#nighttime mist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 2 months

Text

How the iudex sleeps

Unexpectedly enough Fontaine started wondering how the great judge is productive enough to do all his work and some bizarre ideas start pooping up until the iudex himself says his 'secrets'

Read also: otters sleep holding hands and with their babies on their bellies and I found that incredibly sweet

WC: 1,3K

Cw: gn reader, you both have a baby but it isn't specified if he is biologically related or adopted

‘The chief of justice is a busy person’ is a known fact amongst the citizens of Fontaine, who see him working through many cases plus uncountable quantities of paperwork. That led to a question for some people ‘how does he get enough energy for the day’ at first the common guess was coffee but they were told off by an angry melusine.

“Huff! As if monsieur Neuville would ever drink such things! Only weird humans can drink something that bitter”

That quickly shut down that possibility and led them back to the board of ideas. About that time reporters started to notice how many people seemed interested in maximizing their energy and being awake for longer, while they aren't life changing or particularly interesting sections, some weeks are remarkably unremarkable and anything is better than nothing.

Now every week there would be a few merchants promoting tonics, pallets and pills that enhance energy, even when they would find ways to waltz around trying to mention the judge in their advertisements.

‘Lawfully energetic’

‘as fierce as a dragon’

‘enough to stand 100 trials’

Even if the last one was almost enough for the mermonia palace to get involved for using Neuvillette's name it was vague enough that it got off the hook.

Usually Furina’s crew would be able to rehearse two scenes before tea time but for some reason it was already 2 pm and they were still rehearsing the beginning of the play.

“ I'm sorry, Ms. Furina, I just can't connect two ideas together today” the female lead says as she grabs her head, sighing deeply. Furina touches her back and before she can ask about it someone shares a thought to the air.

“ Oh! Have you tried nilotpala lotus tea? It seems to stimulate the nervous system and clear up brain fog. Maybe the iudex uses that” the man who was supposed to be practicing the piano to match the scene says with a slight poison over his words.

“ Isn't brain fog rich coming from you?” Furina yaps at him “ your tempo was off the whole day” as she looks over his shoulder and rather than seeing a music sheet she finds the newest issue of steambird “what are you even reading? Focus on the piano! We have a show next week!”

She quickly grabs the paper and starts reading the small column with advertisements and tricks, huffing at the idea “stop reading those newspapers and keep rehearsing! The magic fix you are looking for is simply a good night sleeps, like the iudex you are stalking for an answer” she sighs loudly before looking at her crew.

“Is that all?”

“Simply a good night's sleep. What else were you expecting? An extract with 10 times more caffeine than a cup or liyue acupuncture?” She looks at her crew and finds some of them nodding and others seemingly disappointed “now, a break or can we start from the top?”

Unsurprising enough, very few people believed what she claimed, most likely wishing for a strange concoction that can make up for bad habits. Even then a few girls believed it to be rational enough of an answer, seemingly even one of them must have said furina knew his whole nighttime routine causing a hoard of reporters to crowd her door asking senseless questions.

‘Does he use sleep mists?’

‘What kind of fabric are his sheets?”

‘What does he eat before bed? Does he drink water?’

After being stalked everywhere from her home to the supermarket or the café she started dressing up in disguise to escape, luckily a few days after she noticed the quantity of reporters went down and only one came knocking on her door asking about the rescheduling of her play.

“ Oh, yes, we had to reschedule as there was an ‘important trial’ that had to be dealt with urgently. A representative of the palais mermonia apologized for the inconveniences but in the end the most important thing is justice!” furina says with her characteristic theatrical flare. Now looking at the reporter scribbling things on his notebook she adds a bit “the new date will be in two weeks, if someone presents the special meet and greet tickets with the old date they will still be valid”

As he finishes writing he goes off to write the article “thanks miss!”

Now standing on the doorway to the rehearsal room, Furina was expecting the usual sleepy greetings or the usual chitchatter or gossiping but, unusually enough, the whole room was silent and her whole crew was hunched over a spot, their backs facing her.

Clearing her throat she greets them first but they still don't react “ morning? Guys? Are you all okay?” she rounds them trying to get their attention until one of them catches sight of her.

“Director! Look! Monsieur Neuvillette told his secret to the newspapers!” He grabs the yellow paper and holds it to her face, a big bold font meeting her eyes.

CASE MELUSINE AND OTHER QUESTIONS WITH THE IUDEX: PAST CASES TO HIS GREATEST SECRET

‘Greatest secret?’ Furina thinks for a second ‘did he already publicly state to be the hydro dragon? Doesn't seem like it’ but she quickly smiles at her co actor “So? What is his secret?”

But all her crew look at her with a questioning glare “ what we have been wondering all this time? Who would have guessed our director was right!”

“What is that even supposed to mean?!”

Charlotte looks at the pages full questions she prepared for her so desired meeting, who knew that after so long wishing for it she would truly get a chance to interview the iudex, even if half the questions she prepared couldn't be answered for privacy or because the cases weren't closed she got enough material to fill a good pair of pages. Even then she couldn't lose this opportunity and started asking the ‘dumber’ or sillier questions

Looming over one particular line she wonders, would the judge consider it rude for her to ask that given he was giving her his important time but she simply swallows and asks

“How are you able to work through so much work?”

“My apologies?” Neuvillette furrows his brows and looks confused “I don't think I quite understand what you mean”

Charlotte breathes in deeply before elaborating “People have been wondering how you have enough energy to do all the work you are able to do”

Neuvillette stays silent for a second with his eyes closed

“It's known the iudex doesn't talk about his private life, so if you don't want to answer-”

“ It's not that” Neuvillette reassures her calmly “it wasn't a question I was expecting, that is all” he crosses his legs and details as Charlotte writes

But regardless of how many tries we have thrown to the ceiling we all were wrong, the way our judge is able to power through the day is simple actually, a comfortable bed and his beloved family. Even if he refused to expand on information about his family he did speak more about his routine.

“I'm unsure why people care so much suddenly but it's very simple, really, I always sleep with my lover in bed and keep our child on my chest” even as Charlotte choked on her own spit at a sudden juicy revelation neuvillette barely glanced over the rim of his goblet “we are also rather particular about bedding, but for now we settled on silk flower sheets made I'm liyue”

As he drinks water a small smile creeps up his lips, remembering that very morning vividly, his fingers firmly entangled with yours, almost as if he fears you would leave and meet a cold spot when he wakes up, even when you are practically hugging his side. Or your young baby peeking his head out of his father's sleeping shirt and feeling the soft beating of his heart with a pleased face.

Hm, he is sure that is why he always wakes up with enough energy to power through his duties .

Opening his eyes he finds Charlotte with small tears on her lashes and muttering ‘how sweet’.

“ So about your son…?”

“No”

“Understood”

#genshin impact #gi #neuvillette x reader #neuvillete x reader #neuvillete #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #the blue text was supposed to be tte newspaper #hshshs just in case it didn't translate that way #neuvillette otter

322 notes · View notes

allthingswhumpyandangsty · 7 months

Text

🎃⁀➷ 31 days, 31 spooky prompts for Whumptober *ੈ✩‧₊˚🕷️🍂

1. ❝ don’t look, try not to show any fear as I tell you this, but I think that pumpkin behind you is alive, and it’s looking at us. ❞

2. ❝ please, I’m not crazy. that scarecrow is alive and it’s trying to kill me. you have to believe me. no one in this town is safe! ❞

3. ❝ you remember that body that was admitted to the morgue last night? the one that has human bite marks that looks nasty infected on the arm. yeah, well, this is going to sound insane, but it’s gone. the body’s missing. ❞

4. ❝ babe, you’re dead. this is the afterlife. we’re all ghosts here. ❞

5. ❝ do not come out of your room when it’s nighttime. no matter what you hear, you must stay in your room throughout the night. ❞

6. ❝ the bats, they’re biting and killing people. we have to run. now! ❞

7. ❝ is that a person sitting on the tree branch? why is she smiling like that? what’s wrong with her eyes? oh my god, she’s crawling down. oh my god, she’s crawling towards us! ❞

8. ❝ you haven’t heard of the blood moon curse? you must be new here. ❞

9. ❝ if you hear a voice calling your name from the woods at night, do not answer. ever. ❞

10. ❝ I got bitten, and I need you to kill me before I turn and become like them. please promise me you’ll kill me before I hurt anybody. please don’t let me be like them. ❞

11. ❝ no, don’t make eye contact with it. keep on walking, but do not run. ❞

12. ❝ there will be a ritual tonight and they will use you as a human sacrifice. you have to get out of here. ❞

13. ❝ shhh, she can’t see us, but she can hear us. be quiet. ❞

14. ❝ what do you mean the doll is alive? it’s just a doll. ❞

15. ❝ one of us is possessed. there’s one way to find out who. ❞

16. ❝ we’ve been walking in circle. we’ve walked past this house before. you see that lady in the window staring at us? she was also there the last time we walked past her property, staring at us through the window exactly like this. it’s like she hasn’t moved at all. ❞

17. ❝ you need my blood to stay alive. drink it. drink. or you die. ❞

18. ❝ I think there’s someone living in the walls. I can hear them breathing at night. ❞

19. ❝ this is a mistake. we should never have come here. the myth is real. we’ll never get out alive now. I’m sorry. gosh, I’m so sorry. ❞

20. ❝ if you see the shadow, you only have 3 days left to live. ❞

21. ❝ are those claw marks on the trees? they weren’t here last night when we set up the tent. ❞

22. ❝ I don’t think the blood on his clothes is fake, neither are the human organs in those jars. we have to get out of here. ❞

23. ❝ I’ve seen it all. the devil is real. it’s too late now. all of us are going to die tonight. ❞

24. ❝ they are not a cult. they’re my family. I’m not being brainwashed. let me go. let me go! ❞

25. ❝ what did you just inject me with? what’s in the syringe? what’s in the fcking syringe?!! ❞

26. ❝ those blood, it’s still fresh, meaning whoever — or whatever — killed it is still around. we have to keep moving, and we have to keep quiet. ❞

27. ❝ she doesn’t like her dolls to speak at night. if she hears your voice after 8 o’clock, she will rip your vocal cord out. ❞

28. ❝ there’s something in the mist. if you breathe, you die. ❞

29. ❝ look at me, hey, look at me, these people, they look like your friends and they sound like your friends. but they’re not your friends. your friends are dead. we cannot trust anybody. ❞

30. ❝ don’t get too close to the water. the fairies have very sharp teeth and strong grips. ❞

31. ❝ be careful in the full moon night. just… be very careful, alright? ❞

TAP HERE FOR; 31 DAYS, 31 TROPES FOR WHUMPTOBER

487 notes · View notes

tbcanary · 11 months

Text

2023 reading list: Poison Ivy (2022)

I am a hero. In my own way.

(ID under the cut.)

ID: Four animated gifs with art from the 2022 run of Poison Ivy.

1: Poison Ivy, a woman with red hair and green sprouts on her skin, stands off to the right side of the frame in front of a landscape of mushrooms, trees, and marshland. She fades out and is replaced by her more inhuman form, a hybrid body covered in plants and branches.

2: Ivy and Harley Quinn stand in front of a city background and kiss. Lights flash and flicker behind them as they kiss. Slowly, tears stream down Harley's face. Text flickers in green boxes: "Delirium doesn't scare you. You can see the world behind the world."

3: Ivy stands in front of a background of circular spores, moving outward in a spiral from her person. She blows a puff of glowing, purple mist.

4: Ivy, fully in her plant form, sits in the grass under a colorful nighttime sky. A crescent moon takes up much of the frame. Stars flicker in and out. Text pops up in speech bubbles: "Of course I do. I remember everything." / "Whether I want to or not."

/End ID

#poison ivy #pamela isley #harlivy #harley x ivy #dc #gotham girls #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #tbanimation #tbedits #flashing gifs cw //#this comic was so pretty i honest to god felt bad messing with it lol #just. stunning. visually and otherwise.#2023reads

844 notes · View notes

twistedapple · 6 months

Text

On cherry and musk

EDIT 28/10/2023: Part two of the Perfume Rant is bout, about Astarion this time! + added a correction regarding the sulfur part.

EDIT 3/11/2023: Part three of the Perfume Rant is up, this time I talk about my OC, Nuria.

EDIT 28/11/2023: I kept forgetting to make that edit but I added a comment regarding the cherry and how its sickly sweet tone is usually used in perfumes to express death.

Hello hello.

Because Raphael's perfume, according to Yurgir, is exactly the type of scent that makes me lose my mind while being quite uncommon for men perfumes IRL, I've decided to go on a bit of perfume rant because I really like perfume in general (which is funny considering my autistic ass easily goes in sensory overload, especially atm with my state of autistic burnout).

To introduce the topic, I'd like to present some generalities about perfumes, so you know what I mean once I start losing my mind about why Raphael's scent would drive me crazy IRL (someone at Larian knows their shit about perfumes).

Perfumes are, most commonly, made with an alcoholic base (the Middle East also has an oil base), because the ingredients used to create the scents are more soluble in alcohol than water. There are distinctions in the types of perfumes once can find, based on the concentration of scented molecules:

Perfumed mists: less than 3% of scented molecules, low duration over time;

Colognes: the weakest concentration in perfumes as we usually know and use them. It has a long history as well, and was first worn by men;

Eau de toilette (here, understand that it's a perfume associated with cleanliness): count between 5% and 15% of scented molecules;

Eau de parfum (lit. "perfume water"): count between 10% and 20% of scented molecules. These perfumes are more expensive because they're more concentrated, however nowadays they're still commonly found in stores;

Extrait de parfum (perfume extract - pure perfume): count between 15% and 40% of scented molecules, the high concentration means it has to be used with care.

Now, why do we wear perfume? Everything around us as a scent: the soap used to wash our clothes, the food we cook, the deodorant we use... Our own skin has a natural scent. Wearing perfume is a way to control our scent and define our olfactive identity as part of our self-expression and sense of fashion. With hormones at play, not every perfume works with anybody - for example, Hesperide-type perfumes don't suit me, but work wonderfully well on my mother -, so the way a perfume sits and ages on one's skin is just as important as one's personal preferences in term of scents. Interestingly, for some decades now the most common perfumes tend to have a "clean" scent, which matches with Western standards of cleanliness. However, the goal of perfumes being self-expression, they also tend to tell a story based on the way the notes develop and work together.

We have various categories for perfumes, which involve the styles based on the families of notes, the time of the day and the seasons.

The main families of perfume are Floral (self-explanatory), Chypre (woody scents), Oriental (spiced scents), Hesperide (citrus scents) and Aquatic (water-like scents). These families can be mixed in the scale of notes to obtain a more complex scent. For example, Floral scents tend to work well with Oriental and Hesperide tones, Hesperide tones work well with Aquatic ones, Oriental and Chypre scents can be associated to create heady perfumes...

The times of the day are either Daytime or Nighttime. Daytime perfumes tend to be lighter, while Nighttime perfumes, often worn during events or at clubs, will be stronger since they compete with other stronger scents.

Seasons also influence perfumes, some molecules won't last as well in Summer as they do in Winter for example. On the other hand, some molecules will have a harder time expressing themselves in the cold of Winter, so heavier scents may be needed.

A perfume is organised in three layers to unfold its story:

Top notes: the very first notes, which usually don't last much but open the impression of the perfume;

Heart notes: the core scents of the perfume, around which the story is built;

Base notes: the lasting notes of the perfume, which close the story.

There is also two ways a perfume works:

Sillage: the trail left by a perfume;

Projection: the perimeter in whih a perfume can be felt.

Feminine and Masculine perfumes tend to be quite different as well. Feminine perfumes tend to lean on floral and fruity scents, while masculine perfumes will be more in the Aquatic and Oriental family with leather and musk tones. This is where I start my rant on Raphael's likely amazing perfume.

Fruits are rarely used for masculine perfume, to the point I'd say it's a grossly ignored scent family for men. Some years ago, I crossed path with a man in the metro who had the most amazing perfume, with raspberry in distinctive top note, unfolding into a warm woody scent. This is what got me into perfumes, because I had to find out what perfume it was - the most likely candidate is One Million by Paco Rabane, but even then I am not sure. This is a very specific and striking scent, precisely because it's so uncommon for a man to wear. With that in mind, let's remember what Yurgir said Raphael's scent is: cherries, musk and sulfur. I suspect we can take these notes in the proper top-heart-base notes, because they'd make sense that way both in term of perfume composition and as a mean to tell Raphael's personal story.

Cherries make for a sweet, enticing top note, perfect to express Raphael's ability to charm his victims clients. Cherries' sweetness is also often associated with the sickly sweet smell of death, and is used for that purpose in perfumes following that theme. Considering what signing a devil's contract entails, it's quite fitting.

Musk is a common note both for masculine and feminine perfumes, but it tends to be used as a base note. This time, however, it'd make sense to have it in heart note for at least two fantastic reasons: to draw people further in with a warm and sensual note, and because the base note serves to close the story better than musk.

Sulfur as base note would be extremely smart. One might ask me "but Crow, doesn't sulfur smell like rotten egg?" And that would be a pertinent question. It wouldn't be the first time a strange ingredient is used to complete a perfume by providing unexpected results. Here, we're not just talking sulfur, we're talking brimstone. Mixed with the other notes, however, it creates a smoky scent that serves to hint at Raphael's nature as a devil (gotta smell like Avernus!), and also provides a strong support for the sensual musk by adding depth to it.

We also have Raphael's boudoir invitation described as having his perfume: palmarosa and pepper. These scents tend to be heart notes, to compose a refreshing spicy floral: palmarosa is a floral scent with a citrus tone, pepper is what it says on the tin and is considered an aphrodisiac scent. Fitting the boudoir invite, considering the presence of a certain incubus... This addition in the heart notes would counter-balance the musk nicely and contribute to a layer of complexity with a surprisingly feminine tone: floral oriental notes are rarely used in masculine perfumes. However, here I think it serves to express refinement through complexity - something people often associate with Raphael, who presents as a noble (and is, by the Nine Hells' standards, a noble in his quality as Mephistopheles' son), as well as frames himself as an agreeable host who can offer many pleasures to his guests and clients (as long as they have something to provide in exchange - cue the sulfur as base note to remind of Raphael's diabolical nature).

Yurgir describes Tav as bearing Raphael's scent. Raphael was near Tav, which makes me think his perfume has projection rather than sillage. It'd make sense for Raphael to have a perfume more oriented towards projection than sillage: he'd want to let people know he's here, and it's a subtle way to dominate the scene as well in a magnetic manner - and we know Raphael has an imperious tendency, even in his handwriting, so having it expressed in his perfume as well would make sense.

To conclude, Raphael has fantastic taste in perfume in my totally biased opinion (this sort of perfume is a shortcut to make me swoon IRL), and what has been confirmed as being his scent/perfume serves to subtly support his characterisation and tell a story both to us players and the people he deals with in the story.

#not twisted wonderland #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael's perfume would make me OBSESSED #keep this post under the arm if you want to understand what I'm doing with my OC's perfume as well #I REALLY LIKE PERFUME I'm serious when I talk about storytelling in perfumes

285 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 11 months

Text

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 2

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 3.3k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Witch Laswell, Traditional German Fairytale setting, Price x Reader if you squint, F! Reader, Injury, Blood/Injury Warnings: Mentioned gore

The sound of hoofbeats echoes out through the forest as Price urges his steed down the misty trail and into town. The trees spill outwards to reveal the faint lantern light of the village, and as you both approach you see shutters peek open and doors swing wide as your neighbors observe the commotion of your approach.

There's few people in the village square- a small collection of self-appointed guardsmen who startle at the sight of the captain atop his massive, dark mare. One nearly falls backwards, scrambling for his hastily constructed spear even as Price's voice bellows down at them.

"In your homes! NOW!!" He roars, and you're surprised at the speed with which the men comply, quickly dispersing in the direction of their cottages. You see them shout at the villagers who dare to stand in their doorways or at their windows, lantern light illuminating them in the nighttime darkness. They too vanish back into their houses, murmuring and speaking with concerned, rising voices at the tone of Price's booming command.

"Which house is yours?" He asks you then, voice quieter but no less urgent as he tries to control his anxious steed under him.

You point to a house at the end of the way, with ivy crawling up the stone and a red stained door at the front. You try to speak, but words seem to fail you, lips parting and voice choked with clawing fear at the shadow that lurks in your mind.

Massive. A primordial, hulking thing. Yellow eyes glimmering brightly in the darkness, claws glinting in the light of the moon. When it had turned to regard you both it had bristled, the coarse fur standing straight and making the thing look even larger. Even now you imagine yourself caught between its fangs, reaching out an arm in desperation as you're swallowed whole.

Price kicks his horse into a trot, and abruptly stops at the front of your door. He dismounts before you can gather yourself, hands at your waist and lifting you down onto unsteady feet.

"Lock the doors and windows." He tells you, voice gravelly with warning.

You find your voice then, startled and raspy but concerned as his hand guides you at the small of your back to your doorstep.

"W-wait, you're headed back?" You ask him worriedly, even though you already know the answer. "It's dangerous- you'll be in the woods by yourself, what if..."

"I'm a Witcher." Is all Price supplies to you as the heavy lock of your wooden door unlatches and you're guided inside. You spin to face him, eyes wide with a near frantic concern. He fills your doorway, allowing you no space to try and dart outside, the width of his shoulders made wider by the leather pauldrons of his armor.

"B-but-" You try to protest, voice wavering, taking a step towards him.

Price's eyes soften then, just for a moment. it startles you, the sudden warmth of his expression that seems almost like endearment. It's gone before you can feel it touch the confines of your heart, his face settling once more into the steely resolve of a warrior.

"Don't venture out until dawn." He speaks, voice grave with danger, pupils glinting with a darkness that shudders through you. Ominous, deadly.

He reaches for the door and pulls it shut behind him before you can stop him, and even then you dart to the window to see Price pull himself onto his horse and gallop once more into the chasm of forest from which you emerged.

You don't call after him, heart hammering too severely to allow any air to escape from your chest. Instead, you watch the mist curl in his wake, look upwards to the waxing Autumn moon that hangs yellow and heavy in the sky.

The shutters clack shut with a sound of finality.

-----------------

Birdsong.

You blink awake, the dimness of dawn washing over your features as you rouse to the frosted morning. You're wrapped in your blankets, sitting by the hearth that has fizzled into ash during your slumber. The gentle noise of sunrise filters in through the shutters, so different from the chaos of the night before, when Price had thundered into the town square with your form huddled behind his back.

You blink at the memory, trying to pull yourself from sleep and place yourself back into the realm of wakefulness even as the timber of the captain's voice drags you back into the darkness of the night before.

You'd stayed up as long as you could, trying to listen into the woods for any indication of struggle or conflict. Yet the forest had remained eerily silent, offering no answers to your concerned curiosity. Quiet, concealing the secrets within in a way you knew they always would.

When you rise from your chair you realize you'd never changed into your night clothes, your scarlet cape tugged tight around your front as you eventually had lapsed into sleep before the hearth. It flutters to the ground as you stand, and when you pick it up the soft fabric grazes across the pads of your fingers, with you lost in thought.

You hope he's okay.

There's no reason why he shouldn't be, of course. Price told you his battles the night before, of his victories and the tales which Soap and Gaz had boasted of. He's a Witcher. He'll be fine.

Yet then you think of Laswell, of her steely gray stare and her sly but warm smile. Maybe, if Price had gathered his men and rode off into the woods in pursuit- if Laswell had been left all alone in her cottage...

Your hands shake as you hold your cape, and a new anxiety seeps into the cracks of your chest. If...if somehow the monster from last night had eluded the hunters and found Laswell, had somehow hurt her...

Your feet move before you can stop them, and with shaky hands you begin to gather things from your home, creating a bundle with which to bring to Laswell's. A blanket, your journal, a change of clothes. Things you'll need if you're to stay with her as you're determined to. You can't leave her alone in the woods like this, and you think neither can you stand to be alone in your own home with the monster stalking both the woods and your dreams.

You take along provisions too, inside your basket. Bread, honey, apples and the herbs you'd been drying for her. They go in a basket balanced at your hip, and it isn't long before you're ready to venture once more into the forest.

It's light out by the time you part from your cottage- a hand stroking lovingly over the red painted door before you make your way up the path. It's still early, and many of your neighbors have yet to emerge from their houses. Those that do hurry to do their chores and vanish back inside- still startled by the commotion of yesterday. You pass them even as they eye you through the shutters, beyond the fences and doors of their homes. You, the girl with the ruby red cloak, the strange one who spends too much time in the forest listening to the whispers of the trees.

The woods swallow you, the familiar path under your feet quickly fading from the main road and into the less traveled trails that diverge from the realm of civilization. The sounds of the village are quickly silenced by the hills, and soon even the braying of goats is dulled to a subdued, gentle hush that washes over you with aching familiarity. Mist rolls down from the mountains, settling in the valley like a soft shroud, a veil that fogs across your senses.

There's a magic in these woods you are accustomed to. The loneliness the trees offer as they cradle you is strangely sacrosanct, an ancient and almost ethereal atmosphere that settles breathily across your shoulders, whispers a low lullaby in your ears. You've known it all your life, have memorized the gnarled ancient trees which yield the rare, mossy ferns used in poultices. You know the rocky crags from which nettle grows, can smell the damp earth where mushroom caps push up against the soil. The forest offers many treasures to those who dare to look, and those who take only what they need.

There are hunters in these woods as well. You hear them sometimes, the braying of their hounds ever closer until you see them pass in the distance in pursuit of foxes, deer and grouse. They stand in the distance, the hunters, pausing to regard the flash of red that catches against the corner of their gaze before leaving you wordlessly. You are not the prey which they seek.

Now a different hunter stalks this forest, and the mere memory of the monster has you clutch your cloak tighter around your shoulders. Gleaming yellow eyes haunt your thoughts, and it seems not even the cold damp mist can match the frigid horror of your heart. The fog curls around you, and even as you tread the well-worn path under your feet to Kate's cottage, it feels as if these woods are now different, hiding secrets from even you, their beloved child.

The air around you is eerily silent, and not even the calls of owls or birds seems to pierce through the milky haze that swallows up the trail ahead of you. The overcast sky offers little light as you walk forward, footsteps light against the packed earth. Yet Price's words rise unsummoned on your thoughts, his warning of dawn lingering like the smell of his smoky breath.

Again, you wonder if he and the others are alright. You try to assuage your fears with the same words the captain offered you last night, trusting in his skill and experience to navigate the dangers that haunt these woods. Even so, the image of Laswell's cottage- wrecked, ruined, blood seeping across the stone stoop, tempts you with the icy sensation of panic you desperately try to swallow.

So preoccupied are you with your own anxiety that you almost don't notice the strangeness on the trail ahead until your boots scuff against it.

Blood.

You halt dead in your tracks, cold air sucking into your lungs as you gasp loud enough to disturb the silence of the woods around you. Fear instantly claws thick and viscous up your throat, and you force it down in a dry swallow, not moving even as bloodied leaves stain the toe of your boot. Yet it isn't the sight of the blood itself that has terror mount within your chest. It's worse than that.

It's still wet.

Whatever creature, whatever person came through here last missed you only by mere minutes, stumbling off into the mist even as scarlet dripped from their form.

"It's just an animal." You whisper to yourself in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of the idea it could be one of the Witchers, that maybe it's Price, Laswell.

Your eyes trace the smear of the blood, and within several steps you find another ooze of drying red off to the side of the desolate trail, into the trees.

You follow it despite yourself, inhibitions dulled by paranoia. Your boots scuff against the scraggly undergrowth, brittle from the autumn winds. You think to whisper a name, but the silence of the canopy above whispers a warning, a silence you hold close to your chest in a talisman of protection.

There's a smear of blood on the bark of a tree as you pass, as if someone has pressed a scarlet hand there to steady themselves before journeying onwards. You eye it fearfully, and for a moment consider retreating back to the safety of the village. Despite the warnings you continue forwards, picking your way down a slope and towards a rocky outcropping in the distance that murmurs of shelter.

"Hello?" You whisper as you get closer, and there's no response as you hover near the edge of the boulders. A hand balances you as you barely peek around the roundness of the stone, eyes wide and brow furrowed in concern as you raise your voice once more. "Are you hurt?"

There's a noise then, a rustle of movement that nearly has your scrambling up the hill back towards the path. After a moment a voice, muffled and strained, echoes out from the shelter.

"G-go away."

You blink, rising terror now ebbing to a terse confusion that has you hesitate.

It's the grunt of pain that makes you circle around the edge of the outcropping, peer into the mossy hollow in search of whoever has pleaded with you to vanquish yourself.

You can't make sense of the shape at first, broad arms and shoulders obscured by torn, raggedy fabric, bare feet sticking from a jumble of limbs. You trace the figure from the dirty soles of his feet upwards, eyes widening as you realize the pure breadth of the person, the massive stature he has managed to fit into the narrow crevice of shelter.

When your eyes search his face, however, you falter, lips parting as you try to make out his features, only to be met with a dark, draped fabric that obscures all but his wide, panicked eyes.

He stares at you, this stranger, and you see your own panic and confusion mirrored in his gaze, the whites of his eyes revealing his terror.

The hooded man swallows, tries to shuffle himself further into the shadow of the outcrop with a small whimper that doesn't befit his hulking figure.

"Please-" He croaks suddenly, voice strangely boyish for a man his size. "Don't...don't hurt me."

You feel your face fall in dismay at the fear in this stranger's voice- a whimpering terror that instantly has guilt pulse through you for your instinct to flee away from him. When he shifts once more, you note the smear of red against the stone that flows from a jagged, gnarly wound around his leg. Like something had seized him and torn him asunder.

Realization dawns across your features, and at once you recognize the wound for what it must be.

Teeth marks.

The man seems to see your shock and consequent concern, because suddenly his breath hitches and he tries futilely to press himself further away from you.

"Shh, it's alright." You offer softly, extending your hands plaintively. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."

That seems to catch the stranger's attention, for his eyes lock on yours once more, the fabric of his hood rustling with his unsteady breathing. Yet he doesn't speak, not yet, still too afraid to address you. So, you lower yourself, making yourself small and unthreatening like you would to a wild, injured animal.

"You're hurt." You observe, voice gentle. You don't try to touch his wound, not yet. Instead, you try to keep contact with his eyes, wide and terrified.

"Did...the wolf do this to you?" You ask, voice a breathy murmur, and the man stiffens, entire form going rigid at your query. He doesn't answer, not at first, but after several moments he at last offers a small, hesitant nod in assent.

You swallow, eyes flicking back down the bloodied, mauled mess of the man's leg, his hands coated in scarlet. There's gashes there too, as if he was trying to unhinge the jaws of the beast in a frantic, desperate attempt to free himself. How he managed to escape the wolf is beyond you, but it's evident from the pure terror in his eyes that the victory of the feat is soured by his pain and fear.

"Let me help you." You say then, the words tumbling free before you can stop them. "If you stay out here...the blood...it might be able to track you."

The stranger doesn't respond, continuing to eye you warily, his form coiled tight against the rocks.

"Please." You try again. "I-I can get help, I know a healer, and she knows Witchers, I'm sure they can-"

"Witchers?" The man asks suddenly, voice dipping unexpectedly. You blink at the sudden shift, for all at once his terror seems to turn to disgust, anger, an emotion you're unprepared for.

"Yes." You supply softly, still trying not to startle him. Yet the man only stares at you silently from under his strange hood, offering no response.

"You can't stay here." You try again, and when he doesn't speak you begin to feel frustration rise inside you. "I'll go get help, the wi-"

You make to rise, but all at once the man surges forward, and the sudden motion startles you so much you topple backwards, onto your bottom. A hand shoots forward to catch you, preventing you from skidding further down the slope. You blink just as the stranger's form braces almost over you, his eyes gazing with a wild, frantic concern under the darkness of his hood.

They're green. Like the emerald canopy of the forest in the bright days of summer.

"Don't." He says, voice wavering, his bloodied fingers encircling your wrist and coating it crimson. "Please."

You blink, try to make sense of his words even as warmth rises to your face at just how close he suddenly is.

"I-" He tries, stammering, releasing you and sitting back as he realizes that he's startled you. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

It's your turn to be silent now, regarding him cautiously as your eyes dart to the red smear across your wrist. When you look back at him his eyes seem almost sad at the mark, downcast and guilty.

"I can't." He tries again, then lifts a shaky hand to fist in the fabric of his hood, eyes meeting yours once more. "I'm...disfigured. They might see my face and think...that I'm a monster."

You soften then, brow furrowing in sympathy at his explanation, even as he continues.

"I've been hiding in the woods for a while. I can't get close to the village because I might scare people, they might...." He trails off, but the implication is clear. The villagers, should they see a stranger, one with a face disfigured as he says, would no doubt shun him. Worse yet, you can imagine some of them going as far as to injure the stranger purely for his appearance.

"People will always attack that which they can't understand." You offer, straightening to kneel before him. You smooth a hand across your skirt, place your basket beside you and making sure it doesn't fall. "It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you."

You swallow, trying to bury your own fear in the face of your declaration. Despite your trembling grasp, you extend your hands as a request, open palmed and entreating.

"Please, let me see your hands." You tell him, voice clear like the eggshell blue sky on a crisp, fall day.

He doesn't move, not at first, eyeing your hand, a wild creature full of distrust.

"I can help you." You murmur, tone gentle, like trying to coax a fawn from the ferns. It seems to at last pierce the leather hide of him, revealing his loosening shoulders and uncoiling muscles, tender as he extends an oozing hand into yours.

You smile at him then, the first smile you've had since you settled by the warmth of the fire, flanked by Laswell and your newfound friends. It makes his eyes widen, as if he's just seen sunlight stream through an overcast sky.

"What is your name?" You ask, turning his hand over in yours, eyes looking at the broad planes of his palm, where gashes cut sharply across his fate line.

"König." He whispers, voice different now, somehow distant as he observes you.

"My name is König."

Taglist: (If you'd like to be tagged in future updates please REBLOG this post)

@writeforfandoms @zwiiicnziiix @soapskneebrace @tealikestoread @mikrou @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @kiroshang @adorephina @equalstrashflavoredtrash @dog55teeth @seraphimcollections @pettyprocrastination @borderlinecatboybehavior @warenai @moskaisley @nachtcirce @feelingnotmyself @lovenotcomputed @rk1v35 @kikisstrawberrie @emrzennn @montenegroisr @frazie99 @graybraids @ohgraywardens @tangerines-mustache @poohkie90 @arbesa-mind @

If you are on this taglist and would like not to be, please reblog or DM me ❤️

#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #my writing #my fic #fic: rotes madchen

574 notes · View notes