#rant end *sheaths my blade*

[imminent-danger-came]

Me thinks I am one of the few who really likes lmk's pacing

[novankenn]

Reluctant Hero?

= Ten = (Chapter List)

The video feed images from the forest caused those watching to go pale. It was utter chaos in the shadow of those trees. The Professors watched as those strange grimm attacked, but that was not all. Several of the hopefuls themselves just screamed and then changed as well.

Ozpin: Get the rescue bullheads in the air now! I want everyone out of that forest!

/===/ In the Emerald Forest /===/

Beowulf: We will swallow your soul!

Jaune ignored the rantings of the decapitated head as he rushed to Pyrrha's side. She groaned as he helped her sit up with her back to the tree she had been thrown against.

Pyrrha: What? What?

Jaune: Pyr? How are you feeling?

Pyrrha: Confused, everything is ... AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Jaune fell back as Pyrrha lurched forward, grabbing her left leg. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she began to claw at her own flesh, screaming in agony. Jaune, using his one good hand, grabbed her wrists and pulled them back.

Jaune: Tell me Pyr! What is happening?

Pyrrha: It burns! It burns! Something is eating me!

Using the tip of his saw, Jaune pried at the edge of her greave. He took a deep breath as he saw the damage the bite had caused. Damage her aura should have prevented. Damage that before his eyes was festering and putrefying her flesh.

Jaune: Okay, I heed you to hold your hands together tightly. I have to remove your greave to really look at the injury. Can you do that?

Pyrrha just nodded as she clasped her hands together. Taking a deep breath, Jaune reached down and undid the fasteners. The torn piece of armour was peeled away revealing a spreading spiderweb of black lines, twisting about her flesh as the punctures caused by the beast's teeth wept black fluid.

Jaune: Fuck!

Pyrrha: (Sobbing) Jaune, please help me.

Jaune: (Places his hand against Pyrrha's cheek) I'm going to save you, but you have to be strong for me. Can you?

Pyrrha: Y... y... y... yes.

Jaune: I have to grab my hand, but I will be right back. Okay?

Pyrrha just nodded. Jaune rose to his feet and quickly made his way to where he had dropped his hand. As he passed the severed head, he unsheathed his shotgun.

Beowulf: Her soul will be ours! You have failed another, Jauney!

Jaune said nothing as he pointed the weapon and squeezed one of the two triggers. The head was splattered across the ground. Spinning the gun about his finger, he sheathed it, and grabbed his discarded hand. He jogged back to the still crying Pyrrha.

Jaune: (Pushes his cybernetic hand into her hands.) I want you to squeeze that as hard as you can. Crush it if you have to.

Pyrrha: What... what... are you... going to do?

Jaune: To save you, I have to take off your leg. It is going to hurt, like a fuck ton, but it's...

Pyrrha: No, you can't!

Jaune: Do you want me to save your life? Or would you rather become like that thing and force me to destroy you?

Pyrrha: I... I...

Jaune: Listen to me. If I don't do this now, you're going to die, so squeeze that hand. I'll make this quick.

Pyrrha, still sobbing, tears running from her eyes and snot dripping from her nose, just nodded. Jaune grabbed the end of one of his belts and yanked it free of his body. He kept his eyes on the creeping infection as he used his one good hand, and his teeth, to loop the belt just above Pyrrha's knee. She whimpered as he pulled it so tight that it made her aura flare.

Jaune: Now squeeze that hand.

Pyrrha screwed her eyes shut and clasped the cybernetic hand between hers. The revving of the chainsaw made her flinch, and a second later she howled. Jaune ground his teeth together as he forced the blade of the saw through her aura, and into her pale flesh. The corruption was only a couple of inches below her knee. He had to work fast.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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

Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

[silversatoru]

Hi, I just finished burdens and OML 🥺🥺🥺

May I request some sort of megumi x reader continuous where the reader ends up becoming a powerful sorcerer (or a cursed spirit👀 whichever you’d like tbh) megumi and the reader somehow cross paths again a little while after the break up and he witnesses her fighting for the first time? I just know that boy would fall in love all over again but she’s moved on and he feels guilty and just angst? And maybe fluff idk. I’m new to requests so I hope I did this right, thank you so much❤️❤️

burdens pt. 2

a/n: hello, part two of this not-so-lovely story is finally here. every single one of you is allowed one free punch to my face for taking so long to write it,,, i’m so sorry. this is its fourth rewrite and it got a little darker than expected but it’s finally done,, i hope you enjoy <3

fushiguro megumi x f!reader

synopsis: you finally see megumi again at the kyoto sister school goodwill event

tags/warnings: angst, some graphic depictions of violence, character death

word count: 3k

“Do you know how tired I am of watching the people I love die? Things would be so much easier for me if you just stayed the fuck away”.

Megumi’s bitter words were on repeat in your head — the harshness of his voice leaving a hollow feeling carved into your chest. Tear-stained cheeks and shaky breathes had become your new normal these past few days. Tight, sharp pains filled your empty stomach, waves of nausea coursing through your body.

You’ve had no motivation to get out of bed lately, nevermind to shower or cook yourself a proper meal — honestly, for all you cared you could rot away in your blanket filled bed. You checked your phone like a fiend too, thinking that eventually, a miraculous text from Megumi would appear and make everything better. It never did.

He’d completely ghosted you since that dreadful day, and that hurt more than anything. You’d held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't meant what he said. But as the days continued to pass, your hope quickly dwindled.

To say your current state was shameful was putting it lightly, and you were embarrassed at how poorly this was effecting you. You liked to think that you were strong, motivated, independent — that you didn't need some douchebag just to feel happy. But truth be told, breakups are fucking hard, and it's okay to not be okay for a while — or at least that's what you kept telling yourself.

So when you were trudging miserably down the street to your local convenience store and you saw a familiar pair of jujutsu sorcerers, you wanted desperately to sink into the ground. You made a quick turn to head to a different shop, but it was too late, you were spotted.

“y/n! hey!” Two lighthearted voices sang through the air, filling your ears and making your heart clench in your chest.

You turned around and anxiously approached them, your unkempt hair and baggy eyes sending looks of concern across their faces.

“Hey girl, you good?” Nobara shot you a sideways glance, Maki raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Yeah, uh, ice cream,” You croaked, speaking for the first time in a couple days, “I’m here for ice cream, that’s all”.

“Yeah, but why do you look like a fucking zombie?” Maki pushed her eyeglasses further up her nose, her sharp eyes looking you up and down.

“Ah, he didn’t say anything to you guys, did he?” You shook your head, heavy eyes falling to ground as you refused to meet theirs.

“Don’t tell me…” Nobara’s face contorted, “Did he break up with you?”

You nodded, a pitiful chuckle falling from your lips, because if you didn’t laugh, you’d start sobbing right now.

Maki threw her arm around your shoulder, pulling you to her side and ushering you into the store, “It’s okay, men suck. Hang out with us today”.

Meanwhile, Nobara trailed quickly behind the two of you, anger seething from her teeth and steam practically billowing out of her ears.

“That fuckhead! I swear I’ll fuck his shit up big time, he won’t even know what fucking hit him. I knew that boy was stupid but shit, this is a whole new low for him! I-,” She continued to ramble and rant as Maki led you through the store, picking out drinks and snacks to help ease your pain.

The three of you ended up in a nearby park, sitting around a small picnic table and gorging on the massive array of snacks. Lighthearted conversation and lots of food make your chest ache a little less, and you even found yourself laughing and chatting as if things were normal. You’d told the two of them all about that day, about Megumi’s irrational words and his tragic breakdown that led to some kind of fucked-up break up sex.

“So, how are we gonna get back at him? Egg his car? Put bleach in his shampoo? Bugs in his food? God - it’s a shame his dad is dead because from the pictures I’ve seen that man was FINE and revenge sex—,”

“Nobara,” Maki shot her idiot girlfriend a dirty look, and the orange-haired girl quickly shut her mouth, “As much as I support any idea that revolves around ruining a man’s day, I don’t think revenge is the healthiest coping strategy here”.

You were tracing your eyes around Maki’s face as she spoke, and you found yourself carefully inspecting her purple glasses that rested softly on the bridge of her nose. And that’s when it clicked, the light bulb ignited in your head and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Maki,” your voice was urgent, “You don’t have cursed energy, you can’t even see them without your glasses!”

Her face twisted and her nose scrunched, a look of distaste in her eyes, “I know?”

“So, you could teach me, right? You could help me learn how to use some cursed weapons?”

“Yeah! You have to Maki, then she can beat his ass with me,” Nobara chimed in.

“That’s not a bad idea actually,” Maki’s mouth formed an evil grin, “Could you imagine his face after watching you exorcise a curse?”

The three of your conversed for a bit longer, speculating and potting about training, weapons, and your very own pair of curse-seeing glasses. By the end of the night you had a plan, and a pretty good one if you say so yourself.

From that day on, teary eyes and achy hearts were a thing of the past, not because it was that easy to get over Megumi, but because Maki didn’t even allow you the time to feel dismal anymore. You met her everyday after classes without fail, and everyday she would train you until you thought your arms would fall off. After months and months of sore muscles, sweat, and the occasional injury, you were convinced that Maki was incapable of feeling pity or remorse for other living things. Every time you speculated about quitting, she’d set a fire under you, unafraid to remind you how weak you still were.

The green-haired sorcerer had ultimately decided that you worked best dual-armed -- a long, lightweight blade in each hand. On your final day of training, she officially gifted the two swords to you, as a “graduation” gift.

Skill-wise, you were by no means as incredible Maki, but you definitely held your own, and the progress you’d made in a mere 8 months was astronomical. They’d introduced you to a strange silver-haired man at some point, Gojo, who had taken not only an interest in you but also your plot against your ex-boyfriend. He cackled to himself when you told him why you were here, going on and on about how priceless Megumi’s face would be when he saw you.

Your appearance was highly anticipated, so why not debut at one of the biggest jujutsu events all year? The Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event — Gojo thought it was the most perfect idea.

You tried hard to exude confidence as you walked at Nobara and Maki’s sides, but behind your arrogant facade your stomach was twisting itself into knots. Truthfully, you were scared to see Megumi again after so long.

And when your eyes met with his as you walked into the meeting room, you thought you just might pass out. You thought you were ready for this — but the look of complete shock, fear, and anger on his face as he looked you up and down almost made you regret all of it.

“What’s going on?” Megumi’s words were incredibly calculated, an edge on his voice.

His question was pointless, however, because judging by the fact that you were wearing a jujutsu tech uniform and had two swords sheathed at your sides could only mean one thing. Your hair was longer now too, and your frame was wider with an extra layer of muscle from all the training — you almost looked like a different person.

“I’ve been training with Maki, I-,” You spoke up to explain yourself, but you weren’t even granted the opportunity.

“No, no, Maki, what the hell did you do?” His eyes were shaky and laced with concern.

“I only did what she asked me to. I’m not the one who gave her a complex about being weak, you did that,” Maki shrugged, “and she’s not your girlfriend anymore dude, what do you care?”

Absolute confliction flashed through his eyes, uncertainty and madness swirling in his irises, “You’re right, I don’t care. Let me know when the event is starting”.

He took a sharp turn out of the room and let the door slam a little too hard behind him. The sound of his icey voice and the door shutting with unkind force was all too reminiscent of the night you broke up. Burying every emotion you had deep into your stomach you gave Maki a small, reassuring smile and plopped down on one of the couches.

“Alright, so when does this thing start?”

after the start of the event

Fighting the Kyoto students was proving to be much harder than you initially expected, but you were holding your own at Maki’s side. The two of you had easily taken down a small, kind, blue haired girl named Miwa, and now you were watching an emotional battle between Maki and her sister unfold.

Wait here, she’d told you, I want to do this one myself. Take some notes on my form and watch our backs, okay?

Okay, you’d said, a little confused but ultimately finding a nice spot up in a thick tree to carefully observe from. Maki was truly a force of nature, and it seemed like the other girl never actually had a chance of winning. It was honestly only a few minutes before the small black, haired girl was slumped against a tree and Maki was making her way back to you. Things were looking good, two of Kyoto’s student’s were down already and adrenaline was pumping through your veins.

You couldn't quite shake the awful feeling churning in your stomach though, and Megumi’s face was haunting your thoughts. You hadn’t seen him since before the event started, when an odd, pink haired boy jumped out of a box and freaked everyone out. Nobara had later explained who he was and what had happened, and you wondered how many awful surprises Gojo had planned today -- first you, then that.

A small rumble rippled under your feet, and Maki grabbed your arm as you watched a giant brown vine lurch it’s way out of the ground a few hundred yards in the distance.

“That technique doesn’t belong to anyone from Kyoto,” She shot you a look of concern and determination, “let’s go check it out”.

You gave her a firm nod, the two of you making your way towards the horrifying wooden vines. By the time you managed to arrive, Inumaki was already down and so was a dark-haired boy from Kyoto. A muscular, white curse with black markings and wooden branches for eyes was moments away from taking Megumi on all by himself — thank god you got here in time to help.

Megumi, however, was horrified when he saw you jump over the tall roofed building with Maki at your side. He’d just watched two incredible sorcerers get their shit rocked by this curse, there was no way you would stand a chance against this thing. But before he could even try to stop you, you and the green-haired sorcerer were flying through the air and taking shots at the curse. The two of you worked perfectly in sync, the months of daily training finally paying off.

He watched with intent glazed over his eyes, his heart threatening to lurch up his throat. You were a spectacle, and he always thought you were beautiful but seeing you now with dirt and blood stained clothes, cursed weapons gripped firmly in your hands, you truly were ethereal. He hated it though, he hated that he was falling in love with you all over again, especially under these circumstances. Guilt and anxiety was eating away at him — why did you have to get involved? Why couldn’t you have just stayed away like he told you to?

He was quick to join the two of you, sticking close to your side to protect you if need be — but, even with all three of you together the curse still had the upper hand. Maki had been swatted to the side, her back slamming hard against one of the tiled roofs and knocking her unconscious. It was down to just the two of you now, beads of sweat causing your hair to uncomfortably stick to the back of your neck. This was something that Maki’s training could have never prepared you for.

Megumi was getting tired, taking one wrong step and losing his footing momentarily. The curse saw this as a perfect window of opportunity, sending a spiral of vines and branches hurling for Megumi. It was fast, but the adrenaline coursing through you helped you to move faster, launching yourself through the air and intercepting the attack. The barky, wooden vines twisted violently through your stomach, shooting clean through your back and ripping a violent scream from your throat.

It hurt so bad, feeling the plant wriggle through your organs and tear you apart from the inside out. The curse retracted his vine a few moments later, leaving your mangled body to fall helplessly to the roof. Tears rippled from your eyes, your body shaking and seizing as you coughed up a few sprays of blood.

A long, strong pair of arms scooped you up instantaneously, and your head was resting against a firm chest — probably Megumi, but you didn’t quite have the energy to open your eyes to check.

“We’ll take it from here, get her to Ieiri!” You heard a pair of deep voices yelling to Megumi, but it was too foggy and far away for you to understand what they were saying.

Megumi was seething with anger, moving as fast as his feet could carry him and he ran through the school. As you waved in and out of consciousness, you batted open your eyes, stealing quick glances at his twisted features and — were those tears on his face?

“I- I’m sorry Megumi… I think I finally understand what you were so afraid of all this time,” Your voice was barely a croak, “when I saw it coming, I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to watch you die. I suddenly just thought I would do anything to keep you safe”.

Yeah, those were definitely tears, you could see them a little clearer now. His eyes were red and his cheeks were dried with salty streaks.

“You’re so thick-headed,” he mumbled, his grip around you tightening slightly as he picked up his pace, “I wish you would have made that realization before there was a giant hole in your stomach”.

“Me too,” You hummed, but you weren’t really in any pain anymore. The pain had subdued to a sweet warm sensation inside your stomach, and an intoxicating sleepiness was washing over your head, “I was angry for a long time, but I’m not mad at you anymore, Gumi. I hope you can forgive me too”.

You offered him a tiny smile, but the blood leaking from between you keeps made it anything but sweet.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, you never did anything wrong,” He spoke quickly, his voice quiet and cracking.

“No, but we’re not gonna make it to Ieiri, I know that and so do you,” You fell into a violent fit of coughs again, sputtering red splatters all over the front of his uniform.

“Shut up”.

“It’s not your fault, none of it was ever your fault,” you choked out once the fit of coughs subsided — and you weren’t just talking about yourself, you were talking about all of the unfortunate tragedies he’d witnessed throughout this life.

“And you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know? I hope that when you meet someone, your soulmate even, you can allow yourself to love them with every part of you”.

The words painfully left your lips, but you meant every single one of them. You were starting to realize that you and Megumi were never meant to make it to the end. You weren’t his soulmate, you were here to help him grow, so that when he did finally meet them he’d be ready.

“You deserve to be loved, Megumi,” You looked up at him with big eyes, but his face was starting to get really fuzzy now.

Your fingers were going numb and your mouth felt like it was filled with sand. You were so tired, letting your eyes flutter shut and your head rest softly against Megumi’s chest. You felt him stop running, you could even hear him screaming at you — but it was too far away for you to hear. You drifted closer and closer to eternal sleep, your soul swollen with love for the boy who broke your heart.

Megumi didn’t even feel sad when you stopped breathing in his arms — he just felt hollow. More empty and broken than he’d ever thought possible. You were the most incredible person he’d ever met — someone with extreme motivation, who acted with no fear or hesitation, who always had love to give, even when he didn’t deserve it. He’d never forget you, not for as long as he’d live anyway.

Even when he did meet a new girl a few years later — a compassionate, brave girl, who reminded him a lot of you — he wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t forget your words and for the first time in his life he’d let his walls down for her. He’d allow himself to truly love, and be loved in return.

And maybe you were right, maybe he did deserve to be loved like this, because god, he finally feels whole again when she’s around. He just wishes you were still here so he could say thank you.

[amorevolousfaith]

Chapter 22 : Under Fire

Pairing: Din (Mando) Djarin X Reader

Rating: 18+ (MINORS BEGONE!)

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Cannon violence, decapitation, adult language, mentions of kidnapping, Proselytism, Chaotic energy, lots of sexual tension, smut, sexism, consumption of alcohol, talks of polyamory, talks of drugging, fucked traditions, allusions to smut.

Summary: You and the Mandalorian have a complicated history and your future just seems to get more complicated as you go along. No thanks to the strange alien baby you both ended up co-parenting.

“(y/n)! (y/n)!” Mando calls, I suck in a deep breath, and it all comes back into focus. The shouting and the flipping chairs as Karga and Cara raise hell. “I’m here, Gods, I’m here.” I wheeze out, “Good I found a sewer vent, but you need to get it open.” He ushers. I nodded my head and wobbly stood to my feet before rushing over to the vent and start swinging my blades at the bars of the door. Cara even goes so far as to use her blaster to try and blast it open, however our attempts are interrupted by the man outside. Moff Gideon.

He makes a speech about surrender, before his sadistic nature turns his speech into venom filled jabs at us. Gloating about the horrors of Cara’s time as a shock trooper, the mocking Din’s lost Mandalorian culture, and the false recognition of Kagra’s guild leader status. Then finally me, the outcast huntress who has a taste for blood. I swallow my anger before using it to swing my blades at the vent door. The people around me continue to talk as I try to open the vent, until a hand comes to rest on mine. “Give it a rest.” Mando mumbles, I breathe heavily from the labor of swinging my blades. “They’re going to give us until nightfall to surrender.” He mumbles, “Are we going to?” I breathe out. “I don’t know yet.” He answers softly.

“What are your chances?” Cara questions, “Chances?” I scoff out. “Your chances of getting out alive?” Cara huffs, “Better than ours I’ll tell you that, an outcast of all things? What were you banished?” Kagra adds with an eye roll. Anger surges through my chest, “Not by force, people can be cruel. You should know that more than anyone. Even the people who’ve known you since you were born will grow scared and cold to you if they don’t understand you.” I hiss out, turning sharply to face them. “Calling you things that you would have to learn to understand as you grow up.” I laugh bitterly waving my blade at them, “Until the gods blessed me with Mando! Who saved me from my own people by making one of his.” I laugh out with tears pricking my eyes. “So to answer your question Cara, my chances will only be as good as Mando’s.” I huff pointing at the metal man. “And let me tell you, Moff Fucking Gideon isn’t going to let us out as easily as you might think.” I laugh out throwing my hands up.

“How do you know his name?” Kagra questions, “Because Mando told me, when he was training me to be a Mandalorian.” I sigh out. “And if I could have his head I would stick it on a fucking pike and use the rest of his body to curse the rest of the fucking empire!” I rant out. “He’s the only one other than (y/n) who knows my name, he was an IBS officer in the great purge and the only record of my family name was the registers of Mandalore. I was a foundling, taken in and treated as their own in the fighting corps, when I turned of age I sworn in.” Mando explains. “So you two aren’t really Mandalorians?” Cara questions, I snap my hand over to her and swing my blade in her direction. “I should cut your tongue out for saying that. Mandalorians aren’t a race, it's a creed.” I hiss, waving my blade at her. Cara’s eyes are wide and glued to the blade I wave dangerously in her direction, it brings a sick satisfaction to my chest.

“Well you aren’t a Mandalorian yet,” Mando pipes in, “Only because I haven’t been taken by a clan, which probably won’t happen at this point.” I huff sheathing my blade. “He says he needs us, it means the child got away safely.” Mando gets us back on topic, “I was worried when the ugnaught didn’t respond.” He nods. “You were worried? I had a fucking panic attack!” I snap glancing over to Kagra who pulls out a bottle of spotcka, “Poor me one too.” I called the guild leader. I see him nod in acknowledgement as I walk over, just as I get to him he hands over a shot glass of the blue liquid. “We’d all be dead if he had him.” Mando continues, “Thank the gods.” I salute before knocking back the drink. I listen to Mando try to call Kuiil again, “Perhaps they jammed the signal.” I hum out, “Perhaps you're right.” He sighs. I hum again with a nod, “Aren’t I always?” I muse holding my shot out for another drink. “Kuiil has be terminated.” The Ig unit calls through the com, I feel the world stop, “What did you do?” Mando questions as I drop my glass and hurry over to him. I latch myself to Mando’s arm and lean over the com to make sure I don’t miss a word.

“I’m fulfilling my base function,” The droid answers, “Which is?” I but in, “To nurse and protect.” He answers. Relief floods my body and I let my head rest against the cold Beskar of Mando’s armor. I let out a weak laugh, “I’ve officially failed as a mother,” I laugh out only to let tears spring from my eyes. “A droid is doing a better job than me! The woman—The monstrega, that tried to take him in.” I all but sob, “Cyare, come on. You're stronger than this.” Mando argues. We’re broken apart by gunfire outside, it didn’t take much for me to piece it all together. “That crazy Fóc, Damnú eisean” I hiss out, Fear roots itself deep into my nerves.

We all glance outside to see the droid taking out the entire fucking battalion. “HE HAS MY FUCKING CHILD!” I screech out pulling away from Mando and drawing my blades, the maternal instinct to protect came roaring back as soon as I spot the child in his little sack grinning like the little safty hazard we raised him to be. “Right behind you Cyare, go!” Mando calls, I race to the door and kick it open spinning my blades to block the blaster shots as Mando shoots over my shoulder at anyone shooting at us. The two others file out with us open firing on anyone in white armor. When we get enough breathing room we break apart, I don’t waste time and go straight for the throat, taking head after head with as much force as I can muster. There’s a warm gush of pumping blood with every kill, but it doesn’t bother me, not one bit.

When the imps thin out I’m able to take a look around, only to find the droid taking some hits. “Mando! The droid!” I call over my shoulder as I trade one blade for my blaster and start picking off what I can. Mando, being the public menace he is, unhooks the giant baster gun and unleashes onto the group of imps firing at the droid, buying the machine enough time to get the hell out of dodge. I trade my blaster back for my blade and take out as many more imps as I can. Until a blast goes off and my attention is turned to the Cantina where I saw Cara disappear back into at one point or another.

Turning my attention in that direction I catch the sight of Moff Gideon on the prowl in Din's direction. Without hesitation I’m walking that way to meet him, only to run when I see him point a blaster at Din. I make it in time to block the blaster shot, Din turns the massive gun in his direction but before he can fire Moff Gideon fires again. I gasp as Din uses his body to cover mine as a blast goes off, and even though he’s quick he’s not quick enough to save me from the burning heat on my arms and side. Din and I go flying before we hit the ground again, with me landing on top of him. “Din!” I whisper nudging him, but he doesn’t answer. Fuck he must be knocked out. I whip my head around to see Gideon making his way over. I hiss as force myself to my feet and start pulling Din over to the nearest cover, Cara being the gods sent she is rushes over to help.

“Stay with me, stay with me A Rún!” I whisper hushly as we pull him into the Cantina. I can vaguely hear the droid threaten Kagra, but I can’t be too concerned as I prop Din up to get a better look at him. “I’m not gonna make it, go.” Mando grunts, “Shut the fuck up.” I hiss, “Shut up. You got your bell rung, you’ll be okay.” Cara scoffs. “Leave me.” he grunts, “(y/n), I’ve let you come with me this far but no further. If one of us fails the other cannot, I mean it this time. This is the way.” He demands. “Mando.” I plead, “This is the way.” he repeats, I swallow hard. “This is the way.” I agree softly, Cara rolls her eyes as she moves her hand away from supporting Din’s head.

I wheeze at the sight of blood and her eyes went wide. “I have to take that thing off.” Cara demands, but my hands shoot out to her’s. “You can’t.” I whimper, A hand touches mine and I look over to Din. I watch him pull a necklace off his throat and hand it to me, “Give this to the child. Go to the Covert, tell them…Tell them you are of Clan Djarin, they’ll help you.” He grunts. “Fuck you Din,” I sob taking the necklace and getting to my feet. I stumble over to the child where I wrap the necklace around the child’s neck. Come on (y/n), time to pull yourself together. Time to be the mother you need to be.

I let out a scream as a wave of heat flushes to room, I dove and used my body to cover the child. “(y/n)! Protect the child!” Din calls, “If one of us fails, the other cannot. This is the way.” I whimper, mostly to myself. “This is the way Cyare.” He grunts, “Before you die tell me what that means.” I snap. “Tell me what that word you say means.” He rebutts, “It means handsome in my tongue you asshole.” I huff through tears. “Now your turn,” I exhale sharply, “It means beloved.” He answers back. “Fuck I hate you.” I whimper, “Yeah I know.” He chuckles.

Another blast of fire pours in and I clutch the child close to my chest, “Dibu e Debu.” I exhale sharply as a red striped stormtrooper walks through the door. I gasp as the flames suddenly wash up in a wall and fire back. “Good job… Good job my warrior.” I spoke softly, still utterly in awe of this tiny beast’s powers. The child coos back before slumping into my arms. Alright then, my turn. I take the child into my arms and hurry over to the vent, “We need to go, now.” I demand. Karga instantly nods and makes his way into the vent. “I will stay with the Mandalorian.” The droid offers, “Save him. Please, bring him home.” I breathe out before dipping inside.

<---- Prev // Masterlist // Next ---->

[dooodle-bug]

Sooo I'm back at it again with the fanfic writing, this time tryna work on writing stuff that's a bit shorter...anyways, enjoy this one, featuring Tape n Sciss chatting!

Captain and Lieutenant

With black tattered paper-y wings, the green knight swiftly soared from their castle in the heavens. Silently, yet anxiously, they swooped down to earth.

            Atop the great Sea Tower, laced with clouds, rested the purple streamer, pristine as it always was. All was silent, aside from the soft crashing of waves in the distance.

Scissors leaped onto the landing, wings quickly retracting back into their bow as they unsheathed the swords from their sheath. 

Raising their blades without hesitation, they cried, "Where is he?! Where is the plumber?!" 

Twisting their neck and scanning the area, however, they found no such plumber in sight. Rather, it was all quite tranquil, with no signs of life, except for one, who was sitting on the ledge of the tower. Of course.

"...Tape." 

He was still, mostly, clad in his purple three piece business suit (his fedora resting on his lap) as he swiveled back to meet eyes with them. 

"Oh..hey Sciss.. glad youse could drop by," they spoke monotonously. 

"...Tape..tell me WHAT.." Scissors briskly strut towards them, slipping their blades back into their sheath before looming over them, "...exactly is the meaning of this."

The mobster simply glanced up at them before returning to their gaze towards the distant seas.

"I dunno."

"You DON'T know?!" Scissors snapped, "Why did you dare summon me then?! Do you have any idea how busy I am…!?" 

Tape shrugged, and tuned out their scolding.

Several minutes passed before the knight's rant was concluded. "...Fine then. If you really have nothing better to do then I might as well just go-"

"Wait-" Tape blurted out, "I, ah, I wanna. I wanna talk-" 

Well wasn't that such a strange thing to want, especially from someone so cold hearted, simple minded, and unfeeling, Scissors thought. "...Fine. Make it quick."

He jolted up a bit at the response before mumbling, "Well, ah, well… Youse remember 'im, 'im. Right? It ain't jus' me? You remember dat guy? 'E's. 'E's not 'ere anymore y'know. Gone. Boom. And I. Well. Dis is kinda silly but. You do remember 'im? And da others? Right?" 

They scoffed, "Of course I do. And if you're worried you're going to be next, I suppose it would be best to say that I have some faith in you and your fighting ability. And if that doesn't work, I'm always the next line of defense." 

"Dat's. Dat's not what I. What I. Whatever." Why didn't they expect this to happen? They sighed and continued, still staring out in the distance. "I mean. Ah. Do youse..miss em? Think about Dem? Want dem back? Or. Somethin'?" Their voice cracked a little.

"Of course not. They failed at their sole purpose. Why should I have pity for such lazy, ignorant fools? And if you're hinting at what I think you are, you might as well eliminate that thought, lest you end up like them." 

Tape stared down at his fedora on his lap in silence, while Scissors prepared to make their way back up. 

Eventually, they spoke up again. "I dunno what da hell I was thinkin', wantin' ta call youse down 'ere like dis…-" 

"And you thought wrong and wasted my time. Goodbye-" 

"-Fine den. Leave. I don't need any sorta self-righteous snob bein' 'round me anyhow! I don't even know why I called ya down 'ere, seein' as though all youse do is yell at me like dis! Some kinda boss youse are! Can't even have da brains ta think right or even get some heart for anyone! Well, anyone but youseself an' da boss, like da entitled, snarky, stuck-up brat youse a-"

Promptly, Scissors' hand swiped out and smacked him on the back of his scalp. He flinched, yet didn't say a word, only glaring down at the ground from the impact. 

"Don't you dare insult me like that ever again. I'm sure by now it'll be best if you keep your mouth shut, unless I need to kick you off this Sea Tower to teach you to mind your manners and shut up."

And with that, Scissors' great black paper wings extended once more as they flown back to the heavens, leaving Tape behind, sobbing softly. 

[chadillacboseman]

Got Your Back

Just a little drabble of @roofgeese and my OCs :)

--

"Watch where you're walking you-"

The next words Alex had heard a dozen times from a dozen different frothing mouths. Hate-filled slurs that had followed him all his life through every podunk midwestern town full of kids with shitty parents.

The agent's name was Richards- Alex had seen him in the fight pit before; he was on the tall side, lanky with reddish-blonde hair that curled at the ends as if he kept it tamped under a baseball cap.

Alex ignored him and continued toward his bunk, ears burning red as he dipped his head and shouldered his rucksack. Next time he headed into the field with Richards, he'd make sure the blast zone was a little less safe.

"Yeah, that's what I thought!" The agent's voice rang down the hall, "You people are all the same!"

He was so enraptured in his rant that he didn't notice the black-clad figure that strode up behind him in the hall.

"What did you say?" Echo's voice was faint, as deadpan and measured as ever, but there was something else to it. Something angry.

Alex spun on his heel and his gaze found Richards' face, white as a sheet with eyes wild like a cornered animal. Behind him, Alex could just make out Echo's small form, her blonde hair peeking from around the agent's shoulder.

"Do you know how easy it is to paralyze someone when you stick a knife-" Echo pressed the blade into the small of Richards' back, "right between these two vertebrae?"

The agent let out a whimper and Echo almost smiled, "I could make you a head on a stick in three seconds flat, Richards."

Alex watched, enraptured, as the scene unfolded in front of him. Richards didn't move, but his eyes darted erratically as Echo spoke behind him.

"You know what the worst part is about that? You'll be awake when I cut out your tongue."

"I'm sorry-" Richards breathed the words, barely audible as his knees began to shake.

"Say it louder."

"I'm sorry!" this time he yelled it and Alex felt his lips twitch into a smile under his mask.

Echo backed up and sheathed her knife as Richards sprinted away down the hallway, his eyes fixed on the tiles beneath his feet.

"Echo, I..." Alex closed the distance between the two of them and wracked his brain for the words, "Thank you."

She pushed her thick glasses up on her nose and shrugged, "I should have just killed him."

Alex stared down at her for a moment and she cocked her head in question. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around her small frame and lifted her feet from the tile floor.

Echo yelped in surprise as the Turk pulled her into a tight hug that left her boots dangling several inches above the ground.

"You know I love you, right?" he murmured as he let her drop gently back to her feet.

Echo's lip curled into a rare smile and she clapped a hand on his broad shoulder, "I love you too, Alex."

[alj4890]

I have an ask. We know in TRR Book 3 Ch10 Drake is the one being challenged by Neville but what if The King is the one to challenge Neville? After all he’s the one that would talk down to Riley during book 3 and nit once did Liam stand up for her during those times? So I wonder if Liam knew what Neville had said to his future Queen what would his reaction would be. I feel at least that Riley had the choice to punch him! Lol

A/N: Okay, seriously. WHY didn't all the other love interests tell Neville off?! He even annoyed Olivia with his pouting and whines. I get the tension between him and Drake and all; but Neville was talking bad behind Liam's back about his choice to elevate MC to becoming a duchess regardless of whether or not she was engaged to Liam. He was such a jerk to Hana and who in their right mind could be mean to her??? As protective and sacrificial as Maxwell was, (he did show getting ticked off whenever Neville opened his mouth), why wasn't there a dance fight between the two🤣 Now that my mini rant is over, let's see what would happen if Neville pushed Liam too far.

Masterlist

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg

Too Far

It wasn't noticeable at first.

He even somehow managed to make friends.

Neville had a way that made him appear as the perfect example of a gentlemanly noble. His cultured tone uttering compliments and his ability to appear humble before his betters had assured his place within Cordonia's high society. Being heir to an earldom and not too horrible to look upon also set him up in life to have a variety of ladies to choose from.

Or so he believed.

When Prince Leo abdicated, the nobles of Cordonia were actually laughed at by the rest of the world. The teasing began with mere good natured ribbing at parties of how unfaithful a Cordonian must be.

It was enough to sour any disposition, especially one that was already so.

Neville Vancoeur kept his noble mask firmly in place. Nothing was going to stop him from his destiny.

Nothing. No one. 

But the newest crown prince was best friends with, it was disgusting simply thinking of the word, a commoner. A commoner! What noble much less a direct descendant of the king himself would ever align themselves with someone who was absolutely worthless

Yet, the embarrassment that was Prince Liam didn't end there. He then went on to favor a poor waitress from America of all places. A waitress. He redeemed himself in Neville's eyes when he chose Countess Madeleine Amaranth of Fydelia to be Cordonia's queen. Though he didn't quite understand why the normally shrewd countess would allow the waitress to travel with the nobility, perhaps it was to give Drake Walker a playmate (one has to entertain pets, he supposed) he accepted it as a way to appease the people they ruled over.

Then New York happened. King Liam threw aside a well respected, birthed to perfection noble for that mongrel American who did not possess the first clue of how to behave amongst Cordonia's elite court.

Neville would have found it humorous if he was not permanently tied to his country.

To top it all off, not only was he forced to endure such unworthy company, he was shamed in front of them by some minor noble who had failed to win Liam. He blamed that brief moment of weakness for finding Lady Hana attractive on being inadvertently influenced by what had to be Drake and Riley's baser inclinations.

There was only one action left to a man so much more above these lowly peasants.

He was going to have to put these people in their proper place.

*******************

Liam knew that some of his fellow nobles took their positions as some sort of right in lording over those they considered their inferiors. It had never sat easy with him. He himself had a mother who had been a, "simple commoner". Yet, being in the tenacious situation he was in as a new king, he had to ignore for the most part their rude behavior.

But there was only so much he could stand when it came to the one he loved.

He knew something was going on the night of Madeleine's ball. As he stood on the other side of the ballroom, listening to Duke Godfrey drone on and on, he noticed Drake bump into the future earl. He knew there were very few nobles his best friend respected so seeing the flash of anger was normal.

Riley's though was surprising.

That unusual bitter twist to her normal, friendly smile followed by what he could only assume were heated words between his love and Neville made him feel the need to rush over and place himself between them. That desire to protect Riley was so strong that his body had already turned to leave Godfrey mid sentence.

But then Neville walked away.

Maxwell's brief sadness followed by Hana's irritation had him focusing once more on Riley's anger turning to resigned acceptance. Her relaxed stance returned as his group of friends found a table to sit and enjoy their meal.

He knew then that he would need to keep an eye on Lord Neville for the rest of the Unity Tour.

*****************

It didn't surprise him at all the insults and tension between Drake and Neville during the charity polo match. Liam felt sorry for Rashad and Maxwell being stuck on their team and forced to work with the two men that seemed to truly despise one another.

Liam also felt a large bit of pride when Riley used Neville's refusal to pass to Drake to score.

He also was relieved that Neville had not turned his disdain toward her.

Perhaps he was beginning to respect his future queen.

**************

It shouldn't have affected Liam like it did. Maybe it was the fact he was under so much pressure from keeping his father's cancer hidden, the fear from hearing he had been rushed to the hospital, all the terrorist attacks and threats, and then having to focus on pampered nobles instead of actually running his kingdom that caused him to lose his last shred of patience.

This ball was one that he had looked forward to. It would be the first of his escorting his Riley before the court. He had waited so long for such a moment to show his world how proud he was to have won her heart.

And Neville had to ruin it during their first dance.

The heated exchange of words escalated when Riley jumped in to defend Drake. Liam could see the utter hatred and lack of respect Neville had for the two people he was closest to. The way the young lord talked down to his beloved sent a bitter resolve through Cordonia's king.

"I've had enough of your insolence!" Neville snapped.

Liam saw his hand reach for his pocket and begin to withdraw a white glove. Before he could think through what he was about to do, he slapped Neville with the back of his hand, cutting short the challenge the lord was about to issue to Drake.

The entire court gasped. Silence fell as all watched this rare occurrence of Liam losing his temper.

"I've had enough of your insolence." Liam bit out. "Lord Neville, I challenge you to a duel."

Neville paled. His eyes darted around the ballroom, searching for anyone who might possibly be on his side. Seeing no sympathy, his chin lifted.

"I accept." His voice cracked slightly.

****************

"Liam, why are you doing this?" Riley gripped his hand as they walked out to the courtyard.

"I'm tired of his attitude." Liam explained. "Especially around you."

"I can handle his snide remarks." She countered. "What I can't handle is the thought of you possibly getting hurt."

Liam paused and slipped his arm around her waist. "You don't think I can take him?"

She smiled, looping her arms around his neck. "I know you can." She snared him with a tender kiss. "Just make it fast. There's a certain king I want to slow dance with."

His lips curved once more before turning toward the growing crowd. "As my queen wishes, so it shall be."

With a wink to her, he removed his sword from its sheath with a dramatic flourish.

Her delighted laughter followed him as he faced his opponent.

Neville swallowed uncomfortably as Constantine laid out the rules for the duel.

He barely managed to block Liam's blows, footsteps retreating most of the time. His lip curled into a snarl when the new king sliced into his blazer.

"My lady was right," Liam taunted, "that is a dreadful dinner jacket."

Neville's cheeks burned when those watching nearby chuckled. Each time he tried to make an offensive strike, Liam not only blocked it but somehow turned it into a point in his favor.

At one point they locked swords. Neville hated he had to tilt his head up to meet Liam's eyes. He hadn't expected to see the coldness there.

"You will apologize to Riley and Drake." Liam commanded in a low tone. "You will also never speak to either of them with such disrespect again."

"Why should I?" Neville breathed. "They need to learn to respect their betters."

"Really?" Liam's tone held a sinister edge. 

With an elegant spin that happened in the blink of an eye, he knocked his opponent’s sword out of his hand, caught it in mid air with his free one, and had both blades crossed with Neville's neck in the middle.

"Well done!" Constantine cheered from the sideline.

Riley let out a whoop as she hurried over to Liam's side. 

"Wasn't there something you wished to say to her grace, Lord Neville?" Liam asked

Neville's ready sneer died when he felt a slight nick to his tender skin.

"Forgive me, your grace." He managed to say without choking. "I will remember my manners when next we meet."

Riley gave a regal nod of acceptance.

Liam lowered the swords. "You're dismissed."

Neville scurried through the amused crowd, keeping his eyes downcast.

Riley yanked Liam into a passionate kiss once all the compliments were given and the crowd dispersed.

"My lady?" He asked with a grin. "What brought that on?"

"Nothing except my impressive Prince Charming fighting for me." She responded. "Perhaps he would like to find somewhere more private where I can better express my admiration."

"As you wish." He handed his swords to a servant as the couple sneaked away for a moment alone.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (43) || atz

It’s a fine day once more.

The morning sun shines down upon the Treasure, its golden rays touching your cheeks as you glance up at the sky. It’s been peaceful the last few days, and you’ve heard from Yeosang that your captain has begun considering sailing back to Nassau so that Seonghwa can visit his childhood friends Seohyun and Soobin.

The cook’s been in a much more cheerful mood for the last few days after hearing those words, excited about seeing how their baby is coming along. He can’t stop gushing to you in the kitchen about how cute he thinks the baby is going to be, worrying endlessly whether they’re going to be alright, to the point that you’ve resorted to stuffing bread rolls in his mouth to keep him quiet so that he can focus on his cooking.

You don’t him to end up with two less fingers like Soobin.

After preparing breakfast with Seonghwa, you’re now seated in the rigging swaying back on forth with the wind, letting the sun warm your face as you prepare for another day ahead.

“I can’t wait to get back onto dry land.” Yunho comments with a groan from above you on the main mast, hanging upside down from the ropes. You glance up at him with a smile, shielding your eyes against the sun.

“I’m sure Jongho could always throw you overboard if you’re sick of being on the ship.”

High pitched laughter comes from beside you and you turn to see Wooyoung swinging over from the mizzen mast, grinning as he steps over to you, expertly keeping his balance on the yardarm. He’s surprisingly steady on his feet, considering the last time you’d seen him yesterday, he was screaming drunken insults about Yunho’s apparent pea sized brain for not understanding how the mizzen mast was the better of the two. He bows mockingly, gesturing to the sparkling ocean far below you.

“Maybe you’d like to go for a swim, your majesty?” Wooyoung jibes, barely able to keep the snicker out of his voice. The lookout tosses his shoe at his friend and Wooyoung ducks easily, catching it in his hand.

“Be silent, you knave.” Yunho grumbles, now missing a shoe. Reclining against the ropes, he gazes at the horizon with a steady eye, body bobbing up and down with the pitch and roll of the ship. “I still haven’t forgotten the last time you pushed me off the yardarm to save your own ass and I fell into the sea because of you.”

You raise your eyebrows as you glance at a shamelessly grinning Wooyoung, who is neither denying nor confirming it. Knowing the head gunner, however, it’s probably… no, definitely true. “How did that happen?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to answer, but before the silver tongued charmer can say another word, Yunho cuts in, obviously knowing full well Wooyoung is going to twist the story upside down to his own advantage.

“We were on the main mast, arguing about how the main mast is obviously the better mast,” Yunho begins with a haughty tone, ignoring Wooyoung’s cry of indignation. “When San was at the wheel he stupidly beached the Treasure on the shore and the whole ship jerked. I, being the better rigging monkey, caught my balance, but Wooyoung-”

You unconsciously grip the ropes beneath you a little tighter, suddenly wary of falling off the mast yourself. Ahh. So that’s why no one on the ship trusts San with the wheel. You sometimes wonder how they even trusted him with their injuries in the first place.

“I’m a better rigging monkey than you!” Wooyoung splutters in outrage, but Yunho flat out pays no attention to him, continuing with his tale. “As I was saying, I caught my balance but Wooyoung fell. I was reaching down to save him, but then he grabbed my arm-”

“I didn’t need any saving-”

“And I fell off instead! It’s twice as bad because he stayed on the mast and I didn’t!”

“I was perfectly capable on staying on the mast myself, thank you very much.” Wooyoung grumbles, but Yunho isn’t listening to him in the slightest. In fact, he’s so pumped up with ranting that he’s starting to wave his long arms around like a windmill, complaints spilling from his mouth completely unchecked.

“And do you know what else he did? During a battle at sea, he even jumped onto the main mast on purpose! My precious main mast! The crow’s nest got blown off, you know? That’s like the head of the mast!’

You’re starting to lose Yunho to this silly argument, having no idea where this is going.

“Why is it Wooyoung’s fault the main mast got hit?”

Yunho stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because he’s so ugly everyone tries to shoot him.”

“What did you say, Yun Hoe?” Wooyoung screeches in the background like an offended pigeon. “Haven’t you forgotten that time you grabbed onto the mizzenmast sail and ended up tearing a huge hole in it? You defiled my beautiful mizzenmast and exposed her for everyone to see!”

You’re utterly lost from this conversation now, baffled as to why any of this matters in the first place. “Come on, guys…”

“You blew the mainmast’s head off!”

“You shamed the mizzenmast in front of the whole crew! The disgrace, Yun Hoe, the disgrace-”

“Oh yeah?” Yunho actually looks furious now, drawing his cutlass from his side. Panicking, you turn to Wooyoung, expecting him to use that glib tongue of his to somehow worm his way out of the antsy situation, but you’re shocked to see that he’s drawn his own blade as well, looking every bit ready to fight Yunho.

“Come at me, Yun Hoe!”

“It’s on, Poo Young!”

Sighing at their antics and the sheer stupidity of it all, you turn around to glance at the sea before you. It’s the same as before, an endless expanse of shimmering, deep blue as clouds drift past the horizon, sun shining-

Wait.

Frowning, you block out the sounds of Wooyoung and Yunho’s ridiculous squabbling, leaning forward to squint at the delicate line separating the ocean from the sky. Puffs of white clouds are rolling across the blue sky, but there seems to be a patch of white moving in a different direction from the others.

“What’s that?” The words leave your lips in a mutter, but Yunho hears it even over his argument with Wooyoung. His eyes narrow warily even as he sheathes his cutlass, stepping over to you.

“What is it?” He asks you and you point far into the distance, trying to understand how that one white shape is moving towards you instead of away from you, like the rest of the clouds are.

“That cloud is acting weird.” You tell him, feeling Wooyoung step towards you from behind, curious as to what is happening.

Suddenly, Yunho stiffens next to you, staring at the white shape. Frowning, you turn to ask him exactly what has gotten him to tense, but Wooyoung seems to realise it as well, fingers tightening on your shoulder unconsciously, all traces of his argument with Yunho vanishing in sight of the odd cloud.

“That’s not what I think it is, am I right?”

Yunho chews on his lower lip. “But why would any of ship be out here?”

You finally realise it now. The white shape that’s growing in size is actually a sail, starkly contrasting against the blue sky behind it. A chill runs down your back as you lean forward unconsciously, trying to catch a better glimpse of it, but Wooyoung pulls you back before you can fall over.

“Wouldn’t want you taking a dip now.” Wooyoung tries to smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s obvious that he’s worried at what the sight of this white sail could mean, considering it could be a simple merchant ship or even a Royal Navy frigate.

The three of you wait with baited breath as the ship grows in size.

Then suddenly, as if they can read each other’s minds, Wooyoung and Yunho both freeze at the same time, the very tension in the air sends a shiver down your entire body. You turn to glance at the two of them, confused as to why they’re acting this way.

“What is it?”

“It’s them.” Yunho spits as he stares at the horizon, seeing the snowy white sails crest the waves. You frown, unable to see as clearly, leaning forward and squinting to see what exactly could be causing your two fellow rigging monkeys so much distress.

Wooyoung curses, baring his teeth as he leaps to the ropes as fast as he can. “I’m going to tell Captain.” With that, he slides to the main deck with an urgency you’ve rarely seen in him, in such contrast to his usually easy-going and cheerful self.

But then you catch sight of it and your own eyes widen in horror.

On the sails fluttering in the wind is a red shape, starkly contrasting against the snow white background.

The same sigil decorating the shoulders of the coat you had woken up with.

The symbol on the red wax seals of Lucio’s letters.

The emblem of a crimson rose.

Your heart sinks in your chest.

It’s the Royal Navy.

“Damnit.” Yunho curses under his breath, fingers tightening on the handle of his cutlass. He’s afraid of what this might mean, for the crew and for him. How did they find you here? Was it simply by chance? Or have they been tracking you somehow? “We’re going to get into a huge battle again. I hope you’re ready for a fight, Chin Hae.”

“Is it stupid to hope that they’re not here to kill us?” You mumble under your breath but Yunho snorts, shaking his head.

“We literally all have bounties stamped on us. There are rewards of up to five hundred gold pieces for our captain’s head. Fifty for each crew mate. Two hundred for San. Two hundred fifty for Jongho and I. Three hundred for Mingi and Wooyoung.” He exhales shakily, staring as the blood red rose grows ever closer. “If they don’t want to kill us, I’ll eat my own shoe… and Wooyoung’s at that.”

You laugh nervously, trembling fingers seeking his and gripping tight as you watch your impending doom. “Want to raise the stakes?”

“I’ll even admit the mizzenmast is better.” Yunho mumbles uneasily under his breath. Just as he says those words, the sound of a iron bar being struck repeatedly rings throughout the air and the deck floods with activity, the crew swarming to the bulwarks to search for the impending threat. He pushes you lightly to the ropes. “You should go. San will want you with him when the action starts.”

Nerves rise up in you, but you force it down and slide down the rigging, careful not to burn your hands on the ropes from friction. You drop onto the deck, making your way to the quarterdeck where you had last seen your master.

To your surprise, Yeosang is there as well, Mingi at the stairs bellowing orders to the crew to ready the cannons and prepare for battle. You hear the sound of the cannon carriages being wheeled to their spots, the powder monkeys running about in organised drills to ferry the gunpowder to their guns. All of the crew are readying their weapons for battle, suiting up and loading their muskets.

Tension runs high in the air and adrenaline in your veins as you step to the railing, where Yeosang and San are. Wooyoung must have headed to the gunwales to handle his powerful cannons, the long nine and the 42 pounder, the two most deadly and lethal weapons on the Treasure. San reaches for your hand nervously, squeezing it tight.

“Are you scared?” He asks, and you don’t bother lying to him.

“Yes.”

You hate the way your voice cracks even though you’ve been in battle twice already, once with the Royal Navy before and the other on Nassau. You wish you were braver than this, but you can’t stare death in the eye without the slightest whit of fear like your captain and Yunho and Jongho can.

Yeosang takes your other hand, and even though his face is ashen and pale, he still pats your hand comfortingly.

“Don’t worry.”

You’re reminded of the first time you had been attacked by a Royal Navy ship near Tortuga, Yeosang too, had taken your hand and told you not to worry. The difference this time though, was that you were no longer just a amnesiac girl who had to be protected by Jongho, but a person reasonably well versed with the cutlass and musket, who had experienced dangers and could help people around her with her healing ability.

You just hoped it would be enough.

“Yeosang-ah, can you tell anything about the ship?” Your captain calls from this wheel, his voice eerily calm as if they aren’t on the verge of a massive battle.  Yeosang leans forward a little, squinting as he tries to make out distinctive features of the ship.

“It looks like a standard Navy ship, about fifteen cannons down each side on the upper deck. A three masted frigate with no battering ram and it relies on sail power, not on rowers. But…” Yeosang’s voice trails off in shock and you glance at him in worry.

“But?”

You had thought that Yeosang was already pale from fear, but then all at once every drop of blood seems to drain from his face, leaving him white and bloodless. His fingers tighten on the railing of the ship, mouth falling open in horror and pupils dilating in fear as he stares at the approaching ship in shock.

Concern floods you. “Yeosang-oppa?”

“The flag they’re flying…” Yeosang breathes, barely above a whisper. “It’s a black crow.”

San stiffens.

“What?”

Hongjoong somehow manages to hear that over all the noise coming from the main deck, because he whirls around in shock to look at the ship coming from the stern, instructing Mingi to take the wheel. His boots click on the deck as he makes his way over to the three of you, his one green eye narrowing in fury as he stares at the approaching dark shape. His anger radiates him like some sort of black miasma that’s poisonous to the touch, the very air around him almost acrid with sour rage.

“How dare he…” You captain seethes, before turning to Yeosang. “Yeosang, are you alright?”

But the navigator only continues to stare at the ship in shock, unresponsive to his captain except a mumbled ‘yeah, I’m fine’ that no one believes.

You’re confused as to why this ship seems to have such a massive psychological impact on Yeosang, but then San tugs on your hand lightly, his usually bright eyes grim.

“That’s the ship Yeosang’s father captains.”

Memories rush back to you, from that night you had decided to heal Yeosang with your very life force. An officer with a single, golden monocle, thin lips pulled into a permanent scowl, a white scar above his brow bone, golden patches on his shoulders.

Commander Kang. Captain of the Royal Navy ship the Black Crow. Yeosang’s father.

The man who’d abandoned his only son to bloodthirsty pirates and had left him for dead.

“Oh shit.” You mumble under your breath, realising the gravity of this situation now, how it not only crosses the physical boundaries but also the emotional and psychological. You take Yeosang’s hand in both of yours and clasp it tightly, hoping to offer some comfort, but he doesn’t seem to register it, eyes still fixed on the ship.

Then something catches your eye that makes your heart stop in your chest.

“Are they… are they seriously hoisting a white flag? A parley flag?” You spit out in shock, and your captain stares at the Black Crow, utterly furious at the sight and yet completely bewildered by this abrupt change of events from what he’s used to. A Royal Navy ship offering to parley with the Caribbean Sea’s most wanted pirates? That was wholly unheard of in the whole of maritime history.

“Are they mocking us?” You hear San growl under his breath, obviously incensed, but you must have gone a little crazy from the mixture of shock and terror, because an unsteady little giggle leaves your mouth, your hands trembling from both suspense and trepidation.

Your master glances at you, obviously concerned. “Chin Hae? Chin Hae, are you alright?”

Another near deranged chuckle spills from you as you shake your head, mind as blank as the parley flag being hoisted from the foremast.

“Oh no…” You begin, unsure what to say, every thought fleeing from your mind as the dark shape almost looms over you in your imagination. “It’s just that…”

Another uncontrollable laugh escapes you.

“Yunho needs to eat Wooyoung’s shoe now.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 14: The Reckoning

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,438

Chapter Summary: With Loki gone, Teki finds herself reaching a breaking point.

A/N:  I’m sorry.

This chapter includes depictions of violence.

Thanks for reading!

TW: Graphic violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 @berriemalfoy @whatafuckingdumbass

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Somehow, Teki managed to return to her rooms, although she didn’t remember how—she was fairly certain the Queen had offered to escort her back, but she wasn’t sure if she actually had or not. Perhaps she was in shock, or perhaps her mother’s training to keep a mannerly expression was rooted deeper than she realized, but some way or another Teki made it back to her bedroom before she completely fell apart.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. She sobbed into the front of her dress, the words circling her head in an endless chant. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

He was the only person she had, the only person she could talk to, the only person who would listen. He was the only place were she could smile, where she could stretch out and actually breathe instead of suffocating all alone laced into a crimson dress. He was the only person in her life that didn’t have to care about her and somehow the only person who did.

And they had taken him away.

It was clear that her mother and Osvald had known about it. The dressmaker debacle made sense now—it was all planned, to keep her and Loki from protesting until it was too late. That night, Teki face down on her bed, hiccupping into her pillow, listening them whispering outside her door.

“It’s a good thing,” her mother was saying. “Even with her throwing a fit about it. I’m glad the King agreed. He was just mucking everything up.”

Teki turned her head to the wall, staring but not seeing. Empty vials of poison danced across her vision.

Was Daddy mucking everything up too, Mama?

She was still sniffling that night when her door creaked open just a crack.

“Teki?” Brant’s voice was hushed, uncertain. “Can I sleep with you?”

She quickly wiped her cheeks, humming in quiet affirmation as she grasped for her responsible voice. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Ever since he had learned to walk, Brant had been sneaking into her room at night, fleeing his bed and the snarling creatures he was certain lurked in the darkness. He had only stopped this a few months ago, after Osvald found them curled up together one morning and spent breakfast ranting on about how Teki was turning his son into a recreant.

But tonight, Brant shook his head as he crawled under her covers.

She frowned. “Then what’s wrong?”

He stared up at her with wide eyes that glistened in the faint moonlight coming in from the window.

“You’re sad,” he said.

Oh, Brant. Teki pulled him close, and he hugged her back. She rested her cheek against his sandy hair. It was nice to have somebody to hold on to.

“Yes, I’m sad right now,” she murmured. “But it’s going to be okay. I promise. I’ll be fine.”

“I have to take care of you,” he whispered solemnly. “Prince Loki told me I’m s’posed to.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Prince Loki?” she asked. “When did he tell you that?”

“He came while you and Mama were gone. He said they were sending him away and he had to talk to you. He said he’d be learning more magic things, so when he came back he’d be able to give me wings.”

Teki bit her lip. She wondered what he would’ve said, had he managed to get to her before they sent him off. She thought of the day of the Games, hidden away in the healer’s tent.

I don’t want you to marry my brother.

Next to her, Brant inhaled.“Teki?” he asked slowly, as if he were afraid to put the thought to words.“Do you think you could maybe marry Prince Loki instead?”

There was a lump in her throat as she pushed his bangs out of his face. “No,” she sighed. “It has to be Thor.” Saying out loud only made the cords around her heart pull tighter.

“I like Loki better,” he whispered, barely a breath.

Teki stared into the nighttime shadows. “So do I.”

Suddenly, Brant grinned through the darkness. "We could run away!” he hissed excitedly. “Prince Loki says there's secret tunnels all over Yggdrasil. We could go through one and meet Loki in Vanaheim!"

"Brant." She hadn't heard that one before, but it sounded like something the prince would tell her brother. Teki felt very tired. "That's just a story. They're aren't any secret tunnels."

"Yes there are! He told me where— I put them on my map!" He sat up, readying to crawl off the bed. "I'll show you!"

Teki pulled him back. She wished she had his steadfast belief in everything-- in magic wings and secret tunnels and happily ever after. As it was, all she could do was hold him closer. "It wouldn't work," she said. "They'd follow us and take us back. It wouldn't work."

For a moment, Brant seemed completely deflated, but then he perked up once again. “If I change my wish, do you think he could make it happen?” he asked excitedly. “Instead of the wings?”

Something about his face, the way hope seemed to radiate from his smile, crushed her even more.

“No,” she whispered. “Nothing’s going to change.”

…

The next week was less of a continuous period of time and more like a string of actions that looped over and over again. She dressed. She played piano for Frigga. She picked halfheartedly at her food. She waited for Thor to ask her to dance, then waited for him to move on once he had. She fell asleep to the empty throbbing of her heart.

Rinse and repeat.

Sometimes at night, she’d  pull Loki’s dagger from its sheath and stared at her reflection in the polished blade, running her hands over the golden snakes on the hilt and wondering what he was doing. He had said he had always wanted to study in Vanaheim. She wondered if he was enjoying it. She hoped he was. Somehow, the thought that he was just as miserable worlds away from her as she was here made Teki feel even worse.

Her mother tolerated her gloom for a bit, but by the end of the week it was clear she was ready to move on.

“I had an idea!” she announced one day after barging into her room without warning. Teki had barely any time to shove the dagger into her nightstand drawer, but luckily her mother didn’t seem to notice her scrambling. “You know those little white cakes you love, that they make for the Winter Festival? I was thinking that perhaps we could convince the chefs to make an early batch. We’re nearing fall after all, and I can’t imagine that they’d refuse a request from the Crown Prince’s bethrothed!”

Teki mumbled a nondescript reply. Speaking to her mother—even looking at her—had suddenly become one of the most difficult tasks throughout the day. She avoided it when she could.

“Or, perhaps the three of us could take a day trip to the countryside! Remember that little cove we visited when Brant was a baby?”

When Teki didn’t even bother to answer this time, her mother huffed indignantly. “Tekla, I am trying here. You can’t just sit and mope in your bedroom forever.”

“Why did you marry Osvald?” Teki asked suddenly. It had been a question that had clung to her like a shadow for the last few days, Loki’s words rattling in her head. Your mother had a plethora of other options. Why Osvald? Of all people?

For a moment, her mother was stunned into silence. She laughed nervously. “Well, your stepfather and I met, and we got along very well, and we felt that we liked each other very much—”

“I don’t believe you.” The Teki of last month—the Teki of last week—would have fainted at the thought of such bitter words, but now she didn’t even flinch.

Her face darkened into a deep scowl. “What do you mean you don’t believe me?”

She should’ve stopped there, but the simmering resentment that had been bubbling within her for so long had just found a vent.

“Why did you really marry him?” she snapped. “What did he do to get you to marry him?”

“Stop!” her mother snapped. “I’ve had enough of this from you! You’ve had your time to sulk, now we have appearences to maintain.” She stormed from the room, only pausing briefly in the doorway to spit one threat. “If you won’t listen to me, then perhaps you should have a talk with your stepfather.”

The door slammed as she left. Teki sat in silence as the vibrations echoed in her eardrums. She had the sudden urge to scream—just to scream, at the top of her lungs until the windows shattered and the very foundations of the palace shook—but she swallowed it.

…

It came to a head the next day. She had just taken Brant for a walk in the gardens—his idea, as he insisted that looking at flowers always made people feel better. It had been sweet sentiment, and Teki tried her best to smile for him as they strolled past the lake, hoping that her brother didn’t realize that the sparkling water only reminded her more of Loki.

When they returned to their apartment, Osvald was waiting just inside. His cold glare immediately screamed trouble, but it wasn’t until she realized what it was that he was holding that Teki’s chest turned to ice.

“I found your little hiding spot.” His voice was low and dangerous as he tapped her father’s journal against his other hand.

Teki didn’t say anything. She watched the journal swing up and down against his palm, hypnotized by the soft beat of worn leather against skin. Besides her, Brant whimpered, gripping her hand more tightly. She didn’t move. Something kept her frozen in place, but it wasn’t the usual chill of fear. No, a single thought broke through the fog in her mind as she watched her only physical memory of her father dance in Osvald’s hands.

How dare you.

“You stole from us,” he continued. “You went through your mother’s things and you stole from us.”

“I didn’t steal anything.” She felt Brant stiffen at her words. You didn’t talk back to Osvald. They both knew this. They both knew what would happen if you did. But the fire blazing within burned through her caution.

Osvald was seemed taken aback by her bitterness, but he recovered quickly. “No?” He stalked closer to her, waving the journal in her face. “You’re lying to me now? Is this what I’ve raised? A filthy, lying little thief?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” she repeated. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to drop her gaze, but she held her glare into his glittering eyes. How dare you. “That book is my father’s. It belongs to me.”

His scowl deepened. “I am your father. And I will not tolerate this behavior—”

“You’ll never be my father.”

She cried out when his fist crashed into her abdomen, doubling over as pain exploded across her ribcage and air rushed from her mouth. Her stepfather grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her backwards, slamming into the door. Colors splashed across her vision as her head smacked against the wood. Before she could completely lose her balance, Osvald yanked her up by the front of her dress.

“You think you’re tough, don’t you?” he hissed, throwing her back to the floor. Somewhere in the background, Brant was sobbing. “Brave little bitch.” His boot collided with her chest. Teki’s pained scream almost drowned out the sickening crack from her ribs. His foot came down again.

Her chest was on fire.  

Teki coughed as she struggled to shield her abdomen, the taste of blood metallic and heavy on the back of her throat. He kicked her again, crashing against her lower back. When she gasped for her next breath, it felt like burning coals rushing down her airways.

“You never seem to learn, do you?” he snapped. She braced herself for the next blow, but instead her stepfather cursed.

Painfully, she craned her neck just enough to see her little brother pulling at Osvald’s arm.  “Stop it!” he cried, tears running down his cheeks. “Get away from her!”

No—

Teki fought to get up but her limbs weren’t working properly, everything was throbbing, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe—

Brant shrieked in pain, a horrible screech that cut Teki to her very core. The room shook as a body hit the floor, Osvald growling words that she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart.

Get away him from Brant—get him away from Brant—

Her brother lay lifeless on the ground, Osvald towering over him like some malevolent spirit about to feast. Teki wasn’t sure how she made it to her feet, but once she did, she flung herself at her stepfather with the last shreds of strength she could muster.

He must not have been expecting her to move, because when she collided with him her meager effort was enough to send both of them tumbling to the ground. Her body howled as they hit the hard wood. She had barely enough time to gulp for air before Osvald had her pinned to the floor.

“Is that the game you want to play, you fucking cunt?” he snarled, his hand a vice around her neck. Teki thrashed against his grasp, but he only pounded her head against the floorboards. “Is this what you fucking wanted?”

She couldn’t breathe. Teki clawed at his hand in a panic as she battled for air, scanty gasps that were rewarded with a tighter grip.

She couldn’t breathe!

“Please!” she choked as his wild eyes bored into her. Her vision was going white around the edges. “Please!”

Osvald didn’t budge.

He’s going to kill me.

Tears flooded the corners of her eyes, running down the sides of her head.

Dead dead dead dead dead dead—

Please! she screamed in her head, for her voice no longer worked. Please! Mama! Norns! Somebody!

But it was only Osvald, panting down at her with eyes as black as Hel—

I don’t want to die!

Only Osvald, sneering mouth twisted in laughter because he knew no one else was coming—

… please …

But there was nothing. Even her stepfather dissolved into a million bits of sparkling glitter as Teki faded away into the white abyss.

[whitewolfandthefox]

Hello! For the requests, how about dialogue 19 and scenario 8? I was hoping you could do angst with a fluffy ending, with Geralt and reader and he trained them beforehand? So chances are at least a bit more even.

Dialogue 19: “I thought l lost you”

Scenario 8: Person A is mind controlled and forced to fight Person B. Person B refusing to fight them and getting injured. Person A coming to and seeing what they’ve done.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: major character injury, slight description of injury, angst that turns to fluff

Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist!

Summary: Something goes wrong while on a hunt and you are forced to defend yourself against Geralt. How will he feel when he wakes up to see what he’s done? Geralt x fem!reader

Say My Name

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Get in, kill the monster, get out, no one was supposed to get hurt. What you weren’t counting on was the cursed objects that it had been collecting. The actual hunt went off without a hitch. Geralt had begun trusting you on hunts, supplementing your basic knowledge with his own as you journeyed together. You had distracted the monster, holding your own while Geralt landed the killing blow.

Wiping your blade before resheathing it, you watched as Geralt examined the room, poking through various items that lined the shelves. Rolling your eyes in exasperation, you turned your attention to yourself, tugging at your armour to put it back in order from where it had shifted when you were thrown against the wall. You rolled your shoulders in an attempt to release the tension that had gathered in them from the fight and the weight of the leather you wore.

Your attention was drawn back to your partner at the sound of coughing. As he had opened a small box, a cloud of dust rose from it and set him coughing, staggering away from the item as he waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air. The corners of your lips twitched up as you watched him, half in amusement, half in exasperation. “See Geralt, this is why we don’t go touching things in the evil monster’s lair. We get evil monster dust in our faces.”

As he bent at the waist continuing to cough, a frown came over your face. Pushing yourself off of the wall where you were leaning, you approached. “Are you okay, love? Why don’t you go outside and see if the fresh air helps, it’s so musty in here.”

Frowning at the room, you almost missed the sudden movement behind you, spinning to the side just in time to miss the swing Geralt took at you, almost tripping over your feet as you scrambled to put some distance between the two of you.

“Geralt?” You tried, concerned at the blank look on his face. He didn’t respond, continuing to stalk towards as you backed towards the wall, glancing at the door behind him. “Love? Please, talk to me. What’s happened? Are you okay?”

Again receiving no response, you feinted to the left before darting to the right as the man in front of you fell for your movements, ducking underneath the arm that came out to grab you as you made your way towards the door. You burst through the opening, flinging the door shut behind you in an attempt to slow Geralt down, sprinting for the trees in an attempt to find cover. You heard the door shatter against the wall behind you, lumbering footsteps quickly catching up to you.

You dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of the blade that hissed through the air above you. Had you still been standing, the sword would have gone straight through your ribs. You regained your feet, unsheathing your own sword as you backed away, locking eyes with the man in front of you.

Geralt’s posture was tense, coiled like a spring, ready to pounce in any direction. His face was blank, but his eyes. His eyes were an eerie dark green, the colour stark against the whites of his eyes, pupils constricted to pinpricks. There was no recognition in his expression, a blank slate that frightened you, sent terror through you to your core. There must have been a curse in that box. He’s not himself.

As he approached you, sword held loose in his hand, you continued backing away. You couldn’t fight him, you could hold your own but you were sure he’d eventually overcome you, but you didn’t want to hurt him either. Suddenly, he rushed forward, sword raised over his head as he came towards you. You leapt to the side, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the clearing as you knocked his blade aside, turning to keep the man in front of you as he swung again, the blow coming from the side this time.

You stepped into his space, shortening the swing as you caught his blade on yours, frozen as you searched his face for any sign that the man you loved was in there. “Geralt, love, please come back to me. This isn’t you! You need to fight the spell!”

With a growl, he pulled his sword back only to thrust at your chest, your sword circling to come from above, forcing his blow down and to the side as it missed you. You allowed your body to follow your sword, pivoting on your heel as Geralt’s momentum brought him past you, slamming a kick into his side as he did, forcing him to stumble and lose his momentum as you finished turning, dashing towards the forest.

Reaching the treeline, you sheathed your sword and jumped, grabbing a branch as high as you could, anchoring your foot on a lower branch as you scrambled higher. You felt a hand on your ankle, looking down, you could see Geralt reaching for you, sword left hanging by his side. Tensing, you lifted your other foot from the branch, arms shaking as they held your weight, before bringing your foot down on Geralt’s face, feeling a crack as his nose broke under your blow. With a howl he released you, letting you scramble higher into the tree, safely out of reaching distance. 

As he looked up, you could see the blood running down your lover’s chin, staining his teeth red as an animalistic sneer came over his face. His lips pulled back as a low growl rumbled out of his chest. He stalked back and forth beneath the tree, staring at you the whole time. You crooned at him, hoping the distance would allow you to talk to him, to hopefully break whatever spell he was caught in. 

“Geralt, baby, come back to me.” He growled at your voice, scowl deepening as he continued pacing. “It’s me, darling, you need to fight this. Come back to me, I love you.”

Your last sentence drew a roar from his chest, the man leaping as high as he could, hands brushing at your ankles. You squeaked and lost your balance as you tried to avoid him, falling from the branch with your motion. You gasped as you hit a branch on your way down, frantically twisting as you grabbed at whatever you could reach, fingernails and skin ripping against the harsh bark of the tree. You hit the ground and rolled, Geralt’s sword biting into the dirt where your head had been.

Coming to your feet, you blinked frantically, blood coming from a cut on your head running into your eyes and obscuring your vision as bruises bloomed across your back. Relying on your senses alone, you ducked as you heard the whistling of a sword, felt the wind as the blade passed above your folded body. Drawing your sword, you met the next blow, shock travelling from your hands all the way up into your shoulders. You almost missed as Geralt struck again, managing to divert his blade to the side, the edge slicing into your left arm as it passed. Warm blood ran down your hand, making your fingers slip where they held the hilt of your sword.

Releasing your grip with your left hand, you desperately tried to keep up with the fast pace of the blows coming from the Witcher, arms starting to shake as you tried to keep the man you loved from killing you. You were too breathless to talk, hoping only to survive this encounter long enough that the spell would wear off. 

Too late, you realized Geralt had backed you to the treeline. Turning desperately, you cried out as you tripped over a root, stumbling to catch yourself as you teetered, ankle turning over as you stepped, pain flaring as your leg threatened to give. This distraction cost you, Geralt getting in close as he struck at you, the blow causing you to lose your grip on your sword as it went flying. You limped backwards, ducking as you tried to avoid his blows, receiving a cut on your thigh as a reward. 

You tried one last time. “Geralt, please, listen to me. This isn’t you, I am not your enemy! You need to come back to, Geralt, just listen to my voice!”

Hope flared in your chest as he faltered, frustration appearing on his face as gold glinted in his eyes. You hesitantly took a step towards him. “Geralt?” you queried tentatively.

His face morphed back into an expression of rage, the light dying in his eyes as your own hope died in your chest. A snarl forced its way from between his lips as he drew his sword back and thrust, a gasp pulled from your lips at the feeling of the cold blade slithering into your skin, the feeling of the leather pulling away from your skin as the sword emerged from your back. 

A pained howl tore itself from your lips as you stepped backwards, feeling the sword pulling itself from your body as warm blood began pouring down your side. The exhaustion and shock overwhelmed you, the world going blurry as you collapsed to your knees. The last thing you remember was gold flooding Geralt’s eyes as you heard him call your name before the world went dark.

**~*~*~*~**

“Please no, not her, if there is anyone out there, I beg of you, take me instead, just let her live. Y/N, please wake up. I can’t- please- take me instead, she doesn’t deserve this, please just let her live.” 

The man who held you was shaking as he ranted at the air, desperate that you might live. Trembling, you brought your hand up to cover the one that was pressed against your side, feeling your body pressed against an unyielding wall of muscle. As he felt your hand against his, Geralt went stiff, slowly drawing back from where he had pressed his face into your hair so that he could look at you. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, scrunching when your movement brought a wave of pain over you.

You opened your eyes to see Geralt staring down at you with his golden, golden, eyes staring back at you, a heartbroken expression on his face. Relief swept through your body, the spell was gone. He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, the arm supporting you against his chest tightening as he let himself break, tears falling against your skin as he wept.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered brokenly, “You were so pale and weren’t moving, I thought I had killed you.”

“Hey now,” you tried weakly. “I think I did a fairly good job at holding out, you just cheated because you’re tall.”

A wet laugh broke from his lips, closely followed by a sob. “I am so sorry, Y/N. I’ll drop you at a healer and be on-”

“Ah,” you pressed a finger against his lips, your strength coming back slowly. He looked at you in confusion, disbelief on his face. “None of that, love, we’re not getting started on this ‘I’m a monster, how can you live with me after what I’ve done’ bullshit. It could have been either of us, and you wouldn’t let me talk this way if I had been the one cursed, so you don’t get to.”

You struggled to sit up, hissing as your movements pulled on your wound. Geralt helped you sit up, arranging you so that you were draped over his lap as he focused on bandaging your wounds, refusing to look you in the face. Holding the bandage for him with one hand, you reached up to gently touch his face with the other, pulling his chin up to look at you as his movements stilled. You smiled softly before leaning forward slightly to brush a kiss against his lips.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Dubiously, he stared at you. “You cut out the self-pitying crap and I will stay in bed for one week and be careful for the next two. But only if you stay with me and don’t spend the next year beating yourself up for something that was totally out of your control.

As he opened his mouth to protest you clamped your hand over it, effectively cutting off his words. “If you don’t agree to my deal I swear to Melitele I will be out of bed the day after you leave and will chase you down unless it kills me. And if it does I’ll tell Jaskier what happened and send him after you. And then I’ll come after you and haunt your ass so you’re really sorry.”

As you finished your rant, you flicked your finger against Geralt’s nose, causing him to startle and glare at you, slowly dissolving into laughter at your attempt to look intimidating. Finally calming, he continued working on your bandages, chuckling as you squirmed against him, hissing whenever you would agitate your injuries.

“Two weeks?” his low voice asked softly, not looking at you as his hands worked. You stilled, staring up at him suspiciously. Slowly, you nodded.

“One and a half. And I’ll take it easy.” Smiling, he looked up at you, mirth present in his golden eyes as he stared down at you. “You asshole! I should have started with four days! You know I hate staying still!”

He chuckled as he brought his other hand up to press you against his chest. Nosing at your hair, he inhaled your scent as his body relaxed, the adrenaline of the fight slowly leaving the both of you. You nestled into him, enjoying the warmth from his body. Gently, Geralt gathered you into his arms, standing and making his way to where the two of you had left your horses.

“I love you,” he murmured, arms tightening around you briefly. “And I am sorry.”

“I know,” you looked up at him, freeing one of your hands to reach up and cup his jaw. He hummed at your actions, leaning into your touch like a cat. “And I forgive you, there was never any question about it.”

He rubbed his jaw against your palm, eyes closed as he paused next to Roach. Carefully, he set you in the saddle before swinging himself up behind you, pulling you back against his chest. The feeling of his slow heartbeat against your back along with the gentle cadence of the horse quickly lulled you to sleep as you relaxed in the comfort of your lover’s arms.

**~*~*~*~**

Add yourself to my taglist!

@riviawitch3r / @jensensjaredsandmishaslover / @ayamenimthiriel / @uncoolcloudyhead / @secretsthathauntus / @vintage-mind-young-body / @creamysacrilege / @hina-chans-stuff / @bastardfruitsandbasil / @shewritesinthethirdperson / @widowvinter / @unnamedmaincharacter​ / @thenocturnalsyren​ / @loudlycolorfulkryptonite​ / @whatawildone / @geraltmrwitcher / @psychosupernatural / @chickennooget69 / @widowvinter / @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 7: Nightwraiths and Impulsive Decisions

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 6,260

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡

“Two rooms please,” The man working behind the bar moves his gaze to Visenya, an oily grin snaking its way onto his face. He’s a short, chubby man with beady brown eyes that focus on her too intently, lingering on her chest area.. His mousy brown hair is greasy and slicked back, an unsuccessful attempt to hide his bald patches, it would seem. The longer he looks at her, his grin creeps wider and wider until Visenya can see his teeth, the ones still in his mouth at least. Majority are blackened while the whitest of them are yellow and the stench of something rotting hits her nose.

He pulls out a heavy book from behind the counter, slamming it on the bar, faintly humming as he thumbs through the pages. With each page turn, he makes a show of licking his fingers, eye raking up and down Visenya as he does before moving his eyes down to the page.

“Looks like we only got one,” he says. His eyes peer up at Visenya, a grin sleazier than the last, if possible. “However, I’m sure I could arrange for somewhere else...like my room perhaps. Free of charge of course,” Visenya’s jaw tightens as she rolls her eyes, slamming a few pieces of gold on the counter with more force than necessary. The rat of a man jumps a bit in surprise, sliding the coins towards him with shaky hands.

Men are the same no matter where you go.

“I’ll just take the room, along with some drinks for me and my friend,” Visenya says, nodding her head towards Jaskier, who’s sitting at a table nervously fumbling with his lute. The man grumbles under his breath while putting away the room ledger, replacing it with an old rusty key. She grabs it and moves towards Jaskier, taking a seat across from him.

“Oh, there you are! Any luck?” Jaskier says upon noticing her. In response she throws the rusty key on the table, untrapping the sheath of her blade and resting it beside her. “Just one?”

“It was all they had,” she says. A barmaid approaches their table, two drinks in hand. She sets them on the table and quickly scurries away before either of them could so much as glance at her. As soon as the drinks touch the table, Visenya grabs one of the cups and takes a large gulp, the ale leaving behind a slight numbing sensation as it flows down her throat. It’s not the smoothest ale she’s had, but also not piss poor swill.  

“Well, I’m sure we can make it work,” Jaskier says.

Visenya just grunts in response, throwing her ale back and finishing it off. She holds a hand up to gain the attention of a barmaid that is currently bustling around the tavern like a rat. A moment later she swings back to their table, wiping her hands onto her dingy and stained apron.

“Another ale for me,” Visenya says. The woman nods and rushes off, yelling Visenya’s order at the man behind the bar, returning a moment later with a full mug of ale. She places it in front of Visenya and turns to leave, however before she can, Visenya slips a gold coin in one of her deep pockets. 

“Ah, I knew you had a heart somewhere in there, Jane,” Jaskier says. His tone is light and teasing as he places his lute in the chair beside him. He takes a drink from his ale and promptly begins to sputter and cough, putting it down as quickly as he picked it up.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She hides her smirk behind her mug as she slowly sips her drink. Amusement dances in her amber eyes as Jaskier continues to cough for the next few seconds. 

“Don-- don’t think, I didn’t see you slip that coin into her pocket,” Jaskier says, smacking his hand against his chest a few times before his breathing returned to normal. He sighs in relief and pulls out his water skin, taking a large gulp from it.

“So? It wasn’t like it was mine,” she says, raising a single eyebrow at Jaskier. His brows furrow and he purses his lips, before suddenly his eyes widen and he frantically begins to pat his pockets. 

“You took my coin pouch!” he yells, pointing his finger accusingly at her. “I can’t believe you would do that to me, what if we were to get separated and I needed to get food so I don’t starve to death? What would you do then, Jane? Hmm. Bet you didn’t think about that!”

Visenya turns her attention away from Jaskier’s ranting, scanning the current occupants in the bar. There’s the usual hunters and rangers, people traveling from one place to another, and then the workers. Her attention is captured however, when someone new enters the inn. Long snow-white hair, a bulky stature that could intimidate a giant, and two swords strapped to his back. 

Geralt.

He approaches the bar, giving his order to the rat behind the counter, and she imagines him using a harsh tone, his words clipped and cold. He sits down on a bar stool, folding on himself as he lowers his elbows onto the counter. His position is the perfect spot, allowing everyone in the room to be visible to him, while staying hidden in the shadows himself. 

Visenya's eyes lock onto him and as his eyes move through the room, their gazes meet. The bartender timidly places Geralt’s drink in front of him before scurrying off to the other end. She offers him a sly smirk, raising a single eyebrow at him, daring him to come over. 

And he does not disappoint. 

With an ale in one hand, he stands from the bar and starts to walk towards Visenya and Jaskier's table. The crowds part for him, granting the intimidating Witcher a wide berth. And for a second, the thought of traveling with Geralt and never having to deal with people’s bullshit crosses Visenya’s mind. But then her eyes rest on Jaskier - who is still ranting about his coin pouch - and in that moment she knows she couldn't leave him. This idiot wouldn’t last a day without her.

“Geralt!” Visenya says. Jaskier stops mid rant, moving his gaze to the approaching Witcher. 

“Oh yes! This is perfect, brilliant even.” Jaskier says, his tone bursting with excitement. “Whatever grand quest Geralt is about to complete is going to make a fantastic song!”

 “Jaskier, do me a favor.” Visenya says, eyes not moving an inch from Geralt.

“Of course, anything My Lady.”

“Shut up,” Visenya says just in time for Geralt to reach their table. “If I didn’t know any better, Geralt of Rivia, I’d think you were following me,” she says, granting him a sly smile, a stark contrast to the frosty glare she wore moments ago. Geralt grunts in response, a hint of a smile hidden under his stony facade, and pulls out the chair beside Visenya.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, nodding his head towards the bard. Something glinting in the light gains Visenya’s attention, her eyes drawn to one of Geralt’s swords. Resting on the hilt of it is a familiar broach, with a sword cutting through the middle of it, surrounded in gems. 

Renfri’s broach. 

Her smile dims a touch, the mischievous expression turning bleak and hollow. She hasn’t thought of Renfri since Blaviken, unwilling to think about any of it. Visenya managed to tuck thoughts of Renfri in the same box she kept all of her memories of Westeros, locked deep enough away to continue on with her life. But seeing the broach that belonged to her - something so intricately tied with Renfri and her history - is like the box being thrown open and it’s contents spilling to the ground. 

“You kept it,” Visenya says, voice barely above a whisper. Geralt looks at the broach then back at Visenya. Neither of them say anything, not that Visenya trusts herself to form a coherent sentence.

“The broach? Should I know about this broach, it seems like a big deal. Jane I didn’t know you liked jewelry?” Jaskier interrupts, pulling Visenya from her reverie, firing off his questions like a hyperactive rabbit.

And just like that the box is locked again, it’s contents neatly folded inside.

“It’s nothing.” Visenya quickly answers with a stiff tone, turning back to her drink and taking an even larger swig than before. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like nothing.” Jaskier rebuttals and Visenya glowers at him, not ready to deal with anything that involves Blaviken.

 “Leave it, Jaskier.” Geralt says, leveling a firm glare at him, eyes demanding for him to drop it. 

“Fine, Fine I know a touchy subject when I see it. But how did you two meet anyway? Back during the whole Filavandrel situation you two seemed well acquainted.” Jaskier asks, taking a small drink of his ale, and it brings a twinge of amusement to Visenya to see him struggling to swallow it.

 “You’d think by now this one -” he points over at Visenya, “would tell me but no, I’m not worthy of her tales. Haven’t even gotten her last name.” 

“Blaviken,” Visenya answers, managing to make her voice even and strong, laced with her usual ice. “And I do have a last name, you’re just not privy to that information,”

“Truly, Blaviken? Wasn’t half the town burnt to a crisp? Were you present when it happened? Do you know what caused the explosion? How could you leave the details of this riveting tragedy from me!?” He exclaims, enthralled by the story he already weaved in his mind.

“No, I wasn’t there,”

Her eyes glaze over, grip tightening on the mug in her hand. Images of people burning in a building flash before her eyes, their screams echoing in her head. The smell of burning flesh - the stench still lingering in the depths of her mind - causes her stomach to turn. And she swears that her mug starts to heat up, the ale coming to a vicious boil the longer and longer her mind wanders. Physically she is there, but mentally she’s miles away, until Geralt snaps her back to her body.

“I see you took your own advice about hair oils.” Geralt says, noticing the tight grip on her cup and the haunted look in her eyes. He knows it well, he’s seen it painted on other people’s faces many times. His eyes are locked on Visenya’s hair, braided in an intricate fashion, securely out of her face. It’s still that same disgusting brown, but not nearly as much of a state as before, the ends much more manageable. A playful smile appears on Visenya’s face, the ghosts of Blaviken disappearing from her mind, and she lightly smacks him on his broad shoulder, not worried about actually hurting the giant of a man.

“Shut up and drink your ale,” she says, gesturing towards the drink the barmaid slipped him earlier. “Why are you here anyway?” she asks as he drinks his ale. 

“A Nightwraith,” he answers, “There’s been one lurking nearby.” 

“Well, I doubt it’s in this inn, so why are you here?” Visenya asks. 

“Nightwraiths only come out at night, so I’m getting a drink.” Geralt says, gesturing to his mug.

“And that you might’ve possibly heard we were here,” Jaskier said, forcing himself into the conversation. “A few men in the town were getting too comfortable and Jane set them straight,” Visenya levels a glare at Jaskier, not liking the implications in his eyes, the accusing words dripping from his smiling lips. He instantly flushes, beginning to nervously play with his sleeves, the confidence there only moments ago nowhere to be seen. 

“What are you implying, Jaskier,” Visenya asks, a thinly veiled threat laced in her words, promises of reintroducing him to her fist if he isn’t careful.

“I’m just saying, this is what… the third time you’ve run into each other and the two of you seem very familiar with each other” he mutters. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt says, utilizing the same tone as Visenya. And she doesn’t doubt that Geralt’s probably already hit the bard too. 

“I didn’t say a word,” His expression is similar to a cat that got the cream, smug with a satisfied glint in his eyes. His eyes slowly move from Geralt to Visenya, back to Geralt then Visenya, before landing on his lute. He picks up the instrument and begins mindlessly strumming it, humming different lyrics quietly as he does.

Geralt rolls his eyes, while Visenya fidgets with one of her daggers.

Stupid bard.

They idly sit there for a few more minutes and once Geralt finishes his drink, he stands up to leave. 

“Wait Geralt,” Visenya said, grabbing onto his arm, causing him to look down at her. “Let me help you fight the wraith.”

“No,” he said, his tone flat, not even allowing a second to consider the offer.

“Why not?” Visenya presses, refusing to accept no without a reason, her pride rearing its ugly head. Does he think she’s incapable of holding her own in battle, like she’s some damsel in distress?

“It’s too dangerous,” he simply says, pulling his arm free from her grasp and leaving the inn. Visenya huffs in frustration, reaching across the table and swiping Jaskier’s full mug of ale.

When was the last time she got to hit something that could give her a real fight?

“Hey! That’s mine,” Jaskier exclaims, but makes no move to try and take it back. 

“Well I need a drink and I got tired of you sipping on it like it’s some high class wine,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. Jaskier huffs, but says nothing else. He leans back in his chair and Visenya finishes off his mug. There’s silence surrounding them for a moment, blocking out the intruding tavern ambience

“You really are something else, Jane,” Jaskier says, bringing Visenya’s attention back to him. His eyes are intently watching her, lacking the lightheartedness he usually possesses. Her smile slowly vanishes, meeting Jaskier’s gaze, and not for the first time, Jaskier proves himself more perceptive than most people give him credit for. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, averting her eyes to her hands, tracing the details of the small ring on her finger.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you said to Filavandrel,” he says. Visenya’s eyes snap towards Jaskier. She opens her mouth to reply, but Jaskier cuts her off. “But, I won’t push it. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” 

Visenya’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to form a proper sentence. 

“ I- Thank you,” she finally says. Finishing off the rest of her ale, she grabs the key from the table and stands up, Jaskier mirroring her actions.

Silently, they move across the room towards the stairs to get to the second level. 

“So who’s getting the bed?” Jaskier asks, a hair too close.

“Me,”.

“Or we could share…?” Jaskier suggests.

“Or you can sleep outside in the cold.”

                                                  o0o0o0o

The soft grass gives out underneath the weight of Visenya’s footsteps, leaving behind a trail of her tracks as she quietly moves through the meadow. There’s no sun to guide her, the darkness only allowing for faint shadows and delusions of monsters at every corner. There’s a chill in the air, an ominous feeling creeping up her spine that nearly makes her heave up her dinner. She’s not sure what possessed her to do something this stupid; it could be pride or the need to prove a point. Either way, it’ll probably get her killed one day. 

The townsfolk were more than willing to tell her everything they knew about the wraith plaguing their home, even giving a general location. It’s a few hours past sundown and approximately ten minutes after she saw Geralt exit the town. Armed with a sword and donning her leather armor, the sinking feeling that she’s in over her head sets in, a pit forming in the depths of her stomach. 

But it’s too late to turn back now.  

It’s silent, so much so that Visenya can hear her breathing, the deep inhale and exhale seemingly as loud as a Dothraki screamer. The air is ice cold, so cold it could make Winterfell feel like Dorne. Each breath is clearly visible in the air, the condensation nearly freezing it into small icicles on sight. Her heart speeds up, the ominous feeling that previously felt more like a nagging sensation in the back of her mind is at full power. There’s a tickle in her left ear, the feeling of someone a breath away from her skin. She whirls to the left, and there’s nothing but empty air, and just as she turns away--.

A screech rings in the still air, so piercing Visneya has to cover her ears in fear of losing that ability to hear. She whips her head to the left, keen eyes trying to see through the inky darkness surrounding her, and then she sees it- a glint of silver in the distance, flashing so quickly, it could only be the dangerous dance of one person, Geralt.

Without allowing a moment of hesitation, Visenya draws her blade and charges. There’s a sliver of fear in the back of her mind that she forces away. She’s never fought a wraith - or any monster of any kind, but there’s no turning back now.

The closer she gets, the clearer the noises becomes. She hears the sound of metal clanging together, heavy breathing similar to a snarling wolf, and another scream - this one not as loud as the first one. About 20 feet away, a spectral figure comes into sight, wearing a torn up nightgown, the once pristine white fabric stained red and black. A blackened tongue oozing with dark ichor hangs from its mouth, nearly reaching its spectral feet. A shimmering purple barrier surrounds it as Geralt hacks away at it, moving as if he’s made to fight.

She grabs one of her silver daggers - the first weapon she bought here, still charging at full speed. It leaves her hand, cutting through the air, landing where its heart would be. A clean shot, just like Jon taught her all those years ago, hidden in the Godswood. 

Geralt’s head whips towards Visenya, the distraction allowing for the wraith to drag it’s razor sharp claws across his chest, the leather armor taking the brunt of the damage. He staggers backward, but tosses a vial at the wraith. It explodes on contact and leaves behind a luminous glow in the area. The creature screeches in pain as it flies towards Geralt. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jane?” Geralt yells, anger evident in his tone as he dodges an incoming attack.

“Helping you!” she replies. She brings her blade up and slices into the creature. The sword passes through it, leaving the wraith unharmed.

“Your sword won’t do anything!” he yells, hitting the wraith with his sword, a line of flames following the swing. “It’s steel, only silver kills monsters.”

“Well fuck me then!” Visenya tosses the sword away, pulling out a second dagger, this one also forged from silver. It leaves her hand and lands in the center of the creature’s forehead, falling to the ground as the shimmering circle around them disappears. The wraith becomes incorporeal again and swipes one of its hands towards Visenya, scratching along her chest.

 A howl of pain echoes from her mouth, a burning sensation lights her body on fire, but not the type of fire she’s familiar with. This one is darker and twisted, making her toes curl inwards as it feels like her life essence is being drained. Visenya staggers backward and attempts to gain her footing. However, before she has a chance to recover, it swipes at her again with its other hand, scratching across her chest again, creating an X. With another cry of pain, Visenya falls backward. 

The wraith glides towards her, its scream making her ears bleed. She attempts to stand but doesn’t have the strength, it feels like her body weighs a ton. The closer the wraith gets to her, the faster her heart speeds up, the feeling of impending doom growing stronger. And as it draws closer, on instinct she throws her arm up, an attempt to shield her body from the creature. And as she screams, pain flaring in her body from the simple action, a flash of fire follows her movements. It smacks against the wraith, burning away the rags it wears and the black ichor dripping from it. The creature recoils and shrieks once again, however, before it continues its advance, a sword pierces it from behind. With a final scream, the wraith disappears, leaving a sticky substance behind in its place, that too dissipates after a moment, only leaving behind burning injuries in its wake. 

Silently, Geralt steps in front of Visenya with a hand outstretched towards her. She takes it, his hand is surprisingly cool to touch, a startling contrast to her burning skin. He slings her arm over his shoulder and the two of them begin the trek back to town. On their way past it, Geralt bends down to grab her sword from the ground. 

The walk back to the inn is completely silent, Geralt saying nothing and Visenya wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say. It isn’t until they’re in Geralt’s room, the door firmly shut behind them, that he says anything, or even looks at her.

“You shouldn’t have come.” Geralt says, his voice holding the usual coldness, keeping everyone at arm's length, but contained under his words is a burning anger. He grabs a medicine kit from his pack and walks over to Visenya, a poultice in one hand and bandages in the other. “Take off your shirt.” 

“But I did come,” she says as she took off her leather tunic, leaving on her breast band. Her vision is slightly fuzzy around the edges, but much clearer than it had been in the field. The burning sensation isn’t nearly as intense, but that doesn’t mean it’s healing, in fact the wound looks worse.  It’s like when you cut your finger on parchment, the pain doesn’t go away, instead it lingers in the back of your mind, until it finally leaves entirely.

“Yeah and you almost got killed!” he says, aggressively cleaning the deep claw marks that mar her skin, adding to the collection of scars covering her body. She hisses in pain at the contact but does nothing to stop him. She watches his eyes, a storm brewing in them. His mouth is pulled in a tight line with his jaw tightly clenched. His hands held the rag so tightly she could see his veins popping out on his arm. 

“Like that’s the worst thing that could happen! Not that it matters, because I didn’t die but the wraith did. End of story.” She shouldn’t have said that, and she knows it. The second the words fly from her mouth she regrets them, but it’s too late. Her pride is wounded, hurting as much as the claw marks on her chest. 

“Like hell that’s the end of the story. Do you not realize how stupid what you did was?” he snarls, throwing the rag in his hand to the ground, pure unbridled rage in his eyes.

“Who cares, I clearly don’t! Can’t you say thank you and move one,” Visenya exclaims, over this argument the moment it started, but unable to concede and admit fault. She’s too stubborn for that.

And he laughs.

Not a full belly laugh that makes your stomach twist into knots, or the type of laugh that is like the first spring air touching your skin after a year of winter. No, this one is cold and sarcastic and cruel. 

“You want me to thank you? Is that it?” he asks, his eyes wild and crazy, his mouth twisting into a mocking grin. 

“Would that be so bad?” She stands from the bed, pain immediately rearing its hateful head at her, but the anger coursing through her bones overpowers it, blocking out her senses and common sense. 

“Enlighten me then Jane. Why should I thank you, hmm? What did you do in that fight other than distract me,” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her, his eyes egging her on, demanding a response. 

“I helped you, you fucking idiot!” she replies, shoving him with all the strength she could muster. He staggers back just a hair, quickly gaining his footing back.

“And if you died? Would that be helping me? When they had to bury--” 

Smack.

She brings her hand up, cracking it across his face with a clean smack, the noise reverberating around them. And it’s silent, beyond their heavy breathing and the crackling fire. From the force of the blow, Geralt’s head turned left and stays that way for a moment, his left cheek bright red. The shock on his face disappears, like fire melting ice, while Visenya stares at him, unsure of what to do next. Her hand thrums with pain, his face harder than she’d anticipated. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters after a moment of silence. Flashes of Walder Frey and his soldiers, Robb falling dead to the ground, and Visenya’s knees meeting the dirt, only able to cry as bolts pierced her skin. 

They maintain eye contact for a moment, Visenya lost in her thoughts and Geralt trying to digest what she said. And then like the first snow of winter, the broken dam that lets the river flow freely, Geralt breaks the silence.

“Sit down, I still need to wrap your wound.”

In a daze, Visenya sits down as Geralt starts spreading a foul smelling poultice on her wounds, yet she can’t even bring herself to grimace at the smell, too lost in her head. Visenya stares at the wall ahead of her, lost in her own thoughts. A sigh escapes her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Visenya says nervously, biting her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have come, I don’t know anything about monsters and charged headfirst into a fight without a proper weapon.” A chuckle escapes her throat, the tone self-deprecating and sardonic. 

“I’ve noticed you don’t think too much before acting,” he said, his tone lighter than the anger in it only seconds ago, her apology calming his rage. Visenya snorts, remembering all the times she’d been scolded for her hot-headedness by the Starks - mainly Catelyn and on occasion Jon too. 

“So I’ve been told,” she says. Geralt begins applying the bandages over her wounds to protect them from getting infected. He doesn’t say anything else, but Visenya can hear the questions swirling in his mind. 

“Go on. Ask away all the questions I know you have.” Visenya says. Geralt pauses his actions but continues nonetheless.

“I do have questions, but I know if you wanted me to know the answers, you’d tell me.” Geralt replies. He finishes dressing her wounds and steps away from her. He begins gathering the remaining supplies and places them back into his pack.

“Do you miss her?” Visenya asks, watching Geralt intently. He doesn’t pause his actions, but he does throw her a quick glance. “I mean, you still have her broach. She must’ve meant something.” Visenya ponders aloud. Geralt throws his pack across the room onto a chair.  He quickly removes his leather jerkin, expertly undoing on the ties and clasps that keep it in place. He’s left wearing a simple tunic and his sturdy leather pants. He then sits beside Visenya on the bed. 

“I will admit, she had an impact on me.” Geralt says, handing her a water skin. She takes a large drink from it, the cool water refreshing against her dry throat, then Visenya passes the water back to him, wiping at her mouth. 

“I feel like every time I close my eyes to sleep, she’s there. A faint whisper in my dreams that never leaves.” Visenya says, her voice barely above a whisper. Geralt doesn’t reply but continues to watch her, his expression is unreadable. 

“I was gonna leave with her, did ya know?” Visenya says, softly laughing after, tracing the grain in the floorboards. “We were going to take the world by storm, no one safe from our chaos.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt mutters.

“Don’t be, she was determined to burn down the world. Nothing we could’ve done,” Visenya replies, trying to convince herself more than anything. Her need to destroy those who’ve wronged her led to her downfall, a moral point of no return. It reminds Visenya how fickle someone’s state of sanity is. One wrong move and everything snaps. 

That could’ve been Visenya if not for the Starks.

It could still be her.

And that thought terrifies her.

“How long did you know her?” Geralt asks. 

“Not much longer than you,” Visenya says, snorting obnoxiously. “It seems stupid, being so torn up about the death of someone you’ve only known for three days.” 

“People have done crazier.” Geralt replies. Apprehensively he puts a hand on Visenya’s shoulder as an attempt to comfort her. She accepts it and leans against his touch. Forming a small smile on her face, she looks up at him.

“Like charge into a fight against a wraith unprepared.” she quips.

“Some might say that,” he says. He moves his hand so his arm is wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. 

“Would it surprise you to know I’ve done far stupider?” Visenya asks, her eyes shifting to his wolf medallion, tracing and retracing it. 

“Would you be offended if I say I’m not.” Geralt says. She can feel his gaze on her, so intense it might burn a hole through her.

“I can’t be offended about anything after the stunt I just pulled,” Visenya says. She pulls a centimeter away from Geralt, sitting up to be eye level with him.

Easier said than done, considering how tall he is. 

She rests her hands on top of his shoulders, attempting to balance herself. His eyes follow her every move but he does nothing to stop her. Her eyes trace his face, taking the moment to memorize each curve and scar. His face is angular and sharp, faint white lines dancing across his face. His lips - soft and full, an intoxicating contrast to the sharpness on the rest of his face. From the moment she saw him, Visenya knew that Geralt was attractive. But being this close to him, with his eyes looking at her like they are, now she knows how attractive he is.

“Everyone always told me I was too impulsive,” Visenya says, leaning her weight against Geralt as she swings one of her legs around him, straddling his lap.

“Hmm. And where would they get that idea?” Geralt replies, moving his arms to coil around her waist like a snake tightening around its prey. 

“I have no idea,” Visenya says, moving her face closer to Geralt’s. He doesn’t move towards her, but he doesn’t move away either. His grip around her does tighten, however. She continues until their faces are barely a centimeter apart. They’re so close she can feel his breath fanning on her face as her eyelashes delicately tickle against his skin. The two of them continue to stare at each other, daring the other person to make a move. Her eyes search his - unsure of what she’s looking for, but searching nonetheless. 

There’s a little distance between them.

Until there isn’t.  

Geralt closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against her, like a starving beast that finally found a meal after days of searching. It’s all teeth and tongue, desperation clawing at both of them. His lips are slightly chapped from the biting wind outside, but still so soft. It’s like the first time Visenya wore a dress from silks, drowning in the soft fabric that felt like a million gentle caresses. 

Gods, his lips are softer than they have the right to be.

 Her hands move from his shoulders and weave themselves into his hair, lightly tugging as she does. He pulls her closer to his body, the heat radiating from Visenya hotter than any fire. The adrenaline from the fight with wraith returns tenfold, a roaring fire burning away the pain lingering in her chest until there’s nothing but a dull ache left. Visenya can feel herself getting addicted to the sensation of his lips, desperately craving more and chasing his mouth during those few seconds they pull away for air.

On pure instinct, she begins to grind against him in the same rhythm of her ragged breathing, desperate for some sort of friction. His hands that were previously around her waist slide down until he’s gripping both sides of her hips. He starts to guide her movements, clearly well practiced in this department. The sensation elicits soft moans from Visenya that Geralt swallows. 

Geralt breaks the kiss, moving his mouth to her neck, leaving marks wherever his teeth touch. Visenya gasps at the feeling, tugging on his hair harder than before. Geralt growls and continues his assault. A warm feeling inside her continues to grow the longer they stay like this until it’s nearly unbearable. One of her hands untangles itself from his hair, moving to grip his chin. 

She forces his head away from her neck to face her head-on. A predatory grin forms on Visenya's face, the control she holds over him in the moment exhilarating. Usually, Geralt maintains control of a situation, both in combat and in conversation, he’s holding the reins. But in this moment, with his eyes practically begging for her to do something - anything as he tightens his grip on her hips, he’s as helpless as the damsels in Sansa’s stories. His amber eyes appear nearly feral, wild and blown out. His hair is a tangled mess from where Visenya brushed her hands through it, his lips are bruised and swollen, evidence of what just happened between them. 

She continues to grind against him while maintaining her grip on his chin. A series of low grunts escapes his mouth, the sound spurring Visenya on. She quickens her pace and with her hand still in Geralt’s hair, she pulls harder and forces his head upwards to expose his neck. His jaw is clenched, veins in his neck popping out. She leans her face forward, burying her face in his pulse point, leaving trails of phantom kisses leading up to his jawline. She begins to nibble at his jaw, slowly moving towards his lips. She moves her hands onto the tops of his shoulders, leaning most of her weight against him. Geralt leans forward, attempting to connect their lips, but Visenya pulls back. Far enough that he doesn’t reach her, but still close enough that her breath tickles his lips. A low grunt of annoyance leaves his mouth, but he does nothing else.

“Nuh uh uh. Not yet,” she tells him, giving him a grin that shows all her teeth. “You’ve gotta earn it.” His grip on her hips is so tight, Visenya’s sure it’s gonna leave marks. His movements become jerkier and rougher as he guides her hips against his crotch. A pit grows in Visenya’s stomach as she grinds harder against him. A slew of curses leave Geralt’s mouth, but he maintains eye contact with Visenya like he’s entranced. 

“Fuck, Geralt. There you go, that’s right.” Visenya moans, closing her eyes and fully enjoying the sensations. “If it’s this good when you’ve got your clothes on, I can only imagine when you’re not.” she says, fluidly moving with the pace he set. 

“Why don’t you find out,” he grunts, his breathing unsteady. Visenya simply laughs at him, opening her eyes and leaning into him. 

“Not yet, this is only the third time we’ve met. A girl has to maintain some propriety,” She presses her lips against his, slipping her tongue in his mouth, but pulls away before he gets a chance to react. 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Geralt says, attempting to chase her mouth. 

“The door’s over there, I’m sure there’s a nearby brothel that could help you out.” Visenya says. However, before Geralt gets a chance to respond, she digs her fingers into his shoulders. She rubs against him with rigid backward and forward motions, chasing the high that she instinctively knows is so close. She clenches her legs tighter against him as a tingle fills her body, starting from her head down to her toes. Almost simultaneously, a throaty groan leaves Geralt's mouth and he presses his face into the crook of her neck. The two of them slow their movements until neither of them are moving. 

They stay like that for a while, neither of them saying a word. Visenya eventually manages to catch her breath and steady her heart. The adrenaline previously pumping through her diminishes as she gains control of her brain. 

“Stay.” Geralt asks - no demands. His eyes meet hers with the same intensity his gaze always holds, but something softer is mingled with it. 

“Jaskier will know if I don’t come back to the room.” Visenya reminds him. “And I really don’t want to deal with that.” 

“To hell with the bard.” Geralt argues, tightening his grip around Visenya and pulling her closer. 

“You said it, not me.” Visenya quips, leaning forward to meet Geralt's lips again. 

                                              o0o0o0o

Tags: If you’re name is crossed out, it means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. 

 @sunlithours | @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe​ | @historicallydysfunctional​ | @stuckupstucky​ | @aknerdchick​ |  @ayamenimthiriel​​ | 

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Dynasty Chapter 10

“You brought him here?” shrieked a voice, stabbing through Peter’s temples. “You idiot!”

“Look,” said a defensive voice, “We need a clean sample.”

“We won’t be needing anything if we’re shut down,” snarled the first voice.

Peter opened his eyes and saw a woman in a lab coat glaring at a man wearing body armor. Good body armor too, a muzzy part of his brain noticed. Sleek and almost form fitting, like that new stuff Tony was making. A quick try to get up proved his suspicions: he was strapped down. It looked like he was strapped down to a gurney of some kind.

“So, uh, anyone want to fill me in on what’s going on?” he asked dryly, not expecting an answer.

The female sighed, brought a hand to her head, and muttered, “Idiots, every last one of you. Mr. Parker,” she said firmly.

Peter’s skin crawled. He could tell that he was still wearing his suit, so there should have been no way for her to know who he was. “Parker?” he asked, trying to sound quizzical.

She made an irritated sound. “Please don’t pretend with us. We know very well what your other identity is and we are no threat to you.” She emphasized the words as her left hand clutched her white coat.

“You’ll have to forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” Peter drawled. “Since, you know.” He tried to move an arm that was strapped down. He wasn’t sure what he was strapped down with, since he could break almost anything.

“I’m sorry my coworker is a moron.”

“Hey!”

“I asked him to get a fresh blood sample for our program, and he took that to mean that we needed to kidnap you.”

“And, uh, how was he supposed to get the blood?” asked Peter warily.

“Please, you heroes bleed all over the city. It’s not that hard. They were supposed to be watching,” she added with a glare at the man in the armor, “for you to get into an altercation that ended up spilling blood.”

“We need the sample now,” muttered the man.

“We don’t need to compromise the facility!” the woman snarled back at him. She took a deep breath, looked at Peter, and gentled her voice. “Since they brought you here anyway, I’m just going to ask. Mr. Parker, may we take a small sample of your blood?”

“Am I really in a position to refuse?” asked Peter warily.

“Absolutely,” the woman said firmly. “We would never dream of pricking you with a needle without your consent, Mr. Parker.”

“Don’t want to piss of that damn mad man,” muttered the guy in body armor.

Suddenly Peter understood. The reason the woman was being so polite was not because she cared about Peter as a person, but because they were terrified of Wade. No wonder he always felt safer at Wade’s place—it was probably the only place these people wouldn't go.

“So, out of curiosity,” Peter asked, “if I say ‘no’, what happens?”

“We knock you out however he knocked you out in the first place, remove the transmitter inhibitor on your chest, and drop you off as close to Stark Tower as we believe is safe.” Peter looked at his chest and saw an odd black lump stuck there. “We have no intention,” the woman continued, “of antagonizing either you or any of your—associates.”

A ripple along his skin warned him a second before the wall to his right exploded and Deadpool strode in, the eyes on his suit narrowed and calmly tossing a grenade from hand to hand. “Lucy,” he called. “You got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

“Oh, shit!” swore the guy in the body armor. He swallowed hard. “How—how did you find this place?”

“Behold the powers of the author space!” roared Deadpool as he rushed forwards pulling one of his katanas. At the last minute, instead of decapitating the man, Deadpool slammed the flat of the blade against his head, knocking him down.

Pity that body armor hadn’t included a helmet, Peter thought absently as the man dropped like a load of bricks.

“Mr. Deadpool,” the woman in the lab coat said warily as she backed away from him, both hands in the air, “we have done nothing to harm him.” Apparently, while she was well aware of who Peter was, Deadpool was still a mystery to them—and one they didn’t want to try to solve.

“You kidnapped him!” snarled Deadpool.

“That was a miscommunication,” the woman said as she continued to back away. “We have done nothing except talk to him, Mr. Deadpool.” It was clear, from the look on her face, that she was terrified.

Peter was having a little trouble caring, at the moment. “Hey, DP,” he called distracting the mercenary. “Can you give me a little help over here?” he raised what he could of his hands to wave them.

Deadpool whirled to face Peter, on the gurney. The eyes roamed over him taking in the undamaged suit, the odd black box on his chest, and the straps holding him in. Deadpool sheathed his katana. “Sure thing, Buddy,” he said cheerfully. “No,” he added to himself as he trotted over to Peter, “I don’t think he’d like to recreate this in the bedroom.”

“Hey White,” said Peter, recognizing the response.

“Hey Spiderman,” said Deadpool calmly. He reached under the gurney, twisted something—and the straps fell off. He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“A little woozy, but fine.” Peter heard the woman running and, irritated with her, webbed her to the floor watching her fall hard to the cement. His head flipped around at the sound of jet engines.

Deadpool somehow managed to make his mask roll its eyes. “Look who finally decided to show up,” he growled.

Peter raised a hand to shush him. He heard—something. What was that odd sound? It was familiar, somehow…

He carefully made his way through the place. It looked (aside from the wall Deadpool blew up) like nothing more than lobby, or maybe the public entrance of a warehouse. The floor was cement, it wasn’t that big, and there were two chairs on either side of a door.

He flipped open the door (wincing as he accidentally ripped it off its hinges) and stared. On the other side of the door was a room that looked suspiciously like an elevator, all stainless steel with tracks for the doors to shut. That’s not what grabbed his attention though. What got his attention was the little girl inside it. She was small, barely three feet tall, and had long, fluffy light brown hair. She was wearing what looked like a large dingy white nightshirt.

When he opened the door she flung herself into one of the corners and covered herself with lightly scarred arms. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorry!” she shrieked, as she trembled like a leaf. As Peter stood there, she began to quietly cry.

“No, hey,” Peter said as he crouched to her level. She flinched, but he kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible. “It’s okay,” he told her. “You don’t have to be afraid.” She peeked at him with large, amber eyes, but kept her arms up, still shaking. “I’m Spiderman,” he said, to introduce himself.

“What? How dare you insinuate I’m anything less than sane?” ranted the man behind him.

“And that’s Deadpool. He’s a little—odd, but he’s a good guy too,” added Peter. Deadpool leaned on Peter’s frame and from the corner of his eye he could tell the mercenary was waving at the girl. Oddly enough, this made the girl relax a bit, and the arms came down as she watched them warily. “I just want you to know that you’re safe now,” he told her.

The girl’s eyes widened and, in a move almost too quick to be believed, reached forwards and grabbed Peter’s costumed hand with a tight, almost bone-crushing grip. “Can you save the others too?” she asked. “Make them safe?”

[star-veil]

“Endless Blue”

Water Creature!Jaskier AU from my ao3 <3 No TWs apply

--

Geralt woke up, much to his surprise, not coughing up a violent lungful of seawater but instead to the gentle strum of a finely tuned lute and a distant, echoing humming. The melody bounced off the walls of a cave dimly lit by a faint glow from the pools of water that surrounded Geralt. Magic, if he had to guess. There was no glimpse of light revealing a path out of here, though.

Fuck, he thought. It must have dragged him down here. But why ? Sirens didn’t keep their food, nor did mermaids for all he knew. Certainly not kept alive. And yet here he was, heartbeat slow as always and skin pallor and clammy from his deep sea dive. He glanced down at his bare forearms. Judging by the relatively normal color of his veins, Killer Whale had run out a while ago. He’d need another dose to get out of here. Grabbing at his hip to rifle around in his pouch, he found two bottles of swallow, a white honey, and a small and half-drunk flask of rafford’s, but no Killer Whale. Fuck, he thought, but this time with emphasis.

All the clues at the shore told him some kind of sea creature. One with intelligence, which is what led him to believe mermaid . If it was still in this cave with him, hiding in one of the magical pools, the least he could do was finish the contract before he escaped.

So Geralt knelt, then got to his feet, then with a sound much like a puzzle piece fitting in it’s slot pulled out his silver blade. This is how Witchers were meant to be- fighters, warriors, monster killers.

The leather-wrapped grip of the sword was damp and Geralt had to continuously change his grip to avoid the discomfort of wet leather sliding down his palm. His footsteps were quiet and well placed. The stone was slick and slippery, one wrong move and he’d go crashing to the ground and alert his captor. Then the advantage of surprise would be lost.

The Witcher followed the sound of the lute. It was not unpleasant, the player was clearly skilled, monster or not. A shame , Geralt thought. It’ll never get to play again .

He fit through a narrow passage of exposed seashell and stone which opened up in a larger, but more comfortable chamber. It was decorated in pretty looking wreaths of seaweed and flowers Geralt had never seen before. At once, he noticed two points of interest.

One was a deep glowing blue pool at the far end of the cave. It was lit not with magic but natural light. A way out.

The other was another figure. Facing away from him and perched on a little shelf of smooth stone was a man, no older than twenty, arms curled around a lute and fingers dancing up the strings. His hair, a deep chestnut brown streaked through with tawny sun-bleached strands, was decorated with weaving silvery jewelry that curled around his head almost like a crown. And, oh , Geralt realized, he was completely bare-ass naked.

He probably should have said something. Instead, all he could muster was a flustered wheeze. The man whirled around, and Geralt was immediately enraptured. Wow, he was going to die because he was horny for a mermaid.

But… no. Not mermaid. The man lacked a tail, having instead two slender legs he tucked beneath him till he was sitting back on his calves as he peered at Geralt. The man’s eyes were stunning. A deep seastone blue that only the best poets of Oxenfurt could not even begin to describe. A dusting of blue freckles over the bridge of his nose, and similar pretty markings dashed up his temples, framing his eyes and the circlet-like crown his silver jewelry formed. And his smile...

“You’re awake!” The man cried, lilting like songbirds on the first morning of spring. “Um- I really wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep, if I knew you’d be up so fast I would have tidied up a little,”

“Or put some clothes on?” The Witcher grumbled. And why was he not striking at the thing already ?

Immediately, the man’s cheeks went a bright blue. He blushed… blue . Holy shit. That was adorable. He gaped, wrapping his arms around himself and staring at Geralt like he’d insulted his virtue.

“Excuse me !” He cried. “Humans are so sensitive, so- so prude!” The sea creature in the form of a man stood up and padded across the cave to where a few silks and sashes hung from the wall. He hurriedly threw one over himself to conceal his… parts Geralt tried very hard not to look at. “Here I was, being such a gracious host and no t immediately killing you , and you have the gall to insinuate that I be indecent?” He flourished his hands out and the silky sash fell from his hips, leaving him completely bare again. He squeaked, loud, and quickly gathered it up in his arms.

“Not human, obviously, so what are you?” Geralt pressed. The man didn’t seem phased at all by the silver the Witcher wielded before him, keeping a sharp line of defense between the two of them.

The man looked deeply offended again, but to Geralt’s relief, did not go off on another blasting rant. “What do you suppose, dear Witcher?” He asked instead, side-eyeing him as he went to settle on his shelf. “Oh- I bet you’ll say mermaid. That’ll be rich.”

“Siren?” Geralt grumbled instead. Wrong thing to say. The man’s eyes went wide.

“Do I look like a mindless sex demon to you?”

“Well-”

“Don’t answer that. I’m Naiad, thank you very much.” The man scooped up his lute and held it like a child. “And I simply wanted an audience, but if you’re so hell-bent on killing me, get on with it then.”

This was certainly nothing Geralt had ever experienced before. He lowered his sword by an inch, still watching the Naiad warily. “You attacked fishermen, left them wrecked on shore.”

“Sirens attacked those men.” The Naiad corrected. “I was just having a chat… I wanted to sing for them, invite them into my home and play a few ballads. I’m quite good, or at least- I think I’m quite good. Would you like to hear-”

“Stay on topic.” Geralt snapped. He sheathed his sword, for now. This thing, if he was telling the truth, was not at fault and had done no harm to the fishermen. “So it wasn’t you? You had no part in the killings of those men?”

The Naiad shook his head and brown locks tousled over his forehead. “I just want to play my music, really.”

“Then why did you take me?” Geralt moved to stand opposite the Naiad, arms crossed.

“I already said,” he shrugged. “I just want an audience.”

Any other Witcher may not have stayed. Some Witchers may have slew the Naiad anyway, taken him in as proof as a contract completed. Emotionless. Heartless. Geralt was neither of those. He sat cross legged in front of the musical Naiad and blinked up at him.

“Alright. Go on, then.”

The Naiad looked surprised. If this was his method of gaining an audience, Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never gotten anyone to sit still and listen to him.

“O-oh, wonderful! Yes, yes… um-” He fumbled with his lute strings for a moment. “I’m Jaskier, aspiring poet and bard.” Jaskier grinned wide and bright and Geralt’s heart melted. “And here’s a song called…”

The Naiad bard went on for a little while, and Geralt began to lose track of time. Jaskier’s voice was stunningly melodic, capturing his attention completely until minutes melted into hours and hours melted into a timeless symphony of song.

When the Naiad was done, he set aside his lute, folded his hands in his lap, and looked down expectantly.

“Well?” Jaskier asked, anxious and tense. “Three words or less.”

“Your voice is beautiful,” Geralt replied breathlessly.

Jaskier frowned. “That’s four words.”

“Don’t care. It’s true.” That pretty blue blush returned to his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you, Witcher… for listening and- and for saying that of me.”

“Geralt.” He told Jaskier. “Not Witcher, Geralt.”

Jaskier’s eyes peered into his, a wide ocean of blue meeting the gold of the sun. “Thank you, Geralt.”

When Geralt wanted to leave, Jaskier was there to guide him to the shore. He took Geralt’s face in delicate soft hands and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. When Geralt made to question him, Jaskier smiled and shushed him.

“A charm for holding your breath. Sorry it’s so… forward.”

Geralt could only stare dumbly at the Naiad as he took his hand and guided him to the pool at the far end of the cave.

Jaskier guided him out and up, up, until the sky broke over their heads and Geralt could inhale fresh air again tinged by the mist of the ocean. Jaskier still clung to his hand, and his fingers were so soft so gentle entwined in his. Geralt wished there had been more to that ever so small kiss than just a charm.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier told him. His hair, now wet, stuck to his forehead in loose curls. “I do hope to see you along the coast sometime again. I… I like having an audience to play for.”

“I…” Geralt replied, blunt, stupid, struck with affection.

“Goodbye, Geralt.”

The Naiad slipped his hand from his and ducked beneath the still water. Geralt watched him disappear, warped by the water until he could no longer make out the Naiad’s shape. And he was alone, floating, in the endless blue.

[ruthoakenshield]

Thorin Learns the Value of Patience

Warning: angst & smut

You could hear him all the way up in your chambers. Thorin’s throne room trade negotiations with Thranduril and his Mirkwood elves was NOT going well.

You decided he needed a better outlet for his anger and a break. They had been going at it all morning.

You got up from your bed, put your hair into an elaborate updo, then went to Thorin’s wardrobe. You took out his other royal robe and put it on. Then you wrapped the belt with Orchrist around your waist to hold the robe shut.

You put your white starlight gem & ruby hair jewels in your hair and your matching crown to Thorin’s. You headed down to the throne room and talked to each guard at each entrance to the throne room. You informed them what you were about to do and instructed that the doors be locked once your guests left the room and the doors were not to be opened until you or Thorin said so. They nodded and grinned.

The guard at the Throne Room’s main entrance nodded to you. You counted to three and drew Thorin’s sword then nodded to them. They threw the doors open loudly enough that they slammed against the walls. Everyone’s raised voices immediately silenced and all eyes turned to you.

You stood in the doorway wrapped in a fur lined robe of Durin blue velvet with silver embroidery holding Orchrist pointed straight ahead, looking royally pissed and menacing.

“That... is... ENOUGH!!!! This meeting is on hold until you ALL can calm down and unwind your knickers. I can hear you all the way up in the Royal Chambers and I’m sick of this!!! Shut your Yappers!!! EVERYONE... GET... OUT... NOW!!!” You bellowed as you stormed up the main walkway.

Balin’s and Dwalin eyes are HUGE as they see you standing at the doors and they know you are not to be messed with when in this mood. They quickly exit ‘stage left’ snickring, knowing Thorin is going to hear it from you.

The elves’ eyes got HUGE and they quickly departed to their chambers via the doors ‘stage right’ to cool off.

Thorin stood at the table to the side of his throne absolutely speechless when the doors flew open and he saw you standing there. Wait, are you in HIS ROBE?!? Why do you have HIS sword in hand?

But when he saw the elves’ reaction to your entrance and subsequent rant. Then he got a HUGE grin on his face as you approached. Halfway up the walkway the last elf left and the guard pulled the doors closed.

Thorin heard all four doors around the room lock one by one and he looked back at you eyes wide and a devilish grin grew on his face. He knew he was in for it and it was not going to be pleasant and was likely going to last for a while.

You immediately stopped and sheathed His sword, then you looked at him with a raised brow. He smirked and took off his crown setting it on the arm of the throne. He approached you and you let him get close, then pulled out the sword and pointed it at him. He grinned and realized he had nothing to defend himself with otherwise the two of you would end up dueling.

He continued his approach until he walked up to the tip of the sword.

“Ghivashel?” He asked. “What is the meaning of this. Why did you interrupt us and throw everyone out?” he rumbled an octave lower than his usual tone.

You stepped forward, pressing the tip into his chest gently. “Did you not hear what I said, mighty king?” You taunted. And took another step. He stepped back after wincing when you pressed the tip further against him to get him moving.

“The negotiations were going nowhere. You were getting more irate, and will have no voice by tonight if I let this continue as it was.” You informed him as you continued your advance, he, his retreat.

“Why the sword, my love?” He asked as he ran his finger along its spine.

You gave him a devilish grin. “To rub it in their arrogant faces that Elrond GAVE you this Famous Elvish Blade... and to get them to leave if I had to.”

Thorin smirked. “And how would my Queen have gotten them to leave if they refused?” He asked you.

“Turn around.” You said, your face deadpanned. He raised an eyebrow, but turned. You grinned and turned the sword so you’d use the flat of it instead of the edge. “I’d use it like this on That Pointy Eared Bastard of a King...” you replied as you swatted Thorin’s rear, as hard as you could, with the flat of the sword. He jumped in surprise, rubbing his rear from the sting of the impact and quickly turned to find it pointed once again at his chest.

His eyes were wide and full of fire. “Now, what will we do about you?” You said as you lowered the sword and worked your way to the throne slowly, eyeing your husband. “You have been a naughty king pitching a temper tantrum for four hours straight now!” Someone needs a ‘time out’ I think.

Thorin turned as you did following your every move, watching you work your way up to His throne. Angry you broke up the meeting, and puzzled at what you’re planning, yet turned on by your confidence and brashness.

You reached His throne and fluffed the fur cushion. Turning your back to him for a moment. You heard him take a step and said, “Take one more step, King Under The Mountain and you will regret it.”

Thorin froze with one boot on the bottom most step. You unhooked the belt to Orchrist’s sheath and set it aside. Then spun, revealing your nakedness as you shrugged off HIS robe onto the throne and made yourself comfortable.

You picked up HIS crown, placed it on your head so it encircled your own, then you swung your legs over the arm rest and reclined against the other armrest. Orchrist in your hand closest to Thorin.

He stood there frozen in place. His heart pounding as he realized you threw out the elves from his throne room wearing NOTHING but HIS ROBE, your crown and HIS sword. He looked up at you and marveled at his luck.

He feasted on the vision before him. You with BOTH crowns upon your head, naked in all your glory, sitting upon HIS throne, HIS furs, and HIS robe holding HIS sword. He went hard instantly. He wanted you immediately.

You sat there, watching Thorin. Amused by the different looks flitting across his face. You sat there reading him and his thoughts like an open book. You knew EXACTLY what this was doing to him.

“Now the question is, ‘what to do for your ‘time out’ my King?” You mused as you pretended to admire Orchrist. He took a step forward forgetting your warning. You pointed the sword at him, “Ah Ah Ahhhh... I told you not to take another step. Now I must add punishment to my plans... you said.

You grinned at him wickedly as he growled impatiently and you chuckled. “Such a naughty king!” You teased and pouted you’re lips.

Thorin growled again. You began to play with your breasts, distracting him. You could see his fingers itched to touch them. Then you slowly dragged your fingers down your body till you got to your pussy.

“Strip!” You suddenly said in a commanding tone.

Thorin looked up, confused for a moment. “What my Queen?” You grinned. “I said Strip!” You ordered, your voice echoing around the throne room. 

He grinned and continued to watch you play with your breasts and pussy as he stripped quickly out of his clothes.

“Come here!” You ordered. He stepped up to the Throne. He reached to touch you and you smacked his hand. “Ah Ah ahhhh! I didn’t give you permission for that!” You said sternly.

“What does my Queen wish for me to do? Thorin asks impatiently.

Stand here, and no matter what I do, you are NOT allowed to come, until I say so.

Thorin’s eyes get huge. “And what happens if I come before you say so?” He asks, growling.

You give him a wicked smirk. “We start over.”

His eyes narrowed and he growled again.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” You tutted. “Someone needs another lesson in the value of being patient in difficult circumstances!”

You turned to face him and sat at the edge of the throne’s seat. “Now, my pussy is in need of some attention.” You say. “Give it attention but do not touch my pearl!” You instruct, knowing its one of Thorin’s tricks for getting you off. “Make me come without touching my Pearl. You can not touch yourself or come until I say so. ” You instruct.

He looks at you grinning a wicked grin. You raise an eyebrow and wait. He kneels and begins to lick and nibble your favourite spots and was careful to avoid your nub. You moan as he licks and nips at your folds and tongue fucks your entrance. Then he inserts a finger and begins to thrust it in and out.

You moan at the pleasure and say, “More, my King, mooreee.” He grins and reaches down and rubs the little patch of skin between your cave and your asshole. Your eyes fly open and you bite your lip to keep from moaning loudly. Thorin begins to add fingers to your cave as he finger fucks you.

Your pants and moans are turning him on and driving him nuts. He wants nothing more than to turn you over and fuck you hard, but with Orchrist stil in your hand, he doesn’t dare.

Suddenly he feels your muscles start to tighten. He feverishly rubbed that little patch of skin behind your cave entrance and you came with a shout. “Do NOT stop!” You ordered between pants.

He kept the pace as you panted and moaned and grabbed your breasts. He moaned as he watched you play with and pinch your nipples as he worked your pussy with his fingers. God he ached from not having you yet. He was so hard right now.

You were panting. His fingers were no longer enough. “Enter me but DO NOT COME!” You demanded as you turned and presented your rear to him. He grinned and moved to enter you. Both of you kneeling on the seat of the throne him pinning you to the back of the throne.

He entered you in one thrust and began to feverishly fuck you. Your breasts rubbing against the cool marble contrasted with his body’s furnace at your back. He gripped your waist tightly and growled so low you could barely hear it, but felt it rumble through his chest and into yours.

“I will make you pay, my love, for interrupting my meeting.” He said between thrusts. You moaned and purposefully clenched around him on the next thrust. He growled again. “SO tight, my Queen!” You could feel his thrusts getting erratic. “Stop!” You ordered.

He froze and groaned, leaning his head against your shoulder blades. You waited till you could feel his orgasm subsiding. You waited a good minute. He began to grow impatient. “What does my Queen wish for now?” He asked.

“Stand up.” You ordered. He does so. You stand and move around to the table and bend over it. “You may continue.” You grin wickedly. He grins and mounts you, gripping your waist tightly. He begins to thrust at another feverish pace then leans down on top of you and says, “May I pleasure your breasts while I plunder you’re tight cave?”

You grin. “Since you asked nicely, yes, you may.” You say as you look back at him. He grins and reaches around you with both hands and begins to play with them as he fucks you. You’re moaning and calling out his name and he is growling and calling yours.

You feel him begin to have the signs of impending orgasm. “Stop!” You order. He growls and stops his thrusts and is squeezing your hips as he struggles to maintain control of his temper.

“Stand up.” You order. He does and pulls out of you. You walk around him dragging your nails along his skin making him shiver.

“How is it my King can be so composed with his wife denying him the one thing he wants right now, but he can not be so when an elven bastard king refuses to grant my king his wishes?”

You taunt him. He growls, understanding what you are saying.

“Because the King loves his wife and would do anything for her including denying his desires if she wishes it.”

“And why can he not do this for those he despises? Surely it’s a better show of strength and might to do this for enemies than for a wife?” You say as you continue to circle him, dragging your nails up and down his body, making him shiver in pleasure and desire. “Would you agree, my King.”

Thorin thinks about what you said. He realizes you’re right. If he can do this with you denying him and toying with him then he should be able to do this with his enemies as well when they are toying with him and infuriating him in diplomatic and verbal ways. It will make more of an impact because it would be a public display of control instead of a private one.

“My Queen is right as usual.” You stop in front of him and smile. You wrap your leg around his hip and grind against him making him moan. “Good. Now, let’s see how much control you have. Go sit on the throne, close your eyes and do not open them until I say so.

He looks at you as you drop your leg and caress his chest. You nod and he goes to sit on the throne. He closes his eyes and waits. He hears you moving, then feels you climb on top of him. He feels you place something heavy on his head then he feels you slide off him. Leaving trails of kisses as you go.

You kneel in front of his naked body once you climb off his lap and you look up at your king, sitting on the throne dressed in nothing but his crown on his head. “Glorious” you say. He puffs up his chest and grins.

You grin, drove him to the edge of coming... repeatedly... check. Taught lesson number one... check. Inflated ego... check. Now to test his control. You lean down and take him in your mouth. You hear him gasp and then begin to moan.

You torment him with your tongue, your sucks and your nips. He is quickly building and so you back off your pace and slow down. Over and over you do this. Deep throating him almost till he comes... then just barely take his tip parting your sweet lips. Taking him fast then oh so slow. For a good 30 minutes you torment him this way. He controls both his temper and his urge/need to come though the pain is becoming unbearable.

You look up and see his fingers are white they grip the arm rests so tightly. He is slowly cracking though. You know he won’t last much longer. It’s been close to an hour and a half already and he hasn’t been allowed to come despite your torments. You torment him once more then pull off just before bringing him over the edge. His eyes fly open and he growls. You look at him sternly. Then stand.

You lean down and say,” Has my King learned his lesson now? Or do we need to continue the time out’s punishment?”

“I have learned my lesson this time my Queen. I should have controlled my temper better and not given into my hatred.” He says as he looks up at you.

“Good. Now, as a reward, you may take me how you wish and come when you wish.” He grins and you have never seen him move so fast in your life. He is on you in an instant and picks you up and carries you around to the back of the throne. He pushes you up against the marble back and impales you on his member. He leans towards your ear and says, I’m going to make you come so hard they’ll hear your screams in Dale and Laketown!” He growls.

He fucks you hard and fast taking out all his frustrations on your pussy and he seems to go on forever. He marks your neck and shoulders with bites, nips and hickeys. He makes you come screaming his name at least three times or was it four? before he roars and fills you to overflowing with his pent up seed.

You feel this heat spread throughout you as he shoots load after pent up load into your cave. He fills you so full it begins to run down both of your legs. His throbbing matching yours as the two of you release all the pent up tension of the morning.

Thorin sinks to his knees with you still joined to him. He pulls you against his chest and he gently rocks the two of you, moving front to back as you come down off the orgasmic high, and stimulating each of you by him still slightly moving in and out of you.

He takes your face in his hands and puts his forehead to yours reverently. “Thank you Ghivashel! I will never ever forget the look on Thranduril’s face when you entered the throne room today!”

He laughs and nuzzles your neck. “Thank you for coming to save me and give me this lesson and reprieve.” He mumbles into your hair, enjoying its scent.

You giggle. “And what look was that?” You ask.

He laughs a big barrel laugh that resonates around the hall. “One that said he probably needed to go change his trousers or whatever those blasted elves wear under their dresses. He was terrified of you!” Thorin tells you.

You both laugh and he continues to rock you both. He moans and says, “My Love, let me show you how grateful I am for this gift you gave to me.” He asks.

“And what gift is that?” you ask.

“The lessons and also the knowledge that my wife displayed enough rage and terror to terrify and throw out the ENTIRE elven host AND King Thranduril from my throne room in naught but MY royal robe, with MY sword in her hand and her crown upon her head!”

You chuckle and nod and he picks you up, still joined, and lays you down on the furs at the foot of the Throne. He takes off his crown, and sets it on the seat of the throne, then removes yours, leaning it against his. Then he spends the next two hours making passionate love to you at the foot of His throne.

Later that afternoon, dressed in your finest clothes, a smirk on your faces and crowns upon your heads, you waved goodbye to the elves as Thorin held the signed trade agreement with the Woodland Realm, having gotten from Their King what he wanted... a fair deal.

[the-hoarse-bard]

Esbern and Delphine were clearly pleased to see each other again, but kept the greetings short, being ever the professionals. Delphine took us into her hidden chamber, and got right down to business, asking Esbern what he knew about the dragons returning. She was initially crestfallen to hear that all he knew was that the Blades of old had foresaw the dragons return, as well as a dragonborn coming to put them back into the grave. However, Delphine perked up when he produced a book and said that he did know where to find more information, along with a cache of proper dragon slaying weapons.

Esbern placed the book on the table and opened it up to a map of Skyrim, pointing to a spot in the Reach that was labelled with Akaviri characters. “Here,” he specified, “is where the ancient predecessors of the Blades wrote of their victory in the ancient dragon war. We must find a way inside if we are ever going to stand a chance against the dragons.” We quickly made ready for the trip, agreeing to travel separately so as to throw off any potential pursuit.

After another detour in Whiterun to restock my powders, I made immediately for the Reach. As I was riding over the mountains bordering Whiterun hold from the Reach, I caught sight of that black dragon again, raising yet another of his kin from the grave. I caught his gaze, and he flew off, laughing at me. I spurred Shadowmere onward, hoping to be gone before the dragon could finish it’s resurrection.

Unfortunately, in my haste, I failed to notice another dragon circling over the valley Esbern, Delphine, and I were to meet in. I noticed a nearby encampment of Forsworn and made for them quickly, they’d at least make a good distraction. All of them stood in disbelief at seeing a dragon, barely noticing me until I walked right up to their local briarheart and gave him a slap across the face. He shouted at me, but now that I had his attention, I roared at him, “You shut your mouth, you glorified nudist! Make your men ready for battle, the dragons are on your doorstep, you’re real Reachmen, now act like it and defend your home before it’s turned into an ashen ruin!” He was stunned at first, but then a fireball whizzed down from the dragons maw and crashed into one of their tents, and he turned and shouted for his men to prepare themselves for battle.

I drew my bow along with the other archers and we hailed arrows into the beast, and the Reachmen’s hagraven launched icicles at it’s head from behind us. The dragon swooped down and launched a shout I didn’t recognize at the hagraven, and she retreated, attempting more spells, but all of them failing. I yelled at the others to keep up the assault, raining more and more volleys into the dragons body. It was forced to land for rest at the edge of the camp, and the warriors charged in, screaming and hacking away at the dragons scales. It snapped a pair of them in its maw, and whipped another with its tail as it took off again, dropping the pair in its maw in the water as it rose into the air again.

Then, just as things were looking grim as a fireball was headed for us archers, the hagraven came back, quickly weaving a ward to protect us from the flames, and a lightning bolt from seemingly nowhere struck the dragon in the chest, causing it to plummet down at the top of the hill. It was Esbern and Delphine, finally arriving at the eleventh hour. Delphine unsheathed her bow and joined the archers in firing blindly at the spot the dragon had crashed. I drew Dawnbreaker and shouted for the remaining warriors to follow me, and we charged up the hill, to the dragon grave.

As we crested the hill, another fireball was hurled over our heads, confirming that the beast was still alive. I called the archers up to the better vantage point, and the rest of us charged in, the briarheart and I leading the charge. Reachmen piled onto the dragon, hacking away with their serrated blades, carving chunks out of its flesh. I saw an opportunity and drove Dawnbreaker into the bastards forehead, and it went still. It took the Forsworn a second to notice it was dead, but they then piled off and began to celebrate. I took my place before the corpse and inhaled deeply as I absorbed its soul, guaranteeing this time it would stay dead.

the brairheart offered a handshake, and I hesitated to shake the hand of a basically undead nudist, but accepted in the end. Esbern and Delphine came forward and we explained that we had come to this valley seeking an ancient stronghold of dragon slayers. The briarheart thought for a moment, and then pointed over toward a large stone entrance into the mountain on the oppsite side of the valley, saying, “I don’t know if it’s what you’re looking for, but there’s a lot of strange stonework over in there.” We thanked him both for the directions as well as for his help with the dragon, and we headed off amicably.

It wasn’t far into the cave before we came upon the structures the briarheart had described. Esbern confirmed that the work was of Akaviri origin, and pointed out a trio of small pillars similar to those found in the Nordic barrows, but with different symbols. On Esbern’s advice, we rotated the symbols to the one denoting the dragonborn, and a stone bridge dropped down, allowing us access to the rest of the ruin.

The next room was tiled in the same symbols as the pillars. Esbern was initially puzzled, but then I mentioned having seen such tiles attached to fire traps in the barrows, and pointed out a hole on the opposing side of the room, saying the fire would probably come from there. We stood back and I tossed a stone onto one of the panels not marked with the symbol the pillars required, and sure enough a fireball launched from the hole, exploding on hitting the wall. I followed the path of dragonborn symbols around the room until reaching the other end, where I found a lever that deactivated the trap and we continued.

In the final room, there was a large door shaped like a head, and a stone seal on the floor. Esbern piped up, “I’ve read of these. Ancient Akaviri blood seals. They only open on contact with the proper blood, and considering the theme so far, I’d assume your blood, dragonborn.” I nodded, knelt on the seal, and slashed across my hand with a dagger, letting the blood dribble onto the seal. As expected, the stone head sank into the floor, allowing us to enter the temple proper at last. Esbern and Delphine stood back, saying that I should have the honor of entering first.

As we entered, we came upon a magnificent sight. A grand stone mural of the dragon war. “Incredible!” Esbern shouted, “Alduin’s wall, it’s real!” He ran up to the wall and began examining it in detail, “The left of the wall depicts the Akaviri aiding the ancient Nords in the dragon war. And here, in the middle, this is Tiber Septim, the first dragonborn, shouting the great dragon Alduin out of the world itself! This is incredible!” Delphine interrupted the rant, “So what does all of this even mean for us and fighting the dragons?” Esbern chuckled, “Don’t you see? To beat the dragons, we need a particular shout. One that can rend the very soul of a dragon. I have no idea where we’d find such a thing, though.” Then I spoke up, “I could ask the Greybeards. Maybe they know where we could find this powerful shout.” Delphine somewhat reluctantly agreed. I would go to ask the Greybeards if they knew of such a shout, but first I decided to poke around for some proper dragon slaying weapons.

My search eventually yielded a very particular Akaviri katana. It had dragon language inscribed on the blade, which, to my surprise, I could read. The words on it were “death”, “finality”, and “limitation”. Words that are not in any dragons vocabulary, words that would rend their flesh. I sheathed the sword and said goodbye to Esbern and Delphine, who had resolved to stay here and restore the temple, and set off for High Hrothgar once again.