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aerialflight · 3 years

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Fic Recs (monster long list for autumn month)

[The Witcher] (my current interest feniwoafpe hELP)

A United Front by didoandis

Ship: Yennefer/Geralt/Jaskier

“The only solution is a united front,” Yennefer says. When this just prompts blank expressions, she sighs. “Honestly, do I have to spell it out? I mean the two of you should get married.”

Geralt stares at her. Jaskier’s mouth drops open. Tissaia says, thoughtfully, “that could actually work.”

“No it couldn’t!” Jaskier says, loud and shrill.

After Calanthe and Eist are killed, the fate of Cintra hangs in the balance. The only solution is an alliance between two men: the witcher Geralt of Rivia, bound to the princess by the Law of Surprise, and Cirilla’s uncle Julian, better known as Jaskier the bard.

(Love their relationship and how damn HEALTHY it is, seriously. All the characters' characterizations are amazing, especially Jaskier in particular. And Ciri really feels like Calanthe's granddaughter, what a lion of a girl! The premise and how the author explored it was so good and I finished this fic so fast! Seriously, please read!)

Silver and Copper by Heronfem

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

(I know this is old but if anyone didn't read this gem? Please PLEASE do. God, this fic hands down became my favorite witcher fic, everything about it is perfect. It made me feel deep disgust and horror yet hope and love for humanity at the same time?? And the ambiance! The setting! This felt like a dark fairy tale and Geralt is the hero trying to save the prince. The author does such a good job sucking me into the mystery and getting invested in all these fleshed out OC characters. Geralt and Jaskier just, hell, they broke and repaired my heart a thousand times over the course of this fic, I love them so much here. Seriously, this is the one witcher fic you've got to read, it's incredible!)

My Witcher Isn’t Working, Can I Get a Refund? by byronicmusings

Ship: Jaskier/Geralt

Jaskier stared in horror at the man before him.

No, not man, because no man would ever do something so horrifying and appalling such as this without so much as a twitch to his face, and even though Jaskier spent most of his time and effort trying to convince this self-deprecating hunk of a witcher that no, he was not a heartless monster and was in fact, still human in many aspects, Jaskier could not bring himself to do it now. Not this time.

Maybe not ever.

You know how some game mechanics make sense in games but are absolutely ridiculous in real life?

Crackfic where instead of grand adventures and heroics, Jaskier spends his travels having to deal with Geralt’s absurd behavior - from horrifying eating habits, his ridiculous collection of broken rakes, aggressive herb gathering techniques, to a frankly scary obsession with Gwent, among other things.

(I LAUGHED LIKE A HYENA THE ENTIRE TIME READING THIS OH gOd. I legit collapsed on the floor and pounded my fist as I wheezed with tears in my eyes. It's so fucking funny, I'm half tempted to buy the game just to see if half the shit that happens in this fic actually happens. 😂)

(when you just can't seem) to shake the weight of living by WingedQuill

Ship: Yennefer/Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt's muscles heave backwards, flinging him down against the bed. He tries to struggle upwards but it feels like he’s been buried beneath a mountain. Every inch of him is pressed completely still. His eyes close, and he’s left in the dark with nothing but his racing heart for company. He’s not tired, he’s never been less tired. But the curse wants him to sleep, it seems. It’ll force him to lie here until he does. How much of his life will it start to control, now that he’s declared war against it? Now that he knows it’s lurking in his bones, now that it doesn’t have to be subtle?

He swallows. Takes a long, deep breath, gathering every bit of courage he has to stop himself from slipping back into panic. He still has control over his lungs. He still has that.

For now.

(Or: Witchers don't retire. They stay on the Path until it kills them. They hunt monsters and they want nothing from life. This isn't exactly by choice.)

(I am ADDICTED to this fic. I was genuinely horrified while reading this and I couldn't stop. I HAD to know what happened next. Definitely 100% recommend.)

A Song of Selfish Hearts by gremble

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt loses a chunk of his memories, meets an overly-friendly bard, and comes to the obvious conclusion: that somewhere along the way, he apparently lost his godsdamned mind and decided to take a human lover on the Path with him.

(Geralt is trying SO HARD and it's honestly sweet. He's drawing all the wrong conclusions and it's GREAT! XD Meanwhile, Jaskier is mentally screaming in confusion the entire time, I fucking can't, poor bard lol)

A Name to Give you Pause by StarsInMyDamnEyes for brothebro

Jaskier waited for Geralt of to distance himself from the camp well enough, before shuffling off his sitting place atop a rather uncomfortable tree stump, positioning himself so that he was eye-level with the extremely nonplussed horse.

Not, of course, that he wanted to shoo him from his own campsite, but how the hell else would he corner the man's horse?

At Oxenfurt, Jaskier had, much to his vexation, learnt that the word ‘nonplussed’ had two meanings – the first being ‘unsure about what to say, think, or do’, and the second, ‘not bothered, surprised, or impressed by something’. It was almost a contranym, it caused him no end of frustration, and it was the perfect word to use in this scenario, because how the hell was one supposed to get a read on the complex emotional state of a horse?

Nonplussed was right, because Jaskier couldn’t read Roach for shit, so he might as well have covered all his bases, instead.

“So,” he began, and it was a good way to open a dialogue, very solid, “why are you a horse?”

Or: When Jaskier finds Geralt and Roach at Posada, it's less of a first meeting, and more of a reunion.

(The premise is bonkers and I love it. Roach is Jaskier's sister and somehow, it's not just crack, there is a perfectly good (okay, still insane) explanation for all of this. I am utterly charmed and found this fic unexpectedly sweet as well. Give it a go if you're even a little curious on what's going on XD)

ask me tomorrow by Emamel

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

"Why -" he gestures expansively towards Jaskier, his lute, the forest around them, his swords now strapped to Roach "- are you doing this?"

A bard seeking fortune wouldn't watch Geralt across the fire with eyes half-full of tears that he didn't bother to blink away. An artist looking for a muse wouldn't press close, desperately close, against Geralt's side until he finally gave in and turned his head. A young man after a quick fuck wouldn't grip Geralt to him hard enough to bruise even a witcher.

The way Jaskier looks at Geralt makes him think he should know the answer already, but he doesn't, he doesn't.

"Because I know you," he says at last. "Because I have known you. Because I will know you. Isn't that enough?"

(One day, Geralt will understand that it was the closest thing Jaskier will ever have to a goodbye, and it's enough, it's enough.)

(I cried reading this, this fic broke me. Ask me fucking tomorrow, holy shit. That line. Why?? *sobs*)

[The Hobbit] (I went on a spree and honestly I'm still obsessed rn)

Once Upon a Contract by I_Got_Lost

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

In the Shire there were two truths. The Tooks were odd and the Baggins were respectable. The Baggins family dealt in contracts and favours, and while the Shire knew that the Tooks were odd, it was the Baggins family that had other blood running through their veins.

Bilbo Baggins did not go running out his door for want of an adventure, he went running out his door because of a terribly worded contract and a laughable quest that somehow held the spark of other.

In this story, it is not the Tooks that held fae blood in their family tree, it is the Baggins, and theirs is so much closer to the surface.

(WORLDBUILDING WORLDBUILDING WORLDBUILDING!!! *screams*)

Oak and Mistletoe by HildyJ

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

After a life dominated by a strange form of sickness, Thorin is sent to the Shire to seek a cure only Bilbo Baggins can offer.

(It's old and I can't freaking believe I never stumbled on this until now. Reread this 3 times by now and I kept searching for fairy tale kind of fics after reading this, as you'll probably see the more you go down this list. Just, please read. It's amazing!)

Falling Leaves by northpeach, wolfsrainrules

Leafs tumble from the tree tops. Some are caught in the wind and brought far off places. Others land upon the earth and become brown and dead. A series of Hobbit oneshots for the ideas that refuse to die. (refer to each chapter for warnings and summaries! All my dwarven words are from the wonderful Dwarrow Scholar, blessings upon him. These ARE Adoptable so long as we are informed and credited of course. WE WANT TO READ THEM)

(I love every single AU in this fic, not a single bad one in this batch!)

Here and Gone Again: the Dwarf-King's Tale by psyche_girl

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

One evening in early summer TA 2941, Thorin Thrain's son, called Oakenshield, was interrupted by thirteen very unexpected Hobbits knocking at his forge door.

(The role reversal I never knew I needed. Poor, poor Thorin X'D)

To Kiss A Stranger: Bella by Bead

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

Ori Rison asks a group of strangers (strangers to each other) to share a first kiss. He asks his distant cousin Thorin Oakenshield into it, egged on by Thorin's nephews. To Thorin's great surprise, he agrees.

Meanwhile, Ori's lighting designer Bofur ropes his friend Bella Baggins into it.

Inspired by "First Kiss," a gorgeous video of twenty strangers kissing, which can be found here.

(This gave me SO MANY FEELINGS. Hot damn! Dicjiwjfie)

A Gift of Daisies by issaro for crystalphobic

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

Every Hobbit was gifted a soulmate, a promise from the Green Lady that they’d never be alone. Sometimes though, the gift is a bit less straightforward than a Hobbit might wish.

(Such an interesting soulmate au! It's the kind of au where it wouldn't compel me as much if it weren't set in this fandom. Beautiful, just beautiful!)

Through Shadow and Flame by Cinderstrato

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

Summoned to Erebor for his particular talents, Bilbo Baggins (formerly of Bag End) simply meant to explore the East, uncover the cause of old King Thráin's peculiar behaviour, and perhaps cast out a troublesome wraith or two.

He certainly didn't intend to kidnap the Crown Prince.

(*clenches fist* Thorin is somehow so innocent here?? Not as world weary. And Bilbo being this wandering free spirit knowledgable about the world is such a concept, I loved this so much! Also, the fic is very fairy tale like too.)

The Antidote by Atisenia for You_Light_The_Sky

Ship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins

Bilbo Baggins had lived a comfortable life in the Shire, tending to his garden, minding his own business. And then the Dwarves thought they could come and disturb his life with stories of faraway kingdoms, enchanted kings and magical gardens.

Bilbo was not amused.

A different take on the quest where Erebor never fell, Thorin has been poisoned and the Dwarves are in dire need of a gardener.

(Bilbo the gardener trying to save a Sleeping Beauty Thorin is the epitome of a fairy tale and I still can't believe this exists. It's like the universe plopped this fic on my lap and told me to go for it. I'm in love with this and am counting down the days until this fic updates!! Please join me!)

[Naruto] (read all or perish there's no inbetween)

a symbol of subjugation by evocates

Ship: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Touka/Uchiha Hikaku/Uchiha Izuna

“Consider how this looks. The Senju proposes peace at the height of their power. The Uchiha, already losing, don’t have the resources to match the Senju. If the Senju provides us with food and armour, the Uchiha must become subordinate. Is that what you think of as peace, Senju? Over at the Uchiha compound, we call that subjugation by the most powerful.”

“It seems that there is only one possible solution: the Senju must choose a symbol to subjugate itself to the Uchiha to balance out the scales. For that role, I volunteer myself.”

The wise ones know: fires can warm and not burn; and rivers, if given strength and permission, will carve the land.

(Or, the one in which Tobirama becomes Madara’s concubine, and peace is won and held through neither power nor love, but food, water, clothes, and medicine.)

(*deep breath* I can't even begin to explain how fucking phenomenal this fic is. Words can't do this fic justice, it's on a whole new level when it comes to worldbuilding, plot (fuck, the plot), characters (I love them all), politics, the tone, writing, literally everything has been elevated to the highest peak. This fic legitimately reached a conclusion that achieved world peace in the naruto world. No shortcuts, no easy answers, it is as in depth and thoughtful any work of fiction can be. If this was a novel, I would buy this is in a fucking heartbeat, it's that damn good. So for the love of god, read this.)

Strays by Ourliazo

Naruto finds a dog door installed in a quiet, clean apartment, for the village’s stray dogs. The flap is pretty big, and as it turns out, children can also fit inside.

Rookie 9 are best friends long before they're team mates.

(The fluffiest fluff to ever fluff wojfowjf)

Gem of the Eddy by beetlebee

"The fall of Uzushio collapsed our economy, our protections. You might think I'm being rosy, but they really cared about us. And they knew how to party. You know they had a seal that could swap body parts? Wildest night of my life,” the boatman’s eyes go distant for a long moment, “...but you kids are too young to hear about that.

“Anyway,” he continues, “our economy’s been a shambles since; maybe gets going for a year or two before it collapses again. No security of stability, so assholes like Gato think they can waltz in here and take charge. Boy, he'd be singing a different tune if the Uzumaki were still around."

Sakura’s eyes widen a bit at that, and even Sasuke looks up. Naruto opens his mouth to say something, but Kakashi puts a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What an… illuminating piece of history,” says Kakashi, “Thank you for sharing.”

-----

(Kiri may have won the battle, but not the war. The island of Uzushio might not be as dead as previously believed.

All Kakashi knows now is that he really should have refused that mission to Wave.

An island lives, people change, foxes laugh, and Team Seven goes on a wild journey!)

(*deadly serious* I would die for this fic. It is chaotic to the point of no return and EVERYONE, and I mean EVERYONE shows up in this fic. It's like watching a row of dominoes topple against each other, creating a chain reaction that has multiple lanes falling all around and making a fucking mess on the floor. And the plot doesn't miss a fucking beat, all of it somehow making sense!! It's glorious. I have never been happier. Please, please read this!!!

Worm Charming by GremlinSR

After Minato's death, Shikaku is thrust into a position he never expected and certainly never wanted. It isn't long before he discovers a wealth of corruption and sabotage that threatens the very foundation of the village he is sworn to protect. Using every ounce of his famous Nara intellect and cunning, Shikaku struggles to outmaneuver hidden enemies in order to keep his village and family safe.

Or: A for want of a nail story in which Nara Shikaku becomes Hokage after Minato’s death and promptly turns everything on its head.

(VOTE FOR NARA SHIKAKU AS HOKAGE! God, I WISH the series went like this. Shikaku is a competent man and I stan him so freaking hard here! Also, I swear there is a perfectly good reason why the title is accurate. Let it entice you into reading this, you won't regret it!)

[Stranger Things] (smh)

Make my mark in the world - with a bat and a blade by Spicy_Cannoli_AKA_Lia for QueenMissFit

Her height was wrong, she looked younger than he remembered, and her hair was too long, but as he looked at her face he knew she was unmistakably-

‘’Robin’’ he said, not realising he had opened his mouth until the name was already out.

Robin turned her face towards him, a recognition that shouldn’t be there flashing through her blue eyes.

He knew they weren’t supposed to meet yet, but the fact that he found her here, in a place he had never heard of from her, gave him hope, hope that he wasn’t alone. But he had to make sure, so he opened his mouth and in perfect Russian recited-

‘’A trip to China sounds nice”

“if you tread lightly.’’

Steve Harrington never understood loneliness until he was stuck five years in the past with nothing but a whole lot of trauma, insomnia, and a stupid fear of flickering lights. But still, alone or not he had the perfect opportunity to change what happened. To make sure none of his shitty kids has to sleep with the lights one because of the monsters they know are real. He could save Barb, he could save Bob, he could save- Billy.

And maybe, just maybe, Steve isn't as alone as he first thought.

(Robin and Steve's friendship is everything and the fact this is such a good time travel fic won me over entirely! Absolutely fantastic!)

[The Magnus Archives] (a wild tma)

Life Preserver by PitViperOfDoom

Ship: Gerald/Jon

Admittedly, Jon has been known to make impulsive decisions. Taking a part-time job at the campus library on his last year of university. Going in after dark to check on a book. Putting the lighter in his pocket. Asking out the cute goth who, as far as he knows, narrowly avoided a brush with a Leitner.

Gerry told himself it was only going to be one date, just to see what it was like. How was he supposed to know he'd get attached?

(This fic turned me into a Gerald fan and Jon is peak Man In Love With No Plan Help This Disaster. Stellar. 👌)

[Ted Lasso] (I know, I didn't expect this either yet here we are)(this show stole my heart)

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered by mardia

Ship: Ted Lasso/Trent Crimm (The Independent)

Ted Lasso: Schrodinger's Witch.

Or, the one where AFC Richmond are leading the Premier League table, and Trent Crimm and the rest of the British press are slowly losing their minds as a result.

(TED LASSO IS A WITCH AND NOTHING CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE I AM LOSING MY DAMN MIND sCReaMS)

#Fanfiction #AO3 #Fic Rec #Fic Rec List #The Witcher #The Hobbit #Naruto #Stranger Things #The Magnus Archives #Ted Lasso

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four-loose-screws · 3 years

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FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow

There were five Sacred Stones total, and all of them were passed down within each of the nations of Magvel. Eirika and her army had safely obtained Renais' Sacred Stone, but Grado, Frelia, and Jehanna's Stones had already been destroyed.

They now were seeking the last one, and so they decided to march to the Theocracy of Rausten. Their guide was none other than Princess L'Arachel.

Once they left Renais, they traveled in peace for a long while. They were not attacked by any enemies nor any monsters. They were also blessed with good weather, and L'Arachel was in a fantastic mood.

"It's good to return home sometimes. I wonder if Lord Uncle is doing well?"

Dozla was walking alongside her. His guffaw echoed through the air. "Pontifex Mansel is sure to be very surprised! You've grown into an even finer young woman than you were when you left home, Lady L'Arachel!"

"Oh, Dozla, stop it!"

*Can I ask you somethin’?" Rennac was trudging along behind them. He said with a bored, apathetic look on his face, "This Pontifex Mansel person will pay me my money, right? Every gold coin his niece has avoided paying me…?"

"Oh, that's right, Eirika! There are many exceptional bards in Rausten. And the one we all talk about most, Saaga, is so amazing that he moves me to tears no matter how many times I listen to him perform. I want you to hear him as well!"

"...Uh-huh..." Eirika turned back and caught a glimpse of Rennac out of pity for him.

He looked utterly exhausted and worn out as he muttered, "...She ain't even listenin’."

Eirika didn't know whether L'Arachel really didn't hear him, or whether she just pretended not to, but either way, L'Arachel's voice gradually became more and more cheerful.

"But this time, it is my turn to tell the bards of my many adventures! Our services for the greater good are sure to become a beautiful poem passed down for many generations to come!"

"If so, I wonder if I will be in this poem as well?"

"Oh, Dozla, of course! You will go down in history as my loyal servant!"

"Ohhhhhh, what an honor that will be! You have moved me greatly by saying so!"

"You don't have to record much of anything about me. Just pay me." Rennac muttered.

"We will soon reach the Narube River. Dozla, do you remember when we crossed it? Monsters were trying to attack a boat traveling upon it, so we gallantly rushed in and saved some ordinary citizens who were trying to escape…"

"We should be able to rendezvous with the Frelian Army here." Innes forcefully cut into their conversation. He unsurprisingly seemed to be fed up with L'Arachel's cheerful banter.

Eirika smiled and added to show that she heard what he'd said, "Yes. And when we do so, it will make all of our battles from here on out much easier."

"Of course. We will be teaming up with Frelia's most elite unit."

The Frelian Army had departed their home country following a different route from Eirika's army, and were now going to Rausten as well. Eirika had received a report from the pegasus knights that they should be able to meet up somewhere within the vicinity of Narube.

They would combine with the Frelian Army to bolster their numbers, then obtain Rausten's Sacred Stone so they could capture Lyon this time with all of their forces. That was her army's current strategy.

No matter how powerful Lyon's Dark Stone may be, they had nothing to fear if they had two Sacred Stones. The army he led was now nothing more than the survivors from Grado, so his numbers and weapons likely wouldn't compare to Eirika's. L'Arachel and all of the other members of her army were making cheerful expressions because they could feel hope for the road ahead.

But their cheerful march did not last for much longer. The moment they reached the Narube River, they froze. Two ordinary citizens were cowering alongside the road.

They were a young girl and an elderly man. The exhausted man was comforting the girl, who appeared to be his granddaughter.

The girl noticed Eirika's army and pulled back in fear.

Eirika dismounted her horse and quietly approached her so as not to surprise her. "What happened? Do you live around here...?"

"...You're not with the Grado Army? You're not, right?" The tension drained from the girl's body with a sigh of relief.

But on the contrary, her words made Eirika's army nervous. "You saw the Grado Army? Somewhere close to here?"

"Yes." Terror flashed through the girl's big eyes, and she nodded. "They attacked us suddenly. A group of soldiers wearing Grado’s armor came here… and set our village on fire. They killed all of the men who tried to stand up to them… Just when we thought it was all over for us, Frelia's pegasus knights rushed in and saved us. But… the Grado Army is so strong it's terrifying… most of the soldiers from Frelia were killed."

"What? The Frelian Army was killed by the remaining soldiers from Grado?" The color drained from Innes' face, and he pulled in closer to the girl.

His angry expression spooked her. She shrunk back closer to the old man, then nodded. "Y-Yes…"

"Not all of them were defeated, right? For every last member of Frelia's elite to be gone…"

"No, there is a unit still fighting. But only one. The other units were all defeated. There's still a few friends in our village who have yet to escape… The last of the Frelian Army is still doing everything they can to protect them. Please save them! Please…"

"Understood. Let's go, Eirika!" Innes shouted.

However, Eirika was worried about the look on the face of the crouching old man that the girl had protected. His face was twitching like he'd suffered a horrifying experience, and his lips moved as if he was trying to say something.

Eirika approached him, bent down next to him, and gently said, "You're okay now. We will defeat the Grado Army and save the villagers. Please try to relax and…"

"...No match… for him." The old man muttered something in a muffled voice.

"Huh?" Eirika responded.

"You are… no match… for him. You are no match… for a terrifying person… like him…"

The man was shaking all over, and continued speaking in a mumble. The words that she only just barely managed to make out were ominous. "No… he's not… a person… He's not... human… He's… a monster… He's… the Demon King…"

"The… Demon King? What does that mean?" Eirika felt a chill crawl down her spine for no discernable reason, and her voice lowered to a hush.

The old man's eyes were wide open, and his breathing was shallow.

His granddaughter noticed this and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, then she said to Eirika, "I'm sorry. Grandfather rushed right out when the village was attacked… and seems to have seen him. The commander leading the Grado Army…"

"Their commander? Who could it have possibly been…?"

"I didn't see, so I can't say anything at all, but… Grandfather was saved by the Frelian Army when he was in danger. Still, he's absolutely terrified. I have no idea what he saw."

"...Can you tell us what kind of person the enemy commander was…?”

The moment she tried to ask the man for more details, L'Arachel suddenly cried out, "Look at that! There's someone over there…"

Eirika looked up in the direction L'Arachel was pointing to.

A black shadow rose over the grass.

Or so it appeared to be at first glance, for it radiated a gloomy aura all around it. Then Eirika realized that it was someone she knew well, standing with his back slightly hunched over, not moving a muscle.

Eirika whispered before she even knew what she was saying, "Lyon…?"

Grado's prince was staring at her from beneath his long bangs. His eyes were cold and unfeeling.

Eirika's heart was filled with a sense of relief. Even though they were currently enemies, they could communicate with each other from the heart. ‘I'll always be your ally…' She could hear his voice clearly even now.

'I want to talk with him. I want to ask him for the answers to all of my doubts.' With her mind focused on only that one thought, she tried to walk over to him.

But Ephraim saw her moving and sharply yelled at her to stop. "Stop, Eirika! Don't get anywhere near him!"

"Brother…?"

Ephraim stood in front of her as if to shield her from something, and glared at Lyon.

Lyon's expression abruptly softened. Considering Ephraim's threatening look, his was so gentle it was strange. "Hey, Ephraim… What's the matter? Why are you making such a scary face…?"

"Lyon! How dare you appear before me with such a calm look on your face!"

Lyon tilted his head at Ephraim’s violent words like he didn't know what Ephraim meant.

"You remember the time we met in the capital, right? Don't tell me you forgot!" Ephraim's voice became more and more harsh with each word. Lyon, by contrast, was calm, and even smiling.

"Of course I remember! I would never forget… Ephraim, we're finally meeting again after so much struggle… Why are you so mad? Did I do something to upset y-?"

"Shut up!" Ephraim sharply cut him off.

Eirika anxiously looked for an opportunity to stop her brother. If he continued to speak with such hostility, they would lose their chance to talk with Lyon.

However, his anger was so fierce that she couldn't carelessly call out to him. All she could do was watch over them, with all of her apprehensions weighing on her mind.

"What did you say then? That you were the one who instigated this war… and that you were the one who invaded Renais and killed my father? That was what you said, right?!"

"Ephraim…" Lyon suddenly made a sad face in response.

Eirika couldn't stay silent any longer. She softly placed a hand on her brother's back and said, "Please stop. Brother. Don't talk like that."

"Eirika…"

Ephraim turned around and said in a strong tone to warn her, "He's not the Lyon we know. He's being controlled by an evil power. Probably the Dark Stone…"

"That can’t be… You're not yourself today, Brother…" Eirika could feel that Ephraim had made up his mind.

Eirika didn't know exactly what their conversation in Grado Castle had been like. Everything she knew was from her brother's report. She didn't think that he had lied to her, but they couldn't say there wasn't a chance that he lost himself when he was agitated, and interpreted everything Lyon said as animosity, even though Lyon might have come seeking reconciliation.

"Why are you looking at Lyon like he's suspicious? He's our dear friend, isn't he?"

"Eirika…"

"Lyon said that he will be our ally no matter what. Isn't that right, Lyon?"

"Yes, of course! I'm so happy, Eirika. You really are very kind. Why don't you come… closer…" Suddenly, Lyon's body stiffened. He bit his lip, signaling that he seemed to be enduring intense pain. But he couldn't suppress his voice, and a quiet groan escaped his lips.

"Lyon? What's the matter? Are you alright, Lyon…?" Eirika remembered that Lyon's body was not very strong.

Since long ago, he often broke out with fevers, and his swordsmanship never improved significantly. He was even embarrassed, and it made him feel inferior. But though his body was weak, because he possessed superior intelligence and sensibility, Eirika thought he should be more proud. Yet he still seemed to lack confidence in himself and be troubled by his weaknesses.

Lyon's face twisted, though now it was less in pain and more in anger. "Gah…! Don't get in my way…!" The moment Lyon shouted in frustration, his knees gave out, and he fell atop the grass.

Eirika tried to run straight over to him, but his sharp voice made her feet stop moving.

"Get away from me, Eirika!"

"Huh?"

The anger vanished from Lyon's face. In its place a desperate, pleading expression formed before he shouted, "You can't come near me! Hurry, get away…! If you don't, then I'll…"

"Lyon! What's wrong? What's happ-"

"I'll destroy you… Run… Hurry out of h-" Lyon cut his words short, and hid his face.

Eirika was utterly shocked. She was worried about his health, but he had told her to run. She found it hard to decide what to do, and didn't move.

Lyon slowly raised his head. On his face returned the same cold smile he had when he first appeared. He said in a calm voice, "Sorry for worrying you, Eirika. I’m alright now. That was just a light spasm."

"...Lyon?" If they were true, then those words should have reassured her, but for some reason, they only made her feel all the more worried. She took a step back against her own wishes.

This was not Lyon. That was the first thought that immediately came into her mind. Lyon didn't smile like that. He would never coax her in such a terrible way

"Be careful, Eirika. Don't leave any holes in your stance. He's not Lyon." Ephraim said.

Lyon… no, this being with the same face as the prince, laughed in amusement. "I'm not Lyon? Don't say such strange things, Ephraim. Oh, I get it. You don't like seeing me with so much energy? Would you be satisfied if I suffered a more severe spasm? You always looked at me like you would. You said that Lyon is a weak, pitiful child. But that was just your impression. You did not know anything about me…"

"That's not true." Ephraim refused to be provoked by Lyon’s attempts to agitate him, and responded in a calm voice, "We were friends. Of course, that doesn't mean we knew everything about each other. It wasn’t that simple. But I knew what was most important. You… Lyon was not the type of person to ever deceive or betray us. He wasn't a terrible creature like you, trying to enchant us with whatever words we wanted to hear. He wasn't a horrible person like that. You are not Lyon. You cannot be him.”

Lyon tilted his head to the side and stared straight at Ephraim, but, little by little, his expression began to change. The smile he was directing at them twisted into an arrogant smirk that could even be considered brazen. “Hmph… I see. It seems that human feelings are not something that I can underestimate.”

Eirika could not believe her ears. His tone was more sarcastic than any she’d ever heard before in her life.

“Pretending to be human was more fun than I ever expected it to be, but… there’s no need to keep up that facade any longer. You saw right through me, Prince of Renais. This body no longer belongs to Prince Lyon.”

“Damn you! ...I knew it! So you have taken over Lyon’s body?!” Ephraim shouted. “I don’t know what you are, but get out! Get out of Lyon’s body right now! Or else I’ll…!”

“Or else you’ll what? Come now, what are you going to do, you foolish prince? Prince Lyon’s heart is already almost entirely gone. I’ve eaten it all up…”

“What did you just say…?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I ate it. Though it resisted and screamed, I ate it up. For a descendant of Grado, he had such a weak heart…”

“Damn you…!” The anger disappeared from Ephraim’s voice. He tried his very hardest to keep himself together, but his voice still shook slightly.

Eirika was taken utterly aback. This was the first time she’d ever seen her brother tremble before an enemy.

“What are you?!”

“You still don’t know? You really are an utter fool, prince of Renais. You should remember your legends that have been passed down through the ages. The name of the enemy you sealed away.”

“He can’t be…” Eirika whispered.

“The Demon King… of ancient times…” Ephraim growled.

He burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the air. He'd already given up his human facade, and a malicious aura radiated around him.

He was the being known as the Demon King, that had existed eight hundred years ago and was feared by humanity. He’d led countless monsters and did as he pleased with the continent of Magvel. The fire his monsters breathed burned down the villages and towns, and drowned the people in the depths of despair.

What became the people's final hope was the five Sacred Stones and the hero Grado. He led his soldiers, challenged the Demon King to battle, and in the end, succeeded in sealing away the Demon King’s soul. This finally brought peace to the continent, and humanity created new towns atop the ashes. The hero Grado founded an empire, and the brave soldiers that fought with him each built their own countries.

That was all supposed to already be a thing of the distant past, and become legend. The Demon King wasn't supposed to be resurrected ever again. But the seal had been broken, and the Demon King revived. And he’d even taken the body of a descendant of Grado, the very man who’d defeated him.

The Demon King said with satisfaction in his voice, “Prince Lyon will never appear again. This body has already yielded to me. It is mine now!"

But then the Demon King clutched his chest with one of his hands. It appeared that the gesture meant that Lyon’s heart continued to try its hardest to resist, and the Demon King was trying to keep him suppressed.

“Don’t worry, I will grant you your desire to kill Prince Ephraim of Renais, and claim Princess Eirika. That was what you wanted, is it not?

“Damn you…” Ephraim tightened his grip on his lance, however, before he could launch his attack, the Demon King vanished.

“He ran away…?” Ephraim looked around.

Eirika turned her head towards him. “No, Brother. He’s not running, but trying to lure us somewhere. I think his target is more likely the people of Narube that haven’t escaped yet and the survivors of the Frelian Army. He wants to attack them and lure us to him.”

“You’re right. Let’s hurry, Eirika. We must save Frelia’s unit!”

“Yes, we must…” Eirika nodded, but did not feel like giving the order straight away.

Ephraim noticed her expression, and looked at her. “What’s the matter, Eirika?”

“Brother, I wonder what Lyon’s… No, the Demon King’s final words meant. About Lyon’s desires…”

Ephraim winced and said, “It was just part of an enemy’s plot to make us falter. Don’t worry about it. It’s more important we think about the Frelian Army and the people of Narube first.”

“...Yes, it is.”

Ephraim was right. Their allies were fighting desperately to protect the citizens. Rescuing them came first.

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #eirika #game boy advance #gba #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years

Text

Steady As She Goes

Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Essi Daven/Lambert

Summary: Lambert begrudgingly insists on escorting Essi through Velen on her way to Novigrad. On their three days' journey, an unexpected bond is formed as the unlikely traveling companions encounter one another in new light. But will they get through unscathed?

Warnings: Lambert-typical language; pragmatic killing of a small animal (not a pet, for food); sexual assault (groping, not Lambert); reference to gore, head trauma; lethal self-defence; shock/trauma response, adrenaline crash; cliffhanger

A/N: A little while ago, I wrote a little letter to Lambert (you can read it here if you’re so inclined—mind the TW). I wanted to thank him, but more importantly, I wanted to offer him a place in my heart and my brain along with his brothers. This story started from a small prompt and has since turned into a 12+k proper-ass Story. This is part 1. Please join me in joyfully welcoming Lambert to the ranks with a wordcount he deserves with a character who has also become very dear to me.

MASTERLIST

@morethangeraskier

Essi eyed the back of her travelling companion with curiosity as they rode North toward Crow’s Perch: the tight swing of his hips still keeping tempo with his horse’s cadence; the sharp alertness at the nape of his neck as his eyes scanned their surroundings; the subtle forward tuck of his shoulders; and every muscle in his body fine-tuned and ready for action in the blink of an eye. Even his silence seemed to radiate a low buzz that tingled the air around him and made Essi wonder how many thoughts and calculations were crammed inside his head at once. She’d found it charming rather than off-putting how irritatedly he’d suggested accompanying her through Velen. There was a genuineness about his prickly outward demeanor—she felt like a detail worthy of practical consideration rather than a damsel on the road and she appreciated it. Better than most alternatives.

The fact was, Lambert had insisted. Not because she was attractive (yeah, yeah, big blue eyes, blonde hair, yadda-yadda, who cares), not because she seemed helpless (there was something keen behind those big blue eyes, and he’d known better than to ignore it), but because it seemed like the right thing to do. She’d explained she was an experienced traveller, knew the roads well, had good relationships with the innkeepers along the way. She would be fine, and didn’t want to take him out of his way.

“Sorry. Not happening. I’m coming with you.” Why? “Bandits.”

He would know. He’d spent the last few days doing nothing but clearing out Nekker nests and trashing bandit camps all over Velen, and the last thing he needed was the innocent blood of some wide-eyed woman-bard on his hands. “Back to fucking Novigrad,” he’d grumbled, turning his horse back North. He sighed heavily and waited for Essi to catch up, “Fuck me, I need a drink—alright, stay close on my tail for the next little while. We’re taking a shortcut.” As they rode, Lambert gave his new companion a rundown of “ The Rules”.

“No chit-chat, I’ve gotta keep focused, plus I don’t like excess noise. If I say ‘duck’ you duck. And I mean get the fuck down and stay silent. If I say run, run and don’t look back. I’ll find you later. Do your best not to panic or freeze up on me, I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

Essi nodded earnestly beside him, her big blue eye fixed on his lips, taking in every word. He wasn’t used to actually being listened to. It was nice. A little off-putting the way she stared, but it was... nice.

On that topic, “One last thing,” he said, turning away to watch the road and check their sides, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m only doing this because no one deserves to die at the hands of heartless assholes except other heartless assholes. I am not Prince Charming, I am not a knight in shining armour, and I absolutely have no intentions of sweeping anyone off their feet. Capisce, bard?”

Essi smiled elusively, turning her own eyes back to the road. “Good. I’m no princess or damsel, and I’m hardly looking to be swept off my feet. As far as I’m concerned, we’re merely travelling in the same direction at the same pace.”

An agreeable grunt from Lambert signalled the end of the conversation and the beginning of “quiet time” which Essi did her best to honour. It was difficult at first. The poet was accustomed to conversation with strangers she met on the road—where they were headed, where they were coming from, how their journey had been. But Lambert was a witcher. Her usual litany of questions were either already answered or were none of her business to be asking in the first place. She was more or less quite content to travel in silence on an average day. But this was not an average day and her mind was bursting with curiosity, which made for a restless start to their journey.

“What’s your horse’s name?” Essi finally asked as they stopped briefly at a stream for water. She decided it was an innocent enough question with a short enough answer to risk breaking the rules.

Lambert gave her a disapproving look, a scolding reminder about ‘no chit-chat’ perched on the tip of his tongue. To her credit, she'd surpassed Lambert’s expectations for what he’d learned to expect from bards in the category of Not Talking. She’d only hummed a little and only then when she was lost in thought, large blue eye staring into the distance. She was an odd one, this woman, with her deep eyes that blinked too slowly sometimes. But his medallion was still and he didn’t have that gut feeling that usually told him when something was off. It was a harmless enough question, anyway…

“Royal,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Never met a noble that wasn’t a horse’s ass.”

Essi let out snicker, flashing her pearly teeth with an open grin. He was abrasive, sure, this witcher, but he was quickly proving himself to be animated and clever. She also believed him to be kind, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise. Whether or not Essi would earn a glimpse of his full capacity remained to be seen, but regardless she found his particular brand of panache refreshing.

"Yours?" he asked with a nod back at the small Icelandic gelding currently occupied with nibbling at some honeysuckle.

"Ginger," Essi replied, kneeling to take her turn at the stream, refilling her waterskin and drinking from her cupped hands. She stared at her saddlebag. “Wait here,” she said, striding to her horse and extracting a bundle of fabric.

“Whoa, hey, where’re you going?”

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a minute,” she assured him as she headed for a thicket.

“Nuh-uh, can’t let you just wander off and get yourself killed before we even reach the first signpost. What’s the plan, Goldilocks?”

“I’m just…”

“Just…?” Lambert gestured impatiently.

Essi squared her shoulders to him, “Going to change my dress. It’s too hot, and I would like to feel Just Right.”

Her sharp-witted comeback earned her a raised eyebrow. It was rather warm, the witcher had to admit. Early summer’s heat glared down with the midday sun, tempered only by an occasional cool breeze from the West. Lambert himself had pulled off his gauntlets, opened his jerkin, and tied a damp kerchief around his neck—witchers were less susceptible to heat stroke or hypothermia, but they were no less vulnerable to discomfort. It was only fair to allot his companion the same opportunity.

Lambert did a quick sweep of the area. Looks fine, sounds fine, smells fine… “Fine. Three minutes.”

He stood guard in front of the only gap in the dense bushes and waited for the sounds of rustling fabric to subside. After two and a half minutes, Essi emerged, hitching up her linen sleeves. She returned her former dress to her saddlebag and extracted two slender, ornately-carved whale bone sticks which she used to scoop her long, thick hair off the back of her neck and secure it in a twist.

Essi squatted back down beside the little brook and let the cool water trace over the tender undersides of her wrists, cooling her veins and refreshing her as the breeze fluttered the light fabric against her skin. Much better, she thought, glancing up at Lambert. This new garment was more loosely-fitting, he noticed, save for the cinch that tied around her waist.

She looked nice—comfortable. She looked comfortable. The dress looked comfortable.

Essi smiled up at Lambert as she stood, pressing her damp hands to the sides of her neck and ooooh it felt nice. She thought she caught the smallest hint of a smile as the breeze wafted a bit of honeysuckle their way. He still looked tired, but he seemed lighter. Something new had come into his rugged, sun-tanned face. Boyish, maybe?

“Better?” Lambert asked. He barely waited for her to answer before he continued, “Let’s get moving, I want to make tracks before we lose our light.” Essi mounted without protest and they were on their way again, quietly riding single-file until they reached an acceptable spot to settle down for the night. Lambert left the travelling poet to make camp while he hunted for some dinner. Essi went about setting things up. She dug a small fire pit with a trowel she kept on hand, gathered kindling, and stacked it neatly to the side where it could be easily reached. Finally, she dragged two logs from the underbrush and placed them on either side of the small hole. It was, perhaps, a little domestic, but the witcher still seemed tired, and he was going out of his way to give her a safe escort through dangerous territory. She’d wondered earlier about offering him some coin for his trouble, especially seeing as he was doubling back and wouldn’t have any opportunity for new contracts. Then again, she’d thought, perhaps that might insult him, make him feel like a hired bodyguard. In the end, the very least she could do was help make the experience a little nicer. She could ask about payment when they arrived in Novigrad.

A loud whistle caught Essi’s attention and she turned to find Lambert approaching with what looked like a squirming ball of fur. Upon closer inspection, it was a rather fat grey squirrel. “Dinner,” Lambert announced, looking pleased with himself. He held the creature toward her, “Care to do the honours?” He waggled his eyebrows facetiously. The witcher had always prided himself on his capacity to read people, to pick up on the little things that others might miss, second-guess, or excuse away. So far, after nearly five hours on the road with Essi Daven, Lambert still couldn’t get a clear read on her, and he decided (for whatever reason) the quickest way was to hand her a small animal.

Essi looked down at the wriggling creature cupped in Lambert’s hand, her eyes devoid of any specific expression. The poet could have been feeling anything: shock and horror, stony rage, remorse, awe… casual hesitation. In fact, the only feeling that wasn’t in the running was glee, and while Lambert hadn’t expected it in the first place, it was still a relief to know he wasn’t sharing his camp with a psychopath. But what was she going to do with it, this wide-eyed, innocent-faced, prim young traveler? Probably some tree-hugger shit like let it go.

Essi lowered her eyes to the wriggling rodent. It had been a while since she’d had to procure a live meal. She could have declined, easily, graciously, and her witcher companion would probably have shrugged and thought ‘no surprise there’. But she knew a schoolboy’s smart-assery when she saw it—the audacious victory behind his bright citrine eyes told her everything she needed to know about what he was expecting from this brief-but-loaded exchange. A shriek, a gasp in horror, perhaps a distressed stomp of her feet and fitful shake of her gilded head?

Essi reached a slow, dainty hand towards the squirrel, enveloping the soft, furry body as Lambert mentally prepared himself to go set another snare. There was no way this bard would ever be the type to—

Crunch.

—Lambert’s face went slack as the now-very-limp squirrel was handed back to him.

“I wouldn’t’ve thought a witcher would be so squeamish,” Essi remarked, casually wiping her hands on her skirt. Lambert said nothing but stared at her with a look of defeated befuddlement. She fired again, her sweet, melodic voice dripping with offhanded superiority, “Was that all? Or do you need me to clean it, too?” She blinked blankly once again as Lambert gaped, even less sure what to make of the young woman who had just snapped a rodent’s neck.

“No,” he answered petulantly. “I can do it.” He pulled his buck knife from its sheath on his thigh and went about his business. He was quiet and brief with her for the rest of the evening, and she was beginning to feel her own irritation mount. She had half a mind to bite back the next time he snapped at her for asking a simple question. Though, she admitted, he didn’t seem the type to back down easily. If she prodded at him, he might decide to leave her, and they were on a different route, completely unfamiliar to her. She’d be as good bear food without his directions.

No, she decided, it was best not to go digging and let whatever it was that was eating at him subside on its own. With no assurance of peaceful conversation and nothing but the crackling of their small fire to drown out the distant howls of wolves, Essi asked if she could play quietly on her lute—not too loudly, she promised, remembering what all she knew about a witcher’s senses, how sensitive they are. She’d asked in her usual straightforward way, her big blue eyes blinking slowly at him from across the fire. A simple request, and one that he couldn’t very well deny at the risk of being a Grade A Jackass.

Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to claim that title, but Essi didn’t deserve that. Stranger or no, she’d been quiet and courteous, and had shown herself to be witty and good-humoured to boot, laughing at even his crassest jokes. So what could he do but bob his head from side to side and relent, reserving the right to end it if he deemed it necessary. He’d met enough bards in his time to know that his and their definitions of “quietly” were rarely on the same page of the dictionary.

But Essi kept her word, and took up a slow, gentle melody that drifted airily through the fading twilight. The witcher might even have called it pleasant, as the dusky grey shifted to darker and darker shades of nighttime. Lambert took out his whetstone and, after a few strokes along his dulled steel blade, found his mind wandering. The poet’s voice was captivating without demanding attention—sometimes clear and bright, but never piercing or imposing; occasionally breathy, but always expressive. His eye drifted to the instrument in her hands, no longer content to merely hear the music, but wanting to watch its creation. The taut catgut strings pressed divots into thick calluses on her left hand as she fingered the fretboard, her hands flexing no differently than if she were playing at full volume. But how was she strumming so quietly? Shit, gotta keep focused. Stay on task. The whetstone once again returned to steel as Lambert pulled his mind back from its daze.

It wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back to the instrument cradled against the musician’s midriff. It looked delicate. Like something that could shatter if he held it wrong. Glancing to the hand nearest him, he could now see she was using the soft pad of her thumb to strum rather than her fingernails, which were long and carefully-shaped; well-honed in that sense, Lambert mused. He’d never paid attention to a musician this closely. They always drew crowds in the cities and experience had taught him that performers on the road were just as likely to pick a man’s pocket as they were to put on a show. But this was different. Essi wasn’t performing—on the contrary, she almost seemed to be in some kind of trance. She wasn’t even looking at her hands most of the time, and from the lyrics, Lambert began to wonder whether she was making it up as she went along. It was impressive, the way she knew her instrument so well. Despite his previous feelings of irritation at having had his ass handed to him, he couldn’t deny skill when he saw it, and Essi was clearly a master of her craft.

The whetstone had been silent for close to a full verse when Essi looked up, wondering if perhaps the witcher was growing tired of the noise. She found Lambert closely examining the hone of his blade, and so, thinking nothing of it, went back to her playing. It took him longer than usual to sharpen his swords. Longer still to replenish his potions and oils. He should’ve made quick work of it. Would have, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the music so… pleasant. It was difficult to meditate. Not because he couldn’t relax, but because he didn’t want to stop listening. He just—there was something about… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t important. Get the shit together for tomorrow, go to bed, get up, and hope you don’t have any trouble on the road.

Lambert laid out his bed roll and the music silenced abruptly. “Oh, are you turning in? I’ll stop now,” Essi gently lay down her lute next to her saddle bags and started to get her own sleeping mat. It was thin, Lambert noticed, as he watched her set up. His long, tired body stretched out, hands beneath his head, as he stared up through the dense oak canopy above them.

“Thank you,” Essi said, now standing by his head.

Lambert craned his neck to try and see her properly and resorted to propping up on an elbow. “Yeah? What for?”

“For finding us food and for letting me play a little,” she said with that same matter-of-factness that made Lambert feel both comfortable and uneasy.

“Yeah, well,” Lambert flopped back down on his bedroll, “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, we gotta keep moving in the morning. I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to.” He waved a dismissive hand in Essi’s direction, and she took that as her cue to leave him alone and be quiet.

“Goodnight, Lambert,” she murmured softly before turning and crossing back to the other side of the fire. She settled under her blankets and, after some drawn-out negotiations with a few poorly-located lumps in the ground, she was able to lie still and close her eyes. The insides of her eyelids flickered orange with the fire as it danced beside her. Before sleep took her, she heard a muffled voice from across the flames.

“G’night, Essi.” ---- Essi rose early, but not early enough for her travelling companion. The fire had already been doused and buried, and Lambert’s things were all neatly packed away and ready to be loaded onto Royal. Both horses were still hitched, and sleepily nibbling on some dewy crabgrass as the grey mists of early morning lingered. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to burn away the moisture, and Essi bundled her blanket around her shoulders against the chill. Lambert, she presumed, was off doing something witcher-y—taking a leak more like, she wagered as her own bladder complained. The moment he returned, Essi shot up from her log and headed into the trees.

“Just where do you think yo—”

“I have to piss!” she called back over her shoulder as she traipsed into the dense wood.

“Heh, good morning to you, too!” Lambert scrubbed his hand through his scruffy brown hair and ambled back to the fireside to begin packing and saddling the horse. When he arrived, he saw Essi’s things were also neatly packed away and stacked by her own mount. He offered a brief nod of approval before stowing his things, making quick work of the well-practiced process. By the time Essi returned, not only was Royal fully-prepared and Lambert armed and armoured, but Ginger was also mostly packed with the exception of one bag and the lute, which was cradled in the witcher’s hands as he crouched near the ground. She paused a little distance away and waited, observing as she listened to the faint sound of strings being delicately plucked.

Lambert looked up, embarrassed. “I uh… sorry.”

“What for?”

Lambert stood carefully as Essi approached and dropped his gaze, holding out the fragile instrument for it to be angrily snatched back. The musician paused for a moment, observing this gesture of cowed humility. It was a habit, she suspected, born from decades of harsh punishment without explanation, frivolous harm without justification. Essi could sense the shame as it rolled off his shoulders, the prickly-heat of defense building under his skin. She took the lute and a swell of sadness washed through at the stark evidence of the world’s cruelty—that a man should be ashamed for a little harmless curiosity only told one story: pleasure’s not for you.

Lambert looked up to find Essi still standing there, staring at the lute in her hands. “Did… did I…?” he pointed to the instrument.

“No,” she smiled softly, “not at all. And I’m not bothered that you looked at it. If you like, you can look at it again. I can even show you a chord or two?”

“Ah,” the witcher scratched the top of his head, “that’s okay. It’s, uh… I mean it seems like it’s good—well-made. Never seen one up-close like that.” There was a lull in conversation as Lambert ran out of things to say. But Essi just stood where she was, smiling her little enigmatic smile and blinking at him. He turned back to the horses, and motioned for Essi to do the same, “I, um, packed up your stuff, well most of it.”

Essi took the hint and followed suit, strapping the few remaining things to Ginger before mounting. After a brief survey of the area to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two were off, Essi following behind as Lambert continued on his shortcut through what mainly seemed to be wilderness for the first several miles. They finally emerged at a small footpath, though, and Essi finally got her bearings. They were back in familiar territory, at least for the time being, and it was proving to be a beautiful morning. Even Lambert seemed to be in a better mood, offering her things to eat along the way, and even starting his own little snippets of conversation.

It was an hour or so after midday that Lambert’s ears pricked at the sound of hooves in the distance. Could be soldiers, could be travellers… could be bandits. After a few minutes, they seemed to fade, and the witcher relaxed a little as the path took them into a wooded area by yet another stream, though this one was deep and flowing quickly. Better keep my ears sharp, Lambert thought as they rode along. Water’s too loud. Can’t hear for shit. They stopped next to the water to stretch their legs and replenish their drinking vessels again. The rest of the journey would take them mostly through high ground without much shade, and swampland. Any water they wanted to have with them, it was now or never until they reached Novigrad the next day.

Lambert relieved himself against a nearby tree while Essi washed her face and, having determined the coast was clear, gave her the go-ahead to have a squat in the underbrush. He was still on the alert. It wasn’t a high-traffic area, so in theory bandits would be less interested in diverting from the main road. On the other hand, a less-trafficked area meant less chance of a hideout being discovered. But it smelled okay, although the wind was coming across the water. And it sounded okay, although the water was so damn loud. And things looked okay, aside from the fact that there was only so far even a witcher could see without trees getting in the way.

A twig snapped in the woods behind him and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, his hand mechanically finding the grip of his steel sword. He chanced a glance back into the woods—Fuck it, what’s the point of modesty if you’re dead? Another twig, this time from another location beyond the line of trees. There was a flash of golden hair as Essi finished her business and stood up, straightening her skirt. She turned to Lambert, ready to scold him for looking until she saw his hand on his sword. Somewhere in the near-distance, a horse whickered. The witcher lifted his finger to his lips and the poet stood stock-still, her hand slowly reaching for the small dagger at her waist as her heart beat heavily in her chest. Something rustled to Lambert’s left, and he turned, stepping quietly as he stalked in the general direction of the sound. It wasn’t wolves or Endregas, they were too high for Drowners, too woodsy for Nekkers.

Essi watched with interest as the witcher’s body went on full alert, his senses sharpening, his posture shifting, muscles coiling to accommodate any number of reflexes. She scanned the trees in front of them then looked back out to the road, marking the location of her horse in the event Lambert told her to run. A large horse came to a standstill beyond the edge of the woods somewhere and Lambert froze, listening carefully for sounds of footfalls or rustling clothing.The gears started to click a little faster as Lambert entertained the possibility they were being surrounded. He flicked his left hand at Essi in the direction of the road: get out of the woods. Quietly. Without a second thought, she began to carefully make her way back to the road as silently as she could, Lambert following, his eyes still searching.

Just as Essi’s feet met the smooth dirt path, a beefy arm wrapped tightly around her waist. But the brute was foolish enough not to cover her mouth first, and Essi let loose a loud, powerful scream that a witcher would have heard at least a mile away. Lambert abandoned his methodical retreat from the woods and came crashing onto the path, fixing his eye dangerously on his target as he circled his sword around his wrist. The witcher felt a rush of angry heat flare under his skin at the sight of Essi kicking and clawing in the bandit’s sweaty grip. He was large, reeked of booze and the funk of cured meat. Essi fought the urge to gag at the stench of his clothes as she did her best to keep her mind sharp, or else risk becoming collateral damage. Her best bet: keep her eyes on Lambert.

“Hands off the bard and you might keep your head,” the witcher barked as he approached. “Can’t make any promises about your other appendages, though.” He wanted to lunge, run him through, gut him and leave him to the wargs... but it was too risky. He was holding Essi too tightly, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t snap her neck if Lambert took a wrong step. To make matters worse, the trees were full of footsteps. Eight, maybe ten men. Hmmm.

“Oh-ho-ho, look what we got, lads!” the bandit called to his approaching comrades as they began to filter out from the woods. “Your plaything still any good, witcher? Or have you ruined the fun for the rest of us?” The man grasped roughly at Essi’s breasts and Lambert felt his stomach drop as her eyes met his. He knew the look that was waiting for him behind those eyes, that broken terrified look of “I trusted you.” But the look never came. Those big beautiful blue eyes were steely and determined in spite of the fear he knew was churning in the background and he felt a thrill of triumph. Essi was still with him in whatever this was about to turn into. Not only that, she was thinking something, devising a plan. Lambert hoped to Gods it wasn’t something stupid. What is it, Essi? What are you thinking?

As if in answer to his question, Essi tilted her head, seductively baring her neck to her aggressor as Lambert’s options quickly decreased, the other bandits starting to close in, clearly in no rush, confident that they could easily take one man even if he did have two swords on his back and eyes like a cat. Sure boys, that’s going to go real well for you. He did a quick circle, taking stock of their exact locations before turning back to Essi, watching carefully as her hand traced up the outside of the bandit’s right leg. Yes, Essi, come on, come on, come on…

The man rasped something foul in her ear, but all she could hear was the sound of her ears ringing and her own heart beating out of her chest as she did her best to focus on the task at hand. She barely knew what she was doing, but the witcher was watching her every move intently, and that somehow made whatever she was about to do feel possible. She felt her thumb brush the cool handle of her dagger, and Lambert nodded almost imperceptibly. Do it.

With a swift, fluid movement, she plunged the short blade into the man’s side and he roared in pain as his compatriots mulled around in confusion, their fisstech-addled minds still catching up. Lambert took the opportunity and sliced through the three nearest him with swift, clean strokes, focusing back in on Essi just in time to see her take a right hook to the face. She fell to the ground and blinked heavily, her vision blurry and head spinning. Her fingers found a large rock as a pair of meaty hands grabbed her legs, pulling her across the rough dirt road. She scrambled and turned, bringing the heavy rock squarely to the side of the man’s head with a sickening crack. He fell limply to the ground as the poet found her way to shaky legs, the makeshift weapon falling limply from her hand.

From out of the chaos of grunts and screams and clanging weapons, Essi heard her name, “GET OUT, GO, GO!” It was Lambert. Without a second thought she stumbled the short distance to Ginger and mounted, bolting across the river and holding on for dear life. She rode until the horse slowed, until she wasn’t sure where she was or whether the river she’d stopped beside was the same river or a different one. Essi dismounted and only then noticed that her hands were shaking. Interesting, she thought, as she was overcome with trembling and heaving sobs. I suppose this is what they mean when they say ‘fear catches us later’. She sat on a boulder and listened to the clear water, waiting for Lambert to find her.

#Essi Daven/Lambert #Lambert/Essi #rarepair #thank you Lambert #and I'm sorry #more to come!#Stay tuned #The witcher #Lambert #Essi Daven #Bardcore: dark mode

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oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co · 4 years

Text

Once upon a time in a land far, far away there was a beautiful princess. Hated by her influential, evil younger sisters, and banished from her kingdom, she lived in constant terror. A target for ruthless assassins, surrounded by deadly traps and blood-thirsty monsters, she fought for her life. In desperation, she sought the help of a famous witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

Geralt cut down her pursuers with a few graceful swings of his sword. He swirled in the air, his fluid movements both elegant and deadly, blood spilling, screams ringing in her ears. Poisoned apples, arsenic in hot chocolate, arrows suddenly shooting from dark windows of abandoned houses, old ladies turning into gorgons, nothing seemed to faze him. Somehow, he single-handedly chased away the stormy clouds of her fears. With him protecting her, her paralyzing panic dissolved into a warm feeling of trust and safety.

Then, imperceptibly, her reliance on him turned into something more.

One day, as they were hiding in a little cottage at the edge of the forest, she looked at him sharpening his sword. His face appeared soft in the warm glow of the fireplace. She was just about to confess her feelings to him, when a loud knock on the door made her jump.

‘Who is it?’ Geralt asked, his deep, low voice resonating in the silence of the cottage.

‘You know bloody well who the fuck this is. Let me in,’ a sweet, musical voice announced from behind the door. It took him just a few seconds to lose his patience. ‘Geralt?’ He kicked the door with annoyance. ‘You can’t be serious.’

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked at the princess, apologetically. ‘That’s just my… bard. This will only take a moment,’ he said, quietly so the person behind the door wouldn’t hear.

‘Oh, just your bard, you bastard?’ the voice snapped back. ‘I have absolute pitch and can hear you clear as day. Be warned, I’ll make motherfucking sure to take all the time I need, just wait and see.’

Geralt blinked a few times and opened the door.

The princess saw a youngish-looking overdressed man, with messy brown hair, hands on his hips, and pure outrage written all over his face. He looked at Geralt, eyes narrowing, and then looked down, both hands pointing at his destroyed trousers. His knees were covered in dry mud, fabric torn in multiple places. ‘Did you not see me running behind Roach this morning?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Well, I ran. And I slipped. It was quite impressive.’

Geralt didn’t seem convinced. ‘You expect me to believe you didn’t change right away?’

The man flinched, annoyed. ‘I didn’t… for the sake of a dramatic entrance,’ he admitted with a huff.

‘Ah.’

‘Didn’t you see me wave when you were passing through the town?’

‘I did.’

‘And it didn’t occur to you to stop?’

‘I’m working.’

‘Sure. You’re always fucking working these days, as long as that work takes you far, far away from me.’

‘Jaskier, this is not the time.’

‘Of course it’s not, it never fucking is. It’s been weeks.’ He was furious and there was no stopping him.

‘Jaskier-’

‘I know what you’re doing, you know? It’s the oldest trick in the book. I won’t be dismissed like this. I know how this goes. It finally happens… and then the man magically disappears. Poof! I wake up to a fucking cloud of smoke.’

‘Don’t-’

Jaskier was fuming. ‘You fucking coward,’ he seethed.

Geralt stepped back, calm but the first cracks in his composure were beginning to show. ‘Could you just-’

‘No, Geralt. I can’t just, that’s the point.’ He licked his lips, and took a deep breath, attempting to calm down. ‘If I was a fucking stranger, it would be understandable, to an extent. But oh…' He laughed sadly at the thought. ‘I’m so far from a stranger, Geralt. So fucking far.’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and rubbed his fingers together, nervously. ‘If you had a grain of respect…’ he continued. ‘Any fucking inkling of what it feels like to be abandoned so you can go be some macho, monster-killing protector of fair maidens.’ He stared at Geralt with suspicion. ‘Are you compensating for something?’

The princess walked up to the door, a bit shaken by the situation. Geralt’s eyes passively followed her before he turned back to Jaskier. ‘I need you to leave,’ he stated simply, and Jaskier seemed hurt, eyes a bit glassy.

Jaskier inhaled sharply, ready to retort but then stopped himself. ‘You know what?’ he said, finally, voice controlled. ‘I don’t care. Stay with fucking…’

‘…Flora,’ she added, shyly.

‘Flora, thank you.’ He looked towards her for a moment and bowed his head a bit before turning back to Geralt. ‘So proper, pretty and nice. She’s…’

‘…a princess,’ she said with some pride, and Jaskier nodded in acknowledgment.

‘Impressive, Geralt, well done. I wish you both all the best. I’m sure Geralt will look extremely attractive with a crown on his head. I can already picture it... the prestige, the class, the elegance.’ Suddenly a thought hit him, and he blinked a few times. ‘Wait… the princess Flora?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your story is all the rage amongst the royals. So much compassion for your banishment.’

‘Really?’ She seemed surprised.

‘Especially in Redenia. They would take you in, no second thoughts. Prince Phillip is desperate to find you. He commissioned multiple ballads about your golden hair and charming smile, so sentimental. Valdo Marx wrote some truly abysmal stanzas about your teeth. Whoever thinks teeth is the right angle?’ Jaskier rolled his eyes.

‘Fucking teeth,’ Geralt muttered under his breath.

‘Right?’ Jaskier turned to Geralt, and both nodded in agreement for a moment.

Then Jaskier turned to her, attentive. ‘There’s no reason for you to keep running. You’re completely fine.’

‘Oh.’

‘What was I saying?’ Jaskier was distracted again. ‘Oh, I found this at the threshold.’ He held out a neatly packaged present with a fancy, silk bow. He was surprised when both Flora and Geralt moved away slightly. ‘It’s just a present, nothing scary. I know some of us have issues accepting nice things but let’s be reasonable about this.’

‘Jaskier, put that down,’ Geralt growled, instantly turning from frustrated to protective. ‘Throw it the fuck away.’

‘Now you care, don’t you?’

‘Put. It. Down.’

Jaskier shook his head, eyes set on Geralt. ‘So invested all of a sudden. Who would have imagined?’ He pulled on the bow, enjoying Geralt’s nervousness.

‘Don’t be a fucking idiot.’ Geralt launched forwards, and grabbed the box. Jaskier pulled back. It split. Something tiny and swift slipped out of the tear and ran up Jaskier’s arm. Before either of them managed to respond, the creature bit Jaskier and disappeared.

‘Fuck, Geralt,’ Jaskier squealed, not a trace of previous annoyance in his voice. He stared down in disbelief. ‘My feet! I can’t feel them! Or move them! I’m… turning into stone?’ he whined, half scared, half offended by the ridiculousness of the predicament.

‘Shit,’ Geralt hissed, frantically looking through the box. He found a letter and read it hastily. ‘Fuck,’ he summarised.

‘What?’

‘It’s one of these curses that needs true love’s kiss to be lifted.’

‘I thought these were just legends,’ he whispered, already contemplating the possibilities.

‘That’s what it says.’

‘Well, fine.’ Jaskier was in no place to argue. He could already feel his knees turning numb. ‘Just do it.’

‘What? Me? Are you joking?’

‘Well, who do you think? I’m sure this will work, relax.’ He gave it a second thought, and suddenly panicked a bit. ‘Does it say if it needs to be reciprocated?’

‘It doesn’t go into that much detail.’

‘Then just do it. I’m not asking for much, am I? I mean… if it’s going to save my life.’

Geralt reluctantly came closer. ‘Just don’t be disappointed if it does nothing,’ he growled, some actual concern in his voice.

‘Yes, sure. Just make it good. You know, in case you never do it again.’

Geralt didn’t give it a second thought.

He grabbed Jaskier and pulled him close as if he weighed nothing, tossing him around like a rag doll. Jaskier held on to him, barely managing to keep his balance, his fingers pulling on Geralt’s shirt. His eyes grew wide as he felt Geralt wrapping his hand around his waist, another supporting his spine and tipping him backwards. Suspended above the ground, he clawed at Geralt’s straining muscles, both uncomfortable and mildly impressed.

Finally, Geralt leaned towards Jaskier and went for it. Sadly, it was no more than a lingering peck, completely impersonal.

Jaskier whacked Geralt’s shoulder a few times, frustrated.

Geralt smiled snidely in response, still not breaking away but keeping his lips pressed together, and the kiss shallow. The moment Jaskier accepted his fate, Geralt deepened it, perhaps too much, surprising him.

Jaskier grunted with disapproval but then, as Geralt turned from playful to passionate, he instantly eased into it, melting into Geralt’s arms, his displeased moans transforming into a satisfied rumble at the back of his throat.

This somehow encouraged Geralt who became surprisingly involved, and then quickly pulled away, shocked by things turning so genuine.

Jaskier was having none of that. He pulled Geralt back and returned the kiss in earnest, clinging on to him with iron determination.

Flora stared, startled, somehow more petrified than Jaskier. She cleared her throat to attract their attention but they ignored her. They were approaching the task with full dedication which had little to do with any princesses or even curses. After a while, they slowed down, both panting, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, faces flushed, hearts racing.

Geralt looked at Jaskier. The image turned borderline hazy and he was surprised by a sudden influx of strong emotions, which he was afraid to give a name to. The most ridiculous, sentimental thoughts passed through his head, and he flinched. ‘Fuck.’ Not again. He blinked a few times but the feeling was not going away.

Then he stared down at Jaskier’s feet. When he looked back up, Geralt appeared as if he fell head first into a dark void. Even his hair was messy as if shaken the moment he hit the rock bottom. ‘Jaskier, fucking shit. Oh, gods.’

Jaskier froze, terrified. Although his legs felt normal now, it could have been an illusion. He spent a few seconds imagining his own slow and painful demise. ‘What?’ he asked, finally, afraid to look down. ‘Did it fail? Am I getting worse?’

‘No. Fuck, no. It worked like a dream.’

‘Oh.’ Jaskier lit up, feeling relieved and finally breathing easy, but then processed Geralt’s response. ‘Oh.’

‘This can’t be true,’ Geralt growled with disbelief.

Jaskier was insulted but also a bit compassionate. Confronting his feelings was such a struggle for Geralt every single time. ‘Facts are facts,’ he shrugged, aiming for casual but his smugness was undeniable. ‘Things could have been much worse, though, right?’

‘Could they?’ Geralt didn’t seem convinced.

‘I’m going to go on a limb here and assume you didn’t really want me to turn into a statue. Am I right, Geralt? You don’t want your best friend in the whole wide world to die, correct?’

Geralt just grunted in response but didn’t seem entirely sure.

Jaskier tossed back his hair, some repressed anger in the movement, but remained undeterred. ‘It was a bit much, let’s admit, such an all or nothing situation, but…’ he was failing to hide his excitement. ‘I mean… At least this brings us some clarity, some much needed clarity, considering, well…’

‘Shut up, Jaskier. Just-’

‘There’s no shame in having some feelings, especially positive ones.’ Jaskier smiled encouragingly but his expression faded as he met Geralt’s vacant eyes.

Geralt massaged his temples with a groan. ‘Maybe this doesn’t really mean anything?’ he asked, trace amounts of hope in his voice.

‘Eeeeh…’ Jaskier was not quite sure how to respond and let out an uncomfortable laugh instead.

When he stopped, the silence was deafening.

‘We could…’ Jaskier started but was unable to continue because this beginning alone made Geralt appear scared for a lack of a better word. ‘No, I don’t mean, ehm.’ He hesitated. ‘I just mean we could ignore the curse and just trust our guts. You know… Was that good for you by any chance? Not to be presumptuous but I had a strong feeling…’

Geralt’s eyes somehow managed to become even more distant. Jaskier swallowed, loudly.

‘This was not what it seemed,’ Geralt announced, angrily.

‘Right, yes, fine, of course. No, sure, I understand. That’s clear too, see?’ Jaskier blabbered on, sweating slightly. ‘We’re doing so well. Clarity all round. So much… clarity.’ His eyes grew wider and he sighed. ‘I might, just… I don’t know. Kill myself now, maybe?’

‘That would defeat the purpose.’

‘Well, yes, it would, wouldn’t it?’ Jaskier nodded eagerly. ‘In that case I can’t, surely. Who would want that kind of sacrifice to go to waste? I have to live so bloody long now, just to compensate… No death for me.’ He shook his head. ‘Killing monsters is one thing but this, I mean, oh boy. Maybe I should…’ he chuckled, unable to stop himself ‘…pay you.’

Geralt laughed despite himself and some of the tension dissolved into the air.

‘Great,’ Jaskier sighed, relieved. ‘We have an answer now. We’re so… great.’ His awkwardness turned into intense sadness all of a sudden, eyes watering slightly.

‘Jaskier?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t… start this again. We’re upsetting her.’

Jaskier stared at Flora for a second as if he was surprised by her very existence. ‘How the fuck is she more important than me? She’s a bloody stranger.’ He turned to her, apologetic. ‘With all due respect, but it is what it is.’

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but he already turned away from her, upset and focused on Geralt.

‘Could you please acknowledge that something actually happened here? Can you? Can we finally moved pass this fucking… repressive nonsense of yours, and stop tiptoeing around the issue?’

They both turned towards the door for a second, hearing it close behind Flora.

Geralt shook his head and turned back to Jaskier. His eyes softened a bit, and he groaned quietly, annoyed with himself. ‘You will never give up on this, right?’

‘Right,’ Jaskier proclaimed with pride, his chest puffed slightly.

‘Fine,’ he said with a sigh.

Jaskier stared at him in total disbelief. ‘Really?’ he asked, his voice overflowing with anticipation and hope.

Geralt just grunted in agreement, and shrugged his shoulders.

And they lived happily ever after.

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

Dedicated to @lovelyrita1967 ❤️

Published on OA3 as The Lonely Princess.

Thanks to @booichiboo @ohmybgosh

@variousnoises @valdomarx @ro-the-bard-writer @carmillacarmine @thelastsock @ikeptupwiththejoneses @purpleonionofsex @katesierra @jaskierswolf @geraskierficrecs @ficrecs4me123

#geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fic #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fic #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #gerlion #the witcher and the bard #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt #geralt of rivia #fairy tales #happy ending

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

Text

The Witcher and the Princess: Smoldering

Geralt x Reader

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

Warnings: Language, angst, sad fluff

She came downstairs with bloody knuckles and a brooding attitude. He half expected her to wander away and find a table as far from him as she could, but instead she silently sat across from him, hiding her hands beneath the table.

“After you eat, we’re leaving.”

“I’m not eating,” she muttered, boring holes into the table with fiery eyes.

“You need to-,”

“I’m not eating!” she snapped, slamming her hand against the table. He reached for her hand, the wounds on her knuckles reopening in the movement. She flinched back and glared at him. “Don’t try and bully me. You might be able to in private but out here men want nothing more than to protect pretty girls from men they don’t understand.”

“Whatever your drunk mind tells you, I didn’t bully you.”

“I wasn’t drunk! I had one damn drink before you decided to drag me out. I was as sober as you are right now. So there’s no need to lie.” He was surprised, but he masked it with a furrowed brow and fiery eyes.

“Fine, we’ll leave. But don’t expect us to stop,” he growled, slinging his pack over his shoulder and left the pub, fuming.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she yelled back, marching after him and mounting her horse, defiantly avoiding eye contact as she urged her horse into a gallop. Geralt had no problem catching up with her and proceeding to leave her in the dust.

He didn’t even care where they were going, he just wanted to run her until she begged him to stop. He wanted to hear her screaming over the rush of the wind, pleading for restitution.

And then he wanted to pretend that he couldn’t hear her. This experience was a lesson, that not all gold was equal.

The sun pulled itself high into the sky and scorched their backs. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he could hear her panting close behind him, but still he pushed forward. Eventually the sun dipped, and the world turned black. It was only by the light of the moon that he could see her, still following as closely as the horse could manage. Their path turned from rolling hills to jagged cliffs and the air began to smell of salt. They had ridden near the ocean, meaning that despite his lack of attention they were still on track, and moving much quicker than intended. Not even half of a month had passed, and they were already a third of the way through the journey. They would have to stop soon, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, he didn’t want to go the whole day without gaining the satisfaction of hearing her complain.

He pushed Roach harder and soon the sound of hoofbeats faded from two sets to one. He pulled his horse to a stop and turned around, watching as the princess dug her heels into the side of her motionless horse. He rode back to her and found her foaming with frustration.

“Please go,” she was crying, pleading with the horse, who seemed deaf to her cries.

“It seems your horse has decided we will camp here for the night.” Her eyes blinked to his, angry tears streaming down her face.

“There is still time to continue. The horse can stay here if it doesn’t want to fulfill its duties,” she proclaimed, sliding from her horse, pulling her pack onto her shoulders, and beginning the trek on her own. He could see the limp in her step, the sign of an inexperienced horse rider shining through any denial of pain.

“Any further movement tonight is useless.”

“All progression, no matter how small, is progression,” she argued pushing forwards. He nudged an exhausted Roach forward, leaving the white steed behind.

“Y/N, stop.”

“Are you tired?” she spat, and a growl rumbled in his chest. He caught up to her with ease, and their journey continued.

She walked beside him, steps steady and shoulders back. She was coated in sweat and dust, her legs bowed from the excruciating pain he knew she was feeling, and yet she continued.

She did not complain, not even once.

Even when her feet had grown so heavy, they caught on a shallow lift in the rock and she had hit the ground with a heavy thud, she had silently pulled herself up with an aching slowness and continued. He had worried that she would not rise, that the day’s exhaustion and her body’s protest would keep her close to the ground, but she had proved him wrong. He was sure that was the only thing that was keeping her going, spite.

As the cliffs began to slope towards the beach a small town appeared that he proclaimed their final stop for the night. She nodded and pulled her pack against her a little tighter. The last mile was torturously slow. Her breaths were tight and shallow, but even when he had offered her a spot on Roach she had shook her head and pushed forward. It was not until they rode up to an inn that she allowed herself to lean against a post, swiping away tears and sweat.

It was a gay little inn, singing flowing into the street. The night’s regulars had most likely settled into their chairs and begun their rendition of whatever their local bard whipped up for them. He pushed open the door and Y/N followed him inside, stifling a yawn. He glanced around for the innkeeper, and found his search interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Geralt, is that really you?” Jaskier called from his place on the stage. He jumped to the floor and pushed through the crowd to join him.

“Hello Jaskier,” he grunted, not quite joining him in his joy.

“Share a drink with an old friend?”

“Who’s this?” a very exhausted Y/N asked from behind him, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn.

“I am Jaskier, travelling companion and world-famous bard. But who are you?”

“Y/N, princess, package, and extremely tired,” she informed him and Jaskier gawked at the pair, his arm wrapping around the princess, who seemed to be falling asleep on her feet.

“Is this how you treat princesses?” he asked, aghast at her appearance.

“Stubborn ones,” Geralt grunted and she sent him a glare, nudging him with all the energy she could manage. “But that drink.”

“Ah of course, but first let me escort your friend to my room. I have a bath already drawn and a warm bed that you can rest in while two old friends catch up,” he informed her and she nodded softly, leaning into his shoulder as he led her away. She stumbled on the stairs and he caught her around the waist, hand lingering on her hip. Geralt watched the interaction, fists clenching, yearning for nothing more than to rip off the offending arm.

It wasn’t long before he was back and leading Geralt to a table in a far corner, two drinks in his hands.

“So, tell me about your princess,” he prodded, lyrics to a new song practically writing themself across his face.

“I am escorting her, to her husband,” he grunted, downing his drink in a single gulp.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Could have fooled me, oh mighty Witcher,” he said, a smile etching itself on his face. “Based on the state of her I would have guessed that she had had a run in with a stubborn man.”

“She’s a spoiled brat.”

“Who you care for.”

“Horse shit. She is a package at best.”

“If she was simply a package you wouldn’t be trying so hard to make her hate you. If she was just a package she would still look as shiny and new as the day you pulled her from her home. Yet, she’s sobbing in frustration the moment your out of sight.” He snapped his head towards the stairs and then back to Jaskier, searching for any sign of a lie.

“She’s engaged.”

“Never stopped me.”

“She despises every fiber of my being.”

“And that’s never stopped you, so would you just go upstairs and apologize to her before we actually have a drink.”

“You conniving so of a-,”

“Save the insults for when we’re both drunk.” Geralt rolled his eyes and climbed the stairs to the door Jaskier had directed him to.

He pushed the door open and her teary eyes snapped to his. She was instantly wiping away tears, putting on a brave face for the man who had brought her such distress.

“Is everything okay?” she asked and he nodded, approaching her cautiously. The grime of the day had been scrubbed away and only a few marks still marred her appearance. Her cheek was scratched from her fall along the cliffs, the muscles in her legs shook from the horse, and her knuckles fresh, having been torn open sometime throughout the day.

“Are you okay?” She nodded, sniffing softly at the lie. He took the beaten knuckles into his hands and wrapped bandages around the tender flesh. It was when she didn’t pull away from the act of tenderness that he knew all the fight had left her body. Her eyes were sad as they watched him, tears welling in her eyes when he wound them a little too tightly. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine. Shouldn’t have punched the wall,” she muttered. When the wounds were wrapped, she pulled her hands back to her lap, but he pulled them back to him.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, for everything,” he whispered. She was surprised to say the least, and it was written all over her face. Tears collected in her eyes again and before he knew it she was crying into his arms. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?”

“I just want to be free,” she sobbed, arms wrapping around his neck as she shook. “Seventy-five days and it’s over, it’s all over.” She inconsolable now, the exhaustion revealing more than the drink ever could. “My life will be over, caught in the claws of destiny.”

“It’s not the end,” he assured her, patting her back pathetically, but she only cried harder. It went on for several moments, her incoherent muttering drowned out by sobs and the fabric of his shirt. Eventually she pulled away and muttered an apology, wiping her eyes. He caught her cheeks in his hands, fingers swiping away the tears. His thumb lingered on the scar that she would be forced to cover up for the rest of her life and brushed it thoughtfully.

He didn’t dare to see how close they were. It was bad enough that he could feel her breath dancing across her skin. The proximity was torturous, and when he gathered the courage to look her in the eye any sense of logic left his body in a sharp exhale.

She was glistening in his hands, tears and innocence glittering in her eyes. And she was so close the soap she had cleaned herself with clogged his senses. He breathed her name and when she didn’t pull away from the moment, he plunged in head first.

His lips finally met hers and he almost came undone at the sigh she breathed into his mouth. Soft hands gathered in his hands, pulling him closer, the first bit of fight he had felt within her since he climbed the stairs and entered Jaskier’s bedroom.

Her lips tasted like honeysuckles and he could feel her long eyelashes brushing against his face, as delicate as butterfly wings in early spring. Her chest swelled against his and he was scrambling to hold her more tightly. He could barely breathe she was so intoxicating. And then it was over and he was craving more, but she looked so tired it seemed wrong. To exhaust her further and so he laid her in the bed and brushed her hair behind her ear before leaving her to the sleep her body so desperately craved.

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whitewolfandthefox · 4 years

Text

Stay With Me

This was a request sent in by @thenocturnalsyren I’ve cut a little bit of the prompt out because I thought it would spoil the ending, and we all know I hate doing that :P

Prompt: Can I get a Geralt x reader? He’s tasked to escort a princess (reader) to her betrothed’s kingdom. It’s a political marriage and she doesn’t know the prince she’s set to marry. Over the course of the journey, Geralt and the reader fall in love.

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Words: 8k

Summary: Geralt x reader; Geralt has been tasked with escorting you to complete a business deal with another family. He thinks it will be an easy job, but little does he know, the deal isn’t what it seems to be. And you have a secret you haven’t revealed.

A/N. Sooo, I’ve sat on this one for a while, so sorry! It also got super long, I was hoping to keep it under 3k and thaaaat didn’t happen. Oops!

Stay With Me

Geralt had fallen. Hard. He hadn’t expected to enjoy this journey as much as he did when they had started out, but he also hadn’t counted on you. The Witcher normally didn’t do escort jobs, but he and Jaskier had been short on coin and it had seemed fairly easy, so he’d agreed to take it. You were fairly agreeable as well; you didn’t complain, you helped with tasks around the camp, and Roach liked you, so obviously you were good to have along.

When the three of you had started out on your journey (Jaskier had come with you, proclaiming something about beautiful ladies being angry), you had been very quiet. The bard would try to draw you into conversations but you would just give him a small smile and deftly avoid the question or comment. Geralt had noticed this but didn’t do anything about it, figuring you were wary of the pair or perhaps that you thought yourself above them. He knew you came from a well-off family, but your title hadn’t been disclosed to them. You were travelling for a business deal, finalizing a contract between your two families. As your small group had departed in the middle of the night, the Witcher couldn’t help feeling suspicious of the true nature of the arrangement. For safety, he was told; a rival family had been after you recently, wanting the benefits of this deal for themselves. This didn’t sit right with him, but the coin was good, so he pushed the feeling aside.

After watching you for a few days, Geralt had decided you weren’t a threat. Sure, you were quiet, but you had started engaging with the pair and were always keen to help out. He shrugged before pushing you to the back of his mind, content that the next few weeks should be fairly easy and he would get decent pay out of it.

His assessment of you was shaken about two weeks into the journey. You had relaxed around them, even starting to respond to Jaskier’s gentle attempts to include you. The bard had been delighted at your responses, slowly working his way under your skin. You were funny, you had little quips that you would fire back at him followed by your clear laugh ringing through the air. Geralt had thought that maybe he would have had to keep him away from you but Jaskier had been on his best behavior, not going past any mild flirting. The Witcher had chalked it up to the fact Jaskier was respecting that Geralt was travelling with them as well, not wanting to suffer the Witcher’s silent glare he directed at the bard whenever he engaged in a tryst within earshot.

Though still wary, Geralt gradually grew to realize he enjoyed your company. Your laugh would coax a faint smile out of him; you left gentle touches on his shoulder as you passed him while setting up camp. He was astounded; normally nobles were disgusted by him, not wanting to get too close. You were different though: this was the most relaxed that Geralt had seen you since the journey had started.

What really transformed his opinion of you was when Geralt had awoken in the middle of the night to hear you crying. You had tried to keep quiet, muffling the sounds into your blanket as you sobbed. He hadn’t moved, not wanting to let you know that he was awake to overhear your misery. This happened this next several days: Geralt waking up to hear you crying softly to yourself. He never addressed it, only making sure that a plate of food was ready for you, gently pushing it in your direction. He was met with puffy, red rimmed eyes and a wet smile, a soft murmur of thanks occasionally accompanying them.

Geralt tried to push one day, asking you about where you were traveling and the real reason behind it. He didn’t know why he cared, but something wasn’t sitting right with him, and maybe he enjoyed your company and didn’t like seeing you so sad. Obviously this wasn’t just a regular business deal; an ordinary contract wouldn’t drive you to tears nearly every night. You had dodged the questions, giving generic answers that sounded like they had been memorized, as if for a test. When he asked about the details of the business deal, you shut down. You offered him a tight smile before announcing that the group needed more wood and disappearing into the trees. Jaskier had sent a glance at the Witcher, confused by your mood. “What was that about?”

Geralt could only offer a shrug, unable to answer the bard’s question. The two continued staring at the fire, letting their sore muscles relax after the long day of travel. The quiet was broken by a sudden scream. Geralt shot to his feet, sprinting into the woods before he had consciously decided to move and cursing himself for letting you go off on your own.

As he raced through the forest, he could hear the clash of steel on steel, punctuated by shouting, the sounds of a fight reaching him through the trees. He skidded to a stop in a clearing, sword in hand. As he frantically searched the area, a flash of light alerted him to a blade swinging for his head. He spun to the side, knocking the sword away and down with his own as he came face to face with you, wild-eyed as you dropped your weapon at the sight of him. He had forgotten that you wore a sword.

The Witcher gaped at you as Jaskier came running in behind him, the stunned silence that had fallen over the clearing broken by your sobs as tears spilled from your eyes. Jaskier was quick to wrap you in an embrace, shushing you as he ran a hand soothingly through your hair, supporting you as you sagged towards the ground. Geralt didn’t relax, sharp gaze scanning the clearing in an effort to determine what had happened. His confusion rose as he saw three bodies scattered across the ground, clearly having been dispatched by a blade.

It wasn't often that the Witcher was surprised. You were clearly competent with a sword; he couldn’t think of any other explanation for the three dead men and the bloodied blade you had dropped. Trusting Jaskier to look after you, he moved cautiously towards the men, kneeling next to the first one as he searched the body for clues that would give an indication of who had attacked you and why. As he looked at the uniform the first man was wearing, he recognized the Vaithan crest, a kingdom across the river from the one you had left. Sparing a glance at the other two, his frown grew as he saw the same uniforms adorning them. Why were Vaithan soldiers after you? Why were the royal guards getting involved in a business deal?

Investigation finished, Geralt approached the pair, drawing Jaskier’s attention as he neared. He gestured back towards your campsite, the bard understanding his silent request as he nudged you to a standing position, pulling you against himself to help support you. You stumbled along, eyes glassy as your breath hitched in short, shallow gasps.

Reaching your things, Geralt helped Jaskier get you onto the ground, busying himself with cleaning your sword as the other man continued to soothe you before turning his attention to the fire. His mind was whirling, confused thoughts surrounding you and the reasons behind your journey. There were people after you, that was clear, but he didn’t understand why. He was just adding more wood to stoke the flames when Jaskier’s low voice broke into his thoughts. The tone that the bard had used aroused concern in him.

“Geralt, can you come take a look at this?” As the Witcher approached, Jaskier held his arm out, hand covered in blood. Geralt’s heart shot into his mouth, panicked as he rushed towards the bard, hands darting out as he searched the man for the wound he had to have sustained.

“Geralt, Geralt! I’m fine! Geralt!” The bard was shouting at the man, slapping his hands away from his body. “It’s not mine!”

The Witcher froze as the words registered in his mind before turning his attention to you. He slowly moved to your other side, noting how your eyes were distant, chest labouring as you struggled for breath. Following Jaskier’s directions, he quickly cut away the bloodied cloth - how did he not notice this before, he should have smelled the scent of blood on you - to reveal a deep gash on the back of your upper arm. Jaskier maintained a tight grip on the wound, keeping the flow to a minimum as Geralt retrieved his healing supplies. A salve was quickly applied before stitches were put into the wound and a bandage wrapped around the arm. You were unresponsive throughout the Witcher’s ministrations, the man having to gently move you to get access to your wound. As the first stitch went in you flinched, before remaining motionless as he continued. He could hear your breaths hitching as he worked, heart pulling at your unresponsiveness.

After coaxing a sleeping potion into you, the pair put you to bed, Geralt drawing a blanket over your shoulders as a heavy feeling settled in his gut at your stillness. He listened attentively, reassured by the sound of your thumping steadily in his ears as he watched your chest rise and fall. He told himself it was because of the job: it was his responsibility to keep you safe, there was nothing else behind the concern that he felt for you.

**~*~*~*~**

You were a little groggy the next morning, not quite functioning at one hundred percent. Geralt found it fucking funny, you were normally so put together that seeing you lost was a little bit endearing. You looked like a puppy, wide eyed and pouting. He helped you throughout the day, making sure you ate breakfast, redressing your wound, and keeping you on Roach with him while Jaskier rode your horse. He kept this up throughout the next few days, even as you started being able to do things yourself. Something in his chest would soften, a tightly coiled knot tugged loose when you would smile shyly up at him and quietly thank him, and Geralt found himself doing more for you just to draw them out.

Once you had healed, he tentatively asked if you wanted to practice your swordwork. You were clearly competent (you had taken down three grown men on your own, after all) but he wanted to make see for himself. Knowing you were smaller than him and weren’t as strong, Geralt decided he would tone it down a little bit to give you a fighting chance. Little did he know that you had been trained by one of the best swordmasters in your kingdom, maybe the continent. You had been the youngest of five daughters, so your father had treated you like the son he never had. You had been allowed to run rampant, joining him on hunts and practicing swordplay. This had left you a free spirit, never content to sit through the stuffy business deals your family conducted. This was the most fun you had had in a long time.

Without the knowledge that you were an extremely well trained swordswoman, Geralt held himself back as he faced off against you. Much to his surprise he quickly found himself on his back, your sword at his throat. Looking up to see a cocky grin on your face, clearly pleased with how quickly you had overcome him, he felt a flash of admiration and something else burn through him. The scent of pride drifted through the air towards him, pushing him over the edge. He growled low in his throat as he knocked your blade away, leaping to his feet as he grabbed for his sword, throwing himself completely into sparring as you recovered from the surprise, a feral laugh bursting out of your chest. As you held your own against him, Geralt felt proud, and a little bit excited he had finally found someone who could keep up with him.

The fight ended as Geralt twisted his blade, sending yours flying across the clearing. He was reversing it to bring to your throat, caught off guard as you launched yourself at him with a shout, wrestling him for the sword as you tackled him to the ground. The blade was quickly lost as you rolled through the grass, your breathless giggles warming Geralt’s heart. He ended up on top of you, arms on either side of your head as he supported his body over yours. You grinned up at him, chest heaving, clearly pleased with your performance. Your expression slowly changed to something else, something more intense that the Witcher couldn’t read as your scent changed. It was a pleasant mixture, light and airy, not something he normally smelt, a sharp scent mixed in that he couldn’t identify. He could hear your heart racing in your chest as you gazed up at him, lips parted as you remained relaxed beneath him.

He didn’t know what came over him as his eyes flicked down to your lips and back up before leaning down, your breath mixing with his as he got closer. Abruptly, Jaskier’s loud voice boomed through the clearing, startling the two of you as Geralt rolled to his feet, sticking a hand out to help you up. He could see a light blush dusting your cheeks as you fixed your clothes, refusing to look at him. Disappointment and embarrassment drifted through the air, confusing the Witcher before he shook himself, turning to see a slightly inebriated bard stumbling through the trees. Your attention was quickly taken as you fussed over Jaskier, forcing water and some herbs into him before you put him to bed. As you did this, Geralt kept catching the glances you sent his way, charged with something that he couldn’t identify.

As the days went on, you relaxed further with the two, starting to show physical affection to the both of them. Jaskier was given playful swats whenever he would tease you, accompanied by your laugh as you quipped something back at him. Geralt found he wanted to see the smiles sent his way, rather than the bard’s, though he was not without your attention. You gifted the Witcher with gentle lingering touches, your hand resting on his shoulder or his arm as you would slip past him. Sometimes, you would cajole the man to sit in front of you as you carefully brushed and braided his hair, working loose the tangles formed during one of your sparring sessions or a hunt.

You were still being hunted, but now that Geralt knew it was Vaithan soldiers after you it was easy to evade them. He had worked with them before, so he was familiar with their patrol patterns and tracking methods. He would lay false trails for them, sending them on wild goose chases through the wilderness. Occasionally they would catch up to the small group, but between you and Geralt they were quickly dispatched. The aftermath was filled with gentle touches from you or the Witcher, the other sitting quietly through their ministrations. There were no serious wounds; the two of you quickly learned each other’s fighting styles and adapted to complement each other. Often there were no wounds to be found, just sore muscles to be attended to.

As you got more comfortable in the Witcher’s presence, you started teasing him as well. Nicknames like ‘the big bad wolf’ or ‘big bad witcher’ started to be commonplace in your vocabulary. He would tease you back, calling you ‘flower’ or ‘little duck’. If he was particularly annoyed with you, ‘princess’ would appear. You had flinched the first time he called you that, before firing back a particularly clever quip, drawing Jaskier in as well. You didn’t flinch the second time, but Geralt didn’t often use that nickname, sensing there was something else behind it.

When you were close to towns Jaskier started finding reasons to leave the two of you alone. It was awkward at first, but you quickly fell into a rhythm. There was a lot of teasing that slowly fell into a companionable silence, which you sometimes filled with your chatter. It often ended with you tucked into Geralt’s side, tracing patterns into his knee as you stared at the fire. His fingers would fidget, tapping different rhythms onto your skin. It was nice, Geralt thought, having someone to share the silence with. Jaskier never shut up, but he was also just a friend. You, you were different, maybe more than a friend. As he came to this realization, he looked down to find you staring up at him, emotion swimming in your eyes.

The air felt charged, as if he was being drawn to you. The world stopped as he drowned in your eyes, pulled into their Y/E/C depths as he slowly leaned down, your eyes fluttering shut but not releasing him from their spell as he pressed his lips against yours, breath mingling as you sighed into him. You shifted, turning your body into him as one hand found his chest while the other fisted into his hair. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you towards him. You went willingly, allowing yourself to be moved so that you were straddling his thighs, leaning into his chest as your lips moved against his. He only pulled back when he needed air, your chest heaving as you leaned your forehead against him. He opened his eyes to see a smile, face serene as you caught your breath. As if you felt his gaze on you your eyes opened to meet his. He felt as if he was caught within your gaze, peace filling him, feeling as if he was finally able to get air after drowning for so long.

You giggled as you lay your head on his chest, draping yourself against him. “This is nice,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his middle as you went boneless against him.

Geralt hummed in agreement, liking the warm feeling that came over him at the feeling of your body on his. He tightened his arms around your waist, holding you close. He could smell your pleasure drifting through the air, encouraging him to nuzzle into your hair.

“I wish I could stay like this forever, in this moment with you.” You pulled back slightly, looking at the man with a genuine expression on your face. “I really do care for you, Geralt. Thank you.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek and he leaned into it, keeping his eyes on you. His lips quirked upwards before he leaned forward, capturing your lips again. This kiss was messy, a battle of tongue and teeth as he nipped your bottom lip, exploring your mouth with his tongue when you gasped at the sensation. His hands roamed downwards, finding a place on your ass as you moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sounds, chasing you until one of your hands tangled itself into his hair, pulling on the strands. He growled at the feeling, kissing and nipping down your neck as you gasped, grinding down on him.

You tilted your head back, granting him better access to your throat. A rush of adrenaline ran through him at that motion; he didn’t want you baring your throat for any other man, you were his. Overcome by the desire to claim, he bit down on tender, supple skin, sucking a mark into the hollow above your collarbone. You yelped at the action, tugging at his hair again. Your breath stuttered as you managed to gasp his name, “Ger- Geralt, I can’t.”

He growled again, pleased that he had reduced you to this. He moved to your other side, biting at your shoulder, groaning as you jerked against him. “Geralt, stop, please-”

At the sound of your pleading voice, some sort of warning went off, forcing him to think rather than acting on his baser instincts. He drew back, pausing at the look on your face. He couldn’t smell the bitter scent of fear, but you looked nervous. You were flushed, lips swollen from his attention, but your eyes held a hidden emotion. Frowning, he ran a hand through your hair as you refused to meet his gaze. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - Sorry, I just-”

He halted your stuttering as he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, knot loosening in his chest as you melted against him, returning the kiss fiercely. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask. Forgive me, little duck.”

You smiled before tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “I do- want to- I just, I’ve never...” Again, he shushed you, one hand rubbing patterns into your back as the other tightened around your waist.

“I have all the time in the world for you. We’ll take it slow.”

**~*~*~*~**

After that night, you were much more tactile with the Witcher. Most nights found you in his lap, relaxing into his embrace as you wildly told a story from your childhood, Jaskier in stitches next to you. You started pulling your bedroll closer to his, inching it closer night by night. The bard had finally had enough of your bullshit, marching over and picking up your bedroll only to lay it next to Geralt’s as he shot a knowing look at the two of you. You had blushed at that, refusing to look at either man for a little while. You hadn’t moved it back though, and the next morning you had woken up with your legs tangled in Geralt’s, head on his chest as he held you tucked against him.

You stole kisses from him throughout the day, leaving gentle touches on his arms as you passed him. You let Jaskier ride your horse, choosing instead to stay with Geralt, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around you as you travelled. You continued your training bouts, though they often ended in fierce makeout sessions rather than actual fighting. It was a good life, and you were happy with what you had. You could almost forget about your destination, about the actual reason for your travelling, the one that neither man knew about.

Almost.

**~*~*~*~**

As the small trio got closer to their destination, you grew tenser and quieter, shrinking into yourself as you withdrew from the pair. Jaskier tried to draw you out of your shell, but his best attempts weren’t enough. Geralt pressed you, trying to understand why you were suddenly pulling away, frustrated at the lack of response. One night, when Jaskier had left the two of you alone, Geralt confronted you about what was happening.

“Y/N, I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” Geralt had knelt in front of you, effectively trapping you as you would have had to step over and around him to escape. You couldn’t meet his gaze as you responded.

“Nothing is wrong, Geralt, I am merely preparing for when I meet my betrothed.” At your words, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over the Witcher, dousing him in the reality of your situation. He had forgotten you were a noble, seeming to enjoy playing games with those you considered beneath you. And play you had, leading Geralt on as he escorted you to your marriage. You weren’t any different than the rest of them.

“Your betrothed.” He saw you flinch at his flat tone, face dropping as you realized your misstep. “I see. This was all just a game to you, something to keep your mind occupied while we travelled.”

Geralt stood, turning his back to and walking away. He closed his eyes at your sharp inhale, could hear your heart rate increase as you stumbled to your feet, chasing after him. “I will get you to your destination, and then after that I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Geralt, no, it’s not like that, you don’t understand- I would never-” He shrugged your hand off as you reached for his arm, turning to face you with a look of rage on his face. You recoiled at that action, face shocked as you pulled your hand to your chest. His heart sunk at the fear on your face, he could smell the acrid scent diffusing into the air, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He wouldn’t let you continue with this little game.

“What don’t I understand, princess?” he near-snarled, sneering when you flinched at the nickname. “I think it’s pretty straightforward. I was supposed to be escorting you to your wedding, and you’ve played my heart. I lo--I cared for you, I let you in. I don’t do that, never do that. But I did for you and you played me like a fucking string. Well, I thank you, princess, for illuminating that fact for me. I will make sure to never do this again.”

He turned away, fist clenching at his side as he controlled himself. He started walking away from you, pausing as he heard you let out a sob and fall to the ground, voice breaking as you screamed at him. “That’s what you don’t understand, that fucking nickname! It’s haunted me my entire life, and you were the only one who saw it for what it was, a nickname, not my fucking title!”

His heart clenched at the heartbreak clear in your voice. He closed his eyes, inhaling deepling through his nose as he fought to keep himself from running to you, wanting nothing more than to take the agony out of your voice. Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder, seeing you on your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Princess,” you spat, a vicious expression on your face. “I never wanted to be a princess, I hated being a princess. I forgot, Geralt, you let me forget that that’s what I was! I could be normal with you, you and Jaskier, who didn’t care about the pomp and celebration. You wanted nothing from me. I could let my guard down around you and just be myself! I didn’t, I don’t want this marriage, it’s the last thing I would do if I had the choice! But I’ll never escape it, Geralt, they will chase me down and lock me away, dress me up in fancy clothes and keep me a prisoner in that damn castle. I only want to stay with you.”

Your voice broke on the last word as sobs ripped their way out of your throat, finally releasing the misery and anguish that had been building up over the last few weeks. Geralt was left reeling; you were a princess? Fuck, that explained so much. He had known there was more to this business deal than what it appeared to be: this was a political marriage. You clearly didn’t want it, not that you seemed to have a choice. Geralt was torn: you had lied to him, yes, but it was clear you hadn’t wanted to or done it with any ill intentions. He hung his head, trying to figure out what he wanted to do. You sounded so miserable, all he wanted to do was wrap you up in his arms and protect you from the hardships of the world.

He cautiously approached you, heart breaking at the gut wrenching sobs that were being torn from your chest. He slowly knelt in front of you, reaching a hand out to place under your chin, drawing your gaze up to his. You met his eyes and Geralt could see the pain that was swimming behind your irises. His voice was soft when he spoke, though still reserved. “I believe you.”

At his words, you launched yourself forwards, catching him off guard as your momentum pushed him backwards to land on his backside, you clutched to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you babbled, words streaming out of you as you clutched at his clothing, trying desperately to get as close as you could.

He shushed you, arms pulling you closer as he tucked your head beneath his chin. He slowly rocked you, listening to the sound of your heartbeat as he examined his memories of the last few weeks, finding only fondness and warmth; he couldn’t find anything that would suggest you were doing this to hurt him. He could hear your laugh in his ears and it sounded genuine. The sobs that were forcing their way out of you were undoubtedly real, and Geralt found he didn’t want you to hurt anymore, only wanting to protect you. He dropped a kiss on the top of your head, hand releasing you to rub patterns into your back, soothing you as he continued his gentle circling motion.

You quieted after several minutes, hiccuping as you tried to pull away. Geralt held on a moment longer, tightening his grip before rearranging you so that you were seated sideways in his lap, legs draped over his thigh as your shoulder rested against his chest. He held you loosely, arms draped around your waist as he waited for you to speak. “I’m sorry, Geralt, that I didn’t tell you the truth. I’ll understand if you want me to finish this journey by myself, if you don’t want to see me again. I’ll still give you your coin, you’ve escorted me most of the way there.”

Geralt was stunned; that was the last thing he had expected you to say. As the meaning of the words registered, he found that he didn’t want to leave you, that he didn’t want to say goodbye. It was a new feeling, a knot loosened in his chest as something pleasant warmed him from his toes up to his head. He tightened his grip on you, drawing a squeak as he growled, “I’m not letting you go anywhere, little duck.”

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, puffy eyes filled with hope. “You don’t hate me?” Your voice was small, hesitant as you spoke.

The Witcher looked down at you, hand reaching up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against yours, smiling when you sighed into his mouth and melted into his chest. Your hands came up to fist into his shirt, just resting against him. He drew away slowly, hesitant to see the look in your eyes. One of your hands came up to cup his cheek, and he instinctively turned his face into the warmth, nuzzling your palm as he pressed into the touch. You smiled up at him, eyes soft as a whispered “thank you” fell from your lips. You curled into him, hands back on his chest as you slowly drifted, Geralt holding you against him as you fell asleep.

This was how Jaskier found the two of you a while later, a soft smile appearing on his face. When he opened his mouth to say something, Geralt growled at him. “Not a word, bard.”

Jaskier held his hands up in surrender, turning away to set up his bedroll with a smirk on his face.

**~*~*~*~**

The next two days were sad but gentle, the two of you trying to steal away as many moments together as you could before you had to leave. The Witcher had suggested not delivering you to the castle, but you had smiled sadly as you shook your head. Reaching up to run your fingers down his cheek, you had explained that you had tried to run away before, only to be hunted down and returned to your parents. After that, you hadn’t been allowed to be alone, always having a servant or guard watching you to make sure you stayed. Even before you left, your mother had warned you that if you didn’t uphold your end of the marriage, you wouldn’t have a moment of peace; you would be hunted until you were found and returned to your betrothed’s side.

As the castle came into view, you requested a brief respite. Geralt had frowned at you as you untied a bag from your saddle, but you only offered him a tight smile before slipping into the woods. Jaskier had glanced over at the Witcher, a question on his lips, but Geralt had only shrugged, an expression that said I’m just as confused as you are on his face. It had been several minutes since you had disappeared, and Geralt shifting nervously as you still didn’t reappear. He had just made up his mind, dismounting to go after you when you appeared in the trees, the sight of you making Geralt’s heart stop.

You had changed out of your travelling clothes into a magnificent dress. The dress itself was made out of fine silk, the colour complimenting your Y/E/C eyes. It fell to your ankles, soft slippers peeking out from beneath the hem. Your sleeves ended just past your elbows, fine lace forming a ruffle along the ends. The collar draped across your chest, sleeves just off your shoulders as two thin straps covered in jewels connected behind your chest. Your hair was piled high on your head, a silver crown resting in the plaits.

Geralt realized he was staring when you blushed, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Do I look okay?” you asked demurely, shy now that your travelling companions saw you for who you really were.

“Do you look- Darling, you look amazing! That colour really suits you, it's no wonder Geralt is- ow!” The bard cut himself off as one of the Witcher’s hands shot out to smack him upside the head. Jaskier muttered to himself as he rubbed at the irritated spot, cursing Witchers under his breath. Geralt approached you, hands reaching for yours as he gazed down at you, the warm feeling he so often in your presence felt bubbling up inside him once more. You wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he reached out and lifted your chin, admiring you the whole while.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, the corners of his lips turning up as you blushed once more. You fingers tightened on his before you let go, retreating back to your horse. Mounting, you settled yourself with your skirts hitched to your knees, ignoring the wolf whistle the bard let out at the sight. “Fuck off, I hate riding side saddle.”

Geralt grinned at that, before realizing what this meant. You were to be parted soon, sold off like property in order to further your kingdom’s advances. He understood your reasons, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. A silence fell over the group as Geralt followed your lead, remounting Roach before falling in behind you.

As you rode up to the gates, Geralt watched your posture change. The laid back traveller was quickly replaced by the royal princess, back straightening as you held your head high. You no longer looked around to admire the sights, looking straight ahead as you ignored the merchants passing you on the road. You didn’t acknowledge the guards who stopped your progress, allowing Jaskier to announce you when they inquired. Your small group was quickly led to an antechamber, Geralt insisting that he wait with you in order to see the contract completed.

As the door closed behind the soldier, your posture slumped, tears coming to your eyes. Geralt was quick to cross the room, kneeling in front of you as you collapsed into a chair, blinking up at the ceiling to stop yourself from crying. He rested a hand on yours, intertwining your fingers as he squeezed, offering silent support. Jaskier did the same, perching himself on the arm of your chair, hand squeezing your shoulder to remind you he was there.

You composed yourself as the door opened, standing to meet the page that entered. He bowed deeply before gesturing that you should follow him. You took a moment, straightening your back as you fussed with your dress before stepping forward, any hint of hesitation or reluctance gone from your posture. Geralt and Jaskier followed at your sides, a somber feeling overcoming the party. Jaskier looked close to being in tears, having gotten close to you over the journey. Geralt felt much the same, not wanting to let you go but understanding he had to.

His heart clenched as the double doors in front of their party opened, revealing the throne room to them. There were two people sat on the thrones perched on the dais, with a small group of people standing below. They turned at the sound of the doors

The page announced “Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of Tairis” before bowing as you swept into the room.

Geralt almost stumbled as he spotted the prince approaching you, a sharp feeling flaring in his chest before he shoved it down. Was that…. It couldn’t be. He was brought back to the present as you curtsied, holding your hand out to the prince to kiss as he bent over it. “Prince Raleigh, it’s so good to finally meet you,” you murmured, a fake smile pasted on your face.

The prince answered you, but Geralt didn’t hear it as the world halted around him, the prince’s name pulling a memory from deep within him. As he stared at the young man, he could see that the prince wasn’t happy with this arrangement either, he could smell the fear and reluctance wafting through the air. Hope bubbling up in his chest. Geralt waited as you completed your greetings before striding over to the prince, bowing in greeting.

“Geralt!” the man exclaimed, a genuine smile appearing on his face. “How are you? It’s been what, three years since I last saw you?”

“That is has been,” Geralt rumbled, pleased that the prince was still the happy young man underneath the layers of formality. “But if I may have a word with you, Prince Raleigh? Privately?”

“Of course, of course! Anything for you, my good Witcher,” the prince was quick to lead him to an office as he ignored the half-hearted protests from his staff. As he closed the door behind him, he turned to face Geralt, face dropping as he continued. “It’s felt like it's been longer than three years since we last saw each other, my friend. And as much as I am glad to see you again, our meeting is tainted by your contract. I wish you had just come to visit.”

Geralt’s eyebrows rose at the prince’s bluntness, struggling to keep the hope that flared in his chest from showing on his face. “Oh? You weren’t looking forward to meeting your betrothed?”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he kept his face neutral, not wanting to give anything away. The prince made a face at his question, leaning against the desk in the middle of the room as he crossed his arms across his chest. “I wasn’t aware that she was even my betrothed before yesterday. Apparently it was a deal our parents had made when we were young, and they ‘forgot’ to mention it to me.” The last sentence was accompanied by air quotes, the tone overly sarcastic.

The prince pushed off of the desk, walking over to gaze out the window as he continued. “I had hoped to court someone else, to have had the chance to explore, marry for love, maybe. She’s beautiful, she just makes my heart sing.” He glanced over at Geralt as the Witcher moved to join him. He grinned wryly, “But it was not to be, eh?”

“What if it was?” Raleigh shot Geralt a sharp look at his question. Turning fully to look at him, the prince narrowed eyes, “What do you mean by that?”

“Do you remember how we met, prince?” Geralt walked over to the desk, picking up a quill from the surface and toying with it. “How I saved your life?”

“Yes, and then when I asked what you wanted in return you said…” as he trailed off, Raleigh turned to look at the Witcher, realization dawning on his face as what Geralt was suggesting became apparent. ‘You would claim-” he cut himself off, not wanting to voice the hope that was slowly wafting through the room.

Geralt nodded, keeping his gaze on the prince. “I would, I- I love her.”

The prince grinned at his admission, hope flaring in his eyes. “Well then, my dear Witcher, let’s go turn that fucking room on it’s head. Lead the way.”

Returning to the room, the two men found two groups of people waiting; the royals murmuring amongst themselves as Jaskier and Y/N waited on the other side of the room, sending anxious glances towards the office. The prince bounced over to the group, a brilliant smile on his face. His parents looked at him warily, the group dispersing as you and Jaskier made your way over to join them. The prince made a grand bow as he stopped in front of the king and queen, flourishing as he stood. “Mother, Father, Sir Geralt has something he would like to say.”

The Witcher stepped up beside the prince, meeting the royals’ gazes. In a low voice, Geralt spoke the line he had been angling for ever since he saw your betrothed. “I claim the Law of Surprise that Prince Raleigh owes me, in return for saving his life.”

He ignored the sharp inhale that came from the queen as she realized where he was going with this. “I claim that which the prince possesses but does not know: I claim Princess Y/N.”

As he spoke that damning sentence, he turned to you, watched the surprise flit over your face before you settled on hope, your eyes shining as you realized what he had done. As conversation burst out behind him, Prince Raleigh shouting over his parents to make himself heard, he only had eyes for you. His gaze roamed over your face, taking in all of the little details he hadn’t let himself notice since you had revealed your secret. He could see the tension draining out of your shoulders as he stepped closer to you, unshed tears shining in your brilliant eyes. He could smell your hope, your happiness drifting through the air towards him as you dared to allow yourself the thought that this may end up the way you wanted it to.

As he took another step towards you, your expression broke as you rushed towards him, jumping into his arms as he pulled you against him, tangling his hand in your hair as his other wrapped around your waist, holding you to his chest. He looked down at you, saw the happiness shining in your gaze as you stared back before he lowered his head, capturing your lips with his as he swallowed your sigh. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he basked in your scent.

Feeling a hand on his arm, Geralt opened his eyes and looked to the side to see Jaskier standing there, a huge grin on his face. You laughed quietly, reaching an arm out to tug the bard into the hug, clinging to both him and Geralt as he wrapped you in his arms, pulling the Witcher back in when he tried to pull away. The larger man grumbled under his breath but let himself be squished into the embrace. As silence fell, the three of you pulled away to see the rest of the people in the room staring at you. The king and his advisors all had impassive expressions while the queen and Prince Raleigh were looking at the three of you softly.

The king opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by a hand on his arm. The queen smiled gently at him before turning her gaze to you. Geralt felt you shift nervously beneath his arm, could smell your anxiety as you waited for the answer to the Witcher’s claim. He could hear your heart racing, its rhythm picking up as the queen smiled, stepping forward as she gestured for you to do the same. She took your hands as you approached her, before pulling you in for a hug. Geralt could hear her whispered words, meant only for you. “I wish you all of the best, dear. As much as I wish you could join our family, I realize now that you’ve found your place in life.”

You let out a sob, gripping the woman tighter as you mumbled thank yous. She shushed you, running a hand down your back as she pulled away, smiling down at you, reaching up to brush the tears from your cheeks. She looked at Geralt, holding out a hand to him. The Witcher was quick to join her, placing his larger hand in hers. She smiled up at him, “Take care of her, she is a precious gift.”

“Of course,” he replied, taking your hand in his other, squeezing your fingers as he smiled down at you. You looked back, beaming up at him, adoration clear in your eyes.

The queen moved behind you two, placing her hands on your shoulders as she announced, “The Law of Surprise has been claimed! And I acknowledge it. Princess Y/N satisfies the Witcher Geralt’s claim, as destiny proclaims.”

Prince Raleigh cheered at his mother’s proclamation as Geralt tucked you back into him. The queen turned around in response to your questioning hand. “Would you- would it be possible for you to- my parents-” you stuttered, adoration filling Geralt’s heart as your royal demeanor fell away.

“It’s no problem, child, what would you like?” The queen took your hand between both of hers, you calming at her touch. You took a deep breath, reaching up to pull the crown from your hair before handing it to her. Geralt felt like his heart might burst, understanding the silent symbolism of shedding your royal duties.

“Of course, I will send this back to your parents and let them know what has come of you. Now go, child, enjoy your new life.” You relaxed at her words, at the finality of her taking your crown. You thanked her before turning back to Geralt, tugging on his hand as you left the throne room, leaving your old life behind. Jaskier quickly followed you, face breaking out into a brilliant grin as the three of you rode out of the gates. Your laughter filled the air, lifting Geralt’s heart at the sound. You left the castle, Geralt taking a moment to stop and ponder it. When they had entered earlier that day, silence and misery had been all that had accompanied; now that you were leaving with him, his soul felt lighter, heart happy as you took your rightful place by his side.

Later that night, Geralt watched you with a fond gaze as you gleefully burnt your dress, severing that last link to your life that you had. As you looked up, you met his gaze over the fire. Seeing the sheer happiness and joy that was on your face felt like the most important thing in the world to him, he wouldn’t have changed anything in the world. As you finished poking at the fabric, you came over to him, dropping a kiss on his hair as you sat down, tucking yourself under his arm. He pulled you closer to him, lacing his free hand with yours as he relaxed, leaning his chin on your head as he inhaled your scent. He felt comforted, happy, now that he had you with him.

He settled further into the grass, pulling you down as he lay back. You let out a soft noise that sparked a warm heat in the middle of his chest, prompting him to roll onto his side, tugging you closer so that your legs tangled with his as you pressed your nose into his chest, relaxing into his warmth. He murmured soft nonsense into your hair as you drifted, going limbless against him. Geralt sighed as you babbled in your sleep, relaxing as he let himself drift off to sleep alongside you.

**~*~*~*~**

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noladyme · 4 years

Text

The Frog Princess. Chapter 1

“You can all bloody kiss my ass!”, I growled at the men standing around me. “There isn’t a chance in Hel I’m getting on that ship!”.

“Breathe, Y/N”, Eist tried calmingly. “This is what’s best for everyone”. “Best for you and your bloody war!”, I snarled.

In the corner of the great hall stood a mess of cases, containing most of my earthly goods. None of it had any importance to me; except for the small chest of knickknacks I’d gathered while on trips around the smaller islands of Skellige, and the one time Eist had brought me to Cintra Capital with him.

“Y/N, you’re not a child. Stop acting like one”. I smacked him across the face. A murmur of stifled laughter rose among the leather clad men surrounding me and Eist.

King Eist Tuirseach. The great leader of our lands; and my pain in the ass older cousin; who was getting ready to ship me of to a place far away – that I had no intention of going to.

“What you’re really trying to say, is that I’ve gotten too old to marry of to someone worth while; so now you’re using me as payoff to a sweaty sister-fucker!”. I picked up a goblet, and threw it at the wall; mead dripping down from where I’d hit. “You don’t know that he’s sweaty”, Eist smiled.

“Eist…”, I said, trying for sweetness. He looked at me pointedly. “When we are in public, you’ll address me as is fit my title”.

“My liege”, I sneered. “Great majestic cousin, and king of these isles. I am merely trying to explain to you, that if you intend to proceed with this plan of shipping me off to Temeria; there is a great chance that I might burn this whole fucking castle to the ground, and piss on the ashes!”.

I heard a gruff chuckle from a dark alcove connected to the hall.

Eist sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to keep you away from fire until you’ve boarded the ship”.

Rage boiling inside me, I stomped my foot into the ground, and screamed.

Eist closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows; shaking his head. “You can scream all you want, my dear. This is happening”, he said calmly. “No!”, I yelled. “Yes”, he answered. “You are going to Temeria. You are marrying Foltest. You’ll bear him whatever children he wishes to produce. And you’ll do it all with a smile”.

A stranger stepped into the light from the alcove. He was tall, and built like a boulder – muscled and strong. His eyes shone a strange shade of amber, and his hair was grey- verging on white.

“Why does he even want me? I have no real title…”, I said. “You’re my cousin. That is title enough”, Eist interrupted. He sat down at the head of the table, pouring himself a new goblet of mead. Apparently the one I had thrown was his. “Foltest needs a queen. You are a highborn woman; with a dowry that goes with it”. He took a sip from the goblet. “You also happen to be a bloody pain in the ass; with the reputation that goes with that as well. You are lucky Foltest has agreed to this union. You weren’t exactly an easy sell”.

I laughed out loud, and sat at the table, a few seats from him; worried that I might stab him with a fork if I got too close. “There it is. A sell. I’m a commodity to be traded with”.

“You will do as you’re told, woman!”, Eist said, patience clearly running thin. I wasn’t having it.

“Would you say that to Calanthe?”.

Eist slammed both his fists into the table. “Enough!”, he roared. I froze in place. He breathed deeply, collecting himself. “Y/N; you are my favorite cousin. A fact that has unfortunately let you to run wild and do as you’ve wished for much too long. I cannot allow that to continue anymore”. His pained but resolute eyes met mine. “I know you won’t believe this, but I am doing this for your sake as well. You can no longer call Skellige your home”.

“You’re right”, I said, swallowing tears. “I don’t believe you”.

He looked down, clenched his fists, and sighed. “We’ll speak later. I have to finish planning your travel arrangements”, he said; and stood up, walking in the direction of the whitehaired stranger; who’d been watching our exchange with a smirk on his face.

“Geralt, I wish to discuss something with you”, Eist said, before turning to his men. “Take her to her room. Make sure there are no ropes for climbing out the window; cut up her sheets if you must”. He and the man walked towards the door leading to his private chancery.

“And hide the matches”.

---

I stood in front of a mirror in my now barren room. Thrude – my nanny turned hand matron, and dear friend – was desperately trying to cheer me up.

“Chin up. You’ll be a queen, m’lady”, she said smilingly. “I’ll be a puppet”, I answered. She raised a sponge to cover my face in powder. “Don’t”, I said. “Let them see that I’ve been crying”. She sighed. “At least brush your hair”. She handed me the hairbrush; and went to get my dress for the feast.

It was a ridiculous thing; nothing near what I would have chosen for myself. Black velvet with puffed sleeves, white laced trim; and a white lily on the front of the skirt. They’re dressing me up as the Temerian fucking flag, I thought.

I brushed my hair; and allowed Thrude’s old hands to run through it, braiding it into and intricate crown on the top of my head. When she was finished, I grabbed her hand, and put it to my cheek. “Tootie”. She smiled at my use of the nickname I’d given her as a child. “I could go with you! I could live with you in your cabin. You could continue to train me as a vöelve!”.

“I never trained you to become any such thing”, Thrude said indignantly. I smirked at her. “Teaching me about herbs, healing and monsters? That’s a proper lady’s education?”. “You’d do best to forget those things where you are going”, she said. She put her hands on either side of my face; and looked at me kindly but sternly.

“Listen to me, girl”. I hadn’t been a girl for quite a few years; but her age and the respect I held for her made me accept her choice of words. “Skellige is not the place for you anymore. You are off to a better future than you could ever have here... or anywhere else”.

I snorted in a quite undignified way. “A future as the wife of someone who is only taking me, for the money my cousin will pay him to do so… as a stepmother of a girl conceived through incest; and whose age I am closer to, than I am her fathers!”. I swallowed bile. “I’m going to be sick”. I put my head between my knees; my nose touching the velvet of the dress. She patted my head comfortingly.

“You must leave this place behind”, she said. “Become what is expected of you”. “Instead of…?”. I looked up at her.

She looked down and shook her head. “That’s for another time”. She shuffled her old body in the direction of my bed – the bare mattress reminding me of my cousins’ heartless elimination of my escape plan.

“But there won’t be another time”. I stood up. “I leave tomorrow”.

“Then cherish tonight”, she said.

From under the bed, she pulled out a small pouch; and handed it to me. “My own mother gave me this on my wedding night”, she said; tears in her eyes. “I was saving it for you; for when you’d finally stop being a little imp, and settle down with a good man”. She shook her head. “At least he’s a king…”. I chuckled through my tears, and took the pouch in my hands, opening it. Inside was a silver chain, adorned with an appendage shaped as a small frog.

“Ma’ told me that sometimes you get a frog; but shower it with enough kisses, and it might turn in to a prince”. She helped me put it on. “In your case; I believe it’s the other way around. You are stubborn, you act before you think, and you jump around too much”. She kissed my forehead. “But you can be something more”.

She took both my hands into hers and squeezed them gently. “You can be a queen. And one to be reckoned with!”.

I sniffled. “All I have to do is let a man I don’t know and don’t want, kiss me… and touch me… and…”. I heaved. “I really think I’m going to throw up!”.

She chortled. “He managed to bed his own sister. He must have some charms”. She winked at me. “Might even have a good enough cock to go with them”.

“Tootie!”, I cried out.

“Oh, calm yourself, girl! You know your way around a mands body. We both know that”. She wasn’t wrong, but I wouldn’t give her the pleasure of an answer. In stead I rolled my eyes at her.

“There we are, dearie. Now I recognize you”, she smiled. “Remember, it is not unheard of, for queens to take lovers other than their husbands. You might not even have to bed him that often”.

I sighed. “What am I going to do without you?”.

She patted my cheek. “You are going to grow up”.

---

The great hall was filled with laughter and dancing.

A bard from the continent was playing his lute; surrounded by red-cheeked girls, all vying for his attention. He seemed to me to be an absolute windbag; but I could understand the effect he had on them; blue eyed and brightly smiling.

As I stepped into the room; the music stopped, and the crowd turned to look at me. A roar of cheers and well wishes from all sides; and my strongest impulse was to turn around, and run back up the stairs. Thrude took a firm hold of my hand, and pushed me forward. “Go on, girl. This is your night”.

The bard began his music again, leading the room into a singalong of a gay tune; about a selkie and her lover. Dancing continued, and drinks were flowing. This was a joyous event – and I wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock; and die.

We were stopped in our tracks by a tall man, I had not met before. “Lady Y/N”, he said haughtily. “Let me congratulate you on this glorious occasion of your engagement and upcoming marriage. I must admit that my master had hoped a different arrangement could have been made. But, alas, here we are”. “I’m sorry”, I said, caught off guard. “Who is your master?”.

“My apologies, my lady”, the man bowed. “I am a representative of Nilfgaard; Gaunter O’Dimm. Loyal servant of the true emperor of the fore mentioned lands”. “Usurper”, Thrude said, and spat at the floor. She pulled at my hand.

“I am sorry, sir, but I must take my leave. I must see my cousin”, I smiled, voice shaking. “Of course, my lady. I wish you good health”, O’Dimm said, and stepped aside for us to pass.

“Who was he?”, I asked Thrude. “No one good”, she answered quietly.

I sat down at the head table, watching the festivities; completely numb. The small silver frog rested between my breasts, cold against my skin.

“You look beautiful”; Eist said from next to me. “I look like a pig for market”, I answered, pulling at the uncomfortable corset Thrude had squeezed me in to. “Well; a lovely pig none the less”, he said.

I spent most of the night staring into space; not touching any of the food placed in front of me. The mead and schnapps on the other hand; I had my fair share of.

“You must eat”, Eist grumbled. “Not fat enough for slaughter yet?”, I sneered. “You’re not being slaughtered. You’re getting married”, he answered. “What’s the difference?”, I mumbled.

A fight broke out in front of the table. Well; not so much a fight as a beating. A drunk distant cousin of Crach an Craite’s new wife, had apparently taken a disliking to the bard reciting a sonnet to his fiancée; and was now dragging him by the nose to the floor in front of us.

“Witcher!”, the drunkard growled. “Control your pet!”.

The whitehaired stranger was leaning against a pillar; staring into a mug of ale. “He’s not my pet”, he muttered with a gruff voice. It sounded like it came from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Well, I don’t know how you do it on the continent”, the drunkard said, “but here in Skellige, if a mutt is acting wild; we cut of his balls!”.

The bard looked terrified. “Geralt!”, he pleaded. “Do something!”. The angry man pulled out his dagger and started waving it in front of him; swaying from side to side – obviously having trouble focusing through his drunken haze.

“Ger… Geralt!”, the bard shrieked. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.

Eist looked at me. “Rognir! You’ve made the lady smile! Thank you!”, he laughed. “Now let the poor lad go”.

The man burped. “Bugger that”, he said, and stepped forward, dagger raised.

A hand grabbed his wrist, and pulled it behind his back. The stranger was holding the drunkard in an armlock. “That’s enough”, he said. “Leave the bard, drink some water; and go remind your woman why she chose you in the first place”.

The bard ran to safety behind a group of girls; who all began to fuss over him.

The stranger let go of Rognir; who shuffled away into a dark corner; where a plump girl was waiting for him.

“Wolf”, Eist said. “Join us”.

He sat down on the opposite side of the table from us; accepting a new mug of ale from a servant.

“Y/N; this is Geralt of Rivia”, Eist said. My eyes met the strangers; who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Geralt, let me formally introduce you to my cousin; Y/N. The future queen of Temeria”.

“Princess”, the man nodded at me. “I’m not a princess”, I answered, and drained my fourth serving of mead that evening.

“She’s right”, Eist said, and took away my goblet. “Princesses don’t usually drink like sailors”. The stranger chuckled. “Y/N; Geralt is a witcher”, Eist continued. “I have asked him to accompany you on your journey to your new home”. The witcher looked at me again, his eyes narrowed.

“Him?”, I asked. “What happened to me being a future queen? Don’t I get a dozen soldiers on white horses?”, I snorted, and grabbed my glass of schnapps to replace the mead.

“No, you don’t. Mostly because I know you’d either annoy them until they leave you on the side of the road; or try to seduce some of them into letting you run away”, Eist said. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t give me that, Y/N; I’m not stupid. Poor Eyrick’s heart is still broken after your tryst last spring”.

Eyrick – firm, handsome… dumb as rocks. I’d made it clear I was in it for one thing. He’d taken that as a sign that I was playing hard to get; and sold his only goat to buy an engagement ring.

“Did he ever get his goat back?”, I smirked. “I bought him two new ones”, Eist answered. “The other one had already been made into dinner”.

I laughed heartily. “Poor Eyrick”. “Poor goat”, the witcher said. I caught his gaze. Had the situation been different, I might have flirted with him; handsome as he was… in his own rugged, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-I’m-wearing-as-long-as-it’s-clean way. I corrected myself as I saw a black stain on his sleeve. “Nekker”, he said, studying my expression. I held his gaze for as long as I dared, and returned to my glass.

A sudden rush of blood to my head reminded me that Eist had probably been right about me eating. I was well and drunk.

“So”, I said, “Eist has asked you, but you’ve not accepted? Coin not good enough?”. “I don’t make it a habit to meddle in politics”, he rumbled, and took a sip from his mug.

“See, cousin?”, I smirked. “Even the witcher knows a livestock trade when he sees one”. “Not the time, Y/N”, Eist muttered, and put a chunk of bread on my plate. I took a resentful bite of it.

“Geralt”, Eist said. “I am not asking you to take a side in the war. I am asking you, as a friend, to keep my cousin safe until she is in the arms of her new husband. Nilfgaard has been making moves north of their boarders, and I worry she will be in danger from kidnapping on her journey”. The witcher sighed. Eist leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You are many things, wolf, but you are not heartless. You’ve already shown me this once. You know what might happen, if they get to her before she reaches her destination”.

“And what is that?”, I interrupted. Eist sat back. “You won’t have to worry about that, if the witcher agrees to my proposition”. He smiled solemnly; before looking back at the witcher. “I will pay what you ask”.

They were both quiet for a long minute. Something unspoken passed between them, before finally the witcher grunted; and nodded. He took another sip of his ale.

“How is the child?”, he asked. “Last I heard, still growing in its mothers’ belly”, Eist answered. “She’s well, and will – along with the child – have the best care both during and after the birth. You know I would not lie about this”. The witcher nodded again.

“So, you will do it?”, Eist asked. “I will. On my terms”.

“Of course”, Eist answered, seeming relieved. “Anything. I have the ship ready for tomorrow afternoon, and will send any men with you that you might need. The lady’s belongings have already been packed, and horses will be waiting for you in Cintra Capital once you make land. Nilfgaard will be relentless in their search for her. They want nothing more right now, than to stop this wedding”.

“No”, the whitehaired man said. “We leave tonight. She packs light; and we take a fisherman’s ship to Attre; travelling on from there. Just her and myself”. A giggle was heard from behind a pillar; where the bard was charming one of the maidens from his fan-club. “And him. If he stays here longer, I’m afraid he’ll become a gelding in no time”, he said, glancing at a stout and angry looking old man; who was probably the girl’s father. Eist nodded.

My head was beginning to clear, as I was realizing what was happening. “You’re sending me with him? On a fisherman’s boat across the ocean; to then traipse across the continent in nothing but my plain dress and boots?”. “You can bring your sgian-dubh”, the witcher chuckled gruffly. I was surprised he knew the word for my hidden knife.

“I don’t have one”, I said, and looked at him defiantly. “Yes you do; you’ve strapped it to your leg”, he said in a bored voice. Eist bit his lip to stop from laughing at my affronted face. “Calm yourself, girl. I haven’t been looking up your skirts. The velvet in your dress gave away the shape of the knife against your thigh”.

I scoffed at him. “Well, you were looking at something, since you noticed my thigh”, I said. “You’d be better of slipping it into your boot. Makes it easier to reach when needed”, he smirked.

I did not like this man.

“Eist…” I began. “It’s done”, Eist answered. “I’m begging you…”, I pleaded, “in the name of the love I know you have for me – please. Don’t make me do this. I can fight. Make me a shield maiden!”. “That would require that you actually were a maiden, dear heart”, he said. “Y/N, I do love you. That is why I am doing this”.

My heart dropped, and tears began to well up in my eyes, as I desperately tried to control my panicked breath.

“Wolf; I’ll send the ship to Cintra tomorrow afternoon, as planned, packed with men and the lady’s luggage. They will travel to Temeria; pretending to be transporting her – but the carriage will be empty”. “That will give us some extra days before they come looking for us”, the witcher answered. He turned to look at me.

“Princess, finish your meal calmly, then make your way to the courtyard. Pretend to be going to relieve yourself. I will meet you there”. I was breathing heavily. “No…”, I whimpered. “Not yet. Let me have tonight. Let me sleep in my own bed. I want to say goodbye”.

Eist was pretending to smile, his eyes miserable. “This is goodbye, Y/N”, he said, and took my hand to kiss. “I wish I could have made things different for you, child. You have my heart and my brotherly love; always”. He stroked my cheek.

“Now go!”. He turned away from me.

From behind me, Thrude put her hand on my shoulder, gesturing for me to follow. Not breathing, I grabbed it, and we walked briskly towards the door nearest our table.

---

We hurried down some stairs. Going in to the courtyard, I halted; making Thrude turn to look at me. “Come along, dearie. We must haste”. “Tootie… will I ever see you again?”. She looked down. “I hope so, child”. She kissed my cheek.

“Princess!”, someone hissed from the shadows. The whitehaired witcher stepped into the moonlight. “Follow me”. He walked towards the stables. Thrude let go of my hand, and patted my back to follow him. “Go on!”, she whispered.

I walked into the stable, where the witcher and the bard were waiting. “My lady!”, the young man said, and bowed in reverence. “It has been a great honor to perform at this extraordinary event, but unfortunately my friend here insists that we must leave”. He grabbed my hand and kissed it, beaming at me.

“She’s coming with us”, the witcher said; readying his horse – a beautiful red mare.

The bard looked from me to his friend. “She’s… the package?”, he asked in disbelief. “Yes”, the other man answered. “Geralt… are you sure this is a good idea?”; the bard said below his breath. “No”, the witcher grumbled, and looked at me indifferently. “Change”, he said, and threw a satchel on the ground in front of me. I was getting tired of being bossed around. “Why?”, I asked. “Because I said so”. “Go to Hel”, I said. The bard gasped at my words. “Bad-mannered words for a lady!”, he proclaimed. “Go fuck yourself, milksop”, I sneered.

“Geralt!”, the bard cried out. “Shut up, Jaskier. Do you want the whole castle to know what we’re doing?”, the witcher said; and walked towards me, picking up the satchel.

“Put on the clothes in the bag. I’m not asking you again”. I smirked at him defiantly.

He grabbed my arm, and looked at me; dormant rage in his eyes. His hold on me was strong, but not painful. “I will strip you down myself if needed”, he said.

I ripped the satchel from his hands, and went behind a wall to change. Inside the bag was a simple white chemise; and a blue, sleeveless peasant dress, which could lace up in the front, making me able to put it on myself. I reluctantly removed my sgian-dubh from my thigh, and slipped it into my boot.

From behind the wall I hear muffled talking.

“Geralt, this is madness. You can’t drag the future queen of Temeria across the continent on horseback”, the bard – Jaskier – said. “She needs pomp and… spectacle and ceremony; and everything else that goes with the title. Not to mention that she is rude; and will probably get in the way when we are fighting monsters!”. “You don’t fight Jaskier. You moan and whine, and run away at any sign of danger”, the witcher answered. “That’s not the point, Geralt… Geralt… Look at me when I’m talking to you!”. “What are you; my wife?”. “Gods forbid. I’m quite sure I’d be able to make a better match!”. “Well, if you come all the way to Temeria with us, maybe Foltest will choose you in stead of the princess. He does have strange tastes”.

“I’m not a princess!”, I thundered, and stomped out to face them.

The witcher looked at me, clearly about to roar for me to shut up. At the same moment, Thrude stepped in to the stable, carrying a gray cloak.

“Are you all ready to leave then?”, she said, and put the cloak around my shoulders, tying it under my chin. “Yes”, the witcher answered, and climbed onto his horse. “Come”, he said, and reached his hand out to me.

“She gets to ride?”, Jaskier asked woundedly.

I put my hand into the witchers, and he pulled me into the saddle in a swift and strong move; to sit in front of him, my back to his chest. He smelled like fresh dirt; musky herbs and metal.

“Pomp and spectacle, Jaskier”, his voice rumbled behind me. “Hood up, girl”, he demanded, and I did as asked.

I looked at the bard. “The grey stallion”, I said earnestly. “It’s mine. You can bring it as far as the ship”. Thrude smirked, and shook her head at me.

“Witcher; you will take care of her”, she said. A command; not a question. The witcher grunted behind me. “As promised”, he said. Thrude nodded.

With a last look towards my beloved old friend; I kissed the frog still hanging around my neck; and we we’re off.

---

We rode through the night, reaching a small harbor when the moon was at its highest. A fisherman was waiting for us, standing on the dock by an old boat; just large enough to transport all of us, and the witchers horse.

After Jaskier had gotten of the grey stallion, I smacked it’s behind, making it run of into the trees.

“Eist won’t like it when his favorite horse is gone from the stables”, the witcher said. Jaskier looked from him to me with horror on his face. “I’m a dead man!”, he whimpered.

The witcher chuckled silently, and handed me the satchel that had held my “new” dress. “Your name is Zaba. You are an herbalist in training, on your way to Lyria; to learn from your new master there”. I looked at him confused. “Zaba?” “It means frog”, he added, and turned to lead his horse onto the boat.

I frowned, and looked down at my necklace. Frog. Opening the satchel, I found in it some dried herbs, and a small book; filled out with what I recognized to be Thrude’s handwriting. There were recipes for draughts against headaches and simple stomach pains. Most of them I already knew; as Thrude had been diligent in her training of me as a non-vöelve. I had never been able to see the future, or predict next year’s crop; but I did know my way around simple healing of wounds and the occasional childbirth. I’d also managed to avoid pregnancy with the few lovers I’d had.

Along with my herbalist gear, there were fresh undergarments and stockings; and a few copper coins.

The fisherman giving me a hand; I stepped onto the boat; almost forgetting that this might be the last time my feet would be touching Skellige soil. The witchers horse brayed.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Roach. But we’ll be in Attre before you know it.”, the witcher said to it. I looked on in wonder.

“He talks to his horse. You best get used to it”, Jaskier said, stepping onto the boat after me. He didn’t look like he’d forgiven me for making him a horse-thief just yet.

I walked up to the mare, standing on the other side of it than the witcher. “Her name is Roach?”, I asked. “Yes”, he said, not meeting my eyes.

I put my hands on the horse’s muzzle, and blew gently at it; the horse responding in kind. The witcher looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Hello, Roach”, I said, and scratched a spot behind its ear. “Thanks for the ride”.

I went to sit at the stern. “Wouldn’t the lady be more comfortable below deck?”, the fisherman asked. “She’ll be fine”, the witcher rumbled in response; and sat down to lean against a barrel.

We set off; the wind in our favor. It wasn’t long before my home islands became dots in the distance behind us.

I might not have a home there anymore, I thought. But no one is going to tell me where I will make a new one!

---

Thanks for reading. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

- no lady

#the witcher netflix #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher fic #jaskier

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lesserfandomappreciation · 4 years

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Hiiii! Can I please get some urbosa, kass, sidon, mipha, revali, and barta headcanons w/ an s/o who trains and builds their body and becomes not rippling with muscles strong, but someone who just does a lot of pushups and can lift like 200 lbs easy and they love picking up their s/o because they want to give them the live and attention they never got from anyone else? what would their reactions be to the working out and picking them up and them being constantlypickedupbcthey dontwantthemtoleave?

Hi! I accept a limit of 5 characters per request, so unfortunately I will be dropping off Barta for this request. Feel free to request again.S/o who is strong AF (BOTW)

Urbosa

The one who appreciates the effort the most. This lady, this Queen, is the strongest warrior of the Gerudo which means she is the most hardcore when it comes to training. Out of everyone on this list, she gets just how much training it takes to be that strong.

Urbosa likes physical affection. She likes holding her partner close. What she does not like though is when they lift her when she’s in the middle of something. Pull this stunt in the middle of her talking to her guards, and the next thing you’ll know she’ll be running you through training.

In more relaxed moments though, she’s a fan! She’ll go with it. If her partner has lifted her, and someone comes up to talk business, they’ll have to maintain eye contact with the queen as she is sitting pretty on her s/o’s shoulders taking care of it.

Kass

Squawks the first time time s/o does this. Will take that to his grave. Don’t let him ever live that down.

He’s the least aware of the training. Don’t blame the Rito, he’s a bard! Whatever limited training of self-defense he did as a kid was quickly replaced with knowledge on the ancient songs of Hyrule, so he’s very clueless about how much effort it takes to achieve that strength.

He is in awe though at how effortless s/o makes it look, lifting him like he was a handful of grapes. Embraces it pretty quickly though, and will cheerfully play a tune as his s/o spins him around.

If they do it constantly though he is going to be curious as to why they lift him so much. It’ll break his heart to know that they’re afraid he’ll leave, and he’ll shower them with so many assurances to let them know he’s not going anywhere.

Sidon

Baffled. Bamboozled. Babbling in shock and confusion. And, ah yes, blushing like a mad man.

Sidon is big. BIG, big. Dorephan may lift him in a hand on a whim, but otherwise his feet spend a lot of time on the ground. He was very much not expecting this at all.

He would cheer his s/o on through their training, maybe even joining in from time to time to spar or spend time with them, but he had no clue that this was their end goal.

It doesn’t matter where he’s lifted, he’s going to be a mess.

When he finds out the source of their lifting obsession, the prince is going to whip out the charm and make it very clear that they’re stuck with him whether they like it or not.

And to please at least not lift him in front of the elders, they keep complaining to Dorephan.

Mipha

Admittedly the easier to carry out of this whole list. And also the most shocked by the bold action.

Knows S/o trained. Knows that they’ve been working out like maniacs for reasons they have not shared. Knows this because guess who they go to when they tear a muscle from going too hard?

Seriously kiddos, practice safe exercising habits and have a spotter if you are unsure.

When they lift her up, holding her close to them and off the ground, Mipha is a little busy processing to really say or do anything. It’s a solid 5 minutes before the princess finally comes to and is shyly asking what is going on.

Melts when they tell her the reason, and insists that while carrying her around is not much of a solution, they can carry her hand instead.

How in the world the Zora people don’t have diabetes from ya’ll two is a mystery of the ages.

Revali

If you tell anyone he squawked the first time he was lifted and you aren’t a Rito, you’re waking up to find all your stuff on the ceiling. Hope you have strong ladder.

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years

Text

DuMont (Tiefling Barbarian)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Elf Ranger/Male Tiefling Barbarian Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, Kobold, Half Elf, Human, Rogue, Bard, Barbarian, Ranger, Mage, Wizard, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Sex, Third Person Perspective Words: 5619

A tiefling left to die as an infant was raised in a cathedral tower with no contact with the outside. Once the person who raised him dies, he follows the voice of his patron god and finds new companions who teach him about the world. Among them is an elf woman with a surprising past.

Another super cool commission from @ocsmutpocalypse with amazing artwork from @sutexii (Follow them on Twitter)! Based heavily on D&D and featuring Rupert and Sanoh from a @momolady fic, which can currently be found on her Patreon! Please leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

DuMont hadn’t had the greatest start to life. He was born malformed, hideous even among his own people. Even as an infant, his cry was guttural and otherworldly. His parents, shocked at the sight of him, absconded with him in the dead of night, determined to get rid of what they saw as a mistake of nature. For tieflings, that was saying something. Upon reaching what appeared to be an abandoned cathedral, they were going to just leave the baby inside and let it starve.

They didn’t count on the fact that the cathedral’s elderly priest still lived and worshiped there, though he led a lonely existence since no one had come to receive blessings from him in many years. The discovery of an unfortunate child left on the altar of his crumbling church was less of an inconvenience to him and more of a gift from his long forgotten god, Montro. He therefore named the child DuMont, meaning “Son of Montro.”

The priest could not read, and as such, couldn’t teach DuMont to do so, either. However, he did recite the scriptures of Montro and several other gods in the same pantheon to DuMont, though in his advanced age, he often got them mixed up. DuMont was never sure which of the scriptures were true or not, or what scripture went with which god, but he thought it best not to question it.

Despite the lack of education and limited knowledge afforded to him by the priest, DuMont had an insatiable desire to learn. He was constantly asking the priest questions about this or that thing, much to the priest’s annoyance.

The priest had made it clear early in DuMont’s life that the world outside wouldn’t be safe for him, and that he would be safest in the tower. His own parents had left him to die, after all, so strangers couldn’t be expected to show him much mercy. Sadly, DuMont had accepted this. When not having scripture lessons or eating meals with the priest, DuMont spent his time in the cathedral’s tower, looking out of the broken slats at the world outside, barred from ever leaving.

He watched animals jump and frolic and play in the courtyard, many of which he had no name for. He watched people ambling down the roads, sometimes with horses and carts, sometimes walking. Some were human, like the priest, and some were tiefling, like him, but the other races he couldn’t identify. When he asked the priest, the old man merely told DuMont not to worry about it. He’d never leave this place, anyway, so there was no reason to concern himself with such trifles.

But, unknown to the priest, DuMont had been hearing a voice speak to him in the quiet of the darkness. It never said more than a word or two: wait, or be patient. There was always a bell that accompanied the voice DuMont was sure the priest couldn’t hear. Sometimes it was the rumbling toll of a church bell, other times it was the clear ringing of a hand bell, and still others it was the jingling, tinkling sound of dancer’s bells. DuMont didn’t know who or what the voice was, so he did not tell the priest for fear that he would reject him.

As he aged, he grew into a giant at nearly nine feet, far larger than the average tiefling. His muscles had grown massive from doing most of the heavy work for the priest, hauling marble reliefs and moldering pews by the stack. He still walked with a pronounced hunch, using his hands to propel him sometimes when his legs were too short to get the job done. His life was simple, and though he sometimes felt wistful for a different life beyond his reach, he was content.

Until one night while sleeping, he heard the voice waking him, resounding in his head like an alarm bell.

Go.

DuMont sat up, startled. That was a new one.

Outside. Now. It’s time.

Lurching to his feet, he felt compelled to obey the voice, and despite his nerves at never having stepped foot out of the church since the day he arrived, he went down, opened the doors, and, slowly, gingerly placed his foot on the cold stone steps outside.

The first thing that hit his senses was the cool night air, fresher than he’d ever breathed, blowing across his skin. The second was the sight of the priest who’d raised him, lying still and stiff on the walkway, his eyes open but unseeing.

Death. DuMont knew what this was; the priest had explained it, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Feeling heavy, heartsick, and a little confused, he picked the priest up, took him back into the church, and laid his body on the altar, kneeling and praying as the priest had taught him.

But… now what?

Go.

For the first time, DuMont questioned the voice.

“Where?”

Outside. Time to go. You are needed.

“By who?”

The voice was silent. DuMont did as he instructed, leaving what had been his home all his life with a pang of anxiety, and stepping cautiously toward the road, not sure what would happen.

He didn’t have to wait long. In the early morning hours, just as dawn began to break, he saw two figures coming down the road; one was human, with a freckled face, wild brown hair, and vivid blue eyes, and the other creature he couldn’t begin to fathom what it was, with it’s reptilian form and flowing blue frock. They were holding hands and talking, laughing, and leaning close. DuMont tried to parse out what such behavior meant, but came up with nothing.

Suddenly, they stopped, catching sight of him. The… female? She immediately drew a weapon, but the human put a hand on it and lowered it gently, shaking his head. He stepped forward and pushed the other creature behind him.

“Hello, friend,” He said, a little trepidatiously. “My name is Rupert. Can I ask you your name?”

DuMont was silent for a moment. He’d never spoken to anyone besides the priest, who had often told him that his voice was too loud and harsh for the ear, suggesting that he whisper instead.

“DuMont,” He responded slowly, quietly. “I am DuMont.” He pointed at the female creature. “What are you?”

“Well, that’s rude,” She said, hands on her hips.

“No, Darling, I think he literally doesn’t know what race you are,” Rupert said. “This is Sanoh. She’s a creature known as a kobold. They’re related to lizardfolk.”

DuMont stared blankly; then again, that’s just how his face looked. But he was genuinely perplexed.

“Um…” Rupert hummed, trying to get a feel for this. “We were looking for a place to rest. We’ve been on the road for a couple of days and have been sleeping on the roadside. Do you know where we could bed down for a while?”

DuMont turned and pointed. The crumbling cathedral sat on the hill.

“Do you live there?” Sanoh asked.

“Yes,” DuMont said, keeping his voice carefully modulated. “In the tower.”

“Would it be okay if we stayed a day or two? We could pay you for the trouble?” Rupert offered.

“Pay?” DuMont repeated.

Sanoh’s spiky eyebrows furrowed. “Just how long have you been in that tower?”

“Until today,” DuMont replied.

Rupert and Sanoh exchanged a look.

“Do you want to live there?”

DuMont thought about it. “No. I want to learn.”

“How about this,” Rupert said. “We’ll stay in the cathedral for a few days, rest up and everything, and then when we’re ready to leave, you come with us. It sounds like you could use some fresh air, maybe see the world a little. What do you say?”

Hunched, feeling slightly vulnerable, DuMont nodded his massive head in agreement.

Enania Enjor, princess of the Elven kingdom of Zylthana, had the best childhood a person could want. A legion of servants at her beck and call, as much food, wine, and money as she could ever use, the nicest clothes, the finest jewelry. Parents and siblings who doted on her, the unshakable love of her people. All of it decadent and indulgent.

All of it boring. Tedious. Dull. More adjectives. All the bad ones.

One day, Enania decided she was sick of it. Her older brother was the crown prince; they didn’t really need her to be around. Besides, they’d likely marry her off to some stuffy noble to strengthen their hold in the north, and she had no interest in that at all. So, plain and simple, she ran away.

In the middle of the night, she packed a light rucksack with clothes and a large sum of coin, dodged her retainers, and took off on her horse, a very expensive breed gifted to her on her eighteenth birthday by a lord hoping to gain her favor. Too bad he was just as boring as the rest of the prissy, fussy dandies of the court.

After deciding to change her name to Kharis for anonymity and cutting off her family’s signature black curls, she left a note asking her parents not to send anyone to follow her, that she’s come to visit, that she was fine and just exploring the world a bit and not to cramp her style. She signed it, “love you!” so, you know, that was good enough.

Fortunately, she had insisted the captain of her father’s guard teach her the best fighting techniques for a person of her height and build. Unfortunately, in just a few short months, she had made quite a name for herself in a few small towns. As in, she had been kicked out of them for theft and starting fights. At some point it became necessary to sell her horse to keep herself fed and a roof over her head at night. Even still, she was having the time of her life, loving the unpredictable aspect of it all.

One afternoon, after nicking her lunch from a particularly unobservant baker, she was wandering a long neglected country road, overgrown with weeds and brambles, when she stumbled upon an old, derelict cathedral sitting on a hill, surrounded by sinister looking trees. Any sane person would stay well away from that place. Naturally, she smiled and began to jog toward it.

Opening the front door, she peered inside at the interior. There were pews lined up as if service were about to take place, except they were all disintegrating and covered in mold. There were cobwebs in every corner, every archway. She felt like just calling out to whoever might be inside would send dust falling from the rafters.

Even still.

“Hello?” She said in a moderately loud voice, echoing throughout the great hall. “Is anyone here?”

There was a clattering and low voices from a room in the back. She followed them and came upon a tiny kobold woman and a tallish human man speaking to each other in an undertone.

“Hey,” Kharis said, startling them. “You guys priests here?”

“Oh, gods, no,” The human said. “The priest has died. The last keeper of this place has kindly allowed us to stay here a few days to rest before we continue on.”

“Oh,” Kharis said. “I’m Kharis. Who are you two, by the way?”

Rupert and Sonah introduced themselves.

“Where are you two headed?” Kharis asked.

“Shornstone,” Sonah said. “We’re meeting up with a mage friend of his.” She gestured at Rupert. “What about you. Why are you here?”

“I’m traveling, too,” Kharis replied. “I’ve been doing it alone, but I’d be happy for some company, if you two are up for it.”

Sonah glanced at Rupert and shrugged. “She seems like she’d be fun.”

Rupert looked at Kharis dubiously, but nodded. “Well, we’d be okay with it, but you should ask DuMont when he comes back in.”

“Who?”

“The church keeper,” Rupert said. “He’ll be traveling with us, too. The priest, the one who died, raised him.” He pointed out toward the cemetery. “He’s out there burying him now.”

“Well, then, I’ll go ask,” Kharis said, turning to head out of the side door.

“Ah, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea!” Rupert called after her. “The poor fellow is in mourning! Leave him be!”

Ignoring him, she strode out into the afternoon air, looking for the keeper.

He was hard to miss. There, kneeling near a newly filled-in grave was a massive beast of a creature, something she had never seen before, and being royalty, she had seen quite a lot. He sat there silently, with four wide, unblinking eyes of red sclera and yellow pupils, and the bone of his lower jaw exposed, clinging to his head by a few sinews and tendons, fangs jutting out. Muscle was exposed here and there down his chest, his skin red and looked gravelly to the touch. His horns, taking up all of the space on the top of his head, were swirled with what looked like veins.

She approached as quietly as she could, unsure of this… person… or what he might do if disturbed.

“…excuse me…” She said gently.

He sat up from his crouch slightly and turned his head to stare at her. He said nothing and didn’t move.

“Hello,” She said. “Rupert and Sanoh said I should come out and introduce myself, seeing as how we’ll all be traveling together. I mean, if that’s alright with you,” she added hastily.

Still, he said nothing, just stared at her with unnerving intensity.

“You are DuMont, right?” She asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” He said. His voice was guttural and as gravelly as his skin, but it sounded as though he was intentionally trying to suppress it.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Kharis said, laughing.

“You are a stranger,” He said plainly.

She gave a conceding nod. “That’s true.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kharis,” She said.

He reached out a hand that could have easily twice the size of her head and took her tiny one in it.

“Hello,” He said.

“See?” She said, letting go. “Now we’re not strangers anymore.” She gestured at the grave. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded and returned to his mourning, silent once more, the conversation seemingly over. Kharis left him and went back inside.

The next morning, after a breakfast that was made up of half of what was left of the cathedral’s larder, the other half of which was packed up for the trip, DuMont joined his three new friends on the road. He brought with him one of the smaller church bells, roughly the size of a barrel, the only clothes he owned, a vest and trousers ripped short around his knees, and left everything else behind He took one last moment to look back at the only home he’d ever known and bid it a final farewell, then followed behind the others toward an unknown, uncertain future.

Months went by. Rupert met up with his friend, Norman, a half-elf with tan skin and dark brown hair escaping an unhappy marriage, and added him to the group. They became adventurers then, traveling the country and taking jobs from local towns, clearing out dungeons and castles of unwanted creatures and such, chasing bandits, bounty hunting, and just generally any job that paid enough to spark their collective interest.

After one particularly nasty job involving an ogre that had taken up residence in a local elf’s wine cellar who’d nearly bitten off Kharis’s head, they were sitting around a campfire, discussing the details and counting out the coins between them.

All except for DuMont. He didn’t understand the purpose of money. He had told them they could keep any money they found or were given as long as they kept him fed. He didn’t need much to be happy; seeing the beauty and strangeness of the world that he could only have guessed at in his tower was plenty reward for him.

It had taken DuMont some time to open up to his new friends, but he enjoyed their company, even learning to laugh and joke, though he was still careful not to startle anyone with his voice. He was still hesitant to join their conversations; they often used words he didn’t understand, and he was too embarrassed to ask what they meant, afraid they would think him simple-minded. If they didn’t already, that is.

“Some wizard you are!” Sanoh was saying at Norman. “That fireball nearly singed the scales on my tail more than it did anything to to ogre!” She was carefully cleaning her scales, polishing them to a emerald shine.

“It’s partly your fault for being so noticeable!” He said, gesturing at her gleaming scales and jewelry. “What part of the concept of stealth is lost on you!”

“Hey, I am plenty stealthy,” She retorted. “You just suck at magic.”

“Bullshit!” He said, sitting up from his prone position and rolling up his sleeves.”I’ll summon lightning right now.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” Sanoh replied smugly, folding her arms.

“Honey,” Rupert said nervously, putting an arm around her shoulder and snugging her in protectively. “Do you have to provoke Norman?”

“Yes,” Said said staunchly. “You’re a better mage than he is, and you don’t even try.”

“You just watch,” Norman said. He gestured with his hands and muttered in Arcane. The other four watched him with interest and caution as blue energy formed around his hands. DuMont twitched his head curiously, Rupert leaned away as Sanoh and Kharis leaned forward, watching eagerly. The blue energy fizzled and cracked, and in a flash of blue light that made everyone close their eyes against it. The sound of yipping opened their eyes again.

There, sitting in Norman’s grip, was a small dog, a corgi, happily barking and attempting to lick his face. Norman sat there, dumbfounded.

“I cast lightning!” He exclaimed, not sure what to do with the wiggling thing now in his hands. He set it down, and the dog turned circles and ran straight for DuMont, who reached out gingerly to touch the dog’s soft fur.

“Maybe its name is Lightning,” Kharis said. Everyone laughed. “Besides, it wasn’t you that was the problem. Stupid here needs to learn to swing that thing better.”

She gestured at DuMont’s weapon, a large, thick rail that he had tied the church bell to as a bludgeon. Dumont’s hands stilled for a second, but he said nothing and continued to pet the dog, who had nestled in his lap and was sighing happily.

That night, the fire died a little and everyone bedded down. The dog, who they all agreed must be named Lightning, slept in DuMont’s arms, who slept on the cold ground with no covering. Kharis, nearly dozing in her bedroll as everyone else snoozed, heard the words, “I’m not stupid,” in a soft, gravelly tone. She also heard someone get up, the sound of a disappointed dog being deposited on the ground, and large feet stalking off into the woods.

Kharis lay there, thinking. She hadn’t meant it as an insult, really; she was just being playful. But if she thought about it, she did kind of assume he was not intelligent. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was simple sentences and basic answers. She hadn’t really given it much thought; she hadn’t really given him much thought beyond being the muscle of the group, assuming he was all mass and no substance, like the guards in the castle. Then again, maybe she was to quick to make such assumptions and it was just not something that she’d ever had to worry about.

Annoyed, though uncertain at who, she got out of her bedroll and tracked DuMont’s footprints out into the brush, not bothering to be quiet about it. But when she found him, she stopped short.

DuMont was sitting crouched with his knees drawn up, gently scratching the chin of a fawn, stroking its side and whispering to it softly.

For a moment, Kharis just watched. She had him pegged so wrong.

Then, when shifting her weight, she snapped a twig and both DuMont and the baby deer looked up. The deer took off, and left DuMont reaching after it in disappointment.

“Why did you do that?” He asked, still speaking quietly, like always. “I’d never seen a branch walker close up before.”

She was about to apologize when she stopped and tilted her head, confused. “A what?”

“A branch walker,” DuMont said. “At least, that’s what I call them. I never learned what they’re actually called.”

“How could you not know that?”

He shrugged. “Father Jor never told me. He was the only person I knew when I lived in the tower. No one else was allowed to see me, and he only talked about scriptures, so I don’t know much about the outside, even things as simple as what branch walkers are really called.”

Kharis frowned. “Why don’t you ask us when you come across something you don’t know?”

He looked away. “I don’t want any of you to think I’m stupid.”

Her frown turned to a grimace. “That was a deer,” Kharis said. “A fawn specifically, which is a baby deer.”

He turned to look at her. “Deer.”

“Right.”

“Hmm…” He hummed. “That,” He said, pointing to a rabbit in the distance. “What is that?”

“What do you call it?” She asked, crouching down next to him with a smile.

“A pawpopper,” He said.

She laughed, but not in a mocking way. “It’s a rabbit,” She said. “What else? I feel like I could do this all night.”

“Would you? I just want to learn,” He said. She’d heard him say that before, but she hadn’t realized how sincere he’d been. She did indeed spend the night walking through the forest with him, trading names of the creatures and plants.

DuMont opened up even more after that, talking more freely and openly, especially with Kharis. Whenever he was confused about something, he’d ask her about it in private and she would explain it to him. He thought she may have told the others, because they also went out of their way to point out interesting things and talk to him about new things he’d never seen. He was grateful they understood and never made him feel dumb.

Several weeks later, after another ogre job, they had all gone to bed for the night, when DuMont got up as everyone was asleep to relieve himself in the woods. When he returned, he noticed Rupert and Sanoh sneaking away from the camp, hand in hand. They had left their belongings, but there seemed to be an urgency in their steps. Curious, he followed.

Despite how large he was, DuMont could move extremely quietly, so the couple never heard or saw him approach. He squatted down, watching as Rupert and Sanoh pressed their faces together, their lips sucking at each other in an odd display. They began to disrobe, showing Rupert’s skinny body and Sanoh’s tiny but voluptuous one. They touched each other’s skin all over, stumbling their way to the ground. Sanoh lay on the ground with Rupert between her legs, his tongue out and pressed against a fleshy entrance located there. She gasped and writhed under him, and he held her hips in place as he suctioned his mouth to the spot, making her moan loudly.

Afterward, Sanoh, despite her petite size, managed to shove Rupert on his back, and DuMont saw his… staff, as he called it… standing straight up. DuMont’s own staff twitched under his rough-hewn trousers, which was a new sensation.

He watched as Sanoh climbed onto Rupert, pushing Rupert’s staff into her entrance and gasping. Rupert gasped as well and grasped her… DuMont didn’t have a word for those. They were scaled, but also soft and squishy and they both seemed to enjoy playing with them.

Sanoh bounced and rocked on Rupert, her breathing coming faster and faster. Rupert grunted and moaned under her, his hips thrusting up into her. After some time of groaning and whimpering, both Sanoh and Rupert cried out as if in pain, their bodies tensing and quivering, and they finally collapsed, Sanoh on Rupert’s chest, his arms around her. They didn’t speak, just lay together, breathing hard, recovering. After a while, Sanoh sat up and grinned down at Rupert, doing the face-pressing thing again. Then they got up and began to clean themselves and redress. DuMont decided this would be a good time to retreat.

As he returned to camp, he saw Kharis coming out of the forest, restrapping her belt around her waist.

“Where were you?” She asked. “Where’s Rupert and Sanoh?”

“They…” DuMont started, pointing. “They’re… I don’t know…”

Kharis’s face split into a knowing grin. “Ah, I see. I’ve caught them sneaking off a few times. They think they’re so discreet.”

“You know what they…?” DuMont asked curiously.

“Ohhhh,” Kharis said softly. “It makes sense you wouldn’t have had the sex talk.”

“Sex talk?” He repeated, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” She said, turning and waving at him. “Come with me, I’ll tell you about it in private, so we don’t wake anyone. It’s sort of an awkward conversation to have.”

He tilted his head the other way like a puppy, but followed her. She led him to the river nearby and told him to sit back against a tree. He complied and she sat down next to him.

“Okay, so, what did you see?”

He described the things he had seen Rupert and Sanoh do. “I thought they were hurting each other at first, but they seemed to like it.”

She laughed softly. “It’s called sex. Most people do it.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels good, most of the time. Secondarily, it’s to make babies.”

“Were Rupert and Sanoh trying to make babies?”

Kharis snorted. “I highly doubt it. Rupert’s in no shape to be a dad, and I have my doubts about Sanoh, too.”

“So, they were doing it because it feels good?”

“Yeah,” Kharis confirmed. “Rupert and Sanoh have been together for a long while, I’ve gathered.”

“Traveled together, you mean?”

She shook her head. “No, together together.”

He grumbled uncertainly. “I don’t understand.”

A shocked look crossed her face. “Oh. Oh boy, this is going to be more complicated than I thought. See… Rupert and Sanoh are in love.”

“Love?”

Kharis dragged her fingers down her face and groaned in exasperation. “Okay, so when people, usually two people, but it can be more than that occasionally, feel an attraction or a closeness to each other, and they care about them, it can turn into love. Love is… hard to explain.” She bit her lip and looked into the distance, thinking. “It’s like… I don’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

DuMont watched her flounder. He’d never known her to not be able to explain something. He thought she knew about everything.

“So sometimes people have sexual feelings. They want to feel good and they want to make their partner feel good, too. So they… have sex. People who love each other, who care very much about each other, tend to have sex a lot.” She tilted her head in thought. “Sometimes people don’t even care about the person they have sex with, though, they just want to feel good. Sometimes people can make themselves feel good. There’s lots of ways to feel pleasure.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

She looked at him, intrigued. “Well, haven’t you ever… touched yourself?”

He placed a hand on his chest. “Like this?”

She laughed a little. “No, I mean…” She pointed at the crux of his legs. His staff jumped again.

“No,” He replied.

She shrugged a little mischievously. “Why don’t you try?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

He grunted. Slowly, he undid his belt and unlaced his trousers, opening them and letting his staff fall free. It was large, proportionate to his size, and made Kharis’s eyes widen.

“That’s a penis, by the way,” Kharis said with a smile. “I mean, there are other names for it, but officially, it’s called a penis.”

“What do I do?” He asked.

“Wrap a hand around it and stroke it up and down,” She said. “Like when you clean your rail after a battle.”

Tentatively, he reached down and took hold of it. It was soft, but was beginning to harden as he touched it. He had awoken sometimes with it hard, but he hadn’t known what to do about it and just waited until it went away. This was different than washing himself. It did… feel kind of good.

“Do you like it?” She asked, watching.

“I… I think so,” He said. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right.”

“Then let me help,” She said, standing up and kneeling between his legs. He was surprised, and quite nervous, as she knelt there and took his… penis… in her hands. She needed both to get the job done, but it felt much, much better when she did it than when he did. She bent her head to lick it, and he gasped, his body tensing. She looked up at him and pulled her mouth off of him with a pop.

“Would you like to try what Sanoh and Rupert were doing?” She asked in a low, sultry voice.

“Do you love me?” He asked.

She tilted her head and considered him. “I care about you, DuMont. I don’t know if it’s love, but I care very much about you.”

“I… care for you, too,” DuMont said. “I have for a time.”

“So…? Would you?”

DuMont nodded. “I want to learn.”

She smiled and stood, beginning to undress in front of him. Her skin was flawless and smooth, unlike his. She seemed to him like a statue of a goddess in mortal form.

“You’re pretty big,” She said. “You might have to get me ready to take you.”

“How?”

“Remember what Rupert did to Sanoh with his tongue?” She said, sitting in the soft grass. “You won’t be able to use your mouth, but I bet your tongue is plenty talented.”

DuMont let his tongue spill out of his mouth. It was twice as long as her arm. Her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, tha-that’ll do it.” She lay back and spread her legs. He looked at the flower between them and salivated. His thick tongue pressed itself there, and she moved against it, her head falling back in the grass. He followed her instructions, and before long, she was gasping for breath and begging him not to stop.

She stood up suddenly, dripping and flushed, and pushed him back, kissing his neck and chest. The contact felt different than before: it electrified his body and make his muscles tense. She sat him back against the tree and positioned herself over him, much like Sanoh had done with Rupert, and lowered herself down. Her brows drew together and her mouth opened as she slowly took him inside herself.

“Does it hurt?” He asked. He’d only ever seen that face on people who were in pain.

“No, it feels amazing,” She breathed back, situating herself on top of him. He was also experiencing an incredible feeling being inside. The walls were tensing and contracting around him, and it felt indescribable. At least to him.

“Thrust up,” She instructed him, and he obliged, careful not to hurt her until she shouted, “Harder!” They moved together wordlessly, huffing and moaning, and DuMont thought his heart might explode. This was bliss. This was more than any scripture or book could convey. This was holy. He heard the bells in his head and knew he was right where he was supposed to be.

“Hold me up,” She said breathlessly, putting her arms under her knees and pressing her knees to her chest. He put his massive hands around her sides, his fingers meeting in the back, and held her up, balanced on his lap.

“Thrust hard,” She commanded, and he obeyed. She howled in pleasure, and he himself began to grunt much louder than he intended. He wasn’t quite in control of his volume in this state, but for the first time, he didn’t care.

“Oh, gods,” She said between gasps. “I’m going to cum.”

He didn’t know what that meant, but he was feeling a pressure in his loins that was reaching a boiling point. As the wall of pleasure hit him, he roared for the first time, shouting out his ecstasy for the world to hear. She was also crying out as ribbons of his seed spurted out as quickly as it shot into her. He almost lost his grip on her, but she let go of her legs and tumbled forward onto his chest, wheezing. He was having trouble controlling his breath, as well.

They lay there, much the same as Rupert and Sanoh had done, and he cuddled her against his chest. He was still inside her and wasn’t willing to remove himself just yet. She was so warm against him.

Suddenly she sat up and looked around her in confusion.

“What’s the matter?” DuMont asked.

“Didn’t you hear that?” She asked him.

“No,” He replied. “What did you hear?”

“I could have sworn I heard a church bell tolling in the distance,” She said, still looking around. “It’s awfully strange for a bell to toll in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not strange,” DuMont said, smiling a little. “It’s a blessing.”

She looked at him with a dubious smile, but lay back down on his chest with a satisfied sigh.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Ocsmutpocalypse #Tiefling #Elf #Interspecies Romance #Third Person Perspective #Third Person POV

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multimusemadness · 4 months

Note

Jyushimatsu! Which of your bros do you wanna smooch the most?

"Karamatsu-niisan!!!"

@ultimatenii-san

#;; hustle hustle! muscle muscle! | jyushimatsu ic #;; painful but free | ultimatenii san karamatsu #;; blm@tsu #;; Bard prince and the muscle princess

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allocerart · 4 years

Photo

Hey I know Homestuck Day is over, but I redrew a group of fantrolls I made awhile ago and I’ve been thinking about them a lot now.

The original on the left I did like 2 years ago, I liked a lot about their designs still, but wanted to tweak a few things. Names and classpects stayed the same though. Full list of names, classes, and descriptions under the readmore.

Also their all very gay/very queer because why the fuck not.

Lovlei Platon: Arlo sign, Prospit dreamer, Seer of Heart. Everyone’s best friend. Non-threatening and very friend shaped. Sounds naive and innocent, but is very in tune with what people are thinking and very good at reading the room. Likes to play match maker. (she/her pronouns, cis girl, bi)

Auroch Koupre: Taurmini sign, Derse dreamer, Knight of Doom. Very serious and stern. Does not trust anyone higher than jadeblood. Hard work is all that matters to her, and people minding their manners. Has a weakness for pretty girls. (she/her pronouns, cis girl, lesbian)

Meikoo Rypton: Gemsci sign, Derse dreamer, Page of Life. A physically weak girl who struggles moving around, but has made up for it by inventing machines to assist her in day to day function. Her matesprits are a good help as well. She hates being treated like she’s helpless though. Make that mistake and she’ll send you hurtling across the room with her psionic powers. (she/they pronouns, nb girl, pan)

Vanri Damzel: Canga sign, Derse dreamer, Mage of Space. A limeblood hiding out in a deep forest cave, yet still acting like a Disney Princess. A Disney Princess with a a terrible rage. They’re like a DnD barbarian. But only when their friends are in danger, and they have no memory of it afterward. It is both hilarious and terrifying. (they/them pronouns, nonbinary, pan)

Tallin Khifun: Lenius sign, Prospit dreamer, Witch of Hope. Listen, this guy is just ready to throw hands at all times. He loves combat and everything about it. He wants to fight big monsters. He will throw himself at them. No matter how much his friends beg him to stop. He wants to hone his body into the perfect fighting machine. And also have huge muscles so he can BE REAL GOOD AT HUGGING. (he/him pronouns, nb guy, pan)

Avrani Vollur: Virra sign, Prospit dreamer, Bard of Mind. He lives in a library, surrounded by old lost tomes that few trolls ever lay eyes on. He’s well read, but long winded. He also adores puzzles and riddles. His friends appreciate his knowledge and teacher-like demeanor most of the time, but his inability to get to the point sometimes irks them. He also may or may not be seeking forbidden dark knowledge. (he/him pronouns, trans guy, gay)

Franzi Appell: Lipia sign, Derse dreamer, Prince of Light. This is basically the Vriska of the group. She’s a bitch. And she knows it. But she’s a smart bitch. She has intimate knowledge of political systems and how to exploit laws and rules to the fullest, making her ideal for beating a game like sburb. But she’s just insufferable most of the time. She likes to start drama for the sake of drama. (she/ her pronouns, cis girl, bi)

Oratta and Methea Argema: Scorcer and Scorcen sign respectively, Prospit and Derse dreamers respectively, Sylph of Blood. These twins aren’t a standard on Alternia, as they share one body. Whether they are two grubs who fused at some point, or one mind that developed two alternate identities, they’re not sure. But they make the most of it. They consider each other siblings, and usually leave notes for one another to keep themselves informed. Though the constant swapping can sometimes be confusing to their friends. Oratta is the more light hearted of the two, usually opening the bottom set of eyes when she’s awake. She’s a wild and free spirit who likes to take risks and try new things. Methea is more reserved, using the top set of eyes when their awake. They’re the type to step back and examine a situation before making any moves. Everything is like chess to them. (Oratta: she/her, girl, ace)(Methea: they/them, nonbinary, pan)

Kabara Venous: Sagiborn sign, Derse dreamer, Rogue of Rage. Kabara is that dude with an acoustic guitar that you meet on a college campus who takes philosophy courses and biology at the same time. Sometimes he says a thought out loud without thinking first, but he’s willing to take criticism and learn. He’s fond of music though, even if his blueblood strength sometimes gets in the way of his ability to play guitar. (He/him pronouns, cis guy, bi)

Thorne Jastor: Capries sign, Derse dreamer, Thief of Time. Thorne is a surprisingly calm indigoblood who is desperately trying to hide the fact that she’s so calm. Often having to fake her rage and destruction to play the part. But she hates it. She just wants to chill, play weird goth music, and overthrow the establishment. She also gets nervous during confrontation. She has chucklevoodoos, but hell if she knows how to use it or what it does. (she/her pronouns, trans girl, lesbian)

Glamur Hassel: Auittanius Sign, Prospit dreamer, Heir of Void. Always taking selfies and obsessing over photography and aesthetics, he struggles to focus on real problems or other people sometimes. He’s also quite hard headed and stubborn. But when push comes to shove, he’s very reliable, and he gives 100% on any task he’s given. (he/him pronouns, cis guy, bi)

Kirina Galeos: Pius sign, Prospit dreamer, Maid of Breath. A girl who lives for the thrill of the hunt! She enjoys chasing down and outswimming sharks. She has an impeccable skill for harpooning. She also enjoys crafting weapons out of teeth and bones of her prey. She’s a bit of a show off, and has quite an ego, but it’s not entirely without reason. She talks a big game, and she can back it up most of the time. (she/him pronouns, nonbinary girl, pan)

#Homestuck #fantrolls #fantroll #fanart #my art #my characters

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wh47-7h3-un1v3r53-15-m4d3-0f · 5 years

Text

BNHA Supernatural AU

i know this has already been done but i wasn’t very satisfied so i reworked it a bit to include more magical creatures and such. some of these creatures are not named correctly because i couldn’t find the actual name but i assure you, they exist.

Deku: He a mage. It goes perfect with his backstory because magic isn’t something you’re born with, it’s something you learn. He’s an apprentice directly under the great wizard Yagi Toshinori. Has a little cottage in the woods where he and some of his friends live.

Uraraka: A fairy. So she can fly and be tiny and adorable like she is. Became friends with Deku after helping him find some spell ingredients in the forest. Has a little house inside the walls of Deku’s cottage. Is also dating a nice frogling.

Iida: A centar. I tried to find the fastest land magic creature and came up with this. Coincidentally, while still living a little savagely, centaurs run a very strict society. Iida had trouble seeing so he sought out Deku to have his vision fixed.(Deku just gave him a pair of magic glasses that wouldn’t fall of his face)He now has a large stall like room in the back of Deku’s cottage with a special seat Deku had a woodsman make.

Tsuyu: A frogling. they are actually very smol, a little bigger than Uraraka. Lives in the pond next to Deku’s house. Her family lived their before Deku came but they bonded after Deku asked to put his house near by. Loves her fairy wifey, yes sir.

Todoroki: Vampire prince. It just works to well to not, especially since some myths have vampires having elemental abilities or being strong in magic. Often visits Deku’s cottage ever since they met when Deku accidentally wandered into vampire territory. Has a big crush on the clumsy mage. Doesn’t stay with Deku, but he always has a room prepared just for Todoroki.

Bakugou: A werewolf. I know the original au has him being a barbarian king but i think this fits better. He isn’t a king anymore either, but he is a noble. Mitsuki is the captain of the royal guard and he is groomed to take her place when he completes his training. Him and Deku stumbled upon each other as children and became fast friends, as did their mothers, until Bakugou became to engrossed into his training. May or may not have a crush on his stupid stone golem bodyguard/sparring parter. Stupid feelings.

Kirishima: A golem conjured up by two witches, who works for the Bakugou family and trains in hopes of becoming a knight. A big goof with a heart of gold and muscles of actual stone. Doesn’t like to flaunt like his best friend does but will when a certain werewolf is watching.

Kaminari: A storm spirit. They’re basically shapeshifting thunder cloud people. Storm spirits are considered a very proud race so Denki’s messing around isn’t very excepted. Loves his best friend and boyfriends very much, and can be a bit of an AIRhead. Is, of course, in Bakugou’s entourage or friend group along with the rest of the bakusquad.

Mina: An Argonian. Can spit acid. Can still be pink. It was perfect. She does have a tail now but it’s fine. Her ghost friend does like to pull on it sometimes, though. Is best friends with Denki and Hanta and this is who Kirishima comes to for relationship advice.

Sero: Arachne, or a spider person. With his tape it was a given. Is part of what Mina calls “Denki’s harem” along with a diviner named Shinsou. An absolute prankmaster with his webbing and has tied but about everyone atleast once.

Hagakure; A ghost. You know why. Met Mina when she was exploring the cabin Hagakure died in. Is in love with a werelion

Ojiro: Werelion. It’s the tail. Is in love with a ghost

Momo: A princess. A badass one at that with god blood in her veins. Has her knight/bard girlfriend with her at all times.

Jiro: A knight/bard that works for/dates Momo.

that’s all for now. i’ll do the heroes in a separate post. Peace!

#bnha bakugou #bnha headcanons #bnha au #my hero academia #my hero academia headcanons #mha #mha headcanons #my hero academia au #mha au

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3laxx · 6 years

Text

Wind update 9

I promise after this chapter it's over. Or not.

Another chapter. Weee. Enjoy~

Ao3 / FF.net

For another hour, they cleaned the kitchen and got together for a little game of fighting – which Ella won, of course – before the littlest girl yawned.

“Alright, Jazz, time for bed. Go get ready and I’ll read you a story if you want.”, Alya clapped her hands and pried Amber off her back as she got up with ease. Jazz all the while crossed her arms and her eyebrows knitted together.

“No.”

The oldest girl turned and lifted her eyebrows at her, putting on a stern expression that matched Jazz’.

“Say what?”

“I don’t wanna.”, the little girl stayed stubborn.

“You’re going to bed now, Jazz. You’re tired and you need the sleep until your mom will pick you up, no compromise. Understood?”

The girl pouted and sat down on the floor again.

“But I wanna stay up late like Amber, Ella and Etta. Or like Nino and you.”

Alya simply shook her head, smiled and stretched out a hand.

“Okay, deal. If you don’t yawn within the next five minutes you can stay up late.”

Nino lifted his eyebrows now as well and looked at Alya questioningly.

Jazz on the other hand beamed and jumped to take her oldest sister’s hand. She immediately after ran to one corner of the room to pull out a toy she wanted to play with. While she did that, Alya leaned down to the older girls, whispering conspiratorially to which her little sisters replied with excitement.

“Girls, code red.”

Both twins nodded and while Amber went to go play with Jazz again, Alya laid down on the couch with the twins, stretching. And fake yawning.

“Nino, you comin’? I’m tired, let’s lay down…”

He still didn’t know what was going on and he had been with the girls for a few times now but that was new. So, he obliged and laid down next to his girlfriend, taking her in his arms, curious as to what would happen next.

Then he noticed Amber yawning, too, right in front of Jazz. Ella started yawning and right after her, Alya did, too. It actually set him off so he had to yawn for real now.

It clicked, when he finally understood. He joined in on playing sleepy and finally, one last try by Amber gave Jazz a little push.

She yawned. Right in the middle of the movement she stopped and realized what she was doing. Alya shot up in a sitting position and pointed to her.

“Ha! I won fair and square, don’t you try to deny it! You yawned!”

Jazz quickly shut her mouth and shook her head.

“No…”, she tried but Alya cut her off.

“And we’re going to bed, young lady. C’mon, I won, it’s only fair.”

The littlest girl’s shoulders slumped and she pouted as she grabbed Alya’s hand. She murmured something like “no faiw”, but Nino wasn’t entirely sure. Just a few moments later her heard Jazz throwing a tantrum again and Alya groaning.

Sighing, he got up and looked at the twins and Amber who looked mildly concerned but didn’t move a muscle.

“Is she always like that in the evening?”

Amber shrugged.

“Well, mom manages to put her in bed only with a minor tantrum because Jazz knows she doesn’t get through with anger. Mom puts her in bed anyway. Alya’s way softer so Jazz thinks she can cry her way out.”

Nino nodded and then smiled.

“Maybe I can help. Be right back.”

While he walked down the corridor to her room again Wayzz stuck out his head from an inner pocket of Nino’s jacket and looked up to him.

“Do you know a way with kids, Wayzz? You’ve existed for a very long time now, there must be something, right?”

The little green Turtle thought for a moment and then his face lit up.

“Well, you have to make them tired. Lay down next to them and tell them a story so they’ll get sleepy. At least most of my wielders did that when they had kids.”

Nino nodded and patted his Kwami’s head.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

The little god hid in his pocket again and Nino entered the room just as Alya put her hands on her hips in front of a screaming Jazz.

“But I don’t wanna go to bed and you chweated, that’s no faiw! You are a mean cousin, Alya!”

“I’m not mean, I’m just responsible and I know very well that you’re tired and need to go to bed, otherwise you wouldn’t throw a tantrum! So, be reasonable and go. To. Bed. Already! Or I’ll you’re your mom!”, his crush shot back, crossing her arms.

“No, don’t tell mom but I don’t wanna go to bed! I’m not tiwed!”, more tears fell from Jazz’s eyes but before Alya could respond, Nino laid a hand on her arm.

“I’ll try, Alya, okay? Go back to Amber and the twins, I’ll take care of Jazz.”

The brunette nodded hesitatingly and tried a smile but failed, her anger stronger right now.

“Alright. Call me when it doesn’t work, alright?”

He nodded and lightly squeezed her hand to which his hand had lowered assuring, turning to Jazz and letting Alya out of the room. He crouched down just as they both heard Alya stomping down the hallway after she closed the door.

Jazz looked at him with big eyes when he faced her again with a disappointed face, pointing to the now closed door.

“You heard that?”

She nodded and he stretched out a hand to pull her towards him and hug her.

“Is-… Is Alya mad at me now?”, she asked with a thin voice, muffled by his shirt.

“I don’t think she’s mad. She’s just-… She’s angry because she wants to be a good babysitter and you’re giving her a hard time.”

The little girl pouted as she pulled away and looked at him while playing with a necklace he wore. Alya had gifted it to him on his seventeenth birthday and ironically, it was a little circle with a pattern in it that looked just like a Turtle’s shell.

“She’s no good babysittew if she wants to put me to bed.”

He shook his head and now looked down as well, watching her little fingers playing with his necklace.

“Oh yes she is. Because you need the sleep. I know it sounds very grown up and boring but you’re still young and you need much more sleep than we do. And now Alya’s angry because she wasn’t able to put you in bed like your mother told her to do.”

The little girl nodded, then tried to discreetly yawn as she still held her gaze down.

“Tell you what? We’ll go to bed together, how does that sound?”, he suddenly asked, causing her to look up at him questioningly.

“But you don’t wanna go to bed.”

“Oh, I want to, I’m tired. So, you want to go to bed with me?”

She nodded excitedly and ran to her little backpack to pull out her pajamas. He got her changed and then laid down next to her on top of the blanket on Alya’s bed while she was tugged under, with her little head resting on his arm.

“Comfortable?”, he asked and she nodded, already a bit sleepy, “Do you want to hear a story?”

“Yeah. Tell me a fairy tale but you have to make it up.”, she demanded. Nino wasn’t that good at making up stories of his own but he knew, if he didn’t she would never go to sleep. So, he took a deep breath and looked up at the poster of Ladybug that hung over Alya’s bed.

“Well… There was a princess once. And that princess didn’t want to be married off to some meanie of a prince, like her father, the king, wanted her to. He wanted her to marry this guy because he had much money and the king loved his daughter very dearly and only wanted the best for her. But he didn’t see how much of a meanie this prince was. Because of that, she asked her maiden to take her place and lock her room so that the princess could take a turn in the fights of the festival that was being held by her father to celebrate the engagement of his daughter.”

“Wha was the pincess’ name?”, Jazz murmured, burying her nose in his shirt.

“Her name was, uh… Her name was Maren. And her maiden’s name was Alina. And the meanie she was engaged to was named Félix. But she didn’t want to marry him, so she took part in the fights to have enough money to flee. And she did just that. When her father asked for her, her maiden would answer that she was safely in her room. However, Maren attended the festival and was getting known as the knight Lord Ladybug, because she had a special connection to Ladybugs. They were a strong symbol or luck for her.”

“Just like our Ladybug?”

“Yeah, like our Ladybug. And Maren was a hero, too! She was able to flee along with her maiden Alina and they were not seen since that day. The wedding was cancelled and the meanie of a prince Félix was not married to her. And you know what happened someday?”

The girl shook her head, too tired to answer anymore.

“Maren and her maiden Alina, who was known as the Lord of, uh-… Foxenshire and also known as a knight, saved two bards from robbery. They got off their horses and helped up the poor men whose names were Charles and his faithful companion Jaden and Maren under her helmet instantly fell in love with Charles while Alina fell in love with Jaden, too. They stayed together because Maren and Alina wanted to protect these two and so they accompanied them until they got to another kingdom. There, Charles admitted that he was the prince of that kingdom and that his real name was Aiden. He had wanted to have an adventure because he had been overprotected by his father, the king who ruled there. And Maren admitted that she was not a man and Aiden fell in love with her as well. At that same time, Alina revealed herself to Jaden, whose real name was Niro and he was a servant and best friend to Aiden, and so they lived happily ever after because they all kissed and then, later, married with the blessings of their fathers.”

“Ew, no kisses…”, Jazz murmured, already breathing deeper, almost asleep.

“Well then, hugs. They hugged every single day and told each other how much they loved each other. Is that better?”

The girl didn’t answer anymore. She was fast asleep.

Nino grinned and gently removed her hand from his shirt and laid down her head on her pillow. She didn’t even flinch when he left the room, not without leaving a goodnight’s kiss on her forehead.

When he got back to the living room, Alya laid on the couch with Amber sitting beside her. The twins were in their room, probably packing their things for school the next day.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Alya shrugged and Amber shook her head, gently patting her cousin’s back. Nino nodded and sat in front of the couch as well, softly stroking Alya’s arm.

“Jazz is asleep, Alya.”

The brunette just nodded and Amber gestured for him to follow her. He smiled, not after throwing a last glance to his girlfriend who still buried her head in the cushions.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”, he asked as soon as they were in the bathroom and had closed the door.

“I wanted to tell you that I’ll be in the twin’s room now.”, she grabbed a toothbrush Alya had prepared for her, somehow seeming more mature for her age, “Try to cheer Alya up a little. She often struggles with Jazz, we all do. She’s a little stubborn. Today was still not so bad.”

He sat down on the floor when Amber kneeled in front of him, laying a hand on his knee and holding the toothbrush with a bit of toothpaste in the other.

“Alya is just tired, I think. Go watch a movie with her or something. Then she can relax and you can cuddle.”

He grinned and laid a hand on her brown hair that was so similar to her sisters and cousins. This family definitely had a significant look, coming from Martinique and all.

“Thanks, Amber. I owe you.”, he smiled and stood up again, leaving the girl to brush her teeth, “And don’t stay up too late!”

He walked back into the living room and saw Alya sitting up again, looking at her phone. She wasn’t one to mope around for very long so when he had told her Jazz was asleep she had probably already caught herself.

“Hey, what you doing?”, he asked casually while flopping down next to her and leaning back.

“Checking the Ladyblog and texting with Mari. No biggie.”

He nodded and closed his eyes.

“Well what’s Marinette saying? More girl stuff?”

Alya somehow tensed.

“No, she’s worrying. That Turtle guy is creeping around in her head more than I’d have thought. Even more than kissing Adrien if that’s even possible.”

He bolted to sit upright again and looked at her as if she’d just grown a third arm somewhere.

“Wait, thinking more about him than kissing Adrien? Is that legal?”

The brunette giggled and shoved his face away so he had to laugh.

“Stop trying to be funny, dork.”, she shook her head at his attempts to look serious and then turned back to her phone, “What worries me the most is that nobody but Ladybug and Chat have seen this Turtle guy since their first meeting. I mean, yeah, Mari and Adrien went to see Master Fu and he told them it was perfectly fine but still. I can’t trust someone I haven’t seen before.”

And it was then that Nino understood how hard and amusing at the same time it must’ve been for Marinette and Adrien to keep their identities a secret for such a long time. Everyone had been talking about their superhero personas and Alya had even spent whole nights talking to her best friend about her theories who was under that Ladybug patterned mask. Marinette must’ve either felt super bad for lying to her best friend and at the same time really amused by her far-fetched theories when Ladybug was sitting right in the same room with her.

He grinned to himself and watched Alya as she continued to scroll down on her phone.

He really had it bad.

With a quick movement he scooted closer and kissed her cheek, successfully distracting her from her phone. She smirked at him before kissing his lips, nudging him back to lie on the couch with his back, her above him. That was one very pleasant side effect of having everything back to normal again. Nino had felt like they had gotten together a little rushed, just after one kiss on the battlefield, right after she had saved him from suffocating in that bronze orb. And after that they hadn’t had as much time establishing their relationship since, well, fighting Hawkmoth had been a priority then. Now that they had had all the time to get to know each other in their relationship and that different side of each other, they had gotten way more comfortable. And considerably less nervous.

Nino almost chuckled when he thought abut how nervous he had been getting around her back then, a few months ago, when she had tried initiating a kiss.

She adjusted and slipped her knees down, lying down on top of him and snuggling closer, her lips moving slower now. Of course, she didn’t want to get too heated. After all, the twins and Amber could return every second, or Jazz could wake up again. Nino tightly locked his arms around her, not minding in the slightest that their kiss stayed chaste for now.

Sometimes, it was better like that. Of course, they’d had a bit more by now, but sometimes he liked to appreciate having her close, especially after everything that had happened.

She seemed to read his thoughts as she leant to one side, against the backrest, and let one hand come down to his chest, lightly brushing over his scar that he still carried. Immediately, one of his hands joined hers, placed above hers and pressing her fingers closer. She caressed his cheek with her other hand and placed another kiss on his lips before resting her nose on his cheek and her forehead on his, quietly mumbling reassuring phrases, as she always did when he felt unsure.

“I’m here, Nino… It won’t happen again… You’re safe…”

At that moment, the urge to tell her that he’d be throwing himself in the middle of the battle from now on was almost unbearable. The memories started resurfacing and he kept her tightly against him, his eyes squinted and his mind focused on the gentle pressure her fingers applied on his chest.

“… I’m safe…”, he repeated, “… You’re here…”

She nodded and kissed him again, before burying her face on his neck.

“You’re safe…”

They remained like this for a moment, until Nino spoke up again, his breath calmed down and his voice steady.

“Hey Alya?”

“Yeah?”, she whispered against his neck, pressing a little kiss to his skin.

“Wanna watch a movie? Y’know, to calm down a bit and kinda bring the day to an end?”

Alya softly nodded, jumping up and walking to the cupboard that held all their movies, closely followed by Nino.

They both needed a bit to find a few movies they wanted to watch, even though the boy mostly watched the profile of her concentrated face. He would watch any movie with her that she wanted.

Finally, she beamed and reached up to pull out a movie from the highest shelf. But even though she was taller than a few of their classmates she couldn’t reach it.

“So, short stuff?”, he chuckled and earned a slap into his stomach.

“I’m gonna get it, just-… You wait…”

He now laughed and reached up as well, grabbing the movie with ease. He was ready to rub it into her face when he looked down again but found himself swallowing his teasing.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfic #Breeze #wind #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #djwifi #ella cesaire #etta cesaire #ocs #gina cesaire #amber cesaire #jazz cesaire #fluff

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firegrilled · 6 years

Text

I Need a Hero

Jearmin Week Day 1 Fantasy

Summary: Jean’s band of adventurers come across royal bodyguards of a kidnapped princess. Seeing an opportunity to line his pockets and finally live the easy life, Jean and his friends get more than they bargained for when they discover their kingdom’s most well-guarded secret: they don’t have a princess but a meek prince.

Next Part

A spark flew from Eren’s fingertips. The small light drew squints from the guards by the castle gate. Mere seconds later a ball of flames lit up the night sky along with the orcish guards. Their pained screams echoed around the ancient castle causing numerous bells to start clanging.

“Goddamn it, Jaeger!” Jean shouted, finally catching up to the rash sorcerer. “What part of stealthy don’t you get?”

“The part where my friend remains captured by Marley longer than necessary,” Eren crossed his arms indignantly.

Before Jean could attempt to tackle him, a knight clad in full steel plate stepped forward and placed him into a headlock. “Eren, we have to be careful. We don’t want to risk them injuring the princess.”

Letting out a sigh, some smoke blew out of Eren’s mouth. “No. But we need to hurry before they have a chance to escape with her. Let’s go!”

The rest of the adventurers caught up with them, all breathing heavily.

“Wait a minute!” Sasha held up a hand, bending over to catch her breath. “I need a minute... and some food.”

“We ate like thirty minutes ago,” Jean rolled his eyes. “Take a minute but we need to get going before they try and escape since someone alerted them to our pressence.”

Eren stuck his tongue out and face the castle. “Like they’re gonna escape me.”

“Look, I still don’t know what the fuck you are but we still gotta get across that moat,” Jean pointed to the gap between the gates Eren just clear and the wooden drawbridge.

“Oh, let me get that. I just need to sneak in and lower the bridge!” Connie offered, his face lighting up at the opportunity to break into a castle.

Unfortunately an even brighter flame exploded across the moat. The wooden drawbridge shattered into splinters and shrapnel as Eren snapped his fingers. “There, gate open-”

Mikasa proceeded to choke Eren while Jean ran a gloved a hand down his face.

“Don’t worry, I can fix this,” the final adventurer stepped forward, gracefully stepping towards the moat.

Marco knelt down and muttered words in a language only he and his kind understood. His freckles glowed a dull green, catching the attention of their flame sorcerer. Eren stopped struggling in Mikasa’s grasp, watching with curiosity as seaweed twisted upwards from the moat. The plants grew into a bridge.

“Thanks Marco. Come on!” Jean pointed forward. His group ran across the bridge with Jean leading the charge. “Where are they keeping Princess Historia?”

“The top of the tallest tower, duh. Are you even a real adventurer?” Sasha spoke, earning a scowl from the leader of the group.

“This isn’t a fairy tale.”

“Actually, she’s right. Prince Zeke’s room is at the top of the tallest tower and likely where he’s keeping his hostage,” Mikasa informed him.

“Told ya so!” Sasha pointed at Jean.

Ignoring the urge to hit his friend, he clenched his fist while Eren dashed ahead.

“This way, I know how to get there,” Eren stated.

“Wait!” Jean called back, quickly picking up the pace. The group sprinted through the castle, turning various corners. “Does he really know where he’s going?”

“Yes,” Mikasa replied until they found Eren brought to a halt at the end of a corridor.

Standing in the hallway was a petite blonde with icy blue eyes and clad in dark metal armor. Her hands rested on the hilt of a longsword.

“So the prodigal son returns... with company,” a cool voice greeted the group.

“Out of the way Annie. We’re grabbing the princess and leaving,” Eren snapped back.

The blonde knight quirked an eyebrow, drawing her blade.

“...I’m under orders to capture you on sight.”

Eren pointed a finger at Annie, but a black flash ran by him.

Mikasa swung her blade at Annie, who swiftly blocked it with her own. Exchanging glares the two broke out into a fight- metal clanging against metal. Both warriors made use of the ample hallway space and swung liberally, cutting through tapestries and pots. Mikasa looked back at the group.

“Go!”

“But-” Eren reached out for Mikasa, but Marco grabbed his wrist.

“Just go!”

“Cone on, Eren. Lead us to the princess. Mikasa can handle herself,” Marco gently pushed him ahead.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Eren nodded. He sprinted forward again. Leading the group up a nearby stairwell, Eren paused to take in his surroundings. Pointing to down a barren hallway, the adventurers made it halfway to another intersection before another knight and a group of orcish guards blocked the way.

“Called it,” the large blond knight in their path chuckled at the group. “Bertholdt owes me a round of mead. No one else is dumb enough to blow open a gate besides you.”

“Shut up and get out fo our way, Reiner,” Eren replied.

Laughing loudly, Reiner stepped forward holding a double sided ax. “You’re not getting through me.”

Jean’s eyes widened as Reiner sprinted forward. For such a bulky person he was quite fast. Reiner swung for Eren’s arm but Connie blocked the blow with two daggers.

“I got him, go now!” Connie said through gritted teeth.

“You?” Reiner balked at the thought. “I’m gonna chop a twig like you in half!”

A loud twang echoed around the halls as a lute slammed into the side of Reiner’s head. He rolled to the side as he recovered his bearings.

“Sasha?!” Connie’s mouth dropped. “But your lute?”

“I got you, baldie,” Sasha grinned. “Don’t worry about my lute, i’ll tune it once we get out of here. Besides I can smell the kitchen nearby.”

“Be careful!” Jean called back as he followed down another corridor. The thought of leaving his bard and rogue against a knight like Reiner sent chills down his spine but he had faith in the two. They made it this far in life after all.

Just as Jean began to recollect his thoughts he ran straight into Eren’s back, not realizing the boy suddenly stopped.

“What the hell now Jaeger?” Jean asked, rubbing his nose. he looked around Jaeger to see a tall but lanky man with dark robes in their way. “It’s just one guy. And he’s not wearing armor!”

“That’s Bertholdt the Black you dumbass,” Eren retorted. “He’s on the archmages of Marley. Why the hell are you in this ancient dump?”

“You already know the answer to that,” Bertholdt replied, stepping forward.

Eren took a step back into Jean, unnerving the adventurer. What about this man unnerved Eren Jaeger?

Before Jean could guess an answer, Marco stepped past the two.

“Rescue the princess,” Marco simply stated before his freckles glowed once more. The stone floor between Marco and his friends suddenly rose to the ceiling, separating them.

“Marco!” Eren shouted, slamming his fists against the new wall.

“Eren, let’s hurry! Marco can hold his own but I don’t know for how long,” Jean explained.

“Against someone like Bertholdt though?” Eren wondered as he sprinted down a nearby corridor.

At the end of the long corridor a spiral staircase lead upwards.

“Marco is stronger than you know but I don’t know that mage’s power. He’ll be able to last a little bit at least.”

A massive tremor shook the castle causing dust to fall from the cracks of the stone ceiling. Candles fell from their stands and put themselves out as they hit the ground. Eren and Jean barely maintained their footing.

“That wasn’t one of Bertl’s spells...”

“Oh shit. If Marco is shaking the castle we don’t have that much time,” Jean swore. “Is that the stairwell the tower?”

Eren nodded as Jean and him resumed their run. As they reached the end of the hallway, a gust blew from the tower. A few large stone fell downwards, causing Eren and Jean to stop.

Frowning at the sudden event, Eren turned to Jean. “The prince is here. Just run up and grab the princess like we planned, I’ll hold him off.”

“But I can fight too!” Jean geatured to his blade.

“Not against this kind of magic. He’s like me,” Eren let out a deep breath, releasing some smoke. “Trust me on this one and trust this spell.”

“What?” Jean questioned as Eren placed a hand on his head. He felt his head started to glow hot for a moment. The warmth spread over his body and relaxed his tense muscles. Before he could inquire more he saw his skin start to fade as the familiar invisibility took hold. Normally this was Connie’s schtick.

“Well, well, what an unpleasant surprise,” an older man stated as he floated down from the tower. He stepped through the entrance into the corridor. “What brings you home?”

“You took my princess,” Eren narrowed his eyes at Prince Zeke.

“That’s your princess?” Zeke scoffed, not noticing Jean scooting carefully along the wall. “Of course that’s your preference. If you want ‘em you can have ‘em. Assuming you can beat me, brother.”

“Shut up and fight,” Eren demanded, his eyes glowing red.

“As you wish.” Prince Zeke’s eyes glowed grey as one of the stone from before shot out from behind him and towards Eren.

Jean covered his mouth as he almost gasped from surprise. Quickly but nimbly he ascended the stairs at the castle shook again from the battles below. Flame and stone shot upwards as Jean circled the tower. Despite being in great shape, running up so many stairs left him heaving by the time he reached the top. Whoever the fuck made these things an architectural necessity for castles deserved to be shot with several arrows.

Reaching the door of the royal chambers, Jean opened it and suddenly felt very impoverished. Purple carpet extended from the door to the giant bed in the center of the room. Dark, wooden chairs were pushed into a desk in the corner with papers splayed out on it. A silver jug and wine glasses were set on a table near the bed. After being understandably caught up in the moment, Jean heard sobbing coming from the bed. From the doorway he could see a silhouette through the canopy in the bed.

Taking a step into the room, the carpet crunched under Jean’s weight. A gasp came from the bed and the sobs stopped. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat and continued forward. The carpet continued to make sounds as he made his way around the regal room. On the ground he noticed ripped apart.

The silhouette in the bed disappeared under the covers as Jean reached the side. As soon as he opened his mouth a pillow came crashing into his face. He stumbled backwards and into the table with wine glasses. The invisibility faded and the silver jug spilled wine all over Jean. Now he’d need a good bath after this.

“Ouch!” Jean reacted, rubbing the back of his head.

“Stay away!” A voice warned from the covers.

Before Jean could utter a barbed retort, his throat choked out his words. A beautiful blonde head poked from the covers, her expression a mixture of anger and fear. Jean’s heart pounded and his mouth ran dry. The rumors about the princess being the greatest beauty in the land did have some weight after all.

“Uh. That stung... I mean-” Jean cleared his throat and plastered the cheesiest smile he could muster. “Princess Historia, my name is Jean Kirschtein and I’m here to save you.”

The princess’ eyes widened. “What?”

“Well, it’s more accurate to say me and my friends came to rescue you. We found Eren and Mikasa on the way here and came to help rescue you, my lady,” Jean explained.

The princess’ face turned a deep red. “Eren and Mikasa came to rescue me?”

“Of course! Right now they’re fighting below but once I activate this scroll,” Jean gestured to a parchment on his belt. “We’ll teleport out of here and the others will get the signal to do the same. Shall we?”

“Uh... I don’t have any clothes...” The princess looked at the ripped pieces of cloth on the ground. “Prince Zeke isn’t known for his... temperament.”

“No fear, you can use my cloak,” Jean offered before realizing it was covered in wine. “It might be a bit damp.”

“That’s fine, that was my fault,” the princess raised her hands out of the cover, causing the duvet to fall. Before Jean could avert his eyes, he noticed the pale chest of the princess and that it lacked... “Oh my!”

The princess covered her chest but it was already too late. Jean’s face fell at the sight. “Y-you’re not a girl.”

“N-no. I’m not the princess. She’s in another castle,” the impostor frowned. “My name is Armin.”

Jean pressed his lips together as his hopes and dreams for a cushy life were dashed once more. he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a deep breath. “So your friends mislead us?”

“I’m afraid so...” Armin’s face fell, tears forming on the edges of his eyes. “They kidnapped me by mistake. When Zeke found out a bit ago I thought he was going to kill me until an explosion rang out.”

Jean’s chest tightened again. Seeing the petite boy on the verge of tears made his stomach twist in knots. Resigning himself to reality, Jean stepped forward and wrapped his wine-soaked cloak around the poor boy. He offered a gentle smile. While not a princess, he did at least knock one thing off his bucket list; he rescued a beauty from an ancient, evil castle.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Jean extended a hand and bowed a little.

Caught off guard by the chivalrous treatment, Armin’s blush deepened.

“Thank... Thank you,” Armin took the hand and stood up. His eyes darted to the desk and he ran over.

“What are you doing?” Jean tilted his head from confusion as Armin grabbed all the letters off the desk. Another tremor shook the castle. “We need to get going!”

“Making sure this humiliation wasn’t for naught,” Armin replied. he bent over and opened a drawer. he flung out some quills and and ink until he found a bag. he grabbed the bag and ran over to Jean. “I’m ready.”

Grabbing the parchment, Jean opened it. He glanced over the arcane text before muttering the words Marco trained him to say. The scroll glowed a dull purple. “Hang on!”

Jean hooked an arm around Armin and pulled him close, both of them disappearing in a quick flash.

Both boys were teleported to some plains far away from the castle. Armin landed on top of Jean, knocking the breath out of his chest.

“I’ve been saved,” Armin stated as he rolled off Jean, disbelief evident in his voice. “This must be what the princess feels like.”

“How’d you know that?” Jean asked, taking in a deep breath. While emotionally confused, he was glad to at least have his life.

“She tells me in between kidnappings. I swear Ymir let’s it happen just so she has an excuse to ravish her,” Armin answered as he sat up.

“Wait, you know the princess? And she’s repeatedly kidnapped?” Jean’s eyes widened. maybe this wasn’t a complete crapshoot.

“Yeah, we’re best friends,” Armin admitted, his eyes falling to his hands. “And she’s kidnapped enough that it’s pretty normal. If you were expecting a reward for saving her I don’t think you would’ve gotten it.”

“Damn it,” Jean cursed falling back into the grass. “I was hoping to at least get a kiss for all that bullshit.”

Before he could register what was happening, he felt a pair of lips press against his. It was a chaste kiss but it left Jean red faced, especially since the sounds of the others teleporting in rattled his nerves. He was going to have fun explaining why a he had a naked boy on top of him instead of Princess Historia.

To Be Continued tomorrow with Jearmin Week Day 2 Survival!

#Jean Kirschtein #armin #jearmin #jearminweek2018 #thejearmincollective #fanstasy #rescue the princess trope #very dnd based #sasha is the best bard #sorcerer eren #hero jean #druid marco #rogue connie #paladin mikasa

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