#asks from casks
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hey loser make me write stories again. Pretty please
Hmm, well I have a few ideas, so pick a genre!
Action:
A random guy (the MC) really liked playing this one VR game where you beat the shnoz outta people (SuperHot VR is my main inspiration for this one), and after becoming the best player in that, he realized he was a battle junky and that VR wasn’t enough anymore, so he goes around looking for fights. Maybe he starts a gang, maybe he just provokes people so he has plausible self-defense; either way, their shnoz is beaten out of them. No more.
Literally just the premise to Subway Surfers, but make it so that instead of just plain vandalism and running from the cops, there’s actually an oppressive government, and the MCs are vandalizing big monuments with the symbol of their revolution, to spread the word, and hope. So yeah just Subway Surfers
Horror:
The MC is a doll. A straight-up, old-timey, porcelain doll. There’s a small cutscene-ish thing at the beginning (a prologue, it’s a prologue) describing the sad backstory of the doll, and how they were neglected and/or abandoned by their previous owner. Then they get found by a kind child whose parents & overall life situation suck really bad, and the doll decides to fix this with what dolls do best: incredibly gorey violence.
Our MC this time is a normal(?) human being, who only says things that don’t quite make very much sense. They mention having multiple mouths, even though they (a human) only have one. Say that they’re more comfortable on all six legs, when they only have four limbs, total. Mention that having unmoving ears and no tail makes them twitchy. Says that they’re really curious about flat teeth and having eyes, even their own, as if it’s new to them. But no matter what anyone thinks, they are 100% human,,, but for how long?
Crime:
Sharkperson MC is the head detective of a police station, and there’s a new serial killer out, who eats the organs of their victims and replaces them with flowers (that in flower language means something like ‘thank you’ ‘hungry’ and ‘I’m very sorry’). Also this is futuristic vibes here I should’ve specified that earlier
A new officer (the MC) gets sent out to an emergency situation on like the last day of their first week; there’s a Famous Criminal robbing the Huge Special Bank, and they need all hands on deck. They help surrounded the massive building, when suddenly, the thief breaks through one of the huge windows on the second floor, falling down with a cascade of glass, and they make eye contact with the officer. That’s right, this is one of the basic stories where there’s a big criminal and they flirt with the person trying to catch them because they love the chase. Hell yeah.
A Mix Of Action, Horror, And Crime:
The MC is a (depending on how much horror you want, a detective or) sentient shadow person whose species happens to be nearly extinct carnivores, and they’re trapped in a place where the cleanliness standards are so high and they’re surrounded by so much light that they can hardly find a half-dead rat to eat, let alone a dark enough place to rest in! Eventually, some people come into their current safest and darkest alley, and it’s clear that one is trying to Do Something to the other. So the MC kills and eats the attacker, and the victim runs away screaming, very very traumatized. Then the police come, shining their harsh lights into the alleyway, exposing the MC and causing them to run for their life. This repeats enough times that eventually they become some sort of vigilante by accident. I am realizing now that I just described Venom, but without the interspecies gay pining. Which clearly means it is lesser, I apologize
#asks from casks#monsterfucking#writing#writing prompts#writing ideas#also. bittersweet symphony. if you happen to write and publish any of these please let me know where. asking for me because I want to know#out of context I just saw a big-ass bird
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How do you feel about larger women?
(6’2 250 lbs built like an oak cask)
sorry but when you said “larger women” i got so horny i couldnt read the rest of the ask 😵💫😵💫😵💫
#i googled ‘oak cask’ and genuinely did a little ‘hufff~’ from being turned on 😅#anon i want you carnally#if larger women were a kink my rating would be ‘FUCK YES’#my answers#send me asks
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Jasmine, chamomile, and papyrus for the flower ask game please :))
jasmine - do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?
hm this is hard because my first immediate thought for movie was 'as you are' which is one of my favourite movies. it's heartbreaking and i've only watched it once but i've been thinking about rewatching it again lately. it's just really sad and really gay lol and idk if i'll ever watch it bc it destroyed me. same with dead poets society :')
for book, probably harry potter and the prisoner of askaban. i just love it a lot and have since i was a kid but everytime i've tried to read it over the past few years, i've never been able to get through it. the writing style just isn't interesting to me anymore and it's just hard to get into it like i did when i was like 8, y'know? i've always wanted to reread the hp books but it's so much harder than rewatching the movies.
chamomile - what kinds of things do you like receiving as gifts?
hmm idk, i like a lot of things. handmade things are really cute and sweet, they always make me so happy. like art and stuff, i think it's really nice. but things like friendship bracelets are so cute!! my friends went on a lil holiday the other week and bought matching friendship bracelets for us and omg it was just the cutest thing :') mine unfortunately broke tho lol so ima have to fix it soon but yeah, idk lol.
fandom related stuff makes me happy too, like if someone knows i'm really into a fandom and then buys me stuff related to that, specifically stuff like spider-man or marvel related?? i'd die on the spot i just love that sm
papyrus - if you put your 'on repeat' playlist on shuffle, what's the first song that comes up? what do you like about it/associate it with?
evergreen by richy mitch & the coal miners is the first song that came up :)
i absolutely loooveeee this song, it's just so nice and beautiful and i love the way it sounds so much. the lyrics are good but i just love the way the music sounds, it's just so... idk. it feels like hope to me, i guess? also the way he sings "what am i waiting for?" <3
love this song sm
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Ghoul kids rule!
(Thank you for reading my rules! Glad to have you here!)
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Winter's King 14
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: Another work week :(
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
Not long after the king’s departure, Lord Jaskier excuses himself to see to his horse. Queen Jazlene sends him off with a similar quip about serious matters. You don’t quite understand her. She should be concerned with the weeks of travel ahead of her, not only of the time, but of the climate.
She finishes the bottle on her own. Much of it went to her cup. You think of warning her but it isn’t your place. You can only watch her head wobble as that hazy look softens her features. On her last gulp, a droplet trickles down her chin. You suspect she might be as unhappy as her husband claimed of himself the previous night. They make a rather sad pairing.
It’s early still. Perhaps once they are settled, it won’t be so tense. They will have a chance to know each other better without the stresses of a war or the road ahead.
Your thoughts stray and your vision fogs as you stare at a blue tapestry. Jazlene continues to babble and suddenly, the clink of her cup jolts you from your trance. You look at her as she slumps against the table. Her shoulders are slack, her arms bent around her head as it droops onto the wood. You can see her breath as she hunches weakly in her chair.
“Your highness?” You call to her. You sway on your feet as you watch her. Come on, move. “Your highness?” You take a step toward her, “Lady Jazlene?”
She groans and slips to the side. You rush around without a thought to catch her. She garbles drunkenly as you hold her in her arms, one leg still on the seat as her other hangs limply. She’s heavier than you would expect.
“Your highness?” You squeak as you struggle to keep her off the ground. You can’t drop the queen.
Her head lolls as her lashes flutter. She is certainly not conscious. The acrid scent of wine rises from her lips. You try to hike her higher, slinging her arm around your shoulder as you grunt. She’s not that big, you’re just weak. You can carry a cask or a chest, but a person is a much different matter.
You wrap your arms around her and haul her around the table. Her slippers drag and you clatter into the chairs and nearly trip on the edge of the rug. Your leg muscles thrum with the effort and your back racks. You look around. The bedchamber is too far.
You turn and little by little, step by step, drag her to the couch. Her feet loudly scrape across the floor. You angle her around with another laboured grunt and as you do, the hinges whine and the left door opens. You look up as the king enters and your lips part in surprise. You’ve been caught. Rather, the queen has.
He stares at you and eases shut the door. He comes around as your arms quake. He wordlessly takes his wife from your grasp and lays her across the sofa. You put a pillow under her head and back up, rubbing your upper arms.
“Your highness, she was not feeling well,” you say.
“She has drunk herself into a stupor,” he snarls as he backs up, crossing his arms as he glares down at her. “Do not lie, especially on her behalf. It does not become you.”
“Your highness, I apologise. I only worry for her--”
“You shouldn’t,” he intones, “she doesn’t worry for you. Or me. Or anyone but herself.” He turns and goes to the table. He rights the overturned cup and you reproach yourself for not doing so first. “But I do appreciate you attending to her. I’d rather not have found her upon the floor.”
“Your highness,” you bow your head.
He’s quiet. You’re unsure what to do next. Should you leave him with Jazlene or stay to tend to her? He will need sleep for the ride.
“Little maid, you will send to have a bath drawn. There will be little chance to wash upon the road,” he commands.
“As you wish, your highness.”
“Mm, if only,” he murmurs as she sits and grabs the empty bottle, sneering at its hollowness.
You set off to have water brought to his chamber. You assist the other servants in carrying the vessels of steaming water. All the while, the king ruminates at the table. He picks at his index finger and his cheek ticks. When at last the tub is full, you go to trail out after the castle servants.
“Little maid, I require assistance,” he says.
You remain and the doors close in the tension. You watch the king, your fingers twined together as you cautiously approach. He glowers at his fingers and huffs.
“You have small hands,” he rests his palm open on the table, “please, I would have use of them.”
Curious, you move towards him. He turns to you and holds out his large hand. He pokes his index fingers up and hisses.
“I got it on the door. A splinter,” he explains.
You see the dark spot, just the minuscule tip of it poking above his rough skin. The skin around it is inflamed, both from the sliver and his fussing. You bring your hands to cradle his single one and lean to have a closer look. You keep one hand under his and slip the other down the side of his palm.
You brush your fingertips over the lines of his knuckles. He’s quiet as he lets you gently squeeze. You glance up beneath your lashes.
“It might hurt, your highness. Apologies.”
His cheek twitches, “I’ve had worse than a maid’s touch.”
You squeeze until his flesh his taut. You pinch the tip of the splinter with your other fingers, using your nails to get a grip of it. You pull slowly. Very slowly, terrified of losing hold and having it go deeper. The wooden sliver slides out and before you can examine it, it falls to the floor, disappearing into the fabric of the rug.
The king sighs, “better.” He brings his other hand over yours and covers your small ones with his, “many thanks, little maid.”
He lets you go, his calloused skin brushing your sleeves, and he hums grimly. He bends his head forward and his white waves shift on his shoulders. He pushes his hair back and raises his head again. His eyes almost glow as he looks at you.
“I should fetch some water for the queen in case she stirs--”
“Later,” he dismisses, “might I ask another favour of such delicate hands?”
You dip your chin down, “I serve you and the queen, your highness.”
“Mm, yes, you recall, the knot in my shoulder, where I carry my sword,” he points along his shoulder, “if it isn’t trouble, I might have you loosen it before I must ride anon.”
“Your highness,” you acquiesce, curling your fingers into your palms. You remember that first night you met him, as he sat in the steaming tub and had you touch him. You sweat at the memory.
“It would be best before I soak,” he reaches to untie the laces of his tunic.
You watch him, helpless. As with the queen, you can only heed his whims. At least he is gentler in his mastery. He pulls his tunic above his head and strips it away completely. He lets it hang over one leg and squares his shoulders as he sits back in the chair.
You go around him and he moves his hair to his other shoulder. Your hands tremble slightly before you touch him. His muscles are thick and his skin taught across everyone. His arms are rounded with bulk and his neck is bullish in girth. He carries so much strength and power as if it is nothing.
You squeeze the muscles gently with one hand, pressing the other behind it. You knead carefully, gradually putting more behind it, responding to the soft breaths and low grunts rising from the king. You hit a spot with some resistance and he growls.
“There,” he grits as he drops his head forward. “Harder.”
You push your thumb against the little pearl of tension you feel along his shoulder. He exhales deeply and lets out a wolfish snarl. He grips his thigh as you work his flesh. Your hands move without much thought. Lady Rezlyn often requested to have her feet done, a much less ideal task.
“Mm, treasure...” he breathes though his words aren’t entirely clear.
Another noise rises from him, sharper than before. You stop, frightened.
“Your highness, have I hurt you?” You utter.
Before you can retract your hand, he has a hold of you. He lifts his head and hangs it back, his hair spilling down. He looks up at you with his bright eyes as he clings to your hand. He presses it flat and moves it over his shoulder. He drags it down against his chest where you can feel his heartbeat.
You’re caught in his gaze and his grasp. You just stand there, entranced by his golden irises. Each time you see them, they are more brilliant than the last. Your own chest tightens and binds up your breath.
“You can never hurt me,” he rasps. You gulp as he lightens his hold and pets your hand. He closes his eyes and winces. “Little maid...” he sits forward and gently moves your hand away from his chest, “you must go now. You must face the road with us and you will require rest.” He lets you go completely and stands. “I trust my wife will have many a demand to keep you busy.”
“Yes, your highness,” you murmur.
“Now,” he insists. “You must go now.”
He crosses the chamber and stops in the door to his bedchamber. You quickly flit over to the doors that lead out to the corridor. You pause and glance over as you sense him move. He stares at you, his eyes licking with flames. His chest rises and falls, trimmed in thick hair that trails down his hard stomach.
“Go...”
You obey and heave open the door. The soldiers on the other side snort. It is late, they must’ve dozed. You don’t think much of that as you harry down the corridor, not looking back. The king’s timber nips at your ears. The way he spoke; ‘go’. It was more than just a word; it was a warning.
⚔️
You rise with the castle, quickly falling into the tumult of the impending departure. When you arrive at the king’s chambers that morning, you are sent away. You find Jazlene in her own. He must have taken her back before the sun.
She is groggy and sombre as you help her dress. The pain in her skull leaks out in pathetic moans. You offer her lemons water and a cool cloth for her head. You see the difference as she accepts but she remains weak. It will be difficult for her to ride.
Horses fill the courtyard and the luggage carts crowd around the stables and rear of the castle. The scene reminds you of Debray. You only hope Queen Jazlene does not cause a similar scene. You don’t believe she can.
You accompany her to the front of the train. The king is not there. The queen clutches her throat as if she might be sick as the smell of the horses is stirred by their whipping tails. She grumbles and calls for a water skin. You find one and she shooes you away.
“Enough of you,” she snips.
You stay close, keeping watch should she signal for anything else. She can barely lift her head to do more than drink thirstily. Lords and ladies as good as ignore the queen as she mutters to her horse.
“Eh, mouse, there y’are,” Bryce’s voice undercuts your pity. “I’ve been looking for ya.”
You face him and the weight slips from your shoulders, “you have?”
“What are you insinuating?” He challenges, “Daisy’s missing ya.”
“Oh,” your brows raise, “well, it just so happens I miss her too.”
“We’ll be off soon. You should come claim your place with the luggage.”
“Should,” you agree.
You follow him through the press of bodies. You get further down, away from the pages and soldiers, see Daisy lazily hoofing at the ground. She chews on a sparse bit of grass in the dust. As you near, you notice that her holster is thicker than it was. She is attached to a small cart.
“What is this?” You ask as you stop short.
“It’s yours, mouse,” Bryce says staunchly, “isn’t right you riding with the chests. Not for so far as we need to go.”
“You... you did this for me?” You ask. "But... what about--”
“Found a spare horse. He’s a bit less friendly than our beloved but he’ll do fine enough,” he explains, “’sides, Daisy needs a respite. She don’t needa be carrying around my hefty behind much longer.”
“Oh, my,” you put your hand to your cheek and go to the cart, “Sir Bryce, you are a true knight.”
“Don’t you get sappy with me,” he tuts as he follows. “Look inside, will ya?”
You look inside the cart. There’s a long cushion and a pack. It’s a lot compared to what you came with; nothing. Bryce reaches in and tugs something from beneath the cushion. You watch the fur ripple out as he reveals the cloak. It’s thick and long and hooded. He holds it up.
“When we get to the Hinterlands, you’ll be needing this,” he says.
You touch the fur, it’s soft. You blink and feel it between your fingers. Your eyes sting.
“Sir,” you bat your lashes, “it is too much for me.”
“It isn’t very much, you are just too humble, mouse,” he folds and holds it out to you. “Now, don’t you be telling anyone this was my doin’. I got a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh,” you clamp your lips shut as you try to hold back your emotion.
A smile breaks through and you bare your teeth. Your cheeks hurt from the joy bursting forth. You hug the cloak and rock, looking around. As you do, you falter at a familiar face.
The king leads a dark horse along the edge of the yard. He is looking at you, or so it seems. You let your expression slip and tamp down your glee. You bow your head in King Geralt’s direction.
When you look up again, he is gone.
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#medieval au#the witcher#winter's king
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Your bed is enough
synopsis: after experiencing a not so nice day at work, Diluc decides to stay at your place tonight
prompt: 27
requested by: @bobaboob
pairing: Diluc x fem!reader
tw: pure fluff, domestic moment, established relationship (you are engaged)
word count: 1.2k+ words
a/n: check my Token of appreciation writing event!
It feels like hours have passed since the moment Diluc put the key from the tavern in his jacket’s pocket and took your inviting hand to follow you home. Though home in your and his case could mean two places - either the winery, where he offered you to move in with him a couple of months ago, which with the recent engagement feels absolutely right, or your apartment, situated in the city itself.
And tonight it’s the latter.
Diluc rarely complained and even more rarely he complained out loud, but the evening was worse than he could ever remember. Nothing functioned right - both Charles and a couple of waitresses had fallen sick the day before (he’s gonna find and strangle that merchant from Inazuma who’d offered them, as it turned out, expired snacks from his land), the number of patrons was surprisingly and almost overwhelmingly high, some barrels came with broken taps and he’ll have to deal with extra work tomorrow both with the casks’s supplier and the workers who missed the defect… Oh, and then one of the drunkards must’ve been in such a stupefied haze that he mistook the red-haired male with someone and intentionally spilled a bottle of wine all over his already messy uniform, blaming him for seducing his wife and taking her away from him. The Ragnvindr nearly exploded back then, and the man was out of the door before he could realize who’d he just offended.
You got it - the evening was horrendous.
And even now, in a bath, in your oh so familiar bathroom, in the comfort of your - now also shared - living space, with you getting ready for bed on the other side of the door, he can’t shake off that exhaustion that enveloped him like a heavy cocoon. Hopefully he’ll manage to scrub the smell of alcohol off of him at least.
When he emerges into the bedroom with a towel on his head and some loose sleeping pants sitting low on his hips, he finds you standing in front of your bed, already dressed for sleep, and staring at the piece of furniture with utmost concentration. There is a line between your brows, your pretty lips are pursed and arms crossed. In his eyes even this looks ethereal - if that’s one of the views he’s going to witness once you become his wife - getting to see you focused and serious while helping the winery owner with his work affairs, - then he wants to marry you as soon as possible. He really can’t wait to add another ring to that beautifully crafted engagement one on your finger.
Forcing himself out of his blissful dreams and deciding to finally ask what brought you to such a state, Diluc makes his presence known with a polite cough. You immediately whip your head in his direction, and the previous signs of your brooding are gone, replaced with a soft smile and a bright glimmer in those eyes he loves so much.
“Oh, you are out already,” uncrossing your arms, you make a step closer and he does the same, until you two are standing in front of each other and your hands reach to the towel. “Are you feeling better, dear?”
“Somewhat,” he answers honestly, lowering his eyelids, letting you wipe the heavy mass of his hair dry. “Do I still smell of alcohol?”
“Hmm…” You move your face even closer, sniffing air close to his chest. “No, I don’t smell any. Oh wait, how about here…” and you shamelessly press your face into his neck, making the man shudder and open his eyes. You caught him off guard and shook him out of his drowsy state.
“My flame?” He feels your hands still in his hair and you softly giggle, tickling the sensitive skin even more.
“What?” Is muffled against his shoulder and Diluc shakes his head. But there is a slip of an adorning smile and he can practically feel some weight of the evening disappear.
“Nothing, my dear. If you haven’t suffocated yet, then there is none.”
You plant a kiss where his neck and shoulder connect and draw your face away, tugging the towel and completely dragging it off of his head. Ah, here it is, the bright grin he loves so much and readily mirrors in response.
“Yeah, there is none. Only an amazing smell of my body wash. Now you smell like me.”
“And I am honored,” he says sincerely, to which you happily hum, disappearing in the bathroom and reappearing only a moment after. “But I can’t help but wonder what got you so deep in thought?”
At first you raise a brow at him, but when he motions to the bed it clicks, and you hum, long and thoughtful.
“Oh, nothing, really. I was just thinking that maybe I should get a new bed. You know, enough to fit two people?”
Ah, that’s what it was about. Admittedly, Diluc is a big man - both tall and muscular, and you have only a one-person’s bed, which he alone could take over completely if lying sprawled. He knows he could always take the couch, but in those few times he stayed at your place, you insisted on sleeping together. And those closely tight embraces under the same blanket are ones of the fondest memories the redhead possesses.
“You know, we could redecorate this place a little and use it more frequently when one of us doesn’t have enough strength to go all the way to the winery. And the bed could be the first step.”
“Is your bed cramped when we sleep together?”
He is as surprised as you are when the question hangs in the air - he didn’t expect it to just burst out of his mouth. However, he also doesn’t want to let go of this tight, but so comforting space just yet - admittedly, it gives him some indescribable sense of completeness.
You stare at him silently, as if trying to guess what he’s thinking about and what answer he expects. But nothing is better than the truth itself.
“It is,” crimson eyes widen slightly and are immediately cast down. Not letting him dwell long on whatever he’s already imagined in his head, you step closer, touching his scarred forearm, gently gliding your fingertips over the skin, asking for his attention. And when he gives you just that, Diluc sees a reassuring smile. “In the good way.”
You chuckle softly when he releases a sigh of relief, and reach to cup his cheek, feeling your heart skip a beat when he leans into your open palm.
“But I am worried that you are uncomfortable. I see how much you love to stretch in the morning while in bed at the winery, and there is not enough space in my bed. And I can be in the way of your outstretched arm-”
“You are never in the way,” the words are firm and the dancing flame in the depths of his eyes is proof enough. “You are right by my side. And that’s why it’s perfect.”
“Oh, you…”
With the trilling laughter you let him fall onto his back, landing on the soft mattress, and draw your body right on top of his. Your chemise rides up, bearing your thighs, and rough fingers don’t wait long to dig into plush skin. You stare down at him, with palms firmly planted on his wide chest, feeling the steadily beating heart under the fingertips, relishing in the appreciative look he is giving you. And for all of that and so much more your bed is perfect, because it's enough.
#pearlywritings appreciation event#token of appreciation#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#diluc x reader#diluc x fem!reader#diluc ragnivindr x reader#diluc ragnvindr#genshin impact fluff
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But for the vampire au, have you considered Emmet getting Severely Hurt™️ and Ingo turning him to keep his brother alive?
Or do they have an agreement to just let things happen?
“No.” Emmet responds simply, decisively.
The answer is expected and yet, the disappointment Ingo feels is an unwelcome heaviness, his constant frown turning genuine without it meaning to.
Ingo had asked the very same question thrice times now.
Once was when they were kids. It was casual inquiry that came with little prompting; he had asked out of curiosity more than anything. Ingo had asked Emmet after they had defeated a trio of challengers off hand. Emmet had laughed, light and airy, when he answered. They had gotten ice cream using their winnings after.
The second time had been following a much more harrowing experience. A safety check forgotten, a simple mistake by a depot agent newly hired, had resulted in a derailed train. Fortunately only a few were injured. Unfortunately, one of those few was Emmet.
Ingo had asked him with bags under his eyes, something quite silly since Ingo didn’t even need to sleep. (Was that makeup? Emmet had joked with an exhausted smile.)
Emmet, laying in that hospital bed, IV's in his arm and a cask around his left leg, had responded much the same, a chuckle rather than a laugh. Perhaps his headache had come back to manage much more than that. Ingo didn’t attempt to change his mind and offered him the chicken noodle soup Elesa had brought for him.
And the third time was right now: Ingo sitting across from Emmet in the dining room of their shared apartment. It was morning and even though the windows curtains were drawn, the room was illuminated with a soft glow. In front of his brother was a plate of eggs and toast, him nursing a cup of black coffee. In front of Ingo was just a cup of tea, untouched and cooling.
“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”
“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”
The way he asks shows his cards far to easily. Whoever had said Subway Boss Ingo was hard to read must have not tried at all.
His brother looks at him, assessing him, and then looks away.
Emmet is silent for a minute, simply gazing at the cup in front of him. His food was getting cold.
Most would think Emmet was being hesitant when answering, that this was a sign he didn’t want to answer at all. But Ingo knows him well. He knows he wants to go over what he will day and that he voices his thoughts properly.
Ingo is patient and waits. Finally, Emmet answers.
“I like the sun.” His brother says, looking at him. The color of his eyes haven’t dulled all these years. “It feels warm on my skin. It feels good.”
“I love eating. The taste, the action. Yup!" Emmet picks at his plate with a hum. "I want to eat what I like, when I like."
“I like my independence." Ingo's tea leaves an ashy taste as he sips it - a floral chamomile bag floats at the bottom of it. "I do not want to be dependent on others. I do not want to be dependent on things out of my control."
"I know that I will have to sometimes." Emmet really looks at him now. "And that is ok. But I still feel the same way.”
Ingo squeezes his mug, before he relaxes his grip. Emmet notices.
Emmet lays his palm on his chest, closing it into a fist near the middle.
“I like being human.” It sounds final, the words like a gavel to wood, the way it echoes in his mind. “I do not want to be a vampire.”
Ingo wants to argue. To convince him that the pros outweigh the insignificant cons, but he does not. No. Usually Ingo is more eloquent with his words, but the fear that rises up in his throat makes his usually well thought out words more brisk, more succinct, more honest as he says the obvious.
“But you are aging.” Ingo says. You are dying, Ingo tries, fails, and a refrains to add.
Ingo hands are smooth, his face without a wrinkle. He looks as the same as he as when he first became a subway boss. He has since he was sent to Hisui. Forever youthful. And Emmet.
Emmet's hands are calloused, wrinkled from years of maintenance at gear station. His hair is thinning and his temples were turning white. His stride not as brisk as it was years ago.
“I am.” Emmet replies. “And I will continue to age.”
Ingo knows Emmet. He is stubborn, just like himself. That is how he is. He knows he will not change his mind. And that makes him clench his jaw, look down at his cup with furrowed brow.
“Ingo.”
Ingo snaps his head up, fear turning to anger that makes him feel sick. He should not be angry, but he is.
“Then you plan to reach your final stop?” Emmet’s smile dims. Ingo continues anyway. “Leave this station?” Without me? Ingo clamps down before he utters the accusation.
“You....you will have me wait here for you to die? And do nothing?!”
And there it is. Ingo barring his greatest fear since he got turned. The thing that has plaguing his mind since he stood at the grave of his old clan leader in Hisui, at the cemetery where his other wardens were laid to rest. What he had realized as he saw time passes by, years of constant goodbyes and tearful farewells.
It was that, no matter how grand his ideals, the simple truth of the matter was that he was utterly powerless to the passage of time.
Ingo doesn't realize that he has stood up until he is already towering over Emmet's seated form. His fangs barred and he suspects his eyes are slits.
And despite that, Emmet looks calm. He looks...sad.
“I didn’t ask for this.” Ingo says softly, deflated as the anger leaves his body. To live on as those around him pass. To see enjoy his life without the people he cares most around him.
Ingo feels arms wrap around him and he wraps trembling arms around Emmet too, his head laying on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, simply holding each other, not letting go.
"I'm sorry I never gave you the choice." Emmet finally says. Ingo's hands grip at Emmet's shirt. "We were young. You were dying. And I was desperate. I did not want to lose you..."
Emmet pulls back after that, not all the way, but enough to look into Ingo's face. His fangs have retracted, his eyes normal again. "But those details do not matter now, do they?" Emmet sighs out, that sad smile still there.
"They matter. Of course they matter." Ingo protests, but he doesn't elaborate pass that.
Emmet looks at the floor, thinking about his words and looks at Ingo again before saying, "Everything reaches its final terminal."
"Not me." Ingo says. It comes out bitter.
"Everything does." Emmet repeats, shaking his head. He squeezes Ingo's forearm before he lets go. "I did not give you a choice. but you can choose for yourself now."
His brother’s crows feet, a result from decades worth of smiles, crinkle at the edges as he looks at him. "Just as I choose for myself."
Ingo dwells on those words, on what his brother is offering. A choice and a decision to make. Emmet looks at him and Ingo understands.
With a sigh (a concession, a compromise), Ingo nods and accepts Emmet's answer.
That heaviness Ingo feels is not fully gone from his mind, but it has lightened, the tension of the room dispersing like the morning fog.
Emmet notices, smiles, and sits back down to finish his breakfast. Ingo follows. And then the silence is filled anew with his brother's latest retelling of yet another dealing he had with a rude passenger yesterday.
Ingo listens and they both laugh and talk and all is right and as it should be that morning, in their shared moment of time.
Him and his brother were a two car train, always have been, no matter their differences. And no matter what, he was going to be there with him until his brother's final destination.
And then after that, once that engine has long gone cold, Ingo would decide when his last stop was too.
#AH HA WHOOPS I MADE IT A FIC LMAO#the idea that ingo will outlive emmet one day is one I think about a lot#on a more hopeful note people have mentioned ememt could very well just turn into a ghost pokemon so that they live both forever?#technically?#vampire au#vampire ingo#submas#emmet#kudari#nobori#ingo#pokemon#pokemon fanart#fanart#pokemon fic#fic#long post#angst#??? i think sksks#it ends bittersweet
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Silly Shanks Headcanons:
Whinges about the weather, especially to Benn. I can just see Shanks being a baby when it's too hot or cold. (He doesn't tell anyone, but sometimes extreme weather makes his arm, or lack thereof, hurt.)
Missing arm jokes. Endless amounts. Sometimes, when he's really drunk, he puts a baguette up his sleeve and tricks strangers into "shaking his hand." It causes catastrophe when he tries to use it, grabbing his drink with both hand and baguette.
Doesn't carry any money with him, anywhere. All he's got is a trusty sword and a clever mouth. He often ends up inveigling the bartenders into forgiving his debt through some other manner, such as a game, bet, or favour—unless, of course, the price is too high. Then he has to get Benn to pay.
Personal space problems. A friend asks him a quick question? He's their problem now, and he will use every trick in his arsenal to get them to stay; any excuse for a bit of fun. The easiest way, of course, is to wrap an arm around them—but he's not above tying their sashes together like they're two dogs leashed to each other. The man has no concept of personal space.
Runs off with the joke. If you make a joke in front of him, you better be prepared to go all the way with it. Shanks will go to, and has gone to, extreme measures to commit to the bit. Just ask him about his tattoo.
Singing all the damn time, especially dirty limericks. He does it regardless of time or place. Imagine, if you will, an in-universe variation of:
There was a young sailor from Brighton,
Who said to his girl, "You're a tight one."
She replied, "Bless my soul,
You're in the wrong hole;
There's plenty of room in the right one!"
[Overheard by poor Makino, who dropped a whole cask of beer in her haste to cover her blushing cheeks. She had never before heard such filth.]
#ofc he's also a serious guy when he needs to be#headcanons#shanks#my posts#one piece#one piece headcanons#benn beckman
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Hehehe.... Here's a post I think you people will like.
A while ago, I was asked about Catalan swear words. I answered it and I explained how very often we say "I shit on ..." and gave some examples. You can find that post here:
Yesterday, someone in Catalan Twitter tweeted asking what are your favourite swearings, and I think you might like to hear what people answered. So here it goes!
Així plogués tant, que els ànecs arribessin a mossegar els collons de Déu! = This way may it rain so much that ducks could reach to bite God's bollocks.
Així baixi una olla del cel, amb el cap de Déu per tapadora! = This way may a cooking pot fall from Heaven/sky with God's head as the lid!
Cagum tots los sants posats en un bocoi amb Déu per tap! = I shit on all the saints placed inside a hogdhead (large cask barrel) with God as the lid!
Cagum la veta del capdavall de la cama dreta de les calces del pagès que va plantar la primera fava que va menjar l'ase que va dur la Mare de Déu a Egipte! = I shit on the ribbon of the lowest part of the right leg of the trousers of the farmer who planted the first bean that was eaten by the donkey that took the Virgin Mary to Egypt!
Cagum Sant Hilari i tots els sants del calendari, i si em deixés algun per dir, me cagum la mare que el va parir. = I shit on Saint Hilarius and all the saints on the calendar; and if I had missed saying any of them, I shit on the mother that gave birth to them. (But in Catalan it rhymes).
Cagum Déu i el que portava la creu, i el que la va fer que era fuster = I shit on God and the guy who carried the cross, and the guy who made it who was a carpenter (in Catalan it rhymes) or Cagum Déu, la creu i el fuster que la feu = I shit on God, the cross, and the carpenter who made it (also rhymes).
Em cago en els quatre puntals que aguanten la cagadora de Déu = I shit on the four stakes that hold up God's shitting hole. (Maaaany people have said this one or variations of it)
Em cago en la puta que va arribar a parir el paleta que va fer les quatre pilastres que aguantaven la cagadora de Déu i tots els sants = I shit on the whore who reached the point of giving birth to the bricklayer who built the four pilars what held up the shitting hole of God and all the saints.
Cagum Sant Roc, el gos i la mare que els va parir tots dos = I shit on Saint Roch, the dog, and the mother who gave birth to both.
Me cago en la tita del dimoni porc = I shit on the pig demon's dick.
Cago'n la sang d'un banc i el fetge d'una cadira coixa = I shit on a bench's blood and a lame chair's liver.
Em cago en els claus dels peus de Cristu crucificat = I shit on the screws/nails on crucified Christ's feet.
Em cago en l'ou que va fer la gallina que va servir per fer el caldo de la Mare de Déu quan era partera = I shit on egg that was laid by the chicken that was used to make the broth for the Virgin Mary when she had just given birth.
Me cagum Satanàs clavat dalt d'un cirerer = I shit on Satan nailed to the top of a cherry tree.
Mal davallés el secretari de Déu, vestit de torero = Wouldn't God's secretary come down, dressed as a bullfighter.
What swearings do you say when something goes wrong? In my house, the most common one is a simple one: collons de mico (monkey bollocks).
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Starry Night
(thank you to @wolf-weave who asked for this and this list of prompts)
Gale x M!Reader Fluff (PG)
One night, stargazing with Gale, you accidentally let slip that you're in love with him.
CW: Mentions of other companions. Alcohol.
Gale had been talking nonstop about astronomy since your party had found a book of constellations in a chest while exploring. The book, he said, was one he had never heard of before, and he was excited to get back to camp and read through it with his telescope that night. Lae'zel had scoffed at his lack of attention to the road ahead, and Shadowheart had stayed brooding in moody silence as he mused on the stars, but you were enthralled. Any opportunity to listen to Gale talk about his interests was one you would gladly take.
When Lae'zel finally agreed to make camp for the night, Shadowheart dismissed herself to her tent almost immediately. "Goodnight Lae'zel, boys. Don't stay up too late. We'll have an early start tomorrow."
Gale had set up his telescope in a clearing near his tent and was consulting the book when you wandered over.
"Mind if I join you?" you asked, coming up behind him.
Gale turned to grin at you. "Of course," he beamed, "I would be happy to share my findings with you. If you're careful, perhaps I will even let you look through the telescope." His eyes undermined his false sternness, glinting with the ghost of a laugh.
"Well in that case," you pulled a cask of wine and two goblets from the bag you carried.
Gale tutted approval and looked back to the page he had been reading. "Fine wine, clear skies, and good company... Why, I don't know if I've felt this at home since waking up with that blasted parasite." He was quiet, half talking to himself, but your heart skipped a beat. Pouring him a glass, you felt your hands shake. Was he... flirting? Or was he just being friendly?
"I'm glad you enjoy my company," you smiled. "I... I'm excited to learn about the stars."
Gale sat on the ground next to you, keeping a respectful distance as he sipped his wine. He looked so handsome like that--reclining into his elbow, hair slightly disheveled from the day's journey, staring up in profile at the wonder of the night sky. He was completely unreserved in this moment, and you felt as though you were being included in a private moment. This wasn't Gale the wizard, this was Gale the man.
"What do you know about astronomy?" His low voice cut through your thoughts.
You tried to recall what little you knew of the constellations, naming one and pointing to it. Gale shook his head, brow furrowing. "That's not where Amaunator's belt is. Also, it's only viewable during the summer, so it's a bit late in the year. What you're pointing to is one of the Arrows of the Gods. See where the other two are?" His gentle hands repositioned your arm, pointing your finger to the other two lines of stars.
The contact made your heart skip a beat, and you hoped he hadn't noticed your sudden loss of composure as you nodded.
"Is that the only constellation you know? Or were you just unlucky with your first guess?" He moved his hands back to his lap, all scholarly interest.
"Um, yeah, I think that's it."
Ever the teacher, Gale clapped his hands together. "Well! We've lots of ground to cover, but thankfully this book we found has lots of information in it that should pique your interest." He opened the book to the first page this time, and scooted closer to you. "May I?" he gestured to the space between you.
"Of course." You closed the gap yourself, sliding next to him, your arms brushing.
Gale began to read to you from the book, gesturing with his right hand to the stars described, pointing out lines and circles making mythological shapes out of the weave that you could never have seen on your own. Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at the same time: you were transfixed by his voice and desperately aware of how short this evening would be.
Mistaking the look of pending disappointment on your face as one of disinterest, Gale stopped reading. "My apologies, I got a bit verbose there. I'm sorry if I'm boring you, this is just a rather exciting topic to me and I failed to consider that you might not be quite as interested in the minutiae of star mapping as I am."
You shook your head vigorously. "No, no, this is fascinating! I love hearing you read out loud. This is... this is amazing. This night is perfect. You're perfect." Your voice dropped to a whisper, and before you could swallow your words, you heard yourself say the words you had been avoiding for the past month. "I love you."
Silence fell. You could feel Gale's eyes on your face, but couldn't meet his gaze, staring at the grass in embarrassment. Oh gods. You hadn't meant to share that little tidbit. You didn't even know if Gale was interested in men, let alone in you... he only ever spoke of his relationship with his goddess, no past lovers ever mentioned, regardless of gender. You didn't want your blossoming friendship to wither just because you couldn't hold your tongue.
"You... what?" Gale sounded shocked. "You love me?"
You could feel the color drain from your cheeks. It was too late now, you thought, too late to go back and take the words back. Too late to lie. "Yes."
Gale's warm hand tucked under your chin, gently forcing you to turn to his gaze. Your eyes met his, warm and brown and full of hope. "You love me," he said again, searching your face.
You nodded. "Yes, Gale. I've loved you almost since I watched Lae'zel pull you out of that portal. You're... you're..."
Before you could finish, he pulled you in for a soft kiss. His beard was scratchy on your chin, but his lips were plush against yours. It was a chaste kiss, almost over before it began.
"I love you, too," he said simply. "You're... You're very special to me. I wasn't sure if you shared my affection."
This time you were the one who pulled Gale's face close to kiss him, swallowing his doubt as you deepened the kiss and wrapped your arms around him. "Mm, I do, I most definitely do."
The astronomy book lay forgotten at his side as your lips met for the third time.
#gale#gale dekarios#bg3#bg3 gale#gale of waterdeep#gale x amab!reader#gale x reader#bg3 fanfiction#gale x m!reader#mine
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Loveless the peasants are asking for more of the yummy plague doctor prompts.
Also, I miss you, friend.
I’ve missed you as well! I really need to get used to having relationships to upkeep. I’m rusty and my friends are growing dusty
Brain exercise I guess: select any inedible object, anything from an empty cup beside your bed or a low resolution image of the Taj Mahal, and tell me what it’s texture and taste would be, whether it’s a plant, meat, or a just a fun guy. Tell me if you can slice into it and if it’s rigid or fold-y, or if it crumbles. Is it dry? Crunchy? Spicy? Does it taste like a banana or black licorice?
How would you prepare it? Roasted, boiled, fries, grilled, in a sandwich, frozen, with spices or condiments or sugar, or just plain? How much could you eat in one sitting? What situations would this item be prepared in a meal for? Parties? Balls? Announcements? Weddings? Meetings? Is there any cultural or religious significance to it?
Just a little brain massage~ have fun! :D
#not entirely sure what you meant by ‘yummy plauge doctor prompts’ so I hope this was good?#this was longer than I intended lmao#these are all very worldbuild-y questions. I don’t know if I should be proud or not but I’ll choose that due to Fear#asks from casks#back at it again with the best fren#ah yes I nearly forgot:#monsterfucking#I mean I guess some of the objects that could be seen as meat could also be seen as alive and therefore maybe monsters? maybe??#either way it’s great to. see? communicate with? you again!!#my brain kinda does ‘out of sight out of mind’ so I’ve been distracted by every little thing every five seconds#tbh sometimes I don’t even open any apps other than safari and YouTube for like a whole day#anyway I’m really curious as to what your response to think will be! it’s like I’m pulling the lint out of your brain XD#have a good one~
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Number 11? For the ask meme?
Cleaning up after a wreckage was always an... experience.
Steve hadn't wanted to be bothered now, after the wars, and had chosen the island he lived on because it was impossible to get to except by flight. Even if, by some fluke of fate, a ship managed to avoid Scylla and Charybdis, the water flowed so quickly past his island that no ship could possibly steer toward it in time to land. Not that they could. Charybdis's swallowing and belching sucked under any ships that came close.
The only downside was that pieces of the wreckage settled on his shores, and a mess could grow into something that ships could land at. Crude docks, Bucky had called them once. So he had to travel the shore of the island and pick up pieces wood, bring them together to burn. It wasn't all bad, though. Sometimes casks of wine or baskets of fruit or meat washed up, and he could add it to his makeshift larder.
This ship hadn't had much on it, Steve figured. Probably a skeleton crew, only enough supplies to get to the next port. That wouldn't have been enough to man the ship through the channel. Either they needed enough crew to sacrifice six to Scylla, or enough supplies that the ship would be heavy enough it wouldn't be buffeted about by Charybdis's belching waters. Steve had seen that desperation sink many ships in his time on the island.
So he got the fright of his life as he lifted a scrap of sailcloth and a body moaned beneath it. "Oh fuck," he gasped, dropping the sailcloth.
It collapsed on top of the body again, and the poor thing whimpered. Steve remembered, belatedly, that sailcloth was heavy to normal people. He dropped the lumber he was holding to the side and reached down, hurriedly dragging the cloth up again. He'd only discovered a body once before, because Charybdis's gaping maw usually sucked down everything, and that body had been decidedly dead.
This one, though, he realized, dropping the sailcloth on top of the wood, was only half dead. He stooped to turn him onto his side, wondering if he was dreaming. Scylla and Charybdis had never left a human alive.
Then he saw the glowing blue pendant hanging from a gold chain around the man's neck, and he understood. He recognized the metalwork--Hephaestus's handiwork was unmistakable, especially to him, having wielded a shield the god had gifted to him personally. The gem took him a moment, but then it struck him, the glow coming from deep inside the blue stone. The Titan Theia herself had blessed it, and its gleam came from the man being worthy of carrying it.
To be blessed by a God and a Titan. Steve had never heard of such a thing. He gathered the man into his arms, unable to help his wings extending from his back, feathers glittering silvery-white as he carefully took the man's face in his hand and tipped it toward the sun. Eos might know him. Barring that, perhaps Helios. Worst case scenario, he could show the man's face to Selene. One of Theia's children must know him.
The man's olive skin nearly glowed in the early morning light, and Steve understood why Theia had blessed him. A child of the skies. Hephaestus didn't have much love for humans though. He wondered what the man had done to earn such a boon as the god's handiwork on a piece of jewelry. Perhaps he should go up and ask.
But that was an idea for later. The man needed his immediate attention. "I'm going to take care of you, okay?" he asked gently, brushing the back of his hand over the man's cheek.
The man's pendant grew brighter for a moment, and Steve couldn't help but feel he'd taken on a task set by a god with his question, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
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-peeks inside-
RainDrop with 10 or 13, please~
-dips back out-
From this list.
How about desperate and discreet?
Midnight Mass drags on. Dew can feel the days exhaustion in his bones. The smell of incense from Papa’s thurible, swinging from gloved fingers, catches in his nose, burns his eyes. It’s keeping him awake at least, that and the even pressure Rain is applying to the palm of his hand. His thumb digging into the meat of his hand, pressing in a firm line from the bottom of his palm to the base of his middle finger. A constant reminder that he’s right there.
It’s been days since Dew and Rain have spent any real time together. Busy after coming home months on the road. Days spent unpacking, cleaning and restringing instruments, shining boots, finding time to be alone for the first time in months.
Dew can feel himself leaning into Rain’s touch, toward it. Head tipping closer to Rain’s shoulder. Rain digs the toe of his boot into the arch of Dew’s foot. Dew straightens. He fixes Rain with a glare no one can see because of the masks.
Rain’s thumb never stops.
When Papa asks for a volunteer to get wine for the offering from the back of the chapel, Rain is the first to stand, pulling Dew up with him. He steps out into the aisle, finally releasing Dew’s hand as he does, not giving Papa time to confirm or deny.
Dew follows, trying to keep his strides even, back straight as they slip into a dark corner of the chapel where the offering plates and communion wine is kept.
Dew reaches for a cask, Rain curls his fingers around Dew’s wrist just as his fingers brush it. He pulls Dew closer, deeper into this dark corner.
“Rain–” Dew whispers, as Rain reaches up and tucks his fingers into Dew’s balaclava, dragging it down just enough.
“Shh,” Rain brushes his fingers over Dew’s jaw, the barest bit of skin he can find, and drags his own balaclava down. Then Rain’s bending down, lips molding over Dew’s. Dew stands on his toes to meet the water cool. Lips sliding over each other. Dew could groan with it if there weren’t siblings fifteen feet away.
Rain parts his lips, and Dew answers by slipping his tongue through the gap to press against Rain’s. To taste him for the first time in what feels like weeks. Between all the traveling and all the settling back in. Dew’s hands come up to grip at Rain’s jacket, to try to pull him closer. Like he wants to pull himself into Rain’s body with him.
Their parting is reluctant. Lips just barely touching, breath mingling.
“The wine,” Rain reminds him.
Dew wants to say fuck the wine. Wants to pull Rain out of her right now. Fuck the offering, fuck Mass. But Rain’s the one who pulls back. Fingers still gentle against Dew’s jaw where he cradles him. Dew uncurls his fingers from Rain’s jacket, settles back down onto his feet.
“After?” Dew asks, hand finally finding the cask of wine.
Rain pulls Dew’s balaclava back up, gentle. He bends and presses a chast kiss to the fabric just over Dew’s lips.
“After,” he promises.
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Oh, go to sleep, Little Skylark. Fly up past the stars
After breaking your heart, Buggy is cursed to be a kid again. The last thing you want to do is be involved with this.
Rating: PG-13ish.
Warning: A crying kid, mentions of drinking to cope, kid with some abandonment issues so he cries. Also an adult lying to a kid because what else do you do in a situation like this? This story and how the Reader deals with Kid Buggy is different than the other Kid Buggy story.
A/N: This is what I originally wrote before the other Kid Buggy fic. I decided to revisit it and tidy it up before posting it. This has no connection to the other story at all. Completely different.
Title comes from "Little Skylark (safe at home)" by S.J. Tucker.
Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8
TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @fluffybunnyu @plethora-of-fickleness
*Little banner made by me
Chapter Two
It had been a rough week since you left the ship and your ex behind. The first two days you were drunk and miserable, holed up in your room as you cried until there was nothing left and then you’d sleep until starting over the next day. You smelled terrible and by the third day you were only half drunk before taking a bath and cleaning up. By day four you were angry, cursing the captain’s name as you searched the town for work. Day five you were crying again and day six you were wondering if maybe the two of you could have tried to talk about all of this, but when evening rolled around and you were getting dinner, someone made some comment about their useless husband and how ridiculous he was about something and you felt maybe leaving was the right thing to do.
If he didn’t want you around then why should you bother?
Day seven someone was pounding on your room door. You looked up from the book you were reading and sighed. You paid up front and no one in the crew knew where you were, so you didn’t know who to expect. You put the book down and got up, walking over to the door before opening it slowly.
Mohji pushed his way in and grabbed you by the shoulders. The concern on his face worried you. Was there something wrong with Richie?
“Mohji, how did you find me?” You asked him. “Is Richie okay?”
“No, it’s the captain.” He said. “We need you back on the ship.”
You pushed his hands back. “No, he doesn’t.”
“You don’t understand, we need you.” Mohji stated. “It’s about the captain. He’s…”
You crossed your arms, waiting for him to tell you. There was nothing that could happen to make you go back, even if he was gravely injured and asking for you. He said what he said and Buggy rarely apologized for his words if he felt strongly enough about them.
Mohji hesitated. You could see he was trying to think of how to tell you what he needed and while you were upset with Buggy, his two commanders did nothing to upset you. With a sigh, you dropped your shoulders and put your hands on your hips.
“Fine, I’ll come to the ship for you.”
~
When you arrived back on the ship you were surprised to see the crew gathered around the casks. Cabaji was out of sight but you could hear him talking, trying to sound soothing and comforting, but it wasn’t coming off that way. Frowning, you hurried ahead of Mohji and pushed your way through, stopping when you saw Cabaji kneeling by the opening you squeezed into just a week before when you cried your eyes out. What was going on?
“Cabaji?” You asked. He looked up, relief on his face when he saw you. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the captain…” He looked back between the space between the wall and casks. You frowned and moved over to him, peeking around to see what was going on. There was a flash of blue and what appeared to be Buggy’s red and white striped shirt. What was going on?
“Kidnappers!” A tiny voice shrieked. “I’ll kill all of you!”
That… that was a kid’s voice. No, nope, no way, you did not deal with kids. You spun around to glare at Mohji. “You better not have dragged me here because I’m a woman and you think I’m good with kids.”
Mohji and Cabaji shared a look before the former nodded. “That’s… exactly why I came to find you.”
“Good luck you two.” You said as you straightened up. “Just get the damn captain to use his powers to pull the kid out.”
“No, you don’t understand, that’s the captain!” Cabaji exclaimed. “He… he got cursed by a witch this morning!”
Your jaw dropped slightly. He was cursed? Of all the people… no, actually, Buggy would get himself cursed by a witch. Probably insulted her too. He was good at that. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes, counting to three. None of these fools would know what to do, and honestly, neither did you, but if someone didn’t take charge, something was going to happen and you’d somehow have to end up dealing with it.
“Fine. Fine!” You looked over at the crew that stood there watching. “You all need to stand around us and get close together. Create a barrier with your bodies because we’re going to have to flush him out.”
Several shared a look. “But… you’re not the captain.”
“No, but I’m taking control of the situation, so I need you to do as I say.” You snapped. “Now get in line.” As the crew listened, you turned to Cabaji and Mohji. “Move the casks and when he runs out I’ll grab him, got it?” You couldn’t believe that you were back on the ship right now. You had hoped to never see it again, but you were there, waiting to help the cursed captain. You would rather leave him to suffer if it was up to you.
You waited as everyone got into position. Cabaji and Mohji moved the casks on your signal. A little figure suddenly darted out from behind them and you moved fast, grabbing the back of the shirt and yanking him back to you. The fury you saw on the tiny face almost had you letting go for concern of your own safety, but you had to know what was going on.
“Hey, hey! It’s okay!” You insisted as he tried to pull away from you. He tried to slip out of the shirt but you grabbed him by the arm, and to your surprise it stayed attached to him. What was going on?
“Let me go!” He shrieked. “Kidnappers! Captain Roge will come rescue me!”
“Captain…?” You stared down at him, mind racing as you tried to think of what to say next. This had to be Buggy but with Kid Buggy’s memories. Why was he a child? What actually happened? You glanced at Mohji and Cabaji, both looking like they’d rather be somewhere else than under your gaze. Taking a deep breath, you looked back at the kid and smiled at him. “Hey, it’s okay, your captain knows you’re on my ship!”
“Your ship?” You heard Cabaji mutter. You shot him a look and he went quiet.
“Your ship?” Buggy repeated with a frown. You nodded frantically, hoping he would calm down. “Who the hell are you?!”
“I’m…the captain of this ship.” You lied. “We’re the… uh, Pumpkin Pirates!”
Buggy narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he looked between you and the crew, seemingly assessing if you were lying or not. He crossed his arms and looked you up and down.
“You don’t look like a captain. More like the cook or something.” He sneered. You almost swatted him upside the head for that but held back. Yes, you were previously the ship’s cook but he didn’t need to make it sound so insulting. “Where’s Captain Roger?!”
“I am the captain.” You told him through clenched teeth, still smiling. “And your captain asked me to keep you safe while he ran an errand with some members of his crew!”
“What?!” Buggy shrieked. “Why did I get left behind?! Where’s Shanks?”
“He went with them.” You said hastily. “You overslept, silly, so he asked me to watch over you. He’ll come back.”
You had to think of something. Kid Buggy was expecting to see his captain at some point, but how do you tell him that Gold Roger had been dead for over twenty years? You expected more questions, more arguing, but what you didn’t expect was the tears welling up in his eyes as he glared at you. Buggy as an adult didn’t cry very often, and when he did it had been only in front of you. Did kids cry a lot, was this to be expected with Buggy at this age?
“Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry-”
“Why was I left behind?!” He cried as tears rolled down his cheeks. “What did I do?!”
Oh, shit. Shit. You didn’t really know what to do. Kids were very much not something you were around very often and your brain halted as you tried to think of what to say to calm him down. You decided to let him have a cry while you gestured for two crew members.
“You two, go into town and get him some clothes.” You hissed. They looked hesitant, but you glared at him. “Now. I don’t care how you get them but do it. We can’t have him running around like this.” With a gesture to the rest of the crew, they disbanded, hurrying off to do any chores or maintenance that needed to happen on the ship. Cabaji and Mohji stayed nearby just in case. You rubbed your face and glared at them both. “I’ll stay on board until this is solved but then I’m gone, do you understand?”
The two of them nodded. You looked back at the kid and sighed. He was still crying, using the oversized shirt to wipe his eyes and nose as he sniffed. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing. There was no reason for you to be on board helping with this, but even though this last week had hurt, a part of you still loved the idiot. You didn’t want something bad to happen to him when he was a kid. With a sigh, you knelt back down in front of him.
“Hey, you hungry?” You asked; he looked up at you, sniffling loudly. “I think we just restocked the kitchen so I can make you a sandwich if you want. You were asleep for a while so I bet you’re hungry.”
“W-When can I go home?” He hiccupped. “I do-don’t want to be here.”
“I know, and he didn’t tell me when he’d come back, but probably around evening time?” You felt bad lying to the kid but what else could you say? You had to do something, and the only thing you could think of was to just lie to him for the time being, to play along with what his current state of mind was. He was Buggy as a kid, apprenticing on Gold Roger’s crew with his friend Shanks. “He didn’t give me an exact time, but he just told me to make sure you don’t take a nap today so you get some sleep tonight since you stayed up late yesterday, which is why you slept in and missed out.”
Buggy sniffled. “I couldn’t sleep ‘cause we were supposed to go on a raid today. I was too excited.”
“Well… next time drink some tea to sleep.” You chuckled as you stood up. He looked up at you, face tear stained and his eyes red. You held your hand out to him and smiled. “C’mon, Buggy, let’s get you some food, okay? You’ll feel better. And we can do our own fun thing today!”
He looked at your hand before taking it, following you to the kitchen. You hoped the crew came back with something for him. He couldn’t stay in Adult Buggy’s shirt the entire time, and you didn’t know how long this would last. As cute as he was as a kid, you didn’t want this to be a permanent thing. You didn’t want to stick around that long.
~
“Why does your Jolly Roger look like that?” Buggy asked as he looked up at it.
Having calmed down, been fed, and given new clothes to wear, he was much more relaxed. You looked up at what he was pointing at and shrugged. The skull with the bright red nose definitely stood out to him.
“I forgot what a pumpkin looked like when I had it designed.” You lied. “Remember, we’re the Pumpkin Pirates.”
“What does that even mean?” He asked with a frown. You chuckled and ruffled his hair; he batted at your hand and glared at you.
“It means I like pumpkins!” You told him. “And I’m Captain Pumpkin, which is why we’re the Pumpkin Pirates! Just like Captain Roger has the Roger Pirates!”
Buggy looked back up at the sail. “Pumpkins are orange and that nose is red.” He glanced at you before looking back up at it. “It looks like mine, that’s weird.”
“I had a memory lapse, okay? I hadn’t seen a pumpkin for a while.” You grinned. “Are we done judging me for my mistakes? We should do something fun.”
“I want to go home.” He mumbled as he went over to the side of the ship that faced the sea. He looked across the docks, seeing other ships, as well as some further out. He didn’t even see the Oro Jackson and frowned. “Where’s my ship?”
“Oh… uh…” You followed after him, squinting out at sea, trying to find it. “Maybe behind one of those other ships? Who knows. There’s a lot of people here.”
“When do I go home?” Buggy asked, looking up at you. It was hard to keep telling him the same thing, but you supposed this was how kids were. They would ask the same question again and again, each time expecting a different answer. You debated telling him a different answer this time, but you couldn’t risk him crying again. Instead, you pointed off to the distance.
“Is that them?!” You exclaimed. Buggy turned to look while you frantically waved Mohji over. You handed him a piece of paper that was in your pocket and whisper-ordered him to go off ship for a moment before running back with the paper. He looked at you like you were crazy, but you glared at him and he did as you asked. You pointed out to the water to keep the kid distracted. “Buggy, I think that’s it over there!”
“I don’t see the ship!” He snapped. “Where is it?!”
“It’s not that over there?” You pointed to a ship that had a horse for a figurehead. He looked up at you like you were an idiot.
“That’s not my ship! Do you even know what it looks like?!”
“I do, really!” You laughed. “Sorry!”
Buggy glared at you as Mohji came sprinting towards you. The first mate stopped, hunched over as he tried to catch his breath while he handed the paper over to you. Buggy tried to grab it but you snatched it first, holding it out of his reach as you unfolded it. You had to make this believable, so as you ‘read’ the scrap piece of paper that had a grocery list on it, you sighed heavily before looking down at Buggy.
“Sorry, kiddo, Roger sent word that they’ll be gone for a few extra days.” You told him, trying to sound disappointed. “Looks like you get to stay with me a bit longer.”
“W-What?!” Buggy exclaimed. “No, I don’t want to! I want to go home to my ship!”
You’re already on your ship and I need this to end now! You thought as you crumpled the paper up and shoved it in your pocket. “Sorry, kiddo. I know it’s not ideal but your captain is busy. There’s no one on your ship so you gotta stay with me. But I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
To your horror, the tears started up again. You did not expect him to be an emotional kid and yet this was the second time he has cried since coming into your care almost two hours ago. When Adult Buggy returned, you would demand three weeks worth of pay for this.
#buggy the clown#buggy the clown x reader#buggy x reader#buggy x you#buggy the clown x you#opla buggy the clown#opla buggy the clown x reader#opla buggy x reader#opla buggy the clown x you#opla buggy x you#opla buggy the clown x oc#opla buggy x oc#buggy the clown x oc#buggy x oc
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Winter's King 6
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: i slept so gosh dang heavy.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You haul up the cask, one of the smaller but still heavy for your arms. The stairs are treacherous to the upper floors of the castle and you waddle down the corridors hugging the vessel with heavy steps. As you near the ivory room, you slow and face the wooden barrier. Should you knock?
You look down. You can’t balance the cask with one arm. You lean and tap with your foot as best you can. You wait and hear only the draughts flowing in from the windows. Then at once, the hinges groan and the door swings inward, the king already in retreat.
You enter, trying not to show your struggle, and carry it to the round table. You set it down with a loud clunk and your shoulders ache. You feel around your apron pockets for the spout. You sense the king’s mood clouding in the chamber.
“If you knew it was to be heavy, you could have said so,” he grits as he sits across the table from you.
“Your highness, it is not very much,” you lie. Your arms feel weak as you put the spout in place. You did not bring a stein. “I will fetch a cup--”
“I don’t care about the ale,” he rests one hand against the handle. “If you are thirsty, there is a cup in my bedroll.”
You back away, confused. You don’t protest or question him. Did you mishear him? He did request ale.
“So I am wed,” he mulls and toys with a loose lace hanging from the open collar of his shirt. It is untucked from his breeches as his hair is tangled around his shoulders.
“Good tidings for that, your highness,” you offer the expected courtesy.
He looks at you and you wince, putting your head down as you back away.
“Apologies, I speak out of turn,” you touch your chin.
He huffs, “weddings are supposed to be happy, are they not?”
You bow your head lower, “I believe so, your highness.”
He hums and tabs his fingers on the armrest, “I am not very happy.”
You stay as you are. He makes it hard to serve, he is cryptic to the point you can’t guess what he wants. You dare to peek up quickly but promptly retract your gaze as you meet his eyes.
“Speak your thoughts, I see them written upon your brow,” he commands.
You sway slightly and bend your arms behind you, “your highness--”
“Look at me,” he demands. You obey.
“Your highness,” you start cautiously, “you’ve been at war, perhaps you are sick for your home.”
He scoffs and rubs the coarse stubble on his jaw, “my home? You would not think that if you knew it.”
You slant your mouth. He raises his hand, gesturing with two fingers, “speak freely.”
“You are correct, your highness, I would not know. I’ve never been further than a day’s ride from this castle. I only hear that the north is cold but anyone might guess that.”
He snorts, “yes, it is cold. And dark. But the mountains, they are beautiful and when the snows fall, they glisten over the ground. So long as you have a fire to warm you, or a body near, it is not so bad.” He closes his eyes and leans his chin on his knuckles, “there are large elk with trees for antlers and the white wolves who blend into the snow but for their eyes, and the bears who sleep in the caves until the ground thaws in the springs.” He opens his eyes again and stares at you, “we have no summer there. The butterflies and flowers do not fare for long.”
You imagine the place he describes. Or attempt to. It sounds frightening. No summer?
“I’ve never seen snow,” you say at last.
He sits up and his expression eases, “then you will to come see it.”
You blink. Is he serious? Is that an order?
“I serve the castle--”
“You serve...” he swallows, “my wife and by rights I am her master. As she is yours, thus you serve me. She will need a familiar face once we are on to the Hinterlands. They are harrowing and she is weak. You will be her companion to see her through.”
You don’t argue. You never do. He is right. All that is Lady Jazlene’s is now his.
“Are you excited to come?” He asks.
You think. You will do as you’re told thought it is an unexpected, almost undreamt of, opportunity.
“I think I am, your highness. It is a far way and I’ve never been very far.”
“Mm,” he puts his elbow on the table, almost amused as he watches you, “are you afraid?”
“Why, yes, certainly,” you answer honestly. “You speak of bears and wolves. I’ve never seen those either, though I have seen deer.”
“Do not fear, even the bears and the wolves bow to King Geralt,” he lets himself laugh, a bawdy rumbling like thunder. It surprises you, “but first we must ride south to tidy up the summer countries. I must meet my people, make sure they are not left to ruin.”
You tilt your head but quickly fix it. He drones again, “speak.”
“That is kind of you. No, as you said before, prudent. To make certain the people are not unhappy. War leaves scars.”
“It leaves gaping wounds if one does stitch them up,” he counters, “a wise observation for a maid.”
Your cheeks twitch. You think it’s a compliment. You lower your chin.
“Ah,” he intones, “don’t. You don’t have to hide from me, little maid.”
His last words drag over his tongue. His timbre is like smoke. You feel how it traps the air in your chest. You linger, uncertain, across from him.
“Will you sit with me?” He asks and leans forward to pull out the chair nearest to him, “I rarely have pleasant company.”
You hesitate. What about Jazlene? He has her. She is his wife now. You don’t dare ask that question. You move carefully around the chair and sit. He stays forward in his chair, his arm on the table.
“I have told you of the Hinterlands, but what of you? I’ve seen some of your home but I expect this castle isn’t your real home,” he says.
“It is the only home I remember,” you murmur, “I’ve been here since I was a girl.”
His gold eyes flick down and he nods, “I didn’t...” he looks up again and leans back, a stitch in his brow, “would it make you unhappy to be away from home?”
You purse your lips. You’ve never thought of leaving. You don’t feel any sort of way about the prospect, nothing more than ignorant. You don’t know what awaits you outside those walls.
“I will go where I am bid,” you say evenly, “not many get to go so far from home. It would be nice to see more of the world.”
He hums as he watches you, brushing his fingers through his white hair. You watch how his index catches in a wave and he tugs it free with agitation. He pauses, holding out his hand before dropping it to his lap. He inclines his head as if to say, ‘what are you looking at?’
“Are there many people like you there?” You ask, voice shaky.
“Like me? There is only one king. I’ve made certain of that.”
“No, I... never mind,” you curl one hand around the other, “your highness.”
“Only me,” he affirms, “and what of you? I’ve yet to meet any like you.”
You furrow your nose, “there are lots of maids, your highness.”
He doesn’t respond and his shoulders drop. He once more runs his hand around his square jaw. He inhales and lets it out slowly.
“You should leave now,” he utters softly, “before...” he pauses and his eyes wander to the window, “before the dawn.”
You stand and bend your neck, “yes, your highness. I wish you a good sleep and a good marriage.”
He returns only another thick grunt. You leave him without looking back. As you’re shut out in the dark corridor, a clatter comes from the other side. You turn back but do not go through. You smell something stringent and feel something wet seeping into the stitches of your shoes. You kneel and put your fingers in the liquid leaking under the door. It’s the ale.
You stand and lean back on your heel. You never meant to anger the king. You will do well to stay out of the way. You don’t think you’ll be going to the Hinterlands after all. Merinda is much more fit for a royal court anyhow.
⚔️
You sleep hardly an hour before you are on your feet again. The castle is in a flurry to get the horses and luggage on the road. You and Merinda help Lady Jazlene dress as her head threatens to droop this way and that. She’s tired and her yawns tickle your throat as you hold back a similar act.
Lady Rezlyn enters, already dressed, her dark blue gown slashed with yellow in the sleeves. You and Merinda retreat to busy yourself with miniscule worries. The lady’s riding gloves and boots. A queen’s gloves and boots.
“Oh, my daughter,” Rezlyn sweeps over to put her hands to Jazlene’s cheek, admiring her daughter as she ever does, “I see your wedding night has left you fatigued. I expected no less of a man like the king.”
The lewd snicker from the duchess’ mouth makes your stomach churn. Jazlene trickles out a small chuckle and wriggles free of her mother’s grasp. She turns and sits to let you lace on her boots.
“What is it, then?” Rezlyn challenges, folding her arms. “Did it hurt very much? I told you, daughter, it wouldn’t be very pleasant if you stay dry as parchment.”
“Mother, please,” Jazlene begs, “I wasn’t...” she shakes her head and sniffs, “it was wonderful.” Her lie is told by the tremour in her void. She raises her head, “He is a true king and I am his queen now. These are matters between man and wife.”
Rezlyn scowls and sneers, “very well then. How quickly your head swells.”
“You will not mind so much when you see the advantage a queen’s mother reaps,” Jazlene’s bold tone returns. You see the same lady you’ve ever known. Haughty and stubborn. “I am off to meet my people, to ride through the kingdom. I will introduce my husband to my people and they will see they were wrong about me. Lady Theodora will choke on her stupid sapphire collar.”
“Precious, I know they will,” Rezlyn smirks, “they will all see how wrong they were about our family. The will recall at last your father’s title and the history behind it.”
Jazlene raises her chin and her nostrils flair, “is that why, mother? Is that why we’ve done this? To reclaim our glory?”
“To find new glory. In a new kingdom. Darling, don’t you see, you will watch over a realm larger than any before. You and the greatest king the world has known.”
You stand as Merinda hides her dry flutter of lashes. She is always much more amused by the flowery conversations between the duchess and her daughter. You can only think of the ale leaking under the door and the king’s declaration; ‘I am not very happy’.
When Jazlene rises, you tie a cape around her shoulders, the shimmering silver with the blue and violet flowers sewn into it. She is sparkling in her new role. A queen with even a circlet of silver in her curls, though it was formerly a necklace.
She emerges with her spine straight and her eyes set. She has readied all her life to be a wife though she just as easily acts a queen. Her shoulders are high and strong as she descends into the chaos of the castle.
You and Merinda follow behind the two ladies. Lord Dustan blusters towards them, the toggle buttons of his riding jacket unaligned with the loops. He looks between his daughter and wife.
“The horse will be ready shortly, are you ready to ride?” He sneers at Jazlene.
“Father, I am the queen. You do not tell me--”
“You are a queen and queen’s cannot be tardy. We must way to the capital to consolidate the kingdom. This is not a pageant,” he hisses.
“Is the carriage ready?” Jazlene asks.
“Carriage? You will ride abreast. All haste is required.”
“Father,” Jazlene shifts on her feet with discomfort, “I’d be better on a cushion than a saddle--”
“Argue it with the king then. His orders.”
Dustan storms past without further discussion and disappears through the outer doors into the courtyard. Jazlene pouts into a grimace and looks at her mother. Rezlyn gives a wry shrug.
“Well, your highness...” Rezlyn taunts.
“Motherrrrr,” Jazlene growls before she spins and breezes away in her father’s stead.
You trail the duchess into the dim hues of dawn. The yard is even more hectic than within. The king’s soldiers move like ants on a hill as their horses stand in patient rows, ready to be mounted. It is the Debray party that is in disarray.
As Jazlene weaves through the crowd, several of the castle hands back away and show their deference for their new queen. The black and grey soldiers of the Hinter carry on in checking their saddle bags and weapons. The king is near the gate, head down as a steely haired soldier speaks to him.
The duchess’ daughter, newly married, awoken a queen, approaches her husband without hesitation.
“I am told I am not to have a carriage? I cannot sit a horse. It is unseemly--”
King Geralt signals to his man with irritation. The soldier with eyes as grey as his hair quiets and backs away. You can tell by the pin on his mail that he must be important.
“You will,” the king says evenly. “We must be quick. I cannot have a broken axle. We ride as if to battle. In itself, this is exactly what we face.”
“But you have won--”
“I won in blood, but there are other victories to be claimed,” the king interjects, “still your tongue and obey your husband and king. The world does not exist as your cloistered life in this castle.”
“I am the queen and I want a carriage!” Jazlene squeals shrilly. Several heads turn as you keep your chin low. You know it isn’t the right response but Jazlene does not take orders easily.
“You have not yet been coronated,” the king snarls, “do not forget so quickly on who’s back you rose.”
Jazlene huffs and puts her hands to her hips. She steps closer to the king and he glares down at her. You peek up to find his eyes blazing.
“I am your wife, not your servant,” she snaps, “and you will not speak to me as one.”
He blinks and you retract your stare. You look over at Merinda as her face strains with horror. The tension of the confrontation quiets the courtyard.
“If I need to have you strapped to the horse like a bedroll, then so be it,” King Geralt hisses. “I have done my duty to you so you will do yours or you should void our contract. Obey.”
Jazlene stands defiantly close to the king. They stare at one another, the air thrumming between them. Lady Rezlyn reaches to touch her daughter’s sleeve.
“You will look so pretty aback a horse, daughter. Imagine what the people will think when they see you resplendent as you ride into the capital, eh? You shouldn’t hide in a carriage, you will want to meet your people.”
The daughter puffs out and steps back at her mother’s tugging. She retreats slowly as the king does not budge, his face twisted with anger. The duchess has tendered a fragile truce.
“Come, I haven’t ridden in some time,” Rezlyn coaxes the younger woman.
“And you will not,” King Geralt speaks at last, “my wife will ride. I see no need of her mother. She is no naive maiden.”
Rezlyn flinches, “your highness?”
The king raises his hand and gestures with his fingers. Two soldiers come forth in his colours, “I will leave some of my men to watch over your walls. The word will spread how Debray did assist in my victory. I have yet to assuage that animosity so you would be best to stay and hide behind your walls.” He drops his arm, gripping his pommel, “your husband has not yet given all he promised.”
Rezlyn grips her daughter’s arm and staggers as if she’s been struck. What the king has said is clear. They are traitors, not only in the eyes of their fellow summer lords, but in his. He has not trust and the duchess will be kept in her castle as little more than a hostage.
“Your highness,” Lady Rezlyn rasps, “I shall do as you bid. I will only say farewell to my daughter.”
“Make it fast,” the king sneers.
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#au#medieval au#series#winter's king#the witcher
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Mahmoud Darwish , “A Lover from Palestine” 1966
"Your eyes are a thorn in my heart
Inflicting pain, yet I cherish that thorn
And shield it from the wind.
I sheathe it in my flesh, I sheathe it, protecting it from night and agony,
And its wound lights the lanterns,
Its tomorrow makes my present
Dearer to me than my soul.
And soon I forget, as eye meets eye,
That once, behind the doors, there were two of us.
Your words were a song
And I tried to sing, too,
But agony encircled the lips of spring.
And like the swallow, your words took wing,
The door of our home and the autumnal threshold migrated,
To follow you wherever led by longing
Our mirrors were shattered,
And sorrow was multiplied a thousand fold.
And we gathered the splinters of sound,
Mastering only the elegy of our homeland!
Together were will plant it in the heart of a lyre,
And on the rooftops of our tragedy we’ll play it
To mutilated moons and to stones.
But I have forgotten, you of the unknown voice:
Was it your departure that rushed the lyre or was it my silence?
Yesterday I saw you in the port,
A long voyager without provisions,
Like an orphan I ran to you,
Asking the wisdom of our forefathers:
How can the ever-verdant orange grove be dragged
To prison, to exile, to a port,
And despite all her travels,
Despite the scent of salt and longing,
Remain evergreen?
I write in my diary:
I love oranges and hate the port
And I write further:
On the dock
I stood, and saw the world through Witter’s eyes
Only the orange peel is ours, and behind me lay the desert.
In the briar-covered mountains I saw you,
A shepherdess without sheep,
Pursued among the ruins.
You were my garden, and I a stranger,
Knocking at the door, my heart,
For upon my heart stand firm
The door and windows, the cement and stones.
I have seen you in casks of water, in granaries,
Broken, I have seen you a maid in night clubs,
I have seen you in the gleam of tears and in wounds.
You are the other lung in my chest;
You are the sound on my lips;
You are water; you are fire.
I saw you at the mouth of the cave, at the cavern,
Hanging your orphans’ rags on the wash line.
In the stoves, in the streets I have seen you.
In the barns and in the sun’s blood.
In the songs of the orphaned and the wretched I have seen you.
I have seen you in the salt of the sea and in the sand.
Yours was the beauty of the earth, of children and of Arabian jasmine.
And I have vowed
To fashion from my eyelashes a kerchief,
And upon it to embroider verses for your eyes,
And a name, when watered by a heart that dissolves in chanting,
Will make the sylvan arbours grow.
I shall write a phrase more precious than honey and kisses:
‘Palestinian she was and still is’.
On a night of storms, I opened the door and the window
To see the hardened moon of our nights.
I said to the night: Run out,
Beyond the darkness and the wall;
I have a promise to keep with words and light.
You are my virgin garden
As long as our songs
Are swords when we draw them.
And you are as faithful as grain
So long as our songs
Keep alive the fertile soil when we plant them.
You are like a palm tree in the mind:
Neither storm nor woodsman’s ax can fell it.
Its braids uncut
By the beasts of desert and forest
But I am the exiled one behind wall and door,
Shelter me in the warmth of your gaze.
Take me, wherever you are,
Take me, however you are.
To be restored to the warmth of face and body,
To the light of heart and eye,
To the salt of bread and song,
To the taste of earth and homeland.
Shelter me in the warmth of your gaze,
Take me, a panel of almond wood, in the cottage of sorrows,
Take me, a verse from the book of my tragedy,
Take me, a plaything or a stone from the house,
So that our next generation may recall
The path of return to our home.
Her eyes and the tattoo on her hands are Palestinian,
Her name, Palestinian,
Her dreams, and sorrow, Palestinian,
Her Kerchief, her feet and body, Palestinian,
Her words and her silence, Palestinian,
Her voice, Palestinian,
Her birth and her death, Palestinian,
I have carried you in my old notebooks
As the fire of my verses,
The sustenance for my journeys.
In your name, my voice rang in the valleys:
I have seen Byzantium’s horses
Even though the battle be different.
Beware, oh beware
The lightning struck by my song in the granite.
I am the flower of youth and the knight of knights!
I am the smasher of idols.
I plant the Levantine borders
With poems that set eagles free.
And in your name I have shouted at the enemy:
Worms, feed on my flesh if ever I slumber,
For the eggs of ants cannot hatch eagles,
And the shell of the adder’s egg
Holds but a snake!
I have seen Byzantium’s horses,
And before it all, I know
That I am the flower of youth and the knight of knights!"
#mahmoud darwish#palestinian poetry#palestinian art#palestine#free palestine#from the river to the sea palestine will be free
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