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theladycarpathia · 1 year

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Everything was different this year.

“Let’s go, Harrington,” Billy crows, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders. Ahead of them the house is lit up with strings of lights and gaudy cackling Halloween decorations. Steve eyes a skeleton dressed in a top hat and wonders if he’s made the right decision. Robin and Vickie are watching A Nightmare on Elm Street in Vickie’s basement and he’s starting to think that maybe they had the right idea.

“I’m not carrying you home if you get drunk,” Steve promises, and Billy gives him a flash of teeth. It’s surprisingly fitting - with the shaggy headdress, wolf ears and tight jeans, Billy’s an odd sort of werewolf but it works. His eyes are just the right shade of bright blue, the lean, tanned stomach that is only just made decent by the denim, the glittering pendant hanging against his bare chest. It’s designed to draw attention.

“Sick from doing that last year?” he asks, and Steve bristles. But before he can point out that he didn’t carry Nancy home, Billy has dragged him through the front door, and is relieving a vacant looking basketball player of a few beers out of a cooler.

“Have a drink and lighten up,” Billy says, pressing a cold bottle into Steve’s hand. Condensation drips against Steve’s fingers, wet and sharp.

“No kegs this year?” Steve asks pointedly. Billy is already unscrewing the cap and tipping the bottle back, the long lines of his throat rippling as he swallows.

“Not yet,” Billy says, licking foam off his lips. He always gets oddly manic on nights like this, like he has something to prove. Steve hates it. Hates this. “But the night is young.”

A few cheerleaders wander by, teetering along in their high heels. They haven’t put much effort into their costumes, all three clad in identical crisp white dresses, little nurses’ caps pinned into their hair. Billy grins at them as they wander by, relishing in how their eyes drift to his bare chest.

“Tramp,” Steve mutters around his beer. He mostly means Billy, who never seems to mind being objectified.

“Try and have some fun, Stevie,” Billy says, his arm like a weight around Steve’s neck. The fake wolf fur is tickling Steve’s nose, smelling faintly of must and wet dog. He should probably be glad that Billy’s not wearing a tail. “You used to love this shit.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t anymore,” Steve mutters. Billy purses his lips.

“Right, well you loved this shit with Wheeler,” he says pointedly, Nancy’s name falling off his tongue like a curse. Steve winces. He hadn’t meant it to sound like that. But of course, Billy would think that Nancy was special, that she’d been able to have more influence over Steve than he has.

“I was different when I was dating Nancy,” he tries to explain, but Billy has already slipped away, beer bottle held aloft. Steve watches him go, wondering when watching movies at home became more fun than dancing in a room with dozens of other heaving, sweating bodies, people that he barely likes.

No, actually, he knows when. But Billy still loves this, still thrives on arriving late to a party like the King of Hawkins High. It’s a rush that Steve’s forgotten all about.

Sighing, Steve dumps his bottle onto the nearest counter and makes for the punch. Time to pull a Nancy.

The punch is overly sweet and smells of strawberries but has a kick that burns the whole way down Steve’s throat. Steve drinks until the unease in his belly has settled and the party has settled into a more palatable haze.

He wants to go home. He doesn’t belong here anymore. But this is Billy’s last Halloween party of high school and he knows what it’ll look like if he vanishes now. There’s no way Billy won’t take it as a snub.

Billy would almost certainly take it as a rejection.

“Steve!” The girl who appears at his elbow has had far too much alcohol for her tiny frame. It takes a minute for Steve to recognise her under the frothing white dress and the voluminous curls.

“Hey, Amy,” he says fondly, slinging an arm around her bare shoulders, grateful to see a friendly face. She’s an adorable, totally wasted Madonna, little white gloves and all. The remains of the wine bottle slosh as she flings an arm around his waist, settling easily around his hips. Steve eyes the bottle warily, wondering if Tina’s parents are going to miss that.

“Having fun?” Amy chirrups, seeming to not notice or mind that she’s basically using him to hold herself upright. Steve knocks back the last of his punch and grimaces.

“No,” he says, crumpling up the cup and dropping it onto the counter. “Got any of that wine left?” She passes him the bottle and he tries to ignore the smear of lipstick at the rim.

“But it’s a party?” she says, with a careful blink of her dark, slightly smudged eyes. “You used to like parties.”

Yeah, he had. He’d be enjoying this one if he could be with Billy. But he’s vanished into the heaving crowds, without a single look back. Steve gets that it’s only out of hurt and jealousy that Billy’s ditched him but still. It doesn’t make it any better.

“Not enjoying this one,” Steve says miserably. He’s deeply fond of Amy - a cute little cheerleader he made out with once, before he started dating Nancy - but he’s not about to spill his guts. He’s not that stupid. Billy still has months left before he’s free of Neil.

“Wanna make out?” Amy asks, all too easily, and it’s a good offer. An offer Steve would have taken. Should take, because clearly he’s not gonna kiss anyone else this evening. Some horrible bitter part of him considers it, tilting Amy’s chin up and kissing her until everyone notices. He wants to be noticed.

But then the poison drains away, and he gently pats Amy’s cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, because that’s not the warm body he wants. “But not tonight.”

All too soon, the bottle is gone and they stumble outside, Amy tipping her head back to inhale the sharp night air. The party has spilled out here too - more lights wound between the trees, skeletons hanging from the gazebo, a few messily carved Jack-O-Lanterns glowing from the patio. Some of Amy’s fellow cheerleaders wave to her from the deck chairs but she stays where she is, clearly clinging to Steve’s warmth. There’s loud cheers and shouting from a group crowded around something - someone - and Steve cranes his head to see what’s going on.

It’s Billy, tipped over head first into Tina’s hot tub and Steve would panic if he hadn’t spotted the bobbing little red jewels gleaming on the water. Someone has tipped apples into the still water of the tub, and typically Billy is here, making a show of it as he tries to bite down on an apple.

There’s a spray of water as he emerges from the tub, water dripping obscenely down his chest, soaking the fur of his costume and his prize clenched between his teeth. There’s howls of delight, Tommy and a few others slapping Billy on the back, king once more. Billy reaches up for the apple and bites down on it, gleefully ripping into the tender red skin.

Halloween is a time for putting on masks and acting the part and no one does it better than William Hargrove.

Steve knew this going in. He’s always known, and he can’t deny he didn’t. The terminator costume, the keg, the attitude. Billy came in last year, meaning to make an impression. Put Billy on a stage and does he perform.

But the problem with that? Steve doesn’t like that Billy. That’s not the Billy he wants. He wants the Billy who paints his nails with polish pilfered from Mrs Harrington’s dresser. The Billy who traces words in the bare flesh of Steve’s leg late at night. The Billy who knows the names of stars and bakes sugar cookies and shares lazy, heated breaths with Steve.

He doesn’t know this Billy.

Which is why his stomach curdles when Billy swaggers over, dripping wet, apple clutched in his fist like a trophy. His eyes turn cold when he spots Steve, his arm still slung around Amy.

“Harrington,” he says cooly, eyes flicking disdainfully to Amy’s fishnets, the smeared lipstick on her mouth.

“Hey,” Steve says, because this is his fucking boyfriend and he’s not playing this game. He had that with Nancy, bullshit and bullshit, and he won’t be sucked into that again. “You remember Amy?” Billy nods and Amy is too drunk to notice much of a snub. Instead, she pecks Steve gracefully on the cheek.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” she says, releasing her grip on him and immediately wobbling. Steve rushes to hold out a hand to steady her.

They watch her stumble off to join the other cheerleaders, a drunken, perfumed collection of Madonna’s, bunnies and corpse brides.

“Cute date,” Billy jabs, fingers twitching in the way that they do when he wants a smoke. Steve rolls his eyes.

“We’re friends,” he retorts. “And she’s so pissed she can barely stand up.”

“I noticed,” Billy says, a touch too jovially. There’s a glitter in his eyes, something visible in the flickering candlelight. Steve feels a jolt of satisfaction. Billy’s jealous after all.

“I’m having fun,” he says, wishing dearly that he had another drink. He can’t take the burning in Billy’s eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, lobbing the half eaten apple into the trees. Behind them, someone else has taken up the game, and the cheering makes for an odd backdrop for their fight. “Bullshit, Harrington.”

A knife would have been easier than that word.

“Fuck off,” Steve says in a low voice. This one hurts just as badly and he wonders if he’s not meant to last a Halloween party as a boyfriend. So much for things being different.

Maybe the problem is Steve.

“I won’t,” Billy says and he crowds into Steve’s space, so close that Steve can smell the apple and beer on his breath. “And you are. You’re not fucking having fun, Steve. Not unless drinking bad punch and hanging off some girl you almost definitely ate out counts as fun.” Steve takes a deep breath and tries to remember that this isn’t Billy. Just the monster that lives in his skin.

“I never had sex with Amy,” he says, in the most even tone he can manage because all he wants right now is to shove Billy’s head underwater until he drowns on old water and apple pips. “She’s a friend. Don’t be an asshole.”

Billy purses his lips, something bitter and rueful. For a minute there’s the flash of the real Billy, before it’s wiped clean.

“Thought you knew that about me, Harrington?” he says, in a voice that Steve just doesn’t quite believe.

“Yeah,” Steve says, jamming his hands into his pockets. Back in the house there’s a crash as someone drops a bottle and Steve feels like he can relate to being shattered. “I do. Just never thought you’d be like that with me.”

“Bet you thought that about Wheeler too, huh?” Billy says quietly, and Steve’s not quite sure what game he’s playing here. All he knows is that he’s tired of whatever Billy is trying to prove.

“Are you trying to prove you are like Nancy?” he says, pointedly. Because as much as Billy hates it, there’s similarities there, always has been. “Because well done. You’re dumping me at a Halloween party. Feels pretty fucking similar to me.” Billy’s eyes widen.

“I’m not…” he starts, before remembering where they are. There’s a beat in the pulse at his neck, the same spot that Steve’s kissed so many times.

“Well, it feels like you are,” Steve mutters darkly. He turns his head away “I get that you don't like Nancy. You really don’t like that I was in love with her. Just stop…fucking acting like her.”

Dylan from the basketball team stumbles over, and clearly misses the razor thin tension, because he slings an arm around Billy’s neck. Judging by the water dripping down his neck, he’s also been bobbing for apples. While Billy looks good with the damp softening his curls and pooling in the curve of his collarbone, Dylan just looks like a drowned rat.

“Hey, Harrington,” he slurs, rubbing at his damp mouth with an equally damp hand. His demon horns are lopsided on his head, the cheap plastic of a last minute store bought outfit. “You gonna play?”

Steve looks at Billy but can’t see anything past the mask that has slid back into place. It’s not something he understands and maybe it’s from having Neil as a dad. Maybe if you have to wear a mask all the time to hide every real, true part of you, then it becomes second nature to wear that mask. Maybe Steve’s been shitting himself to think that he was special. Like Billy Hargrove was going to love him.

“No,” Steve says briefly. He wonders if there’s something in that punch that rots the insides of every person he’s ever loved. He shifts his feet and turns away, pretending that he doesn’t see the flicker of guilt in Billy’s eyes. “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Dylan asks, sounding confused. Billy’s face is hollow like he was expecting this. Like this is what he was always expecting to happen. “Mate, you can’t go. It’s fucking Halloween.”

“Yeah, well, not having fun,” Steve says, still waiting. But if he’s hoping for Billy to say anything, then he has better chances of Amy being able to do algebra in her current state. Billy will choke on his words, regardless of whether they’re poison or not. “Going home.”

Dylan flicks his eyes over Billy and then to Steve. He almost suspects something has happened but he’s too drunk to really put the pieces together.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “See you around.” Steve nods and turns, but stops just before he walks away, out of Tina’s house and down the street to his empty home, where he can examine the torn pieces of his heart.

“No one’s home,” he adds, unable to close that door entirely. It’s pathetic and he hates it. It’s the cloying smell of roses rotting in his backseat all over again. “Just gonna…watch films.”

Dylan’s face says that he clearly didn’t ask but Billy finally looks up to meet Steve’s gaze head on for the first time since he called bullshit. Steve holds it for a moment, wondering if when this night is over, if Billy will stumble up the pathway and through his patio doors. If he’ll climb into Steve’s bed, with cold skin that smells of apples, and murmur apologies into Steve’s mouth.

He hopes so, and he tries to fool himself that he’ll be fine if Billy doesn’t. But it’s for the best. He’s tired of begging people to love him. It didn’t work with Nancy, and it won’t work here.

He slips back through Tina’s house, ducking past the merry revelers, the James Deans, the Bowies, the Cindy Laupers. He supposes that this time at least he doesn’t have to worry about Billy going home with another guy. He’s also been wrong before.

The house is still when Steve lets himself in through the backdoor, his parents not due home until sometime in November. Steve wearily flings his jacket down, and turns the oven on, rummaging in the freezer for a pizza. He doesn’t have the energy for anything else and when the cheese is bubbling away, he steals one of his dad’s beers and drops onto the couch.

It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s all fine.

He eats his pizza on autopilot, licking grease stains from his fingers. He half absorbs some shitty horror film, and he pretends that he doesn’t jump at every little sound outside, hoping that it’s Billy.

He can’t fix Billy anymore than Billy can fix him. So when the early hours of the morning creep in, Steve clears away his plate and empty cans and climbs the stairs to his room, prepared to spend the night alone.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he flicks on the light and finds a werewolf on the bed.

“What the fuck, Billy?” Steve hisses, holding onto the doorframe. But then he takes in Billy’s red eyes and the gooseflesh on his bare skin. “How long have you been here?”

“A while,” Billy says quietly. His wolf ears and headdress lie abandoned on a nearby chair, Billy’s costume stripped down bare. Steve closes the door behind him, feeling adrift.

“Why didn’t you come downstairs?” Steve asks, his eyes flicking to the window. It has a dodgy latch and it’s not too hard to climb over from the roof below. But Billy knew that the backdoor would be open, that the spare key lies under his mom’s stupid garden gnome. Billy once slipped out of the sliding patio doors while Steve’s parents were still sleeping.

“Thought you wouldn’t want to see me,” Billy says, jaw tense, and Steve recognises the self-deprecation in his tone.

“That depends on whether you’re an ex-boyfriend or not,” Steve says curtly, because he’s really fucking tired and heart-sore and he loves this badly broken boy curled up on his bed in jeans and a stolen sweatshirt.

Billy immediately looks stricken.

“I don’t want…” Billy says, and then stops suddenly, mouth twisting in pain. It’s barely an admission but it’s closer than Steve’s ever gotten before. So he sits down on the bed next to Billy, reaching over to wind his fingers around Billy’s. His heart starts again at that simple touch and Steve was so numb that he hadn’t even realized that it had stopped.

“I need you to stop pushing me away,” Steve says bluntly, because someone has to say it. “It’s not fair.” Billy licks his lips and nods. His fingers are warm in Steve’s and it makes him wonder how little time passed between Steve leaving Tina’s and Billy following. Little Red being followed through the woods by the big bad wolf.

“I don’t know how to do anything else,” Billy confesses, his eyes fixed very firmly on the delicate link of their fingers. Steve aches.

“It’s bullshit,” he says and Billy looks up. He looks his age for once, dirty blonde hair clinging to his cheeks, red rimmed and bloodshot eyes, his mouth soft and pink.

“I know,” Billy says softly and when he leans in to kiss Steve, it feels like a fresh start.

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simiansmoke · 10 months

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@wolfpackmuses cont.

"Hah, finding time to relax is easy-peazy. You just ignore everything and taaaake a nap. When was your last vacay, any-way?" When it came to having a good time (not a long time) never really took the Kong prince much to settle in and add his vibe to the scene's vapors. Granted, a long time spent in the springs was usually not a possibility given the confines of how fur was so frustratingly insulating at times; nice if he wanted to go lord over club penguin for the day, but otherwise not a fair fit for their tropical kingdom. The fact that the sky was still weeping cooling tears onto the heated pool helped made the Kong feel a little bit better, and he flexed his shoulders upwards to accept the brisk offering from the canopy when some creature or another passed by overhead to dump more than a few droplets onto them as it hopped by from some unknown heights, which earned a smile plastered firm to the corner of his lips as he felt the heat to his core sink to Goldilocks zone again.

"Heh. Struggling, Fido?" He muses, noticing how the wolf's tongue escapes him again. Maybe he was lucky when it came to fur seeing as he actually had a few naked spots on his skin for airing, but the wolf didn't seem to have such luxury. Unless he decided to shave a few spots of course. "Gotta get lucky and hope for some wind up top to knock some leaf puddles on your head!" Though in normal circumstances, being suddenly drenched from a flying squirrel's mistakes seemed like more of an unlucky matter. The stupid little dizzy thought made him chuckle as he once again surrendered to saying just about anything and everything that came to mind. Though by now he could probably graduate from 'saying' to 'slurring'.

"Get lucky, get luuuucky! Up all nigh to GET LUCKY-" Cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, he aimed the blast up and waited.

Then when a resounding, but distant 'WHOOP' sounded along with a shouted, but muffled response of 'alllllllllllniiiiiiiiiiight!!' DK snorts and side eyes the wolf.

"...an to thinkkkk...the humans gotta use weird technical mag to jus do that. Uh-...I think 'uigi called it...tweeting? Eitherrr way, our way's better!" And louder. And a bit more lost in translation, but hey. Surprises were fun. Most of the time...

Now situated in his fallen stupor - half straddling his guest in the pool and weighing the other's once floating legs down as he proceeded to squint at the other's rosy hue that seemed to only make it out thanks to the harsh class between red and white. "Weeell-...what kinda bounties were those? I mean if there's no story about it, did it even happ?" Basically, pics or it didn't happen bro. Though why the 'bounty' hunter was in town, he couldn't be sure. Had Dad called him? Seemed unlikely. If there was something out in jungle that needed beating up, DK was like - the kingdom's first layer of defense to call and usually the last.

"Heh, beats me. Maybe you'reeee just here on account'ah he wants to scare me sober?" He wouldn't put it past Cranky either...the old bastard. "-or - or...!" A tad more excitable after the partial rejuvenation via the rainfall, DK claps his hands on each of the wolf's shoulders and used them to help lift himself up slightly to feel more of the cooler air. "-maybe he'ssss...gonna train an ASS-a-sin fer our kingdom...that'd be sweeeeeeet- aw fuck. Why's it not mee? IT COULDA BEEN MEE-" Lip pursing at the perceived injustice, DK sighs into a slight slump, resting his weight back into his hackles where the wolf's paws rested.

"Nobody's gonna tell ME I wouldn' be the bes ass-'sin." Just like no one's gonna tell him he's going to slurr himself into a situation if he wasn't careful; but she was not there...dead and buried next to self-respect. "Heh, your...hand?" He's curious, rocking back into one while he leans sideways to retrieve the other from the water and bring it over to his head for a quick inspection. Yep, just as he thought. With one finger, he ... pokes dark little toe bean. "Boop! I knew I felt some beans back there...watcha gonna do with all those beans?"

#wolfpackmuses #//boopin' beans doesn't pay much but it's honest work #suggestive #long post

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agardenandlibrary · 2 years

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The Dragon Reborn: Chapters 6-11

long post warning

One thing I've been wondering about is the titles of these books. In some ways "The Dragon Reborn" sounds like it could be the final book in the whole series. Instead it's book 3 and we've barely seen anything from Rand's perspective (in this book, I mean).

ANYWAY, as one might expect, Rand runs away. Our boy's going a little crazy! Good luck out there, kiddo! His dreams have been leaking, which is prime dream vortex bullshit one might expect from the Dragon Reborn. (can you tell I've consumed a lot of Sandman content lately?) Everyone around him is experiencing his dreams. Egwene, I'm gonna need you to figure out your dope dreamwalking stuff asap, pls.

Moiraine follows Rand. He's probably heading to Tear. She sends Min to Tar Valon and takes Perrin and Loial with her. Perrin has been standing up to her and arguing with her about stuff.

While they are traveling, Moiraine, continuing to be the funniest bitch ever, starts using good ol' Headology to get Perrin to go along with her plans again.

(i.e. she manipulates him into helping her do little tasks and does it so well that while he knows what she's doing, he can't seem to resist)

also, fishing.

(this meme applies to Moiraine in so many ways.)

In a small town they come across evidence of strange things afoot: sudden weddings, children of light giving up their cloaks, etc. Where else have I seen a person passing through and affecting the world around them like this? It was in Sandman again, wasn't it

There's also, in this small town, another Wolfbrother, one who has gone full-wolf, has no memory of being a man anymore. As much as I love the Wolfbrother stuff, I'm glad this is in here. It's a good way to show that there is danger involved -- we've seen it happen a little to Perrin, when he's fighting and wolves are around, he acts more like a wolf than a man. But we've also seen Elyas, who lives with wolves but can and does still act like a man when he wants.

Perrin convinces the Wolfman's brother to let him go run with the wolves. I thought their whole situation was well done, where Perrin starts off thinking of the man as "frog faced" and by the end that man is willing to hide him from Whitecloaks and Perrin is ashamed of how he first perceived the man.

Later, Perrin works up his nerve to ask Moiraine what she knows about the wolfbrother stuff. Not much! He might go mad! He might not! HOWEVER she does say that wolves walk in a dream world! Is this what Tel'aran'rhiod is? The only reason I know that word is because my friend's wi-fi is named that! The wolf stuff continues to get cooler, even with the danger of turning full wolf!

Perrin's dreams have been bad lately. He's been running through hallways, chased by something. Hopper, who died back in the Eye of the World, is helping him. He sees Selene, I think, and then this happens:

quick question: is this a fuckin' TV turning off. did Selene the Forsaken just change the fuckin' channel. No one tell me!

130 pages in we get our first Rand perspective for 2 pages: he's running away and struggling to control saidin. OKAY, moving on to

THE GIRLS. GALS BEING PALS. Egwene et al on the road to Tar Valon. Hey, remember all those traumatic experiences they had back in Falme? Sure hope nothing goes wrong on the way home! They're taking Mat (horribly sick) and the Seanchan damane collars (which let them control channelers) to the white tower.

Egwene is reconciling herself to the fact that she really won't marry Rand. It's a bittersweet little moment for her on the road here, where she tells herself to stop pretending she'll ever have the life she once imagined. It's hard to let go of your image of what your life should be!

Anyway then Whitecloaks show up and threaten them, and, traumatized by her experience being enslaved, Egwene reacts and Channels to scare them away. Elayne and Nynaeve also do this. Bless them. Highly satisfying for the moment, inevitably troublesome down the road.

#cara reads wot #cara reads the dragon reborn #wheel of time #robert jordan

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coldercreation · 1 year

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Wild Wolves

Raised in a pack of wolves, he didn’t have the words to express any of what he was witnessing right then.

The fear was pure and unadulterated. It was... overwhelming. Viscerally terrifying, making him want to lash out.

Which he did. Violently and without sense – without regret.

Anything to protect the pack. Anything to survive.

The whites of his eyes flashing he stared up at that strange and unwelcome animal in front of him. Two-legged, tall, and so incredibly alien…

Yet somehow, unmistakably, a wolf.

The blood dripping down his muzzle was warm, clinging to his bared teeth, spraying as he snarled at the intruder. He heard the nervous yipping of his pack brothers and sisters fading as they escaped deeper into the forest, pack Mother and pack Father leading them away from the danger.

He didn’t know what to do when, instead of the danger coming for him, it simply…

Followed?

Colton had named the young shifter living with the wild pack ‘Tawny’.

Decidedly not Tony, which was boring and lame and over-used, and sounded nothing like the much cooler name Tawny, shut up Seb.

Tawny was lots better, and it matched the nice yellowish brown of the runt’s coat. He was always easy to spot amongst the wilds; their fur different fades of greys and whites, and Tawny standing almost a head taller than any of them.

Compared to what Colton was used to, he was still small, maybe even sickly from all the stressors of the harsh mountain environment the pack lived in. There was something very juvenile about him too, oversized paws supporting rangy legs, ears far too big for his head. Mia had guessed that the kid was probably younger than Seb, even. Which, in all honesty, had been the first time Colton kind of regretted ever getting involved after he had come across the pack on his hikes.

Teenagers were the worst.

But a teenager raised by literal wolves?

Yeah.

‘Fucking oof…’ was all Colton could think, cradling his mangled, bloody arm against his chest.

#summary #for something I might not write #just idea thingy #place holder names #bc I don't know about these names yet #except I like tawny so that #yeah anyway!#silly lil things #xx

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to-the-stars8 · 2 years

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The Lamentation of the Apprentice

Parings; Past Female!Apprentice x Asra Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ao3

Chapter 4

Muriel's little corner of the world was beautiful. The walk from the city to the woods came with a drastic difference. We walked miles from seeing people to suddenly seeing none. The sound of birds singing and the rustling of leaves replaced the endless echo of people talking. It was utterly serene. When we did make it to the place his home was, it was apparent that Muriel was an outcast from society. His hut, built with stone into an old tree, gave a warmth that only homes so welcoming to those close had. A place where secrets could be said a loud and kept safe.

Yet when I first met Muriel, excited with hope to make a new friend, he slammed the door in my face. Muriel was in the clearing in front of his home when Asra and I appeared, bent over his unnaturally tall frame to feed the chickens that clucked around him. When he looked up, deep green eyes meeting mine, I was surprised by how handsome he was.

Asra had made him sound as if he was war-torn from how he described Muriel. Years in the woods had bulked him to the point that his scarred muscles were well-defined, and, even the few feet I stood away from him a heavy scent of myrrh reached the air--The smell seemed to follow him.

Standing straight, Muriel pushed his oily, long black hair away from his face to properly give me a once over before retreating back into his hut, the chain around his neck clinking as he did so.

I looked at Asra with utter horror. What had I done to upset him? What did Asra tell him? The questions whirled in my head as I tried to make sense of what wrong I had done in such little time. Asra watched as his friend disappeared behind the door, an absolute momentarily look of disappointment crossed his face before returning neutral.

He sighed and patted me on the back with reassurance. “Worry not, Muriel is uncomfortable around new people. He is much more kin to the green of the Earth rather than the people who live on it.”

A bit of relief pushed at the negative thoughts. “I am glad that I did not offend him in any way. I was afraid of having done such.”

“No, but,” The magician leaned in close to whisper to me. “Do not ask of his chains.”

Not thinking much of it, I nodded and then followed Asra through the door of the hut. Compared to the cooler weather outside, the inside was perfectly warm.

Never before had I seen a house built into a tree, so I wondered at it. Tree roots came in through the ceiling, and were utilized to hang pans, herbs, and furs. As I passed a root with white fur on it, I brushed my hand against it. It was smooth, perfectly silky. Every piece of wood furniture seemed to be carved by hand, the hand I only assumed was Muriel’s.

Sat in front of the hearth, the man seemed to curl into himself, only looking at me through awkward side glances. I smiled at him as Asra introduced me. Over his shoulders was a cloak that he pulled to himself as we entered and a gush of winter wind followed us.

“Muriel, this MC, my friend from the shop I told you of.”

Still, he made no move to introduce himself but acknowledged my existence with a sharp nod. Asra motioned for me to sit on the furs close to Muriel’s feet. Before I did, I looked to the man for any hesitance, but his face remained the same--Placid, though a bit anxious. I sat and watched the fire Asra himself got comfortable on my other side.

The room fell into silence. My hands twirled the beads on my bracelet anxiously. Would no one say anything? When I looked up, across the room a black fur moved. Gasping, I watched as a wolf’s head appeared from the mass. With grace, the wolf stood, yellow eyes staring into mine.

“You must be the wolf, Asra mentioned earlier,” I said, holding out a hand for the animal to sniff. “I am MC.”

“Her name is Inanna,” A stranger’s voice said.

Ah, yes, that was the name, I thought. A moment later I looked back at Muriel, surprised that it was his voice that spoke. It was soft, in a whisper-like way but gravelly, too. Nodding shyly, I looked back at Inanna, smiling. “Did you name her, Muriel?”

“No, she told me her name.”

Asra interjected, “She is Muriel’s familiar.”

“Ah,” I said as I watched Inanna sniff my hand and then walk around to the other side of her companion to lay. “Inanna is a name of a goddess that lives further south from Helene.”

Muriel’s eyes meet mine for a moment, and he looked as if he was pondering something. Still, he said nothing as his eyes looked over to Asra and then back down to his hands. Never before had I noticed, but he was whittling a small figure. His hands were too big for me to see anything, but I could make out the attention he was paying to them. His eyebrows were knitted together in concentration and, by the small indention on his face, he was biting the inside of his cheek.

It had become quiet again, and the four of us stayed in it. Somehow, it had become less uncomfortable and more understanding. Muriel did not seem like a person who spoke much but conveyed enough with his face. When I had started to settle more comfortably into the silence, listening to the fire crackle, the magician to my side spoke.

“MC,” Asra yawned as he laid back into the furs. Already his eyes were starting to droop. “Do you play?”

His head nodded over to a mandolin leaning against the wall. It was carved with dark cypress wood and on the body were intricate golden swirls painted. I was mesmerized for a moment.

“MC?” Asra said again.

“Yes, I do. I have not played in some time, though.”

Getting up with a grunt, Asra retrieved the instrument from the wall. He put it into my lap before settling back down as he was again. The wood was smooth, fresh from the shop I was sure. Muriel watched from the corner of his eyes as I positioned myself with the instrument on my lap and moved over to give me room. I tuned the instrument as I addressed the magician, “Asra, are you sure? I do not remember some notes, so it--”

Asra put a hand on mine. “You will play fine. I saw the one in your shop the other day and thought I would try learning it myself. Break it in for me?”

Annoyance tugged at the corners of my mind, and I thought of returning his request with a smart jab, but none came to mind. Sighing, I readied my fingers on the strings. A song came from the strings I played, something that must have been sitting in the back of my mind. To myself I sounded fine, my fingers remembered most of the notes and the strings corrected me when out of turn. Only once, when I had plucked the wrong note, the whole song sounded off, but when I looked to my audience for displeasure they waited in silence for me to continue.

The time I had played, which it seemed for such a short amount for how long I really did play, was lost. Asra had said I played for an hour, so entranced that I could not be stopped. When my fingers did cease their movements, the magician laid his head against my thigh, humming the tune I must have been playing before. Muriel, on the other hand, seemed indifferent, though looked at me momentarily when the music stopped for good.

I put the mandolin along Asra’s stomach, and he whined that the music had stopped. He tried to put it back in my hands, but I refused, pushing the mandolin away. “I will play no more,” I said softly. “My hands are tired.”

“...You play well,” Muriel mumbled as the magician slid the instrument from us.

“She does!” Asra exclaimed through a yawn, stretching like a cat. His arms raised above his head and he arched his back off the furs. “A magician and musician. I believe you covered all the most important ‘m’s.”

Laughter carried off in the air, mine and Asra’s, while Muriel made a snort through his nose. Then, like a flame blown out, we returned to our comfortable silence. Asra slept for the rest of our stay there while Muriel and I shared a few words as his hands whittled.

-- I was watching Muriel feed his chicken, my fingers running through Inanna’s fur as he did when Asra appeared from the hut. He looked pleased that Muriel and I were getting along. For the most part, I believed we were. We hadn’t exchanged more words than I could count on both my hands, but he responded to the few I did say with grunts and nods. It was a start.

When the sun had started to drop behind the trees, Muriel packed up the food for the chickens and then started for the woods wordlessly. The woods were dark, but, in the very far distance, I could see the blue light of magic or spirits. We had something similar back home. I looked to Asra for answers, but he only called after him.

“I will be walking MC home, Muriel.”

He only threw back a half-hearted wave of goodbye.

“It was a pleasure, Muriel! I hope to see you again,” I called out as well.

Muriel looked over his shoulder for a moment before disappearing into the trees.

The walk back seemed shorter than the walk to the hut. Asra did not take his time showing me all the flowers or pointing out any of the birds as it got harder to see through the dim light coming through the branches of the trees. I held onto his arm as we walked, which he had offered me after my second time tripping on a branch. He felt warm against the cold winds that blew harsher, showing that, soon, a storm would rise. Nothing new to Vesuvia, I had learned in the past few months. As we left the woods, it became brighter, city lights appeared as darkness finally took over the sky, but I did not let go of Asra’s arm. The way I held onto him wasn’t intentional, as I was too distracted by the lights and people to really let go. Asra seemed not to mind and leaned into my side as we walked. I hadn’t noticed he’d done that until we reached the shop door.

I broke my release on him as I went to unlock the door, and he finally moved away from me. When the lock clicked and I stepped inside, Asra stayed on the steps, looking up at me with such hesitation. With a snap of my fingers, the lantern hanging on the door lit, and Asra’s face became clearer. A blush was on his cheeks with purple eyes still staring at me, expectantly.

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” I had asked, thinking he was waiting for me to let him in. “To warm-up before leaving.”

Asra shook his head. “No, I must be returning. I--I have something to ask you, first, MC.”

My heart jumped with anxiety and excitement. A thousand possibilities came through my mind in a revolving door. In the seconds I waited for him to say something, the weight between good and absolutely horrible had nothing in the middle. Trying to egg on an answer from his silence, I nodded and waited for him to say something. When he didn’t I asked him to continue.

Asra looked to the ground, before meeting my eyes again. His starry eyes are so determined and focused. “The masquerade is in a month, do you know of it?” Of course, I did, it had been everything, anyone I came across talked about. Essentially a big birthday party to boost the ego of the horrid Count Lucio, but, over the past ten years, had turned into a tradition. Masks, games, music--Everything that made up a party, and all of Vesuvia was invited.

I told Asra I did, and he continued on. “Would you be my partner at the masquerade this year?”

My breath left me all at once, and I stared at him for what felt like hours. He said my name again, eyes pouring into mine as he waited for the answer. I blubbered out some sort of response at first. Confusion plastered across Asra’s face.

“Ahem,” I regain my composure, standing straight. “Yes. I would love to.”

A grin grew across his face and his eyes lit up. “Fantastic. I was nervous to ask you. I will bid you goodnight now.”

He started down the steps before stopping, turning to me quickly as I started to shut the door. “Oh, MC--”

“Yes?”

“I will be leaving for a few weeks tomorrow, so please do not be worried if you do not see me.”

My mind wondered for a moment before asking, “Where will you go?” I didn’t know why my voice had become so soft.

“Nopal, it’s a bit north of the city,” Asra pointed west despite saying the near opposite. I noted the wanderlust in his eyes and admired him for it.

I found myself stepping out from inside to stand on the landing to put my hands on Asra’s shoulders. Leaning over, I placed a kiss on his cheek. “May your journey be safe, Asra.”

His skin was soft under my lips and I heard his breath stop for a moment. When I pulled back his face was flushed, cheeks, ears, and neck all red. My face felt hot, too, despite how used to the affection I was. In Helene, it was common to kiss people close to you before their long journey. Fear suddenly rose in my chest, perhaps I was not as close to Asra as I had thought, and overstepped my bounds.

“Goodnight,” I said quickly before rushing inside, slamming the door shut behind me.

In the shop I grabbed my chest where my heart was in hopes to calm its pounding, but alas it did not work. Gulping back the anxiety bubbling up my throat, I held my shawl closer around my shoulders then bolted upstairs.

My room felt cold and empty compared to Muriel’s hut, and, for a second, I longed to be there with them. Perhaps if my knowledge and closeness to them were better. Gods, frustration burned in my chest at the thought of kissing someone who I had realized in a few seconds I was not at all that close to.

Despite my temporary hatred for myself, I still took my time to peek out the window before retiring to bed. Asra stood below, looking up at my window with an untelling glint in his eyes. When his gaze reached mine, it was not I who ran this time, but him. He smiled as he did so, yelling something that was muffled by the window glass. I would have called out to him, to have him repeat what he said, but he was gone by the time the thought passed.

#asra x y/n #asra alnazar #asra x mc #asra x you #count lucio #muriel #nadia satrinava #romance #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #the arcana game #julian devorak #fan apprentice #fandom #past mc #nadia #the arcana lucio #muriel the hermit #portia devorak

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whatsagauntlet · 3 years

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Both Zemo and Bucky himself have made comments about the Winter Soldier still being in him. Now Zemo could have just as easily been toying with him, but Bucky has legitimate fears. He was the WS for a huge portion of his life.

What is implied isn't entirely true. The ruthlessness, the brutality of WS? Bucky was not violent or murderous by nature. The war, that was a job; killing was expected of soldiers. Even as WS, he was following orders and completely mission directed. WS was born out of brainwashing and torture. What happened after Buck broke free? Nothing. Not even a trace of vengeance. In Wakanda? Lived peacefully. The trigger words that activate WS in the first place, that switch in his brain, were removed. Anything that held him prisoner to WS is gone. His mind, that is all Bucky Barnes.

What does remain of the WS (besides memories) is the skillset, the training (although with this show sometimes I dunno), some of which was acquired well before Hydra got their hands on him. He remembers. He feels immense guilt. He doesn't want to kill, never wanted to, and has choice. So a part of the WS may always exist in him, but not in any way that matters.

I hope his true stength can eventually be embraced. Partially to see him be as effective (kickass) as he should be and partially as acceptance that he is in full control of himself

#I don't think this makes sense #but whatever #this about a damn fictional character #also hope they keep the winter soldier name #it sounds much cooler than white wolf #twist an ugly history into something good #hydra is nothing #bucky barnes #mcu

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heartsofbeskar · 3 years

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the red wolf

chapter one: two swords

oberyn martell x fem!reader

WARNINGS: mentions and descriptions of violence (GOT canon typical), talk of death, language

WORDS: 3.5K

EXCERPT: Sunlight streamed through the window, the painted glass covering the two of you in an array of colours. When you had arrived in King’s Landing, you were sure it was the most beautiful place you had ever been. How could Winterfell compare to this sunlight and sea and splendor? But the longer you stayed, the more you saw that the beauty was but a thin layer, covering the stench of violence and greed.

A/N: this is in second person, but the reader insert character belongs to a canon house which of course implies physical characteristics, including her being white! (ik this is a problem for some reader inserts being coded white so i wanted to address it here)

masterlist

Your hands trembled as they threaded through the soft, red locks. You used to do this when she was younger, you recalled, when she couldn’t sleep or was feeling ill or had a frightful dream.

It wasn’t just a dream this time.

Her shaky breath was warm against your neck, and you pulled her head closer in against you. Tears fell down the front of your bodice and you swallowed thickly, as you felt a familiar burn behind your own eyes. You willed the tears not to fall.

“It isn’t fair,” came her voice, impossibly small, against your bare skin. Her hands gripped tightly into the dense fabric of your skirts. “He wasn’t a traitor.”

You shushed her gently, your free hand ghosting up and down her back. You longed for the days when she was small enough for you to collect her in your lap, hold her close to your breast, as your mother had done for you both.

Another sob wracked her body, and you squeezed your eyes painfully shut at the sound. You hated it, you hated this. How you couldn’t protect her, or your father, or your brothers, or anyone.

“Sansa,” you whispered, taking her face in your hands, tilting it up to look into yours. Your heart shattered again at the sight of her, skin glistening with her tears, eyes and lips swollen and flushed from crying. You rested your forehead against hers, thumbs stroking her over delicate features. “You cannot say those things outside of this room. Tell me you know this, please.”

Your voice broke on the last word, emotion clawing its way up your throat. You loathed to ask this of her, to harden her once trusting and open spirit even further, but you needed her to know it. You wouldn’t give the Lannisters any excuse to hurt her, too.

“I do,” she choked out, fresh tears spilling over. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, pulling her back into your arms.

Sunlight streamed through the window, the painted glass covering the two of you in an array of colours. When you had arrived in King’s Landing, you were sure it was the most beautiful place you had ever been. How could Winterfell compare to this sunlight and sea and splendor? But the longer you stayed, the more you saw that the beauty was but a thin layer, covering the stench of violence and greed.

“We are Starks, my sweet sister.” You resumed combing through Sansa’s long hair; you weren’t sure if it was a comfort to her or to you. “We will not yield.”

—

The great walls of Winterfell rose behind you, as your feet carried you through the tall grass that grew uncontrolled just outside the keep’s gates. Small creatures darted to and fro under its cover. A gentle wind blew across your face, pushing your hair to the side. You heard the call of a wild raven overhead.

Winter bounded past you, the direwolf’s strong limbs carrying him far ahead of you with ease, though his grey speckled coat made him easy to find against the late summer colours of the grass. He turned back to look at you, mouth wide open in a pant, then gave an impatient bark. You laughed, shaking your head.

“You know I cannot keep up!” You called out to him, as if he could understand your reply. But ever since Winter had been a small pup, brought to Winterfell by your brothers with the rest of the litter, it had felt like he could. All the time you had trained him, he had tilted his head at your affirmations and musings, and had burrowed into your side when you were upset. It was an inexplicable connection between the two of you.

He waited patiently for you now, tail wagging and legs bouncing in excitement. He always loved these excursions outside the walls, and it provided a convenient excuse for you. As much as you loved to blame Winter and his need to get out for air, the same desire always burned within you as well.

Your bow and arrow shifted across your back as you increased your pace. The tips of your fingers grazed across the flowers that periodically sprung up from the dense grass. You made a note to pick some on your way back, for Sansa and little Rickon. You knew they’d enjoy them.

The treeline seemed to swallow the sun overhead as you passed beneath it, relishing in the coolness of the air here. Of course, the air had become cooler and cooler with every day that passed now. Winter is coming, your father harped on. And he was right, as usual. The arrival of your first winter sent a trickle of excitement through your entire body whenever you dwelt on it. Mother and father and Uncle Benjen had told you stories of winter, of the endless white and sparkling ice which could drip from the overhangs in the courtyard.

Winter ran excited circles around you as you set your quiver against the ground. You signalled to him with your hand, a communication in the language only the two of you spoke, and he settled promptly down to the ground, back end still wiggling with excitement. But he knew the best was yet to come if he waited.

Pointing the bow at the ground, you pulled an arrow from the quiver, resting it and nocking it against the string. Hooking two of your fingers around the end of the arrow, you scanned your eyes across the shadowed forest floor.

Before long, a movement caught your eye. A small rabbit sat, just a few yards ahead of you, chewing on some of the greenery there. You brought the arrow slowly, silently, up to your eye level, barely daring to breathe, lest you scare timid the creature away. You gripped the bow tightly in your opposite hand. Bringing the string straight backwards to sit next to your face, you tried to envision the path once you released it. Taking one last deep breath, you snapped your fingers off the string.

The arrow flew, fast and long through the air, and finally — fell a few feet left of the rabbit, spooking it into running deeper into the woods.

“Shit,” you cursed, collecting the wayward projectile from where it had sunk into the earth.

“Now, I don’t think your mother would appreciate that language.” A deep voice emerged from behind you, exciting Winter to stand and jump once around again.

“Father!” You gasped, whirling around. “I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t speak that way, I would never—”

He held up a hand to cut off your babble, a small smile settling on his time weathered face. “It’s alright. I have cursed too many times to reprimand it from any of my children.”

You mirrored his smile, moving to stand beside him. You looked down at your bow a little sheepishly. “I was just trying to practice a bit. You know how Jon and Robb like to tease.”

“I do.” He placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “But you shouldn’t be out here alone, sweet.”

“I have Winter with me.”

He laughed at that, moving his hand now to scratch behind the ears of the direwolf still pacing eagerly between the two of you. Winter yipped in excitement, pushing up against his hand.

“Winter is about as ferocious as a newborn babe,” he teased. “The opposite of Greywind, might I add. Anyone but Robb approaches, and that wolf is on alert.”

“Winter just has a gentle heart, is all.” You drop to one knee, letting the direwolf nuzzle into your chest, stroking his soft ears.

“It’s not unlike the differences between you and Robb, truth be told. Strange, how you can share a womb with another living being, and yet grow to be so distinct.” He had a far away expression on his face when you looked up. You stood again, allowing him to grasp your hands in his.

“You’re not here just to chastise me for going beyond the walls.” You knew, too well, the expression on Ned Stark’s face when he had to speak of things he didn’t want to.

He nodded. “Sweet child … you know I have nothing but respect for you and your choices. But, I am afraid it has become an unavoidable truth. Your mother and I have discussed this, and we have decided that once we arrive in King’s Landing, we need to decide on a man for you to marry.”

Your face was impassive as you considered his words. You knew in any other family, in any other man’s house, you would have been wed as soon as you’d bled for the first time. But your father had allowed you to grow and mature past that, and you cherished those years, holding them close to your heart. You squeezed his hands.

“I know, Father. And I am happy to do my duty as the eldest daughter of the house. You needn't feel guilty — I know you won’t marry me to a monster.” Your lips quirked upwards. And it was true; you had the utmost trust in your father that he would choose someone kind, someone level headed. That he would make a match considering your wishes, too, and it would be a life you could grow to love a man in.

He sighed, shoulders sagging in relief. You wondered if the prospect of marrying his first daughter, his first child, was more difficult for him than it was for you. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re a good daughter. But still a mediocre marksman; come, let me show you where you went wrong,” he said, picking up your discarded bow and quiver.

—

You longed to be in those woods now, with your wolf and your father and your bow. In your home. All the beauty and splendor and opulence of King’s Landing could never erase the horrors you’d endured here.

You glanced behind you, where Tyrion and her handmaiden were trying their best to implore Sansa to eat something. There was an impressive array of foods strewn about the small table, though your younger sister touched none of them.

As you watched, her handmaiden — whom you suspected was no handmaiden at all, given her incompetence at her job — rose from the table, shooting a glare at Lord Tyrion.

“She needs to eat,” she quipped, looking up at you briefly before she left, her light skirts swaying gently as she retreated down the garden path.

You turned and sat slowly in her vacated seat, saying nothing. Sansa didn’t spare you a glance, her eyes vacant as she continued to look at the table in front of her, not really seeing it.

“I can’t let you starve,” Tyrion implored. You bit back the remark on the edge of your tongue. How amusing it was to think of a Lannister caring for a Stark’s wellbeing. Even if it was the Stark he’d been wed to. “I swore to protect you. My lady, I am your husband. Let me help you.”

“How can you help me?”

“I don’t know, but I can try.”

“I lie awake all night staring at the canopy, thinking about how they died.” This you knew to be true, as those past nights you had curled yourself around her, in her marital bed, unable to sleep, but equally unable to leave her alone in this place. Sansa continued.

“Do you know what they did to my brother? How they sewed his direwolf’s head onto his body?” You shut your eyes tightly, images of Robb coming unbidden to the back of your eyelids. His gentle smile, his awful jokes, his tenderness as you’d raised that very direwolf alongside your own. “And my mother. They cut her throat to the bone and threw her body in the—”

“Sansa, please,” you choked out. You could not take any more, or surely the tears you had so desperately supressed for days would finally emerge. She sent a cool glance your way, but stopped.

Tyrion cast his eyes down; you could tell he was carefully considering his next words. Ever the silver tongue. “What happened to your family was a terrible crime. I didn’t know your brother. He seemed like a good man, but I didn’t know him. Your mother, I admired her. She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her. She was a strong woman. And she was fierce when it came to protecting her children. Sansa … your mother would want you to carry on. Both of you. You know it’s true.”

Sansa didn’t make any indication she had heard his valiant speech. Good, you thought to yourself. She stood, hands lightly falling onto the edge of the table. “Will you pardon me, my Lord? I’d like to visit the godswood.”

“Of course,” Tyrion nodded enthusiastically, brows drawn together. The scar you knew he’d gotten during the Battle of Blackwater Bay was deep set above one eye. “Prayer can be helpful, I hear.”

“I don’t pray any more,” she said quietly, as she began walking away. “It’s the only place I go where people don’t talk to me.”

You watched her form as she walked away, knowing she wouldn’t want you to follow. Your heart felt like it was being crushed inside your chest at the sight of it, at the knowledge that you could do nothing for her pain. Nothing for your own pain, even.

Tyrion appeared conflicted, eyes looking between where his wife had now left, and you where you remained seated. You took a deep breath, straightening your back.

“You needn’t stay and pretend to care for me as well,” she quipped, jaw tense. “... my Lord.”

Another Lord, another Lannister even, would have struck you. But perhaps marrying your child sister had curbed that edge in Tyrion, for he said nothing else before taking his leave from you.

As he turned the corner in the path, you sighed, dropping your shoulders. You stood from the table, returning to your previous spot, overlooking the sea. You let out a shaking breath as you leaned against the short garden wall.

The sea churned beneath you, it's great waves smashing ferociously on the rocks below. It smelled of salt and wind and you tried desperately to fill your lungs with it, to wash away every other feeling inside of you.

“A wolf of winter in the summer gardens; a strange sight indeed.” A lilting, accented voice came up behind you. Turning, you saw a tall man adorned in mustard robes, accents of fine jewelry hanging from his neck, on his hands, wrists, everywhere you could see. His skin was tan, golden, in a way you had never seen before, and the top of his robe exposed the start of a golden chest. His neatly trimmed beard and hair were dark, but not as dark as his eyes, which bore into you now.

You noticed the red suns stitched into the fabric of his robes — House Martell. Your father would never forgive you if you forgot all those long lessons on the great families of Westeros.

“My Lord,” you inclined your head politely in his direction, willing your body into the proper posture. “You’ve arrived from Dorne, for the wedding I presume?”

The man raised an eyebrow at you, stepping closer, until he stood directly in front of you. One step forward and you would be in direct contact with the expanse of his chest.

“You paid attention to your schooling on Houses,” he said lightly. He reached down to grab one of your hands that hung by your side, bringing it slowly up to his lips. “I am Prince Oberyn, indeed of Dorne. Forgive my manners, but I do not believe I need an introduction to you, Lady Stark.”

His dark eyes held yours, as he leaned in further. You could feel his breath on your face. It was pleasantly warm, and smelled of … oranges? “I heard of the tragic events that befell your family, at the hands of your benefactors.” He spit the last word.

“I do not know what you mean,” you breathed out. You pleaded with him with your eyes, please don’t do this; don’t make me speak it where they can hear. “The Lannisters have been most kind and generous to me and my sister, more than we deserve even. My family …” You swallowed thickly; your skin felt hot despite the shade. “My family betrayed the crown, and has paid their price.”

Oberyn’s brows drew together in a worried expression as he studied your face. You didn’t look away from his gaze, holding him there, trying not to show a crack in the facade. He ran a light hand up your arm, and though he barely touched you, a shiver ran across your skin. It came to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles over the fabric there.

“Little wolf, I assure you that the Lannisters are no friends of mine.” Something dark flashed in his eyes, for only a moment, so fleeting you weren’t even sure it had been there. “They have ripped apart my family with their teeth, also.”

You felt that particular burn in your eyes, and you pressed your nails into the palms of your hands, willing it away. You eyed the man’s hand where it still sat on your shoulder.

“Yet you break bread with them, do you not?” Your eyes were glued onto his as they cast downwards. “You come peacefully to King’s Landing, you bring wedding gifts for King Joffrey, and you drink from their cups.”

Your breathing was heavy now, emotion you had pushed into the deepest parts of yourself leaking out. You shut your eyes, shaking your head. This was a Prince.

“I … I am sorry, Prince Oberyn, I should not have—” He cut you off, gently pressing a hand to the side of your face. The skin of his fingers was rough, calloused, no doubt from years of fighting.

“You do not need to apologize, little wolf.”

“You shouldn’t call me that here.”

The side of his mouth quirked upwards at that, one delicate brow arching. It transformed the planes of his face, and you found yourself transfixed on the shapes and textures set into his tanned skin.

“I do believe we are alone here, little wolf.” Teasing now, he used the nickname with purpose. You liked the shape of it on his lips, though you still fought the overwhelming urge to peer over your shoulder at whoever may be watching.

“You don’t understand, my Lord.” You shook your head again, and his hand fell from your cheek. “King’s Landing is a pit of snakes. And they are always — always — listening. You are a Prince of Dorne and I…” You didn’t finish. I am nothing but a stupid girl who waited too long to marry, is too old for the King, is tainted and stained with the stench of my family’s rebellion. I am doused in their blood, being made to drown in it.

Your palm felt wet, drawing your attention down. Opening it, you saw blood welling from the four small crescent shaped tears that now appeared in the delicate skin there. Oberyn’s eyes followed yours, and they softened at the sight, cupping your hand in both of his. They were so large around yours, and steady.

“I am a Prince of Dorne,” he said, his voice quiet, not looking at your face. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his robe, next to his chest. Gently, he wrapped it around the palm of your hand, seemingly unbothered by the blood which immediately began to blot onto it. Many moons had taught you that blood never came off. Tying it secure under your knuckles, he met your eyes, lifting your head with a finger under your chin. “And if this is indeed a pit of snakes, it is a good thing you are in the company of the Viper. Your words — all of your words — are safe with me, little wolf.”

You wanted so badly to believe him, to think that there was someone in this wretched place you could trust, outside of your sister. That a man was really looking upon you with kind, genuine eyes, for the first time since they’d taken your father’s head from his shoulders.

The sea crashed particularly forcefully below, startling you. He leaned back now, pulling his hands away from you, and you immediately missed their warmth. As if he had carried the Dornish sun within his very body, all the way to King’s Landing. He kissed your unwrapped hand again, briefly, and he sent you another smile before beginning to retreat, hands clasped behind his back.

At the mouth of the garden entrance, he turned halfway, face playful now. “I should like to make strolling in these gardens a daily habit whilst I’m here; there is so much to see. Would you care to join me in that?”

You nodded, smiling; a small one, but the first smile you remembered giving genuinely to someone in a long time.

A/N: aaah this was so fun to do that i ended up finishing it waaay sooner than i thought i would! so excited to see what people think!! also it will probably end up being oberyn x ellaria x reader bc... i love her and i love bisexuals

taglist: @asta-lily @pedrostories

#game of thrones #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #mywriting #the red wolf

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solari-writes-things · 3 years

Text

Visitation

🛑 WARNINGS: Language. 🛑

✨ requested by: @angelaiswriting

✨ Pairing: Tachanka x Reader

✨ Summary: Alexandr and Reader are enjoying an evening out together, when he pulls a comedic stunt.

✨ Solari Says: I love anything related to Tachanka and his antics. This may seem a bit OOC to some, but it isn’t to me, so tough! Hope you think this is as funny as I do!

✨ Prompt(s) -

#58: “Oh, my ankle! I think it must be broken!” *wink* *wink*

#68: “I lost my wellie boot in the river…”

#90: “I thought you said no more dangerous stunts?”

gif credit: to the OP.

MORE TACHANKA | MORE R6S | > MASTERLIST < |

Winter time.

You always loved winter. Something about the cooler weather and warmer drinks appeased something in your spirits. However, in the States, the cold didn’t bite at your skin as harshly as the winters in Russia.

However, you decided to tough it out. You had been anxious to come here for some time, and now that you finally had some time off, you wanted to use it. Alexsandr had encouraged you to visit, since it had been some time since the both of you had connected. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him, and his antics.

He always knew how to make you laugh. He knew how to converse, to animate himself to where he always had captured your attention. Well, his good look aside. You were interested in his history, and loved the way that he spoke of his children--his grandchildren. It always made you smile, and you think he relished in that detail.

So here you were, side by side with his hulking figure, bundled tight in your winter gear so that you were safe and sound from the weather. He wasn’t wrapped as much as you were, being much more adapted to the Russian winters than you.

Your arm was tucked around his, grasping his large bicep in your hands as you both spoke and laughed through the semi-empty streets that you decided to walk in. You were going to go get something to eat, he was quite insistent on you trying out a local place that he loved during his many years of living here. You were quite excited to try some Russian dishes and delicacies, under the recommendation of Alex.

You were only a block out from food, and you could feel your stomach grumble in anticipation.

However, when you looked up at him to playfully gripe about it, as you always did considering you were comfortable with him, you felt yourself jerk down and almost fall as this six-foot mountain took a tumble into a snow pile that was plowed onto the curb.

He had lost his footing, but you had let go just before his large body dragged you down with him. The plush snow allowed his fall to be cushioned, but of course he wouldn’t allow it to pass in silence.

He rolled onto his back, still sunk into the snow pile as he lets out a playful groan. You blink slowly, approaching him and staring down at his body as he was still.

“Oh, my ankle! I think it must be broken!” he complained. In any other circumstance, you would have been worried. However, you saw how plush the white coating was on the ground. If he had been injured, you would have heard it within a two block radius.

So you shake your head. half of your mouth curling into a joking frown. “I thought you said no more dangerous stunts?”

“Bah, you know I can’t make promises like that,” he joked, as he folded his hands over his stomach.

“You’re also being overdramatic,” you reminded him, which causes his cheeks to curl up in a grin underneath his scarf.

“That can continue,” he prompted.

“Oh please, no,” you say almost seriously, but your laugh gave your real intention away.

It prompted him to carry on, draping the back of his hand over his forehead. “I lost my wellie boot in the river…” he complained.

Your eyes diverted in front of him. Sure enough, he surely had lost a boot during his fall. But you could see the mouth of it sticking up where he had lost his footing. His fault, for not tightening them enough when he had left. You had warned him, too, figuring something of this nature would happen.

“Yeah, okay, Alex,” you chuckle. “It’s right in front of you. Put it back on, before the snow soaks your sock and you get sick.”

“I don’t get sick,” Alex said confidently, stretching his arms out so he could rock himself to a seated position. His large body curls up, and with finesse, he pushes himself to stand straight.

You shake your head, watching as this man continued to hobble over to the boot that had somehow slid off. He flashed a grin at you in amusement, as he slid it back on and started to tie it on tightly.

Maybe he had finally learned his lesson.

No matter how long you had spent away, you had always missed this. It may have seemed like you were annoyed on the surface, but you could never.

Not toward Alex. __

Rainbow Six Tag List: @kind-wolf General Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter :|: @angelaiswriting

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#rainbow six siege #r6s #rainbow six #tachanka #alexsandr senaviev #tachanka x reader #rainbow six x reader #solari writes things

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doubleleoenergy · 3 years

Text

IV; BLUE BAYOU SERIES

Oh that boy of mine, by my side. The silver moon and the evening tide.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: TFAWS!Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Summary: Sam and y/n build furniture and decorate his home now that y/n has moved in.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; oral (male receiving), face-fucking, Daddy kink, spanking, LOTS of dirty talk, basically plot at the beggining section and PORN at the end.

Word Count: 4553

Author’s Notes: This just proves that 1) Sam and Bucky are the bestest of friends, 2) Bucky has got someone on the brain, and 3) I am a whore for Daddy Sam.

Two weeks after their bedroom escapade y/n tugs nervously on the end of her cream-colored cardigan, biting her lip. She’s finally finished getting ready in Sam’s bedroom, having tried on multiple outfits for him to choose between before settling on the pale blue floral print fit and flare dress, cream cardigan, and white strappy wedges. Her curls lay tousled down her back, her face fresh with a light coating of mascara and her favorite coconut flavored Chapstick upon her lips.

Today was very important, well, at least SHE felt it was important. Sam and y/n were going out to lunch to meet Bucky, his best friend and work partner. She’d heard plenty of stories about the ‘white wolf’ as Sam teasingly referred to him, had been briefed on his vibranium arm and to not be worried if he looks like he’s constantly pissed off, it was just his RESTING face.

“You look beautiful.” Sam came up behind her as y/n put her gold hoops in her ears, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the exposed skin at her collarbone. “If Bucky wasn’t such a stickler on meeting at noon, I’d strip you down…do those things with my tongue that drive you WILD…” A moan slips from y/n’s lips, turning around in his grip to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Well maybe if I don’t embarrass myself in front of Bucky, we can do all of that when we get back.” She plants a quick kiss to his lips, moving over to the bed to grab her crossbody brown purse.

“You’re not going to EMBARRASS yourself. Bucky is cool, and he’ll love you.” Well, he was cool NOW. Ever since their mission in New York and the cookout back in Louisiana that Sam invited Bucky to things had been MUCH better. Sam moved to the dresser to grab his wallet and his keys, stepping back over to grab y/n’s hand with his free one.

“I mean it, don’t worry. Besides, I didn’t even particularly LIKE Bucky until a few months ago, you’ve got no need to feel any pressure to impress him.” He plants one more kiss to her lips, tugging her towards the front door to get into his truck.

When they arrived at their favorite diner Bucky was already inside, sitting down at their usual booth in the back corner. He had tossed aside his leather jacket next to him, his eyes scanning over the menu as if he didn’t already know what to order.

The door to the diner chimed as they walked through, Bucky turning around with a smile when he noticed Sam. “You’re a minute LATE.” He announced, holding up his phone to show him the time. Technology was sweet now that he had it at his fingertips. Sam rolled his eyes, walking forward and embracing Bucky in a hug, patting his back as he did so.

“A minute is NOTHING, but I guess I should know better than to keep an old man waiting.” The two laughed together, letting go of the embrace before Sam motions for y/n to move next to him. “Bucky, this is my girlfriend, y/n. Y/N this is Bucky.”

Y/N watches as Bucky sticks out his hand for her to shake, the non-vibranium hand that is. She takes it in her small one, giving it a good motion up and down. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam has told me so much about you.” She chirps, finally taking in his features. His eyes were a DAZZLING blue, his smile wide, and his brows thick. He wore a grey t-shirt that looked a little too tight, showing off his muscular frame through the thin fabric. His vibranium arm, the one that Sam mentioned, was completely exposed but seemed to fit in with the rest of his appearance.

“Likewise, sometimes I have to tell Sam to shut the HELL up so we can actually get some work done.” He teased, letting go of her hand.

Bucky motions for them to sit, sliding back into his side of the booth with Sam and y/n sliding in across from him. As soon as they did a PERKY blonde waitress walked over, flashing a bright smile at all of them before settling her gaze on Bucky. It was clear she thought he was attractive, keeping her eyes on him as she pulled out her pad of paper.

“Hello, my name is MARISSA.” She gushed, tilting forward ever so slightly to expose her chest to Bucky. He paid no attention though, his eyes typing away at his phone.

“Black coffee, short stack of pancakes, side of bacon please.” He slid his menu towards her direction and she quickly jotted it down, a blush appearing on her cheeks. Bucky kept his eyes still on his phone.

“R-right, okay and uh, and what can I get ya’ll?” She finally looks at them and y/n can see a twinge of embarrassment on her face for having been ignored by the chiseled man.

“I’ll have the breakfast burrito with an extra side of sausage and a coffee with vanilla creamer please.” Sam responds, plopping his menu on top of Bucky’s. Y/N scans the menu once more, turning her attention to the waitress. “I’ll have the Belgian waffle with strawberries please, and a glass of water.”

Marissa finishes jotting down their order, grabbing the menus and then looking once more at Bucky, a slight frown on her face, before walking away. Bucky finishes up whatever he was doing on his phone, setting it upside down on the table and moving his attention back to the pair in front of him.

“So, y/n, I heard you moved from Colorado. How are you liking it here during the summer heat?” Y/n tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, placing her hands in her lap. “It’s been great so far, it’s an interesting little town. PLUS, I have this guy by my side.” She playfully nudges Sam, eliciting a laugh from his lips.

He moves his hand to hers, gripping it under the table. “Sam says you two have a lot of fun together on your missions, do you have a uniform like him?” Bucky laughs, making his nose scrunch up on his face. “No, that’s BIRD-BRAIN’S thing.” He teases. “I’m what they call a super soldier, that makes me SO much cooler than Sam.” Another joke. Y/N seems to think this is a good sign. “But yeah, we do have a lot of fun on our missions. Some are harder than others of course, but we haven’t died so far.”

Marissa comes back with the men’s coffee and y/n’s water, eyes flickering towards Bucky again. He finally acknowledges her presence, eyes finding her nametag against her shirt. “Thank you, Marissa.” He affirmed. She walked away, giddy that Bucky said her name, as both men take a sip from their mugs.

“Well, whatever you do I’m sure it’s very important. Sam sounds lucky to have you.” She quipped. They seemed like a natural pair, their personalities seemed to mesh, ESPECIALLY their sarcasm.

“Y/N is pretty impressive too; she’s got her PhD in sociology and teaches at Northwood.” Sam adds, a proud smile on his face. Being with her made him look BETTER and FEEL better, and he loved being able to show her and all her accomplishments off. A deep blush creeps over her cheeks at his words, squeezing his hand under the table.

“Well that IS impressive, congratulations. Sociology seems like an interesting topic to teach. Are you a harsh professor?” Bucky questioned, raising a thick eyebrow in her direction. Y/N shakes her head, she DEFINITELY wasn’t a stickler like some of her colleagues.

“No, not harsh at all. I believe it’s important to get students PASSIONATE about what they learn in order bring awareness and CHANGE. I teach three different courses: Social Inequality, Racism and Inequality, and Toolkit for Activism and Advocacy. We have our required midterm and final, but most of the time is filled with lectures, documentaries, and discussions on the topics we cover.” Her eyes light up with passion as she talks, and it makes Sam’s heart flutter. Even Bucky seems to be enthralled listening to her.

“Well, if I were a student, I’d take one of your classes for SURE.” Their conversation is interrupted briefly by Marissa dropping off their plates, trying to get Bucky to notice her again but with no success. They start to chow down on their food, the sounds of forks and knives moving, and mugs being picked up and put down being the only sounds at their table. Eventually as their stomachs start to fill the silence ends, talking about some of Sam and Bucky’s favorite missions, what y/n’s favorite books were, and even their shared connection to the armed forces.

They finally finish devouring their brunch and Bucky sits back against his booth, arms spreading out over the back of it. Marissa finally drops off their checks, trying ONE last time to get Bucky’s attention but he’s distracted in conversation with Sam about their next meeting with Torres. Sam INSISTS on paying for y/n’s meal along with his own, and y/n decides not to protest this time. She’d get the next one.

Bucky pulls a wad of bills from his wallet, setting down enough to pay for the food and a tip before he stands up, pulling his leather jacket on over his tight grey shirt. They all thank Marissa on their way passed her to move out the door, the familiar chime going off as they step outside into the bright sunshine. Sam turns to face Bucky once more to give him a final hug.

“I’ll see you next week, noon on the DOT.” Bucky mumbles, and Sam can’t help but laugh, stepping back so that y/n can say her goodbye to him as well. Before y/n can decide whether it would be awkward to shake hands again or just nod in his direction, Bucky pulls her into his side for a hug, using his vibranium arm.

“It was great to meet you, y/n. I hope that Sam doesn’t keep you to himself forever, I’d love for us all to go out to a bar or something next time.” Bucky lets go of her side and y/n takes a step back, grabbing Sam’s hand in hers. “It was GREAT to meet you too. And sounds good, first rounds on me when we do.” She agreed.

Bucky turns with a quick wave of his hand, the couple turning in the opposite direction to head to Sam’s truck. The walk is short, and Sam moves instinctively to open y/n’s door before hopping in the driver’s side and starting it up.

“Well that wasn’t so bad was it?” He asked, his hand settling to grip her thigh as he drove.

“No, not at all. He seems like an awesome guy. I’m sure it’s nice to work with someone you’re close with.” Her eyes turn to look up at him, head resting back on her seat. God, she’s so smitten with him and it’s only been two weeks. He checked every box, even checking boxes she didn’t even know NEEDED to be checked.

He squeezes her thigh, teasing her slightly. He cannot WAIT to get home and tear off that short little dress of hers. “Yeah it is nice, although, did you notice how HARD that waitress was trying to get his attention? I mean, usually Bucky is all sorts of flirty but today there was nothing.”

They both laughed, y/n moving her hand to turn the volume up on Sam’s Marvin Gaye CD. She had taken quite a liking to his taste in music since they started seeing each other.

“It was SUPER obvious. I wonder why he didn’t flirt back.”

The past two weeks were a blur, Sam having gone on another mission and y/n finishing up with midterms for her summer classes. In their spare time, y/n INSISTED that Sam needed to make his place more of a HOME.

When Sam decided to move back to Louisiana, he had managed to buy a small two-bedroom, two-bathroom house a few miles down the road from Sarah’s place. After years in the service and moving back to civilian life, Sam still struggled with really making his place feel like home. Now that y/n was spending the night more often, enjoying the quiet that his house brought over the loud family that lived above her apartment, they felt it was time to UPGRADE.

Last week had been spent picking between paint swatches and painting the different rooms in Sam’s house, stopping frequently for some HOT sex on the hardwood floor. Sam had his bedroom furniture but was still missing living room furniture, kitchen furniture, and décor to tie it all together. At least, that’s how y/n put it.

They had just finished up their shopping adventure at IKEA, Home Goods, and Target, truck bed loaded with STUFF. Probably more stuff than they needed but y/n would make sure to return what they didn’t want.

“You know I’ll have to put together that kitchen table, chairs, AND the coffee table when we get back right? And the couch from Home Goods won’t even be delivered until Sunday.” Y/N smiles, rolling down the window and sticking her hand out, feeling the hot sun and the cool breeze on her skin.

“That’s fine, you can put that all together while I decorate everything.” She was excited, Sam was totally fine with letting her have control of the colors and patterns, really EVERYTHING.

Within a few minutes they had pulled up to the front of the house, Sam opening the bed of the truck so he can start grabbing the items. Y/N grabs a few of the bags, Sam shaking his head at her. “I told you, you don’t need to carry anything in, I got this.” Her brows furrow, setting the bags in her hands down in the empty space of the living room and following Sam back out the door for another load. “I’m COMPLETELY capable of carrying some of these. Besides, I have to catch up to YOUR physicality still.”

Sam laughs, tugging her against his waist and kissing her passionately. “You don’t need to catch up, your body is already HEAVENLY as it is.” He should have used the word SINFUL instead, the things she did to him. He shakes his head to get the thought out of his mind, grabbing the box with the parts to the table and carrying it over his shoulder.

Once they finished unloading the truck Sam got to work putting together the coffee table while y/n emptied the items from the bags, sorting them on the floor for the areas they would go in. She took the different canvas pictures they had picked, holding them against the wall of the living room to decide where she wanted to hang them. Once deciding on the perfect spots, y/n grabbed the step stool, nails, and hammer and got to work. The canvas pictures they chose for the living room were an ombre style of blues that would pop well against the cream-colored wall.

After they were hung, she stood back, closing one eye and then the next to check on their levels. “What do you think?” She asked, turning to Sam for approval. He had made quick work of the coffee table, screwing in the last few spots and jiggling it to check its sturdiness. “The table’s done.” Sam stood up and eyed the paintings, nodding his head. “Those look PERFECT there. I’m going to move on to the kitchen table and chairs while you work in here.” He placed a quick kiss to her cheek before moving into the space of the kitchen, opening the box and laying out all his parts.

With the coffee table done, y/n moved all the items purchased to the far side of the room, giving her plenty of space to roll out the new navy colored rug for the area. She made sure it was flattened properly before dragging over the coffee table, carefully setting it on top. Once she’s finished, she fans the coasters they had purchased on the table before moving to look through the other décor pieces they’d chosen.

Y/N was having so much fun letting her creativity out. It wasn’t long before she was moving all over the rooms, placing a framed picture of his nephews here and another framed picture of him and y/n there. It was all coming together, throw pillows added to the bed with a few others set aside for when the couch would arrive, more picture frames with photos Sam had chosen of family and friends scattered throughout the house. New rugs, shower curtains, and towels in both bathrooms.

While Sam finished up the last chair for the dining set y/n put together a floor lamp for the living room, moving the other side lamp to the bedroom before walking around each space and making sure everything was in its proper place. There were a few items she had chosen for the space that didn’t quite work once she finished including another colorful canvas, a fake potted plant, and some extra throw pillows that she didn’t end up liking for the bedroom. Those were put away in a bag by the door waiting to be returned.

“Babe, what do you think?” She turns her head in Sam’s direction, calling for him to look at what she’s done while he busy was putting the furniture together. Sam brushes off his hands, standing up and walking from room to room inspecting her work. He had to admit, the place looked MUCH better. The best touch was all the framed photos y/n had printed and scattered throughout the house. With the changes she had made it really DID feel like a home.

Sam moved last into the living room where y/n stood, taking in the rest of the décor. “I…” He cleared his throat, hand nervously scratching at the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt this before, this PERMANANCE. The house was the first step, the roots that were grounding him here, and now everything seemed right. Even his old place that he’d been in when Steve and Natasha first visited him hadn’t made him feel like this, feel this HAPPY to be in his space.

“I love it, I can’t thank you enough for all of this.” She can tell he’s holding back tears as he speaks and she shushes him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Hey, it’s OKAY. I’m just happy you like it. I know how hard it is to make a place feel like home.” Growing up after her dad passed NOTHING really felt like home. Colorado was the closest she came to that, but it still wasn’t the same feelings she had when she was little and her father was still alive.

Sam wrapped his arms around her waist, bending his head down to nuzzle against her neck. “Of course I like it, I love everything you do. I love…” He trails off, moving his head back up to meet her gaze.

“Baby I…I LOVE you. And I don’t want to be afraid to say it. I want you to know that and I want you to know that this is your space too.” Y/N’s cheeks hurt from how big she was smiling at his words. “I love you TOO. So much Sam.”

He clears his throat, a hand coming up to rest on her cheek. “Which is why I was hoping that maybe you would be interested in getting out of your lease a bit early to…move in with me?” He doesn’t know what the point would be of setting up the house to be a HOME without her in it. He wanted it to be their home, together.

“I-Of course I want to move in. I mean, yes, I will.” She laughs, pulling him in for a kiss. His hands move under her ass, scooping her up in his arms. He was so HAPPY, their lips dancing along each other’s as they continued to kiss, his teeth jutting out to bite down on her bottom lip, eliciting a moan from her.

“How about we make sure that kitchen table is STURDY?” He asks, moving his lips to pepper kisses down her neck. He walks towards the table, y/n still in his arms, setting her ass down on the top he had just built. The table stays still under here weight, her fingers moving down to the hem of his shirt to pull it off. She trails her nails down his chest, marking the skin gently and watching as the marks faded.

“Baby, you always do so much for me, want to make you feel GOOD.” She scoots back against the table, looking at him with lustful eyes. “Strip for me please.” Sam does as he’s told, tugging down his jeans and boxers and kicking them across the floor.

“You always make me feel good.” He responds, licking his lips. He watches her as she slips out of her tiny jean shorts and panties, tugging her coral tank top over her head. She slowly unhooks her bra, tossing it aside, leaving her naked on the table, THEIR table.

“I know, but I want to thank you for how well you treat me, want to show you how much I LOVE you.” It felt good to say it, as she had been wanting to since meeting Bucky two weeks ago. His eyes rake over her body as she moves her back flat against the table, her head moving to hang off the side towards. “Want you to use me, Daddy.” She purred, her voice dripping with desire saying the nickname he LOVED in bed. “Please come fuck my face Daddy.”

Sam groans, his cock twitching and erect against his chest. She was splayed out on the table, head back and ready for him to FUCK. He moves closer to her, stroking his cock until it was inches from her face. “Open your mouth baby.” She does as she’s told opening wide as she feels his cock sliding in inch by inch. Her head is throbbing a bit from hanging upside down, but she didn’t CARE. His sliding inward stops when he hears her gag around him, moving out so just the tip rested on her lips.

“Shh, baby, relax your throat, let Daddy all the way in.” Y/N takes a deep breath, opening her mouth wider for him to push inside, enveloping him with her lips. SLOWLY, continuing to breathe, she feels him bottom out at the back of her throat, a groan of approval leaving his mouth.

He picks up a slow rhythm at first, pulling back so just the tip is in her mouth before shoving his cock all the way in the back of her throat, watching how he looked all the way down her throat. “Fuck baby, that mouth is PHENOMENAL.” Sam picks up his pace again, his balls slapping on her nose as her saliva drips out of her mouth and onto the floor.

“Put your hands on your pussy baby, want you to play with yourself while I USE you.” She moans around his cock, her hand moving down to her core, rubbing her fingers against that perfect bundle of nerves. Sam watches her, slowing his motions slightly. “Fuck yourself on your fingers baby, want you to warm yourself up for Daddy’s cock.”

Her fingers move between her lips, pushing inside the wetness. She adjusts to them before pumping them in and out, continuing to lap at Sam’s cock that is now hanging above her mouth. Sam watches for a few moments, loving the way she’s splayed out for him on their new kitchen table.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, I can hear how wet you are while you’re fucking yourself.” He moves his cock straight down her throat one last time, causing her to cough before he pulls completely out and steps back. “Get up and turn AROUND, put your ass in the air on the edge of the table.”

Y/N rolls her body over, saliva dripping down her face and neck as she did. She turns around, backing up until her ass is high in the air, feet hanging just slightly over the edge. “Yes Daddy.”

Sam moves forward, gripping her ass in his hand before giving the tanned skin a spank, y/n letting out a small whine at the pain. “Look at that pussy, so wet. Do you want my COCK inside you baby?” He teases his cock against her folds, a shiver of pleasure running down her spine.

“Fuck, yes Daddy please, want you to fill me FULL of your cock.” Sam smirks, one hand resting on her back, the other guiding his cock inside of her until he bottoms out. A groan escapes his lips, pulling his cock out of her pussy before slamming back into her again.

He continues to fuck her, a slew of cuss words and thank you leaving her slips. Sam moves one hand up her back, fingers gripping a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back and her face up off the table. “Oh my god.” She cries out, eyes rolling back into her head. He’s pushing in and pulling out of her core, tugging her head back with each thrust.

“That’s it baby, you look so PRETTY on my cock, god I love you so much.” She whines again and he pulls her hair harder with another TUG. “Fucking you stupid huh? Are you becoming stupid on my cock, can’t even speak?” He pulls her head back, lips inches from her ear. “You’re Daddy’s dumb baby, aren’t you?” That familiar feeling inside her chest is building up, her breathing ragged. “Yes, Daddy, I’m your dumb baby, please let me cum. PLEASE.”

He lets go of her hair, letting her body fall back onto the table. “Yes, baby cum for me. Show Daddy HOW much you love him.” Within seconds her orgasm is ripping through her body, walls clenching tight onto his cock and she comes undone. “Yes, thank you Daddy!” He fucks her until her body calms down from her orgasm, pulling out and spanking her ass once more.

“Get down on your knees for me baby, want to cum inside that pretty MOUTH.” Y/N moves down off of the table, getting onto her knees in front of him and opening her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue. Sam moves right above her, stroking himself until he comes, coating her mouth and tongue with his stickiness. “Fuck, you can swallow baby.” She shuts her mouth, swallowing down the salty cum before he pulls on her chin, instructing her to get up.

When she does Sam immediately wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “You’re SO sexy. I love YOU.” He proclaims, fingers running through her hair. She curls into him, letting out a breathy laugh. “I love you too.” She looks back at the table then back up at him with a smile on her face.

“Guess the table’s sturdy enough.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x reader smut #sam wilson smut #sam wilson #marvel #marvel fic #marvel smut #blue bayou series #doubleleoenergyworks

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adenei · 3 years

Text

Ch. 2 How to Win a Witch in 10 Days

AO3 | FFN

James rolls out of bed after the third snooze of his alarm clock. He knows exactly how long he can wait until he has to get out of bed so he won’t be late for work. Sometimes he misses living with Sirius and Remus, who used to help make sure he was up and at ‘em on time.

Stretching, James releases a groan as he goes to the bathroom and turns the water on for a shower. At least I’m not competing for hot water anymore. He steps into the scalding hot spray. He’s barely been living on his own for a month, and has to admit the perks certainly outweigh the drawbacks. Besides, they still work together for Alastor’s Ads, so it’s not like they never see each other.

After a quick lather and rinse, James steps out and towels off. He figures he has a good ten minutes to floo to the office. He’s pulling clothes out of his closet when Remus’s Patronus bursts through the window.

Get to the office. Now.

“Well, that doesn’t sound foreboding or anything,” he mutters to himself.

He quickly dresses and grabs his bag before heading to the fireplace. He’ll have to take a mid-morning break to get a bite to eat since the wolf interrupted his usual routine. Tossing the powder into the hearth, he steps in and transports himself to the office.

Sirius and Remus are waiting for him when he arrives, with looks of concern donning their faces.

“What’s got your wands in a twist this morning?” James assumes it’s not dire, and that Remus only sent the Patronus as a stern reminder for timeliness.

“It’s the Zabini Jewels pitch,” Sirius responds.

The name raises the hairs on the back of James’s neck.

“What about it?” he plays it cool.

The three men begin walking to James’s office, where Remus shuts the door after they all pile in.

“Well, the good news is that Moody liked your pitch,” Remus states, clearly easing James in as he begins.

Alastor Moody is the owner of Alastor’s Ads. After a mission with the Aurors put him out of commission, Moody opened an advertising business to do something with his settlement claim. He knew how corrupt the advertising business can be, so he set out to make the industry a little more honest, consequently weeding out the shadier businesses in the process. In the ten years since the company opened, it’s risen to the top spot of marketing in Magical England.

James’s position typically consists of wooing clients from magical games and sports and the food and spirits industry, but he’s recently begun dabbling in businesses outside his forte. Zabini’s is an up and coming jewelry shop with a lot of money backing its name. James submitted the proposal to Moody earlier that week, hoping to hear whether he would be the one to move forward with the pitch.

“Why do I sense there’s a but…” James trails off.

“Well…” Remus grimaces.

“Oh, come off it! If you’re not going to tell him, then I will!” Sirius interjects. “Moody’s given the pitch to my cousins!”

“No!” James bangs his fist on his desk, causing some of the hot young interns who are standing by the water cooler to jump and turn around.

James relaxes enough to flash a charming smile their way as he turns back to his best friends. “That was my proposal! I should be the one who meets with Zabini!”

“We know. But Moody said something about women ‘knowing and understanding’ the business more,” Remus attempts to calm James.

“That’s bullshit! Maybe they’re the ones who receive the jewelry, but blokes are the ones who buy it!”

“I know, mate.” Sirius throws his hands in the air, indicating he’s not the one James needs to argue with.

James is pissed. He’s worked too hard on this proposal for Moody to give the pitch to someone else. I’m not going down without a fight.

“Where are they?”

“They already left for a meeting at Witch Weekly.”

“Well, when are they meeting with Moody?”

“At Abbott's tonight,” Sirius answers automatically. Remus shoots him a look.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

James looks down at his desk. Memos are piling up from existing clients, but he can’t be arsed to worry about those right now. He needs to sign Zabini. It will be the breakthrough he needs to stand on his own in the business, and a way to finally prove to himself that he doesn't need to rely on his parent’s wealth.

A look of determination crosses his face. “I’m going to crash their meeting and sell my pitch.”

Sirius holds up his hand for a high five as Remus winces. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, James.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going down without a fight.”

James sits at a small cocktail table, sipping on a firewhisky at Abbott’s, a swanky magical speakeasy tucked away in the heart of Muggle London. The walls are painted an elegant navy blue that stands in stark contrast with the white marble floor, giving off an air of class and wealth that James has always refused to engage in. Gold trim lines the backlit shelves that house bottles upon bottles of expensive alcohol for the bar’s many eager patrons.

Business starts to pick up as the night drones on, and James can’t help but notice how many beautiful women are out on this fine Thursday night. If he didn’t have a pitch to snag, he might be on the prowl, looking for a good time. But he’s already limiting himself to one drink so he can keep his mind clear, but that’s not to say the alcohol isn’t tempting.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Moody’s gruff voice can be heard from across the room.

James immediately stands up on his boss’s arrival. Ordinarily, he’d hold out his hand in greeting, but Moody’s always been a suspicious man, so he forgoes the gesture.

“I heard you accepted my proposal for Zabini’s Jewels.”

“Yes, and it’s my intention to give the pitch to Narcissa and Andromeda.”

“Why, sir?” James asks. He’s about to continue when another voice juts in.

“Why what?” Andromeda asks.

As if on cue, the Black sisters appear.

“What’s he doing here?” Narcissa quickly follows.

“It’d only be fair if the person who submitted the proposal has a hand in acquiring the pitch,” James says as suavely as he can, ignoring the ladies’ interjection.

“Ha!” Andromeda scoffs, “James couldn’t possibly know enough about what women like to know how to sell jewels.”

“Yes, I don’t think he’s ever had a proper girlfriend to buy jewelry for,” Narcissa adds with a smirk.

“Ah, but there’s the catch. You may think it’s all about what women want. But does a man consult his girl when he’s out to buy her a ring?” James doesn’t give either woman a chance to respond before he answers for them. “Exactly. You’re not just looking at it from the angle of ‘what a woman wants.’ One has to consider the man who’s shopping for his girl, and that is where I come in.”

Moody is listening raptly to James’s argument, which seems like a good sign. James notices Andromeda and Narcissa share a nervous glance, and he knows his ideas are being received better than the women assumed.

“Potter brings up a good point,” Moody says. “Every other advertising company always focuses on the woman, but this has potential.”

“Can’t you see it now? We’d include the women in the slogan, of course: ‘Zabini’s Jewels, where dreams come true.’” James lifts his hands to outline an imaginary sign that bears his ideas.

“Please, you’ve never been in a relationship long enough to even contemplate any of that!” Narcissa smacks her hand on the table in annoyance. “How do you know what it’s like shopping as a man in love? You’d be an imposter!”

“Am I really an imposter if I’m simply waiting for the right woman to come along?” James raises his eyebrows to match the smooth sound of his voice.

“Says the guy who’s only rival for the one-night stand trophy is Sirius,” Andromeda says.

To be honest, that jab hurts. For years, James has had the image of ‘womanizer’ placed on his head, even since his Hogwarts days. Sure, he’s a flirt, but he’s definitely not the type of bloke to bring home a different woman every night.

“That’s not entirely true and you know it. I have fun, but not that much fun.”

“Prove it, then,” Narcissa crosses her arms in front of her chest in indignation.

“How?”

“Prove you’re capable of a serious relationship. That you can win a witch over and make her fall in love with you. Unless you don’t think you can handle anything more than taking a woman to bed,” Andromeda goads.

James is never one to back down from a challenge, but he worries the girls are doing this to throw him off his agenda. “I would gladly accept if this had anything to do with the Zabini pitch, but—”

“That’s an interesting offer,” Moody’s gruff voice interjects. All three look at him. “If you’re this cutthroat about winning a jewelry pitch, let’s have some fun with it. We’ve been invited to attend a gala that Zabini is hosting a week from Saturday. Find a woman and bring her as your date. If you can make her fall in love with you, you get the pitch. If you fail, the ladies win.”

“But how will you know he’s not paying the girl to fake it?” Narcissa pouts.

“I always know the truth,” Moody says. His glass eye is twitching in all directions as he stares at James with his good one.

Now, this is an interesting turn of events. James contemplates what Moody’s said. There has to be an easier way to shed the girls off his client, but his mind is coming up empty.

You did say you’d do anything earlier, didn’t you?

Yeah, he supposes he did.

“Alright, deal.”

“But we get to pick your lucky lady!” Andromeda interjects.

“What? No! I didn’t agree to that.”

“Oh, come on, it has to be someone completely neutral. We can’t have you calling up a friend and faking it, now can we?” Narcissa reasons.

Ugh, fuck them.

“I’ll allow it,” Moody says, as the girls begin scanning the room.

“Hmm, Cissy, who should we choose?”

“I don’t know, Andie, there are so many people here tonight. It’s bound to be tough. What about that one over there in the neon yellow dress with the black platform shoes?”

James groans. This is going to be a disaster.

“Or the overly eager woman by the bar in the too-tight green dress, downing her third martini of the night.” Andromeda smirks.

“Come on, ladies, let’s try and be fair here.” James makes the request, even though he’s not convinced they’ll listen.

“What about—” Narcissa begins to point out another woman, whom James is sure would never work, when Andromeda cuts her off.

“I’ve found her.”

Narcissa turns her head on a swivel, looking around with increased interest. “Who?”

“There, on the other end of the bar. Long auburn hair in the little black dress. She’s sipping on a cosmo.”

No fucking way.

James follows Andromeda’s eyeline until it falls on a very gorgeous, very familiar face. Lily Evans. His former Gryffindor schoolmate and long-time crush.

At first, James’s mind is screaming an adamant NO. That ship sailed during seventh year when he finally gave up his pursuit of Lily and settled with sixth year Hufflepuff Bridgette Carmicheal instead. It wasn’t until the end of term that he overheard Lily insisting that whatever feelings she thought she might have for him were gone.

‘He chose Bridgette, Marls. I strung him along for too long, and I lost my chance. I’m over it.’

Those words still sting as they hover in the back of his mind. James recalls breaking up with Bridgette within the week, hopeful that it wasn’t too late. But then Bridgette had taken the break-up horribly, and he knew going for Lily the next day wasn’t a good idea. Then graduation came and went, and he hasn’t seen her since.

Seeing her standing there now, his heart leaps into his throat. She’s just as beautiful as ever, and all those feelings he thinks he’s finally gotten over are back, like a tornado completely upending his life. This could be his chance—their chance—to finally make a go of things. The thoughts begin whirring in his mind of ways to win her over.

“Done.”

Before James realizes what he’s doing, he’s standing up, and his feet are carrying him over to where she’s sipping on her drink. She doesn’t see him coming.

“Evans,” he croons as he sidles up next to her.

Her body stiffens when she hears his voice. James hasn’t thought what her reaction might be upon seeing him for the first time in years. Well, it’s too late to back out now. I’ve got a pitch to win and a second shot with the girl of my dreams.

She turns around after a moment, her face impassive, but not unwelcoming.

“Potter.” She’s eyeing him up and down. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, since when? Graduation?”

“Something like that,” she shrugs nonchalantly.

“What brings you to Abbott’s?” James would rather know how often she comes here, but he keeps that question to himself.

“It’s been a long week, and I needed a night out. You?”

“Same.” James contemplates what’s made this week long, and is about to ask when Lily continues without prompting.

“Though I forget how stuffy this place can be,” Lily sighs, “Marlene and Alice convinced me to come, but I can’t say I’m having much success in tonight’s pursuits. And I’m starting to think they’ve ditched me. Though, I suppose all’s fair in love and war when you enter the dating game. Don’t you agree?”

Her comment almost throws James off as he looks down at the hand holding her cosmopolitan. He breathes a sigh of relief and thanks Merlin that there’s no ring on her finger. So, she’s looking for a good time tonight, is she? Well, I can certainly show her a good time—and then some—if she’ll let me.

“Couldn’t agree more,” he says in an attempt to continue engaging her in conversation.

She makes the effort to look around the room. Now is his chance to make a move.

“You hungry?”

Lily observes him carefully. James can tell she’s closed off and knows he needs to reassure her that it’s innocent, for now…

“C’mon, Evans, it’s just dinner. Catching up can’t hurt, can it?” He pauses for a moment before making the split-second decision to add, “I’ve missed you.”

It’s true. Standing here with Lily now, James wonders how he coped over the past three years. He thought he’s been managing just fine, but her presence brings back everything he’s so desperately missed about her. James doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he sees her relax. Her eyebrows soften and the smallest smile plays at the corners of her lips.

She sets her almost empty glass down on the bar before sliding off her stool. “Well, Potter, how can I resist when you put it like that? Lead the way.”

James can’t help the grin that spreads on his face. He holds out his arm as Lily gingerly latches on. Her touch sends a tingle up his spine as they move toward the doors.

Before he forgets, James takes a quick glance back at Moody, Andromeda and Narcissa. He flashes a smirk that he hopes says ‘you’re going down’ before turning back to the beautiful woman on his arm. After ten years of pining, he’s finally got Lily Evans right where he’s always wanted her, and he’s determined not to ruin this second chance.

#jily fanfiction #jily fic #james x lily #jily #james potter #lily evans #magical au #inspired by How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

Jaskier’s A-Z of Animals

Summary: “I have an idea!” Lambert announced loudly, his words slurring slightly. He’d clearly drunk too much white gull.

Jaskier flicked his ears and tilted his head. This could only end terribly.

- Or Lambert suggests a game of Guess the Animal.

Previous Story (but this can also be read alone)

_________

Jaskier purred happily as Geralt’s fingers threaded through his fur. The fire was roaring in the hearth and Jaskier delighted in the prickle of heat against his feline body. The witchers were all drunk as skunks but Jaskier hadn’t felt like joining in with their merriment. Their witcher booze did strange things to his head and he’d vowed to bring his own store of ale or wine along with him next time.

Lambert was pontificating loudly, swishing his hands about and rambling on about some stupid humans he’d met on the path. Apparently they’d tried to swindle him out of his coin after a contract. Jaskier yawned and flicked his tail, hissing gently. He’d seen enough of that behaviour over the last few months with Geralt. Luckily for Geralt, Jaskier the mutant dog/wolf companion had been incredibly efficient at persuading the more nefarious humans to relinquish their coin. Geralt scratched him behind the ears. Jaskier meowed and rolled onto his back so that Geralt could scratch his belly.

The witcher chuckled. “Always so needy, you bastard.” He murmured fondly but his fingers still moved to Jaskier’s soft fur on his underbelly.

Jaskier hissed and grabbed Geralt’s fingers under his claws. He didn’t draw blood but Geralt should know better than to call him needy. That just wasn’t fair.

“Jask.” Geralt warned and pulled his fingers away.

Well now, that wouldn’t do. He yowled loudly and tilted his head, widening his eyes as he peered up at his witcher.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Stop scratching me then.”

Jaskier mewed and rolled back over so he could climb up onto Geralt’s shoulder. He nipped at Geralt’s ear gently.

“I have an idea!” Lambert announced loudly, his words slurring slightly. He’d clearly drunk too much white gull.

Jaskier flicked his ears and tilted his head. This could only end terribly.

“Spit it out, Lambert.” Geralt grumbled.

“Fuck off, patience, White Wolf!” Lambert glared at him and tripped over the rug. He almost fell flat on his face but Jaskier was quicker. He leapt to the ground, shifting mid leap into a wolf. Lambert fell against him and laughed. “I found a Jaskier!”

Eskel snorted. “You didn’t find him. Geralt found him and then he shagged him.”

Geralt groaned. “You guys are drunk.”

“Yeah, well, You’re not drunk enough!” Lambert mumbled into Jaskier’s fur.

He howled and wagged his tail.

“See, Jaskier agrees with me!” Lambert grinned. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?”

Jaskier barked, turning so he could nuzzle against Lambert. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of white gull hit him. Gods it stank, especially in this form. He really didn’t know how the witchers could bear it.

“He’s not actually a dog, Lambert.” Geralt sighed wearily.

Jaskier turned to Geralt and growled. He was a good boy! Geralt was just a grumpy witcher.

“Fine. Whatever.” Geralt rolled his eyes but came over to join them on the floor.

Jaskier wagged his tail and then sat in Geralt’s lap. Geralt huffed but rested his chin on Jaskier’s back. Lambert continued to scratch him behind the ears and he was in heaven. It really was a dog’s life at Kaer Morhen.

“I want a go.” Eskel whined. “Geralt always gets a go.”

“Get your own.” Geralt grumbled and buried his face in Jaskier’s thick fur.

Geralt was apparently a sleepy drunk this evening. Jaskier liked that, Geralt was always more cuddly when he was tired, but he was also being a grumpy bastard and needed to learn to share. Jaskier rolled his eyes and leapt from Geralt lap. He jumped at Eskel, putting his paws on the man’s shoulders, and licked him in the face.

“Puppy!” Eskel laughed and scrunched his nose up as Jaskier continued to lick his face.

“What was your idea?” Geralt asked Lambert.

“My idea! Guess the animal!” He yelled.

Jaskier sat back down and barked. He assumed he would play a part in this game. He growled quietly, a low rumble in his chest. The witchers knew that he didn’t enjoy being treated like an experiment. He didn’t want this game to turn into a test of his abilities like it had beenat Lettenhove. He shifted again into a mouse and scurried back to Geralt. The room blurred as he shifted and he used his whiskers to guide him as he buried into Geralt’s shift.

Geralt snarled at the redhead. “Lambert!”

“What?”

“He’s family, not a toy.” Geralt’s voice rumbled in his chest and Jaskier could feel the vibrations. He squeaked and nuzzled Geralt’s chest.

“I know!” Lambert whined. “But I thought…”

“You don’t think!” Geralt snapped. “That’s your problem.”

Jaskier squeaked again. He wanted to know Lambert’s reasons. He wanted to trust them. They were Geralt’s family and they’d be nothing but accepting of his gifts.

“I thought!” Lambert continued loudly. “That he knew he could trust us. I thought that it could be fun for him too, he could show off a bit and he knows none of us care what he can and can’t do.”

Jaskier considered that carefully and shifted back into a cat. He poked his head out the top of Geralt’s shirt.

“Jaskier!” Geralt grumbled.

He chirped happily. The temptation to shift back to human was almost too much. Geralt saw him naked all the time. He was allowed to enjoy the thought of ripping his boyfriend’s shirt to shreds, but instead he ducked back inside the shirt and crawled out the bottom.

When he was seated back in Geralt’s lap he shifted to human.

The others yelled and pretended to cover their eyes.

“I’m in.” He announced, not bothering to cover himself and batting Geralt’s hands away. “But I reserve the right to stop at any time. The moment I feel like it’s more than a fun game then I’m out. Got it?”

Lambert grinned and extended his hand. “Deal.”

They shook on it.

“Game stops once I turn into a wolf. No questions asked.”

There was a mumble of agreement.

Jaskier thought about his knowledge of animals. It wasn’t complete despite what the witchers may think. Some animals came easier to him, the wolf and the cat for example. He found mammals easier in general. He supposed the genetic make up was closer to his human form. He was also limited by what animals he knew. He’d spent a lot of time in his youth studying books on animals. They were the only books his parents had allowed him to have in his dimeritium prison of a bedroom. For years the books had been his only access to his abilities outside of the controlled ‘sessions’.

He would start easy enough. He gave Geralt as quick kiss on the cheek and winked before letting the magic loose once more. His skin rippled back into ginger fur and his bones crunched as he shifted in Geralt’s lap.

“FOX!!” Lambert yelled. “Aww look at you. So cute.”

Jaskier let out a screeching bark and trotted over to the redhead with his bushy tail trailing after him. He nuzzled against Lambert’s open palm and shifted again.

He slithered to the floor with a hiss. Reptiles were probably his least favourite animal so he was eager to get this out of the way. The room lit up in infra red and he flicked his tongue tasting the air as he familiarised himself with the room in this form. The witchers ran cooler than humans and it was difficult to make them out with the fire drawing his eye from the corner of the room.

“Snake!” Lambert shouted again and Jaskier turned to hiss at him. He slithered up the witcher’s arm and curled around his shoulders, flicking his tongue in Lambert’s ear. “Get off.” He grumbled. “Next one!”

Jaskier shook his head and hissed.

“We have to be more specific?” He heard Eskel ask.

He nodded. He’d chosen this particular snake for a reason. The scales were distinct, yellow and bristly. He slithered back to the floor and curled up into a ball.

“Umm… Viper?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded again and hissed.

“Prickly viper!” Lambert tried.

“Spiky viper?” Eskel guessed.

Both good guesses but not quite right. He hissed and shifted to human, lounging extravagantly on the rug. “Spiny bush viper, found in desert regions.” He accidentally hissed on the ’s’ sounds and grinned sheepishly. “I saw a picture in a book when I was younger. ”

Before they could question him further he shifted again, blue and orange feathers rippled out this time instead of fur. He flitted between the witchers landing on each of their heads, and he suddenly had an overwhelming craving for fish, he was starving! He He wondered if there was any in the kitchens. He was sure Vesemir wouldn’t mind if he went for a snack.

Geralt must have recognised the animal instincts taking over and he caught Jaskier gently in his hands. Jaskier fluttered his wings angrily in Geralt’s hands and chirped loudly, trying to find an escape from his prison.

“Kingfisher.” Geralt said softly in a whisper. “Next one, Jask.”

Jaskier chirped again but let Geralt’s rough soothing voice ground him. He shifted in Geralt’s hands, his wings growing and the feathers disappearing until was a fluffy bundle in Geralt’s palm.

Geralt slowly opened his hands and Jaskier flinched away from the light. This choice had been logical in the darkness of Geralt’s hands but the bright light of the room was almost too much. He fluttered up to the ceiling, dipping a few times as his wings felt heavier than expected. It was time to rest. He felt incredibly tired all of a sudden. He curled his wings around him as he found a nook to rest in.

“Did anyone see that?” Lambert asked. “The bugger moved too fast.”

“You’re just getting slow in your old age.” Geralt laughed.

“I’m younger than you, old man!” Lambert grumbled and Jaskier heard the two witchers start to brawl.

“Jaskier!” Eskel called. “Come down and control your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

Geralt.

Jaskier closed his eyes and jumped from his hiding place. Shifting again mid-air into a kestrel, but for the first time in a while the shift didn’t come easy. He almost dropped to the ground before he managed to find the energy to flap his wings.

He’d done too many shifts too quickly. Cat. Wolf. Mouse. Cat. Human. Fox. Snake. Human. Kingfisher. Vampire Bat. Kestrel.

Fuck.

He’d hadn’t even noticed it had been so many.

Even back at Lettenhove he’d struggled with ten at a time. The most he’d pushed it before had been fifteen and that had almost killed him. It had been years since he’d tried. He could stay as any form for as long as he liked but too many consecutive shifts were exhausting. He’d forgotten about that. He usually settled after two or three, six at a push. There wasn’t much need to keep flitting about in different forms.

He tumbled to the ground, crash landing on the rug. The noise broke up the fight between the two grumpier witcher and Geralt scooped him up in his arms. “Jaskier, what’s wrong?” He murmured and he stroked a finger along Jaskier’s fur.

“Too much white gull!” Lambert slurred. “Drunk birds can’t fly.”

Geralt snarled at Lambert but didn’t answer him. “Can you shift to human?” He asked quietly.

Jaskier considered it. His wings felt limp but nothing was broken. He was just tired, he needed a nap and food… gods he was so hungry.

“Jask, don’t sleep. Not yet. I need to know you’re ok.” Geralt was obviously worried and Jaskier felt a little guilty for forgetting his own limits like that. He should have known better.

He’d just been swept up in the witchers’ joy and laughter, knowing the excitement they felt had nothing to do with wanting to use and abuse his abilities. The tasks had been so similar to those he’d performed at Lettenhove but the warmth and affection of the witchers had been the opposite of the calm calculated coolness of his parents.

Geralt needed to know he was ok. He needed words.

That meant he had to shift.

He let his magic go one last time and collapsed against Geralt’s chest. “Fuck!” He groaned. “Game over.”

And passed out.

________

When he awoke he was covered in furs and wearing one of Geralt’s black shirts by the feel of it. Geralt’s shirts were rougher fabric than his own. His whole body ached and he felt liked he’d run through one of the witcher obstacle courses, twice. Geralt’s fingers were in his hair and he could hear him bickering with Lambert.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Lambert grumbled. “It’s not like I purposely set out to hurt him.”

“Again.” Eskel chimed, clearly amused by the entire argument.

If Jaskier’s head hadn’t been quite so sore he probably would have laughed. He’d underestimated the blond witcher when he’d first arrived at Kaer Morhen. He’d been taken in by Eskel’s kind and gentle personality. He’d hadn’t noticed the glimmer of humour underneath. Eskel seemed to thrive in chaos. He enjoyed gently pushing and teasing his fellow witchers until they were almost at each other’s throats and Vesemir had to calm everyone down. The others hadn’t even seemed to realise that it was Eskel manipulating the entire conversation. Jaskier had a huge amount of respect for Eskel as a result.

“Again.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier knew his witcher was about two seconds away from brawling with Lambert again and he took pity on the redhead. He groaned dramatically and snuggled further into Geralt’s lap.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s hands stopped in his hair.

“Morning…” He mumbled.

“What happened, pup?” Jaskier blinked a few times and then opened his eyes. Vesemir had joined them… oh and they were in his bedroom.

“Shifted too many times.” He muttered. “Forgot to take a break.”

“This has never happened before.” Geralt hummed thoughtfully.

Jaskier tried to sit up but his head span so he flopped back onto Geralt’s lap on the bed. Geralt was sitting up against the headboard and Jaskier had essentially been using him as a pillow, not an unusual occurrence. The others were crowded around the bed. He felt a pang of guilt. He must have really worried them for them to all be here.

“Not for years. When was the last time you’ve seen me shift more than…” He pause to think “six times?”

Geralt just hummed a response.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He grumbled. “Now can everyone please fuck off, I’m tired.”

The witchers all grumbled and began to filter out of them room. Lambert mumbling what could have been an apology as he left.

Jaskier’s stomach rumbled noisily. “Oi! Wait! On second thoughts! Lambert, darling, dearest witcher. Have we got any fish?”

Lambert groaned and stalked out the room. “I’m only doing this because I almost killed you, wolf.”

“Again!” Eskel pointed out with a laugh.

“Fuck off!”

Jaskier grinned and cuddled up against his boyfriend. Family, you couldn’t live without them.

_______

Next Story!

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #witcher eskel #witcher lambert #kaer morhen #wolfie's witcher writing #jaskier pankratz #jaskiers a-z of animals

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Lavina angst, possibly a first kiss.

Written by @evoedbd

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

The world was so beautiful, an eerily inviting realm of winter. A wonderland of gentle whites and a blurred kaleidoscope of blues. She was ascending the mountain, seeking something so dear to her heart, but what was it? She knew not, only that she had to continue. Climbing. Seeking. She had come so far… how did she know that? Why was everything so distant? Why did this feel so heavy, despite the soothing light?

Around her, the mountains rose, shielding her from the weather. In places, sheets of ice had frozen between the crevices, forming a natural, iridescent glass ceiling. The sun gently beat down, trickling through places where the snows did not fall as thickly, illuminating the world in mellow hues of distorted whites and indistinct blues. The natural passage led deeper into something akin to a hallway, smooth rock covered in a welcoming blanket of snow. The wild growth broke through, tufts of evergreen and twisted roots reaching from within the rocks, some growing boldly where the overhangs prevented the snow from falling. Enchanted, Lee walked, daring to place her foot into the swirling mix of mist and snow filling the passageway, dared to ascend nature’s staircase. The magic lapped at her ankles, caressing her skin. It was so familiar, the touch of a lover her mind had lost but her body cried for, a touch given for no other reason than the need to be felt. Even the gentle touch of snowflakes seemed to welcome her, a teasing brush of a breeze against her outstretched fingertips chasing away a few wayward flakes. Something that made her smile, for although those moments were taken from her touch, more fell into her waiting hands. They kissed her cheeks, teased the ends of her wild hair, fell, a comforting weight upon her lithe shoulders.

Stone became ice, mellow greys turning into crystalline blues. They shone, reflecting the trickle of sunlight, casting the world in a twilight of prismatic splendor. Lee found herself entranced by the way the ice seemed to glow, almost as if the layers had formed around the moon on the clearest night. The illuminated ice cast the world in a winter blue haze, a surreal filter across the whimsical rise of smoke from the floors. Smoke Lee continued into, letting it guide her from the mouth of a cavern into the pristine clearing. The thick layers of firs and pines wove together, obscuring all but a single archway leading deeper. Her eyes danced across the marblesque detailing, feasting upon the decorative angel wings curving around the pillars, forming the archway. Ice dripped from it, each glistening and twinkling in a manner reminiscent of the fairy lights in her room. A gateway missing gates to warn those away from the beauty lingering within. A wild, untamed beauty that set Lee’s heart racing. Within, every hallway was reflected, the world a tangle of mirrors and glass, cracked and frozen over. Some smaller, less decadent archways within appeared empty, the mirrored walls shattered by fallen branches carried on howling winds. Winds screaming their warnings even as the nature of temptation tightened a fist to silence them.

It wasn’t real… It held that dreamy softness, that discreet blurring whenever she tried to focus too keenly on any single detail, on any clue to where she had found herself. Lee knew the moment she blinked that the world she was experiencing was nothing save a dream. That the snowflakes kissing her lashes so sweetly would never freeze her eyes shut, no matter how their kiss turned sinister might feel. The flush to her cheeks, turning her nose bright, would never see her skin pale as the cold stole the last of her life. At least, until she heard them. Then she went whiter than the snows.

Lavinia’s howls echoed on the whisper of mourning winds. Her wailing tapered off in the soft whoosh of the breeze, almost melodic in their tragic beauty. The lone cry of a hawk through the eternal forest. She cried, a banshee singing for the death of her heart, even as it rested safely beyond her reach. A wolf’s howl left unanswered, begging for a response from someone. Anybody. Ezra. Even the response of a beast might have eased her agony. Alas, she was left wanting, forever searching for what she could never have. Not that Lee didn’t try to answer. She desperately screamed in return, trying to push her voice past the brink of the winds… but how could her whispery croak overcome such a song? All Lee could do was stumble blindly through the branches, clawing at every twig as if she could drag herself to Lavinia’s side if she could just find the right one. Snap. Snap. Snap. Desperate grab after desperate grab. Failure after failure, leaving Lee’s teeth gnashing together more wildly than the wolf Lavinia’s cries embodied. She was slipping, sliding, clawing at the walls, fingers buried in snows so cold that she could feel her skin burning away from her bones. She clawed onwards into the maze.

“Lavinia!” Lee cried, calling out again and again, desperate to bring the wailing to an end. The wind caught her cry, twisting it around her, mocking her as she staggered further into the maze. She didn’t know how long she ran, how many corners she turned, only that the air thickened in her screaming lungs, closed around her throat until she was left gasping for breath. The maze closed in, looming and cloying, as if the walls might fall and crush her. She staggered once more; hand extended to break her fall. She collided with the wall, palm blistering at the cold, ears tortured by the innocence of a melodic, twinkling crack. The ice squeaked, filling the air with a sparkly sound, complete with the delicate snow brushing the melted handprint left upon the glass. Lee finally stopped, her breath fogging the air before her as she stared into the depths of the mirror she had just laid hands upon. Her second hand came to the stonework supporting the glass, curled around the rippled curve of the gorgeously carved marble, reminiscent of an ancient roman pillar. Darkness stared back, a landscape of grey lighting and white snows, falling ever silently as her silver eyes desperately sought blue. She missed it. Saying she missed blue was so much simpler than saying missed Lavinia. The air had fallen silent along with her cries, a decadent, deadly diminuendo. Only her breaths echoed in the lingering silence, the cloying sense of dread as she gasped out a soft question.

“Where are you?” she begged, voice haggard by despondent gulps. Her throat was so hot, thick and viscus sitting against her vocal cords, dripping into her chest like pus from an infected wound as she burned. Swallowing, she let her forehead fall to the ice, nestled against the mirror, as if she could soothe their matching torments.

“Please…” she whispered, silver eyes squeezing shut as the first tears touched her cheeks.

“Pathetic. You’re still so afraid of looking like the bad guy. Like you failed.” The voice was regal. Sharp. A blade seeking every vital organ, as if it could slip between the plating of Lee’s mental armor. The girl fell, as if thrown back from the mirror she was resting against, pushed into the deepening snows. Snow caught her, cushioning the impact, falling across her lap like an inviting blanket, or perhaps a wayward cat demanding affection. Lee shook it off, rising to her feet in a rush.

“Lavinia?” she called, shaking the powder from her hair, blinking it from her lashes. She saw her, there for a single blink, just on the other side of the mirror. A glimmer of ice blue eyes filled with that gentle chill, a calming warmth.

“You’re a coward Lee. You always will be.” Lavinia continued, gone from the mirror. Lee looked around frantically, trying to sweep a hand through the thickening storm. There! A flash of blue that stood out against the maze. Lee ran, chasing, staggering. A wall. A dead end? No, there was a corner. A whisper of white. Lee caught her breath, taking one deep gulp of air before she rounded corner, brows furrowed. A storm of irritation and relief, too much for any one body to contain. She barely took note of the white cloak, only that the figure before her was within her reach. Lee descended on Lavinia, extending her hand to…

“You’ve got some nerve, calling me the coward when you’re the one running…”

Nothing. Her hand came away, filled with nothing save the falling snowflakes, as if she’d simply dusted off the abandoned mantle place. She’d brushed a dream, kissed an illusion with her longing fingertips, only for dismay to sink into the lowest points of her gut. She blinked, staring, processing even as her mouth continued tumbling onwards.

“…into a Narnia rip-off. Where are we?”

The figure remained for a blink, an echo in time. Lee watched the figure turn to her, a face without detail somehow contorted in pain. Then, just as an echo might if given form, it turned, plunging into the maze. A stride. Two. Three. Each stride saw the figure begin to dematerialise, melting snowflakes and a ghastly mist pried apart upon the breeze. Lee gasped, as if such a frail, mortal gesture might still her agonised heart. Gone. Nothing but an echo in a labyrinth of loneliness. Had that once been Lavinia? Had the Ice Queen once walked this passage, looking back as if waiting for somebody, anybody to find her worth following? Waiting for somebody to see beyond the lies spread and her intimidating magic and want her? Value her for more than the uprising she could lead. When had the innocent girl ceased to be? When had Lavinia died to become the Snow Queen?

“Nowhere of your world. Turn back. Listen to your fears.” Lavinia’s icy voice instructed, a note of sorrow turning the air cooler. Lee shuddered. What could she do but obey? But lay her fears out for all to read across her pained face. What if she was too late? What if Lavinia was trapped forever? How could she make herself leave Lavinia here when a world without Lavinia was more terrifying than anything Lee could imagine? Another deep, pained breath. How many times had Lavinia looked back? How many times had that been a gesture of hope, instead of suspicion? How many times had she given someone a chance to prove her wrong, to prove she was more than the false tales tarnishing her innocence, only to find a knife poised there? To find herself alone. How could Lee be another one of those people to let Lavinia go? Let Lavinia bear the weight of another’s perversions alone? How could she be so heartless? So… Cruel.

“No way.” Lee declared. She wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. Obeying Lavinia’s command, Lee still found herself stalking deeper into the maze, eyes peeled for a sign. The snow never crunched, as if Lee touched it as a ghost, leaving no footprints, no trace. Nothing to follow.

“Not without you.

Lavinia’s frustration was palpable. World defining. As her guttural snarl ripped through the air, the maze itself seethed. A warning. Lee was struck by the song of cracking ice ringing like the draw a blade all around her, a prelude to the dangers to come. She barely had time to swallow before the storm struck. Branches fell. The wind shrieked. So did Lee, ducking and weaving through the falling debris. Sheets of ice crashed to the stone, dragging shattered glass from archways, staining the snow with glimmering reflections, stubborn stars twinkling through the smog of a city on a cloudy night.

“Is there nowhere I can escape you?” Lavinia’s angry growl took form on the icy winds. Wolves charging through the destruction, rounding every corner, hungry and seeking. Lee ran, arms raised to shield herself from the destruction. Her movements caught within the shards of glass, each a glimmer of starlight reflecting beautiful golds into the cool of the descending night. Dispelling the wolves. A glimpse. A tease. A whisper. All merely broken reflections, each teasing the edge of Lee’s memory, throbbing in her temples. As if circling an invisible threshold, waiting for it to weaken. Much like the icy illusions dogging Lee through the maze.

“I’m not letting you go. Its ok, Lavinia, I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone. We can figure this out! I can-”

“Be the hero? Yes, that’s what the good girl has to do, isn’t it? Never give up. Stay true of heart and pure of soul.” Lavinia’s laughter echoed, cruel and defiant, answered by the burdened groans of the trees, by the whispering cry on the winds. Betrayed, the Queen found herself, by her own ensnarement.

The walls came alive, their deceptive mirages forever luring Lee deeper. Pivoting on her heels, chasing figments of unformed, half recognised desires. Magical allure, coming to a silent war with the gleam of mirrors. Ice was bare, then it was filled. The world was bright and crystalline, then dusky, a foreboding midnight descending. Through it all, Lee chased Lavina. The Queen’s visage appeared behind walls, teasing to the edge of those revealing mirrors. Phantom and apparition, illusion and echo. Delicate hands reaching for Lee, icy fingers teasing the base of her hair with playful, longing breezes. Beckoning. Calling. Even as the most bitter of words fell from her stained lips, mocking, saccharine.

“It’s hilarious, I’d laugh if it wasn’t so sad. Do you honestly think YOU can save me, Lee? Do you think love is enough to still my hand when you hold my stolen heart? That I will be stayed by a gentle word when my entire being demands to be whole? What do you want? To hold my hand and tell me my fears will not come to pass? Are you so foolish to believe you could defeat me? The Ice Queen?”

“You can’t hide forever! Just stop with the damn mirrors!” Lee exploded, her frustration escalating into an infuriated cry to the maze. She lashed out; fist driven into the walls of ice. Semi opaque became cloudy, filled with fissures of white, fissures which became chasms beneath the serene surface. A surface tinged with a glorious maroon, garnet and scarlet trickling into ruby, rose and blush.

“Please… just come talk to me?”

Lee’s soft voice seemed to sooth the maze. The singing ice gave finishing twinkle, the pained groans of the ancient firs echoed for only a final solitary moment, then even the winds fell silent. A world of dark beauty and bated breath, a suspended moment where only Lavinia’s election could start time. Snow ceased to fall, hovering like fireflies across a fine painting, the world a canvas, an array of possibility.

“It shall be your grave.” Lavinia’s gentle melancholy was the breath needed to change the scene. A soft blow across black paint upon an ocean of white. It rippled, bending and twisting as Lee stepped forwards, hand extending towards the beautiful darkness. The spec of hope disguised as despair.

It spread, molten molasses across the maze, melting into a mirrored surface. An eternal reflection that continued to devour, rippling, a pool lapping like a loyal hound at Lee’s feet. An ocean for the girl to drown in, if she so dared. Of course, Lee dared. So daring was she that this was a blessing, instead of a funeral.

“Very well. Come then.” The Queen steeled herself, a universal cringe rolling through reality the moment Lee’s fingers brushed that orb of darkness. How could there be any hope to find here? Any beauty within the madness? No, it would be as Lavinia declared. A grave. The death of more than merely the foolish girl striding across the mirror of darkness.

“I will tear your heart from your chest. Afterall, I am the villain.”

#answered #anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #ever after academy lavinia #lavinia x mc #ever after academy #angst #angsty #scattterday

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whereplotbunniesgotodie · 3 years

Text

Perfume and Iron

Pairing: GeraltxJaskier

Warning: mentions of blood and near death

Not a happy ending but not sad either, so I'd say this is an ambiguous melancholy ending.

Summary: When Jaskier sees Geralt in danger, even a year after they parted, he throws himself in to save him. When he find out he wasn't killed like he fully expected, he and Geralt talk but sometimes things don't end the way we all want them to, do they?

He knew better. Of course he knew better! Numerous decades will beat understanding into you whether you want it to or not, really. Of course knowing better doesn't mean following through with that knowledge. Knowing better doesn't mean you'll sit back and let your best friend die just because he has an overwhelming death wish and you haven't seen him in over a year.

Surprisingly, as far as Jaskier was concerned, it hadn't hurt like he'd expected it too. Granted, it did feel like a hot knife was being perpetually stabbed into his stomach and then twisted, but that wasn't the all consuming agony he, quite frankly, expected of a monster's poisoned claw slicing across his abdomen.

Geralt was looking at him with eyes wide in shock,or at least he assumed that's the look the Witcher wore, his pitch black eyes hampering his ability to read the expression. The creature lay slain at his feet, blood joining Geralt's in a somber pool. His hand sat limp at his side, his sword dragging in the dirt. His other hand clutched at a bleeding gash taking up his entire side, a vain attempt to slow it.

Huh, wasn't that funny? Geralt never, ever looked shocked. Maybe that had changed in the year since they'd seen each other, since that horrible day on the mountain. Maybe Geralt was willing to admit he had emotions?

Jaskier frowned when Geralt's form began to swim as his gaze went hazy. He tried to step towards the other, to clear his vision, but felt his legs give out beneath him and he gasped as suddenly he found himself on the ground.

"Jaskier!"

Funny, that didn't sound like Geralt, too distraught to be the Witcher.

He tried to lift his head, to see what had suddenly taken Geralt's form but found even that was too much. Wouldn't that just be poetic? Jaskier, the White wolf's bard, died protecting a shapeshifter. He'd have laughed if he felt he could.

Strangely, he realized it no longer felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed, in fact, it didn't feel like anything. He almost swore he was floating,flying even, but that was silly, he couldn't fly!

"Jaskier! Look at me you damn idiot!" oh… Geralt but not Geralt again. This time the tone bordered somewhere between fear and hysteria and the idea that Geralt would feel either of those about Jaskier himself was just ridiculous.

Jaskier found himself gently rolled onto his back, or at least that's what he had to assume. The hazy brown that had filled his vision was now a hazy blue. There was a shadow blocking out some of the blue and he wanted to reach up and touch it. Maybe that would show him what had taken on the form of his old friend, he did have a ring on for just such a reveal. Bought after they parted as Geralt's warnings about creatures still echoed in his head.

"Jaskier, you have to focus on me."

Hands cupped his cheeks, pulling his attention to the shadowed figure. Well, not so shadowed anymore, just blurry; like looking through water.

"Where'd Geralt go? What are you?"

"Where did…? Jaskier it's me. I'm right here?"

Jaskier frowned, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to focus them. Geralt not Geralt sounded so confused, more proof he wasn't Geralt.

"No. No, see, I saw you… I saw you and thought Geralt was going to be hit by the monster again. You… Geralt… you wouldn't have been alright after another hit!"

"And you stupidly got in the way!"

"But Geralt wouldn't be upset by that! And you… you sound like you're upset. Geralt… Well, see, Geralt said his best blessing would be… would be…" that was odd, he knew what he wanted to say but the words just wouldn't slip past his tongue. In fact it felt like his mouth was filling with something… Water? He had to force himself to speak through the full feeling in his mouth. "Would be if I was off his hands…"

Finally! That's What he wanted to say! "I couldn't let him die! Of course… I thought you were him."

"I am hi- Jaskier it is me."

"You can't be because… Geralt hates me!" Jaskier said. Goddess, why didn't not Geralt understand?

"I don't… hate.." Geralt not Geralt stumbled over his words in a bizzare show of emotion. "I don't hate you Jaskier."

Jaskier let out a laugh, wet, strained and humorless. He didn't think he could laugh anymore so that was good. He could feel the… Whatever it was in his mouth, running down his chin, and he wanted so badly to reach and wipe it away, but didn't have the strength.

"Of course you don't. But he does."

Not Geralt didn't respond, too busy turning his attention to Jaskier's abdomen. Not Geralt moved and suddenly Jaskiers entire upper body was a lot cooler than it had been before… Oh, not Geralt had ripped his doublet and chemise off. Well damn, he'd really like this lavender one, it complimented his skin tone.

"Hey…" he said, a weak attempt at berating Not Geralt.

"Shut up Jaskier!"

Oh… well that sounded like Geralt. Maybe it was…? Jaskier tried to shake the thought from his head. He knew this wasn't his old friend but as long as they kept the form maybe he could pretend?

The pressure on his stomach disappeared for a moment and Jaskier frowned. No.. No! He didn't want to be alone when he died! Where did not Geralt go?

Something cool was pressed to his lips and a thick, vaguely flowery tasting liquid invaded his mouth, overpowering the wet, full feeling. He swallowed instinctively and couldn't help but make a face at the flavor of perfume and iron. The cool vial was quickly pulled away and Jaskier tried to squint and see what not Geralt was doing.

A sudden burning pain enveloped him, stemming from the slash across his abdomen, and he couldn't help but scream. It was as if the creature had slashed through him again, with claws recently dipped in flames. He could feel his back arch as if to get away from the pain but not Geralt pressed his hands to the slash and pushed Jaskier back to lay flat.

Jaskier managed to reach up and scratch at not Geralt's arm. He wanted it to stop! What was happening? The pain was increasing and not Geralt was holding him down and… And he was hot, far too hot.

"It's a potion! It's safe for you but you have to stop thrashing!" Not Geralt snarled at him.

"Hurts!" Jaskier managed as the pain intensified. "Stop!" He had to get away, to get the pain to stop!

"Jaskier, enough!" Not Geralt snapped and used more pressure to press Jaskier once again to the ground. There was pain in his voice, or maybe Jaskier imagined the strained tremor he heard.

It was getting dark again and Jaskier felt the pain begin to fade into the background, his ears filling with a rushing buzz that drowned out everything around him. Once again he couldn't focus. He let himself fall limp and closed his eyes, he couldn't see anyway.

When he opened his eyes, which was surprising in it's own right, it was to the dim light of a fire a few feet away. Right after his eyes opened, he heard rustling to his right and suddenly he could make out a shadowed shape above him.

"Jaskier…"

Oh… Not Geralt was still here, still sounding just this side of wrong, just a little too emotional. Jaskier closed his eyes tightly, hands clenching at his side.

"Don't you dare pass out on me again."

That… sounded much more like Geralt usually did. That sounded angry and exasperated and… oh so familiar. "Worked too damn hard to keep you alive."

Jaskier sighed and kept his eyes closed. This time the voice was a bit calmer, closer to worried than angry.

"Jaskier? Come on, don't pass out again…"

There was a hand running through his hair, brushing the sweat slicked strands back and out of his face.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier opened his eyes again, looking straight into worried amber.

"There you are." Not Geralt said as he sat back and just out of Jaskier's line of sight. Before he could question it, not Geralt gently helped him sit up, and leaned the bard against his chest to anchor him.

"Come on, sit up for me."

Jaskier frowned and struggled weakly. "Alright. You had your fun pretending to be Geralt bu-" he started, turning his upper body as best he could to look at the other.

"Pretending?" Not Geralt cut him off. "Jaskier. I'm not…" he lowered his eyes and must have caught the glint of Jaskier's ring because without another word he took the bard's wrist in his hand and lifted it to his cheek. The ring pressed into his skin and there was no burning, no anything. "See?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier breathed quietly.

The witcher himself nodded, despite the fact it wasn't a question in Jaskier's tone. He curled himself around the other and Jaskier had the distinct sense that the witcher was unaware of doing so.

"Geralt… I hate to be the one to say this especially right now, but… why are you here?"

Geralt tensed and leaned away so quickly, a rush of breeze from the movement sent a shiver down Jaskier's back.

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked. "You were going to die an-"

Jaskier cut him off. "I was, yes. If you do remember about the last time we parted… Well, honestly Geralt it seemed like… I mean," he looked away, "Isn't that what you asked for?" He couldn't help the hitch in his voice or breath when he spoke. "Back then, you said…"

"I know what I said!" Geralt hissed, pained and quiet. "I know what I said and how horrible it was!" Geralt looked away, expression surprisingly open.

Jaskier glanced back, brows pinched in question.

"I met up with Yenn about three months after we parted. She heard what I had said to you and hit me so hard I was sure she intended to kill me." Geralt explained quietly. "She might have been trying to actually…" he added as an afterthought. "Said I was the stupidest man she'd ever seen, and that was saying something. Said I'd realize what I lost when it was gone and she'd not feel any sympathy for me."

Jaskier was quiet, lowering his gaze to stare unseeing at the fire in front of them. "I was sure you didn't want to see me again." He finally whispered. "And even so I was prepared to die for you…"

Geralt was quiet as well for a few moments, long enough that Jaskier had the unusual thought that the witcher had gone mute, but the other eventually spoke

"You were prep-…Why? I was terrible to you."

"I've always been reckless. You know that."

Geralt frowned and Jaskier glanced away again.

"I've never known you to have a death wish."

"You haven't known me for a while."

"Jaskier…"

The bard flinched slightly at the tone, quietly resigned and sad. "I know…" he replied.

"I missed you…" Geralt let his sudden declaration hang in the air, Jaskier could feel him tense when the words left his mouth.

"What…?"

"After Yenn tried to beat sense into me, I realized she was right. I pushed you away, lost you, and I regretted it. I wanted to find you but I didn't think you'd want to see me again."

Jaskier was quiet, listening to the other with a kind of detached melancholy. How long had he waited for the other to say these things? How long had he longed for Geralt to see him, want him, miss him? He'd willingly risked his life for the other not twenty four hours before and yet… Why wasn't he ecstatic? Why wasn't he happier?

When he didn't reply Geralt let out a long breath. "Is it too late to try again?"

Jaskier lowered his eyes, the blue unfocused and glassy as he stared unseeing at the ground.

"I... don't know."

#angst #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #my writing

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strangerobin · 3 years

Text

Rue: Chapter 2 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Old scars are reopened. And one day, we all will have to choose. To continue living a lie, or wake up and face the truth.

“I’m telling you, she’s just like me.” Renesmee pouted as she rode on Jacob’s strong sturdy back. The wolf only snorted. “It’s true!” Renesmee pouted even more at Jacob’s snort. “Here let me show you.”

Warm and tender hands cupped her face, a relaxing floral scent mixed with the smell of damp earth, steel blue eyes that sparkled in the sun and the daisies and leaves braided into chocolate tresses. “You must take care, Child.”

Jacob grunted in response.

“See, she’s a sweet lady who was just passing by. And the lot of you scared her away!”

“There’s not many like you out there, Renesmee.” Edward sighed. “We couldn’t be too careful now. The Volturi may have given up last time, but there’s no saying when they’ll be back. Or if this lady was not here for some unknown reason to hurt you intentionally-“

“Daddy!”

“And how would you explain her appearance so suddenly?”

“We found each other!” Renesmee exclaimed in excitement. “It was destiny!”

“Now you’re just sounding like your Aunt Alice.” Edward chuckled.

“Mommy.” Renesmee turned to Bella then. “When do you reckon I’ll see Adeline again?”

Bella titled her head slight and pretended to give it some thought. “Maybe when she’s ready? I’m sure she’ll come see you again if she means to.”

“There’s so much I want to show her and talk to her with.” Renesmee sighed with longing, her little heart beating even faster in excitement at the potential of gaining a new friend. Especially a hybrid like her! “I want to see again already.”

Edward and Bella shared a cautious look.

“I’m sure you will soon enough.”

“Tell us about that kind lady-”

“Adeline.”

“Tell us about Adeline again.” Carlise smiled encouragingly at Renesmee as she stretched out her hand towards him.

Renesmee was alone in the clearing, twirling around giggling at the fluttering butterflies around her. She knew she was safe, her family was around hunting, and Jacob was nearby. There really was no reason to be afraid. It was then when she heard a soft whispered from behind. Panicking she spun around on her heels, ready to call for her family. But the sight that greeted her set her into complete shock.

Standing at the edge was a woman, young and beautiful, heartbreakingly so, probably the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Rosy lips parted in awe, steel blue eyes with golden flecks in the centre that somehow radiated warmth, golden freckles over the apples of her cheeks. Her chocolate brown tresses were braided on the side loosely, with daises and heathers woven into it; and that lovely fragrance, she smelt of flowers and damp earth after the rain. She could hear her quick pulse, and that glowing skin-

Renesmee gasped, making the connection at once.

She was a hybrid.

“I wonder what her motive was.” Carlisle pondered, interest piqued. “There aren’t many of her kinds out there, the only ones we do know are Nahuel and his family. And she certainly didn’t seemed to be from the same family…”

“So there could be more than even the Volturi was aware of?”

“But then what of her motive?” Esme asked. “If she had planned to visit us, she would’ve showed up right at our house. Not trying to ambush Renesmee out in the open…?”

“She could be just a nomad passing through?” Rosalie shrugged. “I mean it doesn’t happen everyday but it does happen.”

“But she kept mentioning her maker.” Edward pointed out. “You’d think she came from a large family by the way she spoke.”

“Ughh! I can’t see her at all, it’s so foggy.”

Alice sighed in annoyance and flopped on the couch next to Jasper who only smirked understandingly at her.

“It’ll come.” He smiled and rubbed her hand comfortingly.

“Perhaps we should take turns and be on guard for the next few days.” Carlisle exerted his caution nevertheless. “Renesmee show the others how Miss Adeline looks will you?”

Renesmee nodded and went around the group. It was when she came to Jasper that something happened. Jasper had grown eerily still after an audible gasp, frowning before abruptly standing, eyes shifting everywhere, fists clenched nails digging into his own skin, shoulders tense.

The room had gone quiet, Alice hoovered closely a look of worry on her face. “What is it?” She asked carefully, trying her best to conceal the worry in her voice. Even Edward had gone rigid, his face slowly morphing into shock as he registered Jasper’s inner thoughts.

“Are you certain?”

“I need… I need to…” Jasper mumbled, seemingly in a trance. Then he barged right out of the window and into the greenies at the back of the house.

“I’ll go with him.” With one last sweep, Edward darted out of the house following closely behind Jasper.

The Cullens eyed one another uncomfortably, unsure of what had just transpired in the span of five seconds. Bella reached out to squeeze Alice’s hand encouragingly, as if she unknowingly needed the strength.

Emmet laughed nervously to break the tension in the room, none the wiser.

“Old flame maybe?”

“Jasper.”

His insides was in a turmoil as Jasper raced towards the clearing; his mind a chaos and he couldn’t think straight except-

Adeline.

Could it really had been her? 150 years later? It all seemed laughably lame. How could anyone live 150 years and not age? Unless you were a Vampire then, or a hybrid apparently. But he was so sure his sweet Adeline was not. Could not be a monster like him, not even by half-

But those eyes, a cooler shade of cornflower, specks of gold that glinted in the Texan sun.

“Jasper!”

He’d run his hand through those silky tresses every day by the river as she napped with her head in his lap; and then every night in bed; secret rendezvous that would shock the entire town and disgrace their family name had they known.

Adeline Ruelle.

“Major Whitlock.” She drawled flirtatiously, voice dipped in honey, head on her shoulder as she gazed at him slyly, her loose locks tumbling down her back. Her delicate hand reached out to muss up his hair roughly. “I kind of like the sound of it.”

“Well Mrs Whitlock.” He snatched her hand and laid a single kiss over her ring finger. “Then you shall hear it again and again.”

“Jasper wait up!”

She’d leaned in to steal a kiss from his lips, and he had chased her back to bed with more.

“Jasper Whitlock wait up!”

Edward’s bellows snapped him from his reverie. Jasper turned to his brother’s concerned eyes.

“Talk to me, Jas.” He studied his brother worry permanently etched onto his features. “It’s not like you to run out of the family. Alice is worried. Everyone is worried.”

Funny, even Alice had somehow slipped out of his mind. So transfixed was he on his lost love.

“Are you very sure, Jasper?”

Jasper glared into his brother’s golden eyes. “I’ve never been more sure.”

“You’re hesitating.”

“It’s just… If you’ve ever seen her, then you’d know. You wouldn’t be able to forget her. She was the most dazzling sun in the whole of Texas. Her look, her… her eyes. And her voice. The way she holds herself.” Jasper spun around in a frenzy. “It has to be her…”

“And for her to reappear again now. She’d have to be something immortal. Like us. Is that what you want to say?”

He was at a lost of words, he had ran out the moment he saw her. But what if it wasn’t her? It had caught him by surprise, chilled him to the core that she could be out there all this time and he had not known… Had not really stopped to think of the implications of it all…

“I don’t know.” He finally muttered in defeat. “But suppose she was her or her offsprings or…” They might know more about her, what happened, perhaps finally giving him the peace of mind he needed.

“Brother.” Edward comforted. “I’m not saying we know who or what she is. All I’m saying is, you need to get a grip of yourself first. Let us help you find her, if it really is her I’m sure she’ll have no scruples to see you. Hell for all we know she could just be a doppelgänger.”

Jasper had to laugh at this, the tension lines easing slightly.

“Hell, doppelgänger?”

“Shall we trace her scent first? If she went West, she could be all the way into Seattle by now, and it sure as hell won’t be an easy task to trace her in there.”

“Edward…” Jasper stuttered, tripping over his tongue to find the right words. “I- Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“What are families for?” Edward grinned, relived to finally see the Jasper he was used to.

“Come Adeline.”

“Come hold your brother,” Father beckoned towards her in the shadow of the house. “He tore through his mother’s womb just to see you.”

“No…” She wanted to run, to scream, but no word came out of her. She was stunned in her position by the blood stench.

Father walked towards her in slow deliberate step, a white bundle in his arms, thrusting it into her unwillingly arms. “Take him.”

In her arms laid a small babe.

His hair matted with dried blood and he grinned Cheshire like at her.

“Bring him out so that your sisters may see him.”

Gingerly, she stepped out of the threshold and into the twilight. Watched as her sisters danced in the pure white, each with arms around a man. And in unison, bit into their jugulars, tearing at the arteries beneath, fresh blood spurting out in fountains.

She was drenched from head to toe in crimson.

Hyperventilating.

She needed togotogotogotogotogotogo-

“Rejoice!” Father bellowed from behind, as her sisters continued to devour their chosen meal. “For the house of Elwyn welcomes a son!”

She was going to be sick.

She opened her mouth to let out a silent scream.

And scream she did.

Terribly loud.

Except she was also underwater. Choking on icy cold water. Pushing herself up from the tub, she broke the surface and gasped for air. Coughing out the residue of her nightmare.

Great just great. Of all the things she could dream of, why had she dreamt of that now?

The underwater was her sole consolation and safe place for years and even now it was invaded by her despicable dreams.

Perhaps, perhaps Adeline had been on the run for too long. She needed a habit, a set of routines, something to ease her nerves. She needed a memento, something to ground herself to on a daily basis.

Something to remind her that she was still partly human in this insanity.

1pm, downtown Vancouver.

She’d been here 20 years ago. And now she’d come on a detour to retrieve something from her past.

Stepping inside the bank quickly, she made a beeline for the counters.

Adeline smiled enthusiastically at the man behind the counter.

“Hello, I’d like to open my mother’s safe.”

“I’m sorry do you have her delegation? We don’t-”

“She died recently.” Adeline smiled again. One thing she picked up over the years was that, conversations of the dead was extremely uncomfortable and humans struggled to get out of it as soon as possible. “Tragic yeah I know. It was a freak accident. So now me and my sissy are gathering her things and for the funeral-”

“Just a moment ma’am.” The lady turned around with lightning speed. “If you could just show me her death certificate?”

“Yeah sure, here.” She slid the fake certificate she made in the library with a little glue and photocopy. Amazing what you can do with just two dollars nowadays. “Thank you!”

Half an hour later, Adeline was on the next train towards the Yukon plain.

A single silver locket hung over her throat; its cap embellished by intricate floral carvings. And as she fingered it gently, her eyes closed as she settled in her seat, a sense of peace washed over Adeline one she had not shared in for a very long time.

“Did you find her?” Carlisle asked when the two returned.

Jasper passed by in a huff without even so much as a greeting and went straight for his room. Everyone could feel the frustration lingering in the air; Alice immediately got up from her perch by the window and trailed after the sulking man.

Edward simply shook his head.

“So was she really an old flame of his?” Emmett chirped on the side and Rosalie whacked him right on the chest, glaring at the brunette and silently admonishing his insensitiveness.

Sharing worried glances, the Cullens each harboured their own questions in the meantime, unsure when was the right time to broach it.

“Jasper.”

“Jasper talk to me.”

Alice’s desperate pleas finally broke him from his trance. “Alice.” She was kneeling before him, face close to his, her hands hoovering, unsure where to place. Even Alice was worried about him now. His lover, the one who had been his brick and stone since their first meeting. Though they were not mates, like Bella and Edward were, they had pledged to be with each other, as long as the other was willing. But now for the first time he realised, he had not been fair to his sweet lover all these time.

Had she knowingly anticipated this? Jasper suddenly thought. Had she seen this in one of her visions? And still decided to show up in that little diner just to find him? If so Jasper held nothing but respect and love for the little pixie. Her pure heartedness, her kindness. Always giving and never asking for anything in return. And he in return had withheld this one truth from her all these years.

Speaking had never been his best forte. Tiresome as it can be, right now he needed to tell her the truth. He owed her this one truth.

Mechanically he walked into the next room with Alice by his side, and he went to open one of the safes. Producing from it a simple inlay box.

“Open it.” He nudged her gently, gestured for her to open the lid. “Look inside.”

Shooting him an amused look, Alice carefully lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a number of mementos Jasper had harboured over the years. The largest was centred in the middle, a framed sepia portrait of a girl in a simple blouse with a modest pair of pearl earrings. Curls held in a loose half do, showing off her heart shaped face and that brilliant smile, transmitting warmth and sweetness through the portrait.

“Her name was Adeline Ruelle.”

“Well the resemblance is certainly… uncanny.” Alice murmured.

“Didn’t see that coming did you?” He had to chuckle at that.

Alice narrowed her eyes playfully and swatted his in the chest. “You know I can’t see hybrids and shapeshifters well!” No Alice wouldn’t have seen this because she would be looking at a blindspot; and he wouldn’t have thought this was possible because he’d long since accepted that his lost lover was dead. A century and a half ago.

Jasper mouth dried, figuratively, when Alice moved to take the velvet pouch next. He winced as he gently shook the pouch, tumbling the diamond ring into her ready hands.

“I… I proposed to her you know. Once, a long time ago.”

Alice trained her gaze back on her lover as he swallowed hard, ready to tell part of his truth.

“She’d moved with her Grandmama from Louisiana a year or two back, dressmakers and strictly French. We were to be wed in the Town Hall on the Summer solstice when the war was over. She could never had her gown picked because I know… she didn’t want to spend even a dime more of my money. The ring already costed me a fortune she said. She’d taken to hand sew her own dress for her wedding day with her grandmother. She was just that sweet.” Here Jasper chuckled in nostalgia, but then his eyes grew sad again. “I would’ve given her the world if I could, but I was only a Major then. And…”

“Towards Christmas, when I came home for a visit. Something had happened during my absence, she had grown distant. Always startled, by the smallest sound, a change in the wind. I thought it was only wedding nerves, but really I should’ve seen it then.” His lips tugged into a self-depreciating smile. “She could never have wanted me.”

“Stole away in the dead of the night, left only a note and her ring. Asked me to give it to another woman when I met one.”

“I just…” Jasper ran a hand through his in frustration. “How do you ask the man you supposedly loved to hand your wedding ring to another woman? Just like that?”

“You loved her with all your heart.”

“Damn right I did.”

“Oh Jasper.”

“Broke my heart, that one did. ” He whispered. Thought I could’ve gotten over her with you here. Was what was left unsaid.

Alice pursed her lips and looked away.

“What would you do if she really is the same person?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Hey it could really be a case of wrong identity, similar face, different person.”

“I…” Shifting uncomfortably, Jasper shrugged. “But if I never find her then I’ll never know.”

“You might still have your chance with her.”

“Alice…”

Suddenly he was sure of nothing anymore.

He really should hate her; here was a love built from the foundation, firm, safe, something he had known for years, depended on. Saved him even. Could he gamble all this for someone who’d broken his heart in a heartbeat all those years ago?

“The heart wants what it wants. Jasper.”

“We never promised each other anything Jasper, except that we’ll be there for each other. We’re not mates, remember?”

Of course he remembered. But you didn’t need a mate to live a good enough life, didn’t need to reopen scars that no one had interest in seeing. That the perpetrator herself may not even had an interest in to begin with.

“Alice we’re ok, we’re enough.”

Alice only smiled sadly, knowingly. Sometimes he hated that knowing look, as if she was hiding secrets from him, knew that he was destined to fail.

But then, he had been hiding secrets from her too, hadn’t he?

“It’s alright.” Alice soothed, “we’ll find her. Then we can decide from there on what to do.”

“We’ll find her, just you wait.” She promised with a loving kiss to his forehead.

#jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #twilight #jasper hale x you #jasper hale x oc #jasper hale imagine

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