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call-sign-shark · 1 year

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Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.

Words: 5k

TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess

Notes:

✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

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The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away.

"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.

The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.

When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak.

“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?”

Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.

“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.

“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.

“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.

“Don’t mind him eh,”

You did not.

“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”

“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.

“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.”

“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”

“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”

“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —“

“Yer comfy here?”

“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.

“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?”

“That’s okay.”

“Mmm’kay”

You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.

Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.

“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ” The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.”

“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.

“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!”

Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.

“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.

“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”

You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.

You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy. You. Smiled. At. Him.

That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile.

Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.

Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men.

You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man.

You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven.

Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster.

Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim.

“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.

“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening.

Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.

“You really should —“

“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.

Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava, exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked. Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps.

“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.

His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage.

“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.

“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.

He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.

He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger.

“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.

He looked at you

and you saw the Hell in his eyes.

“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”

“P-please—“

Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“ Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh. “Peaky —“ Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!”

“ARTHUR NO!!!” Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.”

Please.

Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …” You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.

“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you. Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him.

“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.” You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.

“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above. The king was here and he hated what he saw.

“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.”

This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you. “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!” He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.

“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.”

“No, no, you won’t come back.”

“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.

When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.

“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.

“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.

Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,

“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ”

“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence, Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.

“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.

“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.

“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that. You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”

“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.

“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.” You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin. Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.

“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.

"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.”

He froze. Confused and infuriated.

You left. Hurt and bitter.

When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror. Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.

Mom! Mom, no!!

I’ll fucking kill you all!!

You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.

Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.

As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.

“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.

“Told you I’d come back.”

He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.

He took a step toward you.

You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.

Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet.

“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.

“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”

Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.

“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.

As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble.

You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.

For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08

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saintsenara · 1 year

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the snow child merope gaunt/tom riddle sr. teen | 3k words

the potion merope gives him is not instantaneous. she does not want mad, burning passion, which is over in moments. she wants a lifetime of devotion. after all, she believes herself to be in love with him.

once upon a time, there was a girl who wished for a child with hair as black as a raven's wing, and skin as white as snow, and eyes as red as blood.

author's notes under the cut

this piece - the first work in cautionary tales for young witches, a collection of harry potter-themed folk- and fairy-tale retellings - was written during an unseasonably cold snap, which is the best sort of weather for telling horror stories.

its inspiration - and the source of its title - is angela carter’s own the snow child, from her short-story collection the bloody chamber. carter’s version of the tale has lent its central, ominous colour-scheme to this story - the black of a raven’s wing, the white of snow, and the red of blood.

it has also lent its theme of jealousy. our heroine here is cecilia - tom riddle sr.’s girlfriend - who is one of those incidental characters (she says a grand total of two things in half-blood prince) that i’m inexplicably obsessed with. i just can’t help but wonder what she, like the elder riddles and the rest of tom’s friends, thought when he disappeared with merope and wasn’t heard from for months.

i also think she makes - with her conventional attractiveness and upper-class background - an excellent rival to merope, whose physical and social distance from tom (even before magic is brought into the equation) is profound.

this is a less charitable merope than i usually write, but there is no doubt that - in her extra-creepy form as she is here - she’s the perfect main character for folk horror. indeed, the whole story of her and tom is made for the genre: little hangleton - too-quiet and bucolic, with the gaunt shack lurking on the horizon - is the ideal location for a tale of rising terror, as the hunters on hangleton moor fail to realise that one of their number is being hunted himself. other bits of foreshadowing - the yew tree on the riddles’ property, the ruby ring shown off at a new year’s eve party - and of folklore - the blackthorn trees which surround the gaunt shack have a reputation in britain and ireland for being trees of ill-omen, associated with witches, illness, and death - add to that sense of the inevitable.

the riddles are also the ideal folk horror victims because they think themselves rational. tom rejects the village superstition about the gaunts - unlike cecilia, who comes to believe in magic and manages to survive the whole experience relatively unscathed as a result - and, therefore, finds himself in the guise of the person in the story most at risk from the magical world: the person who considers himself to clever to believe in it and who does not notice the potion shimmering in the water merope offers him.

tom sr. is - in all my writing - very like his son. he loves to be adored, he is cruel and imperious, he hates being wrong, he is distressed to be thought mad. in this story, he even has his son’s dark eyes - which, normally, i think he inherits from merope. it should, then, not be a surprise that - like many other people whose lives his son will ruin - the thing that upends his life is a potion which causes insatiable thirst and results, in the end, in him living a half-life as little more than an animated corpse.

#asenora fics #merope gaunt x tom riddle sr #merope gaunt #tom riddle sr #folk horror #to read in a snowstorm #the snow child

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sarcasticdolphin · 3 months

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Smrtolf (Canon) "An (Un)welcome visitor"

Taaffe makes his trip to Mayerling. Cut for length and well ... Taaffe's attempts to rationalize the supernatural. Defiantly somewhat dark-cracky. For the amazing @adridoesstuff as all the Smrtolf drabbles are :)

Eduard Taaffe’s ride to Mayerling had been almost entirely silent. Part of him had thought to take an - Meissner knew the recalcitrant Prince’s hunting lodge well while Wiligut tended to understand Eduard’s goals better, but in the end he only takes a single guard, and the man will wait with the horses. Strictly speaking the purpose of the trip isn’t blackmail - for all Rudolf seems childish he can be very subtle when it suits him and if he is indeed keeping a male companion - thought it was clever Meissner had thought that said companion was more a lover than a friend even if he hadn’t been willing to speculate over much - Taaffe knows there is no guarantee he will catch the prince in the act.

And so that isn’t his goal. At least not today. If he does manage to catch the Prince with his companion Taaffe won’t be complaining, but he only wants to startle the Prince. The boy will be more likely to make a mistake if he is thrown off his usual routine, and Eduard appearing at his hunting lodge unannounced certainly counts as a departure from his routine.

The roof doesn’t come into view until they turn the last corner, but Meissner had called the interior of the lodge surprisingly roomy considering how low the ceiling seemed from the outside. Eduard leaves his horse with the guard and brushes by a pair of surprised servants. Meissner had been quite specific as to which room served as the Crown Prince’s bedroom and studio.

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He’s not sure what he had been expecting when he opened the door, but whatever it had been, the truth is far stranger than all the fictions his mind had concocted.

“Kronprinz Rudolf.” Eduard isn’t sure what else there is to say besides the prince’s name. The boy is at least present, his imperial jacket nowhere to be seen and in a loose white undershirt that is half-undone with green, black, and blue paint on his hands and looking more than a little surprised to see Eduard. But he isn’t alone. Sprawled on his bed is a graceful, black-clad feminine figure with oddly painted eyes that looks more like a deranged cultist - face as white as bone with red eyes, black paint around them, and a dark iridescent cloak that looks more like a pair of wings each passing moment that Smrt watches it. But Rudolf’s demonic mistress isn’t the worst of it.

It seems Meissner had been right, though Eduard now finds the spy’s report entirely lacking - Rudolf’s companion is sprawled in a chair, dressed similarly to the girl on the bed, with the same disturbing eye paint. And to top it all off, he had a live raven sitting on his shoulder. Had Rudolf somehow managed to get himself mixed up in a demonic cult? Before Eduard can even really contemplate the answer there is a noise from a pile of fabric on the floor. The blue-gray fabric must be one of Rudolf’s jackets, though likely an old one by the state of disrepair that is evident. A small crow emerges from beneath the fabric and gives Eduard a look that Eduard for one finds more than a little unnerving.

“What-” Eduard doesn’t know what to say. How does one accuse the Crown Prince of cavorting with a Satanic cult? Even after catching the boy in the act he doesn’t think the Emperor will believe any of it. It is all much too outlandish to be true.

“For shame, Count Taaffe. Even such a - what is it you usually call me? - recalcitrant prince, was it? As I know to knock before I enter the bedchamber of my betters.” The Crown Prince does look offended by the intrusion, and more so than Eduard had really expected.

“What are these-” Eduard eyes the girl, man, and pair of birds once more. “Demons?” Because they must be demons. Or else a pair of witches with familiars. Eduard had never personally believed in any of the drivel that had marked the previous centuries, but he cannot think of anything else that they might be.

“Demon?” The girl seems more unimpressed than offended. “I thought you said Minister-President Taaffe was smart, Rudolf. I suppose that might still be true, but he’s certainly entirely unoriginal.”

Eduard takes a step back. Perhaps some information is simply not worth knowing, and he has the inescapable urge to simply flee the scene and head back to Vienna and never tell the Emperor of his misadventure. But even as he resolves to do so the girl flows from the bed with a grace that is more fitting for a cat than any girl or whatever witch-demon-thing that the girl truly is. She’s between Eduard and the door in moments, and Eduard finds himself stumbling back and tripping on his own feet to land sprawled on the Crown Prince’s bed with the small crow now perched near his hand.

“Do be careful, Herr Minister-President. He bites.” The Crown Prince looks entirely smug about the way this is going, though Eduard cannot help but note the incongruity of the fact that Rudolf still has a paintbrush in his hand. The girl comes closer to Rudolf, nuzzling into his side, and Eduard can see what he had thought and hoped was a cloak cannot be anything other than a magnificent set of dark wings, shining with a blue-green iridescence. What sort of foul demon took the form of this dark angel? Was Rudolf cavorting with a harlot of Satan himself? Eduard was no scholar of demonology the way the Archbishop claimed to be. But what would that make the man still lazing in the chair by the window? Had Rudolf fallen prey to Satan himself? Had Satan sent the succubus that was entirely too close to Rudolf to drain the life from him and the entire Habsburg dynasty? Given the myriad of misfortunes that had befallen the Empresses relations in particular it seemed a more reasonable proposition than it should.

The crow does try to bite, but Eduard manages to snatch his hand back, only for the crow to flutter forward and try and bite his nose as well, though Eduard manages to dodge the crow and it flutters off to a different corner of the room.

But in the time he is totally focused on the crow the girl disappears and Eduard finds himself looking frantically around. Where has she gone? But quickly his eyes come to rest on a large raven that is nestled in the Crown Prince’s arms as he affectionately strokes her feathers and presses a little kiss to her head. Truly, the Crown Prince must be bewitched.

Eduard turns to the man in the chair. All the birds must be his familiars and he must be the witch - or otherwise the demon - that has set upon the Crown Prince.

Eduard’s eyes flick to the door, but he has no doubt the raven in the Crown Prince’s arms will stop him if he tries to leave.

“Rudolf-” perhaps an appeal to the Crown Prince’s humanity will be of some help. For as much as Eduard’s men rarely call the Crown Prince kind, they all usually agree that he is quite human. “What is this?”

“Well you’ve been putting quite the damper of me making friends in Vienna, Count. What with all the spies and such. So I had to look for other companions. I was lonely, Mein Herr.” Eduard glances at the man by the window again - he looks amused, if anything.

“Rudolf.” The man does finally speak, and his voice is more an intoxicating song than anything else. The Crown Prince hearkens immediately, his face softening and his head bowing in a way that makes Eduard suspect his demon supposition had been correct.

“Rudolf-” Eduard knows he must sound panicked, but from the music and deceptive force in the man’s voice he is more than a little hesitant to listen for long. Or to let the Crown Prince listen for long. Will the man order Rudolf to cut him up so he can feed Eduard’s eyes to his ravens and crow? The thought seems far-fetched, but everything about the entire situation is far-fetched. “I should be heading back to Vienna.”

“Heading back? But Mein Herr, you’ve only just arrived.” Rudolf is enjoying this, that much is clear. Reveling in the fact that Eduard is the one squirming. “Then again, you were so very rude, barging in like that. Run back to Vienna, Count Taaffe. And do try to find some better manners.”

Eduard flees before the man at the window can countermand the prince. He’s pinching himself the whole way back, hoping to wake up in his bed after some foul nightmare. Because this must be a nightmare of some sorts. He had no such luck. To top if all off, Wiligut is waiting for him with a report that he really doesn’t want to read and the unfortunate news that the French Ambassador is causing problems again, and that rather than just offending one other diplomat there is a veritable menagerie of ruffled diplomatic feathers that Eduard will have to smooth over. He makes a mental note to have Meissner poison the French Ambassador the next time the man parties in Vienna. The next one can’t possibly be worse than the current one and right now is the time to do it - there are at least a dozen parties with plenty of motive to do the deed.

#my fic #smrtolf #todolf #this makes 10.1k for the day #and I'm stopping there #it's been a busy day #and there it more to write tomorrow

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severusimpact · 4 months

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Alaira

Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

Previous chapter

Alaira had awoken to the smell of damp floor boards accompanied by Raven pawing her face.

It took her a minute to process she wasn't in her own home, but instead in a room located at the leaky cauldron. Removing Raven from the bed she tried to catch a few more minutes of rest before she started meowing loudly.

"Ah yes Raven. I hear you. I really do. Come on let's get you fed and then I should probably head out for the day."

Alaira jumped out of bed and pulled out some cat food from her trunk and put it in Ravens food bowl. Raven instantly became disinterested in Alaira and focused on the food began devouring it.

Alaira's stomach had started to rumble showing that it was time she had breakfast as well. She quickly put on a simple outfit and said goodbye to Raven before exiting and locking her room.

Before she could even make it halfway down the stairs a loud voice called out to her.

"Ah 'ere she is. I knew I'd spot yeh straight t'way. Yer 'airs as white as teh malfoys."

Alaira looked at the source of the voice and saw a large man with long beard and hair even longer to match. She was running through how this man would know her, until it clicked that the only one that would know her is the person dumbledore said would meet her.

She made her way down the staircase so she could properly greet the man.

"Yes that's me. Nice to meet you. You must be the one dumbledore said would meet me. And...erm...what's a malfoy."

Alaira had truly no idea what a malfoy was but apparently they won't be hard to find considering they have the same white hair as hers.

"Eh- ne'ermind that. I'm Reubus Hagrid, grounds keeper of hogwarts. But yeh can just call me Hagrid. Dumbledore said I should show yer ter way aroun' diagon alley. But I'd imagine yehd wanna eat first."

At that moment Alaira stomach let out a sound to signify she was indeed hungry.

"Tom, two full 'nglish for me an Alaira 'ere, come on Alaira take a seat it'll be bought over when ready for yeh."

Alaira had taken a seat at a small table with Hagrid. She could feel people staring at her once before, she wasn't sure if it's because both her and Hagrid seemed to stand out or if it's people thought she was a malfoy as Hagrid had said.

Not long after they had taken their seats was a full English breakfast brought over to them. Alaira smiled and thanked the server before looking at the food and marvelling at the smell. She could feel herself staring to drool at the sight of it.

They both dug in and soon enough they had both finished. Hagrids plate being completely empty and Alaiars almost save a few pieces left.

"Now yeh have eaten I s'pose I should show yeh a few shops around the area."

They both stood up heading to the door to leave but not before thanking Tom for the service and food. When they exited the leaky cauldron they were met with a wall. A wall?? It must be a wizard thing she thought.

Then Hagrid tapped the wall in certain places and it began opening up unveiling a busy winding street full of witches and wizards. She had never seen a place so tightly packed.

Alaira hadn't realised her mind had started to wander till she saw Hagrid ahead of her in the seemingly never ending crowd. She hurried to catch up with him, eventually ending up walking beside him.

Many people seemed to know Hagrid and were greeting him with a small and good day as they passed him. Hagrid usually responded with a tip of his head and a smile of his own.

"That shop over there is olivanders, but you won't be needn' that, as yehve already got yer wand. That ones flourish and bloots that where yeh can buy books and where most the students buy there books."

Flourish and blotts was definitely one of the shops Alaira would be visiting during her time there. To buy books to refresh her magical knowledge as well as have something to pass the time.

Alaira was still staring at the book shop not noticing hagrid had been stopped by an unknown man and was having a serious conversation. Her eyes only broke away when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Sorry 'bout this Alaira. There's something dumbledore needs me for so I'll have to be going now. Oh an before I forget, here's your ticket for the hogwarts express. It leaves from kings cross station, platform 9&3/4."

And with that Hagrid had left. Alaira looked at the ticket before placing it in her purse and heading towards the bookstore. However it was just as packed as the streets were. It seemed to be full of families preparing for the coming school year.

Alaira decided to spend as little time in there as possible. She had chosen some books after squeezing between people. Taking them over the counter to pay she had felt eyes on her. Turning she looked to see a man with hair as white as hers. His eyes seemed to hold confusion with them.

She could see that the man was now coming towards her, she quickly paid and managed to lose him in the crowd of the store and leave. She didn't know what told her that she should avoid that man, but something inside her could feel malice within him.

Feeling as if she had enough from today she had decided it was best to go back to the leaky cauldron. Especially as her cat was probably waiting patiently for her return.

When Alaira had returned to the cauldron as excepted her cat went into a small fit at even being left for a short time.

She spent the rest of the day relaxing with her cat and reading. Trying to ready herself for her new position at hogwarts.

Before she had known she had fallen asleep. She dreamt. Not a kind dream of warmth and love. But a dream of pain and a never ending loneliness. Though in that pool of darkness she heard a cry, a cry of someone broken who needed help.

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adarkrainbow · 1 year

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Disney fairytales: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (2)

# After all of these considerations about Snow White and the Dwarfs, let’s return to our Evil Queen, shall we? Disney, in its/his process of removing the most violent and disturbing elements of the original fairy tales, notably did a spell to the fate of Snow White’s “heart”. In the movie the Queen merely keeps it as a form of trophy, to make sure the deed was done and Snow White was indeed destroyed. But in the original tale, despite asking the heart as a “token”, the Queen is described as promptly cooking and eating it.

# A big part of Disney’s treatment of the “evil queen” comes from how much more... “witchy” they make her be. In the original tale the queen is always referred to as a queen, a stepmother, a wicked woman, but never as a witch. She does own a magical object, her magic mirror, but many characters of fairytales happen to be normal people who own magical items. Her disguises in the story are all her just “painting her face” to look old and putting on the clothes of peddlers or peasants. Nothing magical in that. She does poison the apple - but it is never said to be magical, and poison was commonly used among European aristocrats and royalty. Her first attempt at killing Snow White was just strangling her with laces, nothing fantastical. There was however a quick mention of witchcraft, during her second attempt at killing Snow White: the narration notes that she conjures up the poisoned comb through witchcraft, but it specifies she just knows a bit about those “arts”, and again she is never called a “witch anywhere”. But the unnatural nature of her poisons does seem to confirm a possible supernatural origin, as just removing the poisoned item from a direct contact with the victim is enough to reverse its effects.

# Quick side-note: While everybody knows this today I still have to point it out. In the original tale, the wicked queen tries to kill Snow White three times. With body laces she uses to strangle the girl ; with a poisoned comb ; and with a poisoned apple. Due to time and budget contrainsts the movie only went for the final killing method, the poisoned apple. But as a result of the movie’s enormous success in America, for most of the 20th century people believed that the story of Snow-White ONLY had a poisoned apple in it, and ignored everything of the “three murders”.

# So as I said previously, she is not a full witch in the original tale... But here, while again not called a “witch”, Disney pushed forward to have the character of the Evil Queen be much more “witchy”. Already with her very first scene being the use of the magic mirror: while in the original tale it is just a little rhyming game, here it becomes a full magic ritual, from the Mirror being surrounded by the zodiac signs to make it more “occult”, to the Queen using grand incantations to summon it “Slave in the magic mirror, come from the farthest space, from darkness I summon thee!”. Note that here the mirror is identified as simply being the vessel of a specific spirit (the slave in the mirror) appearing as a creepy face in the glass - it isn’t the mirror itself that answers the queen (so to speak). Another thing to note: the summoning of the mirror-spirit is done so with thunder, lightning and a burst of flames - all “devilish” signs that would later become a trend among Disney movie, use “devil” archetypes and traits to make the villains more “demonic” in nature.

If the mirror scene wasn’t enough, the making of the poison apple scene further drives the witch aspect. In the original tale the Queen just retires to a “small lonely secret room nobody goes to” to make her apple. Here, she actually descends into a laboratory deep in her dungeons filled with brewing potions, alchemist tools and old grimoires - she even keeps there a pet raven waiting on top of a skull, and brews the apple’s poison in a cauldron. The title of the numerous tomes she keeps hidden there clealry identifies the type of knowledge she dablles in: “Astrology”, “Sorcery”, “Alchemy”, “Black arts”, “Witchcraft”, “Black magic”, “Poison”... And to finally put the final nail to the coffin, so to speak: the Queen’s “disguise” is here reinventing as a transforming potion that literaly changes her body and voice, and turns her not just into an old peddler woman, but into a literal crone. She becomes the very typical picture of a witch: a cackling hag dressed in black with claw-like hands, a hunched back, a crooked chin and a hooked warty nose. In fact, there is a clear aesthetic here around how her “disguise” is actually the Queen’s true self revealed openly. She thinks she is hiding her real identity, when in truth she is simply showing what her true soul is.

# The Disney movie also wanted to make sure people understood the queen’s character was TRULY evil - beyond just pure vanity, practicing witchcraft and... you know, TRYING TO KILL A LITTLE GIRL FOR PETTY REASONS. As such, when we look into the Queen’s dungeon, we find the skeletons of numerous dead prisoners - one that even seems to have died of thirst in front of a jug of water, something that the Queen takes a great delight in mocking.

# In the original story, Snow-White actually dies when she bites into the poisoned apple, and her “resurrection” is accidental, as a stumbling when her coffin is carried dislodge the bite of apple stuck in her throat - just like with the poisoned comb earlier in the story, it seems the poison of the apple is a fantastical “contact poison” whose “death” oly exists when the poison item is in contact with the victim. Disney, to make the story much more delicate and romantic, decided to completely reshape it all. Notably the death inflicted by the poison is explicitely referred to as the “sleeping death”, a type of “death” that actually leaves the victim alive, but closes their eyes “forever”, stops their breath and “congeals” the blood in their body, resulting in a sleep-like state that makes other people believe the victim is dead. As for the “antidote” to the poison, it is specified to be a love kiss: this is an element taken straight out of the “Sleeping Beauty” fairytale, and another one of those “fairytale add-ups” the movie collects over time. An interesting thing to note however is that in popular culture the magical kiss solving everything is a “true love kiss”... NO! In the original movie, it is explicitely said that the antidote to the poison is a “Love’s First Kiss”, which narrows it down A LOT.

Another element completely removed from the Disney adaptation is how in the original tale only half of the apple was poisoned, a delicious “red cheek”, while the other cheek, white, was un-poisoned. It was how the queen tricked Snow White into eating the fruit, by cutting it in half and eating the white half herself. In the Disney version the entire apple is poisoned.

# In the original tale, the first two times the Queen comes to tempt Snow White the girl disobeys the dwarfs and let the stranger in the house due to how pretty what she offers look ; by the third time she learned her lesson and only speaks to her by the window - but still gets tricked by the “cut the apple in half” plan. In the Disney version, Snow-White does stay obedient to the dwarfs by refusing to let the old woman enter... at first. But the Queen plays on Snow White’s natural kindness to be invited in the house, by pretending to be weak and thirsty after being attacked by Snow’s bird friends - this significant change keeps in with Disney’s intent of showing that the most admirable thing with Snow White is her great love and kindness ; but we see here that it is also her flaw, as this is what people exploit to enact their evil plan. The second ruse of the Queen also relies on another “positive trait” of Snow-White from before: her willingly to believe in dreams coming true, and her never-flinching hope. The Queen pretends that the apple is magical and can make Snow’s deepest desire come true - a parallel to the wishing well from the beginning of the movie ; and this prompts Snow to bite into the poisoned fruit. It is in fact very interesting to see some sort of self-awareness of the movie when it comes to their characterization of the princess: they decide to make kindness and hope her two greatest qualities, presenting as a virtuous example a girl who loves everyone and lives by her dreams... And yet, the movie also makes it clear that these are ALSO the flaws that evil people can use against her, by playing on her pity to let themselves in her life and using her desires to be loved as a way to kill her.

# As an additional note: I talked about the use of other famous fairytales such as Rapunzel, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty in this rendition of Snow White... But not many people point out that the plan of the Queen is itself a dark and twisted reimagining of another famous fairytale: “Diamonds and Toads”. A fairytale so popular and famous its very basic became an “archetype” of fairytales. Help a poor old lady, give her water and be kind with her - she will reward you with a magical item to obtain your happily ever after. It is one of those enormous fairytale cliches everybody knows - and it is seemingly on this “rule” that the Queen plays... with the twist being that the elder lady is not a kind fairy in disguise, but a lying and murderous witch.

# It is also very interesting to note that the movie plays on a tension when it comes to the biting scene. We see the dwarfs being alerted of the Queen’s presence as she enters their home, and they rush towards the cottage while the Queen tricks Snow into eating the fruit: back then, the story was still fresh and unkown enough for people to actually wonder “Will the dwarfs arrive in time? Will Snow White be saved?”. It was a legitimate moment of tension back then - while today everybody knows the outcome of the story.

# Another big change with this movie is the death of the wicked queen. In the story the Queen in her hag form ends up hunted down by the angry dwarfs through the wood - in a clear reversal of Snow White’s own terrified run through the forest. She tries to destroy the dwarfs, but she gets killed crushed by the very own rock she tried to throw onto them. The idea of a villain unwillingly causing their own death is traditional of fairytales - but here it isn’t the Evil Queen’s fault. Rather she dies because lightning happens to randomly strike where she is... As soon as the Queen wins, the sunny and bright day turns into a rainy storm, to show that the Queen’s victory brings darkness and chaos into nature - but in a twist, this disorder of the natural order seems to be working against the Queen, rather than with her, as the rain makes her flight harder and ultimately the lightning itself causes her death. I said Disney took inspiration from Lady Macbeth for the Evil Queen: the vile actions of a wicked royal causing chaos and storms in nature is a typical Shakespearian theme, and here with a slightly more Christian reading you actually understand this lighting is actually somehow nature/God/Good’s strike at the Evil Queen, karma basically punishing her for this time going much too far by actually “killing” Snow White.

And of course, the Queen dying by falling from a high cliff was to be but the start of a long tradition of Disney villains falling to their deaths... In the original tale, the Queen’s death was much MUCH more ghastly... Because she met her fate much later, after returning as the “fairest ruler” of her kingdom for quite some time: learning by her mirror that the new Queen about to marry nearby is even fairer than her, she goes to the wedding feast, only to discover Snow White alive... and the Princess and the Prince prepared for her iron shoes... red-hot iron shoes... I’ll let you imagine how this play outs. No need to tell you, Disney didn’t want such a gruesome ending.

# The rest of the movie plays in a quite faithful ways, from the glass coffin to the cries of the dwarfs... I want to point out that while there is no animal mourning Snow White in the original tale, due to the whole “princess friend of animals” being entirely invented by Disney ; BUT the Grimm story does point out that three birds come mourning Snow White in turn: an owl, a raven, and a dove. (All three birds that actually appear at different moments in the movie - the doves surrounding Snow White in the beginning, the raven pet of the Queen, and the scary owl during Snow’s flight through the woods).

# The ending however is completely changed. As I said before, they decided to make the love story between Snow and the Prince being more realistic by having the two meeting before and falling in love previously: similarly the movie decides to correct the “randomness” of the prince arrival by having him actually “searching far and wide” for Snow White, and ending his quest when he heard of the “maiden sleeping in the glass coffin”. I talked previously about the kiss: interestingly the Prince does not kiss Snow White in the hope of waking her, believing her dead like everybody else - he kisses her to express his love to the maiden he could never live with, and as a form of funeral respect before beginning to kneel in mourning like everyone else.

No need to tell you this romantic and charming ending was created to avoid the more bizarre one of the Brothers Grimm: the prince just happened to ask hospitality at the dwarfs’ house one night. Discovering the coffin he became struck by Snow White’s beauty and became enamored with her even though she was dead ; he tried to buy her from the dwarfs but they refused any kind of payment ; so he ended up confessing his mad love, feeling he could not live without seeing her again, and they agreed to give her to him as a “gift”, in exchange of the promise to treat her as his “most beloved possession”. The “resurrection” was just as accidental as in the Disney movie, but a bit funnier as it is a servant carrying the coffin that stumbles, knocking the corpse and dislodging the apple - and the Prince, discovering Snow alive, promptly asks her to marry him.

# Oh yes, I need to point this out before finishing this analysis: The fact that the Prince’s castle appears surrounded by clouds in the sky, golden and surrounded by rays to mimicking a raising sun, has been interpreted by MANY conspiracy theorists as meaning the Prince was Death, his castle Heaven and that Snow White never woke up but simply died from the poison and was carried away... While Disney clearly intended to add a “fantastical heaven” feeling to the Prince’s castle, they certainly did NOT want people to believe Snow White was dead and the Prince was the Grim Reaper.

#snow white #disney #snow white and the seven dwarfs #brothers grimm #disney fairytales #german fairytales #grimm fairytales

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cosmicdreamt · 9 months

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OC Inspiration

[[ So I was doing a little visual meme but if course I'm someone that has to explain everything so I just decided to make a post list about it yahoo. ]]

Characters:

Chiyuki - Death Parade: Also known as Kurokami no Onna/Black Haired Woman before her name was revealed, Chiyuki was the person involved in the trials that helped Decim see the actions and words of others in another point of view. She challenged what he knew with her empathy and understanding of people. That was the biggest inspiration I took when it comes to Neff.

Megara - Disney's Hercules: Sassy and strong with a softer side. I don't think much else needs to be said there.

Chloe Price - Life is Strange: Specifically for Neff's younger years because I myself was a lot like Chloe. Fear of abandonment and rejection and becoming very aggressive and toxic in response to it. Neff actually does still have these bad habits but they're very rare now and require very specific circumstances. Borderline is a bitch lmao.

Chel - The Road to El Dorado: Another sassy type - serving as an aid with her own goals and is extremely expressive. Despite Neff's chronic resting bitch face the facial expressions she makes are so very animated that Chel is the best example to explain it.

Concepts and Series:

Magical Girls/Madoka Magica & Homura's role: I essentially wanted an adult magical girl. I wanted to play on the idea of children always being chosen to save the world by choosing someone that was older and sees the world for what it truly is, yet she's still young enough that it really makes you think on what it means to be an adult. Homura's role with her ability to manipulate/travel through time and space is something I wanted to combine with the next series.

Kingdom Hearts: Specifically the world jumping with Neff's ability to jump timelines and dreams, and the theme of light and darkness - but inverted. Light and darkness in my story are not opposites, but complimentary/foils. They are yin and yang, and a lot of the inspiration of Neff's theme is the focus on GREY AREAS - seeing the good in the bad and the bad in the good.

Yin & Yang/Chakras/Balance/Grey Areas: As mentioned before, balance and grey areas are a big theme in what inspired Neff. Black and white thinking is dangerous and I wanted to make a character that shows that because she used to be that person. I wanted a character that could. in a way, play devil's advocate in a way that makes people really think about black and white morals.

Aesthetics:

Night/Time & Space/Sky Astral Witch Dreamcatchers Ravens: I'm grouping these together because I really wanted a combination of the ideas of science, magic, and religion vs spirituality. I wanted to make a character that essentially made all three topics coexist into one entity and showing how it is indeed possible - which is why I chose to focus on Native American culture and ideals and combining them with the 'modern day' witch. The first three are self explanatory, but I wanted to play with the meaning of ravens in Neff's case. They're not a symbol of death, but a symbol of magic and creation.

Rain: Rain was always something that was very comforting to me and I wanted a character that encapsules that feeling. The drear and the gloom doesn't have to be sad. It can help you relax, get cozy, and rest. It can cleanse and be refreshing, and that's what I want people to feel when they're around Neff. Sure she often gives this rather bright energy, but I want those moments when she's raw and calm to feel like a rainy day.

#⋡☆《info》—who i am now who am i now #[[ I'll edit and add to this if I come up with more ]]

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zuyiesque · 1 year

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The Underworld ｡

꒰ Chapter 1 ⩨ ͢ The Story of a Son I. ꒱

❛ ݁ ˖ genre : paranormal ❛ ݁ ˖ setting : bar ╱ pub ❛ ݁ ˖ synopsis : a group of not so normal co-workers share drinks and stories ❛ ݁ ˖ warning : dead dove do not eat. rated 18+ for possible violence , horror , and sexual themes ❛ ݁ ˖ note : the characters will be slowly revealed one by one

“Smirnov. Choice.”

The woman with the wild brown hair shook a bottle of the auspicious drink toward the red head.

Her under eyes were dark but the irises that it framed were a beautiful but eerie amber color.

The red haired lass gave her a look before accepting the bottle then pouring a glass for herself. She groaned after downing. “That’s got a cold after taste.”

“Like the winters of Russia,” said the girl.

“Oh? Have you been there?” the red head inched closer, scrutinizing the brunette.

“No. Have you?”

“Argh!” an angry voice entered the conversation, along with the sound of a fist slamming a table. The culprit was a good looking man with golden blond hair. A small braid peeked out on the side of his neck, from where his hair line ended. “What’s this? Alcoholics United?” cracked he, as his bright bottle green eyes twinkled.

Gathered along with them, around a circular table, were three other guests which indeed made them look like an alcoholic’s support group.

There was an exotic looking man with dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and molten gold eyes. He was dressed in a simple cotton shirt that showed off the glistening skin on his chest. Playfully dangling along with his movements were long golden earrings.

Beside him was a girl with wavy chestnut hair and eyes of chartreuse. She was in a black and white collared dress while on her neck was a rugged silver and iron cross necklace.

On the other side was a woman with long raven black hair in a high ponytail with bangs that framed dark eyes. She was in a black suit with a white lotus flower on her breast pocket.

“Either everyone keeps throwing looks at each other or I could start,” he continued. There was a wild aura around him, like the kind that people who stayed outdoors frequently have.

“Uhh knock yourself out, I guess,” the brunette answered, shrugging her shoulders.

The blond inched closer toward the table, putting on a menacing look. “Ever heard of dark witches?”

The group did a fake gasp.

“Witches?”

“Oh my god, however did it slip through our knowledge?”

“Okay, shut up. You gits are making me sound stupid,” the blond man frowned then crossed his arms.

“We already know you’re a witch hunter,” the tanned man yawned. “You’re not very incognito, dude.”

“I like it that way,” grinned the witch hunter. “But dark witches, come on. I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen those ugly hags up close.”

“Are you gonna tell us about one of your hunts?” the wavy haired girl asked.

“I’ve always been curious about what kind of people turn out to be witches,” added the raven haired woman.

“Well shut up and let me do the talking,” complained the witch hunter. “Because this is unlike all those boring stories I told before.”

“Ma! I found you a four leaf clover!”

The small child came running toward his like faced mother. Covered in dirt, he presented the lucky find to the beautiful woman with the flaxen hair.

“Lucky you!” she ruffled his golden mane that was already getting too bushy and long.

The mother and her energetic son had been picking out weeds in the garden behind their humble home. There was already a basket full of it right in front of her.

“But look at you, Logan, dear! So unruly! After this, we are going to have a bath!”

“But I got this for you, ma!” the boy insisted. “So that the villagers won’t talk bad about you anymore.”

“Wherever did you get the idea that four leaf clovers would stop people from saying bad things?” laughed the mother.

Logan shrugged. “Didn’t you say these protect us from evil?”

“They do.” The mother took the boy into a gentle embrace. “But there’s an even more powerful way than gathering tens and twenties of lucky clovers.”

“Tell me!”

She smiled. “You do good deeds and say a little prayer every night.”

“Ah, like the one you do for me?”

“Yes.” The mother placed a hand on her chest, the boy mirroring her actions. Together, they recited, “The light of the moon and the light of the sun, with the goddess’ blessing, no harm shall be done.”

“Perfect!” she beamed.

“I can memorize stuff pretty well!”

“Now, let’s go get you a bath you filthy little ground crawler!”

Logan Vervain lived all his early years in his humble home that was located on the outskirts of town, just before where the forest started.

His father was a logger. He would often go to the forest with his father to find the best trees. His mother would also tag along, occasionally teaching him about the countless flora that grew there. Over time, he had the forest memorized like the back of his hand.

Growing up, he had very odd chores. One of those were raising chickens, only to kill them for their blood. He had asked why they didn’t raise them for the eggs but both his mother and father told him to never mind it.

When the other town boys would go and scare the girls that were playing by the stream, Logan would stay home, plow the garden, look after his mother’s flowers and herbs, and read the collection of old books she kept.

Sometimes, he’d get teased by Big Allen about how good he smelled because of his garden work. It was to his advantage though, because the girls liked it and the boys found that as a point of jealousy.

Smelling nice wasn’t the only thing he got going for him. When he reached thirteen, he had noticed that all the town girls would flaunt their dresses or their hair dos whenever he was around.

They would even drag him around with them when he wasn’t doing his chores.

Today, the girls successfully brought him to the stream that they frequented.

“Have you been growing this out intentionally?” asked Jane, the prettiest of the bunch. Perched on top of a huge rock near the body of water, she played with Logan’s hair. She showed him the abnormally long lock that jut out the side of his neck.

“Not really?” he answered.

“It’s cute,” added Betty, one of Jane’s close friends.

“But so distracting.”

“What if we braided it?” said Annabeth. She was a black haired, blue eyed southern belle that beamed whenever she smiled. She wasn’t as pretty as Jane but Logan found her smile beautiful.

“Oh yes!” agreed Jane. “Come on Logan, we’ll show you how to do it.”

Annabeth took down one of her own braids and handed him a small but sturdy hair tie. “Hold that. You’ll look even more handsome.”

“Ahh no, it’ll only make me look girly,” frowned Logan.

“Wrong,” Annabeth persisted. “It’ll give you personality. A small braid won’t make you less of a man. Besides, the Jedi sport it all the time.”

He sighed. “Fine, whatever goes.”

“There!” Jane was done when she motioned for Logan to give him the hair tie. She quickly fastened the braid then stepped away to study how it looked. “Perfect!”

The girls cheered.

“See?” Betty handed Logan her compact mirror.

He looked at the small braid and smiled. “Yeah, it does add to the personality.”

“That looks nice on you,” Logan’s mother said as she caught sight of his new hair do.

He paused, smiling. “You think so? The girls did it for me.”

She nodded. “Yes but it lacks something.” His mother stood and went to her study, quickly rummaging through her stuff. When she finished, she signaled for him to come closer. Reaching for the braid, she fumbled with it.

“I was about to give it to you anyway,” she said.

Logan took the braid and looked at what his mother had put on it. At the end of it where the hair tie was was some sort of twine that had a wooden and a metal bead on it. Nestled between the beads was a silver ring.

“What’s this?”

“It’s like mine,” she answered, showing her a twine necklace that looked exactly like it. She had it hidden underneath her blouse. “You see Logan, your Mama isn’t a normal woman.”

“Are you sick or something?”

“No dear. Mama is a witch. That makes you a witch child.”

“Ahh but if I was, I would have been female….right?”

His mother chuckled. “I see you’ve been paying good attention to my books. Witches only give birth to daughters, many don’t even bother having children. You are a rare occurrence; the son of a witch. You carry an ancient bloodline. And son, I have so many things to teach you.”

“Hey, Vervain!”

Big Allen and the other boys saw Logan exiting the forest. He was carrying with him a sack of dead toads. It was no easy job but he finished it anyway.

As they came closer, Logan quickly hid the sack behind a blackberry bush.

“Where’ve you been?” Big Allen came up to him. Funny how Big Allen didn’t seem as big as Logan remembered. Had they always stood eye to eye? “We were fishing up stream. You missed it.”

“I was busy with helping my dad out. And chores. Lots of it.”

“What? You grounded or something?”

“Hey look at his hair!” laughed one of the boys. “He’s got a widdle braid!”

“So what?” he retorted.

“It’s so weird, man! Like why are you even putting accessories on it?”

“Hey!” It was Annabeth. “You savages don’t recognize fashion when you see it!” She quickly put herself between Logan and the boys.

“Fashion?” scoffed one of the boys.

“Yeah! It looks good on him. All the girls think so.”

“Ewwww what? That thing?”

“Yeah, we did it for him!”

“Uhh Annabeth…”

“You made the braid?” asked Big Allen. “With the other girls?”

“Yes!” she nodded proud.

“Well, I guess Logan likes it more with the girls especially when they’re braiding his hair.”

The entire male posse erupted into laughter.

With a sigh, Logan just took his sack from the bush and left.

“Hey!” Annabeth called after him. “You can’t just leave them to make fun of you like that!”

“I don’t really care. I’ve got important things to do.”

He made his way back into the forest, skillfully scaling up the overgrown tree roots and the huge rocks. There was no trail but he knew where he was supposed to go.

Annabeth was struggling with her breathing as she was catching up to him. “What kind of things?”

“Don’t follow me you idiot!”

Annabeth tripped over a big tree root that was covered in moss. Logan didn’t see her fall and just kept on walking.

“Hey!” she shouted after him.

He looked back at her, eyebrows meeting. From Annabeth’s angle, he looked very angelic. The light that hit his golden locks, made him look like there was a halo on his head. His bottle green orbs shone brighter than the greenery of the forest. A voice inside Annabeth’s head told her; he wasn’t like this when they were younger. Now, she felt like her breath was being taken away with just one look from him.

The southern belle was snapped back into reality by Logan’s annoyed sigh. He trudged back to where she was sitting and looked at her squarely.

She blushed as he drew close. Logan smelled so good. There was a faint smell of rosemary and lavender that came from him, but there was another scent that she couldn’t quite make out what it was. It was the sweetest one of all that made her heart race.

“Great. You got a scrape,” he said, lifting her skirt up just enough to reveal her bloody knee.

“Damn it Logan! We’re friends but you don’t just flip skirts like that!” Annabeth swiped his hand off.

“I didn’t, what the hell. Anyway, stay still. I think I’ve got something for it.”

“Huh?”

He took a vial from one of his pant pockets. Inside it was a gray colored cream.

“Medicine?”

Logan was mumbling something under his breath as he was pulling out the vial’s cork lid. For a second there, Annabeth thought his eyes flashed into a yellow. “Something like it.”

With a finger, he swiped a bit of the cream into Annabeth’s scrape.

“Ahh! It stings!” She raised her hand to swat him away, but he caught her wrist before she could hit him.

“Just wait ugh you’ll get it all over!”

The area that Logan had tended to stopped stinging. Then, with one final wipe, Annabeth’s scrape was gone. Clean off.

“How did you do that?” she gasped, inspecting her knee closely.

“It wasn’t me. It was the meds.”

“No way Logan. People don’t patch up that quick.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Go home, Annabeth,” he said it like an ultimatum.

“You can’t make me.”

“Hold up.”

The girl with the raven hair was waving her hand at the blond while making an unsatisfied face. “This is a love story? No one here signed up for a love story!”

“Is it now?” with one eyebrow higher than the other, his face soured. The man downed one shot of the Smirnov then gawked at the audience. “You people have any more objections? Story too unrealistic? Too tame?”

“No, continue, it’s getting juicy,” the red head said, waving him off.

“People do crazy things when they’re in love. I feel like romance when used well, can make a story good,” added the brunette.

The blond threw the raven haired girl a face of cocky victory. “I will but since miss salty here doesn’t like the love story, I’ll go directly to the main part.”

“Ugh fine. If it’s necessary for character development then don’t leave it out, jeez. Go talk about how you and Annabeth had the starry eyes.”

“What do you mean me? This isn’t about me!”

“Come on it’s obvious. You’re pulling a Witch Hunter: Origins.”

“Oh my god that is a nice title,” the tanned man said, his eyes wide with childish wonder.

“Let him finish the story,” interrupted the wavy haired girl.

“Thank you. And just to emphasize. This isn’t about me.”

❪ * to be continued .... ❫

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anonymousewrites · 2 years

Text

Of Pawns and Players Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: Spectator

“This is who you want to visit?” Sukuna crossed his arms as he regarded the house in front of him. “This is tempting fate.”

“I thought you made your own,” said Ren, raising her eyebrow.

“(L/N)s are…troublesome to say the least.” Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “I’d prefer to avoid them.”

“Then you can wait out here while I get the answers I deserve,” said Ren.

Sukuna scoffed. “I don’t wait for anyone.”

“Then come inside,” said Ren, not paying attention to his temper as usual.

They slipped quietly inside and walked through the halls before coming upon a small room. Ren took a deep breath, this room brought on a surge of memories and emotions, and pushed the door open. Inside, it smelled like calming tea and kept in a warm glow by candles. A few chairs were set up around a table. A woman, not facing them, was waving a moonstone around a plant diligently.

“I’ve been expecting you, Ren.” The woman turned, and Ren swallowed. Her lavender-white irises pierced the redhead’s soul in a deeply unsettling manner.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow and glanced between Ren and the woman. While Ren was silent, less in a strategic calculation and more in discomfort, the woman calmly brushed her raven hair with a lilac shine off her face as if there wasn’t the King of Curses standing in front of her. Who the hell does this woman think she is? Sukuna looked at Ren. And why is she, the girl who didn’t flinch when I constantly threatened, acting so…not-Ren-like?

“And you, Sukuna,” said the woman, nodding her head. “Would either of you like some tea?”

“I’m not here for tea,” said Ren coldly, regaining her voice.

“I know, but a little tea is good for the nerves.” The lavender-eyed woman smiled. “Not that you have any, of course.”

“Who are you, witch?” sneered Sukuna, tired of her nonchalance. It wasn’t as pleasant as Ren’s, and he found himself dangerously irritated.

“(L/N) Chie, and ‘witch’ is an accurate description,” said Chie.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “You’re one of their fortune tellers.” He took his hands from his katanas; if she was as prodigious as she seemed, she would see any attack coming. Now, if Chie could avoid it, that was a different question, but Sukuna would let Ren have her discussion before testing that theory.

“She is their most prescient,” said Ren.

“Okada Ren holds the future of the Okada family in Mastermind.”

Ren’s hand tightened into a fist. “She told Hifumi and Yudai that I possessed Mastermind and that I would bring the power they so desired.”

Sukuna smirked as she referred to her parents by name. She truly felt no connection or bond with them. “You blame her for your suffering and suffocation at the Okada’s hands.”

Chie sighed. “They were foolish to stifle your growth.”

Ren’s eyes widened minutely before she steeled her features in guarded inscrutability. “You agree?”

“The (L/N) clan trains women, men, indeed, anyone with Foresight together. Obviously, I thought it was a pity the Okadas would not train you.” Chie sighed. “A waste of their lives, really.”

“You knew I was going to kill them in the end? And you didn’t warn them?” Ren narrowed her eyes and assessed Chie. “No…It’s something else.”

“I’m sure you could tell me,” remarked Chie. “With Mastermind, of course.”

“I’d suggest you tell her,” said Sukuna. He flexed his hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’m growing tired of mind games. I can only tolerate one sadistic woman at a time.”

Chie didn’t dignify him with an answer and smiled at Ren. “I told your family that you held the future of the Okada family because of Mastermind. I see possibilities of the future, and with you…I saw a choice that would determine the Okadas’ future.”

“My choice to plan their death with Mastermind,” said Ren, straightening slightly as she pieced it together.

“Precisely.” Chie sighed, and her eyes softened. “You chose quite the brutal path. Be wary of losing your humanity.”

“You said it yourself, she holds Mastermind. I’m certain she’s quite capable,” said Sukuna.

Chie held up a hand and wiped some of the blood from Ren’s face. “Remember that the darkness does not have to be cold.”

Ren swatted her hand away. “I don’t need your warnings. You only see possibilities; I determine my future.” She turned to Sukuna. “I’m finished here. Do as you please.”

Sukuna grinned and turned to Chie, who backed away slightly and swallowed.

“Wait…”

“You heard her. She doesn’t need you anymore. You don’t get to speak freely.”

“I’ll tell your future! Give you information!”

Sukuna held his swords to her neck. “Choose your words carefully, witch.

Chie gulped. “Remember the night brings both light and shadow.”

The smell of blood overwhelmed the red-stained tea.

#of pawns and players #sukume #jjk sukuna #sukuna x oc x uraume #sukuna x uraume #sukuna x oc #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk oc #jjk #jjk uraume #uraume #uraume x oc #oc #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen oc #original character

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kaien01 · 1 year

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Mistress Of Fire

Chapter I

The only red witch who survived the doom was making her way to the place where she knew, other three Valyrian families made their home.

House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar.

Over two hundred years had passed and she still had wandered in the ruins of Old Valyria. She remained unburned and untouched during those cruel times.

The daughter of Vhades Dragonlord, the most important Dragonlord of that time known for possessing the largest and oldest dragon who unfortunately passed along with its owner during the doom.

In Valyria there were no rulers, only many dragon lords, the ones who were in possession of a bigger or older dragon, had more power and their words were taken in consideration by the others.

She never had any passion for dragons, only magic, so she had never bonded with one.

Her mother was a princess from Yi Ti, the youngest daughter of The Opal Emperor, she immigrated on the Valyrian peninsula after The Opal Emperor was succeeded by his daughter, the Amethyst Empress. Their brother slew their sister and usurped the throne, an event which is remembered as the Blood Betrayal. He proclaimed himself the Bloodstone Emperor and began a reign of terror, practicing dark magical arts and necromancy. He cast down the true gods to worship a black stone which had fallen from the sky.

Now Bu Gai, seventeenth of the azure emperors was the ruler, he was known for the little amount of power he was holding despite being a ruler, he couldn't even compare to the old god-emperors of Yi Ti.

The only time she had ever seen a person in Valyria after the doom was a little girl who was brought by her dragon there.

The lands were still extremely dangerous, even for the witch, she couldn't get near the white haired girl, fearing her dragon, who seemed to be at a small size from what she was used to. His scales, wings and even his fire was black, she indeed found it interesting to see a dragon after such a long time.

That was the time when she understood that there were still Valyrian Houses who survived, she only needed to learn, where.

In 129 AC, she noticed the presence of another dragon giving Valyria a whirl, flying around and from time to time taking a break to devour the animals that he was bringing with him.

Once she finally got closer to him, she observed his pale gray-white skin, the color of morning mist.

The few times she tried to approach him, he avoided her, flying away.

She had noticed the few fishes that were remaining in his way once he was living, notably more than bones of any other animal.

When he had returned, he found as many fishes that would be able to feed an entire village with, he knew that the girl who wouldn't give him peace had left them for him.

The dragon chose to ignore them and fly high in the blue sky, until his eye found her silhouette. That was the day he had let himself be claimed, a wild dragon who for so many years remained unclaimed, known for his shyness, found the one to finally bond himself with.

The witch fled that year across the jade sea first, to Yi Ti hoping she would find other dragon riders there.

At that time, the sea snake was on one of his great voyages, and of course, a dragon would have been the rarest sight he would have expected to see in the YiTish lands.

He was very well familiar with the Grey Ghost because he preferred to feed on fish and was often glimpsed flying low over the narrow sea, snatching prey from the waters and would often notice him in his voyages, but not so far away from home, how the dragon's lair was at Dragonstone.

And not only was the dragon alone, he had a rider this time, a young woman with long red hair, braided in a few sections and some parts left freely falling down her shoulders.

She wasn't flying very high so she could have been easily noticed by everyone, flying above the jade sea, coming from the Valyrian lands.

That day he had sent a raven to the palace announcing that one of the wild dragons from Dragonstone had been claimed and stolen by a stranger who possessed Valyrian blood, he couldn't do anything about it, only try to find that girl and give the news to the ones who were in possession of the flying creatures.

The first two days he only had heard about the doings of the woman, how many things she destroyed with the dragon, fortunately, no people were truly affected but someone had to stop her. It seemed like she was unfamiliar with the nature of the wild beast. It made the sea snake wonder where she was even born to be able to control a dragon never claimed before.

A day later, the largest dragon alive made her presence felt in the foreigner lands. Aemond Targaryen, sent by his mother to come in help to the sea snake to find the girl along with the dragon and bring her before the king.

What terrified the people of Yi Ti capital the other day was nothing compared with the fear Vhagar put in them with a single roar.

Aemond wanted his presence to be felt, to make the unknown girl come out before he would go to find her. With a dragon wasn't even an easy thing to hide, and Merilya didn't even have the intention to, not knowing that she was being hunted by the ones she was searching for across those lands.

The roar woke her up, a roar that could be heard from miles away.

Last night she had ended up on Leng, which was a large island in the Jade Sea, off the southern coast of Essos. Not because she wanted to get there but because that's where Grey-Ghost landed, so she came at peace with it and fell asleep under her companion's wing.

The island was home to many wild animals since it was formed of forests and jungles, and each one of them that tried to get near her that night while she was asleep, was scared off by Grey-Ghost who made sure to protect her. He had felt her being tired, landing there was the only option, and to be honest, he was tired as well after flying such a long way across the Jade Sea.

At that moment, not only did he open his eyes because his rider woke up but because he also was disturbed by the roar, he knew another dragon was approaching.

Without any hesitation, she climbed on her dragon. Both had different destinations in mind, while the red-headed girl wanted to fly towards the place where she had heard the roar in hope to meet another one of Valyrian blood, Grey-Ghost thought wiser for her own good and brought her across the narrow sea to Dragonstone. Flying like that for an entire day, she couldn't be against it, she didn't know any places other than the remaining ruins of Valyria and if he wanted to bring her somewhere, she would follow his lead. She didn't want to control her dragon the way her father did, she wanted him to have his free will, she never commanded him since they got bonded, it was like they knew what the other wished so they just accepted it and went on with it.

When Grey-Ghost landed at the gates of Dragonstone, he leaned his head down to let her get off, then let out a powerful roar to make sure someone would come outside and greet his rider, it didn't matter who, but anyone.

And that's how it was, after a while, another dragon made its presence along with his rider. The Velaryon young prince who saw them coming from his window was very delighted at the sight of someone he had never seen before, he was a shy boy but seeing that someone was finally riding Grey-Ghost made him very curious to see its rider.

He got off Arrax and went before her to greet her.

Merilya was also thrilled, she finally had met another dragon rider, after so many years, she couldn't believe it even though the boy was standing right before her eyes with the dragon by his side.

"Hello there…my name is Lucerys."

Before she could even answer the boy's greeting, another bigger dragon arrived, he seemed deformed, with a much longer neck than the usual dragons.

A man with white hair came down off it, making his way in front of her, keeping the boy out of her sight.

"And who are you?" Daemon asked the young looking lady.

Grey-Ghost approached her letting out a roar towards Daemon, receiving back a roar from Caraxes. Both dragons, very protective of their riders.

"My name is Merilya of House Dragonlord, sir." She maintained her straight posture and poker-face, she didn't want to look weak in the man's eyes, no matter who he was, he seemed to embody the energy of a dragon, she was a dragon as well after all, probably one even older than him. She wasn't sure if they practiced blood magic outside of Valyria, times changed, but she was still in the body of a young looking girl, now at the age of three hundred and twenty.

"Don't fool around, young lady. All the dragon lords have died with the doom. If you were truly from Old Valyria, you would have known that."

All have died.

This truth had hit her right in the heart, and for a split second, she could still hear her family's screams.

She had a dream, a vision in her sleep before the night of the doom.

She wanted to leave, she had a feeling that something bad would happen to them, but she had no dragon, and it would have been hard for her to take a ship and sail. She always thought it might have been the same dream one of the Targaryens had but she will never know if it was like that or not, she tried to warn everyone but no one listened, but her family, that was the time when the Targaryens left Valyria and headed to their seat from Westeros, Dragonstone.

"There's a new Valyria?" She pulled herself out of the trance and confused asked the first question that wondered in her head.

"Of course not, that's how we call it now since all the dragon riders came here to Westeros. Who are your parents? You seem to know nothing about our history. Are you a bastard?"

"I told you who I am, sir. My house was the most noble out of Valyria, it is an insult to call me a bastard when I'm of the most noble Valyrian blood. You're a dragon rider as well, tell me your house, I shall tell you what rank in nobility your house used to have in my days."

Daemon laughed in her face, he thought her mad.

"Very well, you even have a good sense of humor."

"I am not joking around when it comes to who I am, sir, I can tell you the entire history of Valyria…or what I remember of it, many years have passed, and if you won't believe me, then so be it.

I hope you know the noble houses were doing not only blood magic to bond with their dragons but also so they would stay young and assure that their houses would prosper for many years to come."

"Hm…we'll see about that. Take your dragon and follow me. Lucerys, you could have been put in danger, you shouldn't wander like that around without your brother. Your mother would raise hell upon the seven kingdoms if something happened to you."

#house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #original character #dance of the dragons #old valyria #red witch #aegon ii targaryen #historical romance #slow burn

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vendettavalor · 4 months

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Kindred Spirits

⚔️ For @uncxntrxllable 's Charlie and Fang! ⚔️

At the end of the busy street sat the shop. The cobblestone footpath that cut through the center of the downtown shopping area to highlight the countless stores and small shops, illuminated by old light posts and hanging lanterns, seemed to guide the two right to the old building. It had some wear and tear, and the front could do with a sweeping to brush away the fallen leaves. But that aside, it seemed like a perfectly preserved Tudor building straight out of the victorian era, with a cobblestone foundation, familiar cream walls and brown pillars that supported a black-pitched roof. Jutting out from one supporting wooden column was an iron sign.

The Cat's Cauldron.

Just outside the front door sat two cats- one white and one black- and a raven. The bird sat up from where it was perched comfortably on the very top of a wooden broom handle and looked at the two as they approached. Its head tilted back and forth, gaze eyeing the girl and the coyote respectively before it flapped its wings and cawed loudly. Both cats seemed far more idle and casual about their interest in the duo, each simply rising to their feet, stretching, and heading back through the slightly open door as if inviting the duo to follow. They pushed it open with their paws, letting it swing open with a steady creak to reveal the inside.

The inside was illuminated by an old chandelier with dim incandescent bulbs and various candles that showcased dark shelves lined with all manner of archaic and gothic trinkets. Skulls trapped in resins, taxidermy animals, amulets and charms, talismans and bottles that glowed and swirled with strange, vibrant colored liquids. Piles upon piles of dusty old books inlaid with gems in their heavily worn leather covers. The smell of vanilla, old paper, and spiced incense hung pleasantly in the air, betraying the fact that this was indeed a witch's lair.

Both cats moved to the counter at the back of the shop, hopping onto it and staring at the duo. Behind them, the raven flew in and came to land on the register beside the cats. It called its beak and gestured to the bell on the counter with a worn label peeling off of its curve that simple said ring for service.

#// i hope this works!#closed starter : now i escape to a world here with you #mutual : all of my best friends #uncxntrxllable #( ocm : amalgamate sauer the wise old witch )#( v : fantasmal forces )

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talesofealdancynedom · 2 years

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Odysseus in some more kingly ceremonial robes, and a goat; It’s strange because he’s actually addicted to jeans and plaid flannels.

34. The Green Letters (chapter 43 - Grand Gesture 4 ) part 8. Stories of Dreams.

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“Dear Cetus,

Thank you for the reassurance. I’m glad to hear my son and Delphia will arrive safely. Unfortunately, you will have to take her back; And convince Gemini she’s Witch material. Unless she gets pregnant, because there’s another piece of paper which says everyone of house Cynedom has to be born on this ranch; And be named by their grandfather. I’m unsure if the line will continue though, as Morgan asserted he’s asexual and Delphia’s probably just a friend. But magic houses are The Raven King’s problem, not my son’s.

Also, thank you for reminding me how your five-year-old daughter rode a horse better then you, and how cute my son is; I bet he’s as tall as me now. I’m sad I missed him growing up. Everything I hear is from your phone calls with Icthya, and it’s not the same.

Regarding rekindling any sort of relationship, I have good news! Due to my weakness for Icthya’s smile, and as own of the ranch, I have declared thee, your wife, and Emilia, royal guests to the wizard binky ball this autumn.

See you all soon!

Oddi.”

Cetus read aloud to Morgan, giving them a giggle. Cetus had bribed the local Garden wildling to be messenger; The ranch had a gate in a well that fairies could transverse, faster than national post. While on Tiberius Gate with Morgan, Cetus started to search for Delphia again; Hoping she’d returned, or left clues. It had been almost three days since she vanished. Morgan patrolled riding his familiar Icarus, but it was hard to see past the tree-line on an eagle’s back. Delphia’s disappearance had given everyone in town anxiety; But none more then Cetus and Morgan, who knew about the rangers.

“Cetus, I’m worried.” Morgan said, looking in every room as they ascended the tower. “I don’t want friends dragged into my mythical mishaps. She’s doesn’t deserve this, and was trying her best.” He murmured. Cetus panted, feeling his age.

“It’ll be fine when it’s all over; I’ve got your dad on it.” Cetus panted, feeling his age. Then Morgan went rigid; A downward spiral had stirred.

“Wait, my dad is in on this? What if he gets angry?! What if I’m not actually not ready to meet him?! This is a disaster!”

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

She awoke with regrets, as she lay helpless and ill from the ether; This quest was beyond ‘Grand Gesture’, and circled into ‘poor impulsivity management’. A large white reptilian nose pocked from the clouds, retreated, and a tall man appeared. He wore spiked golden armour, and white velveteen; A silken cape trailing behind him like folded wings, and a spined tail.

“One of my housed! But you shouldn’t be here. But all is well. Once you sleep more, I will return you to Peak Suna.” The Dragon King said calmly.

“No, they will kill me if I show up back home. Just before this, my uncle came and tore everything from home, away. I’m so scared. Please; I want to stay with Morgan, and be the future Witch of Pepperidge. I hoped coming here would show my dedication to magic and Morgan. Prove I’ve changed. But this was a terrible mistake. I’m sorry for invading your kingdoms to feel better about myself.” Delphia rambled. The King knelt down; He collected the stories of humans, and was appeased. He noticed her ripped ears, hair, and clothes. Her people had indeed forsaken her. Moved, The Dragon King began putting marks of his children on her back, arms and shins; His children loved that Daneia did that. It would be something that no one could take from Delphia, without killing her. Nothing enchanted, just something to make her feel special.

“I will agree to good terms with a human under my influence. But you need healing, and my fire is too strong. I’s ask my wife, but I suspect the Beast Queens wouldn’t give you a healing embrace, as you’ve spoiled True Love.”

“Spoil True Love’s Spell? That’s silly. Those spells are unbreakable. Morgan and Emilia will always love each other now. There’s nothing I could do to tarnish that, even if I wanted to.” Delphia smiled. The Dragon King sighed, and picked up Delphia. He stopped suddenly as something caught his attention:

“Queen Odette? Since when do you perch upon my throne?” he asked.

“I will heal her; And return her to the tower.” Odette replied, approaching with poise. Pristine dove-like ruff, and layers of pale silk embroidered with wings. Delphia looked up at her in confusion.

“My husband requires her womb to revive a dying magic house. I require that wedding to happen, as requiting the Raven King denied me attendance of my cousin’s ceremony. I’m invested in her. Selfishly so, but still.” She affirmed.

“Wait, don’t touch me; I’m poisonous to things Morgan doesn’t love. What if you get poisoned?”

“I’m magic, and family; I trust I’m something he cares about.” She said kissing Delphia’s head, and transporting her into the main hall of Tiberius’s tower. Like a vision, Odette vanished to her kingdom.

Cetus immediately noticed Delphia; in an under gown, soaked in sweat and blood. He ran over for a hug. Delphia was surprised to be greeted so warmly.

“You’re ok! Were you in the Shadow Veil!? You could have died!” Cetus yelled.

“I know. I guess I thought doing so would fix things. But you hugging me. Do you like me now? Did this show I care, and am not just a tool or invader?” Delphia whimpered.

“What? Show you care? I’m hugging you because you matter regardless. This all really got to you, didn’t it…” Cetus said. Delphia just looked at Morgan and offered the tiara.

“The Fairy King said it’s protective; But only you can put it on me. Also, the Dragon King gave me these Daneia marks, because Kjatin broke my things. The Tree King made me toxic to anyone you don’t love, and The Rat King made me even more of a manipulative-” She rambled. Morgan stopped her, by putting the tiara on; Resulting in the appearance of a glittery, draped black dress. Morgan Smiled.

“That was super stupid to do without me. Your years of studying are proof enough. As for people to believing you’ve changes, that’ll take time.” He explained.

*****

After his birthday, Morgan was considered old enough to wed. Which is to say it was legal, but not recommended for most people. He went to the ranch shortly after. Everyone wore traditional formal clothes, like it was a costume party. Delphia and Morgan were stiffened by nerves, even while she wore her protective dress the whole trip. They’d be staying a week, and it terrified everyone. At least Cetus and Jupiter came with them.

Upon arrival to the ranch, Morgan appeared to jitter. He froze at the ranch’s title, swinging above the entrance of the low stone wall. A few deep breaths, and they signed the guest list. All the security dressed like knights. Or they were knights; Morgan couldn’t remember. One pace in, and he bumped his father. Odysseus twitching like a puppy. Cetus intervened, by hugging Odysseus, as he starred at his son. It comforted Morgan to see them not fighting like last time. Odysseus had visited illegally for a hug, which Morgan resisted. But this time, as his father embraced him, Morgan melted. They didn’t need words to express their desire to start over. Behind Odysseus was Icthya, giving Delphia and Emilia the same treatment; Then she dragged them to their cabin to get properly dressed. Morgan and Delphia would need to be polished for tomorrow.

While everyone ran around the next day, the family had woken early from anxiety. They were already clean and dressed. Morgan looked like a prince in his embroidered teal tunic, which brought out the tawny in his hair. Icthya and Odysseus looked like royalty in their emeralds and gold. Delphia wore the pink and silver embroidered dress, as commissioned. Emilia looked like a jazz singer. But Cetus’s attire reminded Delphia of what Kjatin took. He had blue embroider collar, silver, furs, and kohl. Half Daneia on his father’s side.

Before she could break, Delpia was shuffled to the goat pen. The goats were small and soft. Bred for centuries on the ranch. They had three purposes: milking, sheering, and tossing. Morgan joined his family, to look them over.

“They’re so cute! I want to hold one like a baby.” Delphia giggled. Emilia snorted. Morgan never really liked goat-tossing; They’re too adorable to be projectiles.

“So, Morgan, which one do you think is light enough to travel, but sturdy enough to land?” Odysseus said, wrapping his arm around Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan flinched a little. Odysseus also looked uncomfortable.

“Wow. Your, um, tall now. Like me. I’m ah, going to have to really work to give you piggy-backs now.” He stuttered. His boy had in fact, grown up without him. Morgan pointed to a soft white nanny. Odysseus whipped his face, and went into the pen.

“Um, what’s the goat for?” Delphia asked. Odysseus put the goat under his arm like a pillow.

“Just in case.” Odysseus shrugged.

At the alter, Delphia and Morgan stood emotionless. A speech in Elden Anglian was recited, as a green cloth tied over their wrists. There was a forced applause. Meanwhile, Odysseus patted the goat, as he skimmed the crowd. When everyone got up to leave, Delphia spotted Odette. She dashed over, intent on expressing gratitude, while still tied to Morgan. Delphia bowed to Odette; Her flowy periwinkle gown, draping perfectly. Without her Raven Queen gowns, and in such traditional dress, Odette blended in. Morgan thought she looked like her mother from the paintings.

“Thank you, Odette! For healing me, and taking me home. Also vouching for me, coming to this occasion, and restoring this ranch-” Delphia sobbed.

“No. Thank you for letting me finally attend my cousins wedding, and putting so many minds at ease. Your existence alone should hopefully deter some wizards from magery for a good while.” Odette smiled. She stood up, and looked into the orchard.

The party continued, as they served clove duck, pear pudding, and then danced. Everyone said hello to people they didn’t know. Due to spice wine, the conversation soured, and Cetus decided to escort his wife, nephew, Emilia, and Delphia, back to the cabin. A weight was lifted. At least until horse riding tomorrow.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay up a little late with your mother and father, Sport.” Cetus smiled, ruffling Morgan’s hair. Morgan nodded, and a creak sounded behind Delphia. Something was in the orchard. But that’s not what Everyone jump; A white nanny bleated a good eighteen feet passed them, hitting Kjatin in the face and into the blackberries.

“Knights! Arrest him!” Odysseus yelled like a giddy child. Three guards came, and dragged Kjatin to the security cabin. “I’ve always wanted say that.”

“Good throw sire!” One joked. Delphia had started crying compulsively, as Morgan tried to comfort her.

“Oddi, my heart nearly left my body! Why is he here!?” Cetus snapped.

“No clue. I just suspected he would come.” Odysseus shrugged. “Do any of you mind writing a report to deport him tomorrow?”

“Can we drag him behind a horse first?” Delphia sneered. Then gasped realizing her abilities.

“I didn’t mean that! I just thought since we were riding anyway!” She flailed. Morgan turned to see his uncle and father breathless from laughter. They were unintelligibly talking, like their friendship never faltered.

“Why do I feel like everyone got something out of this other then me?” Morgan said under his breath. Delphia rubbed his shoulder.

“We should be getting to bed. It’s going to take an hour to get out of this outfit, and calm down.”

“It’s tradition to share a bed tonight.” Morgan whispered. Delphia cringed.

“Not like that. We just have to sleep together. Again, not like that. Like, to make sure I’m a good heated blanket and you don’t kill me, or something. Actually, it’s not really clear.” He continued. Delphia smiled, and comforted him on the way back into the cabin, serenaded by the chortle of reunited friends.

TABLE OF CONTENTS--->

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#art #tales of ealden cynedom #fantasy #short stories #cetus #odysseus #delphia #morgan

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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 3

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Four days.

Four days of training with no sign of Azriel.

Four days of the pitying side-glances from Nesta and Cassian when she arrived to the ring to find that he still wasn’t there.

Gwyn gritted her teeth and peppered the post with blows from her fists and feet. She hated pity. She didn’t want it. They knew it, too. It was all she could do not to scream at them, and part of her wondered why exactly she hadn’t. A few weeks ago she probably would have. Her scowl deepened.

She punched harder.

As much as she’d denied it to the general and her friends, she was acting differently. She wasn’t upset about being spurned by a male. She had never had any claim on Azriel, never had any expectations. She was not a female that would allow a male to have power over her emotions – her very being – like that.

But she felt like she had lost a friend, and not due to tragedy or death. She had lost a friend by their own choice. She wasn’t sure how to handle that.

Had it been pity that made Azriel placate her? Is that what he had done? She’d told him that she missed him. It was true, and she had never questioned uttering her truth to anyone.

He hadn’t returned the sentiment.

Perhaps it had been pity, then. He had said what he knew she wanted to hear, enough to get her out of his hair…

“NO,” she scolded herself through her panting. Gwyn would not allow herself to go down that road. She did not need pity from herself, either. She was strong and capable and confident. She was a Valkyrie.

The dull ache in her knuckles distracted her from her rushing thoughts and the sun beating down on the training ring. It was hotter than she could remember it ever being since she’d started training – so hot that Cassian had allowed the trainees to forego the Illyrian leathers in favor of lighter, cooler clothing. A year ago the idea may have terrified her, but she had fought Illyrian warriors in nothing but a nightgown, so she graciously accepted Nesta’s offer of the light blue linen tunic that bared her shoulders and lightweight leggings. Gwyn was grateful for her friend’s consideration, even though she knew the sun would likely end up burning her rarely-exposed skin.

Another distraction. For the best.

“Gwyn.”

The priestess started as the general’s voice boomed from behind her. She turned her wide eyes to him and saw an eyebrow raised at her.

“Cassian?” She had grown increasingly comfortable with him in the months since his and Nesta’s mating ceremony. She had spent a considerable amount of time with both of them, and while she still used his title, it was usually in jest and banter. He had become a friend, something of a brother, perhaps.

“I said you need to take a break.” His eyes shifted to her hands before returning to her face. “Water. Now. And take care of those hands.”

“I’m fine -“

“You will take care of them or I will sideline you for the rest of the day, Berdara,” he spoke sternly, every bit the weathered veteran and general of the most feared forces in all of Prythian. He had mischief in his eyes, as per usual, but there was something that darkened them.

Concern.

“Yes, general,” she drawled before muttering under her breath as he walked away, “Mother-henning busybody.”

“What was that, Berdara?” he challenged over a broad shoulder.

“Nothing!” she sing-songed back to him as sweetly as she could muster, lest she not sound convincing. His wings flared slightly as he paced away, and she waited until he was halfway across the ring before she stretched out her arms in front of her to survey the backs of her hands. The fabric wrapped around her hands was stained crimson across her knuckles where her skin had surely cracked open. In multiple places.

She hadn’t even noticed.

Gwyn uttered a low curse, scowling to herself, and stalked over to the table where Nesta and Emerie were watching her. Her sisters. Regardless of whatever this storm was that she was experiencing, she knew that she was not alone. That was the greatest comfort.

“If I were you I’d save some of that aggression for someone who actually deserves it,” the eldest Archeron offered, eyebrows raised. “What did that post ever do to you anyway?”

Gwyn scoffed, looking back at the padded wood that she had been battling for Mother-knew how long before glancing at her bloodied hands. “I think it still came out on top, anyway,” she grinned, and began peeling the fabric away. Emerie passed her a basket of gauze, ointments, and clean wraps as Gwyn lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the ground.

“You… uh… you were really in the zone there, Gwyn,” the Illyrian female said as she knelt beside her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The copper-haired priestess looked at her friend, warmth blooming in her heart when she saw the concern written across her tanned face.

“I’m fine,” she smiled brightly at Emerie and then looked up to Nesta. “I promise.”

“Regardless,” Nesta answered as she sat down with her. “Save a couple of those shots for that idiot Spymaster. That’s what I’m doing.”

Gwyn managed a laugh before returning her attention to her stinging, bloodied hands. She hissed as she dabbed ointment over where her skin had split before laying gauze over the freshly cleaned wounds. Maybe she would save a punch or two for Azriel, if she ever even saw him again.

Or maybe she would just continue to savor the distraction of the pain.

~~~

Punching something until her hands bled had proven to be an effective distraction during training.

And again that night, when her demons had chased her out of bed for the third time in five days. She hadn’t told Nesta and Emerie how bad it was getting since Azriel had chosen to remove himself from her life. They were already worried, and it was something she would need to learn to manage on her own, anyway. At least she could still go to the training ring, work herself to bone-numbing exhaustion, and then collapse into slumber for a few precious hours.

Azriel was never there.

And while punching and kicking until she was bruised and bloody bought her some reprieve from her nightmares, it was not conducive to her work in the library. Her swollen fingers could barely grasp her quill.

Definitely weapons tonight, then.

She paused, feeling her eyes prickle as she realized her assumption: that she all but planned on being unable to sleep yet again.

What a mess she had become.

Regardless of what potential may have existed between her and Azriel before, what tore at her was the loss of a dear friend, a confidant. He had seen her darkest days and nights and had never run away from her. She had tried to ignore it the first night she had sensed him in the archway to the training ring before he retreated back into the House. But he’d kept retreating, again and again.

And now he didn’t approach at all. She hadn’t even sensed or scented him in the House, ever since that day he’d assured her that they were friends, and that things would go back to normal. What a foolish hope that had been.

“Gwyneth, girl, where are those books I told you to fetch? I sent you for them hours ago!” Gwyn winced as Merrill’s voice carried through the stacks. She had known it would only be a matter of time before the elder priestess found her. To an outsider, Merrill’s voice would have sounded pleasant, but the Valkyrie heard the venomous threats underneath. She put down her quill and rubbed her eyes as the beautiful white-haired female approached her, eyes gleaming with malice.

“I apologize, sister. I have been struggling with this transcription.” Indeed, the pain in her hands had caused her to be much slower than usual. “I’ll retrieve those books for you immediately.” Gwyn moved to push herself from the table when Merrill’s soft tanned fingers yanked her bruised hand to study it, her grip like a vice. The teal-eyed priestess winced.

“Poor little Valkyrie, can barely even write her own name,” Merrill scoffed. “Perhaps I should replace you, Gwyneth. Nobody has use for a foolish girl who is too broken to look out for herself.”

Gwyn pulled her hand back, the pain forgotten after the words that lanced into her soul. It was a ‘gift’ of Merrill’s, knowing exactly what to say to cut her to the quick.

“Can’t sleep without someone to coddle you, so instead you resort to brutality. Poor excuse for a Valkyrie. Poorer excuse for a female.” How could she know?

Gwyn rose abruptly, tears stinging at her eyes. But she would not let them fall in front of the witch. “I’ll go get those books now,” she managed to rasp, before retreating into the stacks.

~~~

That night she hadn’t even tried to sleep, the scholar’s dagger-like words twisting in her chest. Merrill was right, wasn’t she? For all Gwyn had done, all that she had overcome and accomplished, she was falling apart. She was adrift, uncertain of where to turn. Nesta and Emerie would never turn away, of course. But Azriel…

It had been different with him, she didn’t know why. But the gaping wound left in his absence was proof that maybe the necklace had meant more than she cared to admit. So had not being the intended recipient. It hurt.

Losing him hurt.

And even though she had realized that day that she wouldn’t have his heart, she had hoped that he would be willing to continue with the friendship they had built.

But she had lost even that.

Gwyn burst through the door and into cold rain, steam rising from the training ring as the droplets hit the stone floor still warm from the daytime sun. She stood there for a moment, letting it wash over her. Her robes grew heavy with water but she barely took note as the downpouring cold soothed her aching hands and soul.

Robes swished as she moved to the center of the ring. She sat down and hugged her knees to her chest. Closing her eyes, she tilted her chin up, allowing her tears to fall and mix with the rain that had dulled her usually vibrant hair to a drab chestnut.

Just breathe. Let it be and breathe.

She didn’t know how long she had been there, letting the storm wash her clean, when she felt him. She had always been able to sense him, shadows or no. She faced forward, determined not to turn toward him, lest he see how weak she had become. So she simply gathered her courage and spoke. It sounded steadier than she had expected, much stronger than she felt.

“Hello, Azriel.”

~~~

He wasn’t surprised that she knew he was there. She always seemed to know, and not just because his shadows were traitorous bastards who would tend to attract her attention – seemingly on purpose.

Gwyn always seemed to… sense him.

And, if Azriel were ever honest with himself, he would probably admit that it was the same for him. She had a presence that he was drawn to.

Constantly.

The restraint that it had taken to stay in the townhouse, maintain his home base there as he fulfilled his reconnaissance missions in Vallahan and the human lands – it was wearing on him. He’d barely slept in the last week, throwing himself into his work and training when the darkness and shame kept him awake in the night. The guilt was a festering wound inside of him.

He’d told Gwyn that they were friends. That things would return to normal. And then he’d run from her like a fucking coward.

Azriel. Spymaster. Shadowsinger. Death Bringer. The lethal dark of the Night Court had run from a 29-year-old priestess who loved nothing more than to smile and laugh, whose only crime was caring for him. Five centuries of training and death and calm calculation had not prepared him for her innocence and trust. It was dangerous.

The shadowsinger stared at her rain-soaked form huddled in the middle of the training ring, shadows curling around him – begging him to go to her. Even without the moon her skin seemed to glow. It was pinker than usual, likely due to her training underneath the midday sun. His gaze drifted to her hands, long fingers wrapped under her knees. His eyes narrowed as he spied the discoloration of her skin and cracks over her knuckles. He’d assumed that Cassian was exaggerating when he had told him that Gwyn was beating herself bloody, taking out her emotions on every piece of equipment available to her.

That knife of guilt twisted in his gut.

His brother had been waiting outside his room when he’d returned to the townhouse the night before, leaning on the doorframe casually with crossed arms.

“So this is where you run off to when you have too many feelings?”

Cassian had never been known for his tact.

“I’m working, Cassian. It’s quieter –“

“Cut the bullshit, Az. You and I both know that things are quiet and that your spies can more than manage their assignments.” Azriel growled and barged through the door, Cassian on his heels. “And you and I both know that this has nothing to do with your responsibilities to the court and has everything to do with Gwyneth Berdara.”

The shadowsinger halted, suddenly finding the navy silk sheets on his bed very interesting. Anything to avoid looking at the other Illyrian in the room. No matter what mask he slid over his emotions, Cassian could see right through it. Always.

He shook his head and tore his shirt off over his arms, stalking into the bathing room without acknowledging what the general had said. “I’m exhausted, Cassian.”

“Then listen to what I have to say, Az. You listen, then I’ll leave.”

He turned back to his brother, Cassian’s hulking form taking up most of the doorway. The dim fae lights of the bathing room cast shadows that sharpened the angles of his face. His usual mischievous glint had been replaced with resolution and concern. The shadowsinger sighed and motioned for Cassian to speak before turning to lean his hands on the refreshing cool porcelain of the bathtub.

“She’s working herself until she’s black and blue and bleeding. I’ve had to threaten to sideline her twice this week, just so she’ll take a break and tend to herself. Sound like anyone you know?”

Azriel could only sigh and hang his head. Of course it did. It was exactly what he always did to work through his frustration, to battle the demons that chased him out of bed too many nights. It was the reason she had found him in the training right that first night, the beginning of that friendship he’d told her he would uphold.

“I know you, Az. I know you feel guilty for upsetting her. I know what you see inside yourself. But you need to give yourself more credit, and Gwyn, too. Whatever this is, it’s hurting you both. So stop getting in your own way and be honest with her. Both of you can have what you deserve.”

The spymaster didn’t answer but raised his head to gaze at the moonlit garden through the window. He imagined there were lovely summer blooms and leafy vines slithering around the pane of glass – a lovely view for a relaxing summer bath. Cassian’s wings rustled has he turned to leave.

“If you can’t get your shit together and come back to help with training I need to know. The advanced females are having to sacrifice their progress to help with the novices. If I can’t depend on you to be there, I’ll need to find someone else.”

Azriel let out a sardonic laugh. The general knew just how to play him, like a fucking fiddle. He could never stand a jab to his dependability.

“I’ll be back next week.”

It was that conversation that had brought him to the training ring tonight, only to find the copper-haired priestess sitting in the cold rain. Even through the downpour he could smell the salt on her cheeks.

“What brings you here tonight?” he asked, like a useless fool. He knew the reason. Azriel was not the only one with nightmares.

“Same as usual, Shadowsinger.” Gwyn’s voice was tight. “Fourth time since we last spoke.”

He inhaled sharply. It had only been six days since he last saw her, in this very spot. “I thought they were getting better.”

“They were.”

They were.

Those two words hit him like a physical blow, but the white hot brand against his soul was the implication – the words she hadn’t spoken in that voice that was too shaky and small for the Gwyn he knew.

Her nightmares were getting better. But now… worse.

He had done this.

His absence, his cowardice, his stupidity, his darkness. It was his fault. He’d ripped his support away because he was a coward, unable to forgive himself for something her generous heart had forgiven almost as soon as it had happened. She had assured him of that. The sincerity had shone like stars in her incredible eyes. But he hadn’t accepted it. She had considered him a friend, and he had abandoned her to face her darkest memories alone.

Azriel’s eyes stung with the understanding, the wretched self-loathing, and he dared a glance again at those gentle hands he longed to hold. Bruised fingers and cracked skin.

He may as well have put those marks there by his own scarred, cruel, sadistic hands.

“I thought – maybe I just hoped – that I’d find you here one night.”

He swallowed the threatening emotions and could only manage a rasped, “I had work to do.”

“Of course.”

She saw right through him. She always had. Panic and guilt and grief rose like a tidal wave within him. He could never forgive himself for this pain he had caused her – a Carynthian warrior trying to hold herself together in the deluge. He would not forgive himself for the tears that she’d shed, the pain that she’d put herself through to cope.

I miss you, Azriel.

The shadowsinger took a shuddering breath.

Cassian was right. Gwyn deserved so much more than he could ever give, ever be. She was light and joy and he would not let his darkness snuff her out. He was broken, soulless, and cold – death on the wind. The terrible things he had done, would continue to do, would make even the strongest warriors flee in terror. He would not bring any more blood and fear and pain into her life. She deserved happiness and joy, and he deserved suffering and the dark.

They would both get what they deserved.

“You should get inside, Gwyn. The rain is cold and you’re soaked to the bone. Get inside, warm up, and get some rest.” Azriel had no idea how he’d managed that cool, detached voice when his chest was cracking open, allowing the shadows and shame to flood into him. He watched her form, swallowed in waterlogged robes. Everything about her seemed less vibrant in that moment.

“Yes. I will. Soon.”

He waited a moment longer, and when she made no move he stepped back into the stairwell, letting the night cover him. He dared one more glance over his shoulder, heart splintering when she lowered her head to her knees, shoulders shaking.

Azriel bolted down the stairs then, knowing that facing the 10,000 steps down to Velaris would be nothing compared to facing the gut-wrenching sobs he pretended he couldn’t hear.

~~~

Gwyn knew that he could probably hear her, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

So she let herself cry – full choking sobs – into her knees. But she didn’t cry for Catrin, or her lost innocence, or for Sangravah. For the first time in a long while she cried for her – this pain, heartbreak at losing someone who had become so dear to her and being powerless to stop it.

Tomorrow would be better, she knew. She had overcome far too much to let this break her. She would survive this, maybe even be better for it.

But tonight she would cry.

Because for the first time in over a year Gwyneth Berdara did not feel strong.

Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @ddsworldofbooks @gwynrielsupremacist

#gwynriel #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn x azriel #azwyn #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #it hurts #sorry not sorry #bless this mess

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Note

Hi hi! I saw your post asking for request/inspiration! Maybe Geralt x fem reader, and geralt has to hunt down a monster but the reader as well, so first they try to outsmart the other but eventually they realize they have to work together and they end up falling for each other? ❤️❤️

Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 1

side note- I have no self control and just kept writing so we’re gonna have a pt. 2 soon

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, some smut sprinkled in the mix

It had been a good couple of weeks since his last kill, or since he had a solid amount of coin that could pay for food and board. So like any Witcher with a freshly sharpened sword and a thirst for coin with a little adventure included, Geralt was on the move, in search of his next monster to slay.

Though by the looks of it, the continent is starting to feel like a much larger place then he remembered, or perhaps he’s out in the wilds a bit further then once previously thought. Either way, the day is bright and the woods are green, although the occasional snowflake floating into his hair and Roach’s for that matter may become an annoyance later on. Guess he’ll just have to see where the road takes him this time.

No sooner would his swimming thoughts of wondrous curiosity be answered after a couple hours of traveling through the now very snow covered forest, where he would happen upon a small gathering of road worn travelers. All of whom appeared to be speaking over a small fire, their horses tied off close by. And most likely, weapons hidden at the ready for odd folk like himself.

Roach’s hooves are almost silent against the powdery white fluff as Geralt makes his way into view of this pack of loyal companions trying to have a meal in the midst of their camp before nightfall. Soon their eyes find Roach and himself, these strangers look on in cautious apprehension, wary and uncertain of what this Witcher’s true intentions are.

Suddenly a young foxy looking boy stands, his thick auburn hair falling in his face as he points a shaky steel knife in the air, “What business you have? We don’t want a fight.” Speaks the boy as confidently as he can muster, though there is a small waver in his voice. The others wait for an answer.

Geralt blinks, face unassuming and as relatively non-threatening as possible, “I’m just passing through, I’m trying to see what beast needs killed over the next hill.”

The boy lowers his knife, “Oh...well, good luck to you then. There’s been a great bear said to be hunting for Nilfgaard soldiers over that way, that’s why we’re headed west instead.”

Before Geralt is able to respond an older woman with a wolf rug over her back steps next to the boy protectively, “Best keep a move on Witcher,” She warns, eyeing him up suspiciously with her pale grey eyes, “said a woman with...unnatural powers commands the beast to kill for her. A witch of the wood it’s said, but that old bastard she has, been killing villagers and travelers alike who venture too far from town.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Mutters Geralt before directing Roach to continue onward with a click of his tongue.

——

They had never seen you coming, and now they’re paying for their lack of scouting with their pathetic little lives. The soldiers of Nilfgaard were said to be the most deadly and dangerous, men who came with fire in their hearts and steel in their hands. They feared nothing and no one, dressed in black armor and growing in numbers from the south everyday was enough to make you feel sick.

They had no right nor proper business claiming and desecrating what wasn’t there’s, how dare they hurt innocent people, they acted like true barbarians. And you would not put up with it any longer, they had burned your home, murdered your mother, and destroyed the rest of your village.

So for their crimes, you decided it was time to do what was necessary for the continents future survival, it was time to hunt. For months have you and your furry companion been here and there eradicating soldier camp after soldier camp with great satisfaction, now finally at long last have you tracked down a group of Nilfgaardians who’ve strayed too far from the main hoard. How unfortunate.

You had waited patiently to ambush them on the main road where they’d been trekking down for the past day and a half, it was too damn easy, all you did was pretend to be a hurt scared maiden in the woods. Then when they attempted to comfort you, your bear burst forth from the underbrush and slaughtered a handful before they even knew what hit them.

Now here you stand, boots in the spattered snow as you look around the blood stained white blanket of earth where a multitude of soldiers lay dead and mutilated. Though one remains with air still in his lungs, you smirk a wicked grin, eyeing up the fallen soldier as he stares wide eyed up at you from his broken body against a tree stump.

Your furry accomplice breaths heavy mountainous breaths close by, though he’s aware enough to know you’ll take care of the last one. And the terrified soldier knows it too as you take more steps closer. He flinches as you crouch down to meet his blood spattered face, “Nu-no, no...do-don’t...”

“Shhh.” You smile, raising a finger to his lips, silencing him instantly.

He’s shaking now, eyes like a young fearful child’s as he studies your beautiful yet frightening appearance. “I thought all Nilfgaardian soldiers feared nothing, not even death. What a disappointment you all are.”

“We will...ta-take it....a-all...” He whimpers out as you throw him a harsh glare that shuts his bloody mouth.

“Just like I have taken your brothers lives,” You whisper with a sly grin before casually shrugging, “an eye for an eye they say....so don’t be afraid, I have felt the same as you do right now. Helpless, terrified, in pain....but listen...” You look sincerely into his broken gaze, a small smile upon your lips as you rest a comforting hand over his arm, though he knows its anything but comfort. “Nilfgaard and all her subjects can burn in the fiery pits of the underworld for what they’ve chosen to do in these lands. I was on the wrong side of the sword once, now you are, and no magical bear is going to come save you.” Your words are as deadly as poison, like a cobra spitting venom to their prey before the final strike.

His eyes go wide, blood seeping down his cracked lips, “No. No..n-no no! No!” Suddenly you thrust your dagger right through his jugular and right back out again causing a spurt of blood to mark your cheek, standing back you watch as he gasps and sputters, choking on his own blood as it gushes out of him like a waterfall.

“He even dies like a bitch.” You mutter in disgust, cleaning off your sword with your arm before sheathing it once again, now looking over to the beast standing in the snow. Heavy white clouds of hot breath pierce the crisp air as he watches your every move in interest, “Come. Let’s get away from here before someone sees us, we don’t need anymore bloodshed today. Now these fuckers are food for crows.”

The bear growls in agreeance, trailing after you as some hungry black ravens caw from the trees in excitement for their new free meal. No village will burn today.

——

“Oh yes, I saw her command the bear to kill those soldiers just three days ago!”

“That beast took my son last week, kill them Witcher!”

“I’m afraid to visit my cousins in the next town over! You must kill them!”

That had been the comments and ramblings of the townsfolk of the local tavern when he asked who and where this witch and her bear was. Though he didn’t get much of a solid answer by any means, not until an old hunter had eventually directed him to where the most recent cluster of Nilfgaard soldiers had headed.

Stating that if Geralt follows their route, then he would most likely come upon the men’s remains somewhere along the road, and if he was lucky, he’d run into the two killers as well.

Indeed it had taken him about a day or so, but eventually the farther down the trail he got, the fresher the tracks became. Suddenly during his journey did he pass a rider-less horse on its way back towards town, a dark brown smear of some kind splattered across its grey leg. Now this looked quite promising.

Only a small trot up the road did he finally find the brutal remains of the soldiers that had most definitely not made it to wherever they had planned on heading. The snow in particular was disturbed and littered with chunks of men, swords thrown about and shields bent and broken. He could smell blood and piss from the men, most of all he could smell bear and what it had done here, though it was strange too. For a sweeter scent could be recognized on the cool wintery breeze, such a viable contrast to the current state of the environment.

She still lingers close, thinks the Witcher. Quickly moving to pull out his silver sword from within its sheath. Sensing a new presence among the fallen, he whips around in a dark blur only to be greeted face to face with a beautiful woman.

He stood his ground eyeing your form suspiciously like a lion wondering if his prey will be easy enough to kill, though he wasn’t certain if he truly wanted to kill you at all. You looked rather unassuming and calm, less monsterly and more a simple traveling woman then anything else, such unlike the grisly tall tales that those travelers and townsfolk had gossiped to him about.

Honestly Geralt was beginning to doubt what he had been given coin for, but he would not submit to that thought just yet, he has faced creatures just as alluring as you and found them quite deadly enough.

Keeping his silver placed firmly at his side, though still tightly grasped in his strong hand, his golden eyes trail over you cautiously, “You do this?” He wonders, coming out more of an accusatory statement as he glances at the bloody array of dead Nilfgaardian soldiers gutted about on the soft white snow.

Your breaths are steady though you feel more annoyed by his random intrusion then anything else, you only came back here to take their weapons to give to the villagers, “I have no quarrel with you, Witcher.” Your voice is truthful and fierce, not an ounce of nervousness radiating off of your tongue. As far as you’re concerned this man is nothing but an inconvenience.

He keeps a stoic face, not revealing much but a tinge of amusement in his shimmering eyes, “Strange then. I’ve been given coin to kill a dangerous sorceress and her enchanted bear. Fitting your description exactly, and here we are. Among the dead soldiers you’ve been claimed to murder.”

Scoffing you curtly fold your arms over your chest, “I hardly see a problem here when these fuckers have slaughtered countless innocents! They’re marching for the north and I do not doubt they’ll get it if people like me don’t try and lessen their numbers.”

He looks to the ground then back up to you, letting out a low frustrated sigh, “Your beast has killed villagers. Innocents.” His words are almost a slap in the face, but you know those people only got in the way of taking down these soldiers.

“Yes.” You nod, watching as he studies your face, “And it is a tragedy that I am greatly sorry for...but my companion is still an animal with his own will even when I give him a task. A bear is a bear, Witcher.”

He hums, “I understand that. But I cannot let you kill anyone else.”

Taking a single step back you quickly unfold your arms, alerting the Witcher to raise his sword though you show no intention of fighting him. His grey brows furrow as you shake your head, “You’re better off leaving us be. Those soldiers deserved what they got coming to them, and the people of this continent will thank us in due time. For they do not know the wrath and ruin that Nilfgaard is capable of.”

He watches as you take a couple more steps backwards towards the pine trees, your face serious and unflinching even when he takes a few steps towards you. “I kill monsters, witch. You’re no different.”

Now this does anger you, for that your eyes almost appear to darken with rage, your posture taller as you stare him down, “You are nothing but a blind fool who cannot see the bigger picture! So I won’t feel very bad about this..”

“About what?”

He watches as you take a step to the side, ignoring him when suddenly without warning does a ginormous brown bear charge from out of the evergreens, teeth and claws at the ready as they swing for his throat.

Geralt just barely dodges the huge furry bastard when a blundering paw races down for his arm, he twists away and out of the bears reach though his sword does catch the thick black pad of the bears left paw. It roars in pain, face a mask of rage as it turns towards Geralt with lighting reflexes.

Suddenly the bear swings a heavy paw directly into Geralt’s leather armored chest, knocking the wind out of him while also managing to thrust him blindly into a thick oak tree. All that the Witcher can glimpse before slipping into blissful unconsciousness is the wounded beast retreating into the woods while your silhouetted form begins walking towards him.

Then darkness.

——

When Geralt comes to he’s distressed to find his armor gone and his torso bare except for a thick white bandage wrapped around his shoulder and chest where the bear swatted at him with its large paw. The fabric is oddly soft, though a slight pink uneven line has seeped out now visible across his breasts, no doubt the area where that bear had gotten him.

His big golden irises blink hard, focusing better now to unexpectedly find your smirking face as you walk into view, “Have a pleasant rest?” You muse, sitting down in a soft cushioned chair at his bedside, “My old friend gave you a run for your coin huh?”

Well this is odd, he thinks.

His brows furrow even deeper, though his chest hurts too much to attempt an escape, “I would have imagined you were going to kill me. I don’t understand...”

Chuckling lightly you smile, “Remember Witcher, I have no quarrel with you. Just those fucking soldiers....and don’t worry, my companion will not bring you any more harm unless I see to it.”

“Well...uh...I guess that’s good then.” Mutters the Witcher, begrudgingly scooting himself up so that he may rest against the wooden headboard and have a better view of the small room, “Where exactly are we?”

Looking around the cozy cabin you’ve decided to inhabit for the time being, your eyes finally rest back on the curious silver haired man, “Somewhere that was once vacant and now is livable. That is all I will say, and all that matters to you now....so, my pursuer who’d see me dead if not for my cleverness. If you are going to be in my care for however long it takes you to heal, what is your name?” You watch as the Witcher purses his lips together, pausing for a moment to think if he should tell you, “Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He reveals in that titular gruff voice of his that’s honestly starting to grow on you even in the brief time you’ve known him.

Handing him a small smile of acknowledgement, you nod, “And I am Y/N of Stygga in the land of Ebbing which is north of Nilfgaard...so, Geralt of Rivia....what brings you to Thurn of all places and into my care? Besides the fact that my companion almost ended your pretty life.” You end with a wiggle of your brow.

“Coin.” He mutters humorously, so he is not just a man of silent beautifully chiseled stone after all.

You hum, “Simple and straight to the point, are all Witcher’s as intriguing as you are?”

Geralt blinks slowly, deciding to rest his head against the wood as he looks forward, “Perhaps only the ones who want to survive.”

Laughing you lean back in your seat, “Flattery and humor may yet keep you alive then. But you are mistaken with me, I do not intend to keep you as a prisoner in any way if that’s what you are meaning. You are free to go back to wherever you came from or to wherever you’re going....as I said, I have no quarrel with you. Witcher.” You speak his name with a bit of attitude considering he did originally come to kill you, nonetheless you quite enjoy his presence.

The look he gives you is enough to make you chuckle once more, then his eyes glance back to you, causing your laughter to die down, though he’s surprised that your smile has prevailed. “Then why have you kept me alive when you could have ended me just as quickly?” He wonders.

You shrug, “The world is scarce of such creatures like yourself, Witcher’s hmm...monster hunters. Others will need you, and this world is big after all and full of terrible things.” You add, hugging your cloak tighter as you tilt your head at him, “so I’d assume after you heal up you’ll leave me and my companion be as long as I agree to keep away from towns. Yes.”

“Hmm.” He utters, brows furrowed as he thinks over your offer.

The Witcher keeps silent as his face shifts into deep thought, huffing you roll your eyes, “Geralt are free to leave if you so choose. I give you my word if you give me yours.”

“Which is?”

“You let me and my familiar leave in peace and we let you live.”

He studies your face for a moment, trying to find any signs of falseness though he fails to spot it, “Fine.” Grumbles the handsome silver haired man.

You smile in accomplishment before a slightly awkward silence fills the room, deciding to break the tension you tap the arm of your chair, “Are you going to leave then? Right now?”

He keeps silent for some time as you patiently await his answer until finally he looks into your eyes, “No.”

“Huh.” You slowly nod, not quite expecting that answer, “...are you thirsty then? You were out for some time.”

“Yes.” Answers Geralt, simple and straight to the point.

Smiling you nod, standing now to fetch your new friend some water from outside, once you return with a metal cup do you hand him the cold liquid, his warm hand just barley touching yours. Sending shivers down your spine that you didn’t know was possible as you go back to sit next to him. “Those wounds should heal soon enough, I’ve heard Witcher’s heal fast. Is there any truth to that?”

His golden eyes trail over to you, not a hint of annoyance in the way that he looks to you now, “It would seem so. Hopefully I never have another run in with your friend anytime soon. Though I wouldn’t mind running into you again, hopefully under less bloody circumstances.” Admits Geralt with the ghost of a smile.

You chuckle, “As would I.”

——

In the following days would you and Geralt find comfort in one another’s presence as you helped him heal from his wounds. This Witcher had told you numerous stories about his adventures all over the continent and what beasts have been slain by his hand and sharp silver.

They were undoubtedly fascinating though surprisingly full of such vigor and even respect for the ones he’s been given coin to kill. It was pleasant when he spoke of all those who he had prevented from meeting an untimely and violent end from said monsters.

Even more so bewildering to you was how invested and intrigued you had become with each passing day, you actually woke up excited to see someone, to hear their voice and have them ask how your morning was.

Unbeknownst to you, Geralt had healed two days ago but had come to the fascinating conclusion that he was in-fact enjoying your company more then first realized. He loves listening to you boast about all the clever tricks you’ve pulled on the Nilfgaardians and how you’ve kept them away from the villagers who would most like want nothing to do with them.

Maybe it is the palpable truth that he has been indeed a bit lonely, or maybe it’s just that you tell the best stories and are unlike anyone he’s ever met before. But Geralt has begun to grow a deep fondness for you that cannot be fully explained by himself no matter how hard he may try.

Though at first he found you beautiful enough, that wasn’t a large concern considering he was there to kill you. Then once all was revealed he decided you really aren’t as evil and malevolent as what was spoken to him by the townsfolk.

Now, he has seen you, heard your voice and been given a kindness that he knows is something he shouldn’t deserve. But he cannot fully know if you share the same growing feelings, why would you? He came to kill, he came to end your beautiful life and for what, gold? No, you mean something now, you are someone to him now, a person that he can’t help but care for. And maybe even love, that is if he knew what that truly felt like, is this it?

But what of you?

You’d be a filthy liar if you said this Witcher didn’t tug at your heart strings like he does so freely without even knowing it. He has wonderfully taken you off guard with his hidden tenderness and rough voice that you’ve decided is one of the most alluring sounds you’ve ever heard.

His eyes catch in the light like two shimmering golden coins, the way he asks you for a drink or a piece of bread sends electricity through you. How pathetic, you think, however it is rather nice. And most of all, his body is truly something else, you’ve never seen a man so toned and full of scars. How lucky you were to take his shirt off and keep his wounds from bleeding out, and in those hours after, he looked rather peaceful as he slept.

If only you could have joined him, felt his touch, been the one who he wanted more then the bread you’ve given him. But he is just a Witcher, he will leave and life will presume as it had been before either of you had met. He’ll become just another lost tragedy of your past, another loved one gone, never to be seen again.

He is just a Witcher you fool.

You frown now, your gaze focused on the small hearth as you sit by the fire, poking it with a metal stick as your thoughts drift to better days long gone, taken so suddenly and without so much as a sorry from who did it.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes stare vacantly into the beautifully glowing embers, you hear nothing but the sparks of flame crackling on wood.

“Y/N.”

A whisper perhaps, you can’t tell, you’re so lost into your own head at this point nothing but the fire matters to you.

Without warning a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder causing you to jump and drop the metal stick onto the stone fireplace with a loud clatter. Your eyes dart for the one who touches you as your heart beats heavily inside your chest.

Instead of a petty thief come to slay you, is the soft comforting eyes of Geralt, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Apologizes the Witcher as he sits down next to you, offering half of his huge warm blanket.

You oblige without a second thought and let him drape it over your back while he then scoots closer so that your crossed knee is touching his. You give him the flash of a sad smile before drifting your dreary gaze back to the glowing hearth.

“Thank you for sharing, winter is cold after all and this cabin isn’t the most insulated of places.” You add, a low drone in your voice much unlike your usual lively self that he’s grown to love.

Furrowing his grey brows, Geralt studies your half illuminated face in the firelight, the only real source of light since the sun has gone down hours ago. “I figured you needed the company, and a blanket. I can almost of see my breath.” He says with a small chuckle though you barley acknowledge his very presence.

“Y/N?” He whispers, nudging your leg with his, “I haven’t spoken of it before but if I may ask, what happened to your hand?”

You look down to your left hand opposite of where Geralt is sitting, you hide it from the light though it is covered with a white cloth and your long sleeves. He is very observant isn’t he?

“Nothing important. I got it when fighting those damn soldiers before I saw you. It’s almost all healed up.” You whisper, “No need to think about it anymore.”

The room stays silent for another couple minutes before he finally speaks once again in that low gruff voice of his, “What troubles you?” He asks much to your surprise, maybe he is too observant for his own good.

“Many things.” You mutter quietly, turning your face to find his concerned gaze, a small smile on your lips to lessen his doubts, “Don’t worry my dear Witcher, you’re not one of them. And I’d rather not give you my burdens, they are not a fun little adventure like the ones you’ve told me about.”

“Neither are all of mine.” He speaks truthfully, staring deep into your saddened eyes, “I would be honored to comfort you of such miseries if you still want me near after.”

You look to the floor, biting your lip at this almost intimate news even if he only means to speak words of ease to you. Why not? What is there to lose if you tell him why you feel so full of melancholy.

Raising your eyes back up to his, you take a deep heavy sigh before looking back into the fire, “I had a good life. I really did, I had a mother and a brother. But that was all taken from me when those bastards plundered and beat their way into my peoples lands. Looting and killing as they went, what could I do huh...my family was in their way.” You admit with a hidden rage that just about causes the flames to glow brighter.

“They came into our village and began to burn everything they could, they ran into houses and stole away valuables untouched by the desolation yet. They took and killed my neighbors and friends, women and children, screaming infants.”

You pause for a moment, eyes welled up with unshed tears as you find your voice, “They burst through our door and pulled us three from our house before we could even react. Then those fuckers killed the only person who ever showed me true kindness and love, she didn’t deserve to die that way Geralt, she didn’t. Then again none of them did.”

“I can’t imagine.” Whispers Geralt sincerely, understanding how much it pains you to speak of your mother like this.

“For that,” You seethe out darkly, “I killed my first soldier that day, but of course they didn’t like that, not at all. Soon they held me down and beat me bloody like I was a fucking dog, if it wasn’t for my brother who stopped them. I’d be dead, he saved my life that day, helped me escape and I never looked back.” You swallow thickly as a lone tear slides down your cheek, “I haven’t seen him since, and I dare not think of how he met his end. It just fills me with rage and then...as you can see, I get like this.”

“Best not to linger in the darkness for too long.” Admits Geralt, his eyes truthful and honest as he takes you all in, “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Breaking out into a crooked smile you blink more tears away as he moves an inch closer, “I already feel gone some days. I’m not a good person Geralt, I’m dangerous.” Your voice his raspy and soft now as the feel of the room appears to take a shift somewhere you’re not so sure of. Dangerous? Y/N he has no idea.

The Witcher’s lips curl into a pleasant smile as his face keeps mere inches from your own, “I like dangerous.” Whispers Geralt before his plush lips pull you into a new world of warmth and fire. He moves against your mouth, taking his time as the two of you find a comfortable rhythm. Well, this is nice.

He tastes as sweet as the apples you gave him for dinner and all the better to draw you away from your darkness as he showers you in his intoxicating light. You can’t believe how gentle and passionate he feels against you now and it’s only his lips!

You could stay like this forever but soon enough he pulls away, resting a calloused hand against your knee, “Forgive me I should have asked.”

“Don’t be a fool, I was thinking it too. And anyways you kept your word.”

“Did I?” Wonders Geralt, brows furrowed in confusion.

You smirk, “Remember? You said you’d comfort me of my miseries? Are you still planning on doing that...just a simple question really you don’t have to look so lost.”

Breaking out of his frumpled gaze he finally gives you a handsome smile, “How could I forget?”

“Well it was pretty traumatic so.” You deadpan with a dark humored snort before Geralt leans in to capture your lips once more.

The next morning you wake from the warm comfort of the cabins large single bed, an equally as warm arm covering half your face as you feel a large body pressed firmly against your side. Your hair lays free and unkept around your face as well, and you already know your naked underneath this soft blanket and snoozing man next to you.

His breaths are slow as he stirs in his slumber, pulling you in even closer as his arm now finds itself against your one free breast. You giggle quietly at the situation, how awkward it would be if someone was to burst forth from those doors and find you both in the nude like this. Ha, let them try.

Apparently you’re not as subtle as you’d thought, Geralt awakens before sucking in a deep breath as he stirs slightly, suddenly freezing in place once he realizes his hand is practically squeezing your boob.

You chuckle, moving your hand to keep it there, “You’re surprisingly a cuddlier, who would have thought?” You jest humorously.

“Uh....yes.” Mutters Geralt awkwardly as you smile, though he can’t see it.

Noticing his change of behavior you realize he doesn’t really know what to do about your boldness so you help him out by shifting yourself to face him. “With how well you were treating me last night I would have thought my breast would feel quite nice in your hand. Have I misinterpreted?”

He smiles, a small dusting of pink finding its way onto his chiseled features, “I find it important to respect you first Y/N, this is still...new.”

Biting your lip you lean in close to place a gentle kiss against his soft lips, “I enjoy your touch, you’re something that I believe I’ve been missing for a long while. Maybe we were meant to find each other and you not kill me.”

He chuckles a sweet sound that fills you with pure joy, “And you to heal me, I don’t feel much pain anymore.”

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you graze your hand down his face and arm, “I healed you enough about six days ago, I know you were just milking it since.”

“No I wasn’t...”

“Oh shut it, I think it was a clever idea to get in my pants if that was your plan.”

He fake scoffs, “That wasn’t the plan Y/N.”

“Then what was the plan? Oh wait,” You move yourself even closer to him, lips just barely touching, “Witcher’s don’t have plans, they just flatter and hope for the best.”

His strong arm holds you close as you rest your hand on his shoulder, “Maybe so.” Whispers Geralt before pressing his lips to yours.

Soon enough you find yourself pinned down to the bed, a very hot and visibly happy Geralt deep inside you as you try and keep yourself from screaming to loud. You can’t help how big and beautiful and so very large he is, and anyways he looks like a man on the edge of paradise. Who are you to deprive your new lover of his high?

Geralt does admittedly feel blessed against you if you’re being completely honest, the way he thrusts deeply into your womanhood like a man deprived of such pleasantries, or maybe the way your name falls onto his sweet lips when he feels his weakest. You can’t tell for sure, but he may be in love with just as much as you are with him and that is a promising thought. Or is it?

With an almost whiny moan do you finally come, the pleasure built up after such a ride releasing at long last. Sending a wave of euphoria throughout your entire vessel causing your slick walls to clench around Geralt’s hard cock as he continues to relentlessly pump into you.

Soon you can feel a hot warmness pooling into you as your Witcher grunts in satisfaction while his length twitches inside you, painting your walls with his seed like the skilled artist that he is.

Hovering just above your sweaty and very naked form does he smile kindly before leaning down to capture your swollen lips with his own. He bucks his hips into you a couple times more as he enjoys the feeling of making you squirm underneath him. Completely surrendering all that you are to him, though he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t doing the same with you.

Laying flush against you, his body still between your sore legs he pulls away from your pouting lips to lean his arms against your face. Soon another kiss is stolen, then another and another as he gently presses his lips to your cheek. Then jaw, where he decides to stay and attack for awhile which causes you to chuckle at his adorable-ness.

“You need new clothes.” You practically moan as he playfully bites your jaw, kissing that spot just as quickly.

“It’s warm in here.” Mutters Geralt against your hot skin, “Nothing is as interesting as you.”

You bite back another moan, “We need food.”

He smirks against your neck, rolling his hips to try and sway your mind, “But you’re delicious enough Y/N.” Oh this man.

Breathing heavily you do your best to fight off your growing arousal, “Geralt.” You warn through clenched teeth, hands leaving red marks down his back as you playfully threaten him.

He kisses your cheek once more as a sly hand squeezes your firm breast, “Fine. Let me make love to you first then we can go.” States Geralt against your lips as he suddenly gives you three deep slow thrusts that send you into another realm of pleasure.

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