#sometimes it's nice to just explore a horse knee thought

[anonymous-eggys-gone-feral]

i feel like when it comes to volume, miguel takes the cake. This lovely man is ✨p a s s i o n a t e✨ , he wants the whole motel to know who has his dick and heart throb yanno? Whereas Nicky would want YOU to be the louder one.

^^^^^ ohoho oh yeah. yesss definitely!

(lots of horn knee under cut)

Miguel is very passionate and wants you to know just how you make him feel. I can see him muttering how amazing you feel against him, half in Spanish. ugh him growling phrases in Spanish about how much he loves you while he rails you 🥵 He would be very noisy.

Every part of him would just be full raw passion for you and he would make sure you know how you drive his heart (and dick) wild. I think he would be very attentive to your needs, and that's just- mhmm yup that's the most important thing 😩🙏🏻 his passion would be so contagious and it would fill the room 🙌🏻😪

Even if you need him to be rough, there's somehow still that perfect tender gentleness to the way he holds and touches you.

pray for the ears of anyone in the place you two are fucking because he won't be able to stay quiet and, with the way he's making you feel, you may not be able to stay quiet either.

and the aftercare ugh oml bye 😫💓🦋✨ "catch me in Miami"? more like "catch me in the astral realm" bc my soul has left my body at the beautiful passionate words he softly speaks to you and the way he holds you close you him with a firm gentleness. soft kisses and affirming words of how amazing you are and were 😭💞 aftercare with him is truly the soft hours 😪💖

Nicky would be more chatty than noisy, i think. He would be pulling his most charming and stimulating lines and making sure he knows you're loving every moment. he would make some noise too, mainly because he loves the way your moans mingle together like a beautiful melody he could never get enough of.

the image of you sputtering uselessly in pleasure beneath him? it drives part of him crazy, and he just wants to take in the moment fully, so don't mind him if he gets a little quiet for a moment. he'll get back to making noise and talking again, he's just trying to memorize every part of you because of how gorgeous you look and sound in that moment.

I think depending on the mc, his words would vary between sweet and spice. most likely teasing too. lots of praise (and good lord praise him back; he would love praise. especially if it's the kind of praise that you can barely get out because of how good he's doing 😩🙌🏻). and biting and hickeys ofc bc that's how Nicky is. if he can get you to make those noises of ecstasy that are candy to his ears, he'll do it.

he gives off gentle tender vibes, but i feel like he would absolutely wreck you if that's how you needed him. you would just get extra soft aftercare 😉

between Miguel and Nicky? Miguel would be the loudest for sure, and would have the most raw passion 😩👍🏻

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[the-wisteria-house]

Beifong reader

"Hello everyone." President Riko begins "Today we are all here to celebrate the founding of The United Republic-"

Your attention is drawn away from the speech to your mother, who looks nervous. "Hey."You elbow her arm lightly."What's up."

"The Avatar's going to be here to day. I'm afraid she'll cause trouble."She shrugs.

You could tell she was lying. You may be a tween, but you're not stupid. "You should have more faith in her."you then continue"Yes she can be impulsive and ignorant. But she'll grow out of it at some point. She's a good person."

Your attention shifts back to the president when you don't a response.

"Everyone will be paired up with someone with a different nationality or bending. Listen for your name, and the name of your partner." They start to list off pairs. After a few minutes you hear your name.

"(Y/N) Beifong, and Jinora of the Air Nomads."

"Alright bye."You say once you spot a girl in orange.If you would have looked at your mother. You would have seen the panic cross her face.

Lin begins to eternally panic. 'Why didn't I think about this? I knew this was a bad idea-'

"I didn't know you and your sister where back in contact."Her thoughts are interrupted by Tenzin.

"We're not."Lin raises an eyebrow before it clicks. He didn't think you were her's. "Oh, then who's-"

"She's mine."The woman interrupts.

"I just thought- because-well you-umm. Never mind..."The monk stammers awkwardly.

With you and Jinora

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"I didn't know Lin had a daughter."Jinora looks to the slightly taller girl.

"Yeah,I get that a lot."You laugh ignoring the slight sting of hurt.

"So how old are you?"

"I'm 13, how about you?"

"I just turned 11."You nodded to show you were listening.

"Cool. What do you wanna do first?"

The girl thinks for a moment. "How about we do each others training?"

This confuses you.

"What do you mean? Like for me to drill you like an earth bender, and for me to do you're training?"

"Yes exactly! Well of course excluding the bending part."she gets excited

"I don't know.....do you really want to be trained like an earth blender?"you question

"Yes, it's the opposite of air. I might learn something new."

You chuckle 'She's serious.' "Okay...."

"Let's go fine our parents and let them know what's up."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"I haven't seen you in ages!" Katara smiles at Lin.

"Katara, how have you been?" Lin smiles back at the older woman.

"Oh,hey Lin!"Kya greets.

"Hey,Kya."she waves to her old pro-bending partner.

But before they could get to deep into conversation. TZwo young girls come running up to them."Hey,Dad can (Y/N), and I go to air temple Island? I want to show her the meditation spots, and the quart yard."Jinora asks excitment evident in her voice.

"I don't see why not."Tenzin responds.

"Hey Chief, can I go check out air temple Island with Jinora?"Katara raises a brow in confusion. Why were you asking Lin?

"Chief?" Kya questions.

Lin realizes she never introduced you to everyone. "Oh, this is (Y/N), my daughter."she gestures to you.

"Hello."You wave to the adults. Wanting to get out of there emedenty.

"Hey why don't you run me through those drills?"Jinora saves you.

"Alright, are you sure though? Let me warn you. These aren't for the sensitive. I can go easy on you if you want?"You bargen.

"No,don't go easy on me I want to learn the right way!"She incestsis stubbornly.

You laugh "Sue it yourself. You have the stubbornness, that's got sure."

"This should be interesting."Katara sips her tea.

"This is the horse stance."You demonstrate. She copies,but her mussels are to loose.

You walk up to her. "Brace yourself."You warn before pushing her slightly.

You demonstrate again

"Tighten your muscles. Be firm,face it head-on."

After an hour of teaching. Jinora wanted to take things up a notch. "This is cool but I want more of a challenge."she describes. "Okay sure."You pull out a blind fold which confuses the air bender. "What's that for?"You ignore Jinora and put it on. "Do everything I just taught you."You say sternly.

An hour or so later

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No,no no! Keep your knee's high Twinkle Toes!"you say still blind fold. "I can barely since you you're like a dancer something."

Katara pauses and looks at her daughter. "Did she just call Jinora-"

"Twinkle Toes?"Lin laughs "Yes,yes she did."

"So Lin,what are some of (Y/N)'s interest?"Katara makes conversation."She's a major history buff and always has her nose in a book when she's not earth bending." Lin chuckles. Katara joins in. "I remember when Aang and your mother were there age. She'd run him around the same way. Well she was alittle apologetic." The old woman reminisced.

Lin didn't respond. You did remind her of her mother sometimes. With you witty responds and smile. Though she didn't see it much only when you spoke about earth bending or your new favorite book.

The metal bender it snapped out of her thoughts "Who's the father?" Bumi asks before earning a hard snake on the back of the head from Kya.

"Now Bumi,you shouldn't you pry. It's non of our business." Katara scolds.

Lin shifts "No,it's fine. He was a guy who I worked with here and there. He was nice, just didn't work out." Lin technically didn't lie, but didn't tell the full truth.

"Why'd you  keep her a secret?"Pema Pipes up. Lin only laughs. "She never was a secret. She's just is a quiet kid. Avoids the lime light."She smiles."Well except when it comes to earth bending or combat. She's very can become very competitive."

Before to long you two girls made your way to air temple Island.

It's been a few months since you meet Jinora. You currently where on the air ship helping fine new air benders, and to protect Korra with your mother. Though mainly that was her job.

"Hey (N/N)! Look what I found!"Jinora runs up the ramp of the air ship. Causing you to smile."What is it?" You asked the younger girl.

"It's a pamphlet for a fortune teller!"

"Ah, cool."

"Can you come with me?"She pleads."It'll be fun!"

"I don't believe in that stuff." You wave dismissively.

"I really want to go."She smiles. You glare but then your smile seeps through.

"Fine I guess it won't hurt anything. Come on."

You both make your way off the ship. After briefly telling your parents you're going into town to explore.

"I wonder what my fortune will be?" The metal bender smiles. "Jinora dear.Thake what they say with a grain of salt. It's a shame." She nods.

"It may be. I wanna see for my self if there's truth behind it."

The benders pause in front of a medium sized tent. "This is the place?"

"Yeah, come on."She grabs your hand.

"Welcome,welcome. How can I help you?" A old woman with long gray hair asks in a raspy voice.

"Hello, we're here to get our fortunes." The air bender response.

"I see. Why don't you and your sister follow me."The gray woman walks behind a large tapestry.

"We're not-"You begin to correct her before Jinora interrupts."Come on!"

"What do you see?"Jinora stairs intently at the woman reading her palm. "You will live a long life. All of your children will be powerful benders. Oh I'm getting something else." The woman  closes her eyes. "Someone you know they will push you away. You mustn't give up on them." She ends.

"Do you know who?"Jinora pushes.

"No, they did not say."You roll your eyes at the old woman.

"It's your turn miss.(Y/N)." The woman looks to you.

"I never told you my name." Your eyebrows cress in suspicion.

"I know."

You sit down in front of her.

"Let me see your hand." You reluctantly place your hand into her's.

"Your mother isn't around much. Your father has been absent all your life. You have mastered multiple sub forms of earth bending,sand bending, metalbending,and seismic sensing."Your shocked to say the least. "Okay, what else?"

She frowns "You marry a fire bender, one you never expected to fall for. You'll search for the truth of your origins, and get more than you asked for." This left you confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm only the messager. I don't know anything else."

The metal bender stands."Thank you for your time."

You walk out the tent Jinora tailing after you.

"That was...strange."She says awkwardly.

"Eh, she could be lying. Why don't we go get some thing to eat?"

"Yeah,sounds good to me." Jinora agrees not wanting to push things.

Sorry I know that was bad...I only briefly looked over everything. So there might be some spelling errors. I hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to leave request, or to ask questions.

[darkhymns-fic]

A New World of All of Us

There's a lone inn that stands in the middle of nowhere, once a place for those on pilgrimage to rest during a leg of their journey. But few speak the name of the Goddess anymore...

Two travelers come by, unfamiliar, but with a dog. But a customer was a customer.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Noishe, Original Characters Rating: PG Chapters: 1 of 3 Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week, Day 6: Let's go explore the new world together! I suddenly wanted to write a story with OCs, but with Lloyd and Colette being the main focus still! So, this is what came of it, and it's not complete yet! But there is a first chapter of hopefully just three altogether. If you read and enjoy, please let me know! And thank you everyone for Colloyd Week this year!

--

For the inn that was placed on the crossroads leading between Iselia and Triet, many still called it a House of Salvation whenever they passed by the structure.

It wasn’t such a surprise as to why they still did- for ever since it was claimed by the new owners, they hadn’t done much changes to its original architecture. It still maintained its two stories, shaped like a pillar, with a great open area inside on the first floor. Where once the symbols of Martel would be decorated along the walls with banners and silk, where the humble statue of Spiritua would be placed on the small prayer dais in the front, with mats on the floor to cushion a worshipper’s knees, it was now just a general dining area for visitors, with an innkeeper’s counter placed to the side. The prayer alcove had been converted to a delicacy stand, selling the innkeeper’s homemade treats they had baked for the day.

Upstairs were still the rooms for the weary to rest, once mainly meant for those on a pilgrimage. But many didn’t really go on pilgrimages anymore – none but the very devout few, who still believed in the Goddess that now watched over a newly remade world.

Mara didn’t really think much about that really. Seeing the time as the sun lowered in the sky, she stepped out of the barely renovated inn, a broom in hand, and proceeded to sweep up the dirt on their front steps. But the broom was a little too tall for her, and she struggled to keep it elevated just right as she went about her task. She also hadn’t done the laundry recently, so her dress was a mixture of dust and polka-dots, and her boots were scuffed from the mud from a few days back when she had to handle a few maintenance tasks in the rain.

Then again, business had been slow these days, and it wasn’t like there were patrons around to keep up appearances for…

And her brother hadn’t been back for many hours. He had left this morning for the nearest town, and already it was practically sunset, the horizon letting her know with its orange glow. “I should have gone with him,” she muttered to herself, pushing out the broom in an odd angle that nearly made her lose her balance. She squeaked, held onto a nearby fence railing, feeling the slow burn of embarrassment flood her face. “And he needs to get me a new broom too…”

She might only have been half as embarrassed as she was, if not for hearing the voice that was, apparently, not too far off. “Uh, excuse me? Kid?”

Mara had only been lucky enough to cut off her own terrified shriek, clutching at her broom like a weapon as she turned. In front of her, the man that had called out to her held up both hands – and they looked to be very red hands? “Whoa, sorry! I… I was just checking if you were open!”

Ah. Damn. She had done it again. She had nearly scared away another customer.

“Hold on! I mean… welcome to the All Hands Spiritua Inn! Where we accept hands of all kinds from all walks of life!” She had said that way…way too loud. Mara did all she could to not wince from all that blunder that came out of her mouth. “Have you seen our pamphlets in town?”

“Huh? Uh, no not really…” Even though this guy was clearly unsure about the whole situation… he wasn’t exactly backing away! Mara tried to take that as a good sign. “Just happen to know this place from a few years back… This is an inn now, right?” He pointed at the sign that was hanging off the front, the hinge off the left just a tad bit lopsided. “Is it alright if we stayed?”

Mara opened her mouth to shout a resounding YES to his question. Then she looked at him for just a bit longer, trying to determine his age, coming up with maybe in his mid-twenties or so… The red hands she had been seeing was from the gloves he wore (instead of being really badly sunburned like she’d been thinking), which matched with the red of his outfit, at least from what she could tell. He wore a brown traveling cloak that was clasped at the collar, nearly reaching his feet. From his motions, she could hear the familiar clinking of metal – weapons, she gathered. A mercenary? Or was he a bandit?

But then, she figured he’d try to be a little more subtle with his weapons if he was coming here to steal her gald under the pretenses of being a customer… His hair was also a bit unkempt, waves of russet hair that under the setting sun, seemed to turn into a darker red if she squinted at it just so. There was only just the hint of stubble on his chin, his missed days of shaving catching up to him.

Then she thought about what he said. “Pardon, who’s we?” She didn’t see anyone with him…

“Oh, me and my friend!” He smiled at her the moment he mentioned said friend, as if a light had just been turned on in the vicinity. “And our dog. Do you allow dogs here?”

“Of course!” she said immediately. “We get strays around here all the time anyway.” Too much, sometimes. Also, her brother wasn’t exactly fond of such strays for a certain reason, if she could just remember why…

“Great!” With that, the man in red turned, put both hands around his mouth and yelled, “Heeey!! It’s all good!!”

Huh. Maybe this guy was a bit stranger than she thought. Well, she had already invited him to stay so there was nothing she could do. I probably should have asked if he had money first….

When she started wondering if he was calling in backup of other bandits to rob her blind, she saw the figure he was calling for. Someone who was just in the distance, half-hidden in shadows by the setting sun. From where she stood, it looked like a horse-rider, and as said horse seemed to gallop forward, its rider waved back happily.

The man waved back so strongly, enough to nearly knock off the cloak from his shoulder. Mara raised an eyebrow. Why did he act like he hadn’t seen this person in forever?

As the figure got closer, she barely could see much else at all. They were dressed in the same brown cloak as the man but it covered them from head to toe, complete with a hood that was pulled over their head. All Mara could make out were the white gloves they wore, which held lightly onto the mane of the horse they rode.

“Hello, I hope we’re not intruding,” they finally said. The voice was soft, slightly higher-pitched – and by then, Mara saw the stray locks of blonde hair as they fell out of the hood. She had been so entranced by the figure that she hadn’t noticed the horse they rode until it was basically in front of her.

It then started to…whine?

Wait, that wasn’t a horse! Mara blinked, looking at the creature with its snout, its overly large ears that fanned out from the sides of its face, its fur with varying shades of green. It was a… what was it?

“Noishe here doesn’t bite,” the man said with a grin, ruffling the creature’s fur, unmindful to the giant ears that looked as if they would whack him across the face at any moment. “He’s a real good dog.”

Mara blinked. “Excuse me. Dog?” She glanced at the creature, noting those familiar features, yet… “That’s a dog.”

“Yep! Would you like to pet him?” spoke the figure – the woman, she finally figured – who still sat atop the dog. Who rides a dog?!

“I’m… I’m fine.” Mara still held her broom, half defensively, even though one end of it was dangerously close to unbalancing herself again. “Well, lucky for your…dog… we have the stables already cleaned out, so you can settle it there.”

“Thanks.” The man grinned, hands on his knees as he peered down at her from his height. She mentally groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Hey, so, are your parents around?”

Yes, of course this always happens, doesn’t it?

“And why would you want to know that?” she countered back.

This predictably threw the guy for a loop, making him blink and stare dumbfounded for a solid five seconds. “Well, it’s kinda scary for kids to be by themselves, you know? And we wanted to ask the owners of this place a few things.”

“You’re looking at her.” Okay, co-owner, but it was still the truth.

He blinked again. “Huh?”

“I’m not a kid.” Mara frowned, standing up tall. “I’m eighteen years old!”

The guy scratched the back of his head, smiling nervously. “I mean… you kinda still are…”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Owner,” said the lady from behind him. She had dismounted from her dog (?) and finally pulled down her hood. Mara held her breath when she saw how the woman had a cascade of golden hair that was arranged in a braid, turned darker by the setting sun, and nearly reaching her waist.

Something about her also seemed… different to Mara, the way she smiled, or the curve of it, at least. She felt a sense of elegance from her, and wondered if maybe she was one of those priests from years back. But the Church of Martel’s influence had waned over the years, and most of its clergy had long abandoned the cloth with the appearance of Tethe’alla.

“My name is Colette,” said the woman, subtly breaking the silence. “Is it okay to ask for your name?”

Mara considered, then nodded. It was nice for some people to have manners here. “I’m Mara. I run this inn with my brother, whose getting us food for tonight’s dinner. I can promise you two a warm meal in a bit if you stay.” Then she pointedly looked at the man. “And be sure to treat me with respect like any adult!”

She was pleased to see the man looked thoroughly embarrassed, still scratching away at that itch on his scalp. “Ehe… Sorry.” A gentle nudge from the woman named Colette startled him for a moment, before his worried face was replaced with a big grin. “Oh yeah, and my name’s Lloyd! Thanks for having us.”

Remember to be nice to people. She could hear her brother’s words in her head and tried her best to cut off any tones of snark in her voice. “Not any trouble. We’re happy you’ve chosen us at the All Hands Spiritua Inn! Now come right this way!” She winced again, seeing the somewhat stunned look on the others faces. She always went overboard like this, or just be grumpy to people otherwise…

After getting the dog to lay somewhat comfortably in the hay (and the woman insisting on giving the giant weird-looking dog a few belly scratches on the tummy), she finally led them inside through the double doors, warning to watch their step on the stoop of the entrance. It was always higher than expected, and she’d had to mentally train herself to hop over it every time or risk a little stumble.

The guy named Lloyd followed her example, deftly hopping over the stoop. The woman named Colette deftly did not.

Mara felt as if she watched Colette’s fall in slow-motion, hearing her startled yell, seeing the way she flailed her arms, which made the cloak around her flutter like a pair of burlap wings – revealing a stark-white outfit that she was wearing underneath – and then fall flat on her face against the floorboards.

Any impression of elegance Mara felt from her instantly went flying out the window.

Lloyd rushed to her side, grasping Colette by her arm. “Colette! You alright?”

“Ehe…” Colette raised her head to Lloyd, already a bruise forming on her forehead. Mara had to wince at that. Ouch. “Sorry. Guess I tripped again.”

“That looked like it really hurt,” he commented, pulling her up gently, their boots making the floor creak.

“Kind of, yeah…”

“Uh, I can get you some ice and a salve for that bruise, miss,” Mara helpfully offered, realizing soon that maybe she should. And since it was their inn that this had happened, she didn’t want any weird legal matters happening.

“That’s okay, I’ll just sleep it off,” Colette said, smiling gently again – just now with a little bump on her forehead. It kinda ruined the effect…

“Yeah, and we got plenty of apple gels to help!” Lloyd looked strangely proud about that, but once he turned back to Colette, his expression went back to concern. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. Oh, wait-” Now back to Mara with questioning eyes. “Uh, is it still just one room up there?”

He said that so specifically that Mara was caught off guard from it. It was true that this place had only one room upstairs, fitted with multiple beds to house people in need of rest. They had kept meaning to put some walls in, or at least dividers, but they never really had time for it. “Yes! It’s just at the top of the stairs. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

“Thanks.” The guy gave her a thumbs up (How weird) and then led Colette up the stairs, their cloaks the last thing Mara saw as they ascended. She thought she also saw Colette’s face continually looking towards downstairs, especially to the dining area specifically.

Once they were out of sight, and she heard the door click softly, she remembered something very important.

Crap, she thought, tightening her hands on the broom she was still holding for some reason. I forgot to ask them to pay…

--

“Is it really not okay to look around there?”

“Maybe not yet… Don’t want to weird that kid out - and he’s not here anyway. Maybe we can try at dinner. Also… you really should rest that bump of yours.” A small laugh. “Sorry I didn’t catch you.”

“It’s okay. My clumsiness is supposed to be lucky, remember? Maybe this means we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

“Heh, you know, you’re right!” A creaking of the bed as someone on it, followed by the sound of shuffling, like someone rummaging through a pack. “Got the apple gels here. You should have some.”

“Okay. Can you feed them to me?” Followed by a light giggle.

A sigh, but there was laughter in it, warm and sweet. “You dork.”

--

When Tavi finally neared the inn, it was with labored breathing, his legs rushing fast across the roads. On his back, he lugged a heavy satchel filled with day-old bread, hastily preserved meat and cheese, along with a few spare gels and any other foodstuff that he could get at a bargain. He tried to keep it steady with his left hand, grasping at one of the straps on his shoulder, making sure it didn’t tilt and carry him down with it.

In his right hand, he held onto the hilt of his sheathed sword. His Exsphere glinted from the shine of the twin moons overhead, seemed to burn from where it was set, just beneath his knuckles.

The attacks on the roadsides had been more frequent lately.

Tavi was at least fast when he needed to be, hoping he had lost his pursuers along the way. A quick shift into a thicket of trees, using what little magic he knew to sweep away his footprints, and his sharp ears could finally just hear the soft chirping of crickets at his feet, the rustle of soft wings as they flapped above him.

As long as they didn’t know where he was headed… they’d be fine. They would have to be.

The inn was a welcome sight to him, looking strangely so pastoral in the nighttime. The paint on its right side was peeling off, and the lower awning that stretched just beneath the second floor was eaten away by mildew, but all in all… it wasn’t half-bad of a place.

He only slowed down his run to a light jog, sword slightly rattling against his leg as he did so, when he saw something using the stables they had. But it was covered in shadow, possibly sleeping inside. There was fresh hay and the trough was filled with water. Was Mara taking in stray cats again? Much of the felines liked to roam the woods near their inn, sometimes curling up on the roof, mewling out into the night. Though now, it was rather quiet…

Shaking his head, he then quickly sprinted to the inn once he saw how close he was. He pushed open the double doors, deftly hopping over the little out-of-line step with ease as he did so.

He was then met with a broom to the face.

“By the Goddess, Tavi!” Mara shouted, hopping on one foot as she jerked back the broom before she did any more damage. “You can at least knock to let me know you’re here!”

“Can you not tell it’s me by now?” he argued, spitting out a few broom bristles from his mouth. “You’re so jumpy.”

“I think I have every right to be?” spoke his sister. “You never consider how I feel.”

Though older than him by two years, she was much shorter than him, just coming up to the middle of his chest. She had a head of green hair cut just at the chin, yet still covering up her ears. In her polka-dotted apron and big boots that looked like they should belong to a blacksmith instead of a small innkeeper, she was always quite a strange sight to see.

He shook his head at her with a laugh. “At least help me with the groceries, I’m about to break my back in half from all this.” He played up the struggle as he slowly removed the satchel, bemoaning all the while. “Treat your elders right!”

“I’m older than you! Enough with that joke!”

Tavi grinned, but Mara had laid her broom against the counter to reach up for the foodstuff and promptly walked away to the kitchen. “We we have customers now. I’ll have to make them dinner too.”

As Tavi tried to tie back his long red hair, he paused in mid-action, then rounded on Mara. “What? Right now?” He groaned. “I didn’t buy enough to feed more than us! How many are there?!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to tighten your belt!” Mara wagged a finger at him. “Besides, it’s just two of them. They seem pretty harmless, and we need the money! They’ve been up in their room for the past hour, so don’t go waltzing upstairs right now.”

Then she pointed that wagging finger at his hand. “And you’ll need to hide that. Or are you forgetting to do that while in town?”

Tavi instinctively place his other hand over the Exsphere, feeling a strange sense of self-consciousness. “I know. I just… got it torn off by a tree branch earlier while I walked.” He wasn’t lying when he said that either.

Maybe Mara suspected, maybe she worried… But instead she walked back into the kitchen, hefting the satchel more easily than her height would seem to say. “Oh, and they have a dog too. A really big one at that, just so you know.”

Tavi choked on his own spit, glaring at Mara once more. “Mara, did you just forget that I’m allergic to dogs?”

At the door to the kitchen, Mara stopped. She turned back to him slowly. “I did actually.”

“Please, Mara…”

“Just don’t go near it! It’s outside now anyway, and they’ll be gone by morning I’m sure.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, taking in a deep breath. At the very least, there was no dog fur near him. “Fine. I’ll be by for dinner,” he said, then headed for one of his own rooms that was to the right of the main alcove of the building – which was more of a storage room that he had converted into his very own.

He figured he’d have to look nice for his guests, and picked up an old mirror that needed a good cleaning, trying to fix up the messy locks of red hair that had been tousled everywhere during his run.

With how tall he was, his lanky frame, and his own bright hair compared to Mara’s, no one would have ever taken them both to be brother and sister. Not unless one happened to catch the subtle points of their ears.

He made sure, as he combed his hair, to cover that part of himself. Better to be safe than stabbed, he thought wryly.

--

Noishe, in his pen, scrabbled at the hay to make himself comfortable. Some of the water from the trough had spilled over as he lapped it earlier, so he made sure to gather the drier parts of the hay to rest on comfortably.

It had been a long couple of weeks of travel, and he was looking forward to rest. But even Noishe knew he might not get that tonight…

From his position, he poked out his head from the stable, hearing the door shut suddenly. He raised his head up to the windows, seeing the light flicker out quickly inside. Only by the moon could he see the shape of familiar faces, familiar hands.

He remembered Lloyd’s hurried look from earlier, Colette’s soft words of reassurance. It had been tough recently, but always they had each other. In the light of the morning, he’d never seen smiles as bright as theirs.

They deserved a good night’s rest, too.

Still, Noishe kept his ears up as he settled on the hay, remembering the hurried footsteps from the stranger. Maybe, at the very least, the early evening could have some calmness before the storm.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Alternative Action

I was feeling creative but I hit a brick wall with my other works, so I let @horsegirl1h pick out some prompt ideas for me!

Summary: You and Arthur get into an argument over your disregard for his request, and find a creative way to let off some steam.

Warnings: rough sex, slight D/S undertones, little bit of overstimulation

A/N: Aftercare is important!

The strong smell of whiskey wafted across your face, mixed with the rancid odor of the man’s personhood radiating off him. He had you pinned up against the wall in the alley, your wrists pressed uncomfortably tight on either side of your head. You attempted to keep your breathing even as his filthy mouth breathed on you.

“Yer r-real pretty,” the man growled drunkenly in a heavy Irish accent. “Better take ya with me…that way the rest of us have a piece o’ ya.”

You said nothing, keeping your face as calm as possible despite your heart pounding wildly in your chest. Struggling would only cause him to overpower you more.

He stuck his face to your neck, breathing in deeply. “Smell so nice too…” he pressed his body to you, clouding your senses with every tangible revolting feature of himself. You held your breath, swallowing a bout of nausea that overcame you. He smelled of an outhouse.

“HEY!”

The new voice called to both of your attention, and you saw a figure standing at the end of the alley, his face shrouded in darkness but you recognized him immediately.

With the momentary distraction, you brought your knee up to your opponent’s groin. He howled in pain and released you instantly, bending over. You launched yourself away from him, heading toward the silhouette with no hesitation. In the blink of an eye his hand raised, the glint of a revolver shining in the golden lamplight behind him.

He cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger. You flinched as the shot pierced the air, your ears ringing. A second later the unmistakable THUD of a body sounded behind you. You needn’t glance back to know what had just happened.

And when you skidded to a halt in front of him, you needn’t look at his face to feel his anger.

“Let’s go.” He growled, turning on his heel toward the horse that stood waiting in the street. He mounted swiftly and held his hand out to you.

You hesitated. “But, my horse –”

“We ain’t got time.” He grumbled. “Get on now.”

---

The ride back was painfully quiet. Even with your arms wrapped around him, Arthur was tense the entire time. You could only assume the words he would have to say to you. You weren’t sure whether to speak up or wait until the two of you got back to camp.

Your mental question was answered when he veered off into the trees, coming to an abrupt stop. You’d just crossed the border into Lemoyne.

“Arthur?” You spoke timidly. “This ain’t camp…”

“We’re stoppin’ here for now.” He said shortly. You removed your arms from around him as he dismounted.

You didn’t ask why, but somehow you knew you were in for an earful. You slid off the back of his horse, biting your lip in anticipation. He faced the full moon, his entire figure tensing in the silver light. You watched as his thick hands flexed and curled. He took a deep breath.

“I asked you to stay in camp.” He spoke, his voice low.

You swallowed, releasing a shaky breath. “I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I just wanted to run to Valentine for a quick errand and –”

“And you nearly got yourself kidnapped!” he hissed, turning around to face him, his eyes glinting ferociously. “What errand could you have possibly wanted to do to risk your life like that?”

Despite your stomach churning with anxiety, you kept yourself from quaking. It was just days after the successful Valentine bank heist, however most of New Hanover was crawling with lawmen. He saw through your flimsy excuse immediately. “I…I heard Sean talking to Lenny about a possible lead. Unfortunately that lead is a regular in the Valentine saloon.” You answered.

“’Course Sean would…” Arthur growled to himself, pinching his nose between his fingers. “That still don’t give you an excuse to go, Y/N! You know every goddamn policeman in New Hanover are out lookin’ for us right now!”

“I know, I know,” you groaned, turning away from him to pace. “But – damn it Arthur, I get bored in camp. You know this! I can’t just sit around and twiddle my thumbs all day!”

“So instead of stayin’ in Lemoyne, you risk your neck n’ ours by goin’ back to Valentine?” he snarled. “What in God’s name was goin’ through your head?”

“I thought…I thought that I could get away with it!” you exclaimed. “Didn’t seem like a big job, something real easy to slip in and out of.”

“And yet to manage to find the only damn O’Driscoll in the joint!” Arthur snapped, throwing his arm in exaggeration.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” you argued. “Guy was so drunk he couldn’t even stand up straight!”

“Ain’t drunk enough to keep his hands off ya! Who knows what else coulda happened if I –”

“If you didn’t show up? I would have handled myself, Arthur!” you interjected, angered that he would even suggest such a thing. “You know that very damn well!”

“That still don’t make it okay for you to go n’ pull a stupid stunt like you got somethin’ to prove!” he yelled. “Jesus, Y/N! Sometimes you act like a child!”

“Well forgive me for wanting to do more!” you countered, throwing your arms in the air. “You risk your life every.day, Arthur. How is doing this any different?!”

Arthur stared at you incredulously, as if he was in blatant disbelief of the words that just spilled from your mouth. He stepped closer to you, his thick body appearing absolutely menacing. “I’ve been at this long enough to know when somethin’ ain’t worth doin’!” he bared his teeth, speaking through them with force.

You held your ground. As frightful as he was at the moment, Arthur could never truly scare you. You glared at him defiantly, your hands gripped so tightly into fists that your fingernails were digging into your palms. “Well it’s done anyway! I got the information I wanted regardless!”

“By bein’ –” Arthur stopped abruptly, turning his head away with an angered huff.

“By being what, Arthur? Stupid?” you demanded. “Is that how you see me? Because if it is, you might as well just say it!”

He snapped his attention back to you. “’Course not, Y/N! You ain’t stupid, but you’re reckless and irresponsible! I can’t always chase after you to make sure you don’t get killed!”

“I didn’t ask you to come after me!” you shot back.

“How many times have I saved your ass, Y/N?” Arthur countered. “More times than not I gotta –“

“Like I said, I didn’t ask.” You growled. “I’m NOT a child, Arthur. Stop treating me like one!” you turned around and stomped away.

“Where are you goin’?” he called after you.

“Walking back to camp!” you yowled, too angry to even turn around to answer him properly.

“Don’t be crazy, Y/N. We ain’t nowhere near camp yet!” he responded. You heard the underbrush crunch under his boots as he jogged up.

You hastened your steps, attempting to place more distance between you and him. “I’d rather walk than spend another SECOND speaking with you, Arthur.” You spat.

You heard him pause as your words hit him. At any other given moment you would have apologized, however you were too angry to really care at the moment. You skirted around his horse and made a beeline for the main road.

“Stop!” he shouted toward you. Within seconds he was in your path. “Y/N!”

You attempted to sidestep him, until his arms wrapped around you, promptly halting you in your path.

“Arthur!” you yelped, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go!”

“I ain’t lettin’ ya wander off alone, Y/N!” he argued. “You can be pissed at me all you want, jus’ come back to camp with me.”

You’d managed to move your arms, shoving your hands against his chest to free yourself. With his larger and stronger frame, you only managed to force him to stumble back a step or two, just enough for him to release you. You panted heavily, staring wide-eyed at him. His partially opened shirt was slightly disheveled, the skin underneath nearly glowing in the moonlight. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his face a touch reddened.

Somehow, your mind had gone elsewhere in the fraction of a second.

“Now we can please –”

He never finished his sentence. You’d launched yourself onto him, crashing your lips to his in a heartbeat. His entire body stiffened completely in surprise for a few full seconds before his arms wrapped around you – to pull you back. Your eyes swiveled to meet his as his hands settled on your waist gingerly.

“What’re you doin’?”

Your hands rested on his chest, curling your fingers to ball the fabric in your palms. Your mind was spinning too fast. “Don’t speak, just kiss me!” you huffed, pulling yourself to meet his mouth again. His noise of surprise was muffled. He just stood there as if unsure what to do.

And so you helped him, pressing your body to his and rolling your hips against his torso. A small, choked groan rumbled in his chest as he finally responded to your advances, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His lips moved with yours, forcing them open. His heated breath mixed with yours as his tongue began to explore your mouth.

Your hands moved along his chest to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. You pulled off his suspenders, the tight bands constricting his torso from freedom of the fabric. He shrugged them off completely. Only a short moment passed when the strain of his pants became pronounced against your thigh. It only heightened your arousal as you brought your knee up to rub it against him.

He hissed into your mouth, his hips immediately bucking forward in yearning for more friction. You obliged by pressing your knee ever so carefully with more pressure. Despite the low moan he released, his own hands moved to your face, cupping your cheeks to pull from your mouth again.

His intense gaze met yours as he attempted to catch his breath. Beneath the lust that stood prominent, a moment of clarity shone through. “Y/N – why?”

“Do you wanna keep fighting?” You quickly asked, your voice slightly disjointed.

He didn’t answer you, his blue eyes smoldering brightly in the moonlight. The tense line set in his jaw told you he still held some frustration. He opened his mouth, though no words came out. Instead his hand slid to caress – no, grip your neck and yank you back in for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. A growl resonated deep, nearly animalistic in nature. His other hand fumbled with your shirt, nimbly working the buttons free of their confinements. The heat of his skin radiated through the thin fabric of your chemise.

His rough, calloused fingertips briefly slipped underneath to run along your stomach. A cold touch that made you jump slightly in surprise. He paid no mind to it as he worked on your jeans next, the heavy fabric falling to your ankles. You kicked them off along with your boots, only to lose your balance. Arthur grabbed you last minute and eased you down to the ground below. You didn’t object, peering up at him as he towered over you with a hungry glare. It sent a shiver down your spine.

He gripped your underclothing and tore them off with ease, exposing your naked body to him. He growled at the sight, pulling his fingers roughly across your breasts and down your abdomen to rest on your inner thighs, forcing them apart. Two fingers teased your slit, sparing no time in finding his target.

You tilted your head back, sighing out your pleasure while his feverish touch worked you. His fingers were rough, arrhythmic, unlike his usual calculated ministrations. He rubbed so hard that it nearly hurt, and you squirmed underneath his grip.

“Arthur –” you uttered breathlessly, reaching to grab his arm with a near vice grip.

He eased up ever so slightly, drawing out more pleasure than pain. He leaned over you, his heated breath tickling your ear. “Do you like it when I touch you like that?”

“Yes, God yes…” you moaned in response, your back arching to his touch.

“Louder.” He hissed into your ear.

“Yes!” you squeaked.

His other hand snaked up to grip your breast, squeezing the malleable flesh in his palm before pinching your nipple. “Louder.” He demanded.

“Yes, oh God Arthur, yes!” you shouted out, uncaring of your volume at the moment. A lewd squeal slipped past your lips once his fingers pushed into your entrance.

“Good girl…” he murmured before attaching his lips to your neck. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin with a sweet sting, ensuring he would leave his marks. His hand pumped in and out of you furiously, curling them to drag against your spot, prompting you to nearly scream.

“You drive me insane…” he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. His thumb pressed against your sensitive button of nerves. “You need to be punished, girl.”

Good Lord, you’d never heard Arthur speak to you like that before. Your face erupted in a deep blush, though you couldn’t even grace him with a proper answer as he wrenched a loud moan from you. An all too familiar sensation washed over you with your oncoming climax. Quick like a tidal wave, gripping every inch of your body as you trembled beneath him, calling his name out to the stars.

Once the last of it ebbed away, he pulled his hand from you, prompting you to whine in wanting more of his touch. He chuckled at your reaction, leaning back to unbutton himself free from his restraints. He stroked his length a few times, teasing you of the sight before he grabbed your legs, pushing them up by your head, stretching you in a way you hadn’t experienced before. His swollen tip prodded your entrance before he inched himself in. Your inner walls barely had time to accommodate before he slammed himself the rest of the way.

And thus begun his relentless fucking. He pounded into you over and over, wrenching out a cry from you. In this position you had nothing to hold, nothing to ground yourself from the way he abused your body. He stared down at you with a gaze so hot that you had to turn your head away, only to have his hard grip on your jaw.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he growled to you. “I wanna see your face.”

You obliged, answering with a broken whimper while fire coursed through your veins. “A-Ar –” you struggled to huff out, your hands gripping and tearing at the grass beneath you. “Fuck!”

“Look at you, too flustered for words,” he continued, his own voice slightly wavered while he piledrove you. “You deserve this, don’t ya?”

“Y-yes!” you whined, wincing as another orgasm was fast on the rise.

“Yes what?”

“I d-deserve this!” you mewled, groaning as your second climax erupted within you. “I deserve to be punished!” you uttered breathlessly.

“Yes you do.” He grunted, the hard look on his face faltering briefly as his own pleasure overtook him. “Goddamn…”

He suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty for a short second as he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing you up to your hands and knees. His hands greedily found purchase on your hips before he burrowed into you again, allowing no chance to recover. Furious waves of pure pleasure overtook you as you dug your fingers into the dirt, yowling out like a wild animal.

His grip on you tightened, hard enough to leave bruises. Somehow his thrusts become even stronger, fucking you so intensely you felt tears in your eyes. You blinked them away, allowing the pain to turn into more ecstasy. One hand left your hip to grip your hair, wrapping around his hand to pull your head back. You gasped, though it only heightened your arousal. His name passed your lips over and over, crying out wantonly.

His other hand soon released your hip, sliding around to your front to once again toy with your clit. With his rough grip he kept your ass flush with his hips, using the leverage to his advantage to force himself further. You trembled from head to toe, each sensation filling you up to build to your third.

“C’mon, princess. I know ya got another in ya.” His voice held command in it. Somehow it took hold of you, rushing you over the edge.

You’d squeezed around him tightly, releasing a yowl that seemed detached from your body. With a build and cascade more explosive than your first two, your entire being absolutely spent, your muscles and bones reduced to jelly.

And yet you couldn’t even get away. The overstimulation had you wriggling helplessly in his grasp, puffing out small whimpers and pleas for his release. “A-Arthur – please…” you groaned, tears beginning to fall as you stared up at the sky, your head locked in place.

He released your hair and raked his nails down your back, the sting making you flinch and shudder harder. Your arms collapsed underneath you, and your cheek rested against the cool ground beneath you. “Will you behave?” he questioned, his voice still low and dominating.

“Y-yes.” You mustered up as loud as you could. “I-I will!”

He groaned at your words, returning his hands to the curve of your hips to pull you back against him, driving himself in deep over and over in selfish pursuit of his own pleasure. You kept yourself still, enduring it for just a few short moments before his hips broke rhythm, his thrusts becoming shallower and shallower until he finally pulled out. His hot cock slid between your cheeks before you felt the trails of his seed paint your back.

You sighed in relief, your lower body collapsing to the ground, the cool grass and soil felt nice against your hot skin. The air was silent, only graced by the quiet attempts of the two of you catching your breaths.

You heard Arthur shift from behind you, the grass crunching as he groaned tiredly. Your heard turned to see him, his face red and his skin illuminated with a sheen of sweat. He’d flopped back into the grass, his large chest heaving up and down.

You pushed yourself up, though every muscle protested in you doing so, a subtle tremble wavering your body. You would be sore tomorrow. His eyes locked to yours, and you noted a softness in his face.

“You alright?” he breathlessly asked, gone was the beast of a man that had you just moments earlier. It was an entirely new side that you’d never experienced before.

“Fine,” you murmured, your mind still spinning from how rough he was. “I think…”

He sat up, a sense of urgency overcoming him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” his voice riddled with concern.

You shook your head. “Not at all…it was just…a lot.” You muttered.

He pursed his lips as his eyes scanned you up and down, as if to survey for any damage. “I took it too far…” he sighed, ducking his head sheepishly.

“No,” you immediately rebutted. “It’s just a lot, that’s all. You ain’t ever done that to me before.” You reached out to gently lay your hand against his cheek.

Your touch prompted him to slowly look back up at you. He didn’t answer at first, a full moment passing before he opened his mouth. “Ain’t ever had ya while angry before.” He murmured.

“I know,” you said with a small chuckle. “But I think it did us both good. Are you still angry?”

“Nah,” he gave a chuckle of his own. “But don’t go thinkin’ you can run off jus’ to get me to do this again. Bad enough I had to chase ya halfway across New Hanover.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand from him. “Still didn’t ask you to come after me.”

He sighed heavily, giving you a dry look. “Are we gonna do this again?”

No, one round was enough. And the fatigue had sunken its hooks into you, further muddying your subconscious. You wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself in a pelt back at camp and sleep.

“You sure you’re okay?” he spoke again.

You’d realized your eyes closed, and you pulled them open to look at him. “I’m fine, Arthur. I’m just…really tired after that.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the expression telling you he didn’t truly believe your words. He sat up further and reached toward you, his hands now gentle on your waist. You didn’t object as he pulled you closer, though pausing to retrieve his bandana out of his pocket to wipe away the mess he left on your back. He then tossed it aside and pulled you fully into his embrace.

You practically melted in his arms, his warmth encompassing and comforting you. Everything that happened earlier dissolved into what seemed more like a distant memory now.

“I love you, as much as you drive me nuts.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

You giggled slightly, tiredly, smiling as your eyes closed once again. “I love you too.” You sighed.

[dreamingofscully]

Grey Canyon 14/?

Rating: Current Chapter: PG, Series: up to Mature Categories: Western AU / MSR / WIP WC: 2546 / Total WC: 23,827 Updated on Mondays and Fridays.

Thank you to @ceruleanmilieu for the beta! ❤️ Tagging: @impulsive-astrophile @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @sculderfan​ @today-in-fic (let me know if you want to be tagged when I post!)

all chapters in order: ao3 / tumblr

CH 1 / CH 2 / CH 3 / CH 4 / CH 5 / CH 6 / CH 7 / CH 8 / CH 9 / CH 10 / CH 11 / CH 12 / CH 13

CHAPTER 14: “Sunrise/sunset”

Grey Canyon, Colorado 1885

Nothing frustrated Mulder more than inaction. It was his biggest strength, and yet also his weakness. He would not shy away from doing what was needed, except when it came to waiting. And yet, waiting has been imposed on him in two ways. First, by the circumstances involving Dana’s brothers. He did not know if they were close, or if they had no idea where she was. He would not take the chance to investigate, to expose her, or to leave her alone for longer than an hour or two. Second, the impasse he’d placed upon himself regarding his relationship with Dana, upon furthering their intimacy. He would do what was right, it was important. But what did that look like? He didn’t know, it was only a feeling he had, deep in his gut.

His mind kept turning back to yesterday morning’s pathetic proposal. Then, to awakening next to her, the smell and feel of her body next to his as she clung to him in sleep. The way her hair shone against the backdrop of the sunrise through her window, a cloud of golden-red. When she awoke, the smile she gave him, secret and special. And the gentle kiss she’d pressed to the hand that rested on her shoulder. He would have that future: living through every sunrise with her next to him. He didn’t know why he could not let himself stay, to enjoy her entirely. To avoid her disappointed gaze when he left, over and over.

So, he brooded. Sat at the bar, chin on his fist, staring at the wall but not seeing it. He felt some solution was within his reach, just out of his grasp. The idea floated just underneath his consciousness, fuzzy and unclear.

Suddenly, a vague shape coalesced.

“Melvin!”

The barkeep sauntered over to him after pouring Walt a drink, frowning and silent.

“What was that story you told me a while back about your aunt?”

***

Early evening descended upon the Gilded Hall. The sun was well on its way to setting, the sky turning from bright blue to a more muted tone, hints of gold in the west along the ridges of the Rocky Mountains. Mulder shielded his eyes and watched from his vantage up on the roof of the hall. He paced, wiping his sweaty palms on his best trousers, checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything in his preparations.

After speaking with Melvin, he made quick work of his plans, invigorated by his idea. Madam had supplied him with the scarf, blue silk embroidered prettily with yellow daisies along the edges. Melvin, who was waiting inside, had washed his face and looked quite out of place in his suit, hair stuffed underneath his somewhat-cleaner black bowler hat.

The blanket he’d retrieved from Nellie, as she watched their preparations curiously. It was something she kept in her chest, a present from a former life, and she wanted Dana to have it. She handed it over, shyly remarking “Make sure to treat her right, Fox.”

He’d hoped this would do it. That she’d finally be treated right, as she deserved.

The tapping of the ladder summoned him from his reverie. He removed his hat, placing it on the blanket and cushions spread over the freshly swept roof. A couple chairs, an oil lamp for when the sun fell from the sky, and a covered dish with their dinner completed the picture.

The top of Dana’s hair poked out from the hole in the roof. Not meant to be commonly accessed, the open hatch, which Mulder discovered earlier in the afternoon, was the perfect final touch. The sunset, some stargazing, and something else that would finally allow him to explore the rest of his future with her.

“Some help, please!”

He rushed over and bent downwards, grabbing her arms and lifting her up onto the roof. She looked back down through the hatch and waved at Melvin.

“I think he got quite the show,” she said, quirking her eyebrow.

“I’m sure he’ll never forget it.”

She chucked and dusted off her blue gown where some dirt had clung to it in her climb. Then her eyes took in the view, her expression turning from amusement and curiosity to wonderment. It really was spectacular up here. Distant enough from the street to avoid the offensive smells and sounds. The plains rising up into mountains in the west, far enough away that the sun hadn’t yet disappeared behind them.

“What’s all this, then?” She turned to face him.

“A surprise. Something nice,” he said, guiding her to the blanket and chairs with a hand on her lower back.

“Well, all right then,” she said, her face flushing with pleasure and a smile peeking onto her lips.

They sat and ate, feeding each other bits of fruit and cheese and tearing off pieces of fresh bread. A few birds landed near them, and they shared their crumbs. He was happy to see her enjoyment, but as the backdrop of their dinner transformed into the painted hues of purple and red and orange, he felt his heart flutter, his hands start to sweat.

“Do you know why I prefer the sunset?” she asked, after their conversation went silent.

He shook his head, wiping his hands on his knees before taking the nearly-empty plate from her and placing it away from them.

“The stars,” she said. Her face tilted upwards at the sky, a few sparkling dots appearing in the canvas of deep blue above them. “My father would take me sailing, sometimes. Tell me stories about the constellations, the myths surrounding them. I feel as though he is here when I look upwards at night.” She lowered her gaze to him. “I don’t get much opportunity nowadays.”

“I know.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand, then got up from her chair and pulled him down next to her on the blanket. Sitting along her side and facing him, she leaned against the cushions on an elbow and looked skyward once more. Once he’d settled near her, his thumb brushing along her wrist, she began to speak again.

“You have heard the story of Andromeda?”

He nodded. “But I would hear it from you.”

“Let me show you, first,” she said, leaning close to him and pointing out a particularly bright set of stars. “You see those stars there, that form a square?”

He followed her finger, tearing his gaze from her face. “Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s Pegasus. Follow it there, upwards slightly…” She directed his gaze, and at first he could not see anything except a chaotic mess of white lights against an inky backdrop. But then it came together, and he could see the pattern as she spoke, the rest of the stars fading to insignificance.

“I see it!” he exclaimed.

She smiled, and continued, telling him of the story of how an innocent daughter was abandoned by her family, chained to a rock and left for a beast, until a stranger came along and changed her fate. As she spoke, a wistful expression on her face, he could not help but make the comparison. He wouldn’t claim to have saved her, not yet at least, but he would certainly do whatever he could against the monster that was coming.

He no longer looked skyward. Her expression softened as she told the story, eyes shining as she not only remembered the tale, but the memory of the person who told it to her. He wanted to give her that, again, give her something from which she could look back and think only of warmth, instead of regret.

Trailing his hand along her arm, folded between them, he grasped her hand.

“You’re not looking at the stars,” she said, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“I am looking at what is most important,” he said, making her blush. “And I am listening.”

She touched his face, her thumb dragging along his bottom lip, eyes turned serious. “I wish you could have met him.”

“Your father.”

“He would have liked you.”

“A military man liking someone with outlandish ideas and designs for his daughter? I am doubtful.”

She laughed. “He would have seen you, as I do.”

“And what do you see?”

“A good man,” she said, leaning forwards and kissing him softly on his lips. She was very convincing.

She moved closer, leaning her head on his shoulder and continuing her search of the night sky, and within her own mind for happier times, he thought. His heart sped up, not only due to her proximity but of the question he still needed to ask her.

“Would I be Medusa, in that story, or perhaps the flying horse?” he joked.

She smiled widely at him, laughing freely. He slipped out from beside her and lit the oil lamp, the moon and stars their only illumination; they were draped in shadows and he wanted to see her. When he returned to her side, she grasped his hand within hers, pulling it to her mouth and kissing his palm.

“This… whole thing is lovely. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly very warm despite the chill of the night air. He twisted his collar, loosening it slightly and fidgeting next to her.

“What has gotten you so nervous, Mulder? You do know that these stories are only myths, right? Or do you also believe in sea monsters?” she teased.

He bowed his head. “I admit, I, uh, have an ulterior motive to all of this…” he said, waving his hands at the setting he’d created for them.

“Well, if it’s to get into this dress, you already know where I stand, so it must be something else,” she said playfully, her head tilting at him. “Out with it.”

“So, I’ve been thinking about our situation...” he started.

“‘Situation’?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He flushed, laughed nervously. “I have another story to tell, and you can thank Melvin for it, although perhaps he’d already been paid with a good view.”

Dana smiled and nodded, patting his hand.

“He’s part Irish, like yourself, also part Scot. A mix of many things I suppose. Cherokee, too, he claims, though he lacks the height for me to believe that,” he said. He clasped her hand within his, squeezing it. “His aunt Katie told him the story about how she met her husband. There’s a tradition, over there, where they choose their mates through a wall, only having seen the woman’s hand. They are bonded then, for a year and a day…”

He stared at their hands, having no doubt he would know hers.

“It started a long time ago, when a priest was not available.”

When he looked back at her, her head was bowed as she waited, quiet and still.

“Once chosen, they would fasten a scarf around their hands, and they would live together as if married, for the year and a day, or until a child came, or a priest came by.”

He brought the scarf the Madam gave him from inside his pocket and placed it next to their hands.

“It only requires a witness, and Melvin agreed--”

“Stop,” Dana interrupted, withdrawing her hand. She stood up quickly and backed away a few steps.

“If he is too offensive, perhaps the Madam would agree…?” He stood as well, taking the scarf in one hand, reaching out to her with the other.

She shook her head, and he saw the glistening of tears in her eyes. “All of it, Mulder.”

“But--”

“The answer to your question is no, and I should have been clear before,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

Mulder’s shoulders slumped. “Of course… I shouldn’t have assumed that you wanted this, that I was… the marrying type.”

“Look at me,” she said, her voice sharp.

He did, massaging the back of his neck. This wasn’t turning out how he’d envisioned, the exact opposite, in fact. Instead of a happy Dana, kissing, and… perhaps more, she stood in front of him, upset and perhaps a little angry, for a reason he could not fathom. He waited, feeling the weight of guilt already settling on his shoulders.

“I do not need a fancy ring, or a scarf, or anything else to know how I feel about you. How you feel about me,” she started. Her eyes softened slightly, but she did not approach. “If my circumstances had been any different, if I’d ended up like one of the girls here, would I be any less worthy of your love, of your commitment?”

“Of course not,” he said.

From the look on her face, he guessed she did not believe him. “I am so tired of other people thinking they know what is best for me, or, as you say it, what I deserve.”

“Dana, I… do not mean it that way." He bowed his head, unable to look at her. Not wanting to fight, to turn this into something ugly, but the right words escaped him. He found his anger starting to build as well. How could she think such a thing? Then the doubt. Have I really made her feel that way?

“Maybe so. But that is not my only reason for my refusal,” she said. “I have seen what happens, when a woman gets married. My mother, my sister, my friends at college. A wife is treated as even less of an individual. Even if she fights against it, as my sister did, it changes her."

She stepped closer, pointing her finger at his chest but not quite touching it. Her cheeks were red and her eyes blazed.

"When I marry, I will no longer be myself. I become your wife, your property, not my own person. If you cannot understand that, then we are finished speaking."

"Dana I do not want a wife, I want you." He clenched his hands into fists, twisting the delicate scarf in his grasp.

"Even if you did not mean to change me, it would happen. And I do not mean to lose myself," she said, pursing her lips, and turning away from him.

He grabbed her arm to prevent her from moving away, his anger rising. "You say I am ridiculous, that I have crazy ideas, well yours is the most absurd idea I have ever heard. Just because we are together in some official capacity does not mean that anything changes!"

Dana stared at his arm, then looked up at his face, her eyes cold and furious. She spoke harshly. "No offense, sir, but you are not a woman. You do not know what it is like--”

“Dana--”

“I am not finished. If whatever object you conjure to bind us together does not change anything then why is it so important to you? Why do you insist on it before we take things further. It means something, to you at least... and I cannot give that to you."

Wrenching her arm away from his grasp, she stalked towards the hatch in the roof and climbed down as fast as her dress would allow. She did not look back.

Mulder stood there, shocked, the delicate scarf falling from his hand onto the dusty rooftop.

[grahammasurian]

Dumping Your Responsibility.

The dumpster outside my apartment building was completely overflowed. The truck missed a couple weeks for some reason and people just kept piling their shit on top regardless.

“My sin will be forgiven, the next sinner will go to hell!”

This came into my head whenever I thought of the garbage situation. I considered myself 99% innocent since I didn’t use the dumpster during these couple weeks. Unfortunately when disaster happens it doesn’t care how much you were involved, all it sees is your darkness.

What I could have done was call up our landlord. Maybe I didn’t add directly to the trash pile but I still could have brought attention to it. Unfortunately my mind gave me a great reason for not calling him, a wonderful why even bother type of belief. These curses will kill you but they provide immense relief.

He lives someplace nicer and keeps his back turned on this building, so if I don’t tell him anything he’ll keep believing whatever fantasy he’s living. Whenever I bring up something for him to look at he puts it off or conveniently forgets about it, can’t say I blame him. I'd love to do the same sometimes and then feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. It’s hard to convince myself that a life of eternal guilt is worse than a life of hard work. Maybe the simple solution is to just disregard the guilt and make everyone despise me, though I can’t say that seems like a good long term strategy.

I guess everyone likes to avoid responsibility too, don’t get me wrong I get it, because man it sure feels good to not take anything seriously, just sit back and relax through life, I’ll lay down in my bed and fold into a quarter circle. Pull my knees up to my chest and gently hold myself, like swinging in the breeze floating along to somewhere better.

Eventually some birds had a war over the trash that was at this point spilling everywhere, old food, old clothes, plastic shit, maybe real shit. It was a disaster but seemed to be an appropriate punishment for us. I watched a seagull pull apart a bag for 30 minutes, something about the completely boring and ordinary scene held a power over me. I imagined this feeling of our civilizations being consumed again by nature, it’s easy to forget that nature is constantly trying to integrate us more effectively. Integration with an ocean with a mysterious intention.

We could have salvaged things there, rescued some of our dignity and just accepted responsibility for what we did by not doing. I sat some nights debating whether or not I should just go out there and clean up everything alone. I didn’t mind the day, but at night I just loved how things seemed to come to life inside me. There was a power that I didn’t have access to during the day.

I decided it wasn’t worth cleaning up, after all I don’t really care what these people think of me, unless they express it to me. Plus I felt like I fit in better with my environment as a lazy drifter. When I run into the people that live here occasionally there is enough willpower on all our parts to say “Hi” and then move on our way. The two people that live under me, man and wife, maybe around late 50’s early 60’s always give me a glimpse into a possible future. The guy looks like his soul has been sucked out and not in a good way. It scares me for a moment and I tell myself I’ll keep it in mind but my actions don’t change.

The next week after the missed pickup and our experiment with apathy, something happened.

It was 12:33 AM, I was laying down in my bed with the window open, listening to the wind and feeling the slight breeze on my skin. Sometimes I’d lay there for hours listening to music or in silence, using drugs of course. The sounds of the night combined with distant sounds of the city created the backdrop for the worlds I explored in my mind. I break away from the atmosphere and write some ideas down in some form then go back to my mind.

I heard a familiar sound, the mother of this girl screaming in that resentful kind of way. Whenever someone talks that way to me my stomach gets sick, I see this person is using me to escape from something. You know instantly that this isn’t about you anymore, it's about them.

I hated the way this mother yelled at her daughter, I didn’t have kids of my own but I didn’t mind them, I generally see children as innocent beings until they gain awareness. When they become aware they turn into wood, hopefully they make it through and become real but many don’t. Some play as the twisted craftsmen, shaping the world with design. Night after night I’d hear this poor girl being molded into something that will make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

Even though it’s hard to feel connected with darkness, you still elicit feelings for things of the night. You react more on principle and not bigger picture at night, this mother was injecting venom deep into the mind of her daughter. Like a jackass I sat there each night it happened and listened to it like music.

 Being man enough to walk down there one day and call her out on her shitty behavior was always in the back of my mind, but then I would think some more and figure what difference would it make? Sometimes I snap out of my delusions and wake up, I see who I am from up here.

Just look for the right words.

It didn’t happen every time but sometimes this warped girl would dash outside, slamming doors and shouting behind her. Most times I’d hear her small steps pace around or walk down out of earshot then eventually I’d hear her again coming from the other side of the building, maybe doing two or three laps like that before cooling off and gaining enough strength to go back. She feels like she just wants to give up but chooses to continue to face that fate which shows just how much courage she had.

This night the young girl made her usual escape, something about the scene caught my attention. Normally I just ignored it for the most part, but tonight I felt worried for her and listened to see if she was okay.

The shriek of her screaming scared me sober. That kind of pitch that you can only get when you feel real terror.

Confusion at night amplifies fear to a level that can go beyond anything you’ve ever felt. Sometimes hearing a loud noise randomly in the middle of the night only to realize it was something conspicuous is an interesting moment of tension and release of tension. When you listen to death it creates tension that doesn’t go away unless you force it to release.

I couldn’t see much but the sounds made up for the rest, I looked on in horror as this poor unfortunate girl came running towards the front door to come back inside. She must have forgotten to prop it open a little this time like she usually did. The door was shut, she couldn’t escape through there and it was the only chance she had time to try.

This whole thing happened so fast it was as if my mind refused to think about what I was seeing, this bear that must have smelled some food nearby came across her instead.

Hearing someone produce screams that come from a dangerous place, sends a painful shock through you. It would have been nice if I was one of those people that got off on that kind of thing but unfortunately I had to deal with the feelings of misery, dread, sadness, fear, anger, all at once.  

A little bit slower than what should have been immediate there was incredible energy from all around, people coming out and making noise, not too many but enough for me to be impressed.

The general sentiment at the time was:

“Oh My God!” A big fat lady wearing a shaggy blue sweater screeched out. There were many other intense shouts, deflated yelps, sobbing murmurs, all mixing together slowly creating the atmosphere for a tremendously horrific scene.

All these half awake people, semi-disconnected souls felt something deep down within them for once. For the first time in decades some of these hopeless people felt alive, they acted without thought calling back to our primate ancestors. They witnessed a driving force, without realizing the lesson unfortunately.

Some of the people approached the girl to try and attempt some kind of help and others stayed away, accepting the situation or too afraid to know how bad it really was.

Some sobs were heard throughout the night as people came and went, voices that sounded defeated, voices that sounded ready to give up and heavy with guilt.

“Emily! No!” The mother cried. Obviously still drunk. Obviously deluded into thinking her daughter is anywhere close to alive.

“Please baby I’m so sorry! Please wake up baby!”

I had great disdain for this mother, but at that moment I felt bad for her. This woman made mistakes and in the end all it causes is suffering.

They came for her daughter, whisked her away into the abyss forever. Black cloaks riding into the stars on their skeletal horses. I wasn’t sure whether or not the constant beating I was hearing was a drum or my heart. We summoned these demons with our ritual, the choices we made were acts of incantation that brought forth monsters with the power to possess mortals, the possession was the final step in ensuring resurrection lest one of us snap out of the hypnosis and rescue the rest from the gaze of Medusa.

Then some downcast EMT workers took away her body, from the low looks and words after immediately coming upon the scene it was clear that hope didn’t exist anymore. I never saw the aftermath personally, where the actual attack happened was obscured to me by the awning over the door. Sometimes imagination makes things worse.

The mother followed her daughter into the darkness 3 weeks later.

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 5: A Basic Witch (Loki x OFC Pairing)

"So archery, huh? Let me guess, you were born in the wrong century."

Clint glanced back at me while flying Tony's "borrowed" flying thing I wasn't quite sure was a plane or jet. "You might actually be worse than Tony with those quips of yours."

"You love it really," I teased.

"Love is a strong word, I tolerate it...moreso with a raise."

I cackled. "They not paying you enough to put up with me? Gotta feed the kids somehow though, right? Have you thought about being a hooker, they're always hiring."

"Do you want him to shoot you?" asked Loki though he had a smirk on the entire time I was bugging Clint.

"I could keep talking but then I took an arrow to the knee," I jested. "Not quite the ring I was hoping for there."

"You know, I read about you people," Clint commented.

"What do you mean 'you people'?"

"Necromancers. Don't you normally require certain things to do what you do? Google images suggest you need a staff at the very least."

I snorted but also took out my new smartphone Tony was nice enough to give me and looked up what people thought necromancers looked like, allowing Loki to see what I see as well. "We also apparently only wear black attire and wear bone jewelry. Really? That's still a stereotype? Bone jewelry? Okay some voodoo practitioners might wear that for shock value but it doesn't have any real purpose and more important is super fucking tacky. We're already made of bones, why do we need more and why wear them on the outside if we need more, they're brittle as fuck, especially if they're old. This is where you got your info from, Clint?"

"Not exclusively," he tried to recover.

"So I'm expected to wear the least practical attire and accessories all time? You any idea how much I stick out looking like Skeletor's little sister here without wearing all black all time while dragging some long metal or wood staff like I'm Sarumon summoning orcs against Rohan. Sure I might blend in well enough at night in all black but the stealth is gone with all the bone jewelry rattling with each movement. Let's just throw some chains in there too, I'm sure they won't see me coming then. Seriously, who comes up with this bullshit? When you caught Loki, did you ask if he gave birth to a horse too?"

"You don't think I did?" Loki responded in amusement while snatching my phone and scrolling through all the depictions of what people thought I'd look like.

"From what I'm told, your adoptive father is too arrogant and vain to ride a horse you created."

"Clever girl. You are correct, that is a myth created to deface me more than they already have. Surprisingly he didn't ask me anything, too busy plotting my death after I got in his head."

"Someone's a sore loser," I mused under my breath so only Loki could hear me. "We there yet? And did you find any actual facts about 'my people' or just what the internet told you?"

"We're nearly there....and I'll let you know when I do," Clint muttered.

"We used to need instruments like a staff or something to be fair," I told Loki quietly. "But they are an eyesore for everyone and can easily get lost, stolen, or broken so we adapted and found another way to channel power. You need three things typically, well two now but at one point it was a staff to channel, a jewel to draw from and collect, and a blade to end it all."

"You don't have any of those though, do you? You were found with just what they told you to wear and what powers you had in you. They didn't..."

"You need to be a necromancer to even know what to do with those three let alone wield them for their intended purpose but no, never had a staff for obvious and previously listed reasons. My blade is kept hidden until I need it which thus far I haven't, as for the jewel...that's hidden elsewhere as well." I stopped at a fanart pic of a necromancer wearing all three items in an over the top armored black robe surrounded by bones. "Well that's just pretentious. Who goes around wearing everything they need to gain the upper hand out for all to see?"

"What about that one? I could see you wearing that," Loki purred, pointing to one necromancer woman wearing a cloak and more or less a black leather bikini while raising a skull above her.

"I bet you could, I wouldn't be caught living in that, nice try."

"Alright, we're here as requested, everyone out of my jet," Clint called back to us.

I opened my mouth to point out it was once again Tony's plane but Loki just held up a hand and shook his head, sometimes it was better to just roll with it. "You've damaged his ego enough, let him dream a little." The plane landed in a park that had been conveniently shut off from the public, probably Tony's doing and we hopped out. I took one long deep breath and smiled at scent of fresh salty sea air and a little bit more. Loki stepped out behind me, in his ironically all black suit in place of armor or leisure robes but he didn't seem to stick out in them, just rocked them like a death metal band, hardcore.

"You feel that?" I murmured under my breath so Clint wouldn't know what we were talking to.

"You're right, there is something otherworldly about this place, something strong but subtle."

"Alright you two, I'll be watching you but won't get in your way unless I have to, go and explore Salem," Clint informed us.

I grinned and lead Loki into the heart of witch city. I took him to all my favorite little shops, both the tourist traps and the legit ones where wiccan things are sold, to some of the museums, explained more of the city's history and how it became a safe haven for those with magic in their blood. Eventually we stopped by where the final resting place of the victims were, the memorial stones that often had fresh flowers resting on so they'd never be forgotten. It was empty beside myself, Loki, and the dead so I dropped to my knees then in front of the small stone gated graveyard, my hands digging into the ground to feel for any unrest and breathed out. Let those who linger rest easy and those with unrest tell me how I can help. My eyes shot open completely white as the unquiet spirits came forward. I could feel Loki watching me from where he stood some feet back but kept my attention to the unseen souls asking for peace. When I did all I could for them, my eyes faded back to their normal murky color and I slowly stood up and brushed myself off, signalling Loki to walk over and beside me.

"All of these people were innocent?" he asked me quietly.

"This wasn't about actual magic, this was about fear and power, this is what you get when you mix religion and politics, the innocent burn while the guilty rises."

"And now people celebrate here what their ancestors were accused of."

"I like to think of it as saying fuck you, we are the children of witches you didn't burn."

"Brilliant," he breathed out. "You're right, I do like this place already."

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right, the sooner you accept it, the happier we'll both be for it."

Loki chuckled but didn't disagree. "When did you find out about this place?"

"As a kid, everyone's taught about the Salem Witch Trials in school, we were then driven there for a field trip like this to see for ourselves. There's many places of magic in America, but this is my absolute favorite place ever. This is my home." I paused mid stroll, took a deep breath in, closed my eyes and opened my arms, welcoming the wonders of witch city.

"Do you hear a high pitched squealing noise?" murmured Loki while watching me embrace my inner witch.

I didn't get a chance to reply as I was suddenly knocked several feet to the side and off my own feet by a pair of boobs with arms attached them engulfing me. "You're alive!" a familiar voice cried in joy.

"Not for much longer if you keep that up," I grumbled, stumbling back onto my feet and straightening up to meet a more familiar face. I was then hugged again and then roughly shaken around almost angrily. "Not everything you love is a fucking cocktail, stop shaking me!"

"Where the hell have you been, woman? We all thought you were killed off or burnt yourself out like the ones that went missing! You left without warning, no calls, no texts, not even a damned email I would've accepted, not a damned thing!" the tall Louisianan woman shaking me around exclaimed.

"Would you believe I was away on business?"

"Your business is here, try again."

"Attacked by ninjas?"

"This ain't feudal Japan."

"Chuck Norris with a bbgun?"

She just glared at me with her hands on her hips tapping a foot impatiently.

"Hydra got me midflight back home."

"Fo realz? How'd they know?"

"Someone had to have tipped them off, I used my aliases the entire time, kept low profile, all that jazz."

She had to sigh and drop the frown in acceptance and squeezed me hard again. "It has been soooo boring without you causing trouble around here, are you back for good?"

I picked up the frown she dropped and shook my head sadly. "Day trip, didn't get out of Hydra on my own, out of the fire and into the frying pan."

"By who?"

I glance back at Loki who was closely watching the two of us, not sure if she was friend or foe to him and the team. "Avengers plus one."

"So that's why it's been boring, you took all the fun with you and didn't think to share, as always."

"Bitch I ain't your source of entertainment, get your own damn rescue team."

"Sharing is caring."

"Do you see the care on my face?"

"I missed your face, can you believe that? I got addicted to IZombie just so I could see someone that looked like you."

"Not the first show I got you hooked on, I regret nothing there."

"Your face though..." she now turned her attention to the god watching from the sidelines. "You're not from around these parts, are you?"

"Where I'm from has been completely destroyed," he replied stiffly.

"Didn't you try to take New York City ages back?"

Before Loki could defend himself, I decided to step in. "Let she who is without a body count, cast the first stone."

"What? I'm not judging, I don't like NYC either but you are the same guy right? God of mischief and alien invasions?"

"I might be," Loki spoke up. "And who are you that seems to know Nell so well."

"I'm her best friend, Zari."

Something clicked in my head about what she said moment earlier then and before more introductions were made, I spoke up. "Hold up, they burnt out?"

Zari blinked and recalled what I brought up and arched an eyebrow. "When they were found they were shells and around their remains was all dead, that has to be it, they burnt out like overrused acid leaking batteries."

"All of the missing?" I murmured.

"All except you...what are you thinking?"

"My zombie senses are tingling. This doesn't feel like a coincidence, that's doesn't feel like an accident either. How many of us are left?"

"A fourth of what we started as."

"We're becoming an endangered species."

"You always wanted to be a tiger as a kid, now you got something in common with them besides a body count."

I scowled or attempted to, I did love tigers after all. "Hunted to near extinction wasn't what I had in mind."

She snickered and glanced at the amused god before returning her attention back to me. "So here for today at least, you show him all the cool places I hope."

I pretended to look offended and held a hand to my chest. "It's like you don't know me at all."

"Either way, there's a few places you missed that I'm sure you'd love to see," she nudged me with a wicked look in her eyes and I instantly knew what she meant.

"By all means, lead the way."

She took us to a small cafe she worked at that actually had a hidden passage way underneath the kitchen and leading to the Hawthorne Hotel, away from Clint's prying eyes for once so we all settled down in a nice suite permanently reserved under Zari's name. There we caught up and explained stuff to Loki we trusted him but not the Avengers with...for reasons. Zari was actually more a witch or voodoo priestess, not as powerful or naturally gifted as a necromancer but still pretty damn dangerous with her own form of death magic.

"Barton probably called in the cavalry in our absence," Loki muttered. "We should return to the open before the Avengers ruin the day again."

"We probably should, would hate for them to ruin my happy place. We should go somewhere public and totally open so they look like idiots before they yell at us though," I suggested.

"That can be arranged easy enough, well done. Zari, it has been a pleasure."

"Look after her, Loki. And Nell...don't let the bastards get you down," she reminded me.

I grinned. "Nevah." I took Loki's outstretched hand once more and green mist swirled around us before we popped up by a bench looking out at the sea by the Waterfront Hotel. I smiled again and didn't let go of his hand, I could feel the ocean then, feel the sun, the sea, everything that drew me to it before I died. "Some day," I murmured.

Loki gave my hand a squeeze and didn't let go as well but kissed the top of it. "I'll make sure of it. Here they come."

Right on cue, Clint followed by Nat and slightly annoyed Steve jogged over to us, all looking different shades of unhappy. We both turned and looked at them innocently while Clint breathed a sign of relief, Nat just rolled her eyes at us, but of course the do-gooder Steve looked like a father about to reprimand his child for sneaking out the window after being grounded.

"You know, while we were hunting you down, I gotta say, this place has its charms," Nat noted.

"Of course it does, can't be a witch without some," I informed her. "Who here likes seafood?"

Steve opened his mouth most likely to lecture me on staying in sight but bless Clint for thinking with his stomach after a long boring day of watching me and Loki frolic around town. His hand shot up almost as fast as his arrows shoot forward so I led the little team to the Oyster Bar by the Waterfront. "Ah food, my second favorite four letter F word."

Eventually it was time to return to homebase as the gang led us back to the jet and I found myself surprisingly worn out from the day of fun, leaning against Loki on the ride back. I found myself too tired to walk out myself when we landed and Loki immediately scooped me up and carried me out of the jet and into the main building himself. My eyes got heavier each second but somehow I could still hear what was going on.

"Clint tells me he lost sight of you two for a bit, you care to explain that?" Tony was demanding.

"Do I care to? Not really since you asked. He got distracted by one of the local performing street witches most likely, did you know theres one going around in full witch garb on rollerblades? Very amusing to say the least," Loki replied smoothly.

"Oh I'm aware Salem is full of weirdoes."

"Which is exactly why you weren't invited, you boring old fart," I muttered, burying my head against Loki's chest to try and drown out their voices only for Loki to laugh against me.

"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady," mused Tony. "I'll have you know I've been voted the world's most interesting man many times."

"And Trump's been voted for president, votes here don't mean shit so you're bragging rights right now are kinda in the crapper."

"Go back to sleep."

I turned to face him in Loki's arms just to stick my tongue out but curled back into Loki after. "Have a good night, don't let the zombies bite."

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 5 - A Broken Princess

This one is angsty like... all over. That was not the plan. I regret nothing. Feel free to shout at me in the notes and in my askbox:)

Also, thanks to @persony-pepper for betaing this chapter!

Summary: Ciri does neither trust nor like Jaskier, so Geralt has to try and talk with his old friend. 

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 7

He would lie if he said he wasn't relieved that Jaskier had agreed to him training Ciri. The week before had been nothing short of torture, and Geralt was slowly going mad without any task to set his mind upon. And it wasn't even like the winters in Kaer Morhen where there was always something to fix, always someone to train with, always some creature to hunt. The ancient ruin was a wild place with more than enough opportunities to keep a witcher occupied.

Lettenhove Hall was none of that. It was a well-kept castle with enough servants to see to every minor inconvenience. There were no monsters either and while the guards were friendly enough, they didn't seem to look forward to training with him.

He had found out that there were twenty of them in total, quite a lot for a castle as small as Lettenhove. Besides the occasional piercing glare, though, their interactions were non-existent. He could leave the castle, he had discovered, without so much as a blink from the garrison. 'At least I am no prisoner,' he remembered thinking relieved; but there wasn't really anywhere to go. He had ventured out a few times to explore Jaskier's lands but that had become boring quickly enough. Only once he had been reminded not to stray too far, as the viscount expected him for dinner in just an hour. Generally speaking, Geralt was fine with that. Only bored.

He was in the stables a lot, enjoying the quiet company of the horses and Wiktor. Sometimes the old equerry even asked him to take one of the noble horses for a ride, if the Pankratz siblings neglected them for too long.

Józefa still came by almost every day, trying to seduce him, but he could tell that she wasn't really trying anymore. He almost hoped she would. Instead their conversations had turned to playful banter from her part that he answered with silence, grunts and the occasional barbed remark. It might have been fun if it didn't emphasise the fetterless behaviour he and Jaskier had shared. Being treated quite similarly by his sister, who resembled the bard in everything but looks, made their estranged relationship all the more painful.

So, Geralt was glad that he could train Ciri now. He finally had something to do again, although that had not been his plan. He had hoped that Vesemir could instruct her, and that his brothers would help. That would have been nice. He also already feared the tongue-lashing that awaited him once Vesemir saw all the bad habits Ciri learned from him. It didn’t matter how many years passed since he had left Vesemir’s care and Kaer for good, his old teacher always found things to critique him for.

Now that he had a student for himself, he began to understand it. He had permission to chase her across the courtyard and snap at her for her sloppy poses and weak slashes for the entire morning, from breakfast until lunch — Jaskier had told him in no uncertain terms that he would have no repetition of that first day, though he didn't mention why. Geralt had suspicions, mainly having to do with the fact that Jaskier was very irritated when Geralt berated Ciri harshly. And that he was much more amenable when they didn't cross blades quite as often, reducing the noise to a minimum.

Geralt was fairly happy with standing at the sidelines, although he caught himself embarrassingly often mimicking Vesemir's poses. And his comments. And even his damned tone, Melitele's tits.

To avoid that, he had taken to tracing the buttercup carved into the pommel of his sword, wondering for how long Jaskier had gone by that ridiculous name. He didn’t know when he had started thinking of it as his sword. He also wasn't sure which of the two new habits was worse.

It was his third day of training Ciri. Shortly after lunch, from which Jaskier remained absent, Geralt was just changing into what had deemed his stable clothes when he heard some kind of noise next door.

Geralt sighed and quickly pulled the shirt over his head before knocking on Ciri's door.

"Fuck off," he heard her swear and he winced. The cuss words had been a bad idea; she was taking too much after him already.

"Ci- Fiona, it's me. You better be dressed, ‘cause I'm coming in." He turned the doorknob and cursed quietly when he found it locked. "Open up!" he demanded.

"I don't want to," she answered.

"You're supposed to go riding with Lord Julian."

"I don't want to!"

"He's even gifted you a new riding cloak-"

"I don't want it!" Ciri shouted. "I don't want any of it! Leave me alone."

Geralt sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the door. 'What the fuck was I thinking?' he asked himself not for the first — and surely not the last time. He had just seen what disaster the law of surprise brought, why the fuck had he claimed it? From the Lioness of Cintra's son-in-law no less. 'If there ever was going to be a bratty child,' he thought glumly, 'it was destined to be this one.'

He took a deep breath and told himself: 'Remember Kaer Morhen. At least it's not snot-nosed Lambert.' That made him feel a bit better.

After a few moments he tried again: "Do you want to... talk about it?" Gods, what was this child doing to him? 'I really love you, Ciri. You better fucking appreciate it.'

There was a quiet sniffle. "You don't do ‘talking’."

"Hmmm," he made. "Not if I can avoid it. Gotta take care of my pup, though. Cub." There was a beat of silence. "I can go get somebody else-" Before he could finish that sentence, the door opened and the air was punched out of his lungs as Ciri dove in for a hug. "There," he said, awkwardly patting her back, "that's better." He looked around for passing servants and when he heard footsteps, he simply picked her up and walked over to her bed after closing the door behind him.

Geralt gently cradled his child surprise in his arms and held her while she cried. She hadn't cried for quite some time now, not since their arrival in Lettenhove, but now the scent of salt-sadness and onion-grief was overwhelming.

He had never felt so helpless as when the concoction had first startled him awake, not three days after finding her. Ciri had just laid on her side, quietly crying into her bedroll and Geralt had had no idea what to do. His first instinct had been to go back to sleep and leave her her privacy but then — and he firmly believed it to be an accident — she had weakly croaked: "Help- Grandmother- Geralt-!" He had never been on his feet faster, scrambling to her side, afraid to get too close, afraid to startle her, afraid to hold her. "What can I do?" he had pleaded. "Tell me, what can I do?" And then, to his never-ending surprise, she had crawled into his arms — 'No, that's wrong, children hate witchers.' — and hugged him close, drenching his shirt with her tears.

Once, after, he had asked her if she was still scared of their pursuers. There had been only one answer: "I'm not scared anymore. You're scarier than all my nightmares." That had been the day Geralt had discovered that he was a coward. He never dared ask why she didn't reek of fear, then.

He had never gotten better at comforting the little cub since that first night. Somehow, she still relaxed faster every time. 'That's wrong,' his traitorous head snarled, 'she shouldn't. No child should feel safe with a witcher close.' Only, this one did. She had never smelt of fear, not after she first set eyes on him. 'Like Jaskier.' And like Jaskier she had wormed her way into his heart way too fast.

After a while the crying stopped. "Are you alright, little cub?" he whispered.

Ciri looked up at him, tears drying on her cheek. "Geralt... do we have to stay here?"

Something in his chest tightened. 'Oh no,' he thought. "We're safe here," he said slowly. "Lord Julian will protect us. Until the snow thaws."

"Hmm," she made. Another bad habit she got from him and he felt his knees grow weak. 'What am I supposed to do when she wants to leave? I can't- We can't- We won't make it.'

"You can trust him," he tried again. "He-" He wanted to say: 'He would give his life for ours.' But then he realised that he didn't know if that was true anymore. "He is a man of his word," he said instead.

"I think he doesn't like me," she confessed quietly.

"Now that's just untrue," Geralt frowned. "Lord Julian adores you. And he's done a lot of nice things for you."

She shook her head adamantly. "I think he doesn't like me because I came here with you. He doesn't like you."

'Oh.' His heart clenched painfully. She was smarter than it was any good for her. He should have known that he couldn't keep it from her. "That's true," he admitted. "At the moment. He'll come around. Eventually."

"Why?" she asked earnestly. "I thought you were friends."

"I-" he faltered. How could he even begin to describe what they were? What they had been? 'What we are now.' He hung his head in shame. "We were. I think. And I've done a bad thing. That I know."

"And he's angry?" Ciri's eyes were blown wide.

"Very," Geralt confessed quietly, "and rightfully so."

"What did you do?" There was no reproach in her voice, no accusation. Only... compassion. Somehow that made him feel even worse.

"It's complicated."

"Did you cheat at knucklebones?"

That almost made him laugh. "No. Worse."

"Did you cheat at Gwent?"

"No, Ciri-"

She gasped. "Did you cheat on him?"

"I'm not- we're not-" He sighed. "That's not it either."

"What could be worse than that?"

"I... I wasn't very nice to him. For a long time. I said mean things. And I yelled at him."

Ciri frowned. "I don't understand. My grandparents did that all the time!"

"Yeah, me too, but- it was different with... with us. I hurt him. I don't think I can explain."

"Can't you try?" she pleaded.

"I am trying, Ciri. I'm sorry." Geralt sighed quietly. "I'll talk to him. Alright?"

"Good." She smiled at him, all child-like and innocent and naive. 'She is all of that,' he reminded himself. "I can hold you when you cry, too, you know,” she said solemnly. “You can't sit in my lap but I can hug you. My arms can fit around your chest, look!” She embraced him to prove it. “If you want to, that is."

There was a thick lump in his throat he didn't know what to do with. "I- thanks. That's very nice." He swallowed, hoping it would make the lump go away. It didn't. "Why uh- why don't you go find Marta to tell her you won't go riding with Lord Julian?"

She ducked her head. "Can you do that? Please? I'd rather be alone for a while." He nodded. That was better. That, at least, he could understand.

"Yeah, sure." Somehow the lump got even worse. "I'll- I'll be in the stables if you need me. I'll see you… later." Reluctantly he got up and placed her on the bed. She took a book from her nightstand — where had she gotten that from? — and smiled at him encouragingly before he closed the door.

It was surprisingly hard to leave her behind to hunt down Marta. Thrice he turned around to go back to her, to make sure that she really was okay and thrice he reminded himself that she would tell him if there was something he could do.

It was in the well house that he stumbled upon Marta, the poor woman in evident distress. "Witcher!" she said and he noted that the smell of fear had gotten less than last time. "I am looking for his Lordship's cousin, have you seen her?"

"She won't be able to go ride with him," he told her. "She is- indisposed."

"Oh." She faltered. "Is she quite alright?"

"I believe so. She just isn't in the mood for company."

"Oh," the serving girl said again. "Then, uh-" The scent of fear flared up again. "I guess I'll better tell his lordship."

"Hm," Geralt made. He could do that just as well. Get the whole conversation over with. Then again, he should probably go and- sort out all about the sorry state he was in. A few hours with the horses should do the trick. He would go talk to Jaskier later.

He shouldered past Marta and quickly slipped into the stables, relieved that Jaskier was nowhere to be seen. He needed some time to himself, too. 

The steady work of brushing down the horses granted him exactly that. It was easy for him to slip into an almost meditative state of mind, ignoring the busy stable hands walking about, going after their own tasks.

That was also why he didn't respond to the calls until a hand dug rather harshly into his shoulder. "Witcher," Janina Pankratz hissed, "I am talking to you."

He turned towards her slowly, immediately overwhelmed with the sour stench of fear and hatred like the smell of infected wounds. "My lady? I was caught up in my thoughts."

She snorted. "I could see that plainly."

He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he asked: "Why are you here, my lady?" He hadn't seen her in the stables yet, and if he was honest, he hadn't thought she would go inside. No matter how well they mucked out the boxes, the place always seemed a bit too dirty for a lady as she was.

"I wanted to talk to you."

'Gods above, anything but that.' He swallowed the sour grimace down. "About what?"

"My lady."

"Excuse me?"

She pursed her lips. "My brother might let your lack of manners slide, but I won't. You will address me correctly."

He ground his teeth. "Sure. About what, my lady?"

"Gods, can't you even form whole sentences?" she sighed.

"I could," he answered. "But I won't. My lady."

Janina Pankratz sneered and for a moment he thought she was about to raise her hand at him. But then, she took a deep breath and said with a surprisingly calm voice: "Our cousin you delivered to our gates. You get along well with her."

"Yes, I do. My lady."

"How?"

His eyebrows twitched upwards. 'You don't have time for a tale nearly as long, my lady,' he thought. 'Nor do you care enough for it.' But even he knew he couldn't say that. So instead he answered: "I am kind to her, my lady. I do not laugh, nor scowl, nor raise my voice at her. I tell her jokes and stories and smile when she is funny. I listen to her." 'I hold her when she cries.' He didn't dare to say that. "That is all, I think. My lady."

She wrinkled her nose and for a moment it was as if he was looking at Jaskier's mirror image. 'If she smiled,' he caught himself thinking, 'they could be mistaken for twins.' But then again, Jaskier didn't smile either, at the moment. "That is quite a lot," she replied.

'That is nothing,' he thought. "I reckoned you wanted a true answer, my lady."

"Now, I do not have nearly enough time for that," she answered. "I need you to get her to like me. Starting with that she won't swear at me any longer."

He couldn't keep from snorting. "And why would I do that? My lady."

"Because else, I will ensure that your miserable life will be even more miserable from now on."

"His Lordship won't like that."

"His Lordship won't know that."

'Are you sure about that?' he thought and raised an eyebrow. "What have I even done to you? You have despised me from the moment I stepped over the threshold of Ja- Lord Julian's castle."

He felt a tiny bit of satisfaction when he saw her face twist into an offended grimace at the mention of Jaskier's claim over the fortress. "Maybe so," she responded, "the crimes your kind has committed against me and mine are more heinous than any human could imagine." She gave him an once over. "Not too heinous for you, tough, I reckon."

'Ah. That old song again.' He ducked his head obediently. "If you say so, my lady."

"Oh, so you do know respect. You really should teach that girl you have brought with you some," she said coldly, "Before Lord Pankratz will beat it into her."

Geralt paled. "He wouldn't-"

"He would. He knows the effectiveness of that particular treatment quite well himself, after all." She turned on her heel and left the stables the same moment he felt the brush crack and splinter in his hand.

Geralt had quite enough, he decided, as he threw the useless brush away and rushed out of the stables and up to his rooms to get his sword. He needed to put its edge to... something.

Followed only by the curious looks of the guardsmen, Geralt strode out of the main gates, his scabbard slung loosely over his shoulder. He left the road quickly enough, just fleeing from that wretched castle with that wretched inhabitants and that wretched atmosphere.

Just out of earshot, he pulled the steel sword free and swung it against an innocent tree with such a force that the whole trunk quivered. He didn't even know what exactly had managed to work him into such a rage, but at that moment he didn't particularly care. He just was glad that he had found an opponent who would neither complain nor break while he hacked away at it.

He didn't know how long he had been doing that before he was interrupted: "Ho, witcher!" There was the sound of a horse coming to a halt. "Shouldn't you rather use an axe for that?"

Geralt grunted and twirled around, his steel sword pointed at the poor soul that had picked that unfortunate moment to come his way. The guard on the other end seemed unimpressed and simply pressed the blade away. "What is it? Do you regret talking me into letting you in already?"

He blinked stupidly, before lowering the weapon. Of course, he knew the man. It was the guard who had opened the gates to them. Geralt grunted: "Immensely."

"And here I thought you— what was it you said? — 'a friend of his lordship's son'? Has your 'friend' scorned you?"

"We're not- on good terms at the moment."

The guard laughed. "Yeah, we are aware. You're quite the talk of the castle. But you've already been that before arriving." He shrugged. "Never seen Master Julian quite like this before."

"Me neither."

"Apologies. I have forgotten that you've known him longer than I do. So." He clapped his hands. "What has the little brat done now?"

Geralt stared in surprise, taking in the man standing before him. He wouldn't have judged him much older than Jaskier himself but then again, he had never been good at judging the age of humans. "Wasn't him," he snapped.

"Ah." A wicked grin spread on his face. "Lady Janina."

Geralt hummed his assent, wondering how he'd known.

"Don't worry," the guard said gleefully, "we've all been there before. She's not half as bad once you get to know her."

He snorted. 'I doubt that anyone really 'knows' her.'

"There's nothing you can do about it for now. Just take it and suck it up."

Geralt nodded. He knew how to do that.

"I'm Marin by the way." He stuck his hand out and Geralt wracked his brain, trying to remember where he had heard that name before.

"Geralt." He took the offered hand.

"Let me know if you ever want to swing your sword at something livelier than a trunk. I'd love to have fought a witcher once in my life."

The snort was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I'd wipe the floor with you."

"Bold words for a man who could barely stand upright a week ago," he teased. "Come back to the castle with me and we'll see about that?"

Geralt looked back at the tree he had massacred. Fighting a human guard was no replacement for his brothers in Kaer Morhen but at least he would put up a fight. He shrugged and sheathed his sword, turning to walk back to the castle with him. To his surprise, Marin fell in step beside him instead of mounting his horse again.

"How did you even find me?" Geralt asked.

"Poacher in the area," he answered. "Lord Pankratz asked me to track him down."

He grunted.

"Don't worry, Geralt. There won't be any consequences, most likely. Well, besides a stern talking to and the lad being sent home with a bag full of food for his family." He shrugged. "His Lordship's got a soft heart. Softer than most."

"Too soft," Geralt growled before he could stop himself.

The guardsman shrugged. "Probably. You're good with horses, yeah?" he asked.

Geralt hummed. "Not half bad, I guess."

"You must be. Wiktor won't let anyone ride their majesties. Not even his second in command. I guess I'll have to ask his Lordship for a new one in spring. This beauty won't make it much longer."

"Old?" he asked, trying to mask his surprise. With the fear Marta seemed to possess of her lord, he hadn't expected Jaskier's guards to be nearly as comfortable asking for something as expensive as a horse. On the other hand, most of the people in Lettenhove seemed to regard Jaskier with polite respect — not the blind fear that reigned almost everywhere else.

"And weary," Marin added. "Got him almost twenty years ago, when I joined Lord Alfred's guard, may he rest in peace."

"You've always been here?"

"Pretty much," he shrugged. "I was born up in the Hall, son of a kitchen wench and Old Lord Julian, his Lordship’s grandfather that is, if the rumours are true. And the rumours are always true when it comes to the bedwarmers of the Lord." He laughed. "Well, mostly."

Geralt shot him a look. He wasn't actually interested, he told himself, just polite.

Thankfully, Marin didn’t need much encouragement: "We expected half the personnel to end up in Lord Julian's bed within a moon's turn of his arrival - he’s got quite a reputation, after all. But he leaves the girls and boys alone. Good lad.” There was a slight pause before he continued: “And, well..." He grinned sheepishly. "I think we all lost a fair share of money with your arrival. Borys, the idiot, said you'd fuck him right then and there-"

Geralt felt his ears grow hot and quickly snapped: "We're not like that!" He was definitely not comfortable discussing- any of this, really, with anyone. The thought that there were not-so-secret discussions about them-

"Really?" The look of surprise on Marin’s face was genuine. "Could've fooled me. Well, I've got my bet still running, I said-"

"Marin..." he growled menacingly.

"Right," the guard answered and the tiniest smell of fear wavered off him. "Taking the hint..." They stepped through the gates and he handed the reins of his horse to a stable boy.

"Welcome back, captain," one of the other guards greeted him. 'Ah,' Geralt thought. 'Fuck.' "Any luck with the poacher?"

"Not yet, Borys" Marin answered and turned to Geralt. "So, about that spar..."

He shook his head. "Gotta talk to Lord Julian before," he answered. "Any idea where to find him?"

The captain of the guard made a gesture that Geralt roughly interpreted as 'fuck if I know' and shrugged. "His study?"

His study was usually a good place to start looking for Jaskier. He was there, mostly — no matter what time of day it was. It was quite worrying, if he was honest, how late the viscount still worked at times. And work he had to, for Geralt was now certain that no one in Lettenhove Hall shared his bed.

That was one of the many things that had changed since Geralt's return. Jaskier's unmistakable smell — as well as his apparent new-found aversion to frequently changing bedfellows. As long as Geralt had known him, the bard had smelt of honey-sweet happiness and cinnamon arousal and not much else. He hadn't caught a single whiff of that yet at his home.

When he stepped out onto the courtyard again, it was Borys who called to him: "Witcher! His Lordship's on the rampart if you're looking for him. Doesn't want to be disturbed, though."

Geralt ignored that council — he had made Ciri a promise after all and climbed the walls, taking two steps at a time. No one tried to stop him.

It took him a while to walk around the battlements, but he found Jaskier eventually on the west side facing the setting sun. He sat between two merlons and the sight of him dangling one leg over the side made Geralt's heart skip a beat and his feet tingle, his body burning with the pressing need to pull him away from the edge. But then the air carried over Jaskier's scent and for a moment the overwhelming scent of honey was like a punch in the gut.

Geralt almost turned around to leave Jaskier to his moment of bliss — he knew that there were not nearly enough of those in the viscount's life at the moment. The thought alone hurt much worse than any wound he had ever been dealt. Jaskier, the ever-laughing bard, who knew more ways to make Geralt smile than anyone else combined, who had spent hours pestering him for just a little bit of relaxation (not happiness, that would be too much to ask), who never failed to make anyone laugh until their sides hurt, whose smile was like sunshine on a rainy day — his bard Jaskier, had forgotten how to be happy. Who was he to destroy that precious moment of contentment?

'I promised it,' he reminded himself again and moved forward. He made sure to make the heels of his new boots clack on the floor (they had just appeared in his room one morning, the perfect size and fit as he preferred it, without explanation, and Jaskier had been absent for the entire day) to announce his presence.

"My lord," he greeted him, "is there room for one more?"

The effect of his words — his presence — was instant. Jaskier didn't even have to look at him, in the blink of an eye all the honey was washed away, instead replaced by salt and bitterness. 'The taste of tears and willow bark.' Jaskier opened his eyes, and for a moment, he thought there were tears on his cheeks. 'Please, no, Melitele have mercy. I can't go through this again today.' But then, his not-friend made an inviting gesture and the glistening in his eyes grew lesser. 

Geralt leaned against the merlon facing him, observing Jaskier’s placid expression. "I see you are enjoying the quiet, my lord," he said after a while. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not quite sure if I would call it enjoying, witcher." He closed his eyes again and shivered visibly when a gust of wind blew over the wall. 'He hasn't even brought a cloak,' Geralt noticed, vowing to bring a blanket the next time. "But I have to admit it has a certain crude charm. Just like the woods. I have grown fond of the wild it seems."

"And yet you have exchanged it for a cozy castle."

"I was under the impression the wild did not return my affection." The bitter taste of willow bark-pain grew stronger.

Geralt grunted to hide the anguish that flashed through his body. 'I never wanted to,' he thought, foolishly wishing for Jaskier to be able to read his thoughts again.

"Talk to me, witcher," Jaskier commanded. "I fear the quiet has lost its appeal."

"About what?"

Jaskier waved his hand dismissively. "Think of something. A story, perhaps. What did you do today?"

"Trained your cousin," he answered dutifully, "Been to the stables. Been threatened by your sister. Ciri as well. Your new horse is a bit slow, my lord."

“Oh, she will regret that…” he murmured. Then, after a while he said: "You have ridden Pegasus?" Jaskier cracked one eye open. "Wiktor won't let me go near him!" The indignation in his voice made Geralt sigh a breath of relief. He was always glad to see the remnants of the person he had known for so long under the stoic facade of the viscount.

"Well, you can ruin a new horse if you don't know what you're doing."

He opened his other eye, too. "Are you saying I am a bad rider?"

'I know you aren't.' Jaskier was a frequent face in the stables, either to sneak the horses too many treats while the stable boys stood uncomfortably to the side, unsure if they could reprimand their lord for missteps that would earn them a good beating from Wiktor, or to borrow one of the horses. He knew that Jaskier didn't have any real preferences besides always shunning his father's steed, Titan. He also knew that he liked to ride fast. And Geralt knew that his heart skipped a beat whenever he saw Jaskier leap into the saddle and speed out of the gates. He was, however, also fairly certain that Jaskier had no idea what to do with Pegasus while he was not broken to the bridle yet. "I am saying that you need to know how to train a yearling to ride a yearling."

"And you know how to do that?"

"Do you think horses just come trained not to fear most monsters and to follow a whistle already?"

Jaskier nodded. "Colour me impressed, witcher. Who would have thought a liar as atrocious as yourself could keep such a secret from the man who followed his every step for over half of his life?"

Geralt grunted, fully aware of the not-so-hidden reproach in his words.

"Use your words, witcher." 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."

Jaskier sighed heavily and the scent of sadness grew so thick Geralt thought he must choke. "Neither am I..."

Once Geralt had collected himself, he asked casually: "How's your cousin, my lord?"

Jaskier very nearly pouted. "She doesn't like me."

He snorted. "Funny. She's saying the same about you."

"What am I doing wrong?" He frowned. "She's a very frightened child, yet you and Józefa get to talk to her."

Geralt smiled softly. "Do you want my honest advice?"

"In this case, I fear I am in desperate need of it."

"Just be yourself. She likes... nice things. I thought you might bond over that."

"I tried that. But whatever I do, she is not overly impressed."

"Hm," he made.

Jaskier didn't answer anything for a while. But what he said then, made Geralt very nearly lose his footing and make him tumble over the battlements: "She doesn't like me because she thinks I don't like you." The viscount turned his face towards him. "Isn't that right?"

"Hmm," Geralt made. 'That is pretty spot on,' he thought. "When did you become so good at reading people?"

"Long before I met you." Jaskier looked over his lands again. "You were the only person I was ever wrong about."

"How so, my lord?"

"From the moment I saw you, I thought you to be incapable of hurting anyone wilfully." A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Never have I regretted a misconception more in my entire life."

Geralt swallowed around the thick lump forming in his throat, unsure what to say or if Jaskier was even waiting for a response.

Evidently, he was, for he sighed a short moment after and got to his feet. "Good night, witcher," he whispered before vanishing down the stairs.

"Good night, my lord," he echoed into the lonely evening. What on earth was he supposed to do with that?

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Seventeen

Dean isn’t even sure he believes in God. 

That sure as shit doesn’t stop him from showing up at the church every day. He sits in the silence of the times between services, surrounded by warm wood and golden light. The quiet in here doesn’t feel as drowning as it does back in his apartment. Sometimes, Dean felt like this was the only place he could really take a deep breath and be. 

It was something about the way the place was built. The idea that people sat in these exact same spots hundreds of years ago, looking for guidance or comfort. No matter how bad things got, this church was still here. Still standing. 

No matter how low Dean got, no matter how many days he spent in bed or didn’t brush his teeth or forgot to eat, the church would always be here.

“Hello, Dean.” 

And maybe there’s another reason he keeps sticking around here. Not that he’s ever going to admit that out loud. Dean tosses a little smile over to the man who sits down next to him on the pew, even though the whole damn place is empty. 

The first time it happened, it set Dean’s teeth on edge. Like the guy was trying to make him uncomfortable (he was succeeding) or to run him off (no way was he succeeding). But he figured out real fast that it was just Cas being Cas. The man had no concept of personal space. Your bubble didn’t exist in Cas’ world. Dean was starting to like it. 

When you got used to people keeping their distance from you, even the odd duck at the church who sat close to you felt like intimacy. “Hey Cas.” Dean keeps his voice pitched low, riding the edges of a whisper. They weren’t bothering anyone, but there was just something about this place. Something solemn and old that Dean didn’t want to disrupt with his loud ass voice. “How are you doing, man?”

Cas smiles at him, a slow and steady thing that makes Dean’s heart do stupid flips in his chest. It was weird, it wasn’t like Cas didn’t smile all that often. He smiled all the time. But there was something about it that felt special every time that Dean saw it. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Sometimes, talking to Cas was like talking to a brick wall. And sometimes, it was like talking to a bulldog with a bone. Polite conversation wasn’t something he did. If he wanted to know something, he asked. And didn’t back down until you answered. Some days, Dean loved it. Some days, Dean hated it. The jury was still out about where he was standing in the road today.

“I’m doing good.” Mostly. Dean sighs, and sees the doubt in those pretty blue eyes. Cas was good at being gently judgemental, and without any words. “I’m hanging in there.” That’s the truth. Today was one of those days where getting out of bed wasn’t so easy. Dean had spent a good half hour just staring at the white paint strokes on the ceiling of his apartment, trying to will his body to do anything but feel like sludge. 

He got there. Eventually. Which meant dragging his sad carcass out of bed and changing the Metallica t-shirt and sweats he’d been wearing for the last three days. A shower had been too much of an effort, so Dean slapped on deodorant and washed his face in the sink. You had to take what you could get, some days. 

Cas smiles at him, and Dean will tell himself ninety nine times out of a hundred that the smile was the reason he admitted this stuff at all. The other time out of a hundred, he might actually admit to himself that it felt good to be able to tell somebody how he was feeling. “Now.” Dean jabs him in the shoulder with his index finger and gets a huff of laughter for his trouble. “How are you, Cas?”

Cas reaches down to tug on the sleeve of the sweater he was wearing over his button down shirt. With anyone else, Dean would have called it a nervous gesture. But Cas seemed like the kind of guy who was rarely nervous. “I’m well, thank you.” And he definitely wasn’t the type to lie. Not even little white lies to protect someone’s feelings. A fact Dean learned firsthand a few weeks ago when Cas sat down next to him on this very same pew and told him he looked awful. 

From Cas, it wasn’t a jab at Dean’s cleanliness or the fact that he’d been a little far past a haircut. It had been a moment of worry from someone who cared about him. Dean was pretty sure that if Cas wasn’t so damn pretty that all these heavy handed conversations would land a little harder. 

Lucky for him, Cas was very pretty. Like, unnaturally pretty. It was distracting, honestly. 

“Glad to hear it.” Cas was better at silences than Dean was. One settles over them as they sit, Dean lacing his hands together over the top the pew in front of him. Cas keeps his hands in his lap, shoulders nice and loose. Maybe he didn’t get lost in his head the same way Dean did. He couldn’t help but wonder what that was like. Not getting lost in the exhaustion and the worry that circled in his brain what felt like twenty four seven. 

Must be nice, that was for sure. 

“There is a summer festival they have here.” Cas knew that Dean had only been here a couple of months now. And with the way the down swings hit him, he hadn’t explored more than a few blocks from his place. The church was only around the corner from Dean’s place, and sometimes it took all the energy he had just to drag his ass over here and sit down. 

“Yeah?” Maybe it’d be close enough that Dean could see the decorations and stuff outside of his window. That’d be a nice thing to wake up to. Bright colors flapping in the wind and the sound of music and people laughing. 

“Yes.” Cas nods. “There are booths where people sell food. I don’t think there are any pies, but I know there are donuts and other sweet things.” Dean huffs a quiet laugh of his own. He’d made a comment once about liking pie, and Cas had taken it to heart. 

“That sounds awesome.” Dean’s gotten pretty good at making all the right noises at the right times. He’s had lots of practice when Sam calls. Sam tells him about his law practice and his pretty deaf wife and their struggles with conception and Dean makes all the right noises so that Sam doesn’t think about asking about Dean’s life. 

“I’d like you to go with me.” Those words snap Dean right out of his train of thought and he turns to look at Cas, wide eyed. This was a change of pace. The way things were, they sat here together, they talked in hushed whispers and they went their own ways. Dean didn’t give Cas his number, and Cas didn’t give Dean his. Their relationship existed solely within the confines of this church, even if you could call it a relationship. Dean was hesitant to even use the word friendship. And now he didn’t know what the hell was being asked of him. And which one would be worse. 

Would it be worse to kill this budding friendship on the off chance of a spark? Or would it be worse for Dean to go places with Cas and sit and stew in the feeling taking hold in his chest and never say a word about it?

“Cas-” It comes out like a warning, and for the first time, Dean sees nervousness in those deep blue eyes. But Cas, he was strong. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to back down. Dean always envied that about him. 

“No, Dean.” This is soft, just like the hand that reaches out to cup over Dean’s where they’ve fallen useless into his lap. “I know these kinds of declarations make you uncomfortable, but I’m not going to change the subject.”

“Geez.” Dean laughs nervously, his heart pounding a loud tattoo against his ears. “Call a guy out, why don’t you? Isn’t that cutting a little close to the quick?”

Cas doesn’t rise to the bait, and Dean thinks maybe he’s grateful that he didn’t. Cas takes a deep, audible breath, steeling himself before he speaks again. “I enjoy our talks. You’re my friend, and I want what’s best for you. But I have to say something.”

Oh shit, here it is. Dean can feel his hackles raising. He can smell a well meaning, but misguided intervention from a mile away. Hell, the last time this happened he was living back in the states with Benny. Dean took that talk so badly that he moved across the ocean just to get away from it. 

Dean starts to pull his hands away, but Cas’ grip tightens, keeping Dean’s hands pinned against his knee. “I care about you, Dean. And I want to keep our friendship. But I can’t keep going on without telling you how I feel.”

Wow. Well, okay. That was not what Dean was expecting. He swallows, a little white around the eyes like a spooked horse, but still pinned to the spot by Cas’ gravel voice. “This isn’t where I saw this going, if we’re being honest.” Yeah, there’s that half manic nervous laugh again. Cas knew him. Cas knew all his bullshit and his depression. How could he still want that?

“Dean.” He’s never known anybody else who could help curb the tide of rising anxiety in his chest with a single word like Cas could. “I care about you. And I’d like you to come with me to the summer festival.” There’s an awkward beat there, Cas working up his nerve. “Romantically.”

“Like a date?” Romantically made it sound like so much more than a date. Like there was weight behind it. (Dean liked the sound of ‘romantically’ a lot better than he liked the sound of dating.)

“A date.” Cas nods, solemn and sweet as ever, and not for the first or the damn last time, Dean wonders what it would be like to kiss him. Just to feel the pressure of lips. Maybe he’d get to feel the way a smile felt on Cas’ lips, up close and personal. 

He could have that, maybe. If he manned up and went to the summer festival with him. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot, actually.” Dean can’t let himself think about the next low swing or what he’d do if the festival happened on a day he had a hard time getting out of bed. 

“I’ll come to you. Early. That way, if you’re having one of your bad days, we have plenty of time to help you feel well enough to go.” Cas answers, like he’s reading Dean’s thoughts in neon above his head. 

It was enough to make his throat tight. Dean had never had anybody before who saw him, and wanted to stick around. He was a handful on his good days. For Cas to know how low he got and still want to go out with him? That was huge. And planning for a low swing? That was more than icing on the cake. That was a whole other damn cake. 

Dean feels warm, right beneath his sternum. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt since before they buried his dad, all those years ago. 

It was hope. 

“Guess that means I should give you my address and my cell number.”

Cas’ grip on his hands finally loosens, but he doesn’t pull away. He brushes his thumb over the ridges of Dean’s knuckles and smiles. 

“I guess you should.”

[luzeliza29]

Chapter 4 of Obsidian

The heavy afternoon sun was high in the sky as Amalia and the man stepped out of the forest. The sight of their horses was a welcome sight to Amalia. After escaping the Ilele, they both had walked tiredly out of the forest, the silence between them filled with the sound of crunching leaves underneath their feet and the sound of birds, yet no tinkling bells.

The man bowed deeply when they reached the forest’s edge. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know if there’s anything I could possibly do to thank for saving my life. Hell, I think you saved not just my life but my soul as well.”

Amalia gave the man a weary smile. “You’re welcome. Honestly, though, I wasn’t even sure how to defeat it, it was mostly lucky intuition that we survived.”

She untied her horse and prepared for travel once again.

The man got down on one knee and took her hand in his. “If you will have me, I will be at your service until you feel that my life debt to you is repaid. It is my honor and duty to do so for such a brave woman such as yourself”

For a moment Amalia thought the man was joking until she saw the complete seriousness in his eyes and realized that this young man was absolutely serious about binding himself into her service.

She laughed a little. “You don’t have to do that. I admire your adherence to honor, but I’m not royalty. I’m just a woman and your thanks are enough for me.” She turned to get on her horse. “You and I can go our separate ways now.” With a joking smile, she told him, “just be careful next time. And if you see a woman dancing and singing in the middle of the forest, maybe you should assume that she probably just wants to eat you.”

“At least let me escort you to the next town over.  That is, if you wouldn’t mind the company for such a short while” the man said.

With the reins in her hands, she looked at him with a slight half-smile. “I suppose not. I’ve been traveling alone for a while now. I wouldn’t mind a little company.” She extended her hand to him “My name is Amalia.”

He shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amalia. My name is Nathaniel Sewell. But you can call me Nate.”

They set out on their horses and onto the winding road before them. The rays of sunlight shining in between the trees have the woodlands around her a feeling of ethereal beauty.

Amalia thought back to the Trisgol she saw earlier. Was this what it was warning her about? The Ilele? No, that didn’t feel right. The impression she was left with was of something even more terrible, something that ran chills up her spine in uneasiness. She had hoped that everything was going to be okay now, but she still felt like something was…. off. She felt as if something else, something worse was waiting for her, and she had no other choice than to keep going and face it. She glanced at Nate. Was it him? She didn’t think so either. However, she felt curious to know more about Nate. He certainly wasn’t a normal man, she felt sure he had some magic inside of him also.

“So, Nate tell me where you’re heading. You seem like a seasoned traveler to me. Like someone who’s seen a thing or two” Amalia asked.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve spent quite a few years of my life traveling and exploring. Done some things. Met some interesting people I suppose. I’ve realized that the world I grew up in is so much more… interesting…. then I thought it was, but in the end, I suppose I’m just trying to find myself and maybe get some answers”

“Have you got any stories? Any tales of daring adventures” she asked.

He chuckled. “Maybe a few. Perhaps more than a few.”

“ I used to sail in my younger years. And it was really amazing. Amazing and terrifying. The ocean’s this endless expanse of unknown territory. One time, my crewmates and I were just doing some regulatory work patrolling the sea and we this shimmer in the water far off. It was coming towards us and we were all kind of hoped it’d be some sort of mermaid, the ones in the stories. ” The man’s face looked forward wistfully. “Alas, I couldn’t have been more wrong”

“Something worse, I’m guessing”

“Unfortunately, yes. While we were waiting the captain told us to ready the harpoon. Turns out it was this gigantic sea serpent. It rose up from the water like a shining metal tower. And when it opened its mouth you could see that it had row upon row of sharp teeth. I was scared shitless, but my captain, he was no stranger to this particular sea serpent.”

“We took a harpoon and we hurled it at the great beast. My captain was so crazily nonchalant about the whole thing though. He was smoking his cigar the entire time”

Amalia laughed. “He sounds like quite the man.”

“He was one of the best men I’ve ever met. Anyways we shot that massive serpent again and it crashed down back in the water again. I was amazed and we were all ready to break out the ale as a celebration, but my captain told us that we had haul our asses away from here because we had only just killed a baby serpent and the mom was going to come after us if we didn’t get away fast enough.”

“That’s insane”

“I couldn’t believe it either, but we got away as quickly as we could and back to land. My rookie self got used to all the craziness on the open sea. Eventually. And believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.”

“Do you miss it? It sounds like you enjoyed it.” Amalia asked.

“Sometimes, but I left it all behind.”

Amalia wondered why, but she didn’t want to press on what seemed like a sensitive subject.

“And what about you? You seem just as much of a traveler as me.”

“I suppose you could say I’m a researcher and I’m always looking for answers. The world is so much more than what we can see.” She rolled up her sleeves and showed him her tattoos. “These” She pointed to her tattoos. “they let me sense the world around me and channel some of that energy, some may even call it magic.”

“That’s amazing”

“Do you want me to show you? Give me your hand” They stopped their horse, and she took his hand in hers, their palms pressed together.

“Don’t be scared.” She looked up at him, her eyes glowing completely white.  “I can sense magic inside of you too.” She could feel a swell of emotion inside of him too. She could feel his confusion, his hopelessness, and his anger. It felt at odds with his caring demeanor. She looked at his brown eyes and the smile lines on his face and saw a very caring man.

“Magic. Like black magic?” He said. She noted the sound of worry in his voice.

The light from her tattoos extended into Nate’s skin, tracing his skin in lines of light that ran along his body. “You’re quite a curious person, you know. But you’re not evil or bad.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“The type of magic I use allows me to connect to others. It’s not like what witches do, so please don’t burn me at the stake. It’s like an extra sense. Kind of akin to a metal conductor, but I conduct magical energy.”

“What you can do is amazing. Is that how you were able to revive me? By conducting the magic inside of me?”

“In a way, yes. I used my own magic and, in a way, flooded your system with my own energy because the Ilele fed off of the energy inside of you. Some, like you, possess more magic than others. Normal humans probably wouldn’t have survived as long as you. Their death would’ve been immediate. I bet that Ilele was going to feed off you for much longer than a normal human”

“You can tell? You know what I am?”

She could see his eyes twinged with fear. He was really quite a curious man, especially for a vampire. Most vampires weren’t as nice. What a curious man you are, she thought.

“That you’re a vampire? I’ve met others like you.”

“Some vampires are good, others bad. You’re quite a contradiction. I can sense you fighting within yourself.”

“I know what I am and I…..I…..I just want to be normal again,” he said.

“I don’t know of any cure to vampirism. I’m sorry.”

Nate looked crestfallen. That moment of hope was gone now.

He sighed. “I didn’t want to be this way. It was forced upon me. This insipid curse. That’s why I left. That’s why I’m here. I want answers. I need answers or at least something to let me know that there’s at least some good to being this way.”

“I have to admit, most of the vampires that I’ve met haven’t been as…..erm….nice as you. But there was one that my family and I had met. She was quite ancient, but she wasn’t evil. She decided for herself what type of person, what type of vampire she wanted to be.” She squeezed his hand. “You know, just because you have magic flowing through your blood now doesn’t mean you’re a monster. I’ve met monsters before, trust me. Both human and nonhuman. They’re monsters because they don’t have love or compassion, or they choose to reject their humanity. You can choose.”

“I try, but I’m afraid one day I’ll just give up and become the monster so many people like me have become. I just need to know if there’s an end to this curse. Anything.”

Amalia knew that there were some people in Budapest, people like her parents and her that could perhaps offer Nate some more information on vampirism. Perhaps even her parents might even be able to offer him some answers. She knew there were other Solomonari people in Budapest, one’s whose knowledge and experience of the world and magic far exceeded her own. She contemplated for a moment if whether she should help him on his quest for answers and let him accompany her, at least for a short while, on her journey. He seemed desperate for answers.  She still sensed danger coming her way. But there was no harm in just letting him travel with her to Budapest, right?

“There are other people like me, who are far more knowledgeable and might be able to offer you the information you seek. I can take you to meet them and they can help you.”

He looked up at her hopefully. “Really? You would do that?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes. We’ll have to travel to Budapest though.”

“Anything’s fine with me. I’ll be the best traveling companion you’ll ever have. He smiled. “At your service, you’re majesty.”

Amalia rolled her eyes. “You’re quite a dramatic vampire, aren’t you? A little bit of a hopeless romantic? Or are you going for a chivalrous knight-in-shining-armor type?”

He grinned. “Both” His smile widened. “I can even sing. How ‘bout it? Are you up for a little song?”

“Not really”

“I’ve been told my voice can enchant even the most stubborn of maidens.”

“I thought you were supposed in my service as my humble traveling companion.”

“Just one song?” He looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

She looked at his brown eyes, full of amusement and teasing sadness.

“Fine”

With a dramatic breath, Nate broke out into a chorus of singing:

There once was an old man named Bill

And oh boy, was Bill feeling ill

People asks him “why so down?”

Ain’t got no topsy-turvy turn around?

He paused for a moment and grinning at her said, “Unfortunately………all the songs I know are old sea shanties. Don’t mind the lyrics though.”

To his reply, he says to them

Ain’t gonna get ‘em

Oh poor Bill

Feeling so ill,

Cause he got no chum

To give him some bum

Chum said not today

Cause’ other bums need some fun

But, oh boy that’s all he needs.

Poor Billy Bill Bum Chummy Chum Chum ain’t got no Bum.

Amalia rolled her eyes, but she felt a smile tugging at her lips. He did have a good voice, after all.

With that they set about the winding forest road and onto the next town, Nate’s bawdy voice ringing out into the forest.

[elsadidherbestokay]

Okay so I haven’t actually written fanfiction (I do write poems still) since I was 13 and wrote some truly awful stories, all of which I abandoned two chapters in but Frozen is really calling me so I guess now I’m writing fanfics. Any feedback is welcomed, especially constructive criticism but uhhh tbh I’m nervous posting it because I’m not a very good writer and I use commas like an idiot but anyway I hope some of yall enjoy it? 

One shot, 2k.

Gale won’t carry a note to the forest. Anna knows he’s probably just busy, so why is it so hard to breathe all of the sudden? Luckily Elsa is never too far away.

Gale always came when she called. Always. Even the times early on when she woke up in the dead of night and just needed to hear from Elsa to ease that little spark of fear deep within. It took only a few midnight notes for her terror to ease, knowing Gale would have a hastily scrawled note reassuring her of Elsa’s love and making plans to visit the next day within her hands in a half hour. Sure, the little wind spirit would sometimes take a moment or two to respond but never long enough for Anna to call more than twice and usually even that was overkill, the playful breeze blowing in the exact second Anna started to call a second time. She swore Gale waited for her to call again on purpose, just to take joy in interrupting her.

But certainly Gale had never made her call four times, as was happening now. Anna didn’t, strictly speaking, need Gale. Anna had the kingdom well in hand and notes she actually needed to send were rare. There were many times she felt as though she needed advice though, and Elsa’s letters were always so helpful. She still ended up venting her frustrations over fireside hot chocolate, their little ritual which was a more common these days since Kristoff had implemented a strict “no trade negotiations complaints during family game night” rule after charades devolved into a debate about the best ways to ensure favorable trades. One of the little girls in town had tugged on her sleeve as she passed by, breaking about seven kinds of etiquette in favor of asking her to give Elsa a photograph of her using a real sextant with snowflakes etched into it. It was incredibly cute and exactly something that Elsa would love to see and Anna made sure to tell the apologetic mother that it was quite alright, little children just get so excited and she really wasn’t offended about the breach of protocol and she’d be sure to send it right over.

But Gale just wouldn’t come, no matter how long she stood on her balcony and sang. What if it was something serious? What if there was an emergency and Gale refused to come? After all, the wind spirit couldn’t have known that Anna didn’t actually need help. Despite her best efforts the panic rose in Anna’s throat, binding tight in a way that didn’t particularly care what her rational mind thought, or that Anna had already sent four notes in the past twelve hours, their letters a constant back and forth that mostly consisted of “look how cute this bird I saw is” with a drawing, or “here’s a fact from Olaf xoxo,” a stream of consciousness that neither sister needed but that was nice. Like a conversation over tea, no matter where the other was.

Anna knew full well that Elsa wasn’t missing, that tonight was an important night for her at the Northaldran camp, that game night was tomorrow, and her sister was fine. Olaf was proof of that and Elsa wasn’t exactly in danger from any ordinary accidents of the forest. But the fact that Elsa could contact her perfectly fine and she couldn’t reach Elsa felt too much like the way things used to be, a barrier between them that Anna was powerless against.

It had had her hands shaking a little, rubbing against the thick paper she held in a vain attempt to soothe her. The forest was only two hours away for a single rider on a quick horse but she had official meetings tomorrow and her horse would be too tired for a return trip after just an hour or so there. Neither could she ask another to go in her stead, as Kristoff was needed tomorrow as well and she could not send any other. It wouldn’t be good for Arendelle, for the Queen to be sending anyone she could find off to the forest because she had to wait an hour to send a note there. No, she had to wait until Gale showed up again or Elsa came over for the night. Tomorrow, at the latest, and if not by then than something might actually be wrong. Not that anything was. Everything was fine. Gale was just busy, there was no need to be so absolutely bone deep terrified. Right?

Elsa, meanwhile was completely oblivious to her sister’s growing anxiety. She had taken Gale and the Nokk to Ahtohallan, searching for answers much different than the last time she had gone. Anna had jokingly told her that she was hogging the river of memories all to herself and wouldn’t she consider if the Northuldra wanted to visit while she was telling Anna her newly formed habits and Elsa couldn’t stop considering the possibility. Anna didn’t mean anything by it of course, having always considered it a place of spirits alone when Elsa had told her of the journey there, the deep pitfalls within that gave her confidence she was the only person to step foot there in centuries. But the knowledge of Ahtohallan had to come from somewhere and that meant that somebody had to have been there, right? 

Ahtohallan answered her long considered ruminations, showing her Northaldran people from long ago exploring the cave. Only a glimpse, nothing more, but enough to bring ease to her worried mind and reassure her that with the spirits happy once more it was theoretically possible. She would not even consider bringing Anna across the sea if she didn’t know she would be safe within. It would be cruel, to give her such hope, to show her such beauty, and have to drag her out for her own safety before her sister saw what she wished.

No, Elsa’s mind was not on Anna’s current terror but rather, how to present to her the opportunity. If Anna genuinely didn’t want to go that was quite all right but Elsa was determined to make sure she understood that it was safe, that she was welcome to go if she wanted to, because her sister had been through so much, done so much for Elsa and if this would make Anna happy then she would do it in a heart beat.

But the moment she and Gale stepped out into the bright sunlight, they found the Nokk already formed, prancing in distress and Gale seemed to vibrate with energy for a split second before darting off across the sea, quick as could be and utterly terrifying. She had only been inside for an hour or two, and at the camp that morning. What could have possibly gone wrong that quickly?

Heart thumping in sudden terror, Elsa grabbed Nokk’s mane and swung up onto him, knowing he was too worked up to kneel for her and the exact second her feet were both off the ground he took off, surging forwards with a strange determination that Elsa was afraid to find the cause of. But he didn’t take her to the camp. Within a few moments they were at the castle, bounding up an ice staircase to the balcony of Anna’s room and the Nokk vanished. Terrified, Elsa slipped into the open balcony doors to find Anna sobbing heavily, curled around a pillow that was wet from tears and Gale fluttering around the room in obvious distress. Her sister didn’t even notice their arrival.

“Anna? Anna, what’s wrong?” Elsa dropped to her knees in front of the heavy four posted bed and her sister jolted, throwing herself into Elsa’s arms and sending them both crashing onto the cold concrete. There was a fresh round of wails, Anna burying her face into the crook of Elsa’s neck as she held her tightly.

“I’m s-s-sorry!” Anna cried,  “I couldn’t call you,” and here her voice hitched. Elsa instantly felt awful. She had been singing, a lullaby that Maren had taught her last week. To think that her sister was beside herself with worry at the sudden inability to contact her while Elsa had been twirling in the snow, happy beyond belief at the prospect of sharing the hall of memories. Gale couldn’t have heard.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for Anna, I took Gale with me to Ahtohallan. He couldn’t hear you inside. The second we stepped out he shot off to you, of course you were frightened.” Anna’s sobs slowly started to fade away. “It’s okay Anna, I’d be terrified if it was the other way around. But I promise you, I’ll never let that happen ever again.” Elsa pulled away just a tiny bit, creating trio of snow doves and sending every bit of the love she had for her sister into them. They flapped their wings as the magic in them brought them to life, flying a quick circle around the room before returning. The largest one claimed Anna’s lap to snuggle into while the other two landed on Elsa’s outstretched arm.

“Oh Elsa!” Anna stroked the largest one’s head gently as it cooed. “They’re beautiful!”

“They’re alive, they’ll stay with you when I leave. I wish I had thought of this much sooner but they can carry notes. I don’t know if they’ll be able to find me inside Ahtohallan but we’ll do an experiment sometime to find out. I think they’ll be able to find me in the regular forest with ease. Gale will still come of course but we’ll give the little guy a break, huh?” Gale tossed Elsa’s hair into her face at the mention of his name and she smiled. 

“You’re off note passing duty Gale, how about that? And thank you Elsa, I don’t know what came over me. I knew Gale was just busy but I just started to feel so worried. I haven‘t felt like I couldn’t reach you in so long, it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Elsa took her sister’s hands in her own, ducking her head to make eye contact the way Anna had so often done for her. “Do you remember, when we first opened up the palace how often I was overwhelmed just by touching things? I wore the gloves for so long that the feeling of textures felt wrong sometimes, even though I knew it was okay.”

Anna smiled sadly. “I remember when you carried that velvet book around for a week because you couldn’t believe how soft it was.”

“Even when you know things are different, some things just set you off until you the then bleeds into the now. But you’ll always have the birds now, so you never once have to feel like you can’t reach me, okay? You have three of them and Gale will still come to you, so you can send me all the notes your heart desires and the second you ask for it I’ll be on my way. I love getting to use my powers so freely and knowing that I can help both countries this way but Anna, I will never let you feel alone because of it, okay?”

"Thank you,” Anna said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Come to Ahtohallan with me, I’d like to show you something.”

“What??” Anna cried, any lingering tears quickly forgotten in her surprise. Elsa laughed, grin spreading across her face at the sheer excitement on her sisters’.

“I mean it. That’s what I was doing earlier, asking if anyone else has even been there. It showed me a group of Northaldrans there many centuries ago and so I think it would be safe for you. I didn’t want to offer until I knew for sure you’d be able to go all the way into the hall of memories. Of course, you don’t have to go and if you’d rather not I understand and I--” Anna’s hand was suddenly shushing her.

“Elsa,” she said quite seriously. “I can think of nothing I’d like more than see Ahtohallan with you.”

It wasn’t until the next morning that Anna remembered last night was meant to be a celebration of her sister’s first hunting trip for the village. Her sister waved it away when Anna apologized, telling her that she had already caught the food and she certainly didn’t need the celebration for it but her message was undercut by the two letters from last week about how excited she was to so be accepted into the village. Anna felt awful but so, so loved.

[dreamy--dolly]

this is it. this is the angst fic i was promising.

taglist: @mordredfuckingpendragon​ @gringolet​ @kouvei-matarra​ @cukibola​

They meet in the hazy heat of summer, when they are both very young. Though the grass is green and birds and insects hum in merry harmony on the breeze, Galahad still can’t take his mind off the scrape that bleeds red on his knee - his mother will tell him that it’s nothing to worry about, because there are people who have gotten hurt worse. So he makes his way deeper in the woods. He knows the way back - just make his way back on the straggly dirt path till the pain fades.

And then there is the boy who he finds on the path, in a blue dress stained with dirt and too-long black hair bound in a braid that’s coming undone. What he notices first about the boy is his eyes: A dark shade of blue, but still soft and sincere. He blinks at Galahad - you look pathetic, he tells himself, crying in front of someone else because Mother says you’re too old to cry - and says nothing about his tear-streaked face and loud sniffling in the quiet of the woods. 

Then he sticks his tongue and and squints, twisting his face and scrunching his eyes shut.

The pain is still there but Galahad laughs, and the boy laughs with him. He does not ask and does not care that the boy wears a dress or that his hair is too long, because surely that does not matter in the end. He just has someone to laugh with in the summer, someone who will let the black-spotted ladybugs crawl up their arms and draw pictures in the dirt with him.

“What’s your name?” he asks the boy, who shuffles his fistful of flowers.

“Percival.”

“That’s a nice name. Percival. ‘M Galahad.”

“I like your name, too.”

The summer heat may make Galahad’s eyelids flicker behind his spectacles, and when he gets home he will have to answer the questions about why his knee is covered in crusted-over blood. But at least he has a friend to explore other worlds with during the summer.

Autumn comes and Percival sees angels - that’s what he tells Galahad at least. They’re climbing trees even though Percival knows he’ll tear up his dress on it (he talks about how sometimes his mother gets visitors and always talks about her “daughters” but when the visitors are gone she talks about him as her son, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.) They spend their days treading the paths of imaginary worlds they can save, kindling their own warmth in the coming bitterness of winter.

“It was at night, and I swore they were angels - just with hidden wings. They rode horses and were so beautiful I wanted to join them. Mother told me I had to go back inside, that they were knights and I didn’t want any business with them.”

Galahad climbs down from the tree. Rough bark scrapes at his hands. Then he reaches the ground and sits cross-legged, staring up at Percival who still struggles to maintain balance. The leaves are afire in red and yellow and brown and cling to his hands and legs from the greasy drizzle that’s got them slicked with rain. 

“Knights?”

“Yes, knights. I don’t understand why that sounds so strange to you.”

“Mother says I have to become a knight like my father did when I get older. And I’ll be off to train in Camelot when winter comes. Which means I won’t get to see you…”

“Unless I become a knight to join you.”

That’s the first time Galahad sees what others might see through the keyhole: Percival whose mother shoves him into dresses and hides him away from a world that may not be as thorny as she makes it out to be - because perhaps there are petals, too. At least that’s what Galahad believes. You just have to snip the thorns away and the flowers won’t prick your fingers. Still, though-

“How? You really think you could do it?”

Percival clasps hold of his hands, blue eyes shining at green. “I can if I try. I promise I will.”

So that is what Galahad chooses to believe. It might be fleeting, but he’ll hold onto it while he can.

“And I’m glad you’ll try. Because if I had to train with anyone else, I’d want it to be you.”

Winter, Galahad decides, is the worst of the four seasons.

At least autumn has a prelude of warm colors before the bitter cold sets in. The snow may sparkle pristine white against the torchlight for a little bit, but after a day or two it all melts away to gray slush. He doesn’t say a word about it, though - at least he’s far away from his mother and the convent, yet there’s still his father Lancelot who seems to be infected by winter’s chill: Though he embraces his son when he sees him there is no warmth or anything Galahad thinks a father should give. The king, however, is different with his ruffling Galahad’s hair and saying how he’s heard about how he’s worked so hard.

And for him there’s something missing, stars melted away from a gray sky.

He never says anything about it, though, because that is what he was taught - if you really want to change, don’t speak with others of the worries that linger in your mind. The beetle and worm find their way into everything eventually, so why bother?

But then winter brings a visitor, who drags himself from the thorny woods through the heavy snow towards Camelot, a visitor who presents himself in the throne room with red dress tattered and dirtied, snow dusting his dark hair. But there is something alight in his eyes and it is what has brought him here in the first place. Galahad thinks it is who he thought it was, but keeps his mouth shut till Kay brings him to see the boy.

When he sees the face he’s kept in his memories, it’s like the snow melts.

Galahad elbows his way past Kay to greet him, and runs to tackle him to the ground in a hug. Here is the boy who has watched seasons fade into one another with him, shared his dreams. And he feels like home.

“I kept my promise,” Percival says.

“And I’m so glad you did.”

Spring brings magic that touches the dead branches of trees and makes the world breathe again. Three years since Percival brought a burst of warmth into winter, and by now the trees are coated with tiny green leaves and the first pale buds of flowers to come. The snow has thawed and the world is perfumed by a balmy, honeyed breeze that smells of fresh earth and new beginnings. Magic, Galahad learns, is something that people are blessed with - the reason he and Percival are at Camelot is because God gave them magic and they will use it to change the world for the better.

But he spends his time in the chapel praying for things to change, because sometimes trying is not enough. He prays for selfish things: A father that will thaw away with the dissolving snow, a mother who tries to fit him into the keyhole even though he won’t fit, for a world that is not razor-edged. He does not know if magic or even prayers will be enough, but at least there is Percival, too, who stays at his side.

Galahad uses his magic to make the flowers grow. He likes watching their stems curl from the ground and the soft petals unfurl. Today he grows flowers for Percival and thinks about the ones he wants to show him. Give him purple lilacs, Galahad thinks, and hydrangeas. And irises. And-

“What are you doing?”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is something like a fox’s cry and Galahad almost falls face first against the ground. Percival squats next to him, staring at the splashes of purple and periwinkle so bright and pale against the green. 

“I was trying to grow flowers for you.”

“Any reason why?”

“No, just that you like flowers and you’d make flower crowns for us when we were young-”

(A crown of gold doesn’t suit you, Galahad thinks. It weighs too heavy on your brow, when flowers do not.)

“Wait a moment,” Percival mumbles, and he notices what Galahad half-hopes he would and would not notice. “Hydrangeas mean heartfelt emotions, irises mean faith and hope, and purple lilac-”

“Are purple?”

“Well, yes. But purple lilacs also mean first love. Don’t they?”

“Mm-hm.”

Though he lowers his head Percival still presses his fingers to Galahad’s cheeks and moves in closer. When Galahad looks up, he’s smiling.

“I hope that’s what you’re trying to say. But it’d be just as nice if you picked those because you know purple and blue are my favorite colors.”

He almost closes the gap between them before pulling away, as if disenchanted from the magic of the fragrant air. “...Can I?”

Galahad nods. He tastes sweet but a little bitter, of fresh honey and fuzz-coated peaches. He lets Percival’s hands frame his face, fingertips pressing gently at his flaxen blonde hair. And it feels like an ending, the last blotchy-inked illustration in a storybook that will close and be over. Though a part of him knows that there will be more books to follow, more books that feel like the end but still have him praying - he pushes all of that aside and pretends that this is the last page. He can take a walk in his imaginations for a little while.

He pulls away and rests back on the grass, and Percival cradles him close. They have magic and their hopes sprouting from seeds in the ground, growing against the odds and through the winter thaw, and for the moment that is all that they need.

“Hold still and let me heal you.”

Even though they are tucked safely away from the sun in the canvas tent, the heat is still stifling. Galahad stares down at the stretch of red-soaked split skin on his stomach and the bloodied patches that peek through his shirtsleeve. The fight against the chimera was not an easy one; Galahad’s wounds are a testament to that. He’d been the one to jump in when it looked like Mordred and Percival would have been knocked down. Because even though they’re untouchable - they were blessed with their magic by God, after all, they are living vicariously through the bedtime stories parents spin - there is still a part of Galahad that wonders what if there was no happy ending where they all stroll back to Camelot hand in hand, the sun setting behind them?

Percival is gentle when he heals Galahad, blue magic lighting up the tips of his fingers as he cleans off the blood with a damp towel and knits the wound closed. He exhales for a few moments, taking in what it feels like to breathe without the strain of torn muscle in his body.

“Please be careful,” Percival says softly.

It’s not easy, though, when his life is nothing. So long as everyone else gets a chance to live, that would be enough. If he had to stay without being healed so that Percival would continue to breathe, he would. And he would protect those that the chimera’s flames could burn away even if it meant he’d end up dead and unmoving by the end of it. His life may mean nothing, but death in exchange for another is something.

“I was scared you’d get hurt. What if you or Mordred had died?”

“We won’t die. We were blessed - and I’ll protect you if it looks like you’d get hurt in the process. You can protect me, but I will want you to live on in the end. Because neither of us are going to die out there - we have our magic and we’re training as knights.”

Through the flap in the tent, the first fireflies have started to come out; indeed, the heat seems less oppressive now that night is falling. And Galahad believes him. All of them will live on. Time will pass and they will grow old and gray, but that is far from now. For now and in the near future, they’re alive.

“Alright. Thank you for healing me.” He kisses Percival on the nose. It’s a secret code of theirs, one that looks like close greetings from the outside. But there’s a sort of magic between them that one cannot find in any of the books nor written spells that they have, a magic that they understand best of all.

“It’s not a problem at all. Now let’s get some rest. The trip home tomorrow will be a long one.”

They are inseparable even as autumn sets aflame everything it touches. The court oohs and aahs at the talented young knights, of the pious Galahad and the gentle Percival. Surely, if anyone were to ever encounter the Holy Grail, it would be one of them. One day he will rise and travel to find it, and Galahad thinks that maybe the Grail can grant him what his prayers cannot: A better world, a better father that he’s related to by blood because the king is more of a father to him than Lancelot is. And he wishes that were not true. It is silly and flighty and childish and most of all selfish, so Galahad does not think about it very much.

“Winter’ll be here soon.” This is how they spend their nights when Galahad’s eyelids droop yet he still cannot fall asleep, so Percival stays with him till he closes his eyes and slips into his dreams at last. The candle has been snuffed out but the navy-shadowed room still smells like wax. It’s a familiar place and a familiar smell.

“I actually didn’t like winter very much growing up. Didn’t like it because I couldn’t play outside, and I didn’t have many people to keep me company. But I like it more now.”

“Really?” Percival says. “I always thought your favorite season was spring - that was when all your favorite flowers sprung up.”

“It is. But I don’t dislike winter as much as I used to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I like the winter,” Galahad confesses, “Because it reminds me of when you came to Camelot.”

Percival shifts, the covers rustling over him as he pulls Galahad close. Here in Percival’s arms they are once again untouchable, impervious to whatever will happen once the page turns.

“Where would you want to go when we get older? After the quest.”

They both know the quest will reach them and for a fraction of a moment the pedestal begins to crack. They pretend not to notice it, though, because they are focusing on the great after - their epilogue, their ending that they may not get if it means taking up the mantle of Atlas or breaking beneath the weight of the sky to sustain the rest of the world.

“Away.” Away from Camelot, away from my father - I can’t even call him ‘Father - even if it’s selfish. But it hurts here.

“I have a sister. Ended up inheriting the kingdom after her husband died in battle - her name’s Dindrane. She’s written letters to me once I visited her from Camelot. I think she’d be willing to let us stay there. It’s a big castle, with a lovely forest, and lots of trees so we can go apple-picking, and a beautiful lake to go swimming in.”

“We could still travel, though. I want to see more of the world and help more people that way.”

“Of course we will. We will travel around the world after the Grail quest - and maybe get married, too?”

“All of things. And more. But I’m getting too tired to-” Here he lets out a soft, high-pitched yawn - “-To say anything more on the subject.”

Percival laughs, soft like rain. “Sleep well.”

“Good night, Percival.” And then, to himself before he falls into a world of blurry dreams that aren’t so soft once he brushes against them: “Good night, my love.”

The night before the Grail Quest is winter and though he’s been stung before, it’s enough to make Galahad cry. Crying, he tells himself, will not solve anything - that is what Mother and the nuns taught you, and Father too even if he wasn’t there to do it. Crying is for children, and you’re no child: You’re eighteen going on nineteen, and you’re powerful enough of a knight and lucky enough to find the Holy Grail. Crying means you’re unworthy. It means you are weak.

When he hears a knock on the door and Percival’s voice on the other end he lets him in and clutches onto him, forgetting selfishness and restraint and letting the tears flow. His eyes are rimmed red and the deep gasping sobs make his throat sore and feel as though his chest might burst. He buries his head in Percival’s shoulder, tears staining his shirt and he lets go. He lets go because he knows. There are so many truths he knew from the beginning that Percival can’t comprehend and Bors remains oblivious to. And he wishes he were dead for it.

“Sorry - for crying - in front of you-”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s fine to cry.”

“I just - I just - everyone keeps comparing me and saying I’m even better of a knight than my father was and it’s horrible. I know he hates me for what I am or at least resents me for it, and I hate how the king treats me more like a son than my father does - and he treats everyone like family, so what am I to complain about special treatment? I’m just - I’m scared, and it’s selfish, and I’m not worthy, and I’m sorry. I don’t know. The Grail might not be worth it but if I think that it’s selfish. What if I make a mistake? What if I fail? What will the people of Camelot think of me then?”

Percival stays silent. He has no words of comfort to offer because they have laid the truth bare and taken it apart with a dull edged knife. They cling to each other because they are all they have left, they’re just trying to make their way through clusters of roses even though the thorns make them bleed. They know they’ll reach an ending and no matter what it is it will not be the ending they want.

“Maybe we could run away,” Percival says at last. “Forget about the Grail. You’re unhappy and I don’t want that. I heard you and Lancelot… shouting at one another. You’re not happy here. This place is not for you, not for us. So we could just leave it behind, and do good elsewhere. There’s still hope to change the world. But not here. Not like this.”

It is what they needed to hear, but it can’t be the truth. At least no one else but them would think it true. And they both know that there will be loose threads dangling if they run away now. What if they are found? What of the others at Camelot’s court that don’t hail them as the shining heroes that they really aren’t? What of Arthur himself? What of the Round Table? What then?

So Galahad lies awake wrapped in Percival’s arms. Tomorrow they will head off to find the Grail, and his father will be with them and Bors, too. And it will be his only chance to prove that he is not the selfish knight the nuns told him he must never be. If he finds the Grail then perhaps all will be right. Even though he is shattered, maybe that will be enough to plaster the broken pieces of the rest of the world back together again. But in Percival’s arms he can pretend. He can pretend that that will not happen once the sun rises.

He feels something shift next to him and moves his head a little closer against Percival’s chest.

“Please don’t go yet,” he pleads. 

Percival lies back down and cradles him close, fingers combing through his hair. First Galahad closes his eyes to the darkened room dipped in dark blue, then to the morning that will come, but still lets linger the beating of Percival’s heart.

“I won’t go. I can promise that much.”

Winter sucks everything of life, and it drains whatever might be left of the person Lancelot du Lac used to be. Because a father should not be like this. Or perhaps it is the Grail, an ever present reminder of what no one at Camelot will ever have.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re slowly being forgotten? Or how it feels to look down at scars and be told that she - your mother - was young and didn’t know any better than to leave scratches and make me feel like I’d never perform miracles again? What does it feel like to walk around as a reminder of what I used to be and what I’ll never achieve now?” “And you act as though I’m happy because of it! You act like I enjoy being told those things. Except I worry about every little mistake I might make - what will people think of me then? What will happen for every selfish thought I have? And you’re so far away from me because you can’t understand that. No, you don’t want to understand-”

“Then you’re no son of mine, because everything up to now is your fault!”

Time heals all wounds. Except the scars are still there and if you scratch at the scars enough they sting, and even if you leave them alone they will always serve as a reminder that maybe you wouldn’t end up this way. For Lancelot, his scars still make him ache. So Galahad leaves him behind, because maybe the pain of his scars will fade if what brings him pain leaves.

“Galahad, I-”

“No. You spoke the truth.” He wants to weep but that is a luxury he does not have, and he must steel himself for the quest. That’s what he vowed. “I will go and fetch the Grail myself, even if it means trading my life for it in the process. I will do it for my kingdom, and for our king.”

The seasons will bleed into one another. This will be his last quest. But it’s the only way to prove to himself and to everyone else that he is all they make him out to be. And if he goes alone, there will be no one else who has to deal with the pain.

“I’m going off on my own to seek the Grail,” he tells Percival. “I know I might die. But you shouldn’t. You deserve to go on. Once I find the Grail it will be alright.” In his heart of hearts he knows that this is not what should be. He wants to travel and live on, but to want for that is far too selfish, is it not? Though he smiles at Percival through the snow, he feels like he might break. 

“I love you,” Percival tells him, and pulls him close to kiss him. He does not tell Galahad that no, he should stay and continue to travel with the lot of them because both of them know that nothing will root Galahad to this place. He is not meant to grow here, to decay without the flames licking away at him till not even something burnt and broken remains. And the kiss is the first one that feels cold and full of nothing. Because that is all he is. Nothing.

“I love you, too.” This is not nothing. Galahad says that because he means it, and he knows that if he turns his back too soon he’ll never say those words again. They never really brought up those words because they both knew that it was not necessary to say with words, but now they say it because it is all they will have left.

When he turns his back he lets winter steal him away.

The seasons have passed and will continue to. The sun shines. And Galahad knows he does not have much time left - but for the others, the sun will rise and set, winter will morph into spring and summer into fall. Things will go on. He has finished his quest.

And then Percival finds him and he realizes that it didn’t mean a thing - he spent his life believing that if someone ripped away the blessings and his parenthood that he would be nothing, but the truth is that he had a chance to be something were it not for the Grail. He had a chance to be a little more of himself with Percival around, and he could have gone on not living in a shell.

So as he begins to fade, he asks Percival of one last thing: “Will you sing for me?”

He pretends that this is just another passing lullaby Percival hums to him as they both fall asleep in each other’s arms, that eventually he will wake up again and there will be a tomorrow he can move on into. That he will go on to be someone, and that they will be together without the Grail or anything above them tying them together. But that is not to be, so he wishes that Percival will realize that there is more to the world than a God that doesn’t answer their prayers and that damningly far away Grail, and that he can make the world safe little by little if he walks and clears the path.

The clock stops ticking. He can’t hear Percival sing. He closes his eyes one last time. And he smiles because he knows what he wants to know, and that this is the most important thing he has learned in the end.

He is gone, not even dust or ash in the breeze. But he still lingers - he cannot take a form that people will see, nor will his words on the wind be heard. Galahad must play the role of bystander, because he is not ready for the great after just yet. If he could talk to Percival and tell him that yes, he is there and not all gone, he would. But he can’t.

So he stays as a lingering presence at his side - a feeling of something simple like home again. He presses secret kisses to his brow, sends him quiet reminders not of his presence but that there is more beyond what he set out for, and that things will heal again.

It’s not an ending. Because if it was, they’d have reached that ending together. 

But he knows he did what he could even if it wasn’t what he needed. And that maybe one day he and Percival will meet again, and end their story the way it was meant to end.

Together.

[i-heart-danchou]

Permanent

Hey gang, thanks for sticking it out!  This is for the bottom Erwin week prompt Scars/Bites/Markings!  Trigger warning, this one does contain a brief mention of child sex abuse (nothing explicit).  

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

In a lot of ways, Erwin was a very private man.  To most people, he was Commander Erwin Smith, the ruthless, brilliant, somewhat unpredictable leader of the least popular branch of the military.  He was always poised, intelligent, well put together, charismatic and inspirational.  It was a mask that he wore at all times in public, and it served him well.  

One thing which Levi had always admired about Erwin though, was that although he was in many ways reserved, he was also honest and forthright.  It was easy to trust him, to believe in him, to follow him.

Still, he didn’t like to burden other people with his troubles, and Levi knew just how much he shouldered on his own without complaining.  As their relationship became more intimate, Levi found himself wanting Erwin to open up a little more.  He wanted to help him manage the dark shadows around his heart.  It started as a game.  Levi would give him some of the best sex he’d ever had, and gaze at him under the warm light of the candles.   He’d scan his skin for imperfections, run his fingers along the thin red lines, and demand an explanation. 

The first time it happened was sweet, actually.  Erwin’s hair had fallen out of its perfectly coifed state during a particularly enthusiastic coitus as Levi took him from behind, and afterwards Levi had tried to gently brush his hair back into place.  The scar was a thin one, an old one, but one that he’d never really noticed before, just kissing the edge of a glorious eyebrow.  “Erwin?  Where’d you get this scar?”

They hadn’t been dating long, and perhaps Erwin wanted to play the story up a little bit.  “Alright, I want you to imagine me as a newly graduated cadet.  Top ten of my class, unbearably adorable, bright shiny eyes full of dreams for the future.”

“So some smelly punk kid full of bullshit, yeah.”

Erwin huffed a laugh.  “No I was a flaxen haired angel and you wouldn’t have been able to keep your hands off me.”  He pointed out Levi’s hands which were still caressing his skin.  “Anyway it was my first mission, I wasn’t really sure what to expect.  Titans, obviously, but I wasn’t sure how I would fare.  I knew as well as anyone that a scout was most likely to die on his first outing.”  

Levi was quiet and respectful as Erwin’s tone went more serious, and he listened intently to the tale.  

“We got ambushed by an abnormal.  I was thrown off my horse and cut my forehead on a rock, I think.  I’m lucky I didn’t get a concussion.  I was disoriented, and I couldn’t figure out why the thing wasn’t eating me.”  Erwin’s voice was somber.  “It had gotten one of my squad mates.  I couldn’t help, he was already dead by the time I realized.  He gave me enough time to get away.”

Levi kissed Erwin’s jaw.  “You did well to survive.”  He told him.  “You’re good at that.  It’s nice to be able to trust that you can take care of yourself.”  He grabbed Erwin’s hand.  “What about this one?” “This one on my right hand?  This one that you gave me when we met?” Levi nodded, kissing the slightly paler skin. 

“I’d just recruited an incredible young man to the SC.  He and I were at odds at times, but I really respected him.  After a tragic loss, his temper flared and he drew his blade on me, intent to kill in his eyes.”  Erwin kissed Levi’s hair.  “I didn’t want to fight him.  He was too good, he was too valuable.  I wanted him to see the beautiful future we could carve together.  This scar reminds me of how much I respect that man.  How lucky I am to have found him.” “Suck up.”  Levi sounded pleased.    

Erwin smiled then, and squeezed his hand.  Levi hoped very much he was feeling at peace.

**

He asked about Erwin’s scars whenever he felt the other man was struggling with his burdens, or whenever a new injury added itself to Erwin’s repertoire.  The chats gave Erwin a chance to work through his trauma, to explore the circumstance of his injuries, and to come to terms with them.  

Sometimes the conversations were sweet, like the story of the scar Erwin got when his father was teaching him to ride a horse.  He’d tripped on the way into the barn and scraped his knee quite badly, and his father had gotten him a pink juicy peach and made a big fuss over him all day.  

Sometimes the conversations taught Levi something he’d never known about Erwin.. like that after his father had died, he’d been passed around different relatives who didn’t want him.  How one of them had beaten him with a belt, how he’d joined the military the moment he turned twelve to get away from him.

Erwin’s quiet strength impressed Levi, and he told him so at the end of each story.  “It’s amazing you’re not more like Eren.”  He muttered one day after hearing of Erwin’s troubled past.

“What do you mean?”  

“You both lost your parents.  You both had your lives seriously disrupted by forces outside your control.  You both joined the military young cause you had no choice.  Yet all I see in him is rage.”  He looked into Erwin’s eyes.  “You remember your father with fondness and love.  You’re not bitter about what happened to you.  You took your trauma on board and it made you stronger.  Better.  I really respect that, Erwin.”

Erwin’s smile was bright and warm, and Levi’s heart was singing.

**

Sometimes Erwin tried to ask Levi about his scars too, but Levi didn’t really like to go down that avenue of discussion.  It hadn’t gone well the first time.  

“Levi?”  He laced their fingers together.  “Where did you get this scar?” Erwin gestured to a faint line around Levi’s wrist.  

“Oh.  Before my mom died she got real sick one year and couldn’t pay off a debt.  The whorehouse owner kept me chained up while I paid off the money.  One of the guys gave me medicine for her, I was really glad.”  

Erwin looked truly horrified.  “How.. how old were you?”

Levi shrugged.  “I dunno, seven?  It’s hard to keep track.  I never told my mother how we got the money.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Don’t give me that look.  It’s fine, they’re all dead now.”

Erwin didn’t let the matter go, and much of the evening was spent discussing Levi’s objectively horrific childhood.  After that first instance, Levi made a point to keep his own stories simple.  He didn’t want Erwin to compare their traumas, nor to feel his were any less valid.  So the next time Erwin asked about one of his scars, he just shrugged and gave a simple answer.  “Knife fight.”  “Bastard talked back.”  “Your stupid plan.”

Eventually Erwin stopped asking.  

**

Levi got into the habit of asking about scars whose origin he already knew too well.  Erwin bore his wounds with dignity and class, but Levi doubted he was handling things as well as he appeared.  His perfect commander mask stayed in place always, but after he’d lost his arm, Erwin… changed, a little.  He’d always been vulnerable to self doubt and depression but… it was worse, recently.

He was just about ready to return to work after losing his arm, and Levi was curled up against him in bed.  Erwin had suggested sex, and Levi had turned him down since he didn’t want to take any chances with opening his wounds again.  He was healing well, but it had been very touch and go for a while.  

“Erwin?”  Levi asked quietly.  “How did you get this scar?”  His little hand gently caressed what was left of Erwin’s deltoid, stopping as he reached the frayed edges of his bandage.  

“Levi… you know what happened.”  Erwin sounded far away.

“I want you to tell me anyway.”

Erwin breathed in through his nose.  “Reiner and Bertholt had Eren.  They were making a break for it, and there was no way to get Eren back with Reiner’s armor in the way.   I thought of what we could do, what weapons that we had at our disposal that could possibly be effective against his armor and it hit me.  Titans.”  Erwin swallowed and looked at his stump.  “I took as many of the men as I could and led a charge to round the titans up, to use them as a weapon.  We’d overwhelm Reiner with numbers, he’d be forced to use his hands to defend himself, and we could get Eren back.”  He swallowed.  “I had my arm outstretched.  I never thought of how dangerous that was before, especially when the titans were so densely packed together.  I didn’t see the one that got me, it was hidden by some trees.”

There was a thin sheen of sweat on Erwin’s forehead, and Levi kissed his cheek.  “All of a sudden I was off my horse, blinded with pain.  It bit down to the bone and just held me like that, shaking me like a chew toy.  I could feel my bone splintering, my blood was all over my face, I couldn’t get away.  The men hesitated, and I urged them on.  We couldn’t miss this chance, not for something so replaceable.”

Levi frowned.  “You’re not replaceable. You’re brilliant.  You are humanity’s hope, and we’d be screwed without you.”

Erwin managed a little smile.  “I don’t know about that.”  He licked his lips.  “Two soldiers came for me.  One killed the titan, the other helped me sever my own arm at the bone.  He hesitated, he had to strike me more than once.  It was extremely unpleasant.”

That detail was one which hadn’t been shared with Levi before, and he squeezed Erwin tight.  He wished that he’d been there.  Erwin never would have been hurt if he’d been there.  

“I couldn’t tie a tourniquet on my own, so they made one up for me.  I lost a lot of blood, it was hard to stand.”

Erwin was going to leave the story at that, but Levi wouldn’t let him.  “And even so, you single handedly— shit, I mean— you know— your crazy plan worked and you got Eren back.  You lead everyone home to safety, and you did it like a badass.  You saved the day.”

“And got dozens of men killed.”  He swallowed thickly.  “I don’t get it, Levi.  Why do I keep surviving?  A man came to help me and he got eaten in front of me, screaming for me to help.  I couldn’t move, I couldn’t fight, I could barely stay on my horse.  I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are.”  Levi swore to him.  “And I’m glad.  I’m so glad.  I would be lost without you.”

**

Admittedly, Levi couldn’t always see there Erwin’s plans were headed, but he trusted him and did whatever Erwin asked.  So when Erwin asked for his help to take down the government, he had no objections in particular.  Things went as well as could be expected, but Levi was truly, truly horrified to hear that his commander had been sentenced to death.

Although the military takeover went just fine, he was more horrified still to see the state of Erwin’s face by the time they were finally reunited.  It was dark, and at first Levi couldn’t appreciate the extent of the damage.  

Once things were a bit more settled and the sun rose, Levi assessed his love.  His face was swollen to hell, there were bruises on his wrist and neck and fuck knows where else.  He’d been tortured, badly tortured, and he was acting like nothing was wrong.

It was all Levi could do not to strip him down and examine him right then and there.  He was angry that Erwin had been subject to such abuse, angrier still that once again he hadn’t been there to protect him.  He kept a distance and was even a bit snippy with Erwin that day, until they found some private time together that night.  

Levi took his time and slowly stripped Erwin down, brows pinching a little more as each cut, scrape and bruise was revealed.  He’d been beaten.  He’d been burned.  Levi wasn’t sure what else and it made him sick.  “Open your mouth.”  He ordered.  “Let me see.”

Erwin gave Levi a look before obligingly opening his mouth.  All of his teeth were still there, mild swelling around his lip, some of the cheek… could be worse.  His fingernails were all there too, and prison rape didn’t really seem to be the MPs style… not the above ground one, anyway.  

Levi made a cool compress and placed it against Erwin’s eye.  “You look like a titan.  All swollen and goofy.  You should be more careful or people will stop calling you commander handsome.”

Erwin winced slightly as pressure was applied to his face, but he lay down in Levi’s lap and shut his eyes.  “Noted.  You did well today, thank you.”

Levi stroked Erwin’s forehead.   “And you took over the government without killing anyone.  No biggie.”  He sighed.  “Erwin?  Do you want to tell me about how you got these scars?”

A look of genuine pain crossed Erwin’s features.  “Levi…”

“You don’t have to.”  Levi reminded him.  “But I want to know.  I want to help you heal.”

Erwin snuggled into Levi’s thigh.  He spoke in a detached way and didn’t make eye contact.  Levi was startled to hear Erwin focus not on the physical torture he endured, in fact that had been one of the easier parts of their separation… instead, he focused on the war that still raged in his mind.  If he had doomed humanity through his actions.  

“I had a long carriage ride with Zackley.”  He continued, his voice strained.  “We’re the same.”  

Levi didn’t know Zackley that well, but he sure as fuck didn’t like him.  Erwin was vulnerable after his injury and torture, perhaps more still because he hadn’t had a proper rest since he’d become commander.  The man had gotten into his head.  Erwin’s mask was starting to break, and Levi wasn’t sure how much more it could withstand.

**

Levi shut the wooden door behind him, keeping his back flush against it as he caught his breath.  Fuck.  Erwin’s blood had soaked into his clothes and the chill from it was horrific and upsetting.  He appreciated the distraction though, from the crushing reality which he now faced.

A life without Erwin.

Levi had been there this time.  He’d been with Erwin and he couldn’t protect him.  Nothing felt real yet, and nothing felt right. 

Erwin Smith lay on the neat little bed in front of him, his skin pale, his blood leaking out onto the mattress, his hair all mussed up.  Levi swallowed.  This wouldn’t do.  Erwin hated to look unkempt.  As gently and carefully as he could, Levi straightened out his uniform, brushed the dirt off his skin and ensured his bolo tie was gleaming.  He brushed Erwin’s hair back with his fingers, and smoothed it out the way he’d liked it.

Lastly he put Erwin’s hand over his chest in salute, ever the brilliant, dedicated commander.  He hoped that Erwin would be remembered like this.  

Levi let out a shuddering breath and knelt beside Erwin on the floor, placing his hand over Erwin’s.  

“Erwin?”  His voice was small and it fucking hurt to talk.  “Do… you wanna know how you got this scar?” He didn’t touch the wounded area, perhaps out of fear for hurting Erwin even now, but he gestured to it.  

“You were brave.  You were selfless.  You led the Survey Corps to victory and everyone is so proud of you.  You faced your fears and you gave up your dreams for us.  We couldn’t have done it without you.  Any of it.  You got this scar because you’re amazing.  You got this scar because you’re the best humanity has to offer.”  He bit his lip.  “You got this scar because you won.”

He ran his hand up Erwin’s arm and stopped at the pearl of blood which had soaked through his sleeve from where Levi had had the needle in.  “And… you got this one because I love you.”  He kissed Erwin’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together.  “Because I want you to be free.  Because you deserved better.”  

He kissed Erwin one last time and covered his face with his cloak.  His eyes were dull and empty, and he wondered whether the scar on his heart would kill him.

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 12

Treasures, Big and Small (AO3 Link)

Words: 6,140 

Warnings: THAT SLOW BURN IS PAYING OFF FOLKS

Arthur was right, the first location was just south of Flatneck Station a short ways. 

The conversation was easy on the ride up and turned to the old days and how things used to be. How John joined years after Arthur did, which of the girls had the stickiest fingers and which one tried to rob Hosea but ended up staying for years. 

Once Arthur had the free reign to be himself, he opened up to you about his past a bit more than on previous trips. You had heard stories of robberies gone wrong or saloon visits that took three days, but those had been in the company of others. The two of you hadn’t gone out alone since the day you collected debts and it was nice to just enjoy the day with ease. 

He had even brought up Mary for a moment, before shutting down and clamming up for a good five minutes. 

You approached the rock described in the map. It must have been two stories tall, with ledges all over making it easy to climb. Luckily it didn’t come to that, the map detailed a small opening that had to be explored in depth to find the first of three keys. 

“I can squeeze in there, though it’ll be tight. Just hold a few things for me.” You handed Arthur your heavy coat and gun belt, which left you in a thin shirt and long skirt. The opening was dark which you didn’t like, but you shimmied into the cave after jumping to catch the ledge and pull yourself up with shaking arms.  

Thankfully the cave opened into a larger area that let you breathe again. You called back that you were okay, and continued in. Intricate drawings covered the walls, images that spanned back hundreds of years. Retellings of bison hunts covered the wall to your left while the right was different patterns of the local flora, smudged and elusive after all this time. You ran your hand over a particularly pretty drawing, and imagined being the one to put it there originally. 

A lock box sat on a rock at the back of the cave and you approached it, ready to find the first piece. 

You pulled out your kit that would help you open it and began ticking away. Finally, you got in and grabbed the round metal piece resting on a red cloth. Alone it made no sense but maybe the other clues would add up to something worthwhile. You rolled it over in your hand, the weight substantial for such a small thing. Cogs and wheels covered the base, so you thought this must be the biggest piece and the base that others would attach to. Hopefully you and Arthur would be able to find all three pieces, your curiosity was incredibly peaked. 

“Coming back! I got it.” While you wiggled back out, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. You swung your legs over the small ledge and jumped down, handing the piece to Arthur while you brushed dust off your skirt. 

“Look at this, I can’t figure out how this will all go together. Can you hold it this way?” He held still while you twisted the sides left and right, trying to imagine how it would look. 

Arthur couldn’t take his eyes from your face while you worked, concentration pulling your eyebrows together and your mouth making a little pucker that caused his stomach to flip. 

“Let’s get going, I want to see how this plays out.” You quickly moved to Eclipse while Arthur looked over the map, trying to find the second location. 

“Here! Right next to Bard’s Crossing and the river. Ain’t too far from here.” 

The ride was quick, but when you arrived you weren’t the only ones. A small group of ten people were temporarily camped out where you needed to head next and didn’t look too friendly. They had built a makeshift shelter and a guard patrolling the area. 

“Should we just ask to get by…?” You asked innocently. Maybe they would understand. 

Arthur stared with amusement on his face. “No, darlin’, I do not think we should just waltz on in there. Look, there’s a ridge up that way, maybe the map was saying we should go up there? We can sneak up there once it’s dark and see if the second piece is hiding in that cave, but I hate to ask you to go up that high if you don’t want.”

“I’m fine with heights, don’t worry. I know it’s silly but this treasure map is the most exciting thing I’ve done as an outlaw.” 

You watched Arthur cover his smile with his hand and try not to laugh. “We gotta get you on a robbery, or something if this is the most exciting thing. Don’t count for much outlaw work.”

He suggested walking a ways away so the group couldn’t see the light from your fire while you waited for the sun to set. Nothing needed to be unpacked except fire starters and you sat on the ground against a tree, relaxing for a little while before you had to start climbing and finding a real life treasure. 

“You gonna fall asleep on me?” Arthur asked while he made a cup of coffee. 

“Just resting my eyes is all,” you mumbled quietly in reply. Your head bobbed against the wood and you tried to focus on staying awake.

Arthur sighed and reluctantly patted his lap. You stared confused, and he blushed slightly while saying, “Don’t put your head against that tree, you’ll wake up with a crick in your neck. You can…put your head on my knee, if you want. At least it’s softer." 

The blue folds of your skirt bunched up as you scooted to sit next to him, and you smoothed them out before laying down and resting your head on his knee. While a bit awkward, he was right. He was much softer than any tree would be. 

As you drifted off to sleep, Arthur made sure your breathing slowed to an even pace before moving. Your hair was long and wavy and loose, and shining in the midday sun. His hands brushed a flyaway piece off your cheek, curiosity finally getting the better of him. For months he had watched it bounce around or be tied up on top of your head and longed to run his fingers through to see if it matched the softness of your heart, and he was not disappointed. He moved a few more bits before finding a gentle rhythm of running his whole hand down your head over and over while you slept. 

Truth be told he was buzzing inside with conflict and sheer happiness. 

While his left hand blissfully ran through your hair, his right pulled out his journal and he started to sketch, the scene before him too compelling not to immortalize it. Drawings of you littered the pages of his journal. Sometimes it was nothing more than your eyes or your profile, but Arthur loved taking reminders of you with him like a secret he dared not breathe about. 

Little moments he never had to share with anyone but himself. 

A half hour after sunset, Arthur shook you gently. 

“YN? You ready to get going?” You awoke from a dreamless sleep and rubbed your eyes, the chirping of evening birds bringing you back to the present. 

“Hope you weren’t too uncomfortable, Arthur. I apparently needed that.” 

He patted your shoulder and agreed he was fine, then headed back to the horses. 

With the light from the sun all but gone you had to rely on his sense of direction to find the small camp again. The folk staying in the area had left. It hadn’t been a great place to defend and the two wagons full of people had dropped plenty of evidence behind of their stay. Rusty cans and indents in the dirt showed they had headed south, then followed the road until the trail was no longer visible. It was strange to stand in someone’s old home and reminded you of Horseshoe Overlook. You wondered what it looked like in the autumn, and if someone else had taken up residence in the place you once slept and called home. It left you feeling a little bit hollow and melancholy. 

Standing at the bottom of the cliff, Arthur called you over. 

“YN! Think you can jump that high?” He craned his head back to see up. 

“Arthur that ledge is higher than you, so no, I do not think so. Might be able to jump down to it though, the top ain’t too far around if I hike up.” 

You both agreed that you would walk and jump down in search of piece number two of the wild chase Sean had sent you on. It took nearly ten minutes to hike and you were out of breath by the time you arrived, but tried to hide it from Arthur who was still standing down below. 

“This about right?” It was sure hard to see with the little light left, so you lit your lantern and leaned over the edge. Standing above the cave entrance, you sat down and moved as close as you dared to the edge. Your toes were a good foot above the ledge, and Arthur nodded. 

There was a terrifying moment as you fell through the air before landing, but you stood up and turned to face the darkness with your lantern held up high. 

This was different than the last cave. Filled with twists and turns, the sounds from the forest were quickly replaced with drips of water, and a strange fluttering that echoed and caused panic to strike through your bones. But you keep pressing on. Hopefully this cave was smaller than it felt. Eventually you reached a flat wall with three holes. One had a painted red X across the edges so you ignored that. One had a blue circle around it, and the other was untouched. You cursed out loud as you remembered Arthur had the map tucked neatly into his journal and you had no easy way to reach him, so any hints or clues lay back in the small clearing. You debated for a moment which option to choose, and finally settled on the painted blue circle. A sigh of relief passed your lips as you pulled out a lock box. The cold metal was at least familiar and you popped the lid with no trouble, grabbing the second piece from inside. 

You turned to leave after placing the box back into the hole, but something made you turn back and face the third, untouched spot. Curiosity got the better of you and you hesitantly stuck your fingers in inch by inch to see what lay inside. 

At first, there was nothing. Then, something spindly and wiry stroked the back of your hand, and you yanked it back to make sure whatever it was hadn’t stayed on. Panic pumped through your heart and you screamed, running back towards the entrance and away from whatever hell demons resided in that wall. 

Arthur bolted up from his spot on the ground when he heard your voice rip from the cave, and was on his way towards it when you came bolting out and nearly toppled over the edge. You were shaking your right hand over and over, with your eyes wild and desperate to find an escape. The drop wasn’t too far, but more than you should have managed by sitting down and pushing yourself forward. 

“What in the hell was that? Are you alright?” Your eyes were huge as you stared, still visibly shaken by whatever happened in the cave. 

“I got it…but there was something else in there, too.” 

“What was it, YN?” His voice cut the night air hard and deep, afraid someone had met you inside and intended to cause harm. 

Checking to make sure the back of your hand was clean, you took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself. Your voice came out in a shaky breath and you shuttered at the memory. 

“Spiders.”

You had never seen Arthur laugh harder. 

At first he was bewildered, but that only lasted a few seconds before what you said really clicked into place and shocked him into a fit. He was doubled over, grabbing his knees for support. You watched him wipe tears from his eyes thinking bandits or the like were responsible for your terror. But no, just little bitty spiders. 

“That funny to you, Mr. Morgan?” Your arms were crossed and you looked down with fake resentment. 

“Oh, we’re back to that now are we,” he chuckled again, still not able to stand up straight. Laughter still rippled its way out as he repeated the scene in his mind.  

“They were horrifying! Stop laughing. Ugh they crawled up my hands, they must have been everywhere. I nearly dropped the piece on the way out, and I could have died! Arthur, I said stop laughing.” You shoved him, unable to contain your own hysterics now too. The two of you enjoyed the moment, realizing that nothing was truly the matter. Eventually the laughter died away and you pulled out the second piece, motioning to Arthur to hand you the first. 

A loud click rang out when the pieces finally went together. “Only one more!” The excitement overtook you and you danced a little with the key in front of you. Arthur laughed once more, then snapped open the map to have a look. 

“Celebrating might have to wait until tomorrow, last place is a bit of a ride. Heartland Oil Fields, least half a day away and it’s already night.” 

“Fine, fine. Where should we camp tonight then?” 

Arthur rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Let’s get closer to the train tracks, then we can follow them up North and over to get to them oil fields.” 

You agreed and mounted up on Eclipse. Zeus followed as you took the lead out of the area and headed back to the trail. 

People were friendly here. Not that you passed many this late at night, but they all smiled, tipped their heads, and said hello while riding by. A rumor about the O’Driscolls being in the area wasn’t proving itself true that night as no trouble came across you on the road. 

“Let’s head up here, turn left YN.” Another small clearing greeted you as a makeshift camp. 

There was no fire set up this time as it was late, and Arthur was exhausted. He unrolled his sleeping mat and started snoring before you were even adjusted sitting on the ground. The short hour you had gotten earlier made you feel great, and sleep was the last thing on your mind. 

The connected key pieces sat together in front of you, but you wanted to know more. The map was tucked away in Arthur’s journal, and you knew he would hate you for snooping but you only wanted the additional page. 

“Arthur?” 

His lack of response was all you needed to tip toe over to Zeus and rifle through his saddle bags to grab to book. 

“Gottcha,” the journal fell open to the page holding the map, but something else caught your attention. 

“Is that…?” The angle from which the art was drawn showed a face turned away, and long wavy hair like yours. Just like how you were laying in Arthur’s lap this afternoon. 

“Oh my god…” you breathed while flipping back a few pages. Images of you were everywhere. Arthur could somehow capture your eyes, how happiness spread across your face, and even moments of intense concentration with his pencil drawings. And you loved it. 

So everything Charles had said was true. Arthur did harbor feelings for you, and you finally had the proof that validated your own heart too. Holding the journal to your chest, you walked back to your spot on the ground next to your lantern, and slowly flipped through page after page. Reading his innermost thoughts was too invasive, so you only looked at the drawings to get to know this man better. He was so much more than the person you thought you knew, and all of it was contained on the pages before you. 

A particular drawing caught your eye, and you ran a light finger down the cheek. Well, your cheek. Somehow you didn’t know the woman in these pictures, so much had changed with you over the past few months. 

Arthur muttered something softly, and you panicked and sat on the journal to hide it out of sight. He was just sleep talking, and you let out a sigh of relief. Time to put what didn’t belong to you back, and go about like nothing happened. 

As you fell asleep a warm ball of hope and happiness settled on your chest. 

The next morning you arrived at the oil fields earlier than you had expected. Arthur wanted to get back to camp soon so he woke you just as the sun crossed the horizon. You had slept little the night before, thoughts of the man beside you keeping you awake. 

“Want me to head inside this time? You look real tired, YN.” You nodded and stood above the ladder that descended into darkness. The pair of you had been contemplating where this damn map was leading and the only logical place left was the drop down. After your spider experience yesterday you were secretly relieved not to be leaving the sunlight anytime soon. 

Leaning against the wooden legs of the oil rig, you watched the wind ripple across the plains ahead of you. Bursts of dry plants stuck out of the dirt, and small animals scattered around in packs. Every once in awhile a chill bit the exposed skin of your forearms and neck, making you shiver and pull on your sleeves. What was taking him so long. 

“Arthur? You alright down there?” A thud and a string of curses was your reply. After checking that the horses were tied up well, you began down the ladder to join him. 

“I got this, don’t need you coming to save me.” His voice was gruff and he hastily dropped his hand from the top of his head. From the short height of the cave it looked like he had stood up too fast when you called out and smacked the back of his head. The grumpy look on his face didn’t last long though as you neared to him. 

“Is it down here? Been long enough I could have solved it and left for camp by now.” 

Arthur took a deep breath and his shoulders bobbed. “I can’t find the damn box. Should be somewhere over to the left, but I looked and ain’t nothing there.” 

You held the map closer to the lamp and chuckled when you realized he was holding it wrong. “Arthur. Turn it this way, so we should be looking right.” You pointed and he headed that way silently, the frustration etched into his face. He held the lamp up over your head, but there was little space for the two of you to fit. 

“I’ll go, just keep that light up.” His arm held steady, and you found the box. The top didn’t open as easy this time, so you handed it back for Arthur to try. He studied it for a moment while you took the lantern and allowed him to try. 

“Ain’t so hard, just gotta-” the top flew up and spooked you both. The final piece was inside, and he handed it to you for safekeeping until you could get back to the surface. 

“Please, YN, get up that ladder so I can leave this blasted hole in the ground.” You giggled and started climbing upwards into the open air, and breathed a sigh of relief. You’ve always had a weird fear of small, dark spaces. 

“Arthur…this one doesn’t fit. Look here, the other two clicked in so easy but I can’t find how to connect them all. Are we missing one other part?” You took the map out and compared the sections to what the whole should look like. “Something must have broken off…Damn.” 

A round green orb was missing. In fact, it was the most important piece, the one you would look through while standing in the oil field to find the treasure stash. It had special markings on it that was supposed to reveal the spot after all three pieces crossed in front of it, connecting to create a web like structure in your hands. 

“Maybe we can use something else?” You started looking around to see if anything was dropped, but no luck. 

“This drawing makes it look like a marble.” Arthur pulled his satchel around and produced just what you were looking for. A green marble. 

“Forgot I was playing with Jack last week and he hid these in my bag. Think this’ll work?” He placed the small shape into the socket, and it clicked into place. Excitement filled your chest as you held it up and looked through the finally assembled key. 

“Oh, this is stunning! Whoever put this together must have been incredibly intelligent, look at how it plays off the rays of the sun and how the clouds are…should we wait until there’s a certain coverage?” 

Arthur grunted in reply and took the object out of your hands. “Darlin’, we do any more waiting and I am gonna starve to death. Let’s find whatever treasure Sean had built up in his mind and head back to camp. I ain’t really in the mood for hunting.”

You took it back to locate the place you would be hiking up to. The hill was too steep for the horses so you two would be climbing up on foot, hopefully not taking long to locate something you had no clue was even still there. The green marble shone in the sunlight, and the circles of metal lined up when you stared at the peak of the rock. “Arthur! Up there, that’s where we gotta look. It matches the crazy designs on the back of the map.” 

Once turned over, swirls and circles covered the back of the paper around a cut of rocks shaped like a face. The nose was broken, and in the crack was the red line indicating the location of the treasure. 

It took nearly half an hour to climb up that damn rock. At first it seemed easy and you entered the task full of false confidence and expectations. But those were built on a weak foundation and fell apart as soon as you got more than a story off the ground. You were open and exposed, climbing the side of a mountain with a man who was clearly more comfortable with this kind of thing than you were, and he watched you sweat and curse every time your foot misstepped and you imagined yourself careening down to your death. 

“I, I don’t know how much higher I can go, Mr. Morgan,” you panted up at him. He looked down surprised. “You alright down there, Ms. Moore?” 

The rocks around you were suddenly slippery and your palms felt like the surface was too smooth to get a good grip on. “You continue on up, I am not going anywhere but down from here.” Arthur offered you a hand up but you swatted it away quickly, afraid to have your hands away from the stone for more time than necessary.

“Please, just hurry.” 

He chuckled and climbed up the last bit. “Sure is a pretty view up here, YN!” Arthur rested his hands on his hips and drank in the view before him. You silently cursed whoever made that map and buried treasure up in the middle of a cliff. Albeit, they did pick a good place if they didn’t want anyone finding it. 

“Shame. I found the box, I’ll bring it down to open though,” Arthur made quick work of climbing down to you and found you pale faced and pressed hard against the wall. 

“I don’t think I can move. It’s terrifying.” 

The next step down was luckily a ledge, and Arthur jumped down. “Here, if you need to jump I’ll catch you.” His hands were held up towards you and judging by the size of his arms he would have no problems if you actually jumped. 

“Jesus Christ.” Your boot scooted closer to the edge. Right before you moved to him you saw how high you truly were, and felt a bit dizzy. Your legs gave out and you fell right into Arthur’s open arms. 

He caught you easily, of course, and once you regained your balance you had no desire to release his jacket from your grip. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

He chuckled lightly. “C’mon, girl. You telling me a little cliff is going to do you in? You can do this, just focus for a moment. Look at me, focus.” Gently, he placed a hand on either side of your face and locked his eyes with yours. You concentrated on his chest rising and falling, breathing along in time to settle your nerves. 

Once you felt better, you had no desire to pull back from how close you were standing with Arthur. His breath fell gently on your cheeks, and his eyes were such a pretty shade of blue when contrasted against the sky behind him. You smiled up at the outlaw, and his eyes crinkled around the edges in a gently response. 

“You okay there?” It came out as a whisper, Arthur still not breaking your gaze. 

You nodded, but still clutched him tight incase you had to look back down at the journey ahead. Arthur’s mouth was parted just slightly and was incredibly inviting, but you knew if you kissed him you definitely would never make it down this cliff. Finally you pulled back and began the descent to your waiting horses. 

The last jump to the ground was short, and when you landed your skirt poofed around you. Arthur landed next to you and placed his hand on your back leading you towards Eclipse and Zeus who lifted their heads as you walked up. 

“I’ve never been so happy to be back on the ground, thank you Arthur.” 

He tipped his head, and reached into his bag. “Let’s find out what we won, eh?”

This time the box was easy. Wasn’t even locked, and after all you went through to get it you were thoroughly relieved. Just a plain, rusted lock box that opened easily. 

“Woah…”

Three gold bars stared up at you from inside. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up higher than you’ve ever seen. “That is a lot of money. At least 500 each.” An awkward beat passed as you mentally debated what to do with the bars. Keep them? Split it? 

“Here. You take one, I’ll take one, then the gang gets the third. I almost care that Sean gets one but he did nothing except try to lose this map instead of chase anything. I would be careful about cashing that in, YN, maybe hide it at camp for awhile.” 

You gingerly lifted your gold bar out of the box. It was beautiful, but what it meant for you was even more so. If there was ever a time that you needed to run, you were set for a good while without having to do much. You stood up on your tip toes and laid a kiss on Arthur’s cheek while muttering a quiet thank you. A blush ran up his face and he mounted Zeus with a smile on his face. 

“Now, please. Can we get back to camp?” 

The pair of you arrived in the late afternoon to the sleepy homestead. Kieran was on guard duty and waved you both in while holding a shotgun. You could see Hosea leaning in and discussing something with Charles and Karen that looked serious, but they didn’t see as you walked towards the stew. 

You scooped a bowl for Arthur first as he complained the whole ride back about how hungry he was, and he gratefully took it and found seating near the fire. The heat from the midday had worn off and you grabbed a shawl from your tent, wrapping it loosely around your shoulders. It was an old one of Abigail’s that she had given you as a gift. 

“YN! Glad you’re back, I’ve got a plan I want you in on.” 

Hosea called to you from the table and you walked over to the trio. Charles had a paper in front of him and Karen was keenly looking at the drawings. 

‘How would you like to head out on a mission with us?” Karen smiled up and patted the seat next to her for you to sit. 

“There’s going to be something called a Governor’s Ball in Rhodes this month at the town hall. Dancing, drinking, schmoozing with the highest of society that this shit hole has to offer. Should be an easy haul and an excuse to get all dressed up.” Hosea’s eyes were lit up while he talked, the full plan laying out easily in his mind. 

“I heard about it from a stable boy in town jealous his employer is going, but he isn’t. Anyways, I’ll need you as a distraction point woman and for pickpocketing those lame bastards dry. I still need to run it by Dutch but would you be interested?”

“Of course!” You were ecstatic at being included in a real mission with the gang. It wasn’t a train robbery but hell, being able to produce some kind of contribution would be a win. “Those are some things I’d be good at. Used to go to hall dances all the time back home.” 

Hosea nodded at you approvingly. “Good. Should be easy. Won’t need more than those of us here, too many and we attract a lot of attention. Charles will be manning the wagon, and we can pose as a little family of three, not that you and Karen bear much resemblance, but I’m sure these backwards farm folk won’t ask too many questions. I can spin a sob story on the spot that will make them leave us be.” 

He chuckled, and Charles even managed a small smile at the thought of Hosea making those bastards sad. 

“We’ll iron out the details soon. Just wanted to make sure it was something you were up for.”

An excitement hummed through your body at the thought of wearing a nice dress and heading to a dance, and getting to rob some fools on the way. It’s too bad it was a full week away. 

“You sure you want to take these folk with you, Hosea?” Arthur had crossed the camp and was standing behind Hosea’s chair, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Must be a few of us more suited for that.”

All four of you exchanged a look, then turned to Arthur. “What do you mean? We got some fine people-” 

Arthur laughed and cut him off. “Oh, I know you’re fine folk. That ain’t the problem. Just don’t know if you all can be trusted to pull this off. Have to see what Dutch approves, won’t we?” 

Charles scoffed and stood to leave. He and Arthur had always been close so this was an awkward conversation and a low blow. “Don’t know what’s in you today, Morgan. Leave it alone.”  

Hosea rolled his plans up slowly, thinking his next move through. The man was calculating, but never cold in his actions towards Arthur who he considered a son. 

“Would you like to be included, Arthur?” Hosea’s tone was condescending as if he were speaking to Jack, not a fully grown man. 

“No, that ain’t -” 

“Should I have run this by you before uttering a word to anyone else?” 

Hosea stood tall, and what he lacked in height he made up for in his aura. He may not have been the most loved by Dutch, but he was his most trusted. And in this camp that held a lot of weight to it. Arthur shirked back and rubbed his neck. 

“Hosea, I just meant the women.” You sucked in a breath as if you had been hit. He didn’t trust the two of you for a simple robbery mission?

“What in the hell does that mean, Mr. Morgan?” Karen was standing now, too. Her eyes were full of anger and she glared hard at Arthur, unafraid of him in the slightest. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and suddenly it clicked. 

“Karen, it isn’t you he’s worried about.” Your voice was quiet, but everyone turned to look as you finished. “It’s me. He’s afraid I’ll find a way to mess this up.” 

You stood and placed your hands on the table. “Mr. Morgan, can I talk to you? In private?” 

For the past two days, Arthur had been the only person you had been around. Maybe he got fed up with you and never said a word. Maybe he really didn’t trust you after all of these months. Or maybe he just didn’t think you could pull off a robbery. Either way the dice fell it made you boil with anger that he said something in front of the others who clearly thought you were up to the job. 

Arthur followed you back behind one of the wagons. As soon as you were both out of sight of the others, he was met with the full force of anger that was harbored inside of you. 

“What in the hell, Arthur, was that.” 

The speech that passed your lips was pointed and cold. You were mad, and you wanted answers. 

He at least had the audacity to look embarrassed while he spoke. “I don’t know, YN, I just don’t want anything bad to go down. I’ve seen what happens when folks are inexperienced.” 

“You don’t know that I’ll mess it up, Arthur! It could be great, I thought you woulda trusted me by now. I go hunting, I pickpocket folks, hell, Sean and I even had that side of the road scheme for a few weeks!” You were exacerbated as you blew air through your lips and ran a hand through your hair.  

“Why are you really so hard on this plan?” 

A few moments passed as he thought. Finally he replied, “Because.”

You snorted. “Because! That ain’t no answer. Look at me, Arthur.” You moved closer to him to see his reaction, and his eyes locked onto yours as you continued. “I may not be the greatest outlaw, but I’m good. I’m gonna ask you once more now, why are you so set on me not going?” 

“Jesus, YN. Because -” 

In one movement, Arthur pressed you back against the wagon, his lips meeting your for the first time. Utter shock ran through you, but was quickly replaced with elation that started warm in your belly. His hands were in your hair and on your waist while you pulled him in closer by his shirt, and he eagerly responded. 

The world swirled around you, but Arthur was the anchor in a storm you didn’t see coming. 

His mouth moved against yours gently. It was a feeling you could live in forever, but Arthur eventually pulled back slowly. His face was still close, and you could see his dilated pupils and flush ridden cheeks. 

“Hope I didn’t, uh, overstep anything there.” Arthur’s voice was thick and low. 

“No, Arthur. Think I’ve been hoping you’d do that for awhile.” 

He chuckled and twirled a lock of your hair around his finger. “Me too. And I wasn’t worried about you messing anything up, YN. I was worried you might get hurt if something goes wrong.”

“It ain’t even a high stakes mission, you fool. No trouble around.” You laughed and slapped his chest lightly, your high still buzzing through you. “I didn’t know you truly cared, Mr. Morgan.” 

“‘Course I care, I’m just not too good at showing it.” 

Before reluctantly separating, Arthur kissed you gently twice more as if he couldn’t get enough of what had been up until now had been simply a fantasy. As far as camp went there was little privacy and you were worried someone would come around the corner and see what was going on. 

Arthur left first. But before he got too far, he turned back and called one last thing to you. 

“You may not find any trouble on that run with Hosea, but dammit, woman, there’ll be trouble for sure if you call me Mr. Morgan again.”

[lore-of-the-silvereyes-rwby]

Remnants Silver Legends

Chapter 8

The West Valley road/ Rananore fields/ Endemar

Rananore; vast fields, and tall grass. Fertile farmland, and the Great Valley road passing through. Truely a peaceful land where the work is honest, and people live in safety. Quiet fields with the wind breezing through.  But a small tremor disrupts this tranquil land. 

Not a natural one born from nature. But one forged by the heels of thousands. Thousands running for the safety of home. Each at a different pace. Some fast, and quick others slow, and tired. Most of them were wounded, and dying. One of the many knights within this legion falls down to their knees. Weak and tired with blood dripping down their arm. Another knight hurries to his aid.

“Are you all right,” the knight asked as he dropped to his knees to aid his comrade.

“I ...I  ...may have ...lost more blood than I  ...than I thought,” he claimed in a very faint voice, as his breath grew shorter.

“You’re going to be fine alright, we're almost home,” he said, trying to comfort him. 

“Hey, hey you two, over here,” he called out to a pair of youngbloods to help him.

The two hurried over to answer his needs. The knight has one go find anyone who knows medicine. He knew he was asking too much. Especially since he knew most of the knights, or dames who were trained to be field doctors were either dead, or missing. As that one  left, he had the other one help him lift the wounded knight back on his feet.

The knight takes the right side, and the remaining youngblood takes the left. The two keep in mind his damaged right arm. As they lift him up his  arm from its socket falls down to the ground. They all look in shock, and surprise.

“Something tells me ...I’m not ...getting that back ...am I?”

“No...no you are not.”

“We’re almost there,” cried the voice of someone on horseback! “Keep moving, They’re bound to send help if we’re close enough for them to see us!” The rider then noticed the trio. He got off his horse, and offered it to the wounded. “Take this, you need it more than I do,” the rider offered.

The three of them got the wounded knight on the horse. After they secured him on it, they then had the youngblood saddle up on the horse. He would ride  while it carried the wounded knight. Soon after they sent them off hoping that by the time they reached the gates they would be open. Hopefully aid will come to them, he thought. That’s more than he can say for the rest of them. 

He feels helpless as he knows he can’t save them all. His mind was clouded by grief. He hangs his head in defeat looking down as he continues to walk down the path. Then all of a sudden a loud horn was heard. He raises his head to see the gates of Sinda open. Carriages, carts, and caravans began to exit the city. Escorted by the Ostirio wall garrison. They ride faster than the wind to aid them.

“We’re saved,” the knight beside him asked as he exclaimed in joy,”...Right?”

“Yes, yes we are,” he answered

 With renewed hope, they began to move in haste. The former rider stands alone to the side avoiding the raging stampede of hopeful souls. He noticed the severed arm of the wounded knight who he gave his horse to. He picks it up and removes the metal bracer which was in good condition. He tossed the lifeless limb into the nearby fields, so that it won’t block the way of his troops as they rush for aid. 

He had begun to walk down the path to the city. He then started to reflect on the events that led him here, as well as the tenets he was tasked to uphold. As the legions Marshal he swore an oath to those responsibilities. In his mind he failed them all.

Mahtale tole/Silirin/ Endemar

“What do you think that horn was,” Ezer asked?

“It came from Sinda so it was probably a drill or something,” Ithiel answered.

“Something is off,” Lucius implored. “There were no drills scheduled today.”

“Probably a surprise performance inspection then,” Ithiel said.

Three friends argue, and discuss the reasons behind the sound they heard. They’re also not the only ones either. The people around them, and throughout the city wonder the same thing. In their own thoughts they hope it was nothing to be concerned with. Strange days are ahead, but are they for the better or for the worst. But for now friends will wine and dine.

“Which one of you ordered the ale and honey biscuits?”

“Here,” Lucius said, raising his hand.  The server gave him his order, and began to drink.

“Okay and the salted fish with cheese bread, and Poitin.”

"That be mine," claimed Ezer.

“Alright and I guess you’re the one who wanted the strawberry tart, and port wine, I take it.”

“A personal favorite to the end I’m afraid,” Ithiel acknowledged as he smiled in delight. “Gratias tibi,” he said to her.

After she finished serving their food, she proceeded to the next table. The three friends share a toast, and drink. Sometime had passed before the three began their conversation anew. 

“So anybody got something interesting going on,” queried Ezer?

“Nothing much going on in my life. Probably going to return to my studies,” Lucius answered

“Let me rephrase that,” asserted Ezer. “Anyone besides mixed-eyes here got something to say,” he bellowed.

That earned a scornful stare from Lucius. Ithiel couldn’t help but feel disappointed in Ezer. As a fellow Arhon he at least thought that all of them were like minded for the better. Guess he was wrong. But there's still hope for them yet. Best to change the subject before things escalate.

“To answer your question Ezer,” he said, hoping to avoid conflict. “I’ll be leaving the city soon if you're curious.”

That seemed to have nulled the tension between the two. Petty spite turned to surprise.  

“Seriously you’re leaving,” Ezer inquired?

“Where to,” Lucius asked?

They continue to ask, pressuring him for an answer.

“Calm down, calm down,” Ithiel urged, gesturing to them to keep it down. “Ok, I don’t know where I’ll be traveling yet, nor do I know anything about it. But I do know it's a place not many have ever been to.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Lucius stated.

“Sadly that's true,” Ezer agreed.

“Wait, is that why you seem to be off today, because you're leaving,” Lucius asked?

“Mostly,” he lied.

“Well look on the bright side,” exclaimed Ezer. “You’ve been outside of the city more times than I have.” He then took another drink. “You want to know the first thing I’m gonna do when I leave,” he said as he began to boast.

“Let me guess, hunt down the Druwil,” Lucius divulged. 

“Who asked you,” Ezer challenged Lucius?

“The Druwil,” Ithiel inquired?

“It’s nothing, just some Grimm fable. Legends say that they're older than The Fall of Dor-nest, and that there is only one left,” Lucius told him.

“And I’m gonna hunt it down and kill it,” bragged Ezer.

“Sure you are,��� Lucius sighed.

As they continued their conversation a new patron entered the tavern they were in. The foreign stranger approached the counter then began to converse with the owner. Lucius spotted and took note of this stranger's appearance. 

His eyes were light blue, so obviously human. He had short black hair and his face bare.  His skin was fair, but tan marks were prominent but not noticable. His attire was blue and grey with leather armor, and a dark cloak adorned on his shoulders. An explorer maybe?  But from where he thought. He then began to cross off potential points of origin.

Eregost; too pale. 

Irestia; too stern, and rough looking.

Nuel;  not the romantic type.

Rawmaite; too short to hail from any of those islands.

Anarsta; he may need a second opinion.

“Hey Ithiel you’re familiar with the northern people right?”

“I know of them. Why do you ask?”

Lucius pointed to the foreign figure at the counter.

“Any idea where he’s from?”

He took a look at him to see if he can answer Lucius’s question.

“I only know of the major cities, and trade centers, but if I had to make a guest he’s most likely from Nenlant or near it, he answered.”

“Any idea of his profession?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. 

“Entschuldigen Sie, entschuldigen Sie meine Herren, an unknown voice spoke to them.” They were cut off guard as the stranger they were talking about was all of a sudden standing right in front of them. “Is it okay if I bull up ein chair, he asked?” They both nodded in acknowledgement and gave him the go ahead. “Vielen Dank, meine Herren, he said.”

“If you don’t mind, may I ask what is your purpose here, Ithiel asked?”

“It is ein long schtory, put in schort I am here unter contract py zomeone vo visches ein Hautience vith zee City Lord, und zee ovner of zis blace tells me vu can help me vith zat, he surmised,” as he pointed at Ithiel.

He was stunned by what he said.

“Why me,” he Inquired?

Zee ovner told me zat vu vould tell me vy zo vo are vu?

“That depends who wants to meet him,” Ithiel asked?

“Unfortunately I can’t discloze zat Hinformazion,” he said. “Zo can vu help me or not?”

Ithiel pondered in thought. Trying to see the strangers intentions. He didn’t seem like a dishonest person. Maybe a little rough around the edges, but someone who wanted his intentions known.

“It must be important that this person sees him isn’t it,” he added as he took a drink of wine. 

The stranger’s integrity began to weaken. He grew annoyed at the silberäugig man. But he had to keep his composure. At least until his task was over. He asked again.

 “Can vu help me or not?”

After some thought Ithiel gave into his demands. What's the worst that can happen he thought. This was of course his city, and home, with people that stand up for each other.

“As his son I think I can help your friend meet my father,” he alleged. “Do you have a name?”

 The revelation that he was the son of the man he was looking for, still had the stranger in awe.

“It’s Isa, Isa of Nenarta,” he answered.

“I was close,” said Lucius as he took another sip.

“Nice to meet you Isa,” Ithiel greated as he stood to shake his hand. 

There was a noticeable height difference between the two. He stood a head taller than him. Isa felt a little intimidated.

“Nice to meet you too, um . . . sorry I didn’t catch your name.” he said as he shook his hand.

“Ithiel, Ithiel of the House of Ilsalos,” he said. “So shall we leave?”

“Sicher.” 

As they began to walk, Isa noticed the other two.

“Vait vat apout zem,” he asked?

Ezer may have had one too many drinks, and Lucius sat there in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time his cousin was in this state. But he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that they share blood. He turned his gaze to Ithiel.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll get him home as soon as I can,” sighed Lucius. “Take care of yourself though Ithiel.”

Ithiel acknowledged what he said and continued on his way with Isa. The two left the tavern and proceeded to where the client was. It was about a half an hours’ walk to their destination. He made sure to keep his guard up, for he is unsure if this was genuine cause or a trap. But who benefits from it. They arrived in an alley where a tall figure in red and grey waits. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and his head rises to see the pair approaching him.

“Who’s this guy,” he asked?

“Zir may I brezent Iziel, zee zon of Zilirin’s city Lord,” Isa answered.

“It’s Ithiel,”he said, trying to correct Isa's accent.

“Your Lord Herod’s,” he asked flabbergasted?

“Yes I am, and I’m here in good faith that this is an important matter,” stated Ithiel. “As such may I ask both the reasons for your secrecy and who you are that warrants an audience with my father?”

Surprised by his good fortune he relented. He stopped leaning against the wall and approached them. He was just a couple feet opposite of Ithiel. Silver eyes, met silver eyes. But they have never met before, until now as he began to bow to Ithiel.

“My name is Wyn, son of Aneirin of Gadronma,” He revealed. “ It is urgent that I meet Lord Herod, if Silirin, and the rest of Numen are to avoid the same fate as my homeland.”

NOTES

Sorry for the long wait, life got in the way. Also I’m trying to make these longer. Hopefully the next one won’t take 5 months