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indeedcaptain · 7 months

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Spirktober 2023, Day 4: Water

Two in one day! Who is she? She's powerful! I chose water for the theme of today because the idea of Spock learning to swim was irresistible. I hope you enjoy!

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆ ☆ ☆

Kirk had promised Bones that there was nothing on this planet that could possibly impact their away mission, which, upon reflection, was nearly certainly why things had gone sideways as soon as the shuttle entered the atmosphere.

It was a milk-run day, as the bridge crew called their less eventful assignments from HQ. They were on the edges of Alpha Quadrant, taking samples of air and water and microbiological life forms from a planet that hadn’t so much as developed a millipede yet.

The funny thing was, Kirk mused, as Spock carefully guided their dead shuttle towards the endless ocean beneath them, was that if they had decided to beam down to the surface instead, everything would have been fine.

But there was something in the atmosphere that had changed the combustion rate of the engine (“A 0.00085% chance of occurrence, captain,” Spock had said calmly as the engine stuttered into silence) and had derailed their plans for an uneventful couple of hours on the surface of the planet. They hadn’t even taken security officers. Spock’s favorite scientists were monitoring some high-touch fungi growth experiment, and Kirk knew that Spock himself was curious to study a planet so early in its development, so they had elected to go, just themselves. Like a date, Kirk thought, watching Spock expertly slow their fall with the shuttle’s emergency parachute, deploy the inflatable underlayer of the shuttle, and bring them to a careful landing on the surface of the ocean. Naturally our first date goes to hell immediately.

Spock checked the readouts from the dashboard of the shuttle and raised one eyebrow. God, Kirk loved that eyebrow. “The composition of both the ocean and the air are astonishingly similar to Earth, captain. Certainly M-class, with a breathable atmosphere for oxygen-reliant life forms and a sodium-heavy ocean. Ambient temperature reads at ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit, and water temperature at seventy-eight. ”

“So it’s safe to go outside?”

Spock hesitated. “Insufficient data. I am unable to determine what factor would have prevented the engine from continuing on impulse power.”

“But I am not an engine on impulse power, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and smiled. He pulled his comm from his belt and flipped it open. “Kirk to Scotty. How are things up there?”

“Oh, just fine, captain,” Scotty’s voice said from the comm. “Everything alright down there? Looked like your engine turned off mid-flight.”

“Something like that, Mr. Scott. Is there anything on the Enterprise’s sensors about the atmosphere that we should be aware of?”

“Negative, captain. All normal readings for an M-Class planet, according to our Mr. Chekov. Shall we beam you up immediately?”

“Oh, leave us for a moment, won’t you? I don’t think there’s anything down here to cause us too much harm.”

“As you like, captain. I’m sure Mr. Spock would appreciate the chance to take what readings he can.” Spock inclined his head towards the comm, but if Scotty’s consideration of his desires took him by surprise, his face didn’t reveal it.

“Alright. We’ll check in by the hour. Someone ask Bones to be on standby, if you don’t mind.”

Spock looked up, eyebrow at high alert, as Scotty asked, “Problem, captain?”

“Not yet, Mr. Scott. But I’d hate to waste the opportunity for a swim, and better safe than sorry. Spock says the water’s warm.”

Spock spluttered, “I said no such thing, captain,” as Scotty’s cheerful laughter burbled over the comms. “I’ll let him know, captain. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. Kirk out,” Kirk said, and snapped his comm shut with his hip as he pushed himself out of the navigator’s seat.

“Captain, your leaps of logic never fail to astound,” Spock said, hovering a half-step behind him as Kirk shrugged out of his tunic and pants into just his undershirt and boxer briefs.

“Come on, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and turned to smile at him. “We’re already here. You wanted to take readings of the water. The water is perfectly warm, and it’s a sunny day. There’s not even so much as a jellyfish on this planet to sting me.”

They climbed out on top of the shuttle. The sun was warm against the black of Kirk’s t-shirt, and a light breeze from the direction he thought might have been landward ruffled the surface of the water. Spock, still dressed in science blues and even his boots, relaxed minutely in the warmth.

“Nice weather, isn’t it?” Kirk said cheerily, and stepped towards the edge of the shuttle. It was less than five feet from the top of the shuttle to the surface of the water. He had dived from higher platforms on Earth for fun before. Spock peered over the edge of the shuttle next to him.

“Will you join me, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked. “You’ll have to get closer to the water than this if you care to take samples.” Spock gave the water a side-eyed glance that bordered on distaste, and then it dawned on Kirk.

“You don’t know how to swim!”

“Vulcan is a desert planet, captain,” Spock said stiffly. He had his tricorder gripped tightly between both hands. “Swimming would have been an illogical use of a limited and necessary resource.”

“Well, this doesn’t look like a limited resource to me.” Kirk sat on the edge of the shuttle’s roof and slid down towards the inflated platform that kept the shuttle from sinking. It rather reminded him of an inner tube from his childhood. It was rough under his bare feet, and the water that splashed up was pleasantly warm.

Spock peered down at him from where he remained on top of the shuttle. Kirk looked up at him and planted his hands on his hips. “How were you planning on taking these samples without getting in the water, Mr. Spock?”

“Starfleet standard-issue boots are waterproof, captain. I would have merely remained on the shore and taken samples from the shallowest points.”

“Ah, but then your samples would have been half-sand, anyway. If you come down here, you’ll get water. Better for your research, I think.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. He knew when Kirk was teasing him, but Kirk didn’t think he minded as much as he used to. “Come on, Spock,” Kirk said, and held his hand out. “I’m not going to let you drown.”

Spock didn’t take his hand, but that didn’t surprise Kirk. He did carefully slide down the side of the shuttle to join Kirk on the inflatable, however. “I am significantly more dense than you, captain. Should I fall off and sink, you’d be better off asking Mr. Scott to beam us out.” He levered himself carefully to a seated position, cross-legged, with his back against the shuttle and his tricorder pointed at the water. For a moment, Kirk had a mental image of a child-sized Spock, sitting cross-legged in the desert, watching some sort of insect under a magnifying glass, and his heart twinged. He turned away from his science officer and dipped one foot in the water. It was warm, and slightly gritty---just like he remembered oceans on Earth. He launched himself off the inflatable and into the water. When he resurfaced, Spock was wiping water off his tricorder screen with the edge of his sleeve and frowning at him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, laughing. “Did I ruin your readings?”

“No,” Spock said stiffly. Kirk smiled at him and tipped his head back, allowing the air in his chest to pull him upwards so that he was floating on the water. Sunshine, and water, and a breeze---these were not normally things he missed while in space. Normally the sight of the stars around him and the comforting hum of the Enterprise’s engine were enough for him. But now, while he had the comforts of gravity and water and warmth, he found it surprisingly pleasant. So, listening to the familiar rustle of Spock doing some sort of science just a few feet away, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift.

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, Spock had taken off his boots and rolled up his pants and was sitting with his feet dangling from the side of the inflatable into the water. Kirk paddled over and treaded water nearby. “What do you think, Mr. Spock?”

“A curious sensation, captain, but not an unpleasant one.” Spock swung one leg forward, then the other, creating little ripples in the water.

“I’ll teach you to swim, if you want to get in,” Kirk said. Spock hesitated. “It’s not hard, I promise. Human children can be taught to swim at only a few months old.”

“I find that difficult to believe, captain.”

“It’s true! Something about it being a familiar environment after nine months in utero.” Spock considered this, and looked up at the sun in the sky above them.

“I won’t let you drown,” Kirk said again. “I’m a good swimmer.”

Slowly, so slowly that Kirk was certain that Spock was still considering the logic of submerging his desert-bred self into a body of water, Spock lifted the strap of his tricorder over his head and set it carefully aside. He tucked it against the wall of the shuttle and patted it once, like he wanted to be sure it wouldn’t fall off and float away, taking all his readings with it. Then Spock shuffled himself further towards the edge of the inflatable, peering down at the water. Kirk smiled at him encouragingly, and Spock gave one short, sharp nod. Then he shoved himself off the inflatable and dropped down into the water.

Something that Kirk had noticed about his first officer in the two years they’d been working together was that the man was graceful beyond reason. Something about his height, his posture, or his strength made his movements seem measured, as careful as his speech was, every action intentional. Sometimes, when they sparred together or Kirk was able to see Spock fighting on missions, Kirk thought he was wasted as a Starfleet officer. He should have been a dancer instead. It was distinctly humorous, then, that the same grace did not translate to Spock in water. Spock’s head broke the surface only a second after vanishing; not even enough time for Kirk to have to dive down to grab him. His hair was a mess, matted down around his eyebrows, the pointed tips of his ears breaking through the black. He spat water out and immediately swallowed more, his wildly swinging arms created waves around them.

“How are you doing, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked, staying clear of his arms. He could only imagine that his legs were doing the same beneath the surface, and didn’t care to be kicked.

“Poorly, captain,” Spock said. Kirk laughed until he cried.

☆ ☆ ☆

Spock learned quickly, and after a few minutes was floating next to Kirk, looking up at the sky. The composition of the atmosphere was different enough that the sky was not the blue of Earth but closer to a teal, a color Kirk found most pleasing. He could feel the occasional swish of Spock’s hands through the water as he adjusted his equilibrium.

The moment was broken with the crackle of his comm, and with a sigh he pulled himself back to the inflatable. He grabbed the comm and flipped it open. “Kirk here.”

“Sorry to ruin your party, captain, but new orders just arrived. Someone --- or something --- crossed the neutral zone. We’re to rendezvous with the U.S.S. Valiant in two days, and Admiral Archer wants to speak with you.”

“Alright, Scotty. Give us a minute to prepare and then we’re ready for beam-up.”

“Apologies, captain,” Scotty said, and then Kirk heard the disguised laughter in his voice. “But Archer wants you right this moment.”

“Tell the admiral---” Kirk started,

“No can do, captain,” Scotty said, and Spock sat upright as a peal of Uhura’s laughter came through the comm as well. “Locked onto your signal, beaming you up now.”

“Scotty, I swear to---”

Kirk and Spock materialized, dripping wet, in just undershirts and boxers, onto the transportation pad in front of a laughing Scotty and Chekov. Kirk was standing, as he’d had the good fortune to be upright when the beam started; Spock, who had been mostly horizontal in the water, was laying flat on his back. Kirk offered him a hand, which Spock roundly ignored in favor of climbing to his bare feet while his clothing squelched around him. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back; the dignified posture did nothing for his hair, which dripped water steadily onto his forehead and down his nose.

“Truly, my apologies, captain,” Scotty said, wheezing. “But Archer said immediately, and we’ve already got the shuttle in a tractor beam.”

“Please ensure the safekeeping of my tricorder, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, in funereal tones.

“Yes, Mr. Spock,” Scotty said. “Shame to lose any of the work you did.”

“Indeed,” Spock said. He inclined his head to Kirk. “Excuse me, captain.” He walked away, and every step left a watery footprint behind until the door to the transporter room slid shut behind him. Only when Spock was gone did Kirk allow his own laughter to bubble out.

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall when an ensign dares to do a double-take at him, gentlemen,” Kirk said. “Now let’s go see who’s starting trouble.”

#spirk #spock #tos #kirk #spirktober #spirktober2023 #star trek fan fic #spirk fic #fic #my writing #kirk/spock #k/s

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greatlydelirious · 2 years

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𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 (𝐕)

Karl Heisenberg x F!Reader

wordcount: 5.6k words

summary: Aren't they all one in the same?

chapter warnings: smut, semi-public sex, angst, descriptions of extreme body modification, threats of violence, porn with plot

previous chapter | next chapter | (AO3 Link)

V: The Girl, the Pig, and the Crow

It was astounding how one day could make such a difference. If you boiled it down, one not-so-chance meeting turned your mundane life into a roaring fire. An overwhelming burn of desire and hope consumed your being to a point that exposed you to possible destruction. That was a risk you were willing to take.

After you and Heisenberg came to a mutual understanding of your exclusive yet purely carnal relationship, you felt strangely content. Although it wasn’t the whirlwind “Pride and Prejudice” love story your whimsical heart longed for, it was leaps and bounds greater than any other “relationship” you’ve ever been involved in.

An outsider may think that you were moving rather quickly in your feelings, but it was the pace your surroundings dictated. Monsters and disease loomed around every corner, so you didn’t have the luxury to take anything slow.

During the walk back to your home, Heisenberg drilled in that you weren’t allowed to go trekking through the woods by yourself anymore. He would come to you when he was not busy. Not the other way around. Your near-death experience by the claws of Lycans made you not protest. Sometimes logic did penetrate your stubborn brain.

Little did you know that it wasn’t the Lycans attacking you that Heisenberg feared. No, after indulging in your body his scent was plastered all over you. It was four mutated people getting their hands on his little healer that he had to watch out for. A frightening prospect, but you were none the wiser.

By the next night, you were safely snuggled by the fire with the beautifully crafted “Machinery in Anatomy” book in your lap. Haphazard oil stains and coffee rings on some of the pages displayed how well-loved it was before you got your hands on it. Perhaps you’ll leave a mark of your own. You were sure you had an old tube of lipstick stashed away somewhere.

Since the book was so large you flipped to a random page near the beginning. Its contents seemed to be more of a safekeeping for breakthroughs rather than a chronological experience. Your fingers fiddled with the corner of the thick parchment page as you tried to soak in the complex drawings and annotations.

Sketched on the paper was some sort of breathing apparatus. The device had an elongated canister, different from all the ones you’d seen before. Small wires are drawn coming from either side of the mask which begged the question, what did they attach you? To you, the apparatus looked like something that would be used during warfare. Not that you had any expertise in that department.

The writing along the drawing read, “Subject #5: Previously was in an unstable physical condition. Discovered that securing a mask alongside the cranium’s headwear ensures stabilization to fully conduct. Check for sufficient oxygen levels before durability tests.”

Subject? Based on all the other content you briefly skimmed through, Heisenberg was testing something. “I said I was busy.” The vagueness in Heisenberg’s tone made sense now. No one had pages upon pages of contraptions just for fun. What also made sense was why no one ever saw the Lord outside of his factory. Well, except for you of course.

Embarrassment flames your cheek when you remembered how patronizing you were about what he spent his time doing. Talk about being hypocritical. You always complained about people undermining your work and you did just the same to Heisenberg.

Even though you wanted to dive into every inch of text to decode what exactly he was doing, the telltale signs of sleep started to take hold of you. Although the amalgamation of your fears and dreams inculcates a feeling of dread within you, some sleep was better than no sleep. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

As you go to squeeze the book into a nearby shelf something slips out from the pages and gently floats onto the floor. Bending down you pick up the glossy material and study it. You almost drop the photo again when you finally absorb what you’re even looking at.

Murky yellow eyes stared back at you, but no emotion could be found in their depths.

Its skin was a sickly ash color that reminded you of a mangled corpse. There was no way it could be anything else. Jagged incisions that ran endlessly on the being only strengthened your theory. They were stained red and crudely mended by what appeared to be large staples. Calling the method of suturing cruel and unusual would be the understatement of the century.

Just when you thought that was the end of the horror your eyes drifted down to its arms. Giant drills replaced the spot where its upper extremities should have been. Two thick tubes curved behind its back and you were grateful you couldn’t see what the hell they attached to.

Taking a deep breath, you fight off a wave of nausea. Although you’ve seen your fair share of blood and gore, this was undeniably abhorrent.

You didn’t know if you should be horrified or amazed at the sheer complexity of the… subject you were looking at. The Duke once warned you about the horrors beyond human imagination that roamed where each Lord lived and now you knew why. Now you didn’t want to go for trysts in the woods ever again.

Turning over the photo you brace yourself for more nightmare fuel, but are met with only cursive writing, “Soldat Zwei, success. Enhanced reactor vent with optimal drills.”

From your studies, you recognize the German word for solider and two. You also remember the glimpses of other chunks of contraptions and drills in the background of the photo. That had to mean there were more combinations of corpse and machine where that came from.

These possibly manufactured mutant soldiers must be the reason why Heisenberg didn’t want you to leave his room the other day. Just thinking about the damage those drills could cause makes you queasy. You guess that’s also what makes them so effective.

Heisenberg must be going about a “show don’t tell” way to let you in on what he was doing. A part of you felt oddly flattered that he would trust you with this book, but another part of you wished you could unsee all of it.

Looking around, paranoia itches its way up your spine. This wasn’t something you could just throw on your bookshelf and call it a day. You start to make your way toward the locked chest that holds your lei until you come to an abrupt halt.

Too obvious of a hiding place. Wherever you decided would be a life-or-death decision. As dramatic as you thought that sounded this wasn’t a little secret. It was the size of a fucking bomb that was waiting to blow up your shabby old cabin. God how you missed having no responsibilities.

This is what you get for getting involved with a metal-wielding, electricity-crackling, incredibly sexy man who was also apparently a mad scientist. If only you got a coin for every time you asked yourself, “What did I get myself into?”

Not only did you have to shield yourself from the other villagers, but now you had to hide a colossal secret from Mother Miranda. Faking a smile was one thing, but helping to hide an army of corpses was a whole other brand of trickery.

You tap your foot on the creaky floorboard while trying to find an answer. Under your mattress was too cliché and nearly all your shelves are almost spilling with how full they are. If only you were able to burrow it…

Inspiration hits as suddenly as a freezing-cold snowball to the face. You smack yourself in the head at your oversight. Hiding the book under the floorboards was foolproof. It would be easy enough for you to retrieve and no one would start out with ripping up your floor if they were looking for something.

Moving off the loose floorboard under your foot, you execute your idea and send a silent prayer to any God that lay beyond this village. Wiping your clammy hands on your night down you sulk toward your bedroom. Why waste time worrying about your dreams when you’re already living in a nightmare?

Heisenberg was going to get the tongue-lashing of the year the next time you saw him.

A blissful haze filled your body as you started to wake from your surprisingly uneventful slumber. As you bend your back in a tight stretch something hard presses against your backside. Only then do you register the smell of spiced smoke filling your nostrils and the weight encircling your waist.

Disoriented you try to turn your head but are met with the prickle of stubble. “Did I sleep too late?” You ask groggily as you try to look out the window. The fabric at your hips bunches as wet kisses are trailed down your shoulder. “No, doll. I came to have breakfast in bed.”

Heisenberg’s large hand cups your core before he starts rubbing you with the heel of his palm. Ever the multitasker he fondles your breast through the silk of your night dress with his other hand. Any arguments you had planned to have seeped into your pillow.

The hand on your breast migrates up to your neck. Encompassing the soft column in a tight grip, he pulls your head back. “I was too busy thinking about your tight cunt to get anything done last night, my little minx.” You sigh as his thick cock penetrates you deeply in one slow thrust. Heisenberg’s hips kept a relaxed rhythm that made each stroke drag out your pleasure.

Air was nothing but a concept as black spots filled your vision and high-pitched moans wrestled out of your mouth. Closing your eyes, you let yourself succumb to the bliss that was Heisenberg’s dominating touch.

As daybreak ended and the late morning began, chirping birds covered the sounds of unadulterated sin coming from your cabin. A passerby would think you were being mauled by a Lycan if they came near your door. It doesn’t take long for growls and grunts to morph into soft groans and sighs.

What a way to start your morning.

Heisenberg puffed away at a cigar while sitting on the edge of your bed. You pull on a floor-lengthened, long-sleeved dress that you saved for especially cold days. As you tie your corset you take advantage of the fact that you don’t have to look at the imposing man.

“I saw a picture in my book last night.” Although you attempted to keep your voice neutral, a light tremble makes the last word come out high-pitched. The surprise visit you got wasn’t effective in mellowing out your psyche.

“Is that so?” In your peripheral you watch Heisenberg stomp out his cigar before striding over. Instead of chiding him about burning your flooring, you continue, “Y-yes. I’ve never seen staples that large before.” You were trying your best to be vague. The image seared into your brain didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Nerves get the better of you and you curse when your shaking hands can’t seem to remember how to tie a knot. “Let me lend you a hand.” Heisenberg pushes your hands out of the way before you can protest. Nimble fingers use the laces of the corset to pull you closer. He leans down enough so his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “Not here. Mommy dearest has more than one pair of ears.”

“If not here then when?” You whisper harshly back; frustrated about the waiting game you keep being subjected to. Patience was a virtue and those were hard to come by nowadays.

“Later. I have a couple of loose ends to tie up first.” With a tug, Heisenberg finishes tying up your corset. Turning around you move back to properly stare up at the bulky man. “That was technically a loose end.” Your snark is rewarded with a smirk, “I said a couple.”

A question that was gnawing in your heart comes out before you can think it through, “Am I going to end up like that?” Time feels as though it was standing still while you waited for an answer. A deep chuckle causes the metal around Heisenberg’s neck to clank. “You’d be dead already if that was the case.” Pausing he tips up your chin with his forefinger and thumb to kiss your lips, “And you’re worth all the trouble.”

Heisenberg’s answer didn’t start very comforting but at the end, butterflies erupt in your stomach. Boy did he know how to charm your panties off. After one last kiss that lingers for longer than necessary, the Lord leaves before anyone could come knocking at your door. He was your Lord and you were the lady in waiting. Nothing could be more literal than that.

“Note to self, Heisenberg has no concept of time.” You come to the conclusion while jarring the remedies you just finished. “Later” didn’t mean later in the day, but when he found most convenient. It had only been a day, but you were chomping at the bit for answers.

Did this make you a brat? Maybe; but at least you were a justified one. All you’ve been receiving lately were questions upon questions. Shaking your head, you try your best to clear out the deluge of thoughts fighting their way to the surface. You had to distract yourself. Work, eat, read, sleep, repeat. Follow that order and the days will soar by. “Easier said than done,” you mumble out loud.

A soft knocking sounding at your door rips you from your stupor. Smoothing your skirt, you make haste to the door. The sight of Elena makes you almost squeal in joy. Without hesitating you pull the young girl into your home and rush to the stove to start boiling water for tea. Conveniently your kitchen was in the same room as the entrance and makeshift clinic. It was a small cabin after all.

You’re surprised when Elena doesn’t immediately start gabbing away, so you opt to start the conversation while sifting through your cabinets in search of tea bags. “Roxana came to me with her tenth scrap this month! I offered to buy her knee and elbow pads from the Duke, but of course, she refused.” The giggle that leaves Elena is dryer than normal. Example number one on why you get paid to heal and not for small talk.

When you finally manage to find two bags of Chamomile tea you place them in a set of cups you traded for a couple of years ago. “Are you having trouble sleeping?” You spin your head around so fast you almost get whiplash. “W-what?”

Elena points over to the tea, “Chamomile is supposed to help with sleep, right?” Leaning on the counter you chuckle while rubbing your forehead, “Yeah, sorry.” You needed to relax. Hopefully, this tea did the trick, if not you would have to make a rare trip to the shanty bar near the center of town. “I’ve been sleeping, just not for very long. You know how I am.”

Nodding her head Elena changes the subject as fast as she started it, “When are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” Someone was on fire with asking personal questions today. Usually, Elena spent at least an hour telling you about her week before you even got to make one comment.

Straightening you grapple for the right answer, “I would introduce you to my boyfriend if I had one. But lucky for you, you’re still stuck with me. Let’s just hope Anton doesn’t hear the news.” Elena simply shakes her head like an admonishing mother, “Hush now. It will be alright. I would never let something happen to you.” You couldn’t help but falter when you notice how Elena’s eyes drag over your form. Almost like she was searching for something. What exactly she could be trying to gauge, you had no clue.

Before you can make up an excuse the loud whistling of the kettle indicates that the water was done boiling. Immediately you turn around to pour the tea while sneaking in a sigh of relief. Elena gives you a quiet “thank you” when she accepts the cup.

As you watch her take a sip of the tea, the absence of a gold chain captures your attention. You freeze when don’t see the heart-adorned necklace resting along her neck. Ever since you gave it to Elena, she never took it off. She even joked that “as long as I have a neck, I will have the necklace on.”

You wanted to ask, but your instincts seemed to stop you. From the moment she walked into your home something felt… off. There was this warm energy that Elena carried that never ceased to calm you, but at this moment, she was devoid of any sweet sincerity.

Maybe she was just having a bad day. Or maybe the other villagers had finally gotten in her head. “Are you alright?” To her credit, Elena looks genuinely concerned. Your lips lift into your well-practiced fake smile. One that, until today, you never had to use with her. “Of course.”

Looks like that trip to the bar was going to happen sooner than you thought.

Amber liquid burns its way down your throat as you attempt to wash away all the concerns you have. The bitter flavor has you sucking your tongue, but the tingle in your brain indicates that the alcohol is already doing its job.

Day drinking was commonplace as each table was occupied. The bar was dingy and had a pungent smell of yeast, but you could care less. What made you shift in your seat however was the whiny voice coming from the corner of the room. Of course, you had to come here at the same time Anton did.

Downing the rest of your drink, you slam the glass on the wet surface. Right as you pass a bag of coin to the bar keep you can feel someone’s presence behind you. “Where do you think you’re going, little lady?” Each word came out more slurred than the last.

Turning around you narrow your eyes at Anton, “Home; and that’s not an invitation for you to follow.” The drunk stumbles his way toward you while pointing an accusatory finger. “Give up the prude act. I know you want me.” You would say he had balls, but only men had those.

Glancing around the room you notice the other patrons staring at the both of you. Great. The last thing you wanted to do was put on a show for everyone. Lowering your voice, you try to reason with him, “Just drop it okay? We can talk about this misunderstanding later if you want.” The later you were referring to was the one Heisenberg went by; probably never.

Instead of backing down, he snags your wrist in a vice grip before you could evade him. When you try to yank yourself away, he only tightens his fist. “You’re not going to make me wait any longer.” Anton tugs you so you fall against him. “All you need is a rough fucking to put you in your place.”

Your stomach roils in protest. Although he was extremely forward in the past, he was never this aggressive. In a way, you blamed yourself for brushing him off for so long. The bastard was the one who needed to be dropped down a few pegs.

Tears spring to your eyes as the pain in your wrist becomes unbearable at his crushing hold, “Please Anton, let go of me! You don’t have to do this!” Why was no one coming to help you? Couldn’t they see he was deranged?

“Put a fucking sock in it!” Anton gets so in your face that the smell of his breath invades your senses and almost makes you gage. “I’m sure you didn’t protest this much when you ran away to leave the rest of your family to die. Without me, you’ll really be a worthless hag.”

Anger bursts through to overshadow your attempts to defuse the situation. You were down being bulldozed by everyone in this Black God-forsaken village. Reeling your other fist back you punch Anton in the face.

The surprise blow makes his grip loosen enough for you to wriggle free. Seizing the opportunity, you kick out blindly. Sick satisfaction fills you when Anton doubles over while holding his crotch. How was that for a “worthless hag”?

“You fucking bitch!” Anton looks up at you in disbelief as he holds his jaw. The blood roaring in your ears made you almost miss his slurred words. This time the slur was from the blood filling in his mouth and not the alcohol.

Emboldened by liquid courage you kneel so that only Anton could hear you, “If I’m a bitch then you’re a filthy pig.” With one last scathing look, you leave the bar before anyone else made the idiotic decision to confront you. All you wanted to do was go home and rub your skin until his smell and touch went away.

The adrenaline starts to wear off while walking through the village. Your hand shakes like a ground-splitting earthquake as try to tuck your hair out of your face. Your one goal was to not make any more enemies and you were doing a piss poor job at that. The only gratification you got was knowing that the only person who could fix Anton’s jaw was you. And there was no way he would dare step foot anywhere near your cabin. At least that’s what you hoped.

When you round the corner, you see Elena walking in the other direction of the path. Her face lights up at the sight of you. “Hey! I came over for our weekly tea, but you weren’t home. Did you have to get errands?”

Your raging nerves are glazed over with a rush of numbness. “W-what are you talking about? We had tea already.” If she sprouted two heads and started flying, you still would not have found that crazier.

Elena tilts her head to the side before breathing out a small laugh. “You really need to take a day off. All those oddly named herbs might be screwing with your head.” It feels as though your limbs are dead weights as Elena hooks her arm with yours as she walks you back home. Her touch was warm, but your heart felt cold.

All you could do was pace around the small space as your head barely contained the sheer insanity you were feeling at this moment. You were not crazy. Well… not in the hallucinating full interactions way at the very least.

Rubbing your temples, you analyze every second of your conversation with Elena. Nothing seems to click until what she said earlier makes you stop dead in your tracks. “Hush now. It will be alright. I would never let something happen to you.” You have heard that exact sentiment before. The woman in your nightmares told you that once. Word for word.

Gripped by panic you rush out the door. Without a destination in mind, you run past the other houses and villagers around you. The murmurs at your strange behavior swirl together in an all-consuming way. No matter where you go, or what you do, you can never be left alone. The village people, Anton, the hag, the Duke’s coded messages, and now Elena.

Maybe one person was not trying to tear you down after all; they all were.

It is like your throat is collapsing in on itself. Running between two abandoned houses, you press yourself into the cold exterior. If only you could fuse yourself into the dilapidated structure. Closing your eyes, you try to regain any control you have left.

Despite your efforts, tears start to pour from your eyes as the ringing in your ears intensifies. Each time your body shivers from the bitter cold more raw emotions are forced out to the point where you might fall to your knees from grief. You had never felt this alone since your parents were stolen away from you.

Out of nowhere, something sinks its fingers into your shoulders. Flashes of Anton grabbing you make you switch back into full survival mode. Your scream is cut short when your mouth is quickly covered.

“Stop struggling.” Your assailant’s voice sounds as if it was underwater. Not relenting you try any trick you can muster. Kicking, scratching, and thrashing; anything to be let go. In your hysteria, you manage to land some blows hard enough that they make the other person grunt.

A current of electricity jolts your body. The searing pain was as effective as a slap in the face. Opening your eyes, you are greeted by a disheveled-looking man. His hair was tousled, and splotches of crimson were splattered across the man’s torso up to his neck. What struck you was the way the man’s wild green eyes searched all over your skin.

Upon closer inspection it was not just any man, it was Heisenberg. You bring your shaky hands to Heisenberg’s face. The roughness of his beard on your delicate skin grounded you. This was real. He was real. At this moment you needed that confirmation more than anything else in the world. Before he could open his mouth, you interrupt him, “Hold me.”

Heisenberg doesn’t try to stop you as your legs wrap around his hips and you cling to his neck. For a couple of moments, you simply sit in each other’s embrace. When was the last time a lamb ran into the embrace of a hungry wolf?

Heisenberg takes your wrist in his hand, kissing the blooming bruise, “He will never touch you again.” You should have been shocked that he knew what happened, but you weren’t. Word spread fast and probably even faster when you were a Lord.

“How can you be so sure?” Nothing you tried in the past ever stopped Anton. A dark chuckle vibrates your chest as he wipes away any tears left on your face, “Because I made sure.” The assurance should have made you feel better, but it wasn’t enough.

“I feel like I am going crazy Heisenberg. Please tell me you will not betray me too.” His eyes flash, “What can I say for you to believe me?”

Shaking your head, you pull him closer to emphasize your point, “Words are not enough. I need you to show me.” Heisenberg searches your eyes before he finds the answer he was looking for. You wanted to feel a touch that was safe and familiar.

Normally rough lips descend on you with the lightness of a falling feather. All traces of Anton’s touch on your skin disappear as Heisenberg kisses every inch he can reach. The man against you did not smell of musk and bourbon, but of copper and spiced tobacco. An intoxication combination that was successful in clouding your mind with nothing, but thoughts of Heisenberg.

You moan when he starts to suck on the spot just behind your ear. One of the many erogenous zones that made you push into his body. Heisenberg grunts at your display of need, “Do you want this?” Although your body always communicated your consent, his want to hear it for himself meant more to you than anything else. “I need this. Please.” Your voice breaks as you practically beg. You wanted him to wash away all the pain and torment.

A thumb comes up to pull on your lower lip, “How can I refuse when your pretty little mouth asked so nicely?” After a quick kiss, Heisenberg begins to push up any clothes that dared to get in his way. Hands work with an inhuman speed that before you know it, you are filled so completely it almost hurts. Heisenberg snaps his hips at an unrelenting pace. Each drag of his cock makes you bury your face further into his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure.

Pushing you further into the siding of the house, Heisenberg slides a hand in between your bodies. His fingers start to rub your clit in fast circles that leave you breathless. Each message sends sparks of pleasure up your spine.

Heisenberg was consuming you in a way that left you feeling raw and vulnerable. You offered him your flesh and bones on a silver platter, and he took them without a second thought. What was terrifying was the fact that if he only asked, your heart could be his to take. After this was all said and done, would you have anything left for yourself?

“Fuck, that’s it. Use me for your pleasure, doll. Take it all.” Spurred on by his grunted words you start to meet him in time with every thrust. The additional friction makes the pressure in your core build and build until you didn’t think you could take it anymore. Nails breakthrough skin with unadulterated desperation, but neither of you cared.

Despite the frigid weather, your bodies felt as though they were on fire. Not only that but the air crackled with an intensity so explosive it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. At every turn, the universe warned you of how dangerous Heisenberg was, but the way he worshipped your skin was nothing short of passionate.

When your inner walls start to quiver in anticipation of your orgasm, his thrusts begin to stutter. Heisenberg’s voice was so deep, it was almost unrecognizable, “Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.” You did not know how much you needed permission until you had it. Closing your eyes, you revel in the tension your body releases when your orgasm rolls over you.

“God fucking, dammit!” Heisenberg slams your lips together as warmth begins to flood your core in sharp spurts. There was no finesse in the kiss, but it could not have felt more right. Tongues slide across each other at the same pace as the slow last couple of strokes trying to prolong your joint orgasm. If only you could stay in his arms with him in you, forever.

Your foreheads come to rest together as you exchange every desperate breath. Instead of pulling away, Heisenberg lets you hold him in your iron grip. Nothing felt real anymore except for his touch, his words, and most crucially, him.

A lone crow squawks before flying away from the embracing lovers. Despite how small the creature was, it reaches its master in a matter of minutes. An outstretched finger reminiscent of a willowy branch awaits the crow’s arrival.

Mother Miranda’s smile is laced with twisted satisfaction. The intelligent little birds were her eyes and ears around the village. Each conversation and possible outlier eventually reached the ears of the prophet. Just like you had all those years ago. Everything was finally falling into place. Like pieces on a chess board, Mother Miranda was able to maneuver her metal-clad knight to trap her opponent.

The hag instilled in Anton that his fate was to be with the local healer. This was so a large event could be triggered. One that conveniently pushed Anton to attack you publicly.

Mother Miranda had assigned Heisenberg to watch over you under the guise that she wanted to keep tabs on the prominent people in the village. Her true intentions were more coveted than any of her “children” combined.

Heisenberg’s supervision over the girl was going just as she instructed. Although his attack on Anton made her eyebrows raise. After the confrontation, Miranda instructed Heisenberg to send a Lycan to kill Anton. How curious was it for him to do it himself? However, all that mattered now was that the deed was done. Soon the hag would spread to the townsfolk that you used dark magic against Anton to make him infatuated with you and when it went wrong you killed him.

The point of having the villagers turn on you is so you would be forced to come to Mother Miranda for refuge and in turn be prepped for your greater purpose. The next morning Mother Miranda will call Heisenberg and tell him to bring you to the church under the Dimitrescu estate so they can have a meeting and introduce you to the family.

Ever since you were born, Miranda could feel the potential in you. That’s why she had to get your family out of the picture and stop your grandmother from further corrupting your mind. After they were killed, Mother Miranda meticulously planned what would happen to you once you hit maturity.

When she saw you in the flesh at your home today, it only motivated her further. By day’s end, a witch hunt would be assembled. Once the villagers hear of Anton’s death after being last seen with you, they will do all the work for the Black God. Then there will be nowhere else for you to run to except straight to her.

“It’s only a matter of time before you will be ready to come home my darling Eva.”

Large wings encircle Mother Miranda like a giant cocoon. By the time they retract she is not as she once was. Instead of being wrapped in her ornate ropes, she now was adorned with the clothes of a peasant. Once-flawless skin sagged and wrinkled with old age and any traces of blonde hair were now as grey as her eyes. The hag cackles as she makes her way into the village.

May the mayhem begin.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenburg x you #karl heisenberg imagines #karl heisenberg #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village #resident evil x reader #heisenberg x reader #delirious masterlist #crucible of desire masterlist

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a-student-out-of-time · 10 months

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what do you think about Eden killer theory?

//It's dumb. Like, I'm sorry, but it's really dumb.

//And no, it's not the only other explanation for anything I've brought up. Theories like these are based on astounding leaps in logic and character motivations that do not match up.

//This is like unironically suggesting Chihiro could've been a killer. It makes zero sense from a motivational standpoint, never mind the coincidences necessary to even make it work.

#mod talks #a student out of time

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burningfestivalpersona · 12 days

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The amount of people who will insist they know a set of strict rules for a series that only has one entry actually released so far continues to astound me.

Some of them, the leaps of logic are so strange I'm keeping them saved so I can go back once we have more information and laugh.

#video games #pokemon legends za #i will not tell you which takes these are #probably #but you will Know

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theconstitutionisgayculture · 2 years

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As someone with autism and chronic illness, it is very...uh…interesting to me that the people who are so adamant about being against ableism are often the same people who are pro-abortion because “The baby might live in pain or be disabled it’s whole life, nobody should live like that!”

These people will call me ableist for looking for seeking help for things like the anxiety and miscommunication issues my autism causes but are pro eugenics. The leap in logic is astounding.

I have struggles, sure, I’m in pain a lot, but I still can live a fulfilling life. It is not up to someone else to decide whether a life is worth living.

Not to mention that most health complications brought up about the baby end up nonexistent. My cousin was bleeding out, her baby coming way to early, feet first. Both she and the baby were supposed to die. They had an emergency C-section and the baby was born at a little over 2 pounds and now, years later both mother and child are perfectly healthy.

Pro-aborts have never had a good argument to excuse murder, and they should stop trying.

Yep. They just want to be able to selfishly kill at will. If anyone actually, seriously, proposed killing all the disabled people in the country most people would be horrified and call it genocide. But for some reason when you want to genocide the unborn it's totally okay and we're the weird ones for being against it.

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pinkrabbitsbythenational · 1 year

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the leaps in logic people make to blame immigrants for everything astounds me like there are people in this country who live in 95% white areas who still blame immigration for them not being able to get a GP appointment ….. make it make sense

#thoughts

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vivienne-erickson-sequel · 1 year

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My ability for both leaps of logic and sound wisdom/intuition astound me

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princealberich · 1 year

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oh ew the t//rf who replied to your post also identifies as a f//joshi. a) yikes and also b) the leaps of logic here astound me

BSZIKSSJ THATS HILARIOUS "all men do is sexualise women we need to protect WOMENS SPACES men are EVIL. except when theyre having hot yaoi smex XD"

#zchat #tw transphobia

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bagelbyte · 2 years

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I will never not be astounded by this particular logical leap which underscores modern day zoomer leftism

> science is socially constructed

> science was the domain of white men for most of history

> science was used to justify racist and sexist systems

> science is regressive, so being anti-science is actually progressive

> integrating superstitions into your worldview is subversive

> questioning someone's superstitious worldview is oppressive

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cloudsthatglowinthenightsky · 1 year

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ok first chapter.

-no yeah bbygirl u cannot infact prepare for ALL possibilities that's not actually possible

-ok so the miraculouse?s?i? definitely fucked him up a bit more but also. he was way fucked up even before that. like it definitely worsened his mental state but he was trying to bring back his dead wife that he kept in his basement through magical terrorism so. it was already bad like

-i 100 believe the senti theory and like it actually seems pretty incharacter but like. still astounds me how adoption was in fact NOT the first instinct but instead "magical child"

-yeah chat was already shitty before the reveal bc like. his dad???? he was breaking down and then it somehow got SO MUCH WORSE

-no cause the whole taking wedding bands with miraculous thing actually makes sense. 0 leaps of logic there. sorry i just love these small details -well nice to know he cares (???) about adrien i guess...

-seriously WHY GIVE SO MANY INFORMATIVE INTERVIEWS i understand she is your best friend but cmon bro

-god this hurts so much worse knowing that marinette is going THROUGH it but adrien is like. going through it x10

-never like the "didn't realise i was crying" thing cause how/??? but i get it for this one. ur having a panic attack probably. it's cool.

-yeah no u kinda suck for the whole humanity thing like no blame!!! just a passing thought but also. when the connotation of humanity is in fact personhood..... yeahhhhhh like it SHOULDN'T BE but YEAHHHH

-big fan of the bugette mention and subsequent mentions like yeah that's something they would totally think about!!!

-adrien is literally so sad like as a character like what the fuck you know

-also side rant but SCREW EVERYONE THAT SAYS THE ABUSE PLOTLINE IS INVALIDATED BY THE SENTI THEORY ACTUALLY IT ADDS ONTO IT BC IT'S A PERFECT METAPHOR FOR HOW ABUSERS CONTROL THEIR VICTIMS AND HOW IT FEELS LIKE U CAN'T ESCAPE AND THERE'S JUST SOMETHING ALLPOWERING THAT STOPS YOU FROM DISOBEYING EVEN WHEN YOU KNOW IN YOUR MIND sorry i just hate everyone that has ever said that. fuck u actually

-very real reaction. immediately swing over there like yeah fr

-"careful with her words" FORESHADOWING...

-you're so lucky you said her name bc if you hadn't she probably would have actually like collapsed to the floor bro

-"took care of it" EVERY INSTANCE OF DEHUMMANIZATIION IN THIS FIC JUST MAKES ME SO SO MAD..... LIKE AND THAT'S THE POINT SO IT MAKES SENSE BUT STILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD FUCK EVERYONE!!!!!!

-also having the emotions about dehumanization and also the inside knowleedge about chat noir but also THE HTINGS HE SAYS. rips me apart on another level bc 1. the fucking things he says about himself oh my god get a hug pls 2. his friends instantly being like no actually WRONG but also 3.?????? the way they hate him for it so much?????? bc like i understand completely i would react in the exacct same way its' just!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT'S SO SAD LIKE. EVERY PART OF THIS FIC IS SO SAD

-yes bring up chloe!!!!

-the social media hate is so funny in this but also so.... !?!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!?

-nino this is quite literally the worst time to be going on twitter are you fucking

-like i get it but also. AHHHH

-no but jean's right tho the feather thing is hilarious

-this is so funny bc it's exactly how twitter would act. i don't even use twitter but i know. yes the simps would do this

-it is a nightmare but i would be taking u a lot more seriously if you weren't named "adrien's bae"

#haha my brain waves #my other thing isn't posting so this partial thing will do for now #hopefully it goes through??? cmon cmon

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cinnabeat · 3 years

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people are always like the plot of kingdom hearts makes no sense blah blah blah u wanna talk about something that truly makes no sense? how data is apprently a real thing that just somehow exists and you can go into it through the power of bullshit

#now THAT makes no sense #like #data makes no sense like PLEASE #i can understand it with roxas and the fake twilight town #like you know? shit makes sense there was a legit computer involved #i can even understand the tron world or whatever bc again A COMPUTER HAS TO DO WITH IT #but fucking??? ansem storing the power of waking or whatever thr fuck he did into sora?? somehow????#the fucking......data sora and data riku from recoded #like BRO???#THE WAY THE DANDELIONS WERE SOMEHOW SENT TO A DATA WORLD VIA THE BOOK OF PROPHECIES????#like HOW 😭#like i understand somewhat #like the book of prophecies talks about worlds from the future and it Somehow projects those worlds into the real world so the weilders can #collect lux and then when the real world shatters the dandelions Somehow get sent to the book of prophecies as data to survive and Somehow #to escape they need to use the arks????? to get back to the real world???? and then to the future?????????#OR SOMETHING????#the finale makes me go insane but not as insane as the truly astounding leaps in logic here #like i kinda dont care bc like u know suspension of belief but i kinda do care bc its important to the understanding of the plot #like i dont care if it makes sense in our universes rules im trying to make sense of this fictuonal universes rules and you know what im kin #kinda lacking #like itll probably start making more sense the more games come out but jesus christ am i confused #kh tag

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grabbedbag · 3 years

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Oh gosh oh my goodness look at him

#thinking very lovingly of the nickname process he went through #had to distinguish the mono’s from one another #best mono = bono but that’s too long so he made it Bon #which reminded him of a bonbon which then got him wondering what a tiny version of that would be called and that’s how we arrived at Bonnie #astounding logical leaps right here #🎨 art

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lottiebagley · 3 years

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Space Girl- George Weasley

Space Girl, show me the stars You know the galaxies of my heart

George Weasley was not excited for his first astronomy lesson of the year. He'd agreed to do the class simply because he needed to fill his timetable and it seemed more enjoyable than history of magic.

That's what he had told Fred at least.

In reality he had opted for astronomy for one specific reason. Y/N Y/L/N. She was a shy Hufflepuff girl and although he had never spoken to her George was absolutely enamoured with her.

So, as he dreaded the lecture ahead he tried to remember that this cloud had a silver lining, and it was a silver lining that was absolutely worth it. This was all confirmed when he walked into the astronomy classroom and saw her.

She was sat at a desk at the back of the room. Her hair twirling round her finger as she studied the open text book in front of her, seemingly unaware of the chaos around her. George noted happily, that none of her friends seemed to be in the class and rather than asking to sit with Angelina and Katie like he had been planning he figured what the hell and went for it.

"Hey, is it alright if I sit here?" He questions, willing his cheeks to not flush red when he looks up at him

"Oh, of course you can George," she nods, moving her stuff to the left to make room for him. He feels his heart leap at her knowing that it was him and not Fred.

"How did you know?" He questions, head cocking to the side to look at her better. He smiles slightly at the bright red flush on her cheeks.

"You aren't that hard to tell apart," she shrugs

"Our own mother can't always do it," he pesters, he's genuinely intrigued how she seemed to know so easily.

"Uh, okay then. You're slightly taller so when you are together I could always work out who was who. From there I just kind of noticed little things, you have two freckles on your neck, Fred has a scar above his eyebrow. Your face is slightly longer, your nose is a little longer and has that cute little bump in it, your hair falls completely differently and your lip has a little curl in it. But the easiest way is that you have a different vibe about you," She rambles like it's the most obvious thing in the world and George himself wouldn't haven't been able to explain the physical differences so well.

He's pretty sure his heart melted on the spot.

"You should tell my mum all of this," he smiles gently, not knowing how to respond and explain that he's never felt more seen in his life.

"Sorry, I'm not a creep or anything I swear. Just observant,"

"It was quite sweet actually," George smiles, biting back a chuckle when her face blushes a bright red. "So, you any good at Astronomy?" He questions politely

"I'm okay. It's probably my best class. I've always known about it so," she shrugs, cutting herself off. She knew that George was a pure blood and probably wouldn't want anything to do with her if he knew she was a muggle born.

"You're a muggle born right?" He questions, she's surprised his tone doesn't sound angry or accusatory like was often the way with pure bloods, instead genuinely interested.

"Yeah," she confirms "my older sister is obsessed with astrology so I knew a lot about it before I got here. It's probably the only subject I didn't fail first term," she admits, George smiles softly. He can only imagine how hard it would be to come to the school with no magical knowledge.

"Look at you now, you're top of the year in almost everything," he points out

"Yeah, Ced helped me find my feet and after I settled in it all made sense," she explains. George knew that her and Cedric were best friends, he was a lot more outgoing and George had never quite understood how their friendship worked but it was no secret wherever one was the other wasn't far behind.

Girl, are you a cancer? 'Cause you make me cry When we kiss or dance in the sky We're dancing in the sky

"Hey space girl," George grinned brightly as he dropped into his seat

"If you've forgotten my name you can just ask you know," she blushes a little, not thinking that the boy she had fancied since second year could actually have given her a cute pet name.

No. The only logical explanation is that he had forgotten her name but after being sat next to her for two weeks now was much too polite to ask for it.

She had told Cedric this and he had laughed loudly, ruffling her hair and telling her that she would do well to remember how beautiful she was.

"I know you're name. Y/N Y/L/N. You're a Hufflepuff, obviously," he gestures to her tie before carrying on "Your best friend is Cedric Diggory and you two are always together. You tutor my little sister in potions. You help Professor sprout with the plants in the green house on a Sunday morning. You like to study in the library, specifically the second table from the back left corner. You never eat carrots but you love peas and you always buy two chocolate frogs at Honeydukes one for the walk back and one for a treat that night. I'm not a creep. I'm just observant," He finishes his ramble with a reference to when she had proved just how well she knew him a few weeks prior.

She sits, slightly astounded as he looks at her like his ability to list off so much information about her that she had never specifically told him shouldn't be a shock.

Her heart melts on the spot and she's pretty sure her crush just became real feelings.

"Why?" She questions quietly, not really meaning for him to hear

"You're beautiful and I like looking at you," he shrugs, turning to the text book in front of him. He notices her eyes still staring at him and turns to look at her "hey, you wouldn't want to study together one night this week would you?" He questions, smiling at the blush that overtakes her cheeks

"Yeah. I'd love that,"

"Amazing, does Wednesday work for you? I could meet you at the library after classes end,"

"Sure," she nods shyly, biting her lip to stop a smile and having no clue the very action makes George want to kiss her senseless.

"I know the table," he grins, chuckling when she blushes bright red before turning back to his book.

Space girl, I saw a lunar eclipse Looked like how I feel 'bout your lips Space girl, the only way that we'd end Was if you were sucked into a black hole

'You'll be fine. Just be your self and if he doesn't love you he is stupid,' Cedric's words ran around her head as she remembered sitting in his dorm whilst he calmed her down and Cho did her hair. She had protested to the couple that it wasn't a date but they had still insisted on helping her get ready during their free period after lunch.

Now, sat in the library she tried to remind herself that George was a lovely boy and wouldn't do anything to make her uncomfortable, he probably didn't even think of her like that.

"There's my space girl, you're looking particularly beautiful today," George is beaming as he approaches the table she's sat at, taking the seat next to her.

"Hey George, good day?"

"It's better now i'm here. Fred hasn't shut up about Millie all day, I mean I know he fancies her and all but seriously you'd think she hung the stars in the sky herself," He complains, not admitting even to himself that Fred would say he was just as smitten for his astronomy partner. "How was yours?" he asks, opening his bag to pull out his astronomy text book

"It was okay, Ced managed to blow up our potion so we have detention tomorrow night," She shrugs

"I'll see you there," He grins

"Why am I not surprised?" she deadpans and he allows his laugh to fill the air around them

"You know me to well," he blushes a little as he says it and forces himself to not stare at the way she bites her lip to stop from grinning. Half wanting her to stop so he could see that beautiful smile that seemed to be all he thought about and half wanting her to bite that lip every time he sees her because something about it was so attractive to him. "Do you mind explaining the constellation we learned about last lesson to me because I won't lie I was very distracted?" He doesn't feel like admitting that it was her that he found so distracting.

"Of course," She grins, unfolding her star map and pointing out the constellation Lyra "So Lyra is latin for Lyre, it is like a stringed instrument basically a harp, and it's associated with the myth of Orpheus," She begins to explain

"The musician guy?"

"Yeah," She confirms, watching as he takes notes of what she is saying "Orpheus was given the harp by Apollo, and it’s said that his music was more beautiful than that of any mortal man. His music could soothe anger and bring joy to weary hearts. Wandering the land in depression after his wife died, he was killed and his lyre was thrown into a river. Zeus sent an eagle to retrieve the lyre, and it was then placed in the night sky and that's the story behind the constellation Lyra. It's best seen in August, and, it kind of looks like a lopsided square with a tail to Vega, it's brightest star," She recites, pointing towards the star on the constellation.

George tries hard to remember to focus on what she's saying, listening intently but he can't help his mind from wondering, instead scanning her face, every small detail, the way her eyes lit up as she talked, the way her lips curl in a small smile when she stops talking and notices him staring at her.

"Distracted again," he admits

"Clearly, you find astrology boring," she teases

"No, I just find you distracting," He admits, his heart melting as she is unable to stop the bright grin on her face. She doesn't say anything, simply grabs her notebook and opens it to the right page

"Copy my notes so you can at least teach yourself the content, the textbook is confusing," she instructs before turning back to her own work. They work silently for the next hour, dutifully copying notes and planning for their essay that's due in next week but routinely stealing glances at each other, blushing when one catches the other.

But I'd still spend my days dreamin' 'bout you Dreamin' 'bout you Tell me how to Stop dreamin' 'bout you

"Were you listening to anything I just said?" Fred questions, waving his hand in front of his brother's face

"Sorry, what was it?" George questions, pulling his eyes away from the Hufflepuff table. Fred sighs, turning to look at what George has been staring at and is not surprised in the slightest.

She is sat amongst her large friend group, despite being shy around people she didn't know she was chatting happily to the group. Cedric on her right, is laughing at the story she seems to be telling and Archie Young, who George hated simply for his obvious crush on her, is clinging onto every word.

"You are so whipped,"

"I know, it's embarrassing. I can't stop thinking about her and she probably only sees me as a friend,"

"Hey, don't say that. She would be stupid to not like you Georgie, besides, she stares at you just as much," Fred reassures his brother, usually he would tease him but he knows that this girl is different, it means something. "I still don't believe that she would never get us mixed up," Fred ponders, in reality he didn't doubt it, if George said she could tell them apart then why doubt him, but Fred wanted a moment alone with the girl.

"I swear to you that she wouldn't,"

"Lets test her," Fred exclaims, jumping up and tugging his twin out of the hall and to their dorm.

They spend an hour getting ready, stealing Ginny's eyeshadow to draw two fake freckles on Fred's neck, stying his hair attempting to fix every minor detail to make them utterly identical.

When they find her, she's hugging Cho Chang before turning around on her own and walking towards the Hufflepuff common room.

"Go hide," Fred instructs, shoving George towards an empty classroom he can watch from.

"Hey space girl!" She turns immediately at the name, mildly confused when the person approaching isn't George.

She had never spoken to Fred before and immediately feels herself becoming a little shy.

"Uh, hi Fred," she smiles as politely as possible. Fred stands with a smirk on his face.

"You fancy my brother," he states, she blushes a furious red that seems to be the final confirmation Fred needs, his moment alone with her providing the answer he had wanted.

"I-uh-he-that-it-" she stutters out, Fred's smirk only grows as she turns impossibly more flustered before sighing "How did you know?"

"Telling us apart is hard, especially when we try, you must really like him to know so quickly. Besides that reaction alone was enough to let me know I'm right,"

"Does he know?"

"He's blind," Fred shrugs, eyeing her as he decides he likes her, she clearly cares for George and that's all that matters to him.

"Right," she nods awkwardly

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," Fred grins before turning on his heel and heading back up the corridor to where an oblivious George is waiting.

Girl, are you a Cancer? 'Cause you make me cry When we kiss or dance in the sky We're dancing in the sky

George can't help the wide smile on his face when he sees her. She, like all the other 6th year astronomy students, is sat in her robes on the astronomy tower despite it being 11:45. He picks up the star map from a pile and heads towards her.

She is sat around a corner, almost out of eye line from the class completely and if he hadn't been looking for her he probably wouldn't have even seen her. He sits down next to her, pressing his back against the cold stone wall just as she was doing.

The task was simple, to draw a diagram of the constellations they could see that night with the correct names onto an unlabelled star map and then from 6am tomorrow they had 48 hours to write an essay explaining each constellation they had found, it was their final assignment for the first term of school. George thought that was stupid, why would they do the task that involved sitting outside at night in December and the written exam in the summer when it would have been warmer.

"Hi," she speaks softly, the moonlight made her glow and George could have sworn she was an angel. Her own map was already a quarter full and wordlessly she arranges it so George can copy the notes she's already made.

"Hey, you okay?" he questions, noticing the way she curls into herself

"Just cold," she nods, he flashes her a smile, digging into his bag and pulling out a spare sweater and a blanket, both knitted by Mrs Weasley. He passes her the jumper

"Are you sure? you have it with you so that you won't freeze. I can't take it," she blushes

"No, I'm already wearing a jumper," he points out "I figured I'd bring a spare cause I knew you wouldn't think too," He adds with a smile, she blushes but accepts the jumper from his hands.

"thanks," she smiles, he nods. Watching as she pulls the jumper over her head. Her heart somersaults at the smell of George that envelopes her, his does the same at the sight of her in his jumper that looks baggy and too big, the sleeves like paws on her hands, and the large 'G' sewn into the front making him blush a little.

He wraps the blanket round one of his shoulders holding the other side out for her

"I don't bite," he speaks softly, it's like he can read her mind and knows she's thinking about how close they will be to sit under his blanket together. She blushes and giggles a little and George could die happy having heard that sound.

She shuffles closer, wrapping the blanket around her shoulder and begins to point out the constellations she's already mapped for him, cocooned next to him in the blanket.

They work together for the next twenty or so minutes as she stifles yawns, eventually allowing her head to droop onto George's shoulder when he teases her for stifling yet another yawn.

"This blanket smells like you," she mumbles, he blushes madly but can't help the smile

"Are you warm enough?"

"Bit cold, I'm fine though," she admits, he rolls his eyes at her as she shivers a little and wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to him

"Better?"

"Better," she confirms. She didn't mean to fall asleep but all cozy and warm being held by her crush it was impossible not to.

Not wanting to wake her, George finishes both his star map and hers before dozing off, his head resting on hers. He knew he should have woken her to go back to her dorm but spending the night sleeping with her in his arms was just too tempting.

She wakes up before him, having slept better than she ever had before and feeling utterly blissful in George's arms. That is until she realises she hadn't finished her work, she can't help the beam when she sees George has done it for her. She wants to stay wrapped in his arms but feels it better to leave now so it isn't awkward. In return for completing her work she takes her astronomy notebook that has all the answers to the essay written simply and leaves it on top of his star map, she knew the answers from memory anyway. Not even sparing the doodles and comments in it a thought.

She slips out of his hold, sneaking through the other students who fell asleep and heading back down the tower stairs to the main school, forgetting to take off his jumper.

George wakes up disappointed to not find her in his arms but smiles when he sees her notebook.

I hope you play this song some day And think of Earth Girl who loves Space Girl

George can't help the sigh as he explains to Fred where he had been all night.

"That all sounds pretty good to me Georgie," Fred comments, wondering why his brother seems down after his night with the girl.

"It was, I'd just hoped she'd be there when I woke up," he admits

"Well think about it like this, when have you ever had the opportunity to be disappointed that she wasn't there when you woke up before?" It's Hermione Granger who speaks up, she'd been listening to the twins talk on the sofa next to her and Harry's without really meaning too. It was just more interesting than Harry and Ron's discussion.

"you're right. It's better than nothing. Thanks Granger," he nods in agreement. He begins to flick through her notebook, not to study but simply enjoying the little doodles and her comments.

And then his world stops.

"How many people can you think of with the initials GW?" his questions is almost under his breath but Fred hears, perking up from the puking pastel plans he had been working on

"Just you and Gin, why?"

With no explanation George leaps up, jogging out of the room. Fred look mildly baffled until he sees her open notebook, and sure enough written on a corner amongst drawings of stars and planets is a little 'gw' with a heart next to it. Fred smirks and closes the book, turning back to his notes with a feeling of glee for his brother.

When George Weasley arrives outside the Hufflepuff common room he suddenly realises he has no clue how to actually get in, he stops, slightly out of breath from his sprint staring at the barrels.

"Hey George," her voice makes him jump as he turns to see her and Cedric approaching

"Hi," he smiles, suddenly not really sure what to say

"Well, now I've walked you back I'm going to go and find Cho," Cedric smiles politely at George, wiggling his eyebrows at the girl as she blushes.

"You looking for someone?" she asks politely

"You, actually,"

"Oh, what can I help you with?" she asks, he has no idea what to say "Oh! your jumper, it's in my room. You can come with," she smiles, reaching out and tapping at a barrel and then climbing into the passage that opens.

He follows wordlessly, glancing around the large circular room that is filled with yellows and blacks. She walks a little more confidently than he's seen before and smiles happily to the people who call out to her but doesn't stop to chat with them. He decides he likes it here, not only because it's so cosy but because he likes seeing her so at ease.

He follows her into her circular dorm room and towards a fourposter covered in pillows and blankets, his jumper sitting folded on top of the trunk at the end.

"I actually wanted to talk to you," he admits, it's now or never.

"Of course, what's up?" she questions, sitting comfortably on her bed and gesturing for him to sit down next to her

"I- well- how many people do you know with the initials GW?" he questions curiously, she looks at him, clearly mildly confused.

"Springing to mind just you and Ginny," She answers, not really sure what the point of his question is.

Without thinking for even a second he pulls her face to his and plants his lips on hers, kissing delicately before pulling away. She stares at him, utter shock in her eyes and mouth agape.

"I-I am so sorry. I just- well there were the initials GW in your notebook and a little heart and well I thought maybe you liked me back and then I heard you only knew me and Ginny and I assumed, which was wrong of me- and- merlin- I'm so sorry-" he's rambling anxiously and his hands wring through his hair

"Back?" her question is a whisper and he snaps his head up to look at her

"Yeah. I like you. Kind of thought that was obvious," he admits. His heart flips at the wide smile on her lips before her hands grab his neck and pull his head down so his lips meet hers. She kisses him with passion and hunger and he finally gets to bite down gently on that lip he's watched her bite a million times.

Her arms stay wrapped around his neck as she lies back on her pillows behind her, pulling him with her and not breaking the kiss for a second. They only pull apart when she needs to for air. But the beam on her face and her flushed cheeks make George want nothing more than to kiss her again.

"Wanna go do the essay together?" he questions

"We have 48 hours, we could stay here and cuddle," she suggests, a little timidly but her nerves leave when George grins brightly, kicking his shoes off and rearranging himself on her bed. She takes her own shoes off before climbing into his open arms, her head on his chest as she leans up to press another kiss to his lips.

"I'm keeping that jumper by the way," she informs

"Whatever you want space girl,"

I hope you play this song some day And think of Earth Girl who loves Space Girl I hope you play this song some day...

Masterlist

#harry potter #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #weasley #weasley siblings #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #hogwarts #gryffindor #hufflepuff

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incoherentbabblings · 2 years

Note

Here's a theory:

What if Tim was resurrected in a Lazarus Pit by Ra's when he was stabbed by the Widower in the desert?

What would his triggers be?

Dick? Damian? Steph? Probably all the Batfam to be honest, except like Bruce and maybe Cass, though I think with Cass it may be bitter resentment for leaving him.

I know Captain Boomerang would be one, and he'd probably be sliced within five minutes of Tim returning to Gotham.

I would just like to see an evil Tim, who isn't from the future 'cos that's boring, who just gets to go beast mode essentially, since we never get to see that.

Or maybe, I don't know, Tim overcomes his rage because of his love for Stephanie or something.

Just a thought.

This became too big again I'm sorry. Half canon meta, half fanon just going off the rails. Partial fic idea. Blergh. It's going under the cut because it's too long.

Again.

But okay you wanna talk evil Tim do you? I am always down for that, although pit madness isn't actually a thing in canon. I mean you do typically come out a bit BLRIGDSSHFGJRNES but you calm down soon enough. Cass and Connor and Kate and Dinah has been in there enough times to be proof of that. Remember Jason literally says to Bruce not to pin his actions on being BLRIGDSSHFGJRNES from the pit in Under the Red Hood. He's perfectly rational and in control of his actions. So I don't think Tim actually going for a dip would be the inciting incident.

I dunno. I like characters who do morally awful things to be utterly aware that they did an awful thing and justifying of their actions as a result. I think in Tim's case he would do absolutely massive leaps of logic to justify to - more than anyone - himself that what he did was not wrong. Or that he even actually did the morally awful thing to begin with. I didn't do that - they did that to themselves kind of jumps of logic.

Okay, so. We look elsewhere for Timbo to go off the rails. Luckily, I think we have a pretty good basis a bit later on in Red Robin.

The end of Red Robin is so... dark? Like it's kind of ridiculous compared the second half of the series, where we spend like half the series breaking Tim down, only for him to realise this, do a u-turn and take positive steps to rebuild some bridges. They bring back Harkness to taunt Tim, and he glares angrily through the glass, but no more. And then the last issue happens. And Tim's an actual mess in it.

He spends the entire issue trying to justify the eventuality of Harkness dying. He sets up this stupidly elaborate plan to have Harkness, get offed by the powers that be or another villain, before finally, just ensuring that he would fall and die. He gets angry at Bruce - who is totally not wrong - in calling out that line of thinking. Tim metaphorically set up the gun, put in the bullets, held it in his hand... then didn't shoot. Dick praises him for it, because Dick has been there and empathises. Bruce chides him for it, because Bruce has also been there and empathises. It's an interesting look actually in Tim's two mentors.

Anways, I think Tim was still wrong to do all that. And Tim thinks it too. He admits it. He knows his dad wouldn't have wanted it. He knows Dick and Bruce don't want it. He doesn't care. He stops himself... because he knows it's wrong.

But he tries and tries to justify the death as something that was totally out of his hands. As if it would have happened anyway. As if Tim didn't engineer the entire scenario. The mental gymnastics Tim does in that issue is frankly astounding.

So! I think if Tim had let Harkness fall to his death, he would and continue to do said mental gymnastics to try and a) remove any culpability from his decisions and b) twist and twist and twist until its was justified or 'accidental'.

I don't think Bruce is wrong in UTRH when he tells Jason that, if Bruce killed the Joker, it would be very difficult to redraw the new line of what is and isn't justified murder. I think it's true for Bruce, and I think it would be true for Tim.

And thus off he jumps the slippery slope.

The batfam is very forgiving when it comes to murder if said perpetrator is remorseful or wants to do and be better. Easier to count who hasn't attempted/been complicit/gleefully committed murder at this point. It's a thing of the genre I suppose. If Tim is at the stage of just flat out denying he did anything wrong, I genuinely can't see any of them standing with him. Like no-one lead him to that, he made his own choice... He's utterly delusional, and that's sad and mournful and painful, but he chose this. He keeps chosing this.

I think therein there's a lot of overlap with Jason at this point, but perhaps there's a distinction in that Jason at this time would and was quite gleefully running around killing entire prison populations. I don't think Tim would ever be that trigger happy. And I don't think Tim would be particularly power hungry in his own right. Controlling, yes. We can see he's very much like Bruce and Jason who have a weird paternalistic view of their relationship to the city. The words 'my city' and it 'belonging' to them - the three of them have that in common. It would be interesting to talk about where the three views come from and how they understand it I suppose. Babs does this too sometimes. Oracle is a heady thing.

Side but also kind of important note going forward: Interesting that the one other Gotham native is exempt from this line of thinking during this time huh? Steph doesn't have a sense of ownership about the city itself; just the people within it. Interesting interesting interesting I wonder if it pops up elsewhere in other runs huh like I wonder if it could be stretched into an actual piece of storytelling meta by someone with too much time on their hands...

Anyway - how far do you want to push Tim's controlling nature regarding the city? How far do you take him just flat out denying the reality of his actions? How much does he let that anger grow hotter and hotter? How much does those violent fantasies he has grow until he's creating ways for them to be real? How and where and when do you personify and objectify that obsession with Gotham and put it onto people. A group of people. A [blond] person. Cough. Cough.

He doesn't stop loving his family very, very much. He thinks their naive, and ragging on him when he's doing nothing wrong. That frustration will only grow.

Mmm. Thoughts thoughts thoughts...

#dc #tim drake #there's so much overlap there with early back from dead jason i have to say #buuuuuut you can take it different directions i suppose #anything is possible in the land of fanfic after all~#batfam meta #sorta #ask and i'll babble

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candied-cae · 2 years

Text

This Here is Not Singing - After the Dragon

Chapter 1/? - - - Read it on AO3

Next Chapters -> [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Word Count : 3,937

Summary : Jaskier was finally ready to confess to Geralt. Despite Geralt loving Yennefer and never even giving Jaskier a hint that his feelings would be returned Jaskier just felt it was time. Jaskier wrote his feeling into song and then they went on the dragon hunt. It halted the plans, but it should've been nothing more than a stop along the way. Then Geralt told Jaskier how much he really wanted him gone. Jaskier descended the mountain alone and wandered alone to a small town north of Soddon, where he tried to drown his sorrows in ale and song. Following the pain however, Jaskier went to the town marketplace and ran into a particularly disheveled Lion Cub of Cintra.

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“Emotionless, they often call you But your love is warm, true, and bright You steal all my reason Commit every treason Of logic, with naught but a look

My love rises like the moon in the sky With longing and friendship and trust For after all this time You’re still by my side So tell me, love, tell me, love How is that just?

But the story is this You saved me with your sweetness Your sweetness And the story is this You’d save me with a sweet kiss.

Your goodness is pulling me closer, And making my heart beat so strong The bright moon at night has given a signal to me That now is the time I’m here, my love and I am ready If this is the path I may trudge, I’ll welcome my sentence, Give to you my penance, Gorgeous Garrotor, Jury and Judge.”

.....

That was the song Jaskier wanted to sing to Geralt.

He was still working through the kinks, choosing between gorgeous and lovely to describe the Witcher. Yet both seemed to fall short. He understood what he was doing. It was a big step, a leap in their relationship. But suddenly he knew it was time to do it. Geralt had loved Yennefer, and to Jaskier had never explicitly said any words to hint at any kind of affection, and yet in his heart, he knew it was time. It was on one night during their travels, weeks before the dragon hunt, under the starry sky and a full moon. Jaskier couldn’t fall asleep. He remained awake even after the fire had gone out on a perfect night in the woods, not cold enough to chill, but not so warm that clothes would be stifling. His eyes looked across Geralt’s face, a face that, in so much contrast to its hardened public expression, had relaxed into a soft, restful one. Jaskier rolled to his side and looked longingly on Geralt’s figure set aglow by the full moon above, and the feelings in his heart that have been growing steadily for 20 years, from back when Jaskier was still such a child, seemed to swell further. In a change as fast and strong as crashing tides on a rocky shoreside, it hit, that it was time for Jaskier to confess. But he wasn’t one to do anything in a small or rushed way, and there was no way he was going to understate this love of his. He’d been writing the song ever since, just trying to get the words right, to make sure that Geralt would get it, but it could still leave the Witcher at least a little astounded. That’s what Jaskier hoped for. Understanding and awe. But that was before the dragon hunt. Before Geralt followed back to Yennefer like a puppy that hadn’t been whipped enough to recognize its abuser. Before Geralt and Yennefer hurt each other again, even worse than they ever had before. Before Geralt took Jaskier’s heart in his calloused hands and ripped it to bits in the sheer frustration of it all.

It had been days since Jaskier last saw Geralt. It hurt so much more than he could’ve expected it to. They’d gone months and years apart, but this time it was so much more painful. Maybe it’s because the other times they split it was on good terms. Every other time it was a delightfully bittersweet exchange after a particularly big battle or season. Every time the year’s fall chill started feeling sharper and they knew Winter was to arrive, they set off to their own annual accommodations. Sometimes with both of them beaten, bruised, and bandaged, Jaskier would say “I’ll see you at the next one” and sometimes even a smile from the often stoic witcher would crack through.

But this time was not like all those from before. It wasn’t a goodbye, it was barely a discussion. It was just Geralt, screaming, at the top of a mountain with words that hit Jaskier too hard. To truthfully it felt like. It was Geralt, blaming Jaskier for every unfortunate twist of fate they’d met together. It was Geralt, telling Jaskier to leave like he never wanted him by his side at all.

And Jaskier took it. It hurt so much, but he took the words, shoved down the tears rising at the bottom of his throat, and walked away. He walked away and spent the following unusually quiet night staring up at the dark sky, just waiting for Geralt to pass by on his way head down the mountain path. He would be there for Geralt when he was ready to move past the events of the mountaintop, Jaskier would pop up, and give Geralt whatever he wanted, even if it was silence. But Geralt never passed. The next morning Jaskier went back to where he’d left Geralt, only to see the Witcher gone. He left. Geralt left Jaskier sometime in the dead of night, as quiet as a mouse, and intentionally avoided him. That hit harder than the words. Jaskier knew Geralt was bad with words, he would say things he doesn’t mean and he wouldn’t say the things he meant the most. Over the years Jaskier learned to listen to Geralt's actions over his words. But abandoning Jaskier was an action. It was a distinct and sure action. On top of the words, he was left behind, that is what sent Jaskier’s stomach bubbling and twisting until hot, angry tears ran down the bard’s cheeks. Jaskier was furious, hurt, and betrayed. Every hurtful comment that Geralt had ever flung at Jaskier swirled through his head again. The ones that seemed to be just cold humor at the time were now laced with venom in a voice he’d only heard Geralt use with monsters mid-battle. Jaskier didn’t regret the time they’d spent together, but it had taken him years to understand Geralt. He knew that so often Geralt would push away the world while he licked his wounds. He probably didn’t like looking weak in front of others and it was now starkly clear that, even after all this time, Geralt still considered Jaskier one of the “others”.

Jaskier walked down the mountain and seemed to traverse over the continent in a haze where he ended up in some town north of Soddon, he didn’t even know it’s name. He didn’t care. In the lull of ale and loud bar conversations, Jaskier sat at a table in a musky tavern, but he didn’t know what to sing. He had always loved a new town and the new audience it held. His reputation usually preceded him, the Witcher Geralt of Rivia’s Bard, but even still, it was a new audience to amaze for the first time. Yet every song about Geralt hurt now. Every lyric he’d written in the Witcher’s praise pricked at his throat like needles, as if they were forbidden words that Jaskier no longer had the right to sing. So when he needed to sing, to keep him busy and moving, to make the money he needed for his room, to get the words tumbling around in his head out in the open, he stood and did the only song he could think of. The newest, but he made it more true.

"The fairer sex, they often call it..."

He twisted the ballad he’d wanted to perform for Geralt and plugged in the new feelings he was fighting back. He was no longer just performing for coin, he was allowing his heart to scream out into the tavern. Lines that were once meant to explain love became criticisms of the damned fairy tale he’d been watching for the past 7 years since the Djinn. The rhymes now told of the pain and misery he bore witness to as Yennefer and Geralt hurt each other over and over again every time they met. He staggered and aggressively spun around the tavern of drunks and now silent onlookers. He’d quite successfully roped them all into his torturous love life. After the song was over and the bar seemed to almost ring with the absence of chatter and noise, Jaskier felt the all too familiar bubbling of rage, and pain, and heartache in the pit of his stomach. He accepted the coin thrown to him with all the grace he could keep up while urging down the tears that were clawing at his eyes. Jaskier ran back up to his room and fell apart the second the door behind him closed. Singing the words made them all real. While the feelings once just sat in his mind, they were now out in the open. People knew the song and people knew the words his heart ached to throw in Geralt’s face. In a ball of fury and hurt, Jaskier slumped against the door with nothing but his lute and sack of gold coin, Jaskier wanted to scream, yet felt like he couldn’t make a noise. For what felt like the first time in Jaskier’s life, his vocal cords wouldn’t budge. Jaskier was rendered mute, silently sobbing until his throat felt raw and his eyes stung, all the while feeling the grief from a dead friendship. In the misery of it all, he escaped to the only place he could and fell asleep right there on the floor.

When Jaskier closed his eyes, he was free from the pain in the real world. He could crawl and hide in his dreams of magic, monsters, and myth. He’d run around in a blaze of adventure by Geralt’s side. He’d tell idiotic jokes and revel in songs about Geralt’s great tales. In his dream, it was all so perfect. They weren’t in love, but in the dream, Jaskier didn’t love Geralt like that and it was so much easier. In his dream, they could simply be best friends. They had their own families and as they age they’d be neighbors in some small town far away from the monsters and wars. They could wave goodbye to their families once a month and go away on less than week-long adventures before returning to the cottages that housed their wives and kids. Their children were best friends and they’d run through the yards and the city like there was nothing that could hurt them. How easy it would be if the real world was like that.

Jaskier woke up on the floor fallen onto his side, back still to the door with his lute cradled uncomfortably under his arm. His eyes blurred as he tried to look around the room, his throat hurt and any voice he tried to muster was raspy and pained. Jaskier stood up and fumbled into the bed leaving his lute and his coin behind. Neither of the two would provide the comfort he desired.

“More sleep. More sleep” He told himself.

Sleeping felt better, being awake was what hurt.

Jaskier closes his eyes again to continue his fantasy. In his dreams, he’s hosting a big feast between the two families. His lovely wife is cooking while his 3 kids jump around setting the large table between the giggles that erupt from their bellies. He wraps his arms around his wife, bending down to lean his head on her low shoulders as she finishes decorating a platter of cut fruit and cream. Jaskier places a kiss on his wife’s cheek before taking the treat and placing it on the dining room table. A loud thumping comes from the front door and Jaskier has to race his own kids to see who will get to open it.

His eldest daughter, Asha, he instinctively knows, swings open the cottage door and yells,” Uncle Geralt!”

Jaskier smiles, looking upon the children that he has raised as Geralt’s nieces and nephews. Geralt’s kids have run into the room at lightning speed to play with them. The number of children grows from 3 to 8, Geralt, of course, would have a full and loud home bustling with loving chaos. Geralt’s oldest daughter was significantly older than the rest, Cici or Lily- or something like that- Jaskier wanted to call her. Geralt and his wife weaved between the kids playing in the common room to join the other parents in the dining area with some wine to drink with dinner. Jaskier smiled at Geralt and Geralt smiled back at him. It was a warm, knowing, tired, and yet still so alive kind of smile with wrinkles creasing at the corners of his eyes. A smile Jaskier could only see in dreams. Because the real Geralt didn’t smile like that.

And that thought hit like a punch. All too fast the dream was broken and Jaskier was shocked awake with the painful stinging of bile in the back of his throat. Tears pricked at his eyes as a hand shot to cover his mouth. His heart was racing in his ears as he cried and cried again. Was there no escaping this torture? No mercy any god could bestow to him. Just to forget, really forget it all would be a blessing. No ale or mead remedied the bard, alcohol just made it hurt worse. Sleeping felt better but it never lasted. He just wanted to feel better. To be free.

Another day passed in a misty fog until Jaskier felt like he could cry no longer. Like there was no more saltwater he could produce. He stood up feeling puffy and drained of everything, all that remained were the bones of the pain and their dull beatings could be ignored long enough to eat and drink. Jaskier straightened himself up as best he could with what little motivation he clung to, and left his room in favor of the open outdoor market downtown.

“Fresh air might do me good,” he told himself, needing to believe that something could provide relief.

The marketplace had all kinds of odds and ends, still, nothing caught Jaskier’s eye. It felt like he was looking for something, and while he had no idea what it was, he was sure that he’d know it when he saw it. Jaskier found himself weaving in and out of stalls searching for an item to call out to him, something to give him a purpose, and that’s when he saw it. Walking towards Jaskier’s direction, was a person. They were a short and thin figure hidden under a cyan-blue robe and hood that covered their face, but the pale white skin and hair peaked out enough for Jaskier to recognize the features from their mother.

“Princess Cirilla” he whispered in shock.

The small girl in front of him flinched before fearfully looking up to meet his eyes with her own set of impossibly blue iris’. Just looking onto her beautiful face, a face that perfectly matched Geralt’s eldest child in Jaskier’s dream, sent him 14 years in the past. The night of Pavetta’s marriage. The night he saw destiny unfurl a man’s twisted fate as it was tied to Princess Pavetta’s. Between the music, the fighting, the magic, and the mayhem, a real wedding occurred between two people who loved each other, and Duny, who bore a striking resemblance to a hedgehog, was given a normal human form seconds after Queen Calanthe blessed the union. They all discovered that same night that Pavetta was already carrying a child, and while Geralt never asked about his child surprise, Jaskier kept himself informed, in case the Witcher ever wanted to find her. He knew the Princess gave birth to a baby girl named Cirilla. He also knew that shortly thereafter Pavetta and Duny died at sea, Calanthe raised the child as her own Lion Cub of Cintra. Nilfgarrd had battled Cintra days before and won; they overtook the city just afterward. Jaskier had assumed Geralt had returned to Cintra just in time to protect his child surprise after the gold dragon so urged him to do. But Cirilla was alone now, her eyes wide with terror before she quickly put her face down, replying something to the effect that he had the wrong girl while trying to rush past him.

Jaskier moved to stop her and said,” I’m sorry it’s just- You look so much like your mother” in the softest, most gentle voice he had.

Cirilla stopped, now just a foot away from Jaskier before she brought herself to look back up at him. Since her mother and father’s deaths, no one spoke about them. Calanthe’s grief was legendary and no one dared to upset the Lioness of Cintra. Ciri was left in the dark. Only hoping she might resemble her mother or father, just the slightest bit, she had wished when she was younger. Her eyes teared up and her fingers touched the place on her hand that used to hold her mother’s ring, the ring that she’d just given away in her desperation for new gloves.

With a quiver in her voice, she asks in a voice so quiet that Jaskier barely hears her,” You knew my mother?”

The bard looks down on her, this child so rugged, worn, dirty, and scared. She’s seen too much since the fall of her home, he doubts that she’s even had a good night’s sleep. Jaskier finds a warmth deep in his heart coming to the surface and he smiles bending down to her level to tell her,” Darling, I was there the night that she wed your father and found out she was expecting you. I’m Jaskier or Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but on occasion I’ve been called Buttercup...” Jaskier begins to ramble through introductions.

But Ciri doesn’t hear him, all at once, she’s feeling everything. The grief she never processed and the pain she didn’t allow herself to feel for years. Calanthe’s death, Mousesack’s death, the loss of Cintra and all the people she used to know, the betrayal she felt from Dara, every bit of it seeped into her very core and she found herself crumbling into the arms of this man she didn’t know, who she logically knew could very well sell her to Nilfgaard but she couldn’t bear the weight of herself anymore. She sobbed so loud and guttural she felt it shaking her empty stomach. Jaskier held the girl in his arms, not the reaction he was expecting or was equipped to handle if he was honest. But he sat down with her in the busy street, pulling her hood over her face and hair to protect her identity, and rubbing her back the way his mother used to rub his own when he was young. He pulled her closer to his chest and whispered soft comforts into her ear to “let it all out” and “not to worry”. There wasn’t much a bard could do for her, he couldn’t give her her kingdom back, he couldn’t raise the dead, but he could be there for her and so he would.

As she started to settle herself down again he picked her up and carried her to the tavern for food and drink, telling her his every move before he made it, hoping she found some comfort in knowing before anything happened. When they arrived at the tavern he found the most secluded booth and claimed it for the two of them, setting her down and ordering her some food while he continued to rub her back. Eventually, she was able to stop her crying and calm her breathing again while she ate and drank. Jaskier waited patiently, he had no idea what horrors she’d faced in the struggle to survive and she deserved some peace at the very least. When she was ready he took her back to the inn in which he was staying so she’d be safer. He doesn’t ask, but she tells him of her journey since the fall of Cintra in painful detail. She explains the state of her grandmother when she returned from the battlefield, bloody and sweating as she told her to find Geralt of Rivia, that he was her destiny. She remembers the way that she watched Mousesack’s protection of the palace fall and how soon after she was ushered from the castle. How the man who was supposed to protect her, Lazlo, was shot right behind her on horseback, and how right afterward she was caught but she got away. The time after was spent running away from a Nilfgaardian soldier, abandoning her home, and discovering… she doesn’t even know what she discovered. She ran and ran, deep into the forests outside of the city, running around in the snow with the sound of Nilfgaard on her heels. She recounts rubbing mud in her hair, to try and hide its distinct color, meeting Dara for the first time as he helped her avoid poisonous berries, all the while mute. She describes the night she found a little encampment in the forest full of Cintrians who had escaped the invasion and the terrible things that were said about her grandmother. The raid that happened that night where she witnessed a Dwarf murder his albeit terrible and abusive mistress. The sound of the tent being ripped behind her, and the terror she felt when an unknown hand pulled her out, only to discover it was Dara. She escaped with him, befriended the elf. She told him her name is Ciri, and they stayed in the woods together before Ciri crossed the treacherous icy open space and entered the Dryad's forest. She almost stayed there, she could’ve loved it there. But a doppler wearing the guise of Mousesack lured her away, with his false kindness and familiarity he tricked her and tried to take her back to Nilfgaard. Dara helped her escape but chose to leave her afterward; she was dangerous and not yet smart enough to keep herself safe. She wasn’t hardened enough to spot the risks. She slowly made it to this small, mucky town. She stole an ear of corn, traded her mother’s ring for new gloves, and was ready to steal a horse before she ran into Jaskier. She was running out of options, and she was so, so terrified about what would happen if she let herself be found by the man in the winged helmet. After Cirilla was finished letting out all the feelings and memories she’s alone held onto for so long, Jaskier's heart ached for the child, she’s so young and has faced many traumas so great they would’ve ruined many normal men. But she is not normal and she is not a man, she is the Lion Cub of Cintra, and Jaskier knew all too well that she was destined for so much more than fear and hiding.

With a sigh, he tells her,” Well, now I’ve got to do something that I really didn’t want to do.”

She wipes her eyes and gives him only a confused look before he continues,” Destiny hath made me her bitch, and I must get you to your witcher”

Her eyes widened,” You also know Geralt of Rivia?”

“Yes, I do” he began,” And my, my, he’s such a dick,” he says, earning a small giggle from her.

She had a beautiful, bright laugh, he presumed she hasn’t used it at all in the past few days. It was pitiful, a child should live every day with smiles, and giggles, and in carefree adventure, and Jaskier swore to himself and all the gods above, that he would spend the rest of his life making her smile until her cheeks hurt and laugh until her stomach ached.

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Next Chapters -> [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

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