quipped.

"Might as well get the tent up," Gladio said.

Oh, I'm afraid Callyx and I have never really been ones for the outdoors. We shall foot the bill, so let us stay at the caravan over yonder," Ardyn stated.

(Y/n) turned her head towards the male spirit standing beside her. "You're a hunter. Don't you camp out a lot?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean I enjoy it," Callyx explained.

"That's... Okay, yeah. Good point."

"Will all of us even fit in the caravan?" Noctis asked.

"Only one way to find out," Ardyn smirked before walking off with his friend.

Once Ardyn and Callyx were gone, (Y/n) sauntered over to the boys. She placed a hand on her hip with a frown. "Can we talk somewhere in private?"

"Oh, no," Prompto gasped. He rushed over to the (h/c)-haired girl and grabbed her arms, shaking her back and forth. "What did they do to you?! Tell me, (Y/n)!"

"H-Hey, take it easy, Prom. They didn't do anything to me." She grabbed his arms to stop him from shaking her. "I just wanted to share with you all what Callyx had to say."

"Then shall we make for the caravan?" Ignis suggested.

"That'd be good."

They entered the caravan. Noctis and Prompto sat on the small wooden bench while Gladio and Ignis decided to stand. (Y/n) closed the door behind them and leaned against it. Wishing not to beat around the bush, she jumped straight to the point. "The empire's hunting down spirits and killing them."

"What?" Ignis gaped in shock.

"What do they hope to gain from that?" Gladio inquired.

"This conduit you heard about from the marshal... It can only be a guardian. Whoever this conduit is has the ability to hear and speak to the forgotten Astral and act as his vessel," she said. "By killing spirits, the empire hopes to stop Brahma from returning."

"Hold up," Noctis spoke up. "There's another Astral?"

"Brahma, the creator of the universe. He's known as the forgotten Astral. Not many know about him, but apparently the empire does."

"Can we really trust this information?" Gladio questioned.

"I...I'm not sure," she confessed. "I don't trust Callyx, but he genuinely looked worried about it when he spoke to me."

"If he is telling the truth, does that mean...?" Prompto gazed at the girl, worried for her safety. "Does that mean the empire will try to kill you?"

"Well..."

Noctis stood up. "Let them come. They're already crawling up our asses anyway."

"What more could they possibly do?" Ignis asked.

"We'll deal with any imperial bastards that cross our path just like we always do," Gladio claimed.

"Yeah!" Prompto cheered. "All of us are a team."

"Team?" (Y/n) parroted.

"Unless you wish not to be," Ignis stated.

"No, it's just..." She rubbed a hand up and down her arm. "I never expected you three to accept me so easily."

"We were all skeptical at first, but you proved yourself in the cave. I thought our whole groove would've been messed up with you around, but you proved me wrong." Gladio patted her on the shoulder. "You fit right in, short stuff."

"Sh-Short stuff...?" She glanced around at the boys before examining her appearance. "Am I really that short?"

"Well... Yeah," Prompto answered. "B-But that's okay!"

She looked away, unamused. "Ugh..."

(Y/n) excused herself and left the caravan. She wandered towards the rear of the convenience store before setting her gaze on the Celestial Crescent. She tilted her head in curiosity when hearing a faint mumbling.

...ui...

She blinked in shock when she could make out a portion of what the voice was saying. "I'm going crazy..."

"What're you talking about?"

(Y/n) tore her gaze away from the darkening sky and looked at Callyx, deciding to lie. "It's nothing, really. I thought the colors of the Celestial Crescent were changing for a second, but my mind was playing tricks on me." She didn't trust him even after he shared information about the empire.

Callyx took a quick glance at the sky before looking at the (h/c)-haired girl, his hands hidden behind his back. "Do you ever hear voices whenever you gaze upon the Celestial Crescent?"

"If you mean the voices in my head, then yes."

Callyx chortled. "That's not what I meant."

She put on a friendly façade. "I know. I'm just messing with you. To answer your question-no, I don't hear voices. Am I supposed to?"

He shook his head. "Not unless you're the conduit. Brahma's consciousness resides within those cluster of stars. He searches for the perfect vessel to regain his physical body, only speaking to the spirit he deems worthy."

"Do we have any idea what'll happen to the conduit once Brahma takes control of their body?"

"Who knows? Maybe they become an empty shell, maybe there are no side effects whatsoever." Callyx suddenly outstretched one of his hands to touch her shoulder, but he stopped mid-way when a familiar bubbly blonde came bounding over calling the girl's name. "Guess I'll give you two some time alone."

Prompto eyed Callyx suspiciously as he walked past him. When he was out of sight, he walked up to (Y/n). "I was kinda getting worried when you didn't come back. Everything okay, (Y/n)?"

"Mhmm," she hummed with a smile. "Everything's peachy."

"I thought you might've been worried about this whole conduit thing. I mean, it is kinda scary the empire is going around and just killing spirits. Are you sure you're doing okay?"

"Really, I'm fine. No need to worry, Prom."

Suddenly, Prompto wound his arms around her and hugged her tightly. He pressed his cheek against her (h/c) hair, frowning sorrowfully. "Y'know, you might be a better liar than me, but I can tell when you're really worried about something, (Y/n). You scrunch up your nose and furrow your brows. I find it kinda...cute."

She sighed, burying her face into his chest. She wound her arms around his torso and mumbled, "I am scared. Scared for my people, scared for me. There aren't many of us, which makes it even more frightening. I'm also scared I'm putting you and the others in even more danger."

Prompto hugged her smaller frame as tight as he could without hurting her. "Hey, don't worry 'bout us. We can handle ourselves. There's no way the empire could defeat us! And..." He nuzzled his nose in her hair, inhaling her gentle scent. "I-We won't let anything happen to you. I know you're supposed to be the one protecting me, but I wanna protect you too. If you were to vanish, I...I wouldn't know what to do."

A warm, gentle smile blossomed on the spirit's face. "I'll never disappear, Prom. Whenever you need me, I'll be there. Even when you don't need me, I'll be by your side. You're stuck with me forever."

Prompto smiled widely. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He fell silent for a moment before clearing his throat, arms remaining tightly wound around (Y/n). "Hey, u-um... After we're done with this Disc business, there's something really important I wanna tell you."

"You can't tell me now?" She inquired.

"Of course not! It's, uh...really important, but I still need a day to...come up with the right words. Think you can wait?"

"Do I really have any other choice?"

"Nope."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy xv #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader #prompto argentum

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hungarianbee · 4 years

Text

sightless but steady

A/N: I wanted to try my hand on Warritt the All-Seeing for a while now. Writing a blind character who’s not *really* blind is both fun and a challenge. I have a lot of feelings about the Viper witchers, and so I snuck a lot of headcanons (about Ivar, Warritt, Letho, Auckes) into this piece. You can read about them in detail at the end of the fic. TW for: mention of non-descriptive torture

It is a relatively quiet night at the Blood Gate Keep. The young adepts went to sleep hours ago, safely tucked away in their quarters. To the average witcher, Gorthur Gvaed lays dormant, echoing the silence of its occupants.

But not to Warritt. In his room, the Viper bundles himself in furs, sitting in front of the lit hearth with his back to it. The fire’s heat seeps into his bones, touching his exposed neck, and he tilts his head back into the sensation. To him, the keep always feels just a tad cold. It’s nothing, compared to the Bear’s Haern Caduch or the Wolves’ Kaer Morhen in winter, but the Vipers’ mutations keep their temperatures lower than the other school’s.

As he flicks his fingers, his magic activates the Supirre Sign again, keeping it steady with years of practice. Just like that, the night comes alive around him.

Beneath the sound of the firewood cracking, he notices that there are rats in the walls again, scratching at the stones with their tiny claws. He makes a mental note to alert Evil-Eye to their presence later, then moves on. A floor beneath him, Gerring of Kharkiv is playing with his knives, just as usual. The fast tack-tack-tack reverberates in Warritt’s ears as the knives embed themselves in the wooden surface of the upturned table. A mouser’s yowls break it up, and he pushes the Sign further, taking note of the steady heartbeats of the snakelets. As he concentrates, he feels several that are too fast to be asleep. Auckes, he thinks. And Letho.

Warritt shucks his furs, taking one with him and folding the rest on his unused bed. With a reverse Igni, lowers the temperature of the hearth, leaving the wood smoldering. The smoke of it settles in his barely open mouth, sticking to his palate. Throwing the fur over his shoulder, he opens his door, just as Ivar Evil-Eye takes a corner in his direction, the scent of blood and iron trailing after him like an avenging wraith.

Up until this point, the Viper Grandmaster was pacing his office, as was his bad habit, then changed course, and took a detour around the Keep to the snakelets’ sleeping quarters. To air his head, most likely, and to make sure that everyone was safe. That Letho was safe. There is a lot of weight on the witcher’s shoulders that he refuses to share with them, he knows. Some days, when the pacing gets agitated and Warritt can hear his rapid breathing when he talks his way over an issue, he thinks that this will be Evil-Eye’s end. A fire can only burn bright for so long without kindling.

“Master Evil-Eye,” he greets quietly.

The thumping of Gerring’s weapons stop. A shift of skin on fabric as the man looks up, breathing carefully steadied. He’s listening. Warritt minimizes his Sign to the palm of his hand. He’s been told the yellow glow is quite noticeable. “Anything I can help you with?”

Evil-Eye shakes his head to himself, but breaks the motion midway. A heavy sigh. “I can’t deal with the brats tonight,” he admits. His tone is weary. Warritt tries to imagine what his expression must look like, but it’s been too long and the visuals appear murky in his mind. Something that might match the scents of frustration and fatigue. After all, Evil-Eye doesn’t have to hide from him; he can’t see. Then, the taste of ash ignites, becomes spicy with rekindled rage. “Did you know about Letho of Gulet?”

He can’t even finish the sentence as Warritt flashes his fangs at the leader. The hiss that leaves between his teeth rattles in his throat. “No! I would have stopped Daibesyck. Any of us would have. And you know that.”

In his rise of emotion, his Supirre sputters out. He casts it again with one hand, the other going up to rake through his curls.

Evil-Eye stands still, like a statue. Then a new tension enters his shoulders, and he turns away. “I’ve dealt with Daibesyck,” he states. Disdain colours his voice. “The worm wanted me to thank him. To acknowledge what a marvelous achievement he did, finding the perfect subject for his little successful experiment.” He breathes through his venom. “I paid him in kind. He stopped screaming a few hours ago.”

Warritt’s face tightens, even as dark satisfaction courses through him. He knows. He heard. But it wasn’t aimed at him; it’s a confirmation for their little eavesdropper. This time tomorrow everyone will know that they are one mage down.

“How’s he?”

Evil-Eye cracks his neck to the side. “He’s feverish, still. He asked for you.”

“Then I will be there.” And that’s that. Warritt lengthens his steps, taking the fur beneath one arm, the other still pulsing with Supirre. The Grandmaster matches him until they reach Letho’s quarters, where he lags behind, stopping just by the door.

The blind witcher makes his way to the bed. The scent of sickness leaves a sour note on his tongue, but that’s not his main concern. Because in this close proximity, he’s sure of it - Letho’s usual outline changed.

As he climbs into the bed he bundles the furs under Letho’s bald head, hoping that his own scent will ease the young witcher. A stone sits in Warritt’s stomach; last time he’s been in his presence, the kid had a crown of soft curls. His calloused hands slide on broad, impossibly muscled shoulders that emanate a heat that is uncharacteristic to witchers, then cup the back of Letho’s neck gently.

“Letho,” he calls, and the snakelet twitches under him, turning towards his chest. He can barely fit. A soft sound escapes him, almost a sob, and his hands come up to shield his still sensitive eyes. Warritt immediately releases his Sign to plunge the room in darkness, shushing him. “It’s Warritt, bud. I am here, just as you asked.”

“Warritt,” Letho parrots back, slurring. Without the Sign, Warritt is not prepared for the fingers prodding at the heavy scarring by his eyes, but he lets it happen anyway.

With impossible strength, Letho pulls Warritt down and curls his arms around him in a constricting hug. Warritt stifles his wheeze, breathing through it, and he presses closer still, wrapping himself around the kid as much as he can, tucking him under his chin and tangling their legs. One of his hands comes up to squeeze Letho’s nape. The pressure seems to calm the young witcher, and he mindlessly bites down on Warritt’s leathers on his shoulder, just to hold him still. Warritt notes absentmindedly that Evil-Eye slipped away when he wasn’t paying attention.

They stay like that for a long time. Eventually, Letho’s breathing evens out, slipping into an uneasy sleep. His muscles twitch and release, and Warritt rearranges them so he’s plastered to the snakelet’s back, hugging him tightly, not minding the cold sweat.

“Auckes,” he calls softly. He hears the creak of soft leathers in the rafters as the boy shifts warily. He drops down, landing without difficulty.

“Bloede,” the little snakelet curses in Elder, silently but with feeling. “How did you know I was here? You didn’t even use your Sign.”

“Language,” Warritt chides. “You were so loud I could hear you from a tower away. You were lucky Master Evil-Eye was in a cordial mood, he would have had you for breakfast.”

“Not true,” Auckes sulks.

The boy’s radiating disbelief warms him. He gestures with one hand, beckoning, and Auckes slips onto the bed, curling over Letho. The boy shakes a little and Warritt scents the residue of distress on him, so he presses a warm hand between his shoulder blades, drawing slow circles.

Auckes presses into his touch, then blurts out. “If I asked you, would you shave my head?”

Warritt doesn’t stop his motions, despite his surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

For a long moment, Auckes doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fist in Letho’s sleeping shirt. He smooths the soft material between his fingers anxiously. “Letho cried ,” he whispers it like a secret, and his tone belies his astonishment. Letho never cries. “He saw his reflection, you know.”

“I don’t know, Auckes,” prompts Warritt gently, lying through his teeth. “Why would he be upset because of that?”

“He’s big. And bald. He tried to hug Serrit and hurt him. Twas an axi-” he trips on the word in his haste, then tries again, slowly. “Ac-ci-dent. He didn’t mean it, I know. It scared him. And Serrit said that he wasn’t mad, so it’s okay.”

Warritt hides his sad smile, endeared by Auckes’ sharp perception and big heart. “Aye,” he breathes.

Another beat passes between them.

“I want you to cut my hair, so Letho knows it’s okay, too. That he’s not alone.” Auckes’ voice is so very small, like the breeze in Tir Tochair’s sheltered meadows.

Warritt’s throat constricts. His fingers follow the thin braid that hangs on each side of Auckes’ face, then cards into his soft ponytail.

“Alright,” he rasps. “Alright.”

--------- * ---------

Note: Auckes canonically can speak really good Elder. The little curse word “Bloede” can be translated to “bloody hell”.

Headcanons:

Warritt is the big-brother of the keep - he’s both a blind badass and the resident kidwrangler (and everyone clearly knows it)

Warritt is a genius - this is kiiind of canon, but regardless: he has an unorthodox thought process; he likes thinking outside of the box, and that’s how he isn’t bothered by his blindness and modified an already existing Sign (Supirre in canon; and also Igni in this fic)

Vipers are not shy of physical touch, on the contrary! - a little bit of cutagen here; Vipers like to coil up together in almost constricting hugs. Even those who haven’t gone through the Trials adopt this habit; the physical touch (hugs) is something they can claim as their own good thing

Letho went through the Grasses twice, like Geralt (aka twicegrassed) - compared to the rest of the School, Letho is an outlier. I explained his proportions with him surviving the Trials twice

Ivar was unaware of the further experimentations, and he flipped - a hc i adopted from @lookoutrogue. Ivar himself went through multiple Trials, that’s how he ended up with his mutated eye. My throwaway mage OC, Daibesyck was tortured to death because he went over the invisible line Ivar carved, hurting one of his own and disrespecting his authority

Auckes shaved his head in solidarity for Letho - originally i thought he would have done it when he was older, but tiny Auckes said no, i wanna do it now

Gerring of Kharkiv wasn’t supposed to appear, but he didn’t budge. So I guess now he’s an insomniac old witcher who likes to waste time and furniture with knife-throwing *shrug*

#my shit #the witcher #warritt the all-seeing #ivar evil-eye #letho #auckes #gerring of kharkiv #school of the viper #continent cake shop #little auckes made me cry #tell me what y'all think #i'll crosspost this into AO3 in a bit

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tumblinglringlring · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020: Get It Out

Fandom: The Witcher

Rating: T for blood and gore and swearing.

Relationships: Geralt x reader

Jaskier was gripping you tightly as your horse raced through the forest. Following the path Geralt and Roach made in front of you, the three of you didn’t stop until the Witcher was convinced you were far enough away from the village. They hadn’t taken kindly to the fact Geralt hadn’t been able to slay the archgriffen before it flew away. Didn’t matter he hadn’t asked for pay, the villagers still took their frustration out on him - and the bard for speaking up for the Witcher. No wonder Jaskier had asked you for a body guard. The bard had practically begged you when he saw you win the champion boxing match in Novigrad.

What could it hurt? You had thought. You get to travel, meet new people, but at the moment you were regretting it. For the past few hours ride you had started to feel the arrow wound behind your knee throb and your boots start to get wetter and fill with warmth. Every slight bend or flex of your foot set shooting pains up your leg. It was in deep.

It seemed forever until Geralt slowed his horse before dismounting. Pausing a moment before declaring the area free of monsters.

“Gods I can’t wait to get off this horse,” Jaskier moaned as he quickly slid off the horse, his leg knocking the arrow in the process. You didn’t hear what was being said as your world was only pain from the jostling. Your vision went white and despite your best efforts, you could feel the bile rising up your throat. Leaning over the side of your horse you vomited.

“Ugh! Y/N!,” the bard gagged, “What’s wrong with- Y/N?!”

But you couldn’t answer as the horse nervously bounced from your sudden expulsion, causing more shooting pains and you moaned.

“Sorry Jask,” you mumbled as you tried to breathe through the pain as you tried to steady your horse. Soon you felt a warm, strong hand over yours and looked up to see it belonged to Geralt while the other was busy soothing your horse.

“How bad?” He asked.

“Back of my knee,” you grimaced and saw him furrow his brows.

“Jaskier hold on to her horse,” he motioned over for the bard to take the bridal, “I need to check her wound.”

Hearing his footstep come around your made you heard him pause.

“Shit.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Can you help her Geralt?” Jaskier cooed at the horse, trying to calm it, “I do not think her mare likes this.”

“It’s going to hurt,” he grunted, his gaze flickering up to yours, “There’s a town another three hours ride we could-“

“I won’t last another hour of riding,” you gritted, “Just-just get me off the damned horse.”

After Jaskier tied your mare to a nearby tree, Geralt tried to gently help you down without too much pain. However some jostling of the shaft coursing be helped and you were sure your nails were drawing blood where they gripped his hands.

“Get the firewood,” Geralt barked out at the bard as he carried you over to a soft spot on the ground near a fallen log. Going back to his pack to get supplies, he set them down near you as he took a closer look at your wound.

“I’ll need to cut the top of the boot so I can take it off,” he said as he brandished a dagger and started to gently cut away the leather. After a few moment he gently parted the leather around the shaft and began to slowly remove the boot. Once free, he looked around and offered you a leather strap.

“Bite down,” he urged you, “it’s best if I remove the boot quickly.”

Nodding you took the strap and placed it between your teeth. Once situated, you nodded to him and braced yourself.

“One-“

In a flash he quickly removed the thigh high boot from you. You’d have admired how such a strong, hulking man could do it so tender and carefully but you were too busy breathing through the waves of pain as your knee bent from the moving.

“Fuck.”

“Is that her-?” Jaskier gasped from behind Geralt. Looking down you saw the ground quickly wet and darken and your leg began to feel wet and cold. You were about to ask the Witcher how much blood you’d lost when you both heard a thud. Peering around Geralt, you saw the bard had feinted and the pile of logs lay strewn across the forest floor.

“Shit,” Geralt gritted as he quickly got up and gathered the pieces of food before setting them down a few feet away and lighting them with Igni. Stomping between his pack and the fire, Geralt began to boil water and clean his medical tools. Eyeing a few pieces warily, you couldn’t help your heart rate increase. Watching as he strode over to you, you tried to sit up from where you laid on the log.

“It’ll be easier if you laid on your stomach. I won’t be able to turn your head if you pass out and vomit if I’m deep in your wound.”

Gulping, you laid back down and gripped the sides of it. You could feel the bark tear at your skin around the fingertips as you turned to watch Geralt prep. He poured some white gull over his hands and scrubbed them. Off to the side you noticed a few scary looking tools soaking in boiled water.

“I’m not going to lie Y/N,” he sighed, “This is going to hurt. I’ll have to slowly pull it out. I have a few cut feathers that I’ll place the quills over the pointed ends of the arrow.”

He paused a moment as he checked your wound once more.

“I can barely see it, so I will need to find them with the quill tips-“

Your face must’ve paled as his brows furrowed as his gaze flickered up to you.

“But perhaps you don’t need to know-“

“No please,” you begged, “Just tell me as it’s happening. Give me updates on how much longer I’ll need to-to endure.”

As his eyes locked with yours, his gaze softened slightly.

“Of course,” he soothed, “Now bite down on the strap. I cannot rush this or I’ll cause more damage.”

Unable to see him work on her wound, she instead focused on his face, the scars she could see on his arms, the intricacies of his armor as she felt the first quill enter her.

The pain was unbearable. Such a thin quill, yet it felt like she was being stabbed over again.

“Found the first point of the arrow head,” he murmured and you thought you detected a hint of relief, “I can see the second-“

He then swore so colorfully, it shocked you so much it momentarily drew you away from the pain. Perhaps you were dying? Was it poisoned?

As his gaze flickered to yours, you saw him reign in his emotions and sighed.

“Those fuckers used a four pronged arrow head. I’m sorry I’ll have to make news one. I only made one spare.”

“Make a spare of what?” A groggy voice came from behind him.

“Jaskier fetch four feathers out of my pack, you useless bard,” he hissed, “Hurry now.”

For once the bard was silent and quickly went about doing as he was bid.

“He can’t help it you know,” you whispered, “He’s not used to seeing-this.”

“He’ll harden to these realities soon enough,” Geralt grunted.

“I hope not,” you said softly. Spying Geralt’s confused look you sighed, “We’re supposed to protect people like him, from the realities of this world-our world.”

He only hummed in response. A few moments later Jaskier quickly handed the Witcher the cut quills.

“Are you gonna feint, Jask?” Geralt asked as he soaked the quill in the boiling water, “I will need your help.”

“Anything,” he said ardently.

“You must hold two of these quills while I hold the others and pull on the shaft of the arrow.”

“Alright,” he gulped audibly, “Alright.”

Knowing where the first point was located, Geralt was able to quickly place the quill over it. But that didn’t make it any less painful. This arrow had been embedded in you for so long you wondered if it would ever come out. Your adrenaline was long gone and you only wished for it to be over.

As Geralt began to place the next quill his grip slipped slightly and poked into your flesh, causing you to hiss. Instinctively you reached out to grab something and only when he hoarsely announced he’d attached the second did you realize you had grabbed on to his thigh. Mortified, you stiffly removed your fingers from their death grip. However he had glanced down and nudged your hand back with his elbow.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, “Jaskier hold these two while I place the rest.”

You paused a moment, but when he began inserting the third you couldn’t help b squeeze his thigh once more. However this third one proved to be more difficult, as Geralt frowned and tried to dig for it.

“I think it was broken off,” He muttered, “I can’t find it.”

“Wait I think I see it,” Jaskier gasped, “See? It’s right there.”

“I won’t be able to get it, Jask.” You could’ve sworn you heard his voice crack slightly, “You’re hands are smaller. I’ll hold these if you can-“

“Of course,” Jaskier murmured before pausing a moment, “I am so sorry, Y/N.”

You watched him clean his hands with white full once more before he drew closer. Spitting out the strap you fervently shook your head.

“No please,” you begged, “Just leave it. I-I can’t take much more.”

“It was to be done, sweet one,” Geralt murmured as you felt him brace your leg between his legsand place a hand on your torso. “You must not move.”

“Stop, please,” you let out a half sob.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier whimpered a he began to dig for the torn piece.

The pain was white hot. How big were his fingers? You briefly wondered before you world was filled with pain. In the background you could just hear the low rumbling of Geralt’s voice and tried to focus on it. After a few moments you heard Jaskier exclaim as he pulled out the broken piece of metal.

“Almost done sweet one,” Geralt soothed as Jaskier took hold of the two quill pieces once more, “It’ll be over soon.”

“Just get it out,” you sobbed, “I don’t care if it tears me even more.”

“Please Y/N, just hold on a little longer,” he murmured, “You are stronger than you know.” Grimacing as he heard you whimper as he placed the quill over the third one. “Last one.”

“Not more,” you gasped, “Please, let it be. I’ll-I’ll join a circus and be a side show.” You half laughed, half sobbed, “I bet it pays more than a body guar-ah!”

Making use of your distraction, he quickly placed the fourth and final quill.

“Your dreams of life at the circus will have to be out on hold,” he rumbled as he adjusted his grip so he was holding two with one hand. “I must pull it out. Once I start I cannot stop. It will be slow going, but you will be ok.”

“Geralt, please” you whimpered, “Just take it out.”

Taking a deep breath you picked up the leather strap from where it had fallen and bit into it. Bracing yourself, you repositioned your hand on his leg and nodded to him.

“Jaskier, do not let the quills come off the prongs,” he breathed before he began the slow process of extracting the arrow.

You thought it was painful when Jaskier was digging for the broken prong, but it was nothing compared to this. It was like being stabbed in reverse, as if she was once more being pierced by the arrow. It must be the biggest arrow and you cursed the men who invented such a monstrosity. The pain seemed to go on forever, until something felt as if it gave way.

She had hoped she’d feel a lessening of the pain once it was removed, but it the area seemed to still throb and ache.

“It‘s out sweetling,” he sighed as he threw the offending arrow to the dirt, “It’s out. Jaskier hand me the suture kit and white gull. I’ll need to clean the wound, but first I need you to pour some full onto my hands. Their too slippery with blood.”

Hearing the splatter of the liquid hit the ground and the sound of calloused hands rubbing together, it calmed you. By the time he had finished your breathing was more even and the pain was lessening.

“This will sting.”

Feeling liquid rush into your leg, it felt cool almost soothing but soon your skin prickled and began to sharply sting. You only moaned lightly at the feeling.

“Ger, do you still need me?” Jaskier asked from behind him.

“No, I can finish up,” he paused, “Unless you want to get dinner-“

However the bard had quickly retreated behind a tree and the sound of his vomit hitting the ground rang out.

Shaking his head, Geralt turned back towards you and saw a light smile tug at your lips and snorted.

Soon you felt the familiar light tug and pain of his suturing. However you were used to it and it almost lulled you to sleep. Or perhaps it did because next thing you knew you were laying near the fire wrapped in your bedroll. Looking around you saw Jaskier across the fire asleep in his bedroll and to your right was Geralt sharpening his sword.

“Geralt?” You said hoarsely, reaching for him. Carefully setting aside his weapon he went to knelt down beside you.

“How are you feeling?” He whispered as he felt your forehead with this back of his hand and you leaned into the soft touch, “Can I get you anything?”

“No, no” you muttered, “How bad is the wound?”

“It should heal in time,” he relaxed slightly, “You should regain use of your leg with in a week or two.”

Your eyes bulged at the information. You’d be useless to Jaskier, a burden to him.

“Once you are well enough to ride, we can head toward Novigrad.”

His eyes searched your face as you took in his meaning.

“You plan to leave us there.”

“Y/N-“ he sighed, visibly tending himself for oncoming argument.

“Enough, there will be plenty of time to discuss that later,” you said. Feeling him stroke your thigh, you sighed at the touch.

“As you wish,” he nodded as he made to stood up but you placed a hand on his calf, stilling him. Turning back around he looked down at you as his eyes flickered between your hand and face.

“Will you-“ you began, but weren’t sure how to ask this, “I’m just-“

You slightly stroked his calf, hoping he’d understand, tentatively meeting his gaze you sighed as confusion was written all over his face.

“I just need to be held,” you said quietly, “Nothing sexual or anything, it’s just after that, I need-“

“A gentle touch?” He finished for you. Nodding, you bit your lip as you stared back up at him. He blinked a few times before he turned and walked away.

Oh, you thought, of course he’d be uncomfortable with that.

However he soon reappeared behind you, sans his more spikes armors and laid his his bedroll besides yours. Tentatively, he placed a light hand on your waist before you sighed and picked it up and placed it around you.

“Is this alright?” You whispered, straining to hear anything from the hulking man behind you.

“It is,” he whispered. Emboldened you snuggled back against him until you felt him right at your back.

“Goodnight Geralt,” you yawned, your eyes already dropping.

“Goodnight,” he rumbled, then after a moment, “Sweetling.”

As you drifted you smiled. You must have heard it wrong. But it was a nice thought to have as you fell into a deep slumber.

#whumptober2020 #no. 6 #Get It Out #the Witcher #tw3 #fic #tw: injury #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #jaskier #whump #blood and gore

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