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blackberrywars · 2 years

Text

Story - Dyn Marv

SFW prompt for day 6 of the @witchersummercamp event!!! Shout out to @hellinglasses and her own kitty companions for beta’ing

Rating: G

Words: 4350

Pairing: Gen with references to Arnaghad/Erland and Guxart/Vesemir

Tags: Cat School, Dyn Marv Caravan, Cutagens, Papa Guxart, Bedtime Stories, All Of The Younger Cats Are Kittens, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing But Not In Front Of Kittens, Must Be A Good Example, Witcher Lore References But Disguised As Fables

Summary: Every night, Guxart reads a fable to a tangled pile of kittens, and though the pages are stained and the illustrations are faded, his newest clowder is just as enraptured as his first. He hopes they learn its lessons well.

Read on AO3

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If he didn’t know what little bastards they are, Guxart could almost call his smallest kittens, piled up and on top of each other in the trainee wagon, cute. At this age, they’re all still devastatingly little in a way that makes him ache. Gaetan barely reaches his mid-thigh on tiptoe. Dragonfly head-butted him in the balls earlier today during training. Kari lost his four front teeth this year, and won’t regrow stronger, dwarven ones until he loses the rest. At eight years old, Aiden still has cheeks like bread rolls —entirely too squishy for her own good. Daniet just hit a growth spurt, making her knees spasm constantly with the pressure. Even Cedric and Axel, both nearly eleven, can each hang off one of his arms with little difficulty on his part. And every last one of them is staring up at him with their expectant little eyes in every shade that won’t last. Like a chorus, the nightly question goes up into the night air.

“Story? Stoey? Storytime? Story? Storytime? Stoeytime? Stories! Story! Story! Storytime! Papi, it’s Storytime!”

According to whatever rotation they’ve cooked up, Dragonfly guards the book tonight. It’s a heavy tome, one of the few that Dyn Marv can afford to carry around. Brown, weathered pages slip between her fingers as she finds the right page. The Bear and the Bird. He recognizes the tale immediately, though the illustrations have faded from the vibrant colors they once displayed, the ones he painstakingly inked onto the parchment so many years ago. Time hadn’t been kind to the book, but his newest kits love it just as the elder ones did. With an imperious stare, carrying all the self-assured authority of the princess she almost was, Dragonfly drops the open book into his lap with a painful thud against his still-sore groin.

“Storytime.”

She nods her little chin once and sits back down with her littermates, pushing Gaetan onto Aiden’s lap so she can take the pillow for her own head, lounging across it carelessly. Guxart sighs, settling his back further against the wall. His usual reading cushion has disappeared, likely under the mass of watchful kittens in front of him, so he makes do with the wooden floor, crossing his legs and resting the book on his knee. He doesn’t need to actually look at the words to tell them the story, but the kits always insist that he should get to read it too. With a cough to clear his throat, he begins the prologue:

“Very well, kits. Storytime. But this is the only story you’re getting, because after this, you are all going to sleep. If I hear a single sound out of any of you once I close this book, you will have to make your own breakfast for a week.”

Guileless, with seven little grins and fourteen shining eyes, they promise to all fall right asleep. They won’t bother him or Gezras for anything unless someone dies or “frows up” in the middle of the night. It’s bullshit, of course. Bullshit of the highest order. But he nods and tells them they’re good little kits anyway because they look so cute when they’re proud of themselves for successfully lying to him.

“Now, where was I? Right, yes —the begining. A long, long time ago, beyond seven mountains, beyond seven forests, a little bear cub wandered through the woods all alone. His mother had left the den a week ago in search of food, but never returned. When his hunger became too great, despite how small his size and how blunt his teeth and how thin his fur, he decided to risk the dangers of the world, for his other option was death. He ventured out. For two days and two nights, he wandered through the forest, his belly rumbling, empty and cramped. Still, no matter how he tried, food remained out of his reach.

Bees stung him when he reached for their hive. Fish slipped from his little paws, too slippery for the soft pads. Squirrels leapt into trees he couldn’t climb. Deer vanished before he could even chase them. Even the berry bushes were all picked clean by earlier hunters, who’d left nothing but rotten fruit on the ground. Desperate, he ate them. They were slimy, mushy, and foul but he’d never been hungrier, so he devoured every last one he could find. With each bite, he felt sicker. His head felt fuzzy, his tummy ached, and soon he was so disoriented that he could barely keep his feet, stumbling until he found the edge of a cliff…… and fell right off it!”

Gaetan gasps, “No!” from his perch on Aiden’s lap, chubby leg kicking out in alarm. Guxart fixes his face into a mournful expression, nodding solemnly.

“Yes! He fell for what must have been miles, spinning through the air. All he could see was the blue sky, the gray cliffs, and the green grass, one after the other until they blurred into one, and he shut his eyes against it, bracing himself for the end. When he stopped, the air left his lungs in a rush, which didn’t shock him much more —he had died. Dead little bears don’t need breath. But then he inhaled, and a strange, soft thing brushed his long snout, gently enough to make him sneeze himself upright. He opened his eyes, and there in front of him, on a bed of brown twigs and leaves, hopped a little bird. It peered up at him before speaking, eyes wider than dinner plates:

‘You don’t look like a bird.’

Confused, the bear replied, ‘That’s because I’m not one.’

‘Then how did you fly here?’

‘I fell. I think.’

‘But you landed safely!’

The little bear, whose back hurt quite a bit, disagreed. On the last word, at least. Furiously so. But the little bird refused to believe anything else —he had fallen from the sky, so a bird he must be. They sat in the nest, arguing and quarreling until they exhausted themselves and fell asleep, with the little bird curled against the little bear’s warm, soft belly and the little bear balanced so as not to squash him. They woke the next morning, and though the little bear remained hungry, he could not help but be dragged into the argument once more.

‘I am not a bird!’

Immediately, the little bird protested, ‘You are! You fell from the sky and landed here, just like a bird! Your wings are strange, and you landed heavily, but a bird you must be.’

‘I am not!’ said the little bear, waving his arms around as if to prove their lack of feathers. ‘I have no beak, no wings, and no tail!’

‘But you flew!’

They went on, back and forth, until finally the little bird, frustrated and indignant, cried out to his father: ‘You say you’re not a bird? Fine, then, I’ll prove it to you!’

Saying this, he used all his might to push the bear off the side of the nest. Had the bear been less hungry, less tired, and less weak, the little bird would have failed, but the bear, startled, toppled over the edge for the second time, crashing upon the rocky earth with a horrible crunch.”

“NO!!” cry all his kits in unison, and Daniet lunges for the book in his lap, quick but not quick enough as Guxart hides it behind his back with one arm, and holds the misbehaving kitten by the forehead with the other fully extended. A gentle flick of the wrist, sends her back to the pile so she can grumble.

“A horrible crunch from his right arm, and as the little bear lay on the ground, howling in pain, the bird descended from its nest, shouting in alarm, hovering over the bear’s prone body:

‘Have I killed you?! Did your parents never teach you to fly?’

Through gritted teeth, the bear replied, ‘I’m alive, no thanks to you. And like I already told you, I’m not a bird.”

Apologetic, the little bird fussed over the bear’s broken arm and cared for him over the course of a month until it healed. And while the bear was angry at the bird for pushing him off the nest, he was so well-cared for —with clean water, herbs for pain, and all the food he could stand— that the little bear felt his grudge subside quickly. In fact, by the time he could walk again, he could no longer be called a little bear at all. Everyday, the bird brought him a feast. Honey stolen from the bees, fish small enough to fit in his beak, nuts and fresh berries instead of rotten ones, all of it went into his belly until he was healthy and fatter than a caravan!”

“Fatter than a caravan!” Aiden shouts, curving her arms around her body in an approximate comparison, “Papi, that’s impossible.”

“Ah, but it isn’t! Not for this bear, at least.”

“Impossible,” accompanied by exasperated bug eyes.

“Everything’s possible, kit, except maybe you shutting your trap. Oh, wait. Shut your mouth, kitten, or I’ll close this book.”

Before he even finishes his sentence, three pillows —one from Dragonfly, one from Axel, and one from Cedric— club her across the face, knocking her right onto her back. Gaetan keeps his seat, miraculously, and turns around, beating her stomach with his little fists. The things a good union can do truly amaze him. If his kits all make it past the Grasses and manage to stop arguing at every occasion that isn’t their hallowed Storytime, they’ll topple anything in their path. Before he becomes that very thing, he continues reading.

“Thank you. After the month had passed, the bear could walk easily again, and learned to hunt for himself. Still, his arm ached. As the seasons turned ever closer to winter, the cold seeped into his fragile bones, and he became sleepier and sleepier, preparing for a long winter’s nap. Such was his nature, but still the bird —who had grown large and strong in his own right— fretted. When the bear grew fatter, the bird worried over the waddle in his step. When he began digging his den, the bird fussed over his dirty claws. Worst of all, when the time came that the bear retreated into his yearly sleep, the bird insisted on waking him every day.

‘Wake up!’ the bird cried, flapping his wings as loudly as he could at the den entrance, ‘You will freeze in here if you sleep any longer —move, please, to keep yourself alive!’

The bear, half-dazed, grumbled back, ‘Leave me be, birdie. I’m a bear, we’re meant to sleep the winters away.’

‘You’re wrong! If you stop moving, your blood will go cold and you’ll die! I would miss you so, now please wake up!’

‘You will see me in the spring. No need to miss me at all.’

Again, despite all the bear’s insistence that yes, he was fine and could certainly survive being buried under the snow, the bird returned to rouse him each morning at dawn. Each time the bird came to wake him, the bear sent him away, pleading with him to not return until spring. They would meet again soon. Even asleep, even in the ground, he was safe and sound. Still, the bird persisted, and each day, the bear grew more tired. Without prolonged sleep, he lost weight faster and faster until by just midwinter, he was as skinny and hungry as he had been on that fateful day he wandered into the forest. Just as before, he gathered all his strength and wandered out alone.

This time, though he was more than large, strong, and clever enough to hunt, the winter had turned the lush wild into a barren wasteland. Bees hid away in their haves. Fish swam trapped under frozen ponds. Squirrels burrowed, sleeping in their own dens, just as he should have been. Deer had long since left for warmer climates. Not a berry remained on the dead branches of the shrubs he’d once feasted on. By chance, or by luck, or by some strange wrinkle of fate, he chanced upon a lone, injured wolf, and despite not wanting to fight another predator, he was hungry enough to hunt it.

Across the woods and fields, he chased it, though his arm throbbed with pain from the movement and the cold. Eventually, just as the sun appeared on the horizon, he was able to clamp his jaws around its tail, biting down hard and dragging it towards him to tear at its soft underbelly with powerful claws. But his hunger made him clumsy. Instead of reaching the heart, the bear only tore open his abdomen —a fatal blow, but not at once. And although the wolf had his guts hanging out of his body, tell me kits, when is a creature most dangerous?”

From the pile, in various tones of enraptured squeaks comes the answer, “When it knows it’s about to die!” Kari’s missing teeth make the words come out round, Gaetan still has trouble with pronouncing consonants at the ends of words, and Axel's voice decides to slide down an octave halfway through, but they all have it correct. Just so.

“Well done! So the wolf, one paw in his grave, gave a final lunge, whipping his body around to bite at the bear’s sore arm, right over where the old break had settled. It gave a horribly familiar creak, but the bear growled, tearing his arm out of the wolf’s jaw before the crunch and releasing his hold on the wolf’s tail. Allowing the creature to escape into the underbrush, leaving nothing behind but a trail of thick, dark red blood. Not too far away, he could hear the wolf whimpering and howling, but the pain in his arm immobilized him. Before, it had ached. Now, it burned with the ghosts of sharp teeth and hard earth. Just as he steeled himself once more, to chase it again despite his exhaustion, the bird appeared through the trees.

‘What happened?’ he shouted, flying closer to land by the bloody snow, ‘I returned to wake you this morning, and I found you gone! Are you hurt?’

‘Yes,’ the bear hissed, tucking his wounded arm closer to his body, ‘Because of your waking me, I grew hungry, and all I found to eat was a wolf almost as skinny and desperate as I am. But even a wolf like that still has teeth.’

The bird ducked his head, chastised.

‘How can I help you? This is the second time I’ve hurt you, my dear, and I want to make up for it.”

‘Hmm,” the bear grumbled, ‘Fine. That wolf got away, and I’m still hungry.”

Eager to help, the bird took flight, tracking the blood trail from above and leading the bear, slow on his injured paw, to the wolf, who had curled up at the base of a tree to die. The bear killed it quickly. He ate even faster as a heavy fatigue set in over his body and mind. After, they walked back to his den together, the bird perched delicately on the bear’s back as the bear settled in below the earth, full and tired. He made the bird promise not to wake him. The bird, feeling how warm the den was and seeing firsthand how much his friend needed this rest, agreed, on the condition that he would stay in the den too, to watch over the bear. If the bear had any objections, he voiced them with a snore. They passed the winter like that —the bird watching over his sleeping bear— but in spring, his arm still ached.

At first, the bear tried to ignore it. He avoided hunting anything that could run, kept his lame arm as still as he could whenever possible. It wasn’t enough. Eventually, he had slowed so much that by midsummer, when he should have been fat again, he remained lean without a steady supply of fresh meat or fish. Again, the bird fretted. With minimal grumbling, the bear accepted his dear friend’s care, but every step brought pain that not even the strongest herbs could relieve, and he grew thinner by the hour. After a near fall off the very cliff he’d stumbled from as a cub, the bird confronted him.

‘Dear one, you can’t go on like this. I can’t hunt enough for both of us, and I don’t think you’ll be able to stand in the river for the salmon run. You won’t live through the winter.’

‘I’ll survive, birdie. I have so far.’

‘But you might not this time,’ the bird said, flapping his wings nervously, ‘You need help, and I… yesterday, I flew over a human town not far from here. They have a hedgewitch who can fix your arm.’

‘Humans?’ cried the bear, ‘A human, hedgewitch or not, would poison me before she healed me. And that’s if the rest of the town doesn’t chase me out with pitchforks on sight!’

‘What other option do you have? You’re injured, why would they be frightened by you?’

‘I’m a bear! That’s enough, for most creatures. You’re the exception, little bird.’

For a day, the bird left him be. But as soon as yet another fish slipped through the bear’s paws, he returned, pestering him to go to the healer. Worn down, tired, and in constant pain, the bear finally agreed to go if his friend would watch over him, and so, the next day, he trudged after him until he could smell the town —smoke and sweat and waste. He walked to the edge of the forest as each pebble sent shockwaves of pain through his arm. He hesitated at the fields before loud squawking overhead pushed him forwards. He took a step on the supposed hedgewitch’s road. And so the screaming started.

It started and didn’t stop, tearing from the mouths of humans and the dogs they’d tamed. Women shrieked and babes cried, the hedgewitch herself stepped out to bellow curses at him. The bear turned back around, and already he could see the men of the town running from their homes and fields, the sun reflecting off their weapons with the hard glitter of iron and bronze. They screamed for more men, more dogs, and most of all for his head as they drew closer. As quick as he could on his injured leg, the bear turned and ran. A stray torch burned a brand into his side, a fencepost cracked across his spine, and a sharp axe swung just an inch too wide to hit its mark, but he kept going deeper into the woods, all the while his bird followed overhead, yelling furiously.

He ran and ran and ran until he couldn’t feel anything anymore, and then one step further before collapsing to the forest floor, motionless.”

Still on Aiden’s lap, Gaetan sniffles loudly, bringing one fist up to his pale, round cheek to brush out the tears. Quickly, Aiden tries for damage control, gently shushing her little brother and squeezing him tighter, but Guxart sees the panic in her eyes and reaches forward to take him onto his own hip. Gaetan hugs his side like a limpet, burying his face in Guxart’s soft sleep-tunic. His littlest kit. The rest of his clowder is mercifully patient as he runs a hand through his kitten’s fine brown hair, smoothing down the spikes before lifting his little chin up.

“What’s wrong, kit?”

Gaetan only sniffles again, shaking his head.

“Come on, now. Sit up. We’ll finish it together.”

That tiny frown only deepens, and the wobble in his chin stops before he grumbles, “I ‘on’t get it. Why the people hurt the bear? Why don’t the bird listen?”

“Ah, that is the question, kit.” Guxart sighs, hefting his child further up on his hip and adjusting the book on his knee. “Bears can be dangerous, and people often lash out. As for the bird, well. There’s a few more pages left to read.”

“It’s stupid! If I had a big friend, I won’t hurt him!”

“Good kitten. Now, we’ve got plenty more kits who want to hear the ending too, so sit tight.”

He acquiesces, nodding into Guxart’s armpit and reaching out one little finger to trace the edge of a yellowed page, where a slightly crooked drawing of tree branch falls off into the margin.

“For many long minutes, the bear laid there, growling with pain as the bird sobbed, screaming out into the empty woods.

‘Dear, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, my bear, please get up! They could still be chasing you, we can’t stay here!’

The bear sighed, but said nothing.

‘Please!’ the bird cried, ‘I’ve hurt you a third time, and I won’t forgive myself if you die because of my mistakes.’

‘Be quiet, birdie. They’ve given up —I can’t hear or smell them. Just go.’

‘No! I… I won’t leave you here.’

‘And why not?’ he said, anger slipping into his voice, no matter how it tired him, ‘Your attempts to help left me with a broken arm, an infected wound, and now this. All because you don’t believe me when I tell you I am not like you —you call me your bear yet don’t listen until I roar. So go. You can’t help anyone here.’

This made the bird cry harder, tucking his head into the bear’s warm, soft fur.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, bear. I…… it’s not an excuse, but I want to do better by you. You aren’t like me, you aren’t a bird, you’re a bear, and the dearest one I know. I want to care for you the way you need.’

It was then, as his tears fell onto the bear’s skin, through the dense fur, that the bear felt the pain leave his body, and with it, much of his anger. Somewhere in his heart, he believed his little bird. And somewhere in the world, something else believed it too, as the wounds all along his body began to glow. Brighter and brighter —he looked something like the sun before it faded. Slowly, the bear stood, taking stock of himself as the bird gasped with shock.

His wounds were gone. Only the scars remained.

A strange magic, one he might have been frightened by, but the bear didn’t protest as he sat back on the ground, scooped his bird up into his paws, and nuzzled his feathered stomach with his nose. The bird wrapped his large wings around the bear’s head, hugging him tightly. He whispered promises to listen to his bear, and the bear simply held him tighter, and did his best to believe in him the same way the magic did, that he could be wholly himself with his little bird. And so they lived all that long, long time ago, beyond the seven mountains, beyond the seven forests: happily ever after.”

A cheer goes up from the kittens as Guxart closes the book, and he thinks about Arnaghad and Erland.

It’s the ending he’d wanted to give them, all those years ago when he wrote their story. The bear and the bird. Two legends, even to him. Gezras had told him the story as a witcher already on the Path, rather than a kit, but even then, he’d wished for something different. An ending where Erland listened to Arnaghad and got his head out of the clouds so his feet could stand on solid ground. An ending where Arnaghad had patience, where he tried harder to reason with Erland instead of lashing out in rage and violence. An ending where they lived happily ever after. Together. He tells it this way, for himself and for his kits as they grin at him, so that they might learn from the mistakes of their elders. They chant, as they do many nights:

“Another one?”

“More story?”

“ I’m not tired yet!”

“Another stoey?”

“Story?”

As the eldest, Cedric leads the charge, turning his eyes to liquid, bigger than dinner plates and deeper than the sea. He’s old enough to have heard each one of these stories, several times over, but still he begs to hear them again like the littlest kits. Axel hovers just over his shoulder, the very tips of his pointed ears drooping with the force of his pout, and the rest quickly follow suit, facing him with a clump of shining eyes and downturned lips and dimpled chins. The little ringleader pleads with him again.

“But what about the one where the jaguar fell in love with the wolf? What about that story?”

“No, kit.”

He turns his stern gaze down when Aiden takes up the mantle. She shuffles forward from the pile, furrowing her dark brows, widening her eyes just that little bit more.

“Please?”

A gasp rises from the crowd, echoed by Guxart’s own. Aiden wouldn’t ask for water in a desert, and certainly not politely, with an earnest please no less. And Guxart knows by the steel in her eyes that it’s not manners she’s learned, but the art of tactical, unconquerable manipulation. Immediately, the other kittens copy her, and just as cries for a story rang in the evening, so too do the cries of please ring out in the night. Pride wells in his chest. He’ll make good on his threats tomorrow. Tonight, he opens the book, finds the page by the torn bottom corner, and shows them the faded illustration he’d painted so long ago —a black jaguar presenting a deer corpse to a hesitant gray wolf. To Court a Wolf had been one of the first stories he’d thought of, and the last he’d written down. By then, Vesemir hadn’t been around to tease him with it.

All the same, his kittens have all loved it best. Kiyan and Jöel still ask him to read it every now and again. These kits are no different, it seems, so he pushes the old memories away and begins to read.

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hungarianbee · 2 years

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For the wip game: Cat Siblings. plz I need it the Cat family dynamics are so damn good

You are super welcome for the tag!!

*does the evil raccoon handrub* I don't think this is the family dynamic you are expecting, but lessee. I've plucked Axel and Cedric from canon, added Otto (an OC), and made them a triplet. It currently sits at around 2k words, lemme pick a few opening paragraphs.

“What a little surprise! You whelped me a triplet, dh’oine.” His voice was pleasant, yet a shiver ran down Mother’s spine as she gazed into the mutated yellow eyes. The thin pupil fixated on her like a knife-slash and she swallowed.

Mother took a cautious step forward, pushing the basket towards the Cat with the same motion. Her hand shook, the hairs on the back of her arm stood on edge, but she kept her stance straight. The witcher’s nostrils flared and his grin widened.

“Take them,” she said curtly and she kept the eye contact. “I’ve cared for them, but now they are your responsibility. My husband’s debt is paid.”

Gezras took a look at the children. Three bundled babes, with hair the colour of sour cream, eyes like the glaciers on the top of the Amell Mountain. He took stock of them, one by one.

Axel, the mute. Thin featured, with a serious face. He fussed under his stare, tiny fists grabbing hold of his sibling. Next to him was Cedric; expressionless, but emanating distress. The biggest among the three. Closing the row was Otto, the runt. Small and skinny, but eyes shining. Silent as a mouse, except for the occasional whine, they stared back at him. Then Cedric squirmed a little, eyes gathering tears and Otto let out an uneasy sound.

What a fucking joke.

#my shit #the witcher #gezras of leyda #witcher cedric #witcher axel #i really should finish this up #it's been collecting dust since who knows when

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inexplicifics · 1 month

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There are many reasons to hate the kaiju who came up out of the sea to devastate the Continent. But for Cedric and Axel, there is a reason to be grateful, too.

#my writing #axel of the cats #cedric of the cats

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dftea · 4 months

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Ravelled and thinned

Accidental Warlord AU (@inexplicifics): Aiden/Sasha, hurt/comfort

[read on AO3]

And then it comes over him, an overwhelming wave of rage and vengeance, sweeping him away from Sasha and reality and everything good and beautiful in the world.

Aleksander is hurt on the training ground. Aiden loses it.

When the obstacle course explodes, Aiden only makes it halfway across the training ground before Sasha falls.

Shouts and Signs fill the air, as the Grassed trainees fling up their Quen shields to protect themselves and their humans from the falling debris.

But they’re between him and his Sasha.

He doesn’t know how many he knocks down, how many feel the cut of his knife, but then he’s holding a blood-soaked Sasha in his arms.

There’s a jagged spike of metal through his sweet pup’s chest. He tries to form words, to shape Aiden's name, but all that comes out is blood.

He’s saturated in the smell of Sasha’s blood and fear.

And he cannot watch him die in agony, not like this.

He pushes Axii into Sasha’s head and watches him still, his face slack.

And then it comes over him, an overwhelming wave of rage and vengeance, sweeping him away from Sasha and reality and everything good and beautiful in the world.

When he comes back to himself, he is face down in the dirt of the training yard, Lambert pinning him bodily and a dozen Cat Witchers seizing hold of his limbs.

“–not going to fucking die, because Triss got to him fast. He’s going to be fine, Aiden, but he needs you to snap the fuck out of this, so you can–”

“I’m back,” he rasps, and feels the release of tension all around him. “I need…Sasha…”

“Let him up,” Lambert commands, and the others release him as Lambert drags him up to his feet.

“Did I…did I hurt…?”

“Cuts and bruises,” Lambert says, matter-of-factly. “Nothing that won’t heal in a few days. Now let’s clean you the fuck up so you can see Aleksander - he’s been asking for you.”

As he drags Aiden towards the keep, the Cats falling into a sort of honour guard around them, Aiden belatedly takes in the deserted training yard, the fading light.

“How long was I down?”

Lambert rolls his shoulders, subtly removing the stiffness. “Five, six hours.”

“You sat on me for six hours?”

“Fucking Axii wouldn’t take,” Lambert complains, steering him towards the hot springs. “Even when Eskel and the Griffins got involved.

When they arrive, the baths are empty, and Lambert strips Aiden with ruthless efficiency before dunking him in the private pool. It’s barely body temperature for a Witcher, but Aiden feels half outside his body anyway, unable to process much beyond the cloying scent of Sasha’s blood surrounding him.

Lambert, Axel, and Cedric scrub him down until he smells like apples and the blood has all vanished with the magic of the springs. They also seem glad to have lost the lingering blood and dirt from their bodies, and Aiden numbly notes that some of those “cuts and bruises” are on them.

“I hurt you,” Aiden mumbles at Lambert, who shakes his head.

“Nah, it won't even scar.”

His sweet pup will have a scar now, marring his beautiful body, because Aiden wasn’t fast enough. Because Aiden is too selfish to send him away to live in Wolfenburg or another safe town far from the fucking Cranes and their fucking obstacle courses.

Lambert pulls some clean clothes onto his unresisting body, before finally guiding him up to Sasha’s rooms.

The sitting room is crowded, more crowded than Aiden was expecting, with Livi and Dragonfly curled up in the chair by the window and the whole pride of Mantikittens surrounding Aren on the sofa. Mouse is pacing, muttering to herself, but no one tries to stop her.

It’s overwhelming, especially when all their eyes turn on him as he enters with Lambert and an entourage of Cats.

But then they smell relieved, that scent overwhelming the worry that feels palpable in the room.

“Milena and Triss are with him,” Livi says, offering a wobbly smile. “Triss says he’ll be fine in a few days.”

Aiden nods, still feeling like he’s in a waking nightmare, as Lambert pushes him towards the door to the bedroom.

The smell of blood is unmistakable, his sweet pup’s blood, but smothered by healing salves and the faint scent of Kitten’s tears.

She looks up as the door opens, moving aside as Aiden breaks free from Lambert to stumble to the bed.

“You’re all right,” Sasha breathes, and there’s more of that relief scent, wrapped up in the honey of his love for Aiden.

“You're not,” Aiden chokes out, the bandages around Sasha’s torso barely darker than his pale skin.

“I will be,” Sasha says, firmly, and he isn’t lying.

“He will,” Merigold agrees, and she isn’t lying either. “You can lie on his right side if you like - you should rest.”

“Why are you being kind to me?” Aiden suddenly blurts out. “I lost my fucking mind - I could’ve killed someone!”

“Aiden,” Kitten says, softly, “it killed me to see Sasha hurting so badly. I can only imagine how much worse it was for you. Nobody blames you.”

“But they fucking should!” he says vehemently.

“Can we fight about this in the morning?” Sasha says plaintively, stifling a yawn. “I want you to hold me now.”

And he cannot deny his sweet pup anything, especially not when he’s lying there looking so fragile, when Aiden wants nothing more than to inhale his living, breathing scent.

“The potions for pain are on the cabinet,” Merigold says, as she goes to take her leave.

“Milena and I will be right outside the door,” Lambert says. “If you need anything.”

But Aiden is already crawling over the bed, light as only a Cat can be, before curling himself around Sasha’s uninjured right side.

He smells relaxed, free from pain - and not because someone forced everything out of his head in desperation.

“Forgive me?” he begs. “For the Axii.”

“Nothing to forgive, beloved,” Sasha says, and closes his eyes, sighing in contentment as he does most every night.

He isn’t afraid, Aiden thinks wonderingly. He still loves him and he isn’t afraid.

And maybe Aiden doesn’t deserve this trust, this love, but he won’t give up something so precious without a fight.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #accidental warlord au #aiden/sasha #aiden witcher #aleksander of velen #hurt/comfort #dftea writes

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fandom-friday · 1 day

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Thank you so much to everyone that submitted recommendations this week! A comprehensive list of this week’s submissions can be found under the cut! Recommendations are organized by show/media, and any main pairings will be listed after the title.

🔸 = 18+ content

Fics:

The Clone Wars: 🔸 A Borrowing of Bones (Commander Wolffe x gn!Reader/OC character) by @persimminwrites A Flight Risk With a Fear of Falling (Commander Wolffe x f!Reader) by @ireadwithmyears 🔸 The Last Word (Fives x OC Mal Darroch) by @ariadnes-red-thread Commander Fox x gn!Reader Ficlet by @wild-karrde Tethered (Commander Cody x Obi-Wan Kenobi) by @thevalesofanduin

The Bad Batch: 🔸 Flowers (Tech x f!Reader) by @tinywitchgoblin 🔸 Birthday Girl (Crosshair x f!Reader) by @tinywitchgoblin 🔸 Good, Bad (Crosshair x f!Reader, Hunter x f!Reader) by @tinywitchgoblin 🔸 Rain (Crosshair x f!Reader) by @dumfanting How Each Member of The Bad Batch Would Be With a Visually Impaired Significant Other HCs (The Bad Batch x f!Reader) by @ireadwithmyears Technically Engaged (Parts 1 2 3 4) by @soclonely

Batman: Take My Love, Take it Down by muchadoaboutsomething (AO3)

Justice League: Justice League: The Brave and the Bold by Author_of_the_Insanity101 and Writing_Avenger_2016 (AO3)

X-Men: Toys (Gambit x Rogue) by @spaceorphan18

Art:

The Clone Wars: 🔸 Commander Bly and Aayla Secura Comic by @clonesuperiority Brothers by @luxris Cadets Rex and Cody Art by @razzbberry Clone Cadet Comic by @chiliger Domino Uncles Art by @coldbrewarts

The Bad Batch: Art Inspired by Technically Engaged (fic by @soclonely) by @jgvfhl Tech Art by Kiwi Kaboom Art

The Mandalorian: Kintsugi by @koroa

The High Republic Series: Gella and Axel Art by @amikoroyaiart

The Witcher: Pedro Pascal as Geralt of Rivia Art by @jgvfhl

Video Edits:

Star Wars Original Trilogy: Luke Skywalker Faces the Ghosts and Visions of His Past by @tatooineknights

#ff weekly summary

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thethumpergod · 7 months

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Lambert gets a cat (Modern AU)

Aiden wasn't there the next week, or even the week after.

Lambert could feel the guilt weighing him down as he knocked again. He wanted to apologize, be friends again, anything. Even worse, he had nothing to do today, and drinking didn't help. The only thing he could think of was to go for a run; maybe that would help.

It was the muddier part of the season and the weather had been gods awful for two weeks. He didn't mind the rain but running was more of a chore than normal. Most of his energy went to dodging puddles along the sidewalk. The last thing he needed was soggy shoes fucking up his day more.

Lambert's rhythmic jog in the rain was accompanied by soothing tunes playing through his headphones. As he approached a row of trash cans, a faint, noise cut through the music. A hardly noticeable sound, that would repeat every few seconds. With his curiosity peaked, he turned off his music.

It's meowing. He approached a trash can and looked inside, there was a ball of fur staring at Lambert. It was a small orange kitten with massive scared green eyes. The little thing was missing a part of its ear and was covered in dirt and huddled amidst the discarded waste.

"Gods, what happened to you? " Lambert says, staring into the kitten's eyes. It was so small that it could probably fit in one of his hands. It would die out in the rain if it were left here... Who the fuck put him in there?

It admittedly took multiple attempts of trying to get the kitten. The little guy definitely has an opinion about being put into stranger's jackets.

After an expensive trip to the veterinary clinic, Lambert learned that the kitten was malnourished and had a broken leg. Some sick fuck did this to him. Despite his initial intention to leave the kitten there, it just didn't feel right.

When he gets home, Lambert is holding the cat inside his jacket. The kitten, whom he will just call Cat, looks pissed. "Okay, Cat. I'm going to have to kitty-proof this place real quick."

He wasn't sure why he was speaking to him, but it felt right. He rattles off a checklist as he moves things around. "Cleaning supplies, medicines, and small items—anything I don't want to be destroyed." It doesn't take long to store away 'non-kitten friendly' things. "Now, I have to cover the cords around the house..."

He has everything they need, including a small bed where they can hide. "Okay, cat. You can stay in the living room for now." He says as he makes his way to the cage. The little guy had his arms stretched out and wiggled around. Yowling dramatically, he waves his paws around. "Shit. I'll let you out," he laughs. He puts him on the floor. There's a flash of orange, and the kitten is under the couch.

Lambert can play the waiting game, he sighs.

The plan was to keep the kitten till it was strong…. That was the plan but the right time never seemed to show up. He was still small and hadn't proved himself to be a pain in the ass yet.

Now don't get him wrong, he's not staying forever. He just doesn't want to send a kitten off to somewhere where they won't survive.

So, naturally, he had to find things for the cat to play with and general pet care items. The little guy needs something aside from a litter box and trips to the vet.

He found himself at The House of Cats, of all places. There happened to be a few pet shops along the street which was walking distance from the apartments.

A woman with fuzzy blond hair wearing more bracelets than he could count smiles at him. She wore a long scarf around her head and a flowy flower dress that reached her feet.

"You're Lambert, right?"

"How do you know my name?" Lambert says, taken aback by the hippie woman.

"I'm Dragonfly, Aiden told me about you." Judging by the fact that she was still smiling, he assumed that was a positive thing. "Have you come to check out the adoption event?"

"Oh, I was just walking around."

"We've almost got everyone adopted," she says, motioning for him to follow her. "Gaetan, come show Aiden's friend around."

A young man sighs and drags himself off the chair he was sitting fetal-style in. He had a shaved head and brown eyes. He wore all black, from his suit shirt to his formal shoes. "Wait, this is Aiden's- You're Lambert." He clenches his jaw, and his nostrils flare. The dude looked nothing like Aiden aside from the sharp features

"You’re Aiden’s brother? Wait, I’ve seen you before."

He’d seen him talking to plenty of nobles before. He’s a lawyer for an infamous firm down in the southern region. From what he’s heard, they’ll defend everybody as long as the paycheck is good.

“It seems we work for the same crowd.” Gaetan looks at him like he's a sack of shit. "My brother sure makes interesting choices."

"Gaetan. Just show the man around, will you?" Dragonfly shakes her head at him.

"Fine. Follow me," the guy says, heading to the beginning of the tables, clearly wanting to get this over with. "Most people wanted the popular cats at the cafe, like Milo."

"That was Aiden's favorite cat."

"I know; that's why I adopted her before anyone else could. I brought her to my apartment yesterday." Lambert sighed in relief for Aiden as Gaetan looked at him dryly. "Clementine, Jasper, and Lily are permanent residents of the cafe."

"He means that they're my cats," Dragonfly snorts. Gaetan grumbles as he passes empty cage after empty cage.

"So, what's the cat stuff about?" A voice says behind him. It was the blonde waiter, staring into his bag.

"Huh? Really?" Gaetan looks at him skeptically."You have a cat?"

"I found him in the trash, so I'm taking care of him till I find him a home." He shrugs.

"How long has the cat been staying with you?" Axel smiles.

"Like two days," Lambert shrugs. He pulls out his phone to show the one good photo he had of the cat. Cat only stayed still when it was taking its 30th nap of the day, tuckered from doing fuck all. He had a bright orange cast on his left front leg, that made him waddle when he walked.

"A rag doll kitten!" Dragonfly beams, "Y'know what I think I have a few things you can have for the cat. You just wait here."

After a few glares from Gaetan and a shit ton of boxes handed his way, he arrives home.

Sitting up the scratching pose for the kitten, he hopes it will save his couch. Cat had resorted to attacking his boots whenever he walked past him. Clearly, he was not very appreciative of the collar he put on him. It was just so the little fucker could be brought back if he ran off.

He's only going to be here for a few weeks at most, no need to get attached.

#Lambert becomes a cat dad #art #the witcher #artists on tumblr #fanart #aiden the witcher #lambert #modern au #fanfic #cat #gaetan the witcher #Axel the witcher #dragonfly the witcher

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