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tadpole-san · 2 years

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It’s been SO LONG and the wait was SO ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT

@cas-kingdom I’m sending you a bill for my therapy bc I’ve been ugly crying for way too long over akela and eskel

“I’ll be Uncle Eskel if she want” ESKEL ITS WHAT W E WANT

An Accidental Purpose

A/N: Set almost 2 months after Geralt finds a baby girl (the same in all my fics) in the woods, and 5 years before he asks for the Law of Surprise. They did Eskel dirty this season so I’m going to try and write as much of him as I can to rectify that. Enjoy!

(The characters are based more on what we see in the show as opposed to the games/books - Eskel’s is mostly from the flashback we saw of him and Geralt, which I adored).

Title: An Accidental Purpose

Summary: Geralt brings the baby he found in the woods to Kaer Morhen to meet Vesemir and his brothers.

Words: 5052

The sight of home had never been accompanied with more dread.

The witcher dismounted Roach, snow crunching under his boots. One arm gripped the motionless bundle to his chest, both a reminder of the real reason he was here, and a repellent of the same thing. He grasped the reins and clicked his tongue, encouraging the horse to walk forward.

Eskel would understand. He relied on that. Lambert would take some time—perhaps a few years, and even then, he was too stubborn to completely rebuke his original opinion. Vesemir…was Vesemir. Geralt was sure his old mentor would set him up by the fire with hot food and good ale, but he also knew there would be questioning glances thrown his way throughout the night, until he broke, and his lips spilled the words he’d bottled up over the past six weeks.

He took a step forward, then suddenly found his feet frozen to the ground, eyes staring ahead. Irritation coursed through him, and he tensed his jaw. “Fuck,” he breathed out, a frosty cloud emanating from his mouth. He could do this. It was home. He had come here every winter, once upon a time, holing out the cold months with his brothers in the only place they were safe. That was why he had returned, after all. She would be protected, and he would finally, with any luck, receive the help he so desperately sought for, however much he fought the notion that he didn’t need it. But each time he toyed with taking a step towards the heavy doors he had opened innumerable times before, he was reminded that the last winter he had been here, was one he could not really remember.

It was his fault. He told himself it wasn’t, life had merely taken him on too many adventures, but he’d passed the road to Kaer Morhen last winter, and the winter before he had spent his coin on an inn in Cintra. The winters before that escaped his mind. Lambert would know how long it had been. Geralt fancied the redhead kept a tally, etched into the rock above his bed, just so he could use it to spite him.

He wasn’t certain why he hadn’t just turned down that path. Perhaps solidarity simply became him. Perhaps that was why some small part of him wanted nothing more than a silent shelter for the night, and he knew silence would become a distant memory the moment any of his brothers lay eyes upon what he held in his arms. No doubt the bigger part of him, the feasibly saner part of him, wanted them all to be there, so he could hear from someone else just how ridiculously fucking stupid he was being and finally believe it himself. But he couldn’t disregard the small part. That was the consequence of a life alone.

The bundle moved, a little mewing noise sounding from beneath the blankets, and he remembered susceptibility to cold was a very human thing. He had ignored the wind as it snapped at the bits of skin his cloak failed to cover, and the snowflakes clinging to his clothes, but he knew this bundle, or what was beneath it, at least, couldn’t do the same. So, he forced himself to move, mindful of the unfamiliarly quick thud of his heart against his chest. A late reunion was better than none at all, he told himself, no matter if he was bringing extra.

He stretched his arm out once he reached the door and grounded himself. “Fuck,” he said again, louder this time, and pushed.

The scent of roasted meat met his nose immediately as the creak echoed throughout the keep. If he weren’t so tense, rigged with consciousness of the night’s impending strain, he would have taken it all in and savoured it with every ounce of his exhausted being. He had not felt the warmth of that hearth in years, blazing with a fire that had thawed many frozen hands and hearts over the decades. Memories returned to the forefront of his mind, filling it with reminders of family, and home, and safety, and the love he seemed to have forgotten for a while.

His presence abruptly halted conversation, heads, perhaps a dozen of them, twisting around to see who of them had been missing. As though they didn’t know. As though they hadn’t known for the past few winters. Someone stood to their feet, a head of untamed ginger curls Geralt would recognise anywhere, and a bellowing laugh resounded around the hall.

“Is that really you?” Lambert asked, taking a long swig from his tankard. “Geralt of Rivia, arisen from the dead, finally home to grace us with his marvellous presence?” He held a knife in his hand, a piece of red meat stuck to the end of it, and he pointed it at Geralt as he took calculated steps towards him. “What took you so long?”

Despite it all, Geralt allowed himself a small smile. He pushed the hood of his cloak back to reveal his white hair. “Is this how you greet everyone now, Lambert?” he asked, indicating the knife, and Lambert shrugged. For a moment, emotions seemed to war on his face—should he clap his brother on the back in a warm welcome or stick the blade in, just a little, to prove an unspoken point?

“Suppose you wouldn’t know,” he decided on, “considering it’s been so long since we last saw each other.”

There was a moment of complete silence, filled only with the two witchers staring straight at each other, neither budging. Then, Lambert cracked, and his lips broke into a grin. He took a step forward and grasped Geralt in a hug. “It’s good to see you, brother,” he said around a laugh. Geralt drew the bundle into his chest as much as possible, careful not to let it get crushed between them. “And you’re well?”

Geralt rose a brow when Lambert drew back, grasping his shoulders at arm’s length. “Do I look it?”

“Fuck no. But you’re home. We thought you dead, you know?”

“I’ve come close to it, believe me.” He briefly glanced around the room, noting the diminished numbers. He knew it hadn’t long turned winter, and witchers were still to arrive, but there were usually more. He wouldn’t question it. Not now, anyway.

“That’s not how he greeted me, by the way.”

Lambert scowled as Eskel came forward. “You were here before me, shit-for-brains.”

“Ignore him,” Eskel told Geralt, a grin on his lips, “he’s just overcome by emotion. You know how he is.” He opened his arms wide, expertly ducking Lambert’s swing, and Geralt, unsurprised with the peace he felt at the mere sight of one of his oldest—and most open-minded, which was important here—friends, accepted his embrace. He discreetly shifted the bundle once again, absently searching the room over Eskel’s shoulder for Vesemir. Geralt would take in any advice he was given, but Vesemir’s he would value most.

“Geralt?” Eskel spoke quietly in his ear.

“Yes?”

“There is a tiny hand sticking from your pile of blankets.”

Geralt glanced down. Sure enough, a pink hand was stretched out, curled into a fist. Eskel stepped back and fixed him with a look while Geralt covered it again with the blanket. He looked up, likes creasing his forehead. “I need to speak to Vesemir.”

“He’s in his room.” Eskel’s eyes flicked between Geralt and whatever he was holding. He so clearly wanted to ask questions, but he let it go for the moment, jerking his head in the direction of the corridors instead. “Come on.”

The hallways in the keep had always been cold, but the witchers had learnt to look past that and see it as a sanctuary. A place they could call home. Once, the sound of the howling wind during the winter had been masked by the noise of laughter and cheer, but now, as Geralt followed Eskel, feeling oddly like a chastised child, the silence between them did nothing for the eeriness he could hear outside. Eskel didn’t turn once, likely absorbing the information he had and piecing together the information he didn’t have. And Geralt, his arms wrapped around the bundle of blankets and human, wondered not for the first time if he’d made a mistake.

They stopped outside Vesemir’s room, and Eskel knocked once. “Had a run-in with a wyvern,” he explained, glancing over his shoulder for just a moment. “He was sleeping it off, last we checked. Though that was two days ago.”

Geralt huffed in as much amusement as he was currently capable of. A muffled “yeah, I’m still alive” sounded through the door and Eskel pushed it open with a chuckle. Vesemir was sat at the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots.

“I’ll join you for dinner in just a moment,” he said, pausing when he lifted his head and caught sight of Geralt. His eyes went wide, then they relaxed, and he smiled in a mixture of joy and relief. “Geralt. You’re home.”

Geralt wanted nothing more than to grasp his mentor in a fierce hug. Since the moment he’d been stuck with the baby, he’d ached for Vesemir’s words of wisdom that always seemed to pierce through whatever instability he had accidentally created. Though he doubted they would be the words he wanted to hear, he knew they would be true. But he desperately wanted this out of the way.

“I am,” he said. Vesemir stood to his feet, smile faltering when Geralt didn’t move to properly greet him. Geralt briefly glanced at Eskel, who was standing silently by the side of the bed, arms crossed, eyes expectant.

“I would appreciate some help,” he said bluntly. There was no point in being avoidant, and Geralt knew it. He pulled the blankets back enough to reveal the little face of a sleeping human baby. Eskel’s mind had already worked it out, but the sight of the baby in the witcher’s arms caused his brows to leap anyway. He visibly swallowed and heaved a deep breath, propping his hands on his waist.

Vesemir, meanwhile, stayed where he was. His expression hadn’t changed much, apart from the widening of his eyes. Geralt found himself desperately searching for a reaction—he didn’t honestly care what it was, he just needed something. Instead, the room was enshrouded in a ridiculously painful silence that had Geralt shifting absently from foot to foot in a display of discomfort he never felt.

“I found her almost two months ago in a basket in the woods,” he rushed to explain, as though the others had been readying to speak. “She had no one, so I took her.”

Eskel cleared his throat. “And you’re, what, in the process of finding someone to take her from you?”

Geralt stared at him.

Eskel stared back, genuinely confused. Then, a realisation seemed to cross his face, and he dipped his head. “Then…are you looking for someone to tell you this is not going to end well? That you, a witcher, cannot possibly be considering keeping this human child? Because you’ve certainly come to the right fucking place.”

“No.” Geralt’s voice hardened. “I don’t want that. At least, I don’t think so. Fuck.” He averted his eyes and grit his teeth. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The baby gurgled and in an action that had become surprisingly instinctive over the past weeks, he moved her, settling her head against his forearm, and covering her with the blanket once again. Eskel and Vesemir looked on with no small amount of alarm and surprise written on their faces. The latter uncrossed his arms and took slow steps towards Geralt.

“You’ve had the child two months?” he asked. He stopped and looked thoughtfully at the baby. “She’s alive. You obviously know some of what you’re doing.”

“I feed her, protect her, and keep her warm. That’s it.”

“How do you deal with the crying?”

“She’s usually quiet.”

“What do you feed her?”

“Cow’s milk. She doesn’t like goat’s.”

“How do you fight?”

“I haven’t fought since. I’ll figure something out.”

Eskel reached out, touching the hand he’d noticed earlier with his fingertip. The baby latched onto it, and Eskel glanced up at Geralt, their eyes fearful for a reason they weren’t yet entirely sure of and would only come to understand in the years ahead.

Eskel sniffed, not removing his finger. “Have I told you this isn’t going to end well?”

A corner of Geralt’s lips turned upwards, just as the door swung open and a mostly unwelcome voice broke the settling atmosphere.

“What’s this, hey? You finally come home and then fuck off like—the fuck is that?”

Eskel gently shook his finger free and turned to face Lambert. “You know what a baby is, Lambchop. You’re not far from one yourself.”

Lambert ignored him, for once in his life, his eyes fixed on the baby in Geralt’s arms.

He crossed his arms and grinned. “Where’d you dig this scrap up? I’d ask if you got a whore pregnant but…” He laughed, bending to peer at her. “Claim the Law of Surprise recently by any chance, Geralt?” At the silence which followed, he straightened and turned, tossing his arms out wildly. “What? Did Coen stick a kick me sign on my back again? I’ll kill that damn—”

Eskel cleared his throat and rubbed at his eye. “Geralt wants to keep the baby.”

Lambert looked from Eskel, to Vesemir, to the baby, and back to Geralt. Then, he laughed, a guffawing sound that lasted a second before his brows furrowed and he shook his head in disbelief. “That’s a good one. Now, Geralt, if you want food, the meat’ll be gone by the time—”

“He’s serious, Lambert.”

Lambert stopped mid-speech, his hand in the air. He looked about ready to laugh again at what he assumed to be a joke, but he quickly clocked the faces around him and dropped his arm. “Well, I’ve really heard it all now.”

Geralt flecked his free hand. “Lam—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Geralt?” Lambert’s words were sudden and harsh, an almost hiss to them that had the baby jolting awake. Her wide blue eyes stared up at Geralt, who’d turned away from Lambert with a growling huff at nothing other than the fact the witcher had frightened her, and her bottom lip began to tremble. A whimper came from her mouth, and then she began to sob. Geralt fancied it was the only thing capable of making his heart twist, and he did not like the fact it was happening here, now, in front of those who wouldn’t possibly feel the same. She didn’t wail, or shriek like the babies he heard in the villages, not unless she was tired or hungry. Instead, she managed to perfectly portray her emotions through her teary eyes and wobbling lip, something he instantly felt the need to protect.

Before he could do anything, Eskel was beside him, no words of permission coming from his lips as he took the baby from Geralt’s arms, blanket and all, and held her in his own. Geralt watched, part of him overjoyed that Eskel wished to hold the baby he’d only minutes ago been questioning, and the other part acutely aware that this was the first time she’d been taken from him.

“Let’s go over here, shall we?” Eskel’s attention was fixed entirely on the baby as he carried her to the end of the room. He took his medallion from around his neck and gave it to her outstretched hands. “Look at this. Shiny, yeah? Here, you take it.”

Before Lambert could speak again, Geralt steeled himself and grit his teeth, grounding out his words.

“I found her close to death and I am now keeping her alive.”

“That’s not your responsibility. Your fucking responsibility is to rid the Continent of its monsters, not protect some human child who’d be better off with its own kind. It’ll get killed, and if it doesn’t, you’ll get killed for worrying about it more than yourself.”

“She’ll be fine. As will I.” He breathed out a quick sigh, pressing his lips together in irritation. “I felt a…I don’t know. A connection with her—”

Lambert’s hollow laugh interrupted him. “If everyone took in who they felt a connection with, I’d have fifty wives.” He stepped forward. Geralt was taller than him, always had been, but he didn’t let it phase him. He glared up at him and poked his chest. “There’s a reason we were made sterile. We were created for a purpose. No child deserves a mutant as a parent. How do you expect to do your job with that attached to your side?” He didn’t look back, merely jerking his head behind him, and Geralt flicked his gaze to where Eskel was watching the exchange with sharp eyes as the baby chewed obliviously on his medallion.

“You’re a witcher, Geralt.” Lambert’s words had admittedly softened, but he didn’t mean them any less. “You’ll always be a witcher. That baby doesn’t belong to you any more than you—than we—belong to humanity.”

The room fell silent. Geralt had felt like raising his fist to Lambert. Now, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He knew he was right, yet he wanted nothing more than to ignore him anyway.

There was another little gurgle, and Eskel coughed into his fist. When Geralt and Lambert turned to him, rose a brow in the direction of the bed. “Vesemir?” he asked. “Anything to say?”

Geralt had almost forgotten Vesemir was even in the room. He’d been so caught up in his anger at Lambert that he’d overlooked the fact Vesemir’s opinion was the only one he truly wished to hear.

Vesemir hadn’t moved at all, other than to cross his arms over his chest somewhere amid Lambert’s tirade. His expression was a mixture of veiled amusement and residual surprise, his eyes flicking between all three. At their sudden quietude, he huffed and stood to his feet. “Well, it is my room.”

Geralt watched as his mentor walked to Eskel and peered at the baby. “Has she a name, Wolf?”

“No.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a glimmer in his eyes, but said nothing more.

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Are you going to tell him his brain has turned to shit?”

“Seems you’ve done enough of that already,” Vesemir stated as he turned to face him. He shared a brief look with Geralt who, for all his face was expressionless, seemed to possess a franticness inside. Because they both knew why Geralt had really brought the baby to Kaer Morhen, and they both knew that if Vesemir didn’t approve, Geralt would feel a trouble in his heart for the rest of his life.

Vesemir dipped his head. “This is a big mistake, you know,” he told him simply. “But…sometimes, bad things, big mistakes…put us on the path to good fortune. You have indeed lost your mind, Geralt. But if you’ve come here for help, you know I will listen.”

Lambert looked as though his head might burst. He brought both hands up and dug them into his hair, spinning to stare at each supposedly insane witcher. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve all lost your fucking minds,” he said, heading for the door. “And I need a fucking drink.”

They watched him leave, hearing him yell something incomprehensible in the corridors.

“He’ll get over it,” Eskel said. “We’ll find him a kikimora to kill or something.” He was still holding the medallion, his fingers keeping it steady while the baby sucked on it methodically. Her tiny hands wrapped around his fingers and if he was bothered by it at all, it wasn’t obvious. He held the baby easily, like he’d done it before, and it looked…natural. That was the only word which came to Geralt’s mind.

“Have you?” he asked suddenly, hopefully. “Gotten over it?”

Eskel gave him a look. “Geralt, are you sure about this?”

“Not really. But at least if it all goes to shit, you can both say you told me so.”

“Ha ha,” Eskel said humourlessly. He sighed audibly but relented all the same, pointing a finger at Geralt. “I won’t be a nanny,” he warned, “I have a reputation, you know. But—” He grumbled something under his breath and shrugged, a ‘fuck it’ motion, if you will. “I’ll be Uncle Eskel, if she wants.”

Geralt took in a deep breath and nodded. “I—she does—she will. Thank you, Eskel.”

Vesemir put a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, and Eskel took it as a silent indicator that his mentor wished to talk to Geralt alone. “I’ll…” He shifted the baby in his arms, attempting to tug the medallion from her mouth but valiantly failing. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he nodded in affirmation to himself and headed for the door. “We’ll be in my room.” As he passed Geralt, he stopped, hesitated, and leaned over, lowering his voice. “Are you sure sure, Geralt? We can go into Kaedwen and find someone—” Geralt gave him a look and he half-forced a smile, clapping his brother’s back. “Find some cow’s milk. That’s what we’ll do.”

The door shut behind him and Geralt rolled his shoulders, reaching up to drag a tired hand down his face. Vesemir chuckled. “How did you honestly expect that to go?” he asked. “Couldn’t have brought home a puppy or something instead? Gods, Geralt.” He sat at the edge of his bed and pat the space behind him, waiting for Geralt to sit. “You say you felt connected to her?”

Geralt hummed. “I don’t know what it was. Is. But I feel something draws me to her. Even now…I know she’s safe with Eskel, but I…I don’t know what’s happening to me.” He sighed, blinking at a blank space on the wall opposite. He had thought of this often. That…whatever, which had pulled him to the baby when he’d heard her cries. It hadn’t just been instinct. He didn’t have much of that left, and he’d never felt anything remotely parental. But if she were any other baby, he felt he could have easily left her with the woman in the tavern he’d gone to after he’d found her. At least, that was what he thought. How could he ever really know?

He closed his eyes.

“You remember I spoke to you of Renfri?”

“The cursed princess?”

He nodded. “She told me I wouldn’t be able to outrun the girl in the woods…that she is my destiny.”

Vesemir mulled his words over for a moment. “You think this is her?”

“Could it be?”

He shrugged and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a familiarly contemplative look on his face. “Maybe,” he agreed with a short nod. “Or maybe this is…something else. Something different. Serendipity, perhaps?”

Geralt frowned. “You would go that far?”

“Would you?” Vesemir asked seriously. He sat up. “I see how you look at her, Geralt.” And he had. He’d been silent from the moment Lambert had walked in, not wishing to interject, both for fear of interrupting what needed to happen between the two younger witchers, and genuinely because he hadn’t quite known what to say. Geralt returning home with a baby was the last thing anyone would have expected. It simply didn’t happen. The witcher mutagen didn’t truly wipe away all human emotion as the rest of the world made themselves believe, but it did harden them, both physically and mentally, and while saving a vulnerable baby was believable, keeping it was not. Witchers were not parents. They didn’t possess the qualities necessary for such a thing. They lived in constant fear for their lives, and childminding would only be a burden on that.

But Vesemir had watched Geralt through the whole ordeal. The way his hands hadn’t let go of the baby until he’d properly registered it was Eskel taking her. The way his eyes had constantly flicked Eskel’s way, even while Lambert was sizing him up. The way Vesemir had noticed some unnatural change in his wolf that he’d only figured out once the baby was out of his arms and he reverted to the monster-hunting witcher he had raised and created. When he was holding her, he was different. He didn’t know how, or why. He didn’t think it was a good thing, and he would have, quite frankly, as Lambert suggested, told him his brain had gone to shit, if he hadn’t waited and observed. He was good at that.

“You told me this princess said you would try to outrun the girl, but you would not be able to escape her. Did you try to outrun the baby?”

Geralt blinked still at the wall, his hands in fists on his lap. He knew his relationship with Vesemir allowed for these moments, but they were rare all the same. “I considered giving her to others—”

“That’s no escape attempt,” Vesemir interrupted. “That’s two sides fighting for dominance. No. I think…that this destiny the princess spoke of is still to come.”

Geralt had only briefly considered the idea that Renfri’s words had been linked to the baby. For a moment, he’d wanted to get rid of her just so he could prove to the princess, dead or not, that she’d been wrong, and destiny was a load of crap. He hadn’t been able to do that, and he’d been frustrated at it, at himself, thinking perhaps she really was the prophesised girl in the woods, after which he’d made the journey to Kaer Morhen. He’d thought hearing Vesemir’s words might placate him. He was surprised to find he felt nothing.

“Do you think I can do it?” he asked quietly, genuinely. “Look after a child? I can barely look after myself. Maybe Lambert’s right.”

Vesemir gave a dry laugh. “Oh, he is. He is right. A witcher shouldn’t have parental responsibilities. The life we live is no life for any child. She would be better off with her own kind, with a family whose lives aren’t constantly shadowed by danger and death, and who know how to do it right.” He stood to his feet, smirking lightly at Geralt’s blank expression.

“But I remember when you and Eskel nursed a sick rabbit back to health once. I remember you hiding it in your rooms in the hope that I wouldn’t catch you.” Geralt smiled faintly at that, the memory surfacing. He looked up as Vesemir spoke again, some kind of nostalgia returning to him as he stared into the face of the man who’d raised him. If Geralt had any kind of parental instinct, which he was still mostly sure he didn’t, he’d gotten it from him.

“If any of my men have enough humanity to care for someone that isn’t themselves,” Vesemir continued, “it’s you. It’s still a big mistake, I stand by that, but if you’re sure…” He sighed. “You can’t control everything. Destiny or serendipity…predetermined or coincidence…they have a way of changing you in ways you didn’t know possible. You have those responsibilities now, you’ve chosen them, and as long as you think you can do it, it will work out.” He paused. “Do you think you can do it?”

Geralt stood up. He thought for a moment and heaved a deep sigh. “No,” he admitted. “But I’m willing to try.”

A corner of Vesemir’s lips drew upwards and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You really should give her a name, then. At least before Eskel does it for you. And—” He gently clasped his shoulder, eyes widening. “There is still lots to talk about. Lambert had good points. How will you hunt? How will you keep her protected when you sense danger? I won’t let one of my witchers go out into the world without knowing he can fully protect himself. That’s not a slight on you, nor the child. But you’ve chosen a new and difficult path, and I’ll always help where I can and as long as my sanity allows it, despite anything I might have against it. I made that oath to myself long ago.” As Geralt’s mouth opened, he shook his head. “Let’s leave it for tomorrow. You need to eat and sleep.”

Geralt felt a rush of emotion suddenly course through him, but he pushed it back. He clasped Vesemir in a hug then, a long-awaited one, and he shut his eyes tightly, satisfied in the knowledge that Vesemir didn’t disapprove enough to be as mad as he knew he could be. Geralt didn’t really deserve it. He hadn’t been home in years, and the one winter he did decide to return, it was with a request for help. But if today had taught him anything, it was that family didn’t care how long you’d been away, as long as you came back. They would stand by you through thick and thin, whether they agreed with you or not. Lambert would not spare him a second glance for the next few days, and Geralt would leave him be. Doubtlessly they’d have a calmer conversation once things settled. Eskel had been quiet with most of his thoughts, but Geralt knew his old friend, and he knew that, despite the protective hold he’d had on the baby, he would still rather she wasn’t here at all. But he, like Vesemir, trusted Geralt enough to know—to hope—that he at least partly knew what he was doing.

Geralt hoped so, too. He hoped it wouldn’t prove to be a big mistake. He hoped this was as far as his destiny would go, and that Renfri’s prophecy, the introduction of a little girl in the woods, had come to pass, and the corner of his brain that had been silently nagging him for thirteen years would let him rest.

And he hoped above all else that it would get easier—that this baby girl would be safe in his protection, and he would be able to do it. To give her a life worthy and deserving of living.

And perhaps give himself one, too.

Witcher Masterpost

#🍄#the witcher #excuse me #brb sobbing #beautiful work as always #the akela universe continues to grow and I love it

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tadpole-san · 2 years

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CENTURIES WE DON’T HAVE ; d. part one ; beautiful centuries

pairing(s): druig x asgardian!reader

warnings: some mild “spoilers” for eternals - if you’ve watched the trailers and clips that he is in, that’ll be enough context for you! Ofc those who watched the movie will know exactly what scenes im referencing, but reading this wont ruin your experience if you haven’t watched it yet. this fic uses heavy references from the amazon scenes in the film

a/n: thank you all so much for the wonderful love and feedback that beautiful centuries received! i still cannot believe that we’ve hit 2K notes on that fic, and it literally makes me so happy. For those of you who also fell in love with asgardian!reader and their druig, here’s a part two <3 it can still be read as a standalone, but i will link its “part one” for those of you who are new to the blog

You hear the screams before you can see what’s happening.

By now, it’s been more than a year since you’d exchanged cable-knit sweaters for linen tank tops. A pretty smart decision to make, really, given that you’d probably suffocate and die if you brought your winter Norway wardrobe to the Amazon.

The only issue with linen is that it finds itself rendered pretty pointless in breathability when you have armor underneath it. That’s the first thought that registers in your mind when you hear the villagers’ screams and the roars of something that couldn’t be of this world. The second thought is that you’re fucked because that reasoning means your aforementioned armor is in said village-slash-commune and that you’re half a mile away because technically you’re supposed to be hunting with the group of villagers you’d taken with you.

On the bright side, you aren’t completely unarmed for the situation. On the not-so bright side, you’ve now found yourselves on the opposite spectrum of the hunter-prey relationship.

In the next split-second, you barely manage to spit out a Get down! before you’re pulling down the nearest villager so that you can all hit the deck - right as a fucking Deviant swoops down over your group. A fucking winged Deviant. That’s a sight you haven’t seen in about - oh, give or take a few centuries. You can’t say that you’re at all happy to change that fact.

As soon as it’s flown past your heads, you scramble to your feet and take ahold of a discarded rifle on the ground. “Get to the river!” you order, snapping your fingers as you gesture west. It’s enough to send the group running, and you’re glad that you’ve managed to convey your message despite your less-than-stellar grasp of the local language.

As soon as the first one starts to follow your directions, you break into a sprint in the opposite direction, stopping only momentarily to aim your rifle at the Deviant above you and fire a shot. The shot hits its mark - and unfortunately, it acts as a perfect arrow to your location.

“Shit!” You’re forced to drop your shoulder to the ground, dodging the Deviant’s claws. Before you can get back up, there’s a searing heat at the back of your neck and the Deviant lets out a pained shriek. You whip your head back, turning around to see a figure flying at the Deviant and punching it down.

Ikaris. Now there’s a face you haven’t seen in, well… the lingo these days is a hot minute, but that feels like a very, very severe understatement.

“Ikaris!” Your shout of his name gets the man to turn to you instead - except he doesn’t exactly switch off those laser beam eyes of his, and you find yourself having to drop, duck, and roll to avoid being incarcerated. “Seriously?” When your voice cracks in incredulity, you’re glad Druig isn’t there, because he would give you hell for it. Probably for all of eternity.

“The others need your help,” he says in return, and sure, it’s a pretty dismissive tone, but you don’t take offense. When it comes to an Eternal against an Asgardian, you’re sure that to them, it’s not much competition. Before you can even offer an ample response, the Deviant claws at Ikaris again and the two are flying far, far past you.

Now that that’s relatively handled, the breathing room gives you ample opportunity to get back on your feet and finish your sprint back to the village. Your feet barely breach its borders when you have to duck - again! - as one of the villagers is sent flying through the air.

“Druig!” Really, you wish you could say you’re surprised to see the group of Midgardians standing in front of you, gold in their eyes and rifles at the ready. Your shout has him turning towards you, and the relief that flashes over his face is palpable before the Deviant’s distraction allows him the opportunity to run up to you.

“Where are the ones you were with?” he demands, and you know he is referring to the group that you’d taken out with you not even an hour before. You reload your rifle and aim it over his shoulder, firing a shot in unison with the villagers before you answer.

“I sent them off to the river,” you tell him, meeting his gaze once more. “Druig,” you repeat, a bit more gently this time. His gaze hardens - he knows what you are going to say. What you will ask of them. Before he can protest against words not yet spoken, you bring a hand to his arm, squeezing it softly. “Let them go.” He inhales sharply, his attention constantly shifting between you and the Deviant.

“Beautiful one, is this really a discussion to be having now?” And he’s got a point, so you really need to speed this up - and then you scramble backwards just as a tree that’s been turned to silver falls and crushes the jaguar-like Deviant, trapping it in its branches.

“A legion of them doesn’t even compare to one of me,” you point out, trying for a smile to alleviate the tension. It helps that you’ve just gotten a few extra seconds of time. “I’m one of Asgard’s best. Just a penny for your thoughts, I think?”

“Such an ego we have here,” he drawls, although now there is a hand that is gently cradling your jaw, and he leans in to kiss you chastely, briefly. When he pulls away, his eyes are gold.

The Midgardians drop their rifles.

But Druig gives them no order. Instead, he continues staring you down, eyebrows raised expectantly. You sigh in slight exasperation and almost scoff under your breath. You know what he wants.

“Get to the river!” you order the group, stepping back from Druig and jerking your head in the direction they need to go. “Go. Now!” You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding only once they scatter. “So,” you start, rather pointedly eyeing the silver tree. “I’m guessing the gang’s all here?”

Rather than answer that, Druig simply rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Your weapons and armor are in the shed,” he tells you, and really, that’s such a subtle conversation change. “I was trying to get to them when you-” The rest of his sentence is entirely lost on you as something whips you in the stomach hard enough for you to go flying right across the clearing, wood splintering beneath you as you’re thrown onto the shed.

Well. that was one way to get there.

Vaguely, you register Druif yelling your name - and shit, that’s panic, he’s worried, but your head is still kind of fuzzy from hitting the ground and there are black spots dancing in your vision. You can make him out - follow the shape of him weaving just out of the Deviant’s reach, twisting through the air and firing a shot right in its eye, landing, not unlike a jaguar in his movements. If the situation weren’t so dire, you probably would’ve found yourself properly distracted by his form.

Instead, you find yourself startling at the sensation of leaves kicking up in front of you, right before Druig skids in front of you. He grabs your forearms with quite some urgency, jostling you in the process.

“Hey. Hey! Can you hear me?” Somewhat roughly, he pays your cheek. “You okay? Sweetheart, you still with me-“ You shake your head roughly, trying to dispel the dizzy spell. His expression immediately grows darker as he misinterprets your motions, seeing it as a no, you’re not alright. He swears under his breath, moving for the weapon that lies less than a foot from you.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” you clarify, your voice carrying a little louder than you would’ve liked. “Just snapping myself out of it, I’m fine - move!” Right as the Deviant’s tail comes flying at the two of you again, you yank Druig backwards by the shirt, the two of you rolling away from the attack. When it moves to attack a second time, you pull the sword out of Druig’s hands and move it in a clean arc, slicing the appendage in one sweep.

“You okay?” you ask Druig, hand still fisted in his shirt as you move to stand up. Almost immediately, you find yourself letting out a yell at the red hot pain that flares up your side.

“You’re bleeding,” Druig points out, and the barely contained fury that his voice holds takes you by surprise. When you look down, there’s a generous splinter of wood that’s found itself embedded between your ribs. Gritting your teeth, you yank it out and throw it back to the rubble. Then you stab your blade into the earth and use it to push yourself up, getting back into a fighting stance.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Druig’s pissed. You’re about to be pissed, too. Not at him, but at the stupid Deviants that just won’t stay down. They’re down to two, or one - it doesn’t matter. There’s just the one that you need to be concerned about.

“It’s one Deviant.” And sure, maybe you’re leaning against him a little too much right now, but you toss him a smirk anyways. “I can take one Deviant just fine.” He scoffs, and his hand brushes over the new injury you’re nursing.

“You can take the warrior out of Asgard,” he mutters, “but you can never take the Asgardian out of the warrior.”

LATER

When you find Druig again, in the aftermath - standing by the river, a distance away from his fellow Eternals - you are once again covered in blood and Deviant remains.

Really, it’s no different than your first meeting. You wonder how you always end up looking like this.

He doesn’t look up as you approach, nor does he make any moves to acknowledge your presence. That’s fine. You bump your hip against his, smiling slightly at him when he finally turns to look at you.

“Hello, beautiful one.” You laugh at that, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder as you link your arm with his. “How are your injuries?”

“Mm. Healing already.” Later, when it’s just the two of you again, you know that he’ll want to see for himself. Want to make sure for himself, use his own senses to verify the truth of your words.

Later.

You wonder if you’ll have that chance with him.

“So,” you start, pointedly keeping your stare on the horizon. “End of the world.” Sersi - kind Sersi, Sersi heartbroken about the whole thing, had been the one to break the news to you. The end of the world. The Emergence. “It’s like Ragnarok all over again,” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

Planets destroyed. Homes gone. This was Midgard - one of the Nine Realms. You made a vow to protect these Nine Realms, to protect the throne.

That was a lifetime ago. For you, it truly was a lifetime ago. For Druig, whose existence spanned across time and space that even Asgardians couldn’t comprehend sometimes, it must’ve been… nothing.

Your heart hurts.

“We won’t let that happen.” Druig’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and it grounds you. You know - you know how much he knows, of your mind and heart. “I won’t let that happen,” he quantifies. “Sersi asked me if I would help them-“

“She thinks you’re going to say no,” you interject, which does have him rolling his eyes.

“I am aware of that.”

“You’re not going to say no.” It isn’t a question. Druig exhales lightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. His shoulders slump, and it’s like he’s carrying the weight of all the eons he’s already lived. “I know you, Druig.”

“You love this world.” He takes both your hands in his, then, positions himself directly in front of you and presses a kiss to your intertwined fingers. “You said it yourself. I won’t let a planet like this one meet the same fate as-”

“I know.” You interrupt him before he finishes, because you have to. There’s some things you can’t bring yourself to speak of out loud, but you still give him easy access to your mind, let him hear the things that are still too painful to say.

I wish we had more time.

Saying that out loud - letting the words come between you - you know that would hurt too much. Because it’s true, because it’s only been a few years since you’ve had this time with him, on Earth, together. Because a year of being able to wake up next to him and be greeted by the bitter cold and saltiness of the sea breeze isn’t enough. Because another year of being able to wake up next to him and be sticky from the suffocating heat of the forest isn’t enough.

And if this goes wrong - if they can’t stop what’s coming, and that is a very real possibility that you are bracing yourself for - this will be one of the last moments you get.

We were supposed to have so much more time.

Now it’s his voice in your mind, and you wish you could do this for the rest of your life. Be able to be with him in a moment like this, be able to have no spoken words in the space between you, just whispered secret thoughts meant for the other only. That’s all you want.

Instead, you take a shuddering breath. You close your eyes, and collect yourself. You feel Druig press his forehead against yours, and when you open your eyes again, he’s there.

“You should go,” he says, and Norns, the words sound as though they’ve been ripped out of him. “You need to go - warn your people, tell them what’s coming.”

If you do that, you think that it may just destroy him.

It may just destroy you, too.

This can’t be the last thing you have with him.

“It won’t matter,” you say, shaking your head. Excuses, excuses, excuses. You can practically taste them in the air. “I wouldn’t - by the time I even got there, it would be too late. Probably faster - easier - if I just sent a message from your ship.” Druig’s breath catches. His hands have moved from yours so he can grip your arms now, less to steady yourself and more to steady him.

“You’re coming with me. Us.” There’s some sort of oh, thank God that goes unsaid. “You’re-”

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” you add, and the words are coming out of you in a rush. “I’ve never been a hero. I thought - I thought I was done fighting. I did my duty. I served the throne. And now - now my king is gone, and I should be serving the throne again, but I didn’t-” you never made an oath to Valkyrie, but you would’ve, because she is your friend and you love her so. Except she looked at you, looked at you and knew that you’d completed the oath you first swore millenia ago, and knew that it was time for you to go.

You should’ve had centuries with this man.

“We need more time,” you finally whisper, and Norns, you truly can’t look at him. He hurts your heart. “We should - this can’t be it-” He cuts you off, then, pulls you into a kiss that feels so final that you want to cry.

This won’t be our last.

“I love you,” he says when you pull apart. “You’re - you’re home. It was never going to be Olympia. There was never anywhere else that I could ever go. You’re my home.”

“Druig.” It’s your turn to grasp his face in your hands, thumb brushing over the bridge of his nose before you press a kiss to his forehead. “You know I - it’s you. It was always going to be you.” You can’t cry. You can’t - there are no more tears left in you to shed, too many lost for Asgard, for your queen, for your princes, for your family and home and heart. “We can fight this,” you say instead. You have to fight for this moment. You have to fight for the centuries the two of you promised for each other. “We will fight this.”

Druig laughs a little wetly at that, still swaying slightly, still holding you to him. “Can’t take the Asgardian out of the warrior,” he repeats. When his lips brush the top of your head, when you feel him murmur words that are less said out loud and more confessed to the corners of your mind, you smile. “Beautiful one.”

You’re beautiful. In mind, soul, and heart.

I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

This love that has transcended centuries of your life. Not for the first time, you thank whatever fates and Norns and gods that brought you to this Eternal who you wish, more than anything, to spend eternity with.

If you have to return to battle - if you have to fight more, to earn the centuries that you otherwise can’t have without more blood and more pain, then you will.

Druig Taglist

@gemmywrites

@scmndr

@vio-lente

@alons-y-odinson

@simp4fictionmen

@mads-weasley

@rqmanoff

@vibrantlyjaz

@ginger-demon

@serendipityrogers

MCU Taglist

@wtfstxr

#🌙#📓.marvel #druig x reader #druig #druig imagine #druig oneshot #reader insert #gender neutral reader #marvel imagines #the eternals

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Note

Hi! May I please request a Druig x reader fic? I have a more detailed idea, but I wanted to check if it were ok. Thanks anyway!

Hi!!! Of course, feel absolutely free to request a druig x reader fic, my inbox is very much open! <3

I am also a white man's whore for this man so yes,,, anything you'd like I would be very happy to write

Cough might go rewatch eternals this weekend for him

#✨#📓.marvel #druig x reader #im just a little bit livid about how much of a simp i became at the end of the movie #but not really because hes fine asf so its okay

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Text

200 FOLLOWERS EVENT !

STATUS: OPEN

to celebrate hitting this milestone, i decided to host a little bit of a celebratory event for you guys! i know i've been on a bit of a hiatus, so it means so much that i've been getting such positive feedback from you guys in light of my latest post <3

this event will be open alongside normal requests!

rules

♡ my standard rules for all requests will still apply

♡ send me 1 character + a sentence or 1 character + an emoji and i'll write a one shot!

♡ fandoms: dc, mcu, star wars (this list will be open to being edited, so feel free to message me if you want to check whether or not a fandom you'd like to request will be okay! i've consumed a pretty large amount of media)

♡ 1 character/fandom per ask, and a maximum of 2 sentence/emoji prompts per ask. however, feel free to send in multiple asks to my inbox!

♡ feel free to specify what genre you want! angst, fluff, etc.

♡ this event will likely be closed december 23.

♡ my emoji/sentence starter list is below the cut! just click on “read more” <3

emojis/sentence starter list

inspired by different quotes from comics, movies, and tv shows! these prompts are a combination of lines i've come up with on my own, and lines that stand out to me from media i've consumed over the years <3

🍄 "you smoke like a whore."

🖤 "you used to make me want to be a better person."

🤍 "do you think we could still be happy, even in another life?"

💒 "sometimes i miss the people that we used to be."

❤️‍ "you love me?"

🩹 "spare me the sympathy. everyone else wants to be my enemy anyways."

🔗 "call the cops? first of all, ACAB, second of all, i'd go to jail-"

✨ "run away with me."

💗 "please don't be in love with someone else."

🩸 "you're my enabler. the good, the bad, the ugly."

⛓ "i just - i just wanted you to know that i could be good."

🥀 "are you - stop screaming, it's just me - are you sure i'm not like, dead dead?"

☁ "just keep holding my hand."

🏩 "everything's going to be fine. it's just a crush-"

🌁 "i dreamed about you."

🌸 "are you on wattpad?"

💉 "i'm confused as to what the relationship here is supposed to be."

💖 "the world's a pretty wild place, but i still have you."

🍁 "not to be dramatic, but i think we're fucked."

📦 "have i told you lately, i'm grateful you're mine?"

#🌙#tadpole croaks #🏩.followers event #📰.dc #📓.marvel #reader imagines

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Note

Cough @capricorn-stark do you remember our short wattpad era

Because I do

me finding the dc x reader tag really dry

fine, ill do it myself

the fic ending up being shit 😍

nuuuu im sure it's not as bad as you think

besides that's how all of the writers started out (i wrote some really shitty ass fanfiction on fanfiction.net and then quotev and then wattpad before coming to tumblr)

u can never trace it back to me

#🍄#when I tell you that this was such a dark era in my writing #like legitimately #the docs are still in my Google drive #no I will not release them

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Note

Nah because I am CACKLING reading these

@cipheress-to-k-pop my beloved IM SORRY I swear I’m back (okay yes I’ve said that at random times over the past few months) but I’ve come back out of the hole that I’ve been in

Frogs hibernate and I swear that I’m done with my hibernation period now that I’ve sent in my college apps

I also texted @capricorn-stark a screenshot of the anon replies that you tagged us in WE KNOW WE’VE BOTH BEEN DEAD BUT WE’RE STILL KICKING AND WE STILL KNOW HOW TO WRITE

all the best dc writers: "yeah im gonna take a break right now, someone else is probably gonna write anyway"

them thinking their mutual who is also a DC writer is gonna write, their mutual: "yeet me gonna take a break, my mutual is probably gonna carry the fandom anyway"

the fandom who just wanted quality fics but the dc fic writers are all collectively on break

it's a FREAKING coincidence okay!!!

but like idk WHY it's happening

but like I MIGHT? get back to writing?????

coincidentally around the same time that @tadpole-san came out of whatever rock she was hiding under? and @secretsandwriting my darling is accepting requests and @shadowsndaisies posted the newest chapter to a series that was on a break very recently???????

illuminati confirmed?

#🍄#tadpole croaks #the way I literally started cackling reading these on the way to my PE class #i swear I’m not in a cult #or am I

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Note

hi! I just wanted to say that your jason todd fic (poison) actually made me cry it was so good and just wow like I can’t describe in words good enough I read through all of your fics pretty quickly actually but I was wondering if you had any jason todd fics to recommend or writers that write about him that you really like?

anon, reading this literally made my entire night. poison was a one-shot that i wrote as i was also crying over titans!jason todd, and im so glad that you liked it - but i hope i didnt make you cry too hard ;)

I'd be so happy to give you some of my recommendations! I've been a jason todd stan on tumblr for,,, let's say a hot minute, so i like to think that i've picked up some decent taste for writing relating to him over the past few years

@capricorn-stark - for those of you who have read through my tumblr/have been following me, i think you've picked up on the fact that she and i have lots of very good history together IRL. This might appear biased, but she is genuinely one of my favorite jason todd writers, especially given the fact that we've been writing together for years (yes, even before we decided to hop onto tumblr) and i can guarantee that there exists over 100 Google Docs of her jason todd writing (tbh i think we've been writing together since we were both thirteen/fourteen). So there's literally no way i couldn't include her on this, not when she's been writing me jason todd content for four years

@cipheress-to-k-pop - another one of my beloved mutuals and one of my early favorites for writing titans!jason todd. Poison literally couldn't have happened without me referencing her writing in regards to the episode of titans that my one-shot heavily references

@thegirlwiththebambooblade - there's no way i couldn't include one of the writers i literally aspire to be. If you haven't been on the jason todd x reader tag on ao3, anon, they've written legitimately some of the best fics ive had the pleasure of reading (the pizza delivery girl's survival guide to gotham city and rules of vanishing)

@whirlybirbs - okay, yes, you'll have to do a little bit of digging for her jason todd writing since it's been a hot minute since she wrote for him, but that will also mean that you'll fall down the rabbit hole of all her other writing and believe me it is WORTH IT.

@agapantoblu, @uncpanda & @watchtower-feed - i'm grouping these two together because they both fall into the category of tumblrs i discovered when i first started looking for jason todd x reader content. and yes, i have been following all of them for roughly three years.

here's some stuff that isn't really jason x reader, but they're blogs that i regularly go back to that really help me characterize him when i write

@nightwing-ing-it

@rubixburd

@batarangsoundsdumb

@m00nslippers

@comic-commentary

oh my god this post is getting so long but fic recs. FIC RECS. for the sake of this post length, i'll stick to purely ao3 stuff

To Reconcile by CasualDanger

Professor Jason Todd by starknjarvis

only ever pain (until you) by orphan_account

the politics of dancing by TheResurrectionist

one day at a time by Nyame

Flutter, Flutter Little Bat by audreycritter

Diversionary Tactic by audreycritter

#✨#tadpole croaks #📰.dc #jason todd #im sorry this is super long #hes a comfort character for me #idk if yall couldnt tell by now #im just a lil bit fond of jason todd

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Text

😏 crackhead and what about it? I wear that proudly

Where can I sign up to get a wifey mutual

cuz so far i have crackhead friends @secretsandwriting @tadpole-san @white-roses-and-the-stars

I have let me give you all my love and admiration @goddess-of-geeks @capricorn-stark @hanbedumbaf

I don't have a wifey mutual yet

Why not?

Am I not good enough to be a wifey? Is that it?

#🍄#and yes I’m alive!!!!#after many months #i promise I’ll get to everything you’ve tagged me in #😘😘😘

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Text

Cough

I’m just saying that I’m willing to make druig x asgardian! reader a series

Or any kind of immortal reader really

Asgardian! reader just holds a strong place in my heart that’s all

BEAUTIFUL CENTURIES ; d.

pairing(s): druig x asgardian!reader

Warnings: maybe some mild spoilers for the eternals (i really don’t think i actually have any spoilers, but i just want to be safe), a timeline that’s all over the place because i’m mixing the comics and mcu dates

a/n: so… ya girl watched the eternals last night… and yes, druig and makkari did basically grab me by the throat. They’ve probably become the sole reason im reviving my actual writing on this tumblr, so any of yall who want makkari and/or druig fics, feel free to send them in <3

685 A.D.

The first time you meet Druig, you would hardly call yourself beautiful.

That isn’t to say you don’t deem yourself attractive, of course - it’s just that there’s a dismembered Deviant lying at your feet, and you suspect that maybe some of the blood and gore extended beyond the lower half of your armor. So one can imagine your surprise when the train of your thoughts in the aftermath of the battle are interjected by a low, “Hello, beautiful one.”

You turn around.

If you were a poet, perhaps this would be the moment to inspire your works for the centuries to come. The moment you lock eyes with the man in red and black standing across the field, the way his lips tilt upwards when he knows you’ve seen him, the startled laugh that escapes you when the words beautiful one register.

But you are not a poet. You are simply an Asgardian - and he is Druig, the Eternal.

You hadn’t seen him during the battle, but from you know of the Eternals (admittedly, not too much), you understand that it doesn’t diminish his strengths towards the group. Five fighters, five thinkers is a mantra often heard amongst them.

“You are Druig,” you say, stepping over what you think used to be a Deviant arm.

“You know me.” By now, his smile has settled into more of a… smirk. Mischievous. Teasing. Amused? Either way, it holds until you are within a breadth of him and your weapon is sheathed at your side. “But I don’t know you,” he continues, and then there it is again. “Beautiful one. You came with the Asgardian king?”

By now, you understand that your king is already making himself known to the matriarch of the Eternals herself. In a way, the woman reminded you of your queen, raised and borne of witches, warm as the sun but cunning as a snake.

“I did,” you confirm. When you tell him your name, you find yourself revelling in the way it feels in the air between the two of you as he says it - the way the syllables roll off his tongue.

Beautiful, beautiful one.

800 A.D.

The second time you encounter Druig, he presents you with one of Idunn’s golden apples. To this day, you still have no idea how he acquired such a thing, although you suspect it may have something to do with the friendship he’d been able to maintain with Loki over the centuries.

“Hello, beautiful one.” This time, you don’t startle at the sound of his voice - although it is much closer than the first time, spoken at a low murmur right by your ear that you can still hear clear as day, even with all the revelries taking place in the tavern you’re both in. You turn your head just slightly and there he is.

“Hello, Druig.” This time, you’re out of your armor, and he dons local-wear in shades of black and grey fitting him in a way that does make your mouth run dry for a moment. You still indulge him in the best smile that you can, even as you take a sip from the mug of ale beside you. “How kind it is for an Eternal to grace a mere warrior with his presence.” It’s all in good jest. It always is.

He tuts anyway, reaching into his robes for… something, even as his eyes never leave your face. “I think we’ll have none of that now. Besides, I hear you’re moving up in the world, babysitting that prince of yours.” When you dig an elbow into his side for that comment, he only laughs again. “Guarding,” he corrects.

“That’s more like it,” you affirm, stopping to raise your mug as Thor makes another rambunctious announcement for cheers. Teenagers. By the time you’re back to focusing on Druig, the hand that had been withdrawn into his robes is back out, presenting you with a perfectly round, perfectly golden, apple. The startled laugh that you let out isn’t unlike the one you’d given him during your first meeting, and you accept the offer with a slightly reserved glee. “And how did you acquire this?” you ask him, admiring the apple in your eye and pressing your lips to it before taking a bite.

“Does it make me the apple of your eye?” The one-liner is enough to get you to choke on the apple for a moment, and Druig graciously allows you the dignity of a recovery before he continues. “It is said that those apples are the source of the Asgardians’ immortal youth and beauty. Is that true?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him as you take another bite, humming contemplatively. “Is this your way of saying you’d like me to be more beautiful?”

“Oh, beautiful one, never.” He even puts a hand over where his heart would be. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Mmm. That wasn’t a bad save on your end, Druig.” You catch the way his gaze flickers from the apple, then to your lips. You hold the apple out to him. “Would you like to try a bite, then?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you shake it lightly in front of his face. “This isn’t an offer made lightly.” it’s enough to break him out of his trance, because he smirks again and settles into his seat more comfortably, giving you a slight nod but grasping your wrist when you try to hold the apple out to him.

That’s not how I want to taste it.

It’s the first time you hear him in your head - and really, you shouldn’t be so startled. It’s not as if you don’t know the things he can do, haven’t seen him bring human conflicts to a standstill with a mere thought. And you can feel him in your head, too, sometimes, never prodding, never prying, just… there.

You like it, you think.

So does he.

Before he can close the distance between the two of you - before you can invite him to bridge the gap, you hear Thor call your name with a raucous laugh, mug raised to the heavens, inviting with a “Come drink with us!”

To Druig, you offer a shrug and an impish grin of your own, rising from your seat and offering him a bow as you make to leave. “Duty calls, then.” Rather than look upset, he just plucks the apple from your hands, eyes never leaving yours while he takes a generous bite.

Then one of the Warriors Three has you by the arm, the same time that you see one of the other Eternals bids Druig to rise - Kingo, you recognize, and he says something to Druig that has him scowling and shrugging his grip off as his cheeks redden slightly.

You feel his gaze on you for the rest of the night.

2013

By now, this isn’t even the third encounter you’ve had with Druig - not even the fourth, the fifth, even the hundredth. You lose track by now, centuries blurring together. Centuries of Heimdall keeping a watchful eye out, telling you where Druig has landed himself, where to go when he opens the Bifrost for you. Centuries of meetings (hardly clandestine) as Thor distracts his father from the fact that his loyal bodyguard is almost nowhere in sight, of Loki conjuring mirages of you that get better by the decade, of Lady Sif and her Warriors Three making false alibis for you, of your queen giving you a knowing look whenever she passes you by.

You know how you must look, trekking through the Amazon rainforest and into the now-familiar encampment. You pay no heed to the stares that some of the men and women pin you with as you pass, don’t think twice about the golden glow in their eyes that flashes and passes.

When you reach the building at the opposite end of the encampment, you don;t even enter. Part of you isn’t even sure you have the energy to open the doors, so you just settle at the foot of the wooden doors and lean against one.

The door to your left opens not a minute later, and in your peripheral vision, you see Druig standing there, clad in dark pants and a sleeveless grey top. He crouches next to you, bumping his shoulder against yours affectionately, and you pretend like that will be enough to make you keel over, swaying to the side in a dramatic motion.

“Oh, stop that.” When he steadies you, there’s no real bite to it. “And not even a hello for me, beautiful one?” You sigh, as though burdened greatly.

“Hello.” He presses his forehead against yours and you smile a smile that feels more real than anything you’ve mustered over the past few days. You feel him squeeze your arm, and you don’t tense, but when his hand goes over a fresh injury over your ribs that has not healed, it earns him a loud “ow” and a slap to the shoulder. “You’re a fiend,” you start.

“You’ve been in battle,” he says, and truly, your lover is brilliant. Astounding. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Only in my heart,” you jest, and it partially works because you see his lips quirk up before he settles back in a more serious expression. He waits for you to continue, and he doesn’t even need to use his abilities to know that there is more on your mind that you want to say. “We lost,” you begin to say, and his eyebrows shoot up, because he knows you and you never lose a battle. There have been so many fights to be fought, and none to lose.

“The Dark Elves,” you manage to continue, and the two words sit heavy in your throat, like they’re trying to choke you before you can finish what you want to say. “Queen Frigga was killed. So was Prince Loki.” And despite what your king says, despite the terrible things Loki did, he was still a prince of Asgard. From children to adolescence and to adulthood, you’d watched them both grow, sometimes alongside Druig, sometimes not.

Druig, who doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer words of empty comfort, who can feel what you feel in this moment, who looks at you now the way he looks at his humans sometimes - worried for them, wanting to interfere, wanting to keep them safe. So you press a hand to his cheek, opening your mind and heart to him, smiling as he leans into your touch.

I’ll be okay.

You will mourn. You will move forward. He, too, knows this.

2021

You feel Druig before you see him. You know his touch in your mind - have known it for eons, could feel and recognize it across the span of time and space.

My beautiful, beautiful lover.

The words are whispered into the embrace of your mind, softly becoming you to turn and look. You do so, only after you’ve set the crate of harvested and fished goods on the trunk of Valkyrie’s truck. The sight of Druig standing at the end of the pier, the ocean wind and spray whipping strands of his hair out of his face, has you holding your arms out for him.

You laugh when he reaches you and he pulls you into an embrace, one that literally sweeps you off your feet. “Beautiful one,” he says, and you can hear the laughter in his voice as he presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Did you miss me?”

“Did you miss me?” you counter, pulling back just enough that you’re able to get a look at his face. Eight years apart should be inconsequential to the two of you, who are fated to live for millenia, but it feels like an eternity of a lifetime. “I didn’t know you could venture out of that forest of yours, beautiful Druig.”

“Only for you,” he says, always quick with a retort. Witty or otherwise. “I even had to pack a jacket.”

“Yes, you did,” you agree, finally taking note of the studded black leather that he dones. Running a hand over one of the studs has you shooting him a very amused look, and he retaliates with a tug to the knitted sleeve of your new sweathers.

“I see that you’ve taken up the fisherman chic. Is that the fashion of New Asgard? I’ll be sure to dress more appropriately for the occasion next time.”

“Cheeky.” You’re only partially aware to the knowing look that Valkyrie gives the two of you before she is driving back to town, the two of you left to privacy. “Come on, you,” you add, linking your arm with his as you begin to lead him away from the water and up to one of the hills overlooking the town.

“How is Thor?” he asks you, and though it’s been many years since you were called to the duty of watching over the prince - no, now the king - of Asgard, your heart aches for the boy you watched grow into the man of loss you know today.

“Not the same,” you tell Druig, your footsteps coming to a stop as he moves himself in front of you, facing you. He keeps your hand clasped in his as he moves it over his chest, and you can feel the beat of his heart even through the jacket he wears. “He lost - we lost - nothing is the same.”

It’s hard to put into words, you think. You think of the person you were when you first met Druig, think of the naivety of that youth. You wonder what it is like for him now, to see the edges of that person chipped and worn away, eroded by the winds of love and loss.

When he brushes a strand of your hair out of your eyes, when he presses his forehead against yours, you feel some of those broken edges start to knit together again.

I’m sorry.

I should have been there.

I’m sorry I’m rooted to Earth.

“You’re here now,” your murmur, your eyes still closed. “You’re always here when I need you.” For that, he presses a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. He makes sure not to let go of your hand.

“I have something for you, you know.” His other hand is already reaching into his pocket.

“SHould I be worried?” you ask, only in slight jest. “Your gifts are wonderful, really, but you do like to play things on the mischievous side-” Your words die in your throat when you see the golden apple he produces for you, glittering in the sun that’s starting to break through the clouds. “Oh. Oh, Druig.”

“You won’t demand the ways I acquired it for you?”

“You’d just evade the question - oh, Druig.” As he presses it into your palm, you have to breathe in sharply and blink back the stinging in your eyes. He shrugs a little, trying to play it nonchalant, even as you have to press your face into his shoulder so you can compose yourself without looking at him.

“People on Earth like to do this with a ring,” he says, suddenly, voice slightly louder to be heard above the wind. “A gold on. I thought-” you feel him shift his weight, and you squeeze his arm to steady him. “I thought this would be better.”

“Do you have a question you must ask of me?” Finally, you lift your head to look at him. “Beautiful Druig.”

“You’re the beautiful one,” is his automatic response, and the word, the endearment, has always been so natural. On the battleground. In a tavern. The past, and the present. This gift that he’s given you.

He is Druig, the Eternal. And he calls you beautiful, because he loves you.

Druig Taglist

@gemmywrites

@scmndr

@slksk

@alons-y-odinson

#🍄#tadpole croaks #no seriously I’m in love with asgardian!reader #druig #druig x reader

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tadpole-san · 2 years

Text

BEAUTIFUL CENTURIES ; d.

part two ; centuries we don’t have

pairing(s): druig x asgardian!reader

warnings: maybe some mild spoilers for the eternals (i really don’t think i actually have any spoilers, but i just want to be safe), a timeline that’s all over the place because i’m mixing the comics and mcu dates

685 A.D.

The first time you meet Druig, you would hardly call yourself beautiful.

You turn around.

But you are not a poet. You are simply an Asgardian - and he is Druig, the Eternal.

“You are Druig,” you say, stepping over what you think used to be a Deviant arm.

“I did,” you confirm. When you tell him your name, you find yourself revelling in the way it feels in the air between the two of you as he says it - the way the syllables roll off his tongue.

Beautiful, beautiful one.

800 A.D.

You quirk an eyebrow at him as you take another bite, humming contemplatively. “Is this your way of saying you’d like me to be more beautiful?”

“Oh, beautiful one, never.” He even puts a hand over where his heart would be. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Mmm. That wasn’t a bad save on your end, Druig.” You catch the way his gaze flickers from the apple, then to your lips. You hold the apple out to him. “Would you like to try a bite, then?”

That’s not how I want to taste it.

You like it, you think.

So does he.

You feel his gaze on you for the rest of the night.

2013

“Oh, stop that.” When he steadies you, there’s no real bite to it. “And not even a hello for me, beautiful one?” You sigh, as though burdened greatly.

“You’ve been in battle,” he says, and truly, your lover is brilliant. Astounding. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

I’ll be okay.

You will mourn. You will move forward. He, too, knows this.

2021

You feel Druig before you see him. You know his touch in your mind - have known it for eons, could feel and recognize it across the span of time and space.

My beautiful, beautiful lover.

“Did you miss me?” you counter, pulling back just enough that you’re able to get a look at his face. Eight years apart should be inconsequential to the two of you, who are fated to live for millennia, but it feels like an eternity of a lifetime. “I didn’t know you could venture out of that forest of yours, beautiful Druig.”

“Only for you,” he says, always quick with a retort. Witty or otherwise. “I even had to pack a jacket.”

“Yes, you did,” you agree, finally taking note of the studded black leather that he dons. Running a hand over one of the studs has you shooting him a very amused look, and he retaliates with a tug to the knitted sleeve of your new sweater.

“I see that you’ve taken up the fisherman chic. Is that the fashion of New Asgard? I’ll be sure to dress more appropriately for the occasion next time.”

When he brushes a strand of your hair out of your eyes, when he presses his forehead against yours, you feel some of those broken edges start to knit together again.

I’m sorry.

I should have been there.

I’m sorry I’m rooted to Earth.

“I have something for you, you know.” His other hand is already reaching into his pocket.

“Should I be worried?” you ask, only in slight jest. “Your gifts are wonderful, really, but you do like to play things on the mischievous side-” Your words die in your throat when you see the golden apple he produces for you, glittering in the sun that’s starting to break through the clouds. “Oh. Oh, Druig.”

“You won’t demand the ways I acquired it for you?”

“Do you have a question you must ask of me?” Finally, you lift your head to look at him. “Beautiful Druig.”

He is Druig, the Eternal. And he calls you beautiful, because he loves you.

Druig Taglist

@gemmywrites

@scmndr

@vio-lente

@alons-y-odinson

@simp4fictionmen

@mads-weasley

@rqmanoff

@vibrantlyjaz