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herbeloved82 · 5 months

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The echo of laughs that are no more

“Mom, mommy, look at how pretty that is,” A young girl screamed in a high voice, so typical of children her age. She pointed at the palazzo, framed by the light of the dying sun that colored the marbles in red and orange, like the fire that was said once destroyed it, with her chubby finger and her eyes shone with marvel when she looked at the beautiful place, but the mother did share the same joy at the view.

She ran to where her child was standing, her little hand still raised, and grabbed her with more force than necessary before she ran away, her precious cargo safely in her arms.

“Mommy you’re hurting me,” The child protested, but the mother didn’t care and she moved faster between the calli and porteghi of the old city, disappearing from view.

From her full lips, cracked by the cold wind, a prayer fell. Latin mixed with Italian words like every prayer of someone who came from the two worlds. The young woman, whose face was already wrinkled by the weather from working outside day in and day out, was Catholic, but also held old beliefs that never faded with time.

Only when she thought they were far away enough from the palazzo did she let go of her daughter, but before the child could protest, she knelt in front of her and with a shaking hand signed the child's forehead with a cross.

“How many times have I told you not to do that, Giovanna?” She said when she was sure the young girl was okay and still her.

“But mommy, the palazzo is pretty.”

That was what worried Ofelia. The palazzo was pretty, it lured in men and women since Ofelia could remember. The stories went on and on for generations, even her own grandmother once told her about the strange figures dressed in old capes that would dare to enter the place to defeat the devil living there. But the palazzo never gave back any of those who dared to walk inside.

The palazzo was a place that everyone learned to fear. Venice was full of stories of ghosts and powerful mages, evil witches and even alchemists looking for eternal life, but nothing could compare with the palazzo.

“Promise me you will never go there, Giovanna.”

She was openly crying now, knowing how her curious daughter could disappear one day, never to be seen again.

Ofelia grabbed her little shoulders, her hardened fingers sunk in the delicate flesh that still had so much of the baby fat Giovanna didn’t shake off yet. She was so young and naive, how could Ofelia keep her safe?

Giovanna screamed in pain, but her mother didn’t let her go, shaking her slightly, until Giovanna yielded.

“I promise mommy. Please don’t cry.”

When Ofelia let her go, Giovanna threw her small arms around her neck, comforting her, the promise she made still echoing in the alley where they lived.

***

It was a terrible night outside. The wind howled all day and only got worse when the weak sun disappeared, leaving its place to the darkest sky Venice saw in months. It wasn’t just the storm that worried the people, who preferred to stay inside, safe in their houses. No, it was something else, something that had no name, for the people of Venice refused to say the word.

“It’s a bad night for the business.” The owner of the bacaro sighed. There were only a few people tonight, two or three customers brave enough to challenge the night for a glass of wine and something to eat.

They were lost souls with nothing to lose. No families waiting for them home, or the warm body of a woman to keep them from slipping into despair.

The place itself was shady and it smelled like old food that had long since gone off and watered down wine - the one some owners would give away when the patrons were drunk enough they wouldn’t even notice the difference.

A young boy, not older than ten, with too pale skin spread on high cheeks, was slowly pouring stale beer from abandoned glasses into the jug he was holding, the same jug that soon enough would end up on a table, offered as fresh to some unknowing idiots.

From upstairs came the loud noises of drunk customers taking advantage of the merchandise offered by the owner, and the counterpoint voices of the whores used against their wishes were the only noises that could be heard over the storm outside.

Riva degli Schiavoni, that’s the new name of the place, was since forever the place where the brothels were. Founded by the mercenaries who fought for the Serenissima, it had changed names many times in history and yet it always remained the same, a place where young boys and girls would see their innocence taken and burned to the altar of the only god people would always worship: money.

“The palazzo will claim other victims tonight,” someone said. The voice of the unnamed man, intent to drink himself to the grave, sounded hollowed and broken, but when he looked up at whoever was interested in listening, his bloodshot eyes burned with horror.

“I know. I was there when it happened.”

No one paid him attention but for one man, hidden in a corner, unseen. He was hidden under a thick cloak that covered his face. If anyone had paid him any attention, they would have seen red eyes shining in the darkness, for this man with the face of an angel and the heat as dark as pitch, was a demon escaped from hell to torment humanity.

“When what happened?”

The most beautiful voice filled the bacaro with its melody, and no one dared to deny him an answer.

“Don’t pay him attention, good Sir. he’s crazy.” Another answered, hitting his temple with his index finger, to indicate the man was touched in the head.

“I’m not crazy. I was there.” The other screamed, fear clear in his voice. “I was there, I tell you, when I heard them laughing. Children. So many children. All dead, burned -”

The jug the boy held crashed on the ground as he signed himself, more scared by the man’s words than his owner’s punishment. Like him everyone else signed themselves, muttering the holy cross between their lips.

“Burned children?” The stranger asked again, and like under a spell, the mad man told him the story of the palazzo and how it was burned down by mad people, killing the Maestro who lived there with his children.

“Don’t mind him, Sir. It’s just an old story, but people are so simple. They still believe in evil. If the fire ever happened, it was centuries ago…”

Before dawn the stranger was done. Of the people inside the bacaro only the young boy was still alive when the day came and the guards arrived, called by the screams of the whores who went downstairs to begin a new day.

***

“You have been out all night.”

“And that’s your business why?”

“You should be more careful. Venice is full -”

“I know Venice better than you do. Don’t forget who I am and what I can do.”

That ended the short conversation the stranger had with a servant as soon as he came back to the place he rented.

It wasn’t opulent or anything, but cozy and above all it was private, exactly like the man loved the place he called home.

When the servant moved away, the stranger took off the cloak and reached for a secret room behind the bookshelves, where a coffin laid on the ground and went to sleep, with more questions than answers.

***

“Did you find the answers you were looking for?” Armand growled. He was barely awake yet and the servant was already there, busying himself with mundane tasks, keeping an eye on him.

Armand knew the old man wasn’t even loyal to him. Coming from a long line of humans who for whatever reason helped vampires during the day, the man was now his property, and yet he wasn’t his servant.

However Armand found him useful. The old bastard knew how to navigate the human world and its intrigues. When members of the different covens began to disappear, and among them Santino himself, the situation became dire enough that Armand had to act.

At first no one seemed to know anything and even now after decades the only trace he managed to find was a link with Venice. Nothing more, nothing less. His inability to find a solution to a problem he couldn’t fix undermined his power above the others and he knew it wouldn’t take much to push those unhinged monsters he called his to betray him.

The coven wasn’t really his, the power he believed he held was just a pale reflection of what Santino once had. No, he wasn’t naive enough to believe he was equal to the man who took him from his maker and tortured him into the twisted and perverted creature he now was.

“Just stories created by frightened minds. The only common ground is the palazzo, but I can’t find any information on when it had been rebuilt.” Armand answered, remaining vague. He wasn’t going to reveal his secrets to someone who could still be in touch with Santino, if he was even still alive. With that snake, one never knew, and Armand had learned the hard way to never underestimate Santino and his madness. said he would investigate what was happening in Venice, but his reasons were his own and no one else was entitled to them.

“That’s because no one ever rebuilt it. It was just there, one night, restored to its ancient splendor, like nothing happened.”

That was something Armand already heard, but how could it be possible? He was there when the attack happened. He was there when his maker and his brothers had been killed by the same person who he had called Master.

Shame made him sick, how easy it was for Santino to twist him enough he forgot everything that Marius taught him. The beauty of the world he had seen through his eyes was forgotten as the poison instilled in his ears took roots in his mind, for Santino gave him the one thing Marius could never do, a belief that was as extreme as the one he held dear when he was human, in a vengeful God that would punish the sinners. Santino gave him purpose when Marius had tried to give him hope and he chose the first, given through violence and pain, over what his beloved Maker had freely offered.

“That’s just a legend. No places can rebuild themselves, not even the palazzo.”

How bittersweet that simple word tasted in his mouth, so many memories connected to the place where he had been happy once, until the very night when he had lost everything.

“It’s no legend. It’s what happened, and you above anyone else should know that in this world there are more things that happen than what a human eye can see.”

***

Armand waited until the night had engulfed Venice in a blanket of cold and fog. No one was brave enough to be out. It was the perfect time for him to stroll the streets like he owned them.

He gave himself a moment to remember and when he did, Armand was back to being Amadeo, running along the streets with Riccardo, free and careless as only someone who had known the true meaning of slavery could be once freedom was at their disposal. When the weight of memories became too heavy to carry and too painful, Armand locked his mind once again. Red tears stained his flawless skin and he harshly wiped them away with the back of his hand.

His silent steps led him where he never thought he would return, and along the way poor souls filled with despair and loneliness laid on the cold ground, their throat ripped open and their blood stolen by a beast.

Yes, Armand reminded himself. He was a beast, the dread of Paris, the fallen angel who would drown the world in blood, nothing of the young man who lived in Venice so long ago was left for he didn’t have any place with the new person he became. He was there to look for Santino and discover the truth of what happened to him, and once his mission was complete he would go back to Paris, where the echo of his past couldn’t follow him and he would take full and complete control over the cult there, so that those nonbelievers would see the truth, or perish under his wrath.

Those were the thoughts that supported him as Armand stopped in front of the palazzo and let out the shaking breath he was holding. It looked impossible and he still didn’t believe it himself, but the palazzo looked exactly like it was before the fire. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he would believe that those rumors were real after all, but legends were just that, stories that the commoners would tell themselves to exorcize their fear.

Armand didn’t have any fear, they had been purged from his body with fire and violence, torment and starvation. Nothing of the weak fledgling who couldn’t save himself was left, he was the master of his own life now and soon he would uncover the truth of the mystery surrounding this place.

Just a few more steps, he told himself, and he would step on the land that once belonged to Marius. Just a few more - then he felt it and froze.

The whole place was reeking of power. Armand felt the moment the mind gift engulfed him; whomever was inside the palazzo was ancient and so powerful. In the gift he felt fury, like a feral animal trapped in place. It was madness and rage and bloodthirst all at once and it took Armand’s voice away.

How could this be happening? Who could be so powerful to create something like this?

Suddenly all the lies he said, about being the most ancient vampire still alive, came back to him and he knew he was nothing compared with whoever created all of this.

The unknown power pulled him in, and even if he tried to fight and step back, there was nowhere he could go but forward.

***

In front of him stood the beautifully carved front door, imposing and alluring at the same time, like it was when Armand knew it, when it represented the entrance to the only place where he had felt safe.

Memories assaulted him, of a time long gone in which he had been happy, and tears fought their way out of his unnatural red eyes. It was with great struggle that Armand managed not to allow them to wash his face, proof of how much he was still grieving inside, where no one could see him so weak and pathetic.

Before he could even think about touching the wood, the gate opened in front of him and Armand took half of a step back. What was this treachery? He thought, for he knew someone was making things happen like this. Not for a second he believed there could be any other explanation but an immortal playing with all these human minds.

Only it wasn’t the scent of mortal blood that greeted him when the door slammed closed behind his back, locked by a strength Armand couldn’t hope to face and win. Armand’s heart raced in his chest when the first bit of blood invaded his nostrils. Stale and rancid as it was Armand couldn’t miss the fact that it was immortal blood, a revolting mix of too many people to prove to estimate how many.

It was when his mind was running in circles, trying to find answers for questions he couldn’t even fully form, that he heard it. The laugh, like the old man said. Laughs of children and young boys. He pivoted on himself, ready to attack, but he saw nothing behind him and yet the laughs filled the silence once again, and this time they came with the tip tap of running feet.

Armand turned again, furious, and looked towards the stairs, in his mind he could see himself and Riccardo rushing there, to prove who was faster. He remembered how slippery the marble was under their shoes, but neither of them was ready to slow down. Furious, his long fingers curled into shaking fists by his side, Armand shook his head to clear it and marched towards the sounds, ready to call out whatever scheme he just stepped into and destroy whoever dared to play so cruelly with his memories.

His steps rushed towards where the smell was stronger, and he found himself in the ballroom, the one that was once full of life and joy. The one where Marius had hosted his parties and where Armand and the boys had been allowed to play and study, knowing their presence wouldn’t bother their Maestro but bring joy to his heart. He stopped dead in his tracks. No, it was impossible. His eyes filled with tears once again and his hands flew to his mouth, slapping it closed. No, he begged in his mind. It wasn’t possible.

His immortal eyes had to play tricks to him, what other explanation could it be for what he was seeing? There, in the middle of the room, standing on the marble floor, where his brothers. He could see them like he did that morning, before doom fell upon them all. When a strangled sob left his mouth, making Armand jump, they turned and looked at him, as shocked as Armand felt.

It was only then that he saw that there was an ethereal nature to them. Their bodies, once warm and solid, were now too light. Their feet didn’ really touch the marble and it was like they were floating in the air, without really doing so.

When Armand moved a step towards them, their eyes grew wider in shock and they ran away, too fast for even his senses to catch up with them.

“No. No please. Come back.” He cried, uncaring of the tears now free to run. “Please come back.” He sobbed again, but no one answered his call.

Blinded by tears and pain, lost in the memories of a time when he had been happy, Armand began to wander, lost like he had been when he first stepped into the palazzo, from room to room.

Once he knew them as his own pockets. He had explored, alone and with the other boys both, every nook, every hidden spot where he could wait for his Master to come back and from where he could watch and learn about his secret. Now those same rooms, but were they really the same? Was all of this even real, Armand thought, or just an intricate plot to trap him somewhere, for he still couldn’t believe anything of what he was seeing.

“You were always like that.” Armand froze once again, unable to even move. The voice came from him from behind and it echoed in his mind at the same time. How could this be?

“You never believed, until you saw.”

The same voice kept going. A voice he knew and had once loved. Albino, gentle Albino, lost to madness and cruelty like the others.

“Even now you are like Saint Thomas.”

He remembered when they used to talk about religion and Saints, the same in both of their religions, sometimes just with different names or different details in their stories. A new wave of tears fell from his eyes, now kept tightly shut, so that Albino couldn’t see their color and that he became one and the same with those who had taken him from life.

“You are not real.” He tried. “You can’t be real.”

“Saint Thomas.” The voice said, in a mockery voice and yet not malicious, just the voice of a brother making fun of another.

When Armand turned, he saw no one there.

***

Lost and alone, his heart heavy with sorrow and longing for those he always missed the most, Armand kept walking, hoping to meet them again, to hear them again, but the place had gone silent, like a haunted mansion full of memories and nothing more.

For a very long time he didn’t even realize that he couldn’t reach the exit, every time he was sure he was close to the stairs he couldn’t find them. It was like the palazzo had claimed him to stay, and for the first time in years he felt at peace.

Maybe this was his punishment, after all, to be forced to stay forever, in the company of ghosts that maybe were just in his mind, starving to death where he had been alive and happy with his brothers and Master.

“A house is built from the foundation up.”

His heart broke when he heard the new voice. Riccardo, his dearest friend, the one he has killed in his starvation induced frenzy.

“You are not as alone as you fear.”

But he was, Armand wanted to scream. He was so alone, always alone. He lost everything and now he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He never wanted to be the monster that terrified Paris, or Santino’s perfect heir.

Armand didn’t even know who he was anymore, but one thing was clear to his mind. He was alone in the world and no one would ever love him again.

It was when he was thinking those gloomy thoughts that he saw stairs again, not the one that would lead him outside, but the ones that would take him to the basement, the deepest place in the Palazzo, closer to the foundation than any other place he could imagine.

***

Unlike the rest of the palazzo, where there was light everywhere, the way downstairs was dark and menacing. As he went down, Armand felt like he was being swallowed by hell itself and he knew it would be a fitting ending for his life.

If this was how it ended, he thought, at least he wasn’t going to die under Santino’s gaze. He never deserved any part of him, and certainly not his demise. His only regret was not having the opportunity to kill Santino to avenge himself and his brothers.

The basements were like nothing Armand ever saw before, with long and intricate corridors, not at all like what he remembered. At the walls, a long line of lightened torches casted their shaking shadows on the nude rocks.

There, in the orange light Armand saw Jacopo, sitting on the floor like he used to do when his short legs wouldn’t carry him in his plays with the older boys. He looked up when Armand approached and after a moment of confusion, when he realized that Armand could see him, a huge smile blossomed on his face and he waved his small hand towards him.

Armand felt what was left of his heart to break in his chest. In all the centuries he had lived as a rat in the sewers, no one has ever shown so much happiness in simply seeing him.

“It’s scary inside. Do you want me to keep you safe?”

It was that, some simple words said by a child, that broke Armand. Gone was the cult leader or the monster, killed by a dead child’s innocence.

Armand fell to his knees, the echo of the bones breaking because of the force so loud that Jacopo had to cover his ears. Armand wailed and screamed, all the pain that he kept hidden inside finally free.

He cried and cried and as the blood soaked his clothes he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t breathe or think, all he could do was to break.

In his state of distress he felt Jacopo’s little hand petting his hair. He wanted to hug the boy, to beg for his forgiveness, but when he tried it was only air that he met. He screamed even louder, but the presence was still there, comforting him at best of his possibility.

“Don’t be sad, Amadeo. Il Maestro doesn’t like when you are.”

Il Maestro. Could it really be possible? Could Marius be still there, tied like the boys to the place where he had lived? He needed to know, he needed to see with his eyes if Marius was still there.

Slowly he got back to his feet, feeling weak and defeated and yet he could only move forward, Jacopo by his side, holding his hand.

“It’s scary, but you must be strong.” Iacopo said before they stepped into what was once the cellar.

If only his brother knew what he became, Armand thought, he would be the one afraid to be with him, not the one comforting him about whatever it was that was hidden behind the heavy door that, even with his strength, barely moved when Armand pushed.

The door finally gave up its resistance and shuddered in a deafening noise of bent metal and splintered wood, but when Armand looked he understood Jacopo’s fear. He looked at the child by his side, and even knowing nothing could hurt him anymore, he felt the urge to send him away from what his eyes couldn’t bear.

Like he understood his thoughts, Jacopo was gone after waving to him for one last time.

***

The first thing that assaulted his senses was the overpowering smell of rotting blood. He hissed under his breath, unable to contain his reaction, but then he saw it. The room, as large as the whole palazzo, was filled with dying vampires.

Their clothes in pieces, rags that were impossible to recognize for an untrained eye, but that to Armand spoke of decay and cemeteries no one visited in a very long time. What little remained covering the emaciated bodies so close to the final death, were the old robes and cloaks that the Children of Satan wore for their sacred rituals.

Those walking corpses were just a pale echo of what they had been before. Among them he could recognize those who had attacked Marius and the palazzo, vampires so old and yet now weak and dying.

Their hands didn’t have claws anymore, or meat to cover the dry bones. Those shone, white and fragile, as even the blood was gone. It was like they dug and dug and dug until they consumed themselves.

Armand looked around for corpses, real ones, rotting, that he knew weren't there, and he was right. The only source of food those prisoners could have found in their slow agony was eating each other, partaking in the most extreme form of blood communion, something he knew well, the old coven was above doing, and yet, it looked like that old habit died inside them like everything else.

“Help,” One of those shells whispered. “Help us.” They finished.

Armand couldn’t even say if the person who just spoke had been someone he personally knew, so unrecognizable he was under those layers of dry blood and dirt, with gaping wounds over their bodies that couldn’t be healed.

When they spoke, Armand understood. Where their fangs were supposed to be, two holes were left behind, the wounds cauterized shut. Whoever did this to them made sure they would starve to death, slowly, and there was nothing that could be done.

In the silence that followed, the distinct sound of breaking bones echoed and Armand watched, unmoved, as the vampire who dared to speak fell on the ground, his neck twisting in a strange angle, too weak to hope to recover from that.

When Armand raised his eyes, glued for a moment on the scene in front of him, unable to really understand how everyone else didn’t so much as move when one of them just died. Too busy with what they were doing, their eyes downcast, smelling like terror to care for their own fallen brethren. Then Armand finally saw him.

A figure dressed in black, head to toes. The long cloak that finished the outfit embroidered with gold, the only accent of color together with the gold mask he wore to cover his face. This man looked like an angel of death, one that Marius would have made immortal in one of his paintings. By his feet there was a pile of rags, Armand thought. Strange, for the place was neat if not for the dying bodies. Then the lump moved and Armand realized it was someone, not something.

But thinking about Marius pushed Armand back to the edge of a breakdown, but he couldn’t show weakness, that would be too dangerous in the presence of someone who seemed to be presiding over this torment. What exactly he was doing Armand didn’t yet know, however he could guess.

“They rebuilt the place they had destroyed.” A voice that had a known quality but still sounded foreign to Armand’s ears said.

Muffled by the mask that didn’t have a mouth, Armand noticed, the voice could have belonged to anyone, and yet Armand couldn’t shake the feeling that it could be Marius, hidden behind the faceless mask, even if the voice was cold as ice and full of a cruelty Armand never thought Marius could possess.

But how could this be possible? For the man standing in front of him, in the middle of all this blood and violence couldn’t be Marius. From him Armand could feel hate and rage and darkness come off of him in waves, and when he thought of Marius, it was light and gentleness and love that Armand imagined. It was everything that Marius had been for him, everything he needed in the shelter he created in his mind, in a place where Santino could never enter. That had been his safe haven, the one Santino could never stain with his poison.

Unable to speak and ask the only question he wanted an answer to, uneasy with the mask that covered Marius’ beloved face, and still unsure if the person standing there, looking both too real and as though he were something his mind made up. And with what he knew about hell, the latter would be true, and Armand was forced to look away and it was then that he realized how distracted he became.

In any other place and occasion this could have cost him his life, and yet, even with his mind still unsure of who the masked man really was, he knew deep down, that for whatever reason he was safe in the palazzo, like the place itself would protect him from harm.

What he thought were rags, was kneeling at the man’s feet, broken and dirty and ugly outside like he always was inside, ruined by fire and unspeakable tortures, was Santino.

The once proud and unhinged cult leader, the Coven Master who fed him Riccardo, his best friend and anchor in the darkness, was now worse than a beast. A mangy animal for whom death could be a blessing. One that apparently he didn’t deserve yet.

This time Armand did move and Santino, as though attracted by the change in the air, raised his head to show his nearly desiccated face. So starved was he, that his lips were cracked and drawn, revealing that, like the others, he didn’t have fangs. He sniffed the air between them.

“Armand,” he asked aloud, his voice broken and yet filled with a renewed hope that had no place to be. “Is it really you?”

“Armand.” The man said, and never before his name has sounded so dirty and wrong. “A fitting choice. Soldier. I wonder who you fight for now.”

Armand was the name Santino chose for him, the one he kept to remind himself of everything he had lost. Amadeo was dead, killed by Santino’s cruelty. He couldn’t be Amadeo and survive when everything he was, existed because of Marius’ love and affection, and what he had taught him.

He needed to be strong and assert his mastery over his own life, so he picked a name that was both a reminder of what could never be again, and a warning for those who could be so stupid to see weakness in him.

Now he wasn’t so sure anymore, he didn’t feel strong, or at all like a soldier. He just felt like a lost boy all over again, confused and isolated in a world that was bigger than he could ever hope to understand. After everything that had happened to him, Armand was once again faced with the devastating truth that he would lose everything time again. He was, after all Armand, and he was alone.

“I fight for myself.” He answered when the silence became too much.

He learned to do that, he had to. When he found himself alone, in the hands of Santino and his men, all he could do was to survive, in any possible way. He became everything that Santino wanted and more. He became his soldier, at first, only to take his place by force and fear when Santino disappeared. He fought for Satan in the beginning, and for the darkness when he began to change things. He took pleasure in holding the power but finally, he fought for himself and to keep the power he had tasted for the first time.

“Yourself? Not Satan himself, or Santino?”

That simple question and the mockery in the voice of someone who didn’t even believe Satan was real, and who hated Santino with a passion rooted in the centuries, told him what deep in his heart he already knew.

Santino, wrong as always, picked that moment to start talking. Unaware of the turmoil that was torturing Armand, and perhaps also unaware of who his jailer really was.

“You came. I called for you…”

But Armand could never hear his call, it fell deaf to everyone’s ears and Armand suspected it was because of the power that permeated every inch of this place. A power that was ancient in blood and fueled by hate and resentment.

However, the familiarity Santino used to speak to him, like he really believed Armand was there out of loyalty for him, unnerved him like nothing else could. For that Armand decided he would set things right between them, for he knew this was the last time he would talk to Santino. The older vampire was dying and Armand would watch and enjoy every second of it.

“I came to see you rot, Santino. I came because my only regret in life, if this is where I die, was not to have killed you.” Armand finished for him, crushing under the weight of his words whatever emotion and hope had pushed Santino to speak.

Next he looked back at the man with the mask, his eyes seething with fury and bloodthirst.

“Allow me.” He begged. “Allow me to kill him for everything he took from us.” He said as bile rose in his mouth with its bitter and acidic taste. He was now ready to admit what his mind still couldn’t believe, but his heart knew it was the truth, that the man in the gold mask was Marius, that this was how it all ended for them.

“For my brothers. For the time he stole from us. For Amadeo who died and left only me in his place. For you, Master, and what you are now. Allow me to be the one to end him.”

Those words seemed to bring a halt to the masked man’s action and thought, like he didn’t expect to hear them and now, he couldn’t believe that what Armand said was true. To believe him would mean that he had been wrong, that Amadeo - no, Armand, he corrected himself - never betrayed him and what they had, as he had believed for far too long. Amadeo was the one Marius had loved and lost, and Armand was the man he now couldn’t trust.

“Be careful what you wish for, Armand.”

“It’s the only thing I ever wanted. Since I lost you to him, since he killed who you had once loved and created me, all I wanted was the power to avenge us. Let me kill him and then, you can do whatever you think I deserve.”

Those weren’t the words he had dreamed of speaking to Marius. Alone in his cell when Santino was starving him, Amadeo had wished and hoped that Marius was still alive and would come to rescue him. Armand wasn’t so naive, he couldn’t allow hope to weaken him, so he simply dreamed, sometimes, of seeing Marius again, of having the chance to tell him he never stopped loving him. Never had he thought that in seeing Marius again he would have also given up the power he gained over his life, putting that very same life he so hard fought to keep, in the hands of someone who now hated him, after teaching him what love was.

“Your sweet words won’t buy you freedom.” The man reminded Armand, but he already knew that.

“I don’t want freedom. I want revenge.”

“Revenge shouldn’t be more important than freedom to you.”

“It is, if it means I can see him suffer.”

“Oh he already suffered, a lot. His life, slowly drained from him, it's what makes this place so special. With their life, the Palazzo has been restored, Santino’s death will be the last stone on its resurrection.”

Armand already figured some of this out. “Like Dracula did with the Boiardi, when he decided the price for their betrayal was to die rebuilding his family’s castle.”

“You remember your history.” Once again he sounded surprised.

“I remember everything that you taught me.” Armand said again, without heat behind his words, just an extreme sadness. “Even if you won’t believe me.” He finished the sentence, words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.

“Why should I believe someone who still didn’t even use my name?”

“Marius.” Armand said. “You are Marius, my beloved maker, the one I have loved above everyone and everything else. My savior and the one who left me to rot.”

“What was I supposed to do, Armand?” Marius asked.

“When I recovered enough, I heard you were the Coven Master, the cult leader. You were everything I tried to keep you from becoming.”

His heart had broken when he first heard about Armand. He didn’t know his name back then, when he had still been weak and vulnerable, and yet he traveled to Paris and saw with his own eyes his beloved becoming Santino’s heir.

“I thought I was alone. I thought you died and left me alone in this world. I wanted to survive Marius, hate me all you want for this, but I did everything to survive.”

Marius had many words for this. He had imagined many scenarios where he and Amadeo would have met again, and yet, everything faded in the background and it didn’t matter anymore, not when his beloved really believed that Marius would hate him for surviving.

Was he disappointed? Yes, of course he was. He had tried to keep Amadeo from descending in the blind fanaticism that always held too much power over him. He also was heartbroken that his beloved would choose the path he picked, but hating him? No, that was something Marius could never do.

“Say something.” Armand demanded, and while he didn’t raise his voice, the desperation behind those words echoed in the room like a scream. “Say something damn you.”

It was then, that Marius removed the mask from his face, showing his features for everyone to see who destroyed them.

Behind Armand’s command Marius could hear the pain of a lost soul, of someone who desperately wanted to come home, but thought he could never do that.

“I could.” Words died in his mouth. Never before they failed him like now, in a moment he needed them more than ever. “I could never hate you, no matter how you choose to be named, no matter who you became, I could never hate you.”

It was Armand’s turn to be shocked into incredulity, but soon he recovered and in his fiery red eyes, a new fire burned.

“Now you should be the one to pay attention to your words.”

“It’s just the truth, as hard as it can be to believe it.” For Marius knew Armand wouldn’t trust simple words. He knew he would demand more, but now there was something else that demanded their attention.

“You let me to rot. Why should I believe you don’t hate me?” Armand asked, for the thought of Marius leaving him without a reason as strong as hate, was unbearable.

“Tell me something, Armand.” Marius said and his voice was heavy with gravitas. “Look at me in the eyes and tell me if I walked into the catacombs and asked you, in front of your coven, to follow me outside, would have you done it?”

Leaving Armand behind had been the hardest thing he ever did. It had been his greatest regret and he almost lost himself in the long years that followed that decision. But deep down Marcus knew it was the only thing he could have done.

Armand had been so lost, so deep into the lies that Santino had created for him, he couldn’t be saved by someone else, not even Marius himself. The decision to walk free from the brainwashing and the lies, but also the decision to walk away from the power he now had tasted, had to come from Armand himself, everything else wouldn’t have been strong enough.

“I - I would…” Armand didn’t know what he would have done. No one did. The past between them couldn’t be changed. It was painful, it was unfair, but it also was what brought them here and now and Armand needed to believe there was a reason why he was standing in front of Marius as those who wronged them were dying.

“You needed to decide you wanted your freedom back, Armand, and I couldn’t make the decision for you.” Marius’ words weighed down on both of their souls with their finality.

“Now you are here, begging me to be the one who kills Santino, even if you know how long I kept him here, even if you can see with your own eyes how long I spent torturing him. Tell me why I should allow you to be the one to end him.”

Marius was curious. He spent decades torturing his old enemy, taking everything from him, his fangs, his blood, his coven, his eyes, everything he ever held dear, Marius had taken it, he had taken his time, waiting for the right moment to end his pathetic life, and now someone else wanted what was rightfully his. He needed to know why he should concede his prize to someone else.

“It is my right. He made me the monster I am. He helped to destroy Amadeo, the one you have loved so deeply. He destroyed everything of me you could have loved and left the monster you can’t even look at. You speak of wanting to free myself, his death will be my freedom.”

Marius felt silent, his blue eyes dug holes in Armand’s soul but he didn’t flinch. He submitted himself to such a scrutiny and at the end Marius must have found him worthy because he simply nodded his head. Yes, Armand had the right to kill Santino.

Santino followed the exchange as bile raised in his mouth. Blinded by hate and betrayal, prayed to Satan himself to give him revenge against those who betrayed him. He really thought that Armand was meant to be his, why else had he broken so easily and totally? He couldn’t accept he was wrong from the beginning, couldn’t accept that after everything he did, Armand was back to Marius.

Those filthy words from a dead mouth enraged Armand and a fire burned in his eyes. He knew what Santino was thinking. The man forgot that Armand wasn’t his. It wasn’t his dark blood that created him, and so his mind was open to Armand.

If I can’t have you and your loyalty, Marius won’t either.

Santino never had time to wonder how it was possible he had been so wrong, before Armand slashed his throat with his claws.

The pain of his former acolyte’s claws tore through his throat, and wath little blood remained in his veins, sluggish and black, oozed from the gaping wound.

The gash was deep enough that Armand could see Santino’s spine, but he didn’t feel pity for him. This was right, this was everything he always wanted.

I won my boy, my monster. How can Marius love you as you are now?

When Santino’s last thoughts hit Armand, a renewed hate surged in his own heart. To watch him slowly die, as Santino bled to death wasn’t enough. With all his strength, Armand broke his chest, shattering and tearing apart the ribs until he reached for his weakly beating heart.

Santino slumps to the ground, the life leeching out of his eyes, though he was still just conscious enough to see the moment Armand let go of his heart. It plopped on the ground between them with a wet sound. There was a coldness in Armand’s eyes that made even Santino shudder as his heart was crushed under Armand’s heel, and in those final moments he knew Armand had neer been his.

And just like that Santino died, among the rags and bones in which he’d chosen to live, leaving Armand free and finishing what Marius had started. The palazzo was now steady and secure, founded over the blood of those who had dared to desecrate it and who had killed the children the palazzo and his Master had swore to protect.

After Santino’s death, they left the basement, side by side, close but not touching, both afraid to break thi moment and discover that it all had been just a dream.

When they reached that ballroom, the children were there, brothers and sons, lost and found again, they ran to Marius and Armand, and for once their hugs felt solid, powered by their love, and when they parted, it wasn’t a goodbye for they would stay with Marius and Armand forever, bonded to the souls and not the place.

Don’t waste your second chance.

At first Armand believed Albino and Riccardo had spoken to him alone, but when he looked at Marius he saw the same expression in his eyes, of love and regrets, and he knew he heard the same words.

They didn’t say anything, but looked at each other. Following an instinct that never left them, but stayed asleep in his hearts, their hands moved at the same time and when they touched, no one could say who grasped at the other’s with more force and fierce possession. Tears shone in their eyes as they lost themselves in each other but when they felt the boys uneasiness and confusion they both mastered the will to smile. Those were tears of joy, not pain.

For centuries after that night the Palazzo would stand, a reminder of what it had been before, and little by little Venice found in herself to love it again. Slowly life came back to it with balls and masquerades, but only at night, when few stunning but distant creatures would dare to venture there and mix with humans. They would know the truth and remember Marius and his love for Amadeo. Whispers would tell the story of Marius and Armand, but that story was still unfinished, for their love that consumed souls and lives is still burning.

Theirs is a story that still doesn’t have the word end on it. Many would think they would still be there, at the end of time and space, together, to say goodbye to the world. Others whisper that eternity is not enough to contain their love.

A story of blood and tears, of revenge and longing. A story that is violent and could, alone, destroy everything in its path, but also a story of love like no one else.

They bathed in the blood of their enemies, the bodies of which their home still stands upon. Some still say it’s a cursed place, and yet it is never far from the hearts of those who reforged it through blood.

Stay away from the Palazzo, or, if you are brave enough, embrace what it means and hope you can find a love like Marius and Armand’s but knowing that such a love always requires sacrifices.

That’s what Giovanna wrote in her book, before she disappeared, looking for someone to love, many said. Her mother was long gone when it happened and she had the stars in her eyes when said her goodbyes to Venice and the Palazzo.

THE END

#marius de romanus #marius/armand #Love #They love each other #Armand

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peachyho · 3 years

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The Fall of Icarus II

pairing: Heeseung x Reader

genre: fluff, mild angst, mages

warnings: tattoo’s, some pain, a lot of fighting, some blood, sickening pet names, i write bad

word count: 3.3k

summary: Icarus laughed as he fell

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It had been 15 years since the two of you had pricked your fingers together, sealing the bond you’d had for all time. Since that day, you had never left his side. Now you were here in the giant house, resting on your entirely naked front while Heeseung was hovering over your back, following the stencil he’d lain on your skin a few hours prior while he tapped the black ink into your skin.

It wasn’t his first time, and now he’d worked on his powers enough to the point of you never feeling a thing. You never noticed how Heeseung shifted in pain every few moments with every new symbol he etched into your skin, how his skin seemed irritated for hours after, only testing your new abilities until your bones felt like they would break with one strong breeze.

Finally, everything was done, and Heeseung watched in awe as the ink slowly leached into your skin, leaving only a red impression of what he’d just sent hours working on. Slowly it faded even more to a subtle pink, looking like nothing more than just a bruise that hadn’t healed quite yet. The way it looped into the other symbols hidden on your back was nothing more than elegant, and Heeseung was thankful you had designed it so beautifully.

“You’re ready my little mage, it's finished,” his smile was showing in his voice, a gentle hand running up your bare side, finger brushing against the tickling spot on your ribs. Your hand came up to swat him away, pushing yourself up gently, anticipating the ache that never came as you pulled your shirt on.

“Thank you my kind warlock.” You pressed a light kiss to his lips, stretching as you stood up fully, tiredness already seeping through your body after lying down for so long.

“So what does this one do?” Heeseung grabbed your hand, lips brushing against your knuckles as he looked up at you from the chair. You ruffled his hair, eyes crinkling shut as you smiled at him.

“This, my little cat, is a looping sigil. If I ever wanted to activate it, it would be a fail safe.” Heeseung stared you down, eyes darkening slightly.

“A fail safe for what?” His tone was harsh, fingers gripping you tighter and tighter with every passing second.

“In case it's necessary, Hee. But it's just an if, I probably wont ever need it.” You crouched down in front of him, other hand taking his and squeezing it reassuringly. It didn’t seem to work.

“I promise you my little mage, I will never let anything happen to you. That sigil will never ever be used, I swear on my life.” With his words, a faint blue chain circled around your joined fists, barely noticeable in the light streaming in from the windows.

“I promise I will never use it unless it is the last possible choice.” Some chain links turned red, blending into the chain seamlessly. He let his head fall down slightly, pressing his forehead against yours while staring at the chain. You closed your eyes, letting your breath out in a shaky sigh.

“My little mage…”

“My kind warlock.” You tilted your head forward, brushing your lips against his ever so slightly. You opened your eyes as you pulled away, the chains no longer around your fists but a faint impression left on your skin.

—

17 years and 10 months. It had passed in a flash, the years creating up on you like a hunter stalking prey. Much like how Heeseung was acting now.

The two of you had arrived at this ball together, a friend and fellow mage celebrating his marriage in a night of drink and dance. Well, to call it a ball would be to imply some kind of fancy hall, servants standing at every possible area ready to serve drinks and food. This was not a ball in the typical sense.

The woods were lit by firebugs and fae light, stringed instruments playing a merry jig while some singers belted their voices to reach even the nearest village and most hidden creatures. People swung their partners in circles, drunk on mead and the feeling of true joviality. You were in the outskirts of the dance, spinning with a random mage with large rams horns protruding from his forehead, and two hooves for feet. He was a fantastic dancer despite them- or maybe because of them. With an unspoken count, all the ladies parted from their partners, running to the middle with a cheer, only to be spun by a new partner.

Your moss green woven dress flew around you, matching all the deep earth tones everyone wore, the only form of a dress code in this celebration. The hard chest under your steadying hands was familiar, and the laugh that bellowed out warmed your soul as Heeseung picked you up by the waist, twirling in time with everyone around him before setting you down, skipping with you in a large circle around the married couple in the centre.

“My little mage, I’ve been trying to dance with you all night,” Heeseung was slightly out of breath, small beads of sweat showing on his forehead, matching your own signs of exertion. “You’re a very hard woman to catch.”

“My sweet warlock,” a spin that almost sent you tumbling over a tree root sticking out of the ground. “I know you do enjoy a challenge,” you winked at him, spinning him this time, laughing as he almost fell over the same tree root. And with him distracted, the count finished again, all the women running towards the centre again with screams of glee, watching as Ilore grabbed Kirra’s waist, bending her and planting a tipsy, sloppy kiss to her cheek.

Another scream sounded out over the sounds of joy, a bloodcurdling scream that made you shiver, everyone around turning all over to see where it came from. The strings and singers trailed off at separate times, a dissonant sound making everyone cover their ears in pain. Another scream from a different voice came from your right, and some people started towards it to find the source, only to fall back as monstrous creatures emerged from the dark forest all around. The fae lights flickered out as people began running, some away from the monsters and some towards their weapons littered on the benches that had been pushed aside for the dancing.

You were almost frozen, head turning rapidly to try and find- Heeseung was helping up someone who’d fallen, but a creature was right behind him. Running as fast as you could, you tapped your right wrist with two fingers, feeling as the symbol began burning and a spear made of red lightning appeared in your hand. You stopped a few meters away, momentum carrying your arm as you flung the spear straight into the chest of the creature who was mere inches from Heeseung. He looked behind him just to see the spear return to your outstretched hand, turning into a whip just before reaching you.

Nodding at you, he returned to helping the fallen, while you continued attacking. Nothing was keeping them down, they just kept getting back up seconds after being knocked down. You tapped your wrist again, jumping back a few steps while someone ran into the side of a monster just in front of you. A hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you away just as another creature leapt on the man who was pummelling the fallen creature into the ground.

“Y/N we need to run!” Heeseung was desperately trying to pull you back from the fight, more mages joining in now they were armed.

“Heeseung, go now.” You spun, trying to get your arm free from his grip.

“I can't leave you!” His tone was desperate, fear making his chest tighter than anything he’d felt before. You placed a hand on his cheek, trying to calm yourself before you started running with him.

“I will always come back Heeseung, always back to you.” You tried to project a feeling of calm to Heeseung, knowing he could feel everyone’s fear which only helped in amplifying his own. A scream burst out behind you just as he was starting to calm, and the edge of fear returned to his eyes, expression heartbreaking as he looked over your head at the fight still raging behind you.

“Come back to me, little mage.” Heeseungs hand squeezed your arm before letting you go, turning to run and help anyone who needed it.

“Always.”

A snarl sounded just behind your ear, and you barely managed to duck underneath the claws that came for your head. You tucked your arms around you, brushing your elbows with your palms, and spun as you pulled your arms apart, palms staying against your arms until your wrists. A transparent red shield suddenly burst into existence on your left arm, right hand glowing as the creature slammed against the shield in fury. Gods it was strong. You finally could take in it's appearance and it almost made you run right there.

Wulvers.

It was humanoid, entire body covered in short brown hair with a wolf's head snarling down at you. Wulvers were never down this far from the hills, nor were they particularly violent towards those who didn’t wrong them. What the fuck were they doing here, attacking a gods damned party?

Droll dripped down onto the red shield, arms slamming down again. It’s eyes were feral, hunger tainting it's eyes while claws ripped at the shield, desperate to get through. With a shout, you pushed the monster back with your covered arm, right hand grabbing it's thigh as it stumbled. Almost instantly, the Wulvers back arched in pain, a silent roar opening it's mouth to an impossible width, the skin at the sides stretching and ripping as pain seized every nerve. It dropped after a long moment, curling into itself as you finally pulled your hand away, running your hands back up your arms till the elbows.

There wasn’t much time to concentrate on the way it looked almost pitiful, mages all around you still trying to fight off the remaining Wulvers. You saw as a mage you once knew a few years ago, who gave you your first sigil book fell down underneath one of the creatures. You moved on instinct, sliding on your knees towards the mage, knuckles pressing together. When they pulled apart, they glowed with a blood red mist surrounding them. A punch to the Wulver’s side sent it staggering away, another punch to it's head knocking it out swiftly. You turned to pull the mage up before realising the symbols were still glowing. A swift press of them together made sure the mage wouldn’t be harmed as you pulled him to his feet. A twig was digging in uncomfortably on your sole- when did you lose your shoes.

There was countless shouts now, both pain and anger mingled together. Everywhere you looked, there was some mage or warlock fighting a Wulver, and you didn’t know where in the Hells to start. There, a witch was trying to scramble away from a Wulver who’d caught her dress in it's claws. Taking off in a sprint towards her, you clapped your hands together twice, palms glowing as you jumped onto the back of the Wulver, pressing your palms to the sides of it's head. The hair underneath your hands was thickly matted and tangled, but the Wulver felt the pain from your magic anyway. It let out a pitiful howl, body curling in on itself while it's claws finally retracted from the dress, scratching at it's head in agony. A claw sliced down your left hand, and you had to fight every instinct to pull in back and cradle it. A second later and the Wulver dropped to the floor, not dead but simply passed out.

Falling back from it, you crouched next to the witch, making sure she was alright before clapping your hands back together. Once the glowing subsided, you ripped at your dress, getting a strip large enough to wrap around your hand. The adrenaline coursing through your body helped fight off the pain for now, but you could feel small ebbs breaking through every few seconds. Every time you looked around now, another Wulver was falling, and there was no more place for you in anybody’s battle.

You allowed yourself a moment of rest, pushing yourself back against a tree stump at the edge of the clearing, exhaustion creeping up on you after using so many sigils so quickly in succession. The final Wulver fell to a mages axe, and everyone stayed in a moment of high alert, scanning the clearing for a sign of any more appearing from the dark woods. All the light had left now, firebugs leaving moments after the fighting had begun. The only light source was people’s magic, different colours melding together into one large collective. One by one, they lowered their weapons, finding the wounded and gathering the Wulvers into a pile. You helped as much as you could, but the pain and exhaustion were hitting full force now.

A healer mage was making his rounds on the wounded, and you tried to wave him away to help the others, but the blood seeping through your makeshift bandage was at a worrying level now and the mage sat you down on one of the benches still intact after the attack. His power made you feel warm, and you were close to falling asleep until you heard more footsteps coming from the side of you. You were a second away from attacking again until a voice called out, one more familiar to you than the back of your own hand.

“Oh my Gods, are you okay?!” Heeseung ran up to you, sliding to a crouch as he grabbed your face, scanning for any marks. His touch was beyond comforting, and you sank into it without any complaints.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. I made it back in one piece to you, didn’t I?” Your jokes were an attempt to comfort him, but his panic was becoming overwhelming, hands running over you in an effort to find any cuts or injuries. You couldn’t handle the feeling of dread in your stomach any longer, and you grabbed his wrists to stop his frantic examinations.

“Heeseung, look at me.” His eyes continued scanning you, so you let go of one of his wrists, grabbing his chin this time.

“Look at me. I’m okay. Calm down, deep breaths. I am okay, I am alive and I’m here with you. Calm yourself.” You could see the tears welling in his eyes as he looked into yours with such feeling, it made your very soul ache. He closed them after a moment, a shaky breath leaving him, one he didn’t know he was holding. His head fell forward, a tear sliding down his cheek, and you let go of his chin, hand resting on the back of his neck instead as you smoothed his tousled hair down, pressing your lips to the top of his head. Neither of you pulled away, resting there for a long moment while Heeseung managed to calm himself down, pulling his emotions back inside.

Eventually, he rested his hands on your knee, pulling away from you. His smile seemed too forced, and he still looked on the cusp of tears as he looked at you once again.

“Let’s go home, little mage.” Home to where nothing could hurt you is what he wanted to say. Home to where he could keep you safe, where you had laid protection sigils all over so nothing that wanted to cause harm could enter, to where he could hold you for the rest of the night knowing you were staying by his side and weren’t leaving him. You let him grab your hand, pulling you up to his side so he could wrap an arm around your waist, keeping you as close to his side as possible.

He wouldn’t let you go for the rest of the night, stepping in behind you into the bath, pulling you close to his chest while he washed the dirt and muck from the Wulvers off. You let him shampoo your hair, his fingers dragging over your scalp in the most relaxing way. You turned to return the favour but caught his troubled face.

“What’s wrong Heeseung?” You asked, placing your palm against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing with the comforting touch. He hummed, twisting his head to press a kiss to your palm before answering.

“For a moment, I couldn’t tell if you were there. I've always been able to feel your presence, but when you were fighting, at some point everything just… closed off. I thought I lost you forever, my little mage. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” His eyes stayed closed but you could see the way his brow furrowed and his lips trembled slightly. Leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose, you grabbed the shampoo from beside him and squirted some into your hands.

“Open your eyes Heeseung,” you started rubbing the shampoo into his hair while he complied. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m alive. I’m with you, right now. I’m not leaving you Heeseung, I promise.” Tears welled up in both your eyes as you spoke, and your voice shook with every passing word. He let out a breath that turned into a sob halfway through, and he wrapped his arms around you as he broke, nestling his head in your neck. The suds in his hair popped against your cheek as you pressed into him, bringing your arms around his neck, tears falling freely down your cheeks.

The two of you remained crying as you finished bathing, only pulling apart from each other when you had to wash his hair off. You dried each other gently, tears dried up but still sobbing, the weight of the day hitting the two of you fully in two very different but too similar ways. Heeseung lifted you up after your bath, making sure your legs were wrapped around his waist before carrying you out of the bathing room, arms wrapped oh so tightly around your waist as if he was scared you would suddenly disappear.

He did not let you go even as you reached the bedroom, sitting down on the edge with you on his lap. His head that was tucked into your neck pressed gentle kisses onto your skin, pushing himself up until he was now lying down, head against the pillows. You reached down to grab the cover, cold air hitting your still exposed skin making you shiver. Pulling it over the two of you, Heeseung adjusted so you were now at his side, still half draped over him. Your body felt too heavy to move on your own, so you just let him get the two of you comfortable, eyes feeling so very tired. Heeseung waved a hand, and the curtains showing the just brightening sky closed off, small candles being lit all over the room. He wasn’t ready to be in the dark just yet, fears that you would be lost to the dark if he couldn’t see you too overwhelming at this moment.

He felt so vulnerable when you were away from him, the knowledge that if you were hurt or worse, that he would go insane with guilt and loss was too much for him to bear. His arms tightened around you, needing to feel you close to him to know you were still there. Sleep felt too far for him to reach this night, but with the feeling of your steadying breathing against him, and the warmth you were giving off, somehow he managed to find himself moments away from drifting off.

“I can't lose you my little mage.” His whisper was so loud in the quiet room, the sounds of birds waking outside the only other thing he could hear.

“I fear I would lose myself too.”

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #heeseung #heeseung enhypen #lee heeseung #kpop writing #enhypen writing #heeseung series #heeseung imagines #heeseung fanfiction #kpop fanfic #tfoi

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akindofmagictoo · 2 years

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manuscript search tag game

@zmlorenz left an open tag where I could see it... it was in October but I’m filling it now. why not.

my words are habit, lonely, rain, window

habit (Hurricane) (Marisa my beloved)

“Yes?” Marisa approached, her skirt swinging with the motion.

“You and Aria were dealing with what supplies and treasure we’ve still got. Enlighten me.”

“Well.” Marisa looked suddenly uncomfortable, which was unusual for her. “I know you didn’t want to take anything from Cape Auður—”

Aella frowned. “There’s a but. What is it?”

“—but… we had a look at how much Grimmur took—all of it—and we, er… liberated about the same amount.” She grinned. “Alright. Maybe a little more. Old habits die hard.”

Aella snorted with laughter and nearly fell backwards off the rail. After a heart-stopping moment of I’m going to fall, Theo caught her and lifted her back inside the ship.

lonely (Dragonsong) (friendship!!)

Isi smiled and said, simply, “Thank you.” She appreciated that Robin might have some sort of mentor figure in SB. Figuring things out alone must be difficult, and simply being a mage must be quite lonely. There couldn’t be that many on the continent, or knights would be arresting them more often.

Well, perhaps they just did what Robin did. But SB seemed to think that Robin’s level of power was rare. So perhaps not. Nonetheless, there wouldn’t have been many mages in the heart of the citadel. That would have been lonely.

She returned her attention to the area around them, scanning back and forth for any sign of danger. The town behind them hadn’t even disappeared over the horizon, but already she could see that settlements were beginning to thin out ahead of them as they moved further away from the citadel.

As her eyes roved over Robin and SB, Robin sat up a little straighter, his shoulders un-hunching, and she smiled.

rain (Hurricane)

The rain poured like a constant stream of tiny needles, so thick it might as well have been a solid wall of water falling from the sky. He could hardly breathe for swallowing it. Water sloshed around his feet, deep enough that he effectively stood in a puddle. The rigging could have been possessed as it whipped wildly in the wind. He briefly considered the possibility, even though it was absurd. Beneath his feet, the ship rocked. A wave of salt water smacked into him, leaving him gasping. For a moment he could barely even tell which way was up. There was only water and flying ropes.

window (Hurricane) (tw romance. Aella is drunk and flirting. we love that for her)

She avoided the front window and slipped out through the back door instead. Her foot splashed in a puddle, spattering her leg. Theo jumped.

“Hey, handsome.”

Theo choked on whatever he’d been about to say.

Wait no I didn’t mean to say that I— She sighed. Apparently she was a little more drunk than she’d thought. Heat crept up her neck.

On the one hand, she didn’t want to scare him off. On the other… when was she going to see him again? Now or never, surely.

In the soft glow from the window, he did look rather nice, a loose strand of hair caressing his cheek. She didn’t disagree with her own words… but damn it, they were supposed to stay inside her head. Why had she said that? Whatever she’d meant to say… not that. Very much not that. Idiot.

Theo was still looking at her, wide-eyed.

I shall tag @talesofsorrowandofruin @josephinegerardywriter @the-orangeauthor @rosiewritesandrambles and @chayscribbles, if you so desire. your words, should you choose to accept them, are hope, home, heal, hail

#tag game #manuscript search tag #wip hurricane #hurricane excerpt #wip dragonsong #dragonsong excerpt

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ask-iamnotanalicorn · 3 years

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Previous: The Flim Flam Timeline

The Wasteland Timeline:

This is the story of when Equestria fell.

And this it the story of when Equestria rose again.

The trials began as they always do: with the return of Nightmare Moon. The celestial sisters clashed, and Celestia fell. Heedless of the struggle it would be to keep the Sun set with its alicorn princess banished inside it, Nightmare Moon did just that, determined that her traitorous sister experience Nightmare’s punishment.

Nightmare’s reign of Equestria was strained, but Equestria could have borne it. But within a year, the capital was attacked by the Changelings, desperate to replenish their stores of pony love that had been stymied by the nation’s state of fear and uncertainty. Nightmare Moon was barely managing to repel the threat when the Crystal Empire returned, and King Sombra began to march on her northern borders. With attacks from within and attacks from without, a distrusted leader on the throne, and economic failure rippling across the country as readily as the shifting front lines, the ponies of Equestria were more torn than ever.

So of course that’s when Discord escaped.

The upside of Discord’s release was that it temporarily stopped the fighting. Even King Sombra was smart enough to withdraw in the face of the mad draconequus on a quest of vengeance against all ponies. Queen Chrysalis and Queen Nightmare Moon (who had absconded herself at first sign of Discord’s escape, using every possible trick to keep him from finding her) formed a temporary peace treaty in order to seek a solution - for a world ruled by Discord was useless to all of them. (Granted, the Changelings could withdraw to their protected realm, but Chrysalis had tasted power and wasn’t about to let Discord have it all. She was quite looking forward to stabbing Nightmare Moon in the back afterwards.)

Their solution: a magical contract with the long-imprisoned centaur, Tirek. Tirek was more than happy to oblige. He single-handedly decimated Sombra’s troops, gorging himself on the magic of Crystal Empire and Equestrian ponies alike. It is possible that, if Discord hadn’t come to see what all the fuss was about himself, Tirek would have kept right on gorging to the very limit of the contract that bound him.

When the two titans clashed, the battle that ensued sundered hundreds of miles of landscape. Canterlot bore the greatest brunt; the castle collapsed completely from its cliffside home, the city little more than ruins. Discord’s attacks spread wildly unpredictable waves of chaos magic across much of Equestria. And when at long last Tirek had defeated him and sucked him dry, the lingering effects of that chaos magic stayed rooted in the ground like weeds.

It seemed, for the briefest moment, as if the worst problem was over. But of course, a power-maddened Tirek is a worse threat - because at least Discord doesn’t go out of his way to destroy everything in sight. Drunk on chaos magic, Tirek easily broke the tenuous contract with the queens and set across the landscape, draining ponies by the thousands and carving swaths through the countryside for the sheer wicked joy of destruction. His power was even mighty enough to destroy the changeling hive, overpowering its magical protections.

There was no choice - the two remaining rulers of any species in the land had to either defeat their own creation or face the loss of all they held dear. Nightmare Moon called upon the power of the Moon itself, drawing it nearer to Equestria in a desperate gambit. Tidal waves rocked Equestria’s coastlines, submerging Manehattan and other coastal cities entirely, and the alicorn of the night shone with deadly moonlit radiance as she bombarded Tirek with the full brunt of her power. But even Nightmare Moon at the height of her power was not strong enough to stop Tirek at the height of his, and he struck her down against the surface of the Moon itself. Some of the dislodged chunks rained down on the world, damaging more of not only Equestria, but many other countries on that side of the planet.

Tirek seemed to have won; all he had left to deal with was one small, angry changeling queen. An assured victory, no doubt.

He could not have known how wrong he was. For a changeling might give its magic willingly to a spell like Tirek’s with no ill effects, but an unwilling changeling queen will not be robbed of her power easily. As Tirek’s powers drain magic, so changeling powers drain love - and no one in all the world had such self-love as Tirek. The cycle of Tirek draining her magic and Chrysalis draining his became a self-consuming spell spiral that ultimately imploded upon itself, taking both creatures with it.

The resulting explosion could be heard across the celestial sea. For a few moments, there was something like an artificial sun on the horizon - a sun that had set directly on Equestria.

Then came the silence. After three years of war, devastation, and disasters unlike any the world had ever seen, there was silence.

And as the silence stretched, the survivors stirred.

Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, crystal ponies, and zebras; yaks, cows, goats, donkeys, and buffalo; gryphons, dragons, hippogryphs, minotaurs, and changelings: in spite of everything, many had survived. They rose from their hiding places to find an Equestria and Crystal Empire in ruins. No major cities still stood; borders and coastlines were unrecognizable. Large swaths of land once green and lush were barren and blasted, and spots of chaos magic lay in wait for creatures unwise enough to enter them unprotected. The moon hung wrecked in a dark sky, shining in shattered glory down on the devastation that had been the once-rich land of Equestria.

But the great destroyers were gone. None of the titans and tyrants who had brought this destruction down on the country remained. The usual monsters hardly seemed a threat anymore; those who had survived thus far had learned to cope with far worse. They could build new settlements, make new ways of life, come together or fall apart on their own merits.

And the most hopeful sign of all came the next day. The first actual day since Nightmare Moon returned and the Thousand Days of Woe began:

The Sun - weak and red in the dust-filled sky - slowly rose over the horizon.

The Princess of the Sun had not returned yet; perhaps she is still trapped by her sister’s spell. Perhaps another way of escape is being laid. But the light fills the ponies’ hearts with hope.

The Equestria they knew is gone. But the New Equestria has a future.

____

Sunday, Aug.10, 4 A.C.

Dear Journal,

It’s really strange dating things this way; but with everything that’s happened, most folks agree it’ll be easier to date our calendars starting with the fall of Princess Celestia. ‘After Celestia’ sounds so grim, though; kinda hope we change it. Maybe when the Princess returns... we’re praying she does.

Anyway, I still can’t believe we found a whole stock of blank paper in the storerooms! We’re saving most of it for bartering, but Mom thinks it’s smart for one of us to make notes for posterity, so it looks like I get to keep you. I’ll try to be short to save space, but it just feels so good to write again!

The move into the Canterlot ruins ruins is going pretty well. A few other families joined us after our last trip to Apple Fort, and we’ve shored up our defenses in case the air pirates make another flyby. Pop and I negotiated a deal with the Apples - food in exchange for books. A few of the unicorns know replication spells and are using some of the paper to make copies of really important texts so we don’t lose valuable knowledge to an accident. It still blows my mind how much we’ve lost in... was life really normal only a few years ago? It feels like another lifetime that I was in this very city, talking to the Princess, sitting at a normal cafe... eating lunch with Cam and Press...

I don’t want to forget them. Camera Shy and Pressing Matters, my best friends. Maybe they’re still out there somewhere. We run into old friends every now and then - my old traveling salespony gig has come in handy, actually! I’ve found a bunch of people who used to be clients, it really helps with forming trade and peace treaties with other groups. So it could happen. Please, Prince, keep them safe wherever they are.

I’m really blessed, though. I have to remember that. I have Mom and Pop and Black and Per and Chewie - although I’m still not used to Chewie flying and talking now. She’s such a character. Lots of ponies are missing family - so are we, we haven’t been able to find most of the extended family, but Pop got word from Aunt Pitter that she and my cousin Light Drizzle are out west somewhere, and Pitch Apple is down at Apple Fort, thank the King.

And we could be worse! We made friends with a tinkerer named Steam Punk, he made me a new wing that works as good as my old one! (Not a HUGE bar to cross, but it’s still really impressive!) I’m talking him into working with me to start a production house that can make and sell them affordably to other handicapped pegasi. And Mom got her flight back thanks to a gem Black and some other mages crafted. I think she still misses her diving mark, but she’s so brave and optimistic, it really inspires everyone. I wish we could do something for Pop’s horn, but he’s finding other ways to help out. Per is... well, I guess if you’re going to get turned into a pony-dragon, you’d want to be as cheerful about it as Per. Who knows, maybe she’ll still get a cutie mark someday! And Black is fully aware that he looks pretty boss with an eyepatch, the dork.

There’s rumors that Princess Cadance might be alive and organizing the crystal ponies up North; lots of ponies are heading that way, but I think our group will stay here. There’s a lot of resources in the Canterlot ruins and in the castle, although Black leads the expeditions into the castle because of safety issues. I never knew he was so good at exploration and such; guess there were a few skills he was holding out on us over the years, but turns out he was working for the Princess before! What in Equus, I gave him such an earful for being all secretive about being my bodyguard or whatever.

I’m running out of page, so I’ll wrap up today. We’re holding a worship service later, Pop and Parson Brown are setting it up. We want to keep focusing on what we have to be thankful for. We are GOING to get through this. The King, the Prince, and the Advocate have not abandoned us, and we have each other.

~Salespitch

----

Fun Facts About The Wasteland Timeline:

- This was my favorite timeline to draw =D I HAD to get some steampunk stuff in there, although there are definitely Mad Max vibes. The convenient thing about this timeline is that it was a literal blank slate, so I could really get creative with it! I feel like this would make a neat bookmark, what do ya’ll think?

- I tried to reference all the major villains in the picture. Extra shoutout to ReversalMushroom, the patron who sponsored this Alternate Timeline Special, for giving me the ideas for the changeling goo and Tirek’s hoofprints, which were added in during the coloring phase. I think they round it out quite nicely!

- The random bit of Candy Forest over the crevice there is one of the pockets left behind by Discord’s chaos magic going wild. Most ponies avoid it because here’s WEIRD stuff in there, and ponies who go in there usually come out a little weirder themselves.

- Black lost his eye and half his sunglasses in a fight with some Changelings. He gets on quite well with only one eye, though, and he insists his sunglass-lens eyepatch is going to be the height of eyepatch fashion. (He DOES have a sense of humor in case anyone doubted it. ;) ) Black taught everyone basic survival techniques and does most of the more dangerous tasks.

- Sales lost his wing during Tirek’s rampage; he tried to distract Tirek, but they didn’t have time to make the plan from the Tirek timeline, so he got swatted pretty quickly. On the upside, Tirek lost sight of him and didn’t get his magic. Sales can fly about as well now with his new steampunk wing, which combines technology and magic to mimic low-level pegasus flight (which was where he was at anyway, so he made a great first test subject!) Sales’ main job is negotiating peaceful trades with other groups.

- Sales Patter (Dad) lost his horn while pushing his wife out of the way of some falling rubble. He insists he was only mediocre at magic anyway, and he doesn’t need a horn to do business! He does miss it, though. He helps their new community with allocating resources.

- Pitch Forward (Mom) lost her magic and cutie mark to Tirek’s onslaught. The gem in her coat simulates flight for her, although not quite at the level she was before. She and Sales joke about how he can almost beat her in a race now. She helps with the kids in their small community and teaches flying techniques to pegasi.

- Pitch Perfect got hit with a random blast of Discord magic that turned her half dragon. It took a little getting used to, but she honestly thinks it is super neat. She’s pretty good at sniffing out gems now, which (when she isn’t eating them) helps with family finances. Her friends Codebreak and Castle Crasher are part of their little community, and the three are constantly getting into trouble (which most everyone silently thinks of as a nice bit of familiarity.)

- Chewie ALSO got Discord’d; she has fairy wings now and she can talk. Chewie still likes Sales the best and hovers around him chattering like Navi half the time. The other half of the time she forgets she has wings and just hops around exploring. At this point she’s become less like a pet and more like another tiny sister, to Per’s delight and everyone else’s raised anxiety levels. She is VERY aware of her surroundings and alerts the group to intruders and strangers. She really misses computer games.

- Princess Celestia will eventually return, although by that time I feel that the various groups gathering together will have formed something like a decent society again. It remains to be seen if they’ll go back to a monarchy, create a government of connected micronations, or turn into something like the United States.

- And yes, Camera Shy, Pressing Matters, and Press’s husband Curler are all alive. They’ll meet up someday!

---

A/N: Thank you all for joining me on this journey through time and space to explore the seven MLP timelines and where Sales & Co might have ended up in them! I hope you enjoyed it; I had a good bit of fun coming up with the different scenarios, it was a great brain exercise. =D Thank you again to all my Patrons, and to ReversalMushroom for sponsoring this particular special! There will be a final post next week of all the pictures together, with links back to their storyline posts.

I also want to thank you for bearing with me as the regular updates continue to be on hiatus. This has been a rough and strange year for all of us, and I hope you all are safe and healthy and know that you are loved. Jesus has really been with me through this year, and even tonight as I write this; there are things I struggle with, but I know that they do not define my value, HE does. =) And I, like Sales, want to count my blessings, the biggest one (aside from my faith in God) being that I have family around me who love me and care for me. I’m very much looking forward to Christmas! =D

Merry Christmas! May your Christmas and New Year contain joy and peace, and may Christ Jesus rest His hands on you and draw your heart to His. In Jesus’ Name, amen.

~River Babble

#mlp ask blog #pony ask blog #tirek #sombra #nightmare moon #Queen Chrysalis #mlp discord #IANAA #Salespitch

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ji-yaaan · 4 years

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲...

Yandere!Malleus x Reader Oneshot

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, self harm, toxic relationships.

Note: Yandere time kids! \(óvò)/ time to debut as a yandere writer... Lolololol jk! But seriously, I think I enjoyed writing this too much- hmmmmm I don't know what to say anymore..... Anyways have fun reading ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Rain dripping down the skies. Heavens weeped their sorrows. Raindrops pitter-pattered on the glass windows, loneliness fills the room accompanied by a cold wind that gushed from the open windows. Ice cold raindrops hit your frozen face. How you wished to wail out your misery and despair...

Life is unfair...When was it fair? When you had the 5 seconds in which your escape from this endless nightmare was in the grasp of your hands? Freedom was in arm's reach, yet the so called freedom was a lie painted in sweet colorful rotten words.

"God... Is this a joke? Is this a test? Is this a Nightmare? Why have you forsaken me?" You questioned the heavens pouring down heavily. As if to mock you, a loud boom of thunder echoed up above, lightning lit up the dark grey skies for a brief moment...

Empty eyes filled with sorrows gazed up the heavens, unironically, the abyss stared back at their lifeless soul. You scoffed as the heavens ridicule you, a scornful laughter escaped your lips. Only to be interrupted by a loud creak of the wooden doors that rang across the room. "Hmmmmm? Y/N darling, what are you doing by the windows? See.... Look at you.... You're drenched and you might get sick..." A deep sigh escaped the fae's lips as his eyebrows furrowed from worry. "You really have a knack for getting people worried, my love..."

How disgusting "If you're really worried, you should've let me go by now..."

Is what you'd like to say, but why make it worse for yourself? Instead of a truthful answer, you simply stared at the man you loathed most... Malleus Draconia... The great man of The Valley of thorns... The infamous man who's part of the top 5 greatest mages... The powerful prince, who's heir to the throne... Just why must he stoop this low to abduct someone with the stupid excuse of true love?

A pair of peridot orbs that seemed to glow in the dark sent shivers down your spine. Those very orbs that stared straight down at you suffocating your chest. "I'm sorry..." You have to keep it together... You worked so hard to earn this man's trust and favor, you planned your way out of this mess... The show must go on The fae walked towards your direction, inching closer and closer. The air around you seemed suffocating as it became harder to breathe. The man you despised the most... the man you detested most... held your chin up to face him as he towered over your figure. Malleus brushed away a stray hair in your forehead. His peridot eyes that looked like gems allured you, they shone brightly despite the fact that both of you were surrounded by plain darkness. You felt small in his precence...

The fae held unto both of your cheeks as he placed a small gentle kiss atop your forehead. Almost af if it was done in a loving manner... He rested his forehead in yours, darting his gaze back unto yours. "I love you, my darling..." His eyes pierced your soul as a cold sweat ran through your spine. You were speechless, tongue was tied, no words escaped your lips. Growing paler by second, colors leaving your face. A shiver went down your spine as the dark fae held unto your neck, grasp tightening as moments pass. Your pulse and your heartbeat ringing in your ears, your brain was set in a frenzy as hands tightened around your neck. Caught up in a moment of hysteria, the lack of oxygen caused you to gasp for air, as you stared at the glowing pair of eyes inches above you. Your stomach churns, adrenaline rushed up your body. You forced yourself to say the words that left a disgusting taste in your mouth... "I love you too..." Your lips curved up forming a weak forced smile as a pair of lips devoured yours. A distinct taste of bitter sour berries spreads inside your mouth, like a deadly disease blooming in chaos...

Rays of warm sunlight lit the stagnant bedrooms. Buried in silken sheets and velvet pillows, cold fingers held you tightly in slumber. Like a nightmare that paralyzed your body, the fae embraced you closely, merley inches apart from one another. How you wished to wake up from this nightmare... Staring blankly at the ceiling, thousands of thoughts lingered on your mind. You wanted to disappear from this sick fate that bounded you to where you are. You closed your eyes, wishing when it opens, you're back in the safety and comfort of your real home.

Day after day, you struggled aimlessly under the grasp of the fae. You felt like life was taken away from your grasp, making you an empty shell of your former self. Smiles became meaningless. Laughter became dull. Your vision painted gre, colors began to burn out... The only thing that's bound to keep you breathing is the hatred you bore for the man you loathed. So you made yourself a show to put on. A mere act of rotten love, like a lovesick songbird chirping lies after lies. The fae believed the deceptive love you showed, drunk in his delusions. With each fables that escaped your lips, a nauseating taste lingers on you mouth.

Now you've come this far. You felt broken beyond repair. The once colorful life you've lived feels like a vivid dream you hopelessly graps on. No means of escape under clutch of the sickening man you despised. How ironic life can be.... Hope keeps us breathing, only to kill us at the end. But this time hope is not the only reason for you to be breathing. Seething hatred you bore against Malleus plagued your mind day and night. How you wished your hatred and insanity bore fruit...

Morning dew drops dripped from the lush leaves of the white rose petals. In the garden of the diasomnia halls, there you stood caught in a daze not knowing what to do. You sat down in the lonely table in the middle of the lonesome rose garden. White flowers adorned the scenery as you pick up your cup and took sip of your bitter tea. "How dull..." You flipped the pages of the worn out book in the midst of your fingers. You savor your sweet time indulging in your pseudo freedom while the fae is away.

In between the crumbling book you held, lies a small note stuck in between the pages. The note you've been reading for the past few weeks, contemplating on it's contents. A wicked smile plastered across your face as you peered unto the dagger that sat across the table. But your vision shifted to something far more interesting... The flask that accompanied the lone dagger. The flask with intricate designs and patterns that's bound to intrigue anyone. The very flask you stole from Malleus' study... "It's time..."

You took a last sip of the tea in your cup. The unpleasant taste still lingered in your mouth. You took the silver dagger beside the glass bottle, charmed by the metal adorned with dainty rose carvings. You sighed as you ponder on whether you're doing something right. "The right thing to do? What a joke..." A broken smile plagued your face as you look up the heavy skies threatening to pour at any moment.

The dagger in your hands pierced the smooth skin under your wrists. Scarlet hues dripped down your arms with each slash of the white metal. What a bore... None of this is painful... Has reality really became dull for you to be this numb to not even feel pain? How disappointing for yourself. Are you even human at this point? Oh right... You died once upon a time when you kissed the man you despised.

As the sunset melted in the dark grey skies, raindrops dripped from the heavens yet again. You felt like time was running out pointing the dagger in your chest. Metal prickling your collarbone, blood spilt unto your dress. A stab across the chest as sweet vermilion ichor gushed from your torso, staining your fingers bright scarlet red. The metal dug deeper under your flesh, followed by a wail escaping your lips.

"What are you doing!" An ear piercing scream echoed in between the thunders and rain. Malleus raced towards your direction with raging fury evident in his eyes. burning peridot orbs devoured your vision as the fae loomed over your figure. Crouching unto the muddy ground, Malleus asked again "What do you think you're doing?" Possessive chartreuse eyes piercing you deeper than the metal in your chest. A scoff left your mouth as a loathsome grin surfaced your face, a sneer ridiculing the fae before you. A moment of silence passed, but the fae's fury began to grow more with each passing second. Green flames devoured the rose gardens. The very flames that suffocated you. "You're a monster" you said under your breath as a mocking grin graced your lips.

"Then make me the monster that will forever be your nightmare my love..." The fae pulled the dagger out your chest as more blood gushed and pooled under you. "How foolish humans can be... Didn't I tell you? no matter what you do, you cannot escape from me. Even if you ran away to another world.. I’d find you wherever you’ll go. Now let’s stop this twisted game we’re playing before I change my mind." Green flames engulfed your figure for a brief moment. "ARGHHH!" A weep escaped your lips as you felt the pain from the flames burning the life out of you. The cuts in your wrists and your supposedly wounded chest is nowhere to be seen. Like a vivid dream that never happened.

You looked at your pathetic state sitting down in the muddy grass as malleus hend unto your arms. Pools of red blood stained your white dress. The rain wailing as the thunders roared in the distance. Green flames engulfing the rose bushes despite the raindrops pouring. You stared at the dagger in your lap that stabbed your flesh, yet the supposedly wounded places are smooth and flawless. No sign of scar or wound to be seen. Nothing...

You stared at the man before you. Towering over your figure, Malleus put a hand on your cheeks as he dries off the droplets that hit your face. Peridot eyes stared down at you. The anger and disappointment still present in his eyes as green flames swallowed the gardens. Oddly enough, this moment you felt nothing, just an empty void inside you, no means of escaping this nightmare. Nothing... Absolutely nothing... No fear, No remorse, No hatred, No Love.

"You cannot escape me, my darling. No one in this twisted world will love you as much as I do. I am your one true love and I hope you won’t forget that..." Threats that are masked by sweet sugary words like cheap rotten candies... How disgusting... "Are you sure about that My Love??" Mocking the fae with your words, you inched closer to close the gap that seperated the both of you. Lips mingled with each other, but instead of a sweet reaction from an innocent kiss, The fae violently reacted as he pulled away grabbing unto both your wrists.

"What did you drink?" Burning eyes that gleamed fury and anger... What a sight to see... The taste of bitter tea mixed with rotting flavors still lingered in your mouth. A wicked smile plastered across your face, you replied "I wonder what it was?" Sharp nails dug under your flesh. Scarlet liquids dripped across your arms. Eyes burning with rage stared down at you. Green flames that glowed surrounded the both of you. Booming thunders echoed up the sky. Loud raindrops hitting the grounds grew louder.

You reached for your pocket to hold out the note you were reading for weeks now. "Eternal slumber" 2 words made the great Malleus Draconia insane. 2 words that destroyed the pseudo world the both of you lived in. 2 words that set aflame to both of your twisted worlds.. 2 words that will set you free from this joke you call life.... Freedom tastes sweet.

"You’re not allowed to leave me... what have you done? Don't do this to me... stop joking around... Y/n you love me right" Eyes brewing with insanity darted their gaze unto you. The man drowning in delusion was drunken in madness. Pale hands made their way to your neck, ice cold fingers gripped your skin as black nails dug your flesh. "Even if I have to use every spell, every magic, I'll make sure to make you wake up and punish you. y/n you won’t escape from me." Tears fell from the fae's face as madness devoured both of your souls. Hands that gripped your neck tightly shook. As Malleus let's go of you. The fae embraced you rigidly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. A weep escapes his lips "Y/n dont leave me..." salty tears trickled down your neck. Alas, you cannot savor this victory for long.

A mocking grin graced your face for one last time. The sky seemed to settle down, but the flames burned brighter. Triumph....this was your sweet triumph... It's funny how you won but now you've lost so much. In fact, you've lost everything now, even yourself.....how sad.... Your eyes began to grown heavy, you simply felt tired. "Goodnight." Your eyes closed shut, never to open again. Unless with a kiss of true love, eternal slumber shall devour you.

The End....

HGNNNNN MALLEUS WAS THE EASIEST TO BULLY OK!? I wanted to do vil, but I'm sweating too much, I can't even think of a concept🤦🤦 oh wait I actually have one..... But that's for another day( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Hope y'all enjoyed this low quality yandere time!🥺🥺🥺🥺

Tagging: @ghostiebabey u said tag u if I make yandere content..... Shame on me for this😔✊

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #disney twst #twst fanfic #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #twst imagines

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msotherworldly · 3 years

Text

A Wizard’s Cure

Title: A Wizard’s Cure

Fiction Type: Original Fiction

Warnings: Drug mentions, minor swearing

Prompt: “I’ve waited for this.”

“I’ve waited for this.” I tore the wrapping aside. Shimmery paper piled around me. Beneath it all, there was a cardboard box. I shook it. The weight was right. I shook it again. The sound was right. Thinking of all the latest games I’d play, I ripped the box open. At first, I saw the PlayStation as expected. Then I saw the jade tablet, and frowned as I took it out. Was this a joke?

“Uh...thanks.” I turned the tablet over. Writing ran over it, but the letters weren’t any I recognized. “What is this?”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance.

“You’re sixteen now,” Mom said. “Your powers should be acting up.”

I snorted. “Very funny.”

“I’ve waited for this,” Dad said. When he said it, he sounded as I had—like he was anticipating something.

“Seriously, what’s the joke?”

“It’s not a joke!” Mom’s eyes flashed. “You have been raised in an ordinary suburbia. But you are not ordinary. None of us are! We couldn’t tell you until you were ready.”

“What, I’m a wizard?”

“Something like that.” Dad’s moustache quivered. “Don’t get too excited. You’ll be lucky if you can light so much as a candle within a year.”

“So there’s no PlayStation?”

Dad reddened. “PlayStation? I’ve just told you you’re gifted, and you’re worried about a damn game console?”

“Rory.” Mom placed a hand on his arm. She met my gaze. “He doesn’t believe us.”

“I don’t think he-”

“But you must remember when your parents told you!” She laughed. Mom had always been “Bohemian Goth,” draped in long black hair, long black skirts, long black shawls, and long black necklaces. That didn’t make her a-

“You’re both magical? Oh, sure. Come on. If you were mages or whatever, I would have seen it! You can’t hide magic!”

“It was subtle magic.” Mom shrugged. “I’d pull out the candle lighter, and then snap my fingers when you weren’t looking. I’d renew the milk so it didn’t spoil. I’d make our garden bloom longer. Of course, you must have noticed how old Daisy is.”

“Lots of cats make it to twenty one.” I set the jade on the coffee table. “That’s not magic. She’s healthy!”

“She doesn’t have any grey hair!” Dad shook his head. “You really never suspected? By the time I was ten, I thought something was up!”

“Yeah.” I snickered. “But you’re a nerd. Your room is still papered over with Tolkien quotes.”

“Hm, well, sure. But that’s not the point!” Dad slumped forward. He studied his knees, drumming his fingers on them. He glanced up, and I grimaced. He exchanged a glance with Mom; she put a hand on his arm. He nodded. “Well, I guess we were pretty careful.”

I looked between them. “Show me.”

“I’ve been meaning to paint the wall.” Smiling, Mom circled the room. She held up her hands and sang. Golden light bloomed from her fingers. Like mist, it drifted over to the walls; expanding and glowing, it covered the green. When the light drew back, the walls were purple.

“Halloween colours.” Dad rolled his eyes. “You’ll remember when they were orange?”

“You changed them when I had that sleep over. I remember.” I frowned. “I did remember thinking it was strange, how fast you’d managed to paint them. And then, when there was no new paint smell...”

“That’s what we forgot!” Mom smacked a hand to her forehead. “Rory was insisting we’d forgotten a small detail, but neither of us could think what it was! Oh well. We can remember it now.”

Mom performed a second spell. When the light drew away from the walls, they left a scent in the air of new paint.

“What happens if a kid finds out early?”

“They get their memory wiped of course.” Dad grinned. “But we never had to do that with you. Never!”

“Most parents have to do it two or three times. But then, you were never like other kids. Not as nosy, or curious. When you said you were going to bed, you meant it.”

“You mean I was a nerd.” I chuckled. “Like Dad.”

“Nah, I was a nerd. But I was a troublemaker. My friends and I used to swap marijuana in the locker rooms after gym. Then we’d sneak out, and Lenny would snatch a bottle of vodka from his dad’s locker. Lenny’s dad was a drunk. Had dozens of bottles. And we took dozens. He never missed ‘em!”

Mom’s brows knitted together. “Don’t tell him that!”

“Then there was the incident with the mushrooms in the grocery store!”

“Rory, stop.” Mom blushed. “He has to prove himself, you see. He’s been dying to show you spells early, just so he could prove what a great wizard he is!”

“Me?” Dad’s voice was too innocent. “Nah, I just use it to fix the car. You might have noticed we never had to take it in for repairs! And it’s still got that new car smell. Drives your mother crazy, but I enjoy the smell of freshly upholstered leather.”

Mom sighed.

I chuckled. “You guys are weirdos. Even without the magic thing. Or are all mages...eccentric?”

“Most of ‘em are nut bars.” Dad ran a hand through his hair. “I could tell you about Mrs. Snider. She used to shave herself bald and dance under the moonlight naked.”

“That old lady who comes over with all the tattoos? She’s a witch too?”

“That’s the one. The Naked Dances are considered outdated now, but I walked in on her doing-”

“Rory.” Mom shook her head. “No.”

“Another time.” Dad winked. Mom muttered something under her breath. Dad pointed to my tablet. “It’s not a PlayStation. But it will act as a...circuit for your power.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘conduit,’ dear.”

“That’s what I said! It boosts magical abilities. Makes spells more powerful. And you can draw power from it too, so you don’t tire out so much.”

“What can magic do? Can we be immortal?”

“That’s very advanced magic.”

“You made Daisy stay young.”

“Daisy will still die someday. I just prolonged her life. Her lifespan is that of a human. But she will age. Very gradually.”

“But it’s possible.” I looked between them. My heart sped up. “And my illness-”

“Yes, it’s possible. You may even be able to slow the growth. But we’re not Masters. Very few wizards are. You’d need someone like Merlin to cure you.”

“Or I could become like Merlin.” I squared my shoulders. “I could cure myself.”

Mom and Dad bowed their heads. Mom opened her mouth, but Dad shook his head. She took his arm. When she leaned into him, her eyes closed. After a few minutes, she left. I heard the door to her bedroom close; that was never a good sign.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For your sake. I never wanted to give you false hope.”

“But I could be a great wizard someday!”

“You have as much hope of being a great wizard as the average person does of becoming an astronaut, a hockey player, or a famous actor! It’s not impossible, but the chance is so rare!”

“I have to try.”

“I suppose you do. But don’t let her know how hard. She was scared this would happen.”

“I don’t want to die, Dad. Not just...not now. But never. There’s too much I want to do.”

“I’ll be happy if I make it into my seventies.” Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Tomorrow, we’ll start your lessons.”

“I don’t have to go to a special school, do I?”

“Oh, no. That’s just a trope. You’ll be learning from us. And if you’re exceptional...well, there is a college which takes in the most skilled, but they only take five students a year. Students who graduate are Masters.”

“And none of them could heal me?”

“They will if you have two million dollars to offer them.”

“What?”

“Most don’t want to be doctors. They set high prices so people will leave them alone. Think about it. They would be barraged with orders. And then they’d never be able to use their abilities for anything else.”

“But maybe, if I was a Master too, they’d want to help out a colleague.”

“Forget tomorrow.” Dad smirked. “We’ll begin training today.”

#magic #wizards #wizard #fictober21 #fictober #original fiction #fantasy writer #short story #creative writing

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enby-hawke · 3 years

Text

For I Have Sinned Chapter 9

Read on AO3

Ship Malcolm/Leandra

Chapter 9: The Nightmare’s Wrath

TW for graphic violence, racist talk, exploitation of mages, and child abuse. I hope I'm not forgetting any. The Nightmare is not a happy guy.

Word Count: 11682

Leandra held her family’s rosary, counting the beads between her fingers as she sang the Chant silently to herself. She knew she was at the Maker’s mercy at this point and she had no idea what kind of god he would be right now. Was Isaac innocent enough to be spared His wrath? Sometimes she knew not even that mattered. She had to be strong for her cousin and yet she could find no more strength within her. She needed to make that phone call, inform Revka and yet how could she?

She felt frozen by death, he had come for her again. With her grandfather at least it was peaceful, in his sleep in his old age. But when the Hartlings were taken by an irreverent drunk driver who survived it himself, it shattered Mara, and she never quite recovered all the pieces.

Leandra remembered Mara’s dark days. She stopped eating as if she had to punish herself that she still lived. Leandra would bring over meals from her favorite restaurants just to get her to take a few bites. The grief made Leandra awkward. She was so used to leaning on Mara when it came turn to lean on her, Leandra found she could only give old advice, that Mara would see her family again at the Maker’s side.

But Mara asked a question that still scared Leandra to this day.

“What if the Chant’s all bullshit and that’s just something people say so we don’t get sad?”

Leandra didn’t know how to answer that. Mara was angry at the Maker and had lost her faith. Leandra didn’t know how to give it back to her when she had too many questions herself.

The conversation ended awkwardly, with Leandra trying to get Mara to eat again. A sidestep. A misstep.

Eventually Mara started pushing Leandra away and everyone else. She partied dangerously, experimenting with anything that could take the pain away for a few moments. Leandra dragged her out of plenty of seedy Lowtown houses and backwater bars with Mara fighting her every step of the way, only Gamlen able to calm and steady her.

He saved her when Leandra couldn’t. He brought brightness back to her life and Leandra had never felt so helpless. Shallow. Useless. Like her faith was.

She tried to make it up to Mara however she could, it was a regret she’d always hold.

Now she was praying even as the shreds of her faith were left in tatters? Isaac barely turned nine. Revka had already lost him to the Circle, but to lose him to a demon, she didn’t think Revka would survive it.

How could the Maker be so cruel?

And as much as her nephew’s death scared her, there was another regret Leandra found bubbling up that made her feel vulnerable, like she knew this would break her. Her eyes flicked to Malcolm, his presence so calming and assured. His honey eyes looked so resolute as he signed his death waiver without even a flinch.

“Do you want to write out some last words to anyone? Any confessions you’d like to make to a priestess?” The First Enchanter asked, tiredness in his voice.

“No need, I’m not dying,” Malcolm said in the same self-assured manner he always had.

Leandra bit her lip, his hubris making her panic more than feel at ease and she said, “we should at least bring you to a Sister to give you the Maker’s blessing.”

“Don’t need that, either,” he gave her that sexy lopsided grin that made her breath stutter even as his words dripped with blasphemy.

Leandra opened her mouth, her words caught for a second, her cheeks hot. “A-are you really so arrogant that you think you don’t need the Maker’s protection?”

Malcolm’s face then turned serious meeting her eye. “I’d rather skip the rituals. Isaac’s timeline is more important.”

Leandra’s mouth dropped but found no argument. He made sense and yet to think he would go in the Fade again without the Maker’s hand guiding him. Her heart clenched frightened at how badly it ached at the thought of his loss. That he could die without her knowing what his touch felt like. This feeling felt too premature to be called love but it was so close, it scared her. Too soon, she thought, and yet she wondered now if she was also too late. Would the Maker see Malcolm’s arrogance as a slight and take both Isaac and him from her this day?

She didn’t know what else to do. She took the rosary from her fingers, and draped the cord around Malcolm’s neck. “Then take this. It’s protected my family for generations.”

She had held that rosary during every Mass, blessed her family every night with it, and though she hoped it would protect Malcolm she couldn’t see it as anything but a pretty trinket she carried for comfort. Maybe it would protect him, or maybe he could just wear it and think of her. She found she had no more use for it.

Malcolm dangled the golden sun chain between his fingers as if he had caught the tail of a dead animal. “I do not need to be accused of stealing this.”

Both the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander seemed surprised by Leandra’s gesture and was unsure what to make of it. “Hawke is right,” the Knight Commander said for the first time, “he’s too irresponsible to handle something so valuable.”

Malcolm bristled at the implication in the Commander’s tone but Leandra was ahead of him. “Well then I’ll give it to him with all you as witnesses so now you can’t accuse him of thievery.” Her eyes glistened, as she looked at him, imploring him to accept this small token if not the Maker, of herself. “You need it more than I do.”

Malcolm’s shoulders dropped, letting the amulet fall against his black robes. He bowed his head in respect, his dark curls falling in his face. “Thank you for your generosity, my lady.” He then added with a wry chuckle, “though something with Isaac’s essence would help me more.”

Without missing a beat Leandra said, “I have that, too.” She dug through her purse bringing out a children’s book with different automobiles with faces on it. It looked too rudimentary to belong to a nine year old but Leandra said, “This is Isaac’s favorite book. If he has trouble sleeping he might want you to read this just front to back again and again.” The Knight-Commander’s thin lip completely disappeared as she dug out a small cloth bag. “These are his building blocks. He might not warm up right away but if you start building something he’ll absolutely want to join in if you ask.” She closed Malcolm’s hands over the items as she handed them over, the smell of his clover musk soothing her frazzled nerves. “Would any of these help? He hasn’t held these in months.”

Malcolm nodded, opening the bag with interest. He held a small bright red tile between his fingers. “No, I can tell these mattered to him. They are coated in his essence.” He dropped it back into the bag, the blocks clattering together as he closed it and he gave a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have these back.”

That’s when the Knight-Commander finally intervened, “I can’t allow these. This goes against regulation.”

Leandra’s shoulders snapped back in fury. “A child cannot have toys?”

The First Enchanter leaned in. “Lady Amell, there are many mage children whose family cannot send them toys. It causes jealousy. It is better that he learns that the Circle is home.”

Leandra couldn’t accept that. “And what home can it be if you’re so harsh that a child cannot play. Is it any wonder my nephew fell prey to a demon!?”

The First Enchanter gathered the large stack of forms they had wasted time on between his gnarled fingers looking completely uncomfortable with Leandra’s temper that only seemed to be rising. “Lady Amell, please be civil. I understand you are stressed due to these events. Go home. Rest. It is in the Maker’s Hands now.”

Leandra crossed her arms, planting her feet firmly. “Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere until Isaac is safe.”

The First Enchanter tensed sharing a look with the Knight Commander. “My lady,” the wizard’s mustache twitched, “we don’t have the facilities to house a noble. Your safety must be maintained.”

Leandra scoffed so hard it blew the bangs from her forehead. “For 10,000 sovereigns you’d better figure it out!”

A snicker escaped Malcolm’s throat drawing the glares of both the Knight Commander and First Enchanter and that’s when Carver stepped in, an uncomfortable bystander to a convenient rescuer. He bowed his head to the Knight Commander offering a peaceful smile. “I believe the chapel can be isolated for the lady. There she can pray for her nephew’s recovery.”

The Knight Commander pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache and with a wince he said, “Fine.” His eyes then leveled his most intimidating glare to Leandra as he said, “but the Circle is a military institution, not a day spa. Don’t expect to be entertained.”

Leandra met his glare with one of her own, though it looked like a chihuahua going after a pit bull. “Oh I’m entertained enough by the fact that you used my family’s misfortune to fatten your coffers. Dare I ask what happens to the mages whose families cannot meet your outrageous price?”

And like a chihuahua, she went right for their knickers.

They dropped their eyes from Leandra’s accusatory stare, their faces twisting into uncomfortable grimaces as the silence answered her question.

Leandra’s heart hardened with more anger. What a barbaric place this was. She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse as she readied to dismiss herself. “Do your duty, gentleman, and know I will be watching.” Even if she had no powers of her own, she could at least hold them to that.

---

Isaac was fine this morning. Malcolm still recalled the huge smile on his face and the boy was practically vibrating at breakfast. Ever since Leandra told him of their connection he made more of an effort to speak to the boy, though the conversations were mostly them making truck noises at each other. Today, though, when Isaac came to bus his tray for Malcolm, Isaac actually spoke words.

“My mama’s coming,” he bounced up and down.

“That’s awesome, little dude,” Malcolm offered him the usual friendly high five but the boy was so excited he ended up head bumping the flat of his hand shouting,

“Beep!”

It kinda hurt but Malcolm laughed regardless. Then Isaac turned to Taylor with the same excited smile, “My mama’s coming,” he repeated with the excited tone.

“That’s wonderful, Isaac.” And when he got his praise from Taylor he turned to Charlie.

To think so much could change in a few hours.

The Harrowing Chamber still smelled like death and everything was as horrifying as Malcolm remembered it. The Fade here was thin, like a film and Malcolm could hear the faint echo of screams that still carried within the stone, thousands of deaths layered upon the other. If he closed his eyes he could see the last moments of mages meeting their ends.

Lanterns lit the walls making the room dark and the shadows bounced off each other as the ground was discolored by various stains that they failed to scrub out. In the middle of the chamber was Isaac strapped down to a table, sweating profusely, his bangs sticking to his forehead as his body fought the demon the only way it knew how. A bright red barrier surrounded Isaac, keeping him in place in case the transformation completed. He whimpered as he thrashed in his nightmare, his voice still chanting in an echo that repeated itself;

“My mama’s coming.”

Along the walls lined the Templars surrounding Malcolm, their guns gleaming in the threat of his failure. The helms hid the Templar’s faces but he could feel the eager energy in the air, ready for slaughter.

Malcolm’s hands were sweaty with nervousness as he waited for Senior Enchantress Karena to finish her spell.

Malcolm fiddled with Leandra’s rosary, well his rosary now, but it was coated in her spiritual energy, almost making it feel like her arms were wrapped around his neck. It made him breathe easier in the nightmare of being back in this room. Gave him hope that there was some kind of future for the two of them after this.

Enchanter Karena hunched over an ancient spellbook reading over the instructions, her glasses giving her fish eyes as she stirred different animal and plant parts into the lyrium brew. She seemed to be taking a long time, cutting things down into the smallest batches and scraping only the tiniest pinches into the mixture.

Malcolm sat on the gurney that they had wheeled in for him, feeling antsy. He gazed over the over at the cauldron, the mixture foul and pungent and heady. “Do you need help?” he offered genuinely.

The Enchantress scowled, “Excuse me, young man, I have made this spell hundreds of times.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure how he offended her this time but he gritted his teeth, biting back his usual snark. “Look, I'm just trying to speed things along. Isaac doesn’t have a lot of time.”

“Don’t rush me! If the ratio is off there can be dire consequences,” she snapped but then she turned back to the brew with a frown, “but I’ve never made such a weak concoction. With only one vial of lyrium I’m not sure there will be enough strength to pull you into the Fade.” She glared at Malcolm, her squinted eyes enlarged in glass. “If you were boasting, young man, that child will pay the price.”

Malcolm scoffed. How many times must he prove himself? “I don’t need to boast.” If only he could slip into the Fade right now and skip this charade. He still had a tile from Isaac’s toy bag, even though Carver had to ‘confiscate’ everything else Leandra brought which also included some sour gummy worms, a phone and a drawing his sister made for him. Still, the tile would be enough to track his dream. He didn’t need this witch’s brew.

Then Enchantress Karena pulled a vial from a case that was especially red, viscous. As soon as she uncorked it an iron smell filled the air.

Malcolm didn’t like the way it tingled the hairs in his nostrils. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he drank that. He had never ingested lyrium before but he was sure it would make taking care of whatever demon assaulted Isaac a piece of cake. Malcolm wrinkled his nose in recognition. “Is that what I think it is?”

Enchantress Karena stiffened as she poured in the vial. “It’s the essence of life and will help tether you to Isaac.”

Malcolm shook his head. In other words, Isaac’s phylactery.

He watched as a portion of blood was mixed into the blue shimmery concoction causing it to bubble, the whole cauldron taking a purple sheen as she stirred. It thickened the air with a copper rain-like smell.

“Soooo, how is this not blood magic?” Malcolm wrinkled his nose. Sure blood would be the easiest way to find his essence but he never expected the Chantry to actually resort to it.

The Enchantress snarled. “This is nothing like blood magic, blasphemer!”

Malcolm held up his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just asking a question. Don’t bite my head off.” Still he couldn’t help but feel like the Chantry were a bunch of hypocrites.

An armored hand clapped his shoulder, gripping slightly in a warning to be quiet. “Let’s let the Senior Enchantress concentrate,” Carver’s voice echoed from underneath his square imposing helm.

Malcolm sighed, dropping his shoulders as he relented. Of course the Circle sanctioned blood magic under the circumstances they deemed fit. He wasn’t sure why he was even surprised, but it made Malcolm wonder what other secrets the Circle was hiding.

Carver bent over his eyes gleaming from the darkness of his helmet as he said in a low voice. “Don’t take any stupid chances in the Fade.”

Malcolm scoffed, whispering back, “This isn’t my first hunt. I know what I’m doing.”

“Still,” Carver drew his shoulders together, “it never hurts to be careful.” He lowered his helm to Malcolm’s ear and whispered, “what if it’s that terror demon?”

Malcolm stiffened. He had considered that as a possibility, and his leg swung impatiently from his seat. “Isaac’s managed to hold on this long. Have a little faith.”

Carver nodded, the tension not releasing from his shoulders.

Soon the purple brew darkened a few shades and the Enchantress took her spoon tapping off the extra liquid back into the cauldron, the sound echoing like a dull bell through the chamber. “It is done.” The Enchantress poured the concoction into a goblet and passed it to Malcolm. “Now drink every drop and lie down immediately.”

Malcolm gagged as he stared at it. Thankfully there were only a few mouthfuls to swallow but along with blood he had seen animal organs and poisonous mushrooms ground in. His skin turned a shade greener as he held his breath, unable to take the raw odor.

But then he remembered he could change the flavor and took a moment to weave the spell over his tongue before he knocked it back into his throat. He tasted strawberries again, but the texture still made him gag and there was still a distinct coppery taste that overlapped the flavor and burned into his nostrils. He forced himself to swallow before he coughed wishing he had soured something else. The liquid numbed his mouth and his throat and he found himself unable to say anything as he tried his best not to throw up.

“Lie down,” she reminded him curtly, pressing his nails into his shoulder and back into the gurney.

His head knocked against a firm cushion, the swirling feeling overtaking him as the room started to discolor and spin.

She then snapped her head at Carver as she took Malcolm’s arm and strapped him down with the leather bindings. “Bind him firmly, Knight Captain.”

Carver obeyed, his helm obscuring his expression, but his fingers shook as he bound his friend’s limbs tightly to the gurney.

The ceiling melded into indescribable colors but then Malcolm realized it was because the Enchantress had activated the containment barrier they had drawn around Malcolm. The room was swirling as his skin prickled with energy, the lyrium buzzing in his blood so it seemed to be singing.

The pull was immediate, the room melting away and replaced by images of a green sky, the stone walls growing into jagged hills as a road stretched before him, unpaved and uneven the hills glittering with the darkest obsidian. The Fade felt so real, the air smelling like the sea, the gravel crunching beneath his body as he pushed himself upright from the ground.

Usually traversing the Fade felt like walking through a memory, details not always in focus, but he could see every whorl on his fingers, feel the breeze wafting through his hair, smell the dirt coming from his clothes. He looked behind him and saw that he was trapped on an island, a sharp fall into a bottomless chasm that stretched out like the sea. The island stretched upwards and upwards into a tower so high that the clouds obstructed the view from the top. The other islands lay barren and pulverized, every path destroyed except the one forward.

Malcolm thought for a second that he had been deposited to the gates of the Black City but when he gazed over the chasm, there it hung in the sky, looking closer than ever. He plucked the Fade strings with his fingers, reaching out to Compassion.

She didn’t answer him.

In fact nothing did.

That’s when Malcolm noticed there was something strange about the way the Fade here was constructed. For one the usual hum of spirit chatter was nonexistent, the Fade strings seemingly gnarled and cut up. He could sense no connection to any spirits like he was a shorting circuit, and it gave Malcolm a sense of unease. He couldn’t read the terrain like he usually could. It just seemed like the whole area was frozen in a silent scream. The memories of the Fade had been stripped completely blank somehow.

“Somniari?” Compassion’s voice finally rang out in his mind and he flinched like he had been burnt, but the feeling faded into discomfort. The hair on the back of his neck stood at end as the voice coated him, primal fear seeding in him, but he was quickly reminded of his previous conversation with Compassion and bit down the feeling as best he could so he would not warp her.

“A child is in danger of being possessed,” he said aloud, the connection starting to feel more familiar each second, the unease subsiding as he chalked it up to being in the middle of a demon’s web. “I could use the backup.”

“A child? Oh dear, I must come immediately,” her voice said with more enthusiasm than usual. Malcolm thought it odd, but before he could think much on it she appeared before him, her robes more fitted than before. Her eyes burned brightly, but the azure color a shade more lilac than he remembered, but no sooner than he thought that in a blink, the color looked more familiar, and Malcolm chalked it up to a trick of the light.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Malcolm kept polite, but his eye never left Compassion studying her as she took in her surroundings in interest.

She gazed down at the abyss, her braid dangling almost like a snake with how it moved.

Forcing down uncertainty he said, “I think I sense Zefuckwad here, but I’m not completely sure. Something’s wrong with this place, right?”

Compassion’s eyes flashed as the corner of her lips quirked in a smile for once not correcting Malcolm’s mispronunciation. “This realm is sundered, memories swallowed, but whether it is the work of Zelophehad remains to be seen.” Her voice tripped over the terror demon’s name, and for a moment it seemed like the Fade stirred, as if it flinched.

Malcolm could agree with her assessment. There was no memory in the stone, no whispers telling him of secret knowledge. “I’m certain,” he suppressed a shiver. “Only felt like this once before. And the fact Isaac was taken doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

The spirit pricked up at Isaac’s name. “I sense your connection to the boy. He is precious to you?”

Malcolm’s gut twisted. “Not to me,” he admitted. He suddenly wished he had made more of an effort to build a connection. The boy seemed lonely. He never seemed to hang out with anyone his own age, but clung to his teacher’s skirts.

“Ah,” Compassion cocked her head in sudden understanding. “The connection is to the one is Bound to your heart. My mistake.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uncomfortable, unsure what was relevant about this conversation, though to hear Leandra was Bound to his heart did strike a sense of joy in him. He could sense the Compassion spirit watching his reaction in interest and he decided it was time to change the subject.

“I can track Isaac,” Malcolm said, feeling the block that still was tucked in his physical hand. He pinched his fingers, feeling the ridges, and soon the little plastic red tile formed shining brightly. He let the tile go, letting it take life. It blinked in it’s yellow light, flitting around in a circle as if it was trying to get a sense of direction.

“Impressive,” Compassion nodded, “and so what do you need me for?”

Malcolm touched the tile and it spun, glowing like a star in the murky Fade. “To keep me alive.”

The tile floated like a wisp, droplets of light leaving after images of where it flew. It darted up the rocky path bouncing up and down as it waited for it’s master to follow. Malcolm sighed, dropping his shoulders as his feet crunched up the rocky steps.

The castle hills were craggy that slid down and threatened to plummet them into the chasm below. The walls of the castle crowded them against the cliff, as if they were reaching for Malcolm. Some of the steps crumbled beneath his feet, the rocks clattering down to the bottom and into the pit. The beacon stayed in sight flitting just out of reach leading Malcolm higher and higher until they reached a deserted courtyard. Ruined rubble filled the area, the grass dead brown and dry. Two beheaded statues guarded a dark murky portal that served as the castle’s door. The beacon floated between the crossed axes of the statues spinning in place before it sucked into the hazy rippling portal with a bloop.

Malcolm looked to Compassion. “Isaac’s inside but I don’t like the idea of just charging in blindly.”

Compassion looked between the cracks of one of the large walls that caged them in, her lips in a small thin line. “What are you suggesting?”

Malcolm thought for a second. He had never had to be so careful on a hunt before and he wanted to do this as stealthily as possible. “Can you coat me with your essence? I can hide my physical form but if the demon can track my aura it would be pointless.”

Compassion looked hesitant, even though the request seemed simple enough. “Your aura is so powerful I’m not sure mine will do much to mask it.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She smiled. “I do,” she then opened her hand and in a flash of white light a staff of dark gnarled twisted wood with long purple thorn spikes appeared in her hand. “This is Thornheart. Use it in the coming battle.”

As Malcolm’s fingers wrapped around the shaft, his hair raised up in alarm. He had never felt so much power in his hand, and he suddenly felt stronger, faster, more alert. He balanced the staff, feeling the ridges of the bark beneath his fingers, an unsettled feeling sinking inside him. “Not sure if a branch is going to help me.”

“It is my soul in solid form. It is the greatest aid I can offer.”

Malcolm felt her power seeping into him, her foreignness feeling like a leather glove over his skin. The way the magic melded together made him slightly nauseous, like he had gorged on too many sweets. The energy gave him a buzzing feeling, and he felt like he needed to run a few laps to burn it off. He ignored that and waved the staff instead, trying to pull parts of the Fade into himself to help mask his presence. By the second turn of the staff he was completely invisible.

“I’m right behind you,” Compassion spoke in his direction though it offered no comfort.

Malcolm gritted his teeth as he looked at the portal, feeling that familiar darkness lurking within. The demon could have wiped Isaac out at any second, but Isaac was alive, being toyed with. And Malcolm felt responsible for putting him there. If he was smart enough to use the boy as bait, then this changed everything.

With a steadying breath, he steeled himself for the worst and stepped inside.

Suddenly he was in a mansion, grander than he had ever stepped in before. Kids' drawings filled the walls and toys were everywhere, servants surrounded them in a flurry as they brought down luggage from a grand staircase. A tall brown man with a silky mustache that connected to his beard and a wide nose was walking down the stairs as two screaming children held his legs, one a little girl with long brown hair and bright brown eyes, and the other boy he recognized as Isaac.

“Daddy please,” the little girl held onto his pants leg as if she was holding onto her life. “Daddy please don’t go.”

Isaac just kept repeating the same phrase over again like a mantra. “I’m sorry.”

The man practically kicked his children off. “Get off me! I’m not your father. Your mother’s a cheating whore.”

Malcolm clenched his fist, ready to clock the man, but moving in dreams was not like moving through life. Each part was played by a different demon, only Isaac the true player. Malcolm stepped closer to the family, waiting for his moment to strike.

The man headed for the door, Isaac dragging on his heels. “Daddy,” he sobbed, snot bubbling down his nose. “Daddy. I love you.”

The man recoiled as if he had been hit. He bared his teeth, “You are a thing. You don’t even work right. There is no way I am your father.”

That’s when Malcolm almost swung, but before Malcolm could, another demon came from one of the back rooms and started throwing clothes at the man. She was a plump woman with warm caramel skin and a long satin dress. “Get out!” she screamed. “Say no more words to my children and leave before you infect them with more poison.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Gladly. Just don’t come running after me for coppers to feed these creatures.”

She huffed, angry tears in her eyes. “As if I ever needed your money.”

The man slammed the front door in Isaac’s face, almost smashing his fingers. “Daddy,” he said in a broken voice.

His mother scooped him up as he cried on her shoulder, Malcolm breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just needed to find a way to speak to Isaac to wake him up without alerting the rest of the demons. He tried to find where Compassion was in the nightmare but she had gone oddly silent ever since he stepped through.

The boy sobbed into his mother’s chest, the other little girl reached for her with outstretched hands as she joined in the family cry.

“I’m sorry, loves, I’m sorry,” Isaac’s mother wiped her children’s eyes. “We’re cursed. We’re a cursed family. This is all my fault.”

Malcolm tensed as Isaac renewed his wailing.

The little girl stopped crying and said. “Mama, how do we break the curse?”

The woman smiled through her tears as she cupped the little girl’s face. “It’s simple. We die.”

Isaac took fistfuls of his mother's skirts . “Mama, no. Mama, no.”

The woman took hold of his chin with a razor smile. “Oh, my sweet child, I should have drowned you at birth. It would have saved you so much suffering.”

That’s when Malcolm finally revealed himself, slicing the demon’s hand with a wave of his staff. He gra

“Mama!” A frightened Isaac elbowed Malcolm in the face.

Malcolm gave him some more room but didn’t let him go.

“That’s not your mother, look at her more closely,” he struggled to keep the boy still. He was surprisingly strong for his small size.

The boy reached out for his Mother, her arm not bleeding as much as it should. Her teeth and eyes looked sharper but it didn’t seem to matter to Isaac. He couldn’t see past his nightmare.

The woman waved with her unhurt hand. “Isaac. Mama’s leaving now. And she’s never ever coming back.”

“No, that’s not your mom. Your Mom is waiting for you to wake up, little dude,” Malcolm forced the boy to face him but Isaac's eyes couldn’t leave his mother.

Isaac’s Mother grabbed his sister’s hand and with a sly smile turned her hand on the doorknob. And then Malcolm realized his mistake. He had forgotten to protect the portal.

As soon as the woman opened the door every corner of the room filled with blackness, the only slits of light now emanating from the goat's eyes splitting from the darkness. The servants and Isaac’s family started to warp as the nightmare changed into more sinister shadow forms. Isaac’s outstretched hand lay frozen as the face of his mother morphed into Compassion.

Except now Malcolm could finally see that it wasn’t Compassion at all. The demon was wearing Compassion’s face, but her skin was now too purple, her eyes darkening to a malevolent shade of violet glowing like embers.

A desire demon. Her brown hair started to float as it mimicked the fire that should be on her head.

Malcolm instinctively reached for his weapon but the staff wrapped around his wrists, thorns snaking into his arms and into his torso. Malcolm let Isaac go before the thorns could wrap around him, too.

Malcolm tried to speak, tried to tell Isaac to wake up, but only blood coughed out of his mouth.

“Mama?” Isaac cowered from the figure in confusion, his eyes and heart seeming to wrestle with what was happening .

The Desire demon outstretched both arms, her hand regrown into thorn-like points, her robes turning into flowing strands of silk. “Bound and offered, Master, as you commanded. I told you my plan would work .”

The goat eyes swirled in amusement as another figure loomed in the portal forming in the tendrils. “So you said, Avarice. I am most impressed.”

Malcolm’s spine chilled, trying to move, but the more he struggled the more it hurt. He could feel something stabbing his heart, keeping him from speaking, but even if he could his words would be stolen from him. The voice the demon took raised all of Malcolm’s hair on end and he withheld a tremble as his father stood before him.

The elf was all lean muscle, his fists scarred and fingers broken from fistfights and punching walls. Malcolm forgot how much he looked like his father, the same nose, the same shaggy curls, the same smattering of freckles, even his eyes were the same shade of gold except instead of regular pupils they were square like a goat. They blinked eerily, the corner of his eyes and lips wrinkled into sharp lines.

Malcolm knew he made a mistake but he was so focused on Zelophehad he had never considered the demon would team up with another to trick him, never considered that the demon would successfully dig out the thing in his psyche that would freeze him in place. He watched helplessly as the Desire demon sauntered up the steps towards Isaac, holding her arms out in a welcoming hug.

“Come to Mama.”

Isaac stood his ground, trembling in fear. “Y-you’re…not…” The boy couldn’t finish his sentence. He stood instinctively near Malcolm, even though there was nothing Malcolm could do to protect him at this point.

Malcolm tried to push through the pain, his panic riding against him in an oncoming wave, but couldn’t let himself be overcome. He saw only one option, and he started to subtly weave threads from the tips of his fingers towards Isaac.

The demon was coming closer, faster, it was hard to focus on weaving the magic with the fear eating at his nerves.

“Your mama’s never coming back. But I can be your mama. I promise I’ll never abandon you, child.”

Malcolm panicked as the demon closed in, about to grab Isaac but before she could Zelophehad blinked beside the demon and grabbed her wrist. He raised a thick eyebrow, his sneer almost a smile. “And what are you doing with my snack?”

The Desire demon looked too terrified to fight, but the confusion on her face was apparent. “M-master, I thought this was what was agreed?”

WIth a flick of Zelophehad’s wrist, he broke the demoness’ wrist and she howled in pain staggering back. “I agreed to let you have my scraps, but if you’re so impatient you’re welcome to be included on the menu.”

The demoness looked conflicted. The anger was apparent on her face. “This is how you repay my service? You will reap what you sow.”

Then she blinked away from sight leaving Malcolm alone with his terror demon.

Malcolm had forgotten how overpowering the demon’s presence was, blanking out thought.

Isaac shuffled towards Malcolm grabbing his hand in fright, and Malcolm squeezed back, trying to offer what comfort he could.

“So shall I eat the boy first?” the demon circled them lazily, slouching with confident ease. Tendrils of dark tentacles circled around his legs and snaked up his arms reaching out to taste the fear on Malcolm’s bound body. “Or will you chivalrously go first?”

Every movement still shredded him, but he found with Avarice gone, her magic was no longer overpowering and he could force himself to speak. “Real cocky considering you made your servant do your dirty work.”

“And why not?” Zelophehad said with a gleeful smile. “Is it not what they are for?”

Malcolm scoffed, though that made a thorn stab deeper into his ribs. He held onto Isaac’s hand his Fade strings wrapping around his balled fist. He saw only one way out of this. “You haven’t won, yet.”

“Good,” the demon grinned. “I like a meal that has fight. Let’s see how brave you are after I eat your charge.” Then the tendrils wrapped around Isaac pulling him towards the demon.

Isaac screamed, squeezing onto Malcolm’s hand, and Malcolm pulled, wrapping the rest of the Fade strings firmly around Isaac.

Malcolm closed his eyes, diving into the depths of his psyche and pulling Isaac along with him. He felt the pain intensify as Zelophehad tried to rip Isaac away from him, but Malcolm pulled them safely both into the safety of his mind.

Their spirits tumbled as the Fade tried to give form to their consciousness, Isaac and Malcolm’s memories melding together in projections in every corner he saw, the overlapping memories serving as the Fade’s usual hum. Malcolm could feel the terror demon ripping off the w alls of his defenses, following him inside. He was at his most powerful since it was his mind therefore his dream, but he was also cornered, trapped. If the terror demon managed to overwhelm him here, he had no more tricks to pull, no hidden hole to dive in.

Malcolm wouldn’t have done this if he had another choice.

He needed to become conscious, take control of the dream, find Isaac and wake them both back to safety, but that was easier said than done. The Fade had not become so much as moldable clay but a projection of thoughts and wants sprung to life with just a breath. Any stray thought, no matter how tiny, could derail everything.

It took all of Malcolm’s energy to focus in the dream fog, like a dulling drug to his senses muting his thoughts. Isaac. He needed to find Isaac. He repeated the name in his head, not allowing any other thoughts to surface. He suddenly recalled something Leandra said after gifting him the rosary, which was like a warm tether on his neck. Without another thought he tore off parts of the Fade and reshaped them into brightly colored blocks.

And started building a simple wall. He clicked the pieces together, slowly building as he started to recite what he could remember from the book Leandra brought.

“In this big wide world,

We all have a place

Every bee needs it’s rose,

Every rose needs it’s vase.”

Soon the walls formed into a house where he left room for a couple windows and an opening for the door. The shadows of Isaac’s memories strengthened with each stack of the block, as Malcolm led his spirit back to him.

“But where do the broken and stinky things go?

When the pen in the ink refuses to flow

Do we keep all the clutter? Does anyone know?”

“Yes,” a small voice finally answered him, “it goes in Mr. Dumpdump’s tow.”

He looked up from his work to see that Isaac had joined him, taking the blocks in his hands with focused effort as he started crafting his build.

“Hey, little dude,” Malcolm sighed in relief. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

But Isaac wasn’t listening to Malcolm. His eyes never left his hands as he built up the walls of his structure with impressive speed, all while reciting the book like a mantra.

“He takes what is bad

So things can be good

Isn’t he the best neighbor

In the whole neighborhood?”

The Fade churned as the walls of the dream struggled to take shape in the competing mindscapes of Isaac and Malcolm, the familiar Circle the only common ground for the Fade to form in. Malcolm could tell Isaac was paler than usual, his eyes seemingly blank as if he was far away and not at all aware what his hands were doing. The Fade was practically responding to his creative urges forming walls around him, as if he was trying to block himself in.

Malcolm crept up to Isaac, his fingers reaching out hesitantly. “I’m going to wake you up, now, but I need you to trust me.”

“How can you trust him?” Revka’s disembodied voice rang shrilly across the Fade. Suddenly Revka was there dressed in fitted royal purple silk, her brown hair loose around her shoulders. She outstretched a pointed nail at Isaac, her pupils too square to be human but everything else was a remarkable likeness. Yet Isaac was frozen, staring at the image of his Mother with a tremble as he fumbled with his blocks. “Come to Mama, Isaac. Let me in.”

Malcolm stepped closer, imploring Isaac to listen. “She’s not real. Your real Mom is waiting for you to wake up.”

The demon smirked with a sharp toothed smile. “I’m your Mama. This elf is the one who is not real. Why would he help you?”

Isaac blinked at Malcolm, his eyes suddenly filled with distrust.

Malcolm held up his hands showing open palms forming no spells. “This is a bad dream, Isaac. You can end it now if you wake up.”

“If you wish hard enough you could have more than just this little reality,” Revka’s laugh tittered as the Fade started to shape into what Malcolm could only guess was some twisted form of Isaac’s old bedroom. The building blocks seemed to take a life of their own building into the sides of the room. Kids drawings filled the walls and books filled dragon shaped shelves. Revka sat down on Isaac’s bed, her fingers beckoning him to come closer.

Isaac’s eyes filled with tears. “I-I can’t.”

Malcolm dared to take one step closer to Isaac. “Let me help you wake up.”

The Nightmare growled, the room distorting color. “He wants to kill you. Don’t let him get close!”

Isaac froze, as if he didn’t consider that and backed away from Malcolm. When Malcolm took another step closer Isaac took another step back closer to the Nightmare.

Malcolm gritted his teeth, wondering what he could do to prove to Isaac that he was really him and not some twisted imitation. He needed to prove to Isaac he was real, but he didn’t know how.

And then it hit him and Malcolm took a deep breath and belted out the loudest most obnoxious “HOOOOOOOONK!” he could manage.

The Nightmare blinked in confusion as the boy broke down in a fit of surprised giggles.

Malcolm joined in the carefree laughter, ignoring the glaring Nightmare demon and said, “Hey, don’t leave me hanging. Your turn.”

The boy didn’t hesitate, he threw back his head and screamed, “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!” in a louder, more obnoxious way that only a 9 year old could manage.

The Nightmare’s forces seemed to be shrinking in the laughter and the demon scowled. “How undisciplined. I guess it’s time to punish you until you listen.”

Then the Nightmare leapt, his claws forming into long scythe-like points as he raked for Isaac.

Malcolm twisted the Fade around the Nightmare and turned into a crushing prison, paralyzing the demon for a moment but he wasn’t sure with its strength how long it would hold.

He turned back towards Isaac who was now huddling behind his constructed wall, his head in his knees and his hands over his ears.

Malcolm crept beside him. “Little dude,” he said in a hurried voice. “You need to wake up now.”

“I c-can’t,” he sobbed into his knees, holding fistfuls of his hair.

The demon howled in pain, causing Isaac to tremble.

Malcolm reacted with haste touching his forefingers to each side of Isaac’s temples, pouring his magic into him.

Isaac popped up socking Malcolm in the jaw as he gasped in shock.

The jab hurt but Malcolm held firm and Isaac’s next fist went through Malcolm as he faded back into the waking realm where he was safe from the Nightmare’s grasp.

Suddenly a claw wrapped around his neck, digging into his skin but no sooner did the Nightmare grab hold did he fling his hand back like he was burnt.

Malcolm looked down to find the rosary around his neck glowing in what he could only describe as a heavenly light.

Warm trickles of blood seeped down Malcolm’s neck and when he touched the cord it grew hot. A strange and unfamiliar sensation ran through him.

Malcolm wasn’t sure what happened. That was no spell he weaved and yet the demon seemed to eye his rosary with a wariness that he didn’t reserve for the man himself.

The Nightmare’s face contorted, its shape shifting into several darkspawn like forms before it settled onto the face of Malcolm’s father, but Malcolm was a bit more ready for it this time. Still the sight of the man before him made him take an uneasy step back, his nerves instinctively screaming at him to wake up from this nightmare.

“Are you going to face me like a man or run like a rabbit?”

Malcolm clenched his fists, the slur even from a demon like a punch to the gut. Still, he knew when he was being baited. “Yeah real manly going after a child. You really do take after my father.” Part of him wanted to throw every spell he knew at his disposal. It was his dream, but he was facing the Nightmare. He knew it was smarter to run.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the demon examined his burn in disinterest, a casual smirk on his lips. “But I have to say if you don’t get rid of me now, I only plan to become a bigger problem.” He tapped a finger on his lip. “Shall I try to eat Charlie next? Taylor?”

Malcolm’s heart froze in his chest as the Nightmare’s golden goat eyes seized him in place with the next name that fell from his smirking lips.

“Leandra has been looking awfully delicious,” the Nightmare fell back to the rosary neck and gestured to his burned hand imprinted with its beads. “Shall I pay her a visit now that you’ve generously supplied her essence?”

Malcolm saw red, sending crackling energy at the demon but it disappeared in a blink and his lightning bolt hit a wall of colorful blocks scattering them.

The demon suddenly appeared behind him delivering a stunning blow to the back of Malcolm’s head.

He saw stars as he struggled to reorient himself. He sent a clumsy fireball at the demon’s direction, but even if the demon didn’t teleport out of reach again the ball would’ve barely grazed the demon.

Malcolm was ready for the Nightmare to be in his blindside again, and moved to dodge, but his foot was caught. He looked down to see that a tentacled hand had wrapped around his ankle from the floor and prevented him from missing the crushing blow to his nose that made his eyes water.

Blood spattered from his face, streaming down his nose so he couldn’t breathe. It felt broken. Jostled, he picked himself up enough only for a blow to the chest that knocked the wind out of him.

This went on for a while, Malcolm barely keeping his footing as he absorbed blow after blow that he was too slow to react from, each spell dying in his hand before he could fling it. He was unsure why the demon chose to use his fists over something more lethal like magic or claws or anything, but Malcolm realized that even with those goat eyes when he was staring at that face the punches hurt more, his reflexes were more hesitant, and that familiar taunting laugh tripped him off balance.

This didn’t feel so much of a fight as a beating.

“What’s the matter, boy?” The demon punched Malcolm in the stomach, avoiding the rosary by inches. There was an unexpected weight behind each punch but this one felt like being hit by a freight train and Malcolm keeled over, almost throwing up blood. “Weren’t you supposed to be teaching me a lesson?”

The demon then knelt beside Malcolm's crumpled form and caressed his curls fondly, which made Malcolm shiver as distant memories were quickly brought to the surface. “I’m going to take everything you love sooner or later. You have two choices, the painful way, or the less painful way. It’s up to you.”

Malcolm tried to flee, to wake himself up, but all he could do more was cough and gasp as he tried to breathe through his pain, the memories of his childhood terror so fresh, he was trembling. His voice was caught in a web he couldn’t get out of. All he could do is touch the rosary around his neck, praying for the help that burned the demon before.

The Nightmare seemed to sense this so he sighed, grabbing fistfuls of Malcolm’s curls. “The painful way, then.”

One punch shattered his nose.

“Even if Leandra loves you, she’ll always love her status more.” Malcolm struggled to breathe as another punch knocked out a tooth. “They’ll laugh at your children.” Another punch dislocated his jaw. “What kind of a father will you be anyways?” By the fourth punch he was losing consciousness, and he struggled to grasp for his body in the waking world before it was too late. Suddenly the Nightmare stopped and took in a heavy annoyed sigh.

“You are intruding, little spirit.”

Malcolm’s spotty vision noticed a blinding glow in the darkness in the room. He raised his head to see Compassion, the real Compassion shining brilliantly, a rainbow crystal staff wielded in her hands.

“Have you not feasted enough, Zelophehad? Is your hunger so great you must swallow everything in your path?”

The demon smirked malevolently, his bloody knuckles cracking as he clenched his fist. “My gluttony is boundless. My wrath is unquenchable. My greed unsatiable. A little compassion will do nothing to stop me.”

Compassion stood vigilantly, unshaken, her staff brightening with indescribable colors from the carved crystals. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

She met Malcolm’s gaze, his head trapped in Zelophehad’s fist, her azure fire eyes burning. “Somniari, trust me,” And then Compassion turned the crystals to the ground, and poured light that made the floor glitter like diamonds.

“Awaken again, my friends,” Compassion poured more healing magic into the Fade, the air brightening to a more normal greenish hue.

The demon hissed, dropping Malcolm to cut off Compassion.

Malcolm hit the floor with a thud, breathing in the magic, that seemed to soothe his aching, broken body. Suddenly, the Fade was no longer silent, a rush of hurried frightened whispers of the particles of the Fade woke up and filled up Malcolm’s thoughts with indecipherable chatter.

“Shut up!” Zelophehad bellowed as he dove for Compassion, his claws coming out to scythe-like points but she blinked out of sight and then beside Malcolm.

She knelt down and touched him with her iridescent hand.

The magic was almost instant. In one breath, everything ached, like shards of bone were digging into his gut, his eye was swollen shut, his nose too mangled to breathe through, and then in the next moment it was like coming up from a cool pond. There was an uncomfortable sensation of bones knitting back into place, as a cooling healing touch soothed his burning skin. In a few moments he could move more normally again, his vision clear, his mind alert.

Zelophehad growled holding up his hand and a beam of concentrated dark light shot towards Compassion. Malcolm, still grounded, threw up a barrier without thinking, and Compassion did the same. The double barriers cracked but held but the force still blew them back. Zelophehad kept the assault, making the beam bigger, the energy arcing wildly.

“Wake up!” Compassion ordered.

Malcolm balked, his energy being drained by trying to keep the barrier reinforced. “Don’t you need help?”

“You’re in the way,” she sneered, which was like a slap in the face to Malcolm. Still, as much as that stung he couldn’t argue that he pretty much had his ass handed to him that fight.

“Fine,” he scoffed, pulling back the magic, and reaching for his body back in the waking world. As he did, the barrier started to crack, light showing through.

Malcolm hesitated, pouring more magic into the barrier.

“I have this handled. Flee, you fool!” Compassion hissed, the crystals of her staff quivering in effort. Suddenly the Fade air shimmered around Compassion, sealing the cracks in her barrier as soon as they formed.

Malcolm wasn’t sure what Compassion’s plan was, but it was clear she knew more about what she was doing than Malcolm did, so he pulled back his magic completely, and concentrated on reaching his body. It was quicker with the lyrium in his system. He could feel the buzz of it speed up his magic in a way he didn’t think possible so that instead of falling he felt like he was flying back. He was unsure what magic Leandra had given him, but all he knew was that she saved him.

Red light finally filtered through his eyes, and he opened them quickly to find blood all over his face and robes and every templar pointing a gun at him. Even Carver.

Malcolm gulped nervously, his limbs still bound to the gurney. He found himself struggling not to panic at the sight of his friend holding a barrel at him. “I’m not possessed.”

Carver lowered his gun slightly, but there was a hesitancy to it. “I’m sorry Malcolm, but we’re going to need a test.”

Malcolm’s gut dropped. He had forgotten that Carver was still a templar though it would be harder to forget in this moment. He gave a nervous, bloody grin and said. “Yeah, dude, whatever you need.”

Carver walked up to the barrier and turned to the Senior Enchanter and said, “lower it.”

Enchanter Karena nodded and with a wave of her staff the red barriers around Malcolm and Isaac came down.

Carver looked over at Isaac who was strapped to his own bed with a frightened look on his face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Carver said in the most soothing voice as he could manage, though it was hard to believe with his gun strapped to his side.

He took out a device that looked like a small tablet and scanned Isaac’s head. Isaac squirmed to the side as the device beeped and fed Carver information. It was supposed to be the templar’s foolproof way of thwarting possession, looking for extra brain waves or unusual activity. Though sometimes mages that looked completely fine were sometimes pulled because of weird readings so it never failed to make Malcolm nervous.

Though whatever was on the screen seemed to satisfy Carver. He started unbinding the straps, turning to the Senior Enchanter and said, “get this boy into the infirmary. He’s very weak.”

She nodded and hurried to Isaac, unbinding him fully so he could stretch out his arms and legs. He sat up reluctantly, helped by the Enchantress, who proceeded to cover him with a blanket to help with his shiver.

Carver approached Malcolm with the scanner, and ran it over his head.

Malcolm could hear the device whirring and beeping. This wasn’t the first time he’d been scanned but it never failed to heighten his nerves.

Carver’s voice was a whisper as he eyed the drying blood on Malcolm’s face. “Are you alright?”

To be honest Malcolm wasn’t sure. His body didn’t ache anymore, but the pain was like a ghost haunting him, his father’s cruel mocking laugh still ringing in his ears. He wondered for a second if Compassion made it out alright, or if he had gotten her killed. He might have gotten Isaac safely back, but this felt like a defeat.

“I just need to see Leandra,” his voice was almost begging. He wasn’t even sure if it was protocol, but he just needed a moment, so it all could mean something. He wasn’t sure if he would last if he didn’t end the day at least seeing her face.

Carver started unstrapping his ties as the templars lowered their guns hesitantly, looking at each other in disappointment. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

---

Revka’s sobs filled the chapel as she squeezed Leandra’s hand in a vice-like grip. She had taken the first plane back to Kirkwall and had stormed the Circle, along with Guillaume, Mara and Gamlen who had generously picked her up from the airport. (Well Mara and Gamlen were supposed to, but Guillaume insisted on coming to show support to Leandra.)

Now the five of them were huddled in a group prayer as they begged the Maker for Malcolm to succeed.

The nuns were all very accommodating, reciting the proper Chants with them, and invoking protections on Isaac on Malcolm from afar, though Leandra felt so powerless she felt like she was only doing it to keep her and Revka sane. Because they had to do something to make the time pass.

When asked about the rosary during prayer, because Leandra always prayed with her rosary, she evasively said she lost it and hoped it would never come up again. She was surprised when Gamlen scolded her, because he wasn’t particularly religious. Still, she knew what he would think if she told him the truth.

“It’s my fault,” Revka sobbed, breaking from the Chant as she crumpled in exhaustion. The others broke off from the Chant, looking away to give Revka the privacy of a breakdown. Even Gamlen didn’t have anything smart to say for once.

“No,’ Leandra squeezed her hand. “You can’t think that.”

The tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head. “What kind of Mother is not there for her children? Colette’s all alone at home. I had to abandon Anna during our visit and now Isaac...is lost.”

Leandra pulled Revka in for a hug unsure of what other comfort to offer. “Have faith in the Maker, Revka. He will deliver Isaac.”

‘And Malcolm,’ she added silently. She didn’t dare say his name aloud while Guillaume was by her side.

Suddenly the doors to the chapel pulled open and all of them turned to see who disturbed them. Carver and the Knight Commander stepped through, side by side, Leandra deflated, thinking that they were by themselves when Malcolm finally lagged behind, a noticeable sag to his shoulders and a sluggishness to his steps.

Revka stood up and pushed her way forward towards the Knight Commander. “Isaac. He is safe?” It was a command rather than a question.

“He is, my lady, you can rest easy,” Carver bowed his head with a warm smile on his lips.

Revka’s eyes then overflowed with tears. “Thank the Maker. And thank you Commander.”

The Knight Commander preened at the gratitude. “Only doing our part.”

Revka’s hands flew to her eyes as she hastily wiped them. “Can I see him? Just for a moment.”

Carver looked imploringly at the Knight Commander who seemed uncomfortable with the idea. “It would do wonders for Isaac’s recovery.”

Leandra stepped up beside Revka glaring at the Knight Commander, joined by Guillaume and Mara. The Knight-Commander’s eyes passed over them, seemingly wanting to avoid a fight, and turned to Carver and said. “Yes, yes give her five minutes and then they all need to leave.”

Revka looked overwhelmed with relief and eagerly held out her arm to be escorted.

Only for Carver to be distracted by the fact Mara was there. Their gazes seemed to catch, her face going red as she avoided his shocked stare. He seemed frozen, as if he had not expected Mara to be there at all, and he didn’t notice he was staring until Gamlen put a possessive arm around her.

“Captain?” Revka asked impatiently.

Carver shook his head as if he was breaking from a daze and said, “Sorry, my lady. This way.” And then he took her arm and started leading her out of the chapel.

The Knight Commander then stared at the rest of the group as if they were ruining his day. “Your mage wishes to return your trinket.”

Leandra bristled at the phrasing the Commander used and she found herself arguing. “It was a gift.”

Malcolm bowed deeply to Leandra, the rosary draping from his fingers. “My lady, the protection magic on this saved my life, and for that I thank you, but I would rest easier knowing it's guarding its true owner.”

Gamlen looked outraged seeing the rosary in Malcolm’s fingertips. “A gift? I thought you said you lost it? Leandra what were you thinking?”

Leandra opened her mouth to argue when Guillaume put a warm hand on her waist and said, “My lady only ever has the purest intentions, Lord Amell. Do forgive her.”

Gamlen barked out a laugh as he eyed Malcolm, a shit eating grin as he muttered “Poor schmuck,” under his breath.

Mara elbowed him in the stomach with warning eyes to be quiet.

Leandra stiffened at Malcolm’s sudden glare, not able to voice what she was thinking and took the rosary back feeling conflicted and partly rejected. Their fingers brushed as the necklace exchanged hands, the feeling like a shock to her heart. She wanted to insist he keep it, but she knew that it would be inappropriate and rude so she bit her lip and examined the beads, noticing some new stains on the metal. She gasped. “Is this your blood?”

Malcolm looked sheepish. “Sorry, I thought I cleaned that better.”

The Knight Commander put a warning squeeze on Malcolm’s shoulder as he pulled him back from Leandra and changed to the real subject he wanted to talk about. “As you can see Malcolm is the finest mage we have to offer.”

Guillaume put a finger on his chin. “Yes, ser, I quite agree,” he said. He offered his free hand in a friendly shake. “You are quite talented, messere. This means everything to Leandra. I can’t thank you enough.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth staring at the hand as if it stunk, but one glance at the Knight Commander had him schooling his face and he took the hand politely. “Anything for my lady,” he said while looking straight into Leandra’s eyes as he gave Guillaume the firmest shake he could manage.

“And a man’s handshake at that. I’m very impressed,” Guillaume beamed amusedly.

It took everything Malcolm had not to snort. He wiped his hand on the side of his robes feeling vindictive and petty. To see Guillaume’s hand so casually on Leandra’s waist was like sitting down for a good meal only to find a dead fly in it.

The Knight Commander gave Malcolm’s shoulder another squeeze. “We look forward to your renewed bids on Hawke’s services. We assure you we’re training him daily and instilling the best manners and education so he can best attend to your needs.”

The Knight Commander's words made that two dead flies.

Malcolm looked at Guillaume, a tall handsome man with everything and the world, who could hold Leandra’s hand in a crowd and kiss her openly in the sunlight, or the moonlight, and everything in between. He found himself trembling as he tried not to scream or cry or punch the man senseless.

Guillaume pulled Leandra closer and took one of her hands as he stared seriously into her eyes.

Leandra shied away from him but didn’t stop the embrace from happening which was like a dagger in Malcolm’s heart.

“Ma cherie, after everything that's happened with Isaac I wouldn’t dare put us at odds any longer.”

Leandra couldn’t meet Guillaume’s gaze, her eyes pulled unwillingly to Malcolm who was not looking at them at all. “Guillaume, I don’t know what you mean.”

Guillaume patted her hand. “I’m withdrawing my family’s bid for Ser Hawke. If there is truly a curse, then I shall not have you unprotected.”

Leandra didn’t know what to say so she went with a diplomatic, “That’s very generous, Guillaume.”

“Not at all,” he said, kissing her cheek, his mouth lingering near her face. as he said, “Besides we’ll be husband and wife soon, so chances are he’ll be serving us both in time.”

And that’s when Malcolm turned to the Knight-Commander and said, “I think I should go check in on Isaac, yes?”

The Knight Commander seemed surprised but pleased by Malcolm’s initiative and said, “Do that. I will escort everyone else out.”

Leandra immediately launched after him as he stormed away, forgetting anyone else was there. “Malcolm!” she cried out.

He turned to meet her, stopping her with a glare and she went red, realizing that Gamlen was smirking at her as he raised an eyebrow about how she would play this.

“Leandra, is something wrong?” Guillaume stared in confusion, a hand touching hers imploring her to spill her troubles.

But her attention was on Malcolm. She bit her lip as Malcolm watched her along with everyone else and unsure what she was doing she stuck out her hand like Guillaume did. “I’m truly indebted to you. I won’t forget my whole life, what you did for me.”

Malcolm’s face softened into a smile, truly the only thanks he was actually looking for, and he couldn’t help but take her hand since it looked so warm and inviting, “And I’d do it again,” he said as he brought her hand to his mouth and put a chaste kiss on her knuckle.

It was proper, but so very intimate that her face flooded with warmth, her breath caught in her throat.

“Messere Hawke,” The Knight-Commander barked strictly, causing the both of them to jump.

Malcolm cleared his throat and left without a word, the Knight-Commander glaring daggers into his back.

---

Every goat eye searched the whole surface of the Fade, but it seemed that the Compassion spirit had indeed escaped his labyrinth. How she managed to get in, he did not know. Everything in this realm was supposed to be loyal to him. If there were whispers of her coming he should have known about it.

And yet the Fade protected her. Hid her. His own minions of his realm would not raise a hand to fight her.

What was she to them?

And why was it so hard to kill one measly Compassion spirit? They had hardly any offensive powers. They spent their days healing the sick, not taking on embodiments of darkness. Still if the Somniari Bonded with her, it would prevent his Bonding to take place. The Spirit would have to die first.

An eye alerted him that it found something and he teleported to a wing of the palace that he had forgotten about but seemed to have been altered. Drapes of fabric held from the ceiling and it seemed like collected human artifacts like statues and goblets filled with gold and shiny jewels was scattered through the room. In the middle was a bed draped in silks, the roof overhead broken so the moon shone on Avarice in a masculine form, wearing nothing at all. Her chiseled muscles were relaxed in the plush bed as she stared at Zelophehad with a smirk on her face.

“So he got away.”

Zelophehad almost killed the demoness out of pride but his need for her kept him from lashing out. “There was an intruder. Why did you not take care of it?”

The demoness’ long fiery purple hair danced on her head lazily, “I thought you didn’t need me.”

The taunting jab made Zelophehad punch a decayed wall. A new crack ran up it all the way to the ceiling. “I can always find a smarter demon.”

That only made her smirk widen. “I delivered the Somniari gagged and bound, as ordered. I could have had him for myself, Master, but I only spared him because of my loyalty to you.”

Zelophehad sneered, his ugly mouth a mess of gnarled teeth. “That Compassion spirit will regret toying with me. I’ll burn every ounce of Compassion until there is none left in this world.”

The demoness chewed on her cheek, her violet pupiless eyes not masking disappointment. “You could do that, or….”

“Or…” the Nightmare echoed impatiently.

The demoness perched herself up on a pillow. “We approach a mortal and make a strike in the waking world.”

Zelophehad cocked his head at the idea, a malevolent smile spreading on his inky lips. “I know just the one.”

#malcolm/leandra #dragon age fic #da fic #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic

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bard-llama · 3 years

Text

WiP List (all unpublished)

So, I am 2 fics away from having published 100 fics for the Witcher game ‘verse! And I feel like my 100th fic should be special, so uh... vote on which WiP you’d like me to prioritize, I guess?

Putting the WiPs under a cut because... there’s a lot.

Forgive my working titles pls. I do not try hard with them.

Mostly Porny Fics

Piss fic - Iorveth gets a blowjob before he can mention that he could stand to use the chamber pot. After he comes over Roche’s face, Roche refuses to move - so Iorveth pisses on his crotch.

Cum Dumpster Roche - Emhyr sends Roche to an ‘elven peace conference’ which turns out to actually be an elven ritual involving a gangbang. Where he’s the ‘sacrifice’. He is surprisingly okay with this.

Possessiveness - this one actually could have the beginning published if I can think of a title. It’s essentially about Iorveth feeling very proprietary over HIS dh’oine and Roche... kind of liking that. Also scent marking during their second ever meeting lmao

Dream: Pleasure Slave - Roche has dreams about Iorveth where his only purpose is to bring Iorveth pleasure and show off how good he is for Iorveth.

Roche wears a collar - Iorveth really, really wants to see Roche in his collar, but he knows that will never happen. Doesn’t stop him from custom making a collar just for Roche - and then, serendipidously, he captures Roche and gets to put it on him. But surely Roche isn’t STILL wearing it... right? (he totes is)

Tonguefucking the dick - the premise here is that Foltest really liked stretching Roche as far as he could. Which has left Roche with holes that are... not able to go back to ‘normal’. Iorveth just wants to know when he can suck Roche’s cock.

Beltane - started the day after Beltane, because I’m me. This is an established relationship fic where Iorveth wants to celebrate with Roche - so he brings Roche to an elven ceremony. He forgets to mention the whole getting married and fucking in public bit tho.

Foltest Shows Off His Whore (And Iorveth Steals Him) - the Scoia’tael come to Vizima to negotiate a peace treaty. As a show of power, Foltest has Roche serving as his cockwarmer, completely naked. Iorveth cannot take his eyes off of Roche and when Foltest offers his whore to them... well, how can he refuse?

Cock worship - aka Iorveth is a lil obsessed with Roche’s dick. Haven’t actually decided if this is gonna be a slow burn with relationship development or go straight into porn. So uh... opinions requested?

Mersquid Iorveth Porny Porn - When Iorveth isn’t present during a fight, Roche goes to the cove where they’ve been secretly meeting and teaching each other shit. Only to find Iorveth in heat. Obviously he can’t just leave his enemy, so...

Oblivious Roche - Iorveth is trying VERY, very hard to woo Roche, but the idiot is absolutely oblivious to these things. So Iorveth decides to get naked with candles and rose petals around and wait for Roche to come and finally take him. Roche is just very, very confused.

Old Men in Vergen - Roche, exhausted from training his soldiers in Velen, goes to Vergen to rest and recover with his lover. Iorveth just wants Roche to fucking eat a real meal before they bone until they can’t anymore.

Sequel to Never Have I Ever - Iorveth decides that Roche’s drunken confessions deserve reciprocity.

Iorveth Gangbang - Roche manages a scene where Iorveth is tied up in the Blue Stripes camp and they take him apart.

Post-coital after first time - post-W2, Iorveth has decided to start over in a town where he’s a little less notorious. When he decides to stop by the tavern, he happens to discover Roche, drunk off his ass. Obviously this leads to dares and blowjobs.

Hands - Iorveth and Geralt have a thing for Roche’s hands and spend a lot of time oogling and fantacisizng about them. Roche discovers this when he ‘accidentally’ walks in on Iorveth fingering Geralt in Corvo Bianco.

Post-coital smoke - Iorveth admires his lover while smoking after a number of sessions. Then Roche steals his pipe and they start a new session.

Wrestling for Who Tops - Iorveth and Roche are at a fancy party and duck out in to the garden for some fun. Featuring plugs, breathplay, and dirty talk.

Impact Play - established relationship, Iorveth ties Roche up to have fun with him.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - In Witcher 2, Iorveth accompanies Geralt to find a harpy dream powerful enough to save Saskia. They accidentally end up witnessing Roche’s dream - where he is DP’d by Geralt and Iorveth. Then they work on making it come true.

Private Time - Roche masturbates and fantacizes about Iorveth and Geralt.

Inexperienced Iorveth - PWP where Roche instructs Iorveth on how to get him off. Iorveth mostly follows the instructions... with a few additions.

Iorveth tittyfucking Roche - p much what it sounds like. Iorveth has a fascination with Roche’s chest. Roche is more than okay with this.

Want Me To Sit In Your Lap? - based on Geralt literally saying this to Roche 2 seconds after meeting him, this fic is post-W2 where Geralt DOES sit in Roche’s lap (and on his cock) while Triss and Ves get to know each other.

Foltest/Roche –> Iorveth/Roche - this is a fic I’m writing with @multifangirl69 where Foltest ties Roche up until he’s immobile, then fucks him. Then the Scoia’tael attack and Foltest and his guard end up retreating... without Roche. So Iorveth walks into the King’s tent to find Roche tied up and ready to be fucked.

Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain - the magic of the forest is feeling playful and teases Iorveth with the idea of being filled all day long. So when he finally gets to meet up with Roche, he’s eager to get filled - and the magic of the forest has a nice surprise to help fill him. (the surprise is vine tentacles)

Pregnancy Prompts pron pls? - pre-pregnancy but in the same universe with trans Roche, Iorveth reflects on how much he loves his partner. And decides to show that love by sucking his dick.

Age Kink (which I may have misunderstood) - Iorveth and Roche find themselves captured and locked up together with no sign of their captor.

Eskel/Lambert - When Eskel and Lambert get into a fight over gwent of all things, Eskel accidentally uses axii on Lambert. Lambert wants him to do it again.

5 Signs: Sex Magic - Eskel ends up demonstrating how igni can be used in sex for Lambert and Geralt. Naturally this leads to a bet on who can most effectively use all of the signs during sex.

“If we’re both in this state, we both really screwed up somewhere huh?” - Roche and Iorveth find themselves trapped in a dream world and struggle to find a way to wake up.

“You were almost dead from pushing it too far!” - Roche has a heart attack during a skirmish with the Scoia’tael. Only elven medicine is able to save him.

Plot-driven Fics

Language Aphasia/Deal with the Devil - Roche makes the mistake of wishing that he could “understand Iorveth” in the company of one Gaunter O’Dimm. Then he wakes up as Iorveth’s prisoner and for some reason, he can only understand Elder.

Life Debt AKA Iorveth is an Asshole - When Roche and his men rescue the prisoners of a slavery ring they’ve busted up, they discover one elf has been... pretty badly treated. Somehow this leads to Iorveth learning to walk with arm braces and hanging out in the Temerian camp in Velen, criticizing Roche’s training techniques.

Firebreathing - PT knows how to breathe fire. Iorveth is NOT prepared to discover that humanity has these skills and the idiocy to actually use them.

Sequel to A Heart’s Fire - Cerys is sick of Iorveth’s moping so she comes up with a business reason to go to Hindersfjall, where Roche is visiting Shorty’s family.

Wedding Buddies - Roche’s mom makes him accompany her to a wedding that happens to be for a close friend who is an elf. Roche was definitely not expecting to run into Iorveth here of all places.

Angst: Sex Object Roche - Iorveth notices that whenever they flirt, Roche backs off and then hurts himself afterwards. Iorveth is not okay with this and refuses to be a blade for Roche to cut himself against.

Midwinter Feast - Foltest treats with a nonhuman delegation while they are all locked inside the palace for the 7 day feast. Iorveth is one of the representatives and decides to have fun messing with Roche.

Solstice Feast - okay, this was actually supposed to be an xmas present for @lutes-and-dandelions, but uh... I got stuck. But this fic and its sequel are post-W3 where Emhyr hosts a big Solstice Feast and Roche and Iorveth end up ducking out and doing their own thing. Namely: drinking.

Lily Preserved in Amber - the premise is that in an elven coming of age ceremony, Iorveth finds ‘a sign of what’s to come’ in the form of a lily preserved in amber. Later, he realizes that this represents Roche.

Based on @moonlights-ordinance‘s art - Working under Nilfgaard, Iorveth and Roche have THE most uncomfortable desk chairs, ones with no backs. This eventually leads to them using each other as back rests and, of course, cuddling.

Roche’s Scars - this is a 6-part fic all about Roche’s scars: how he gets them, why he hides them, how he (and Iorveth) learn to accept them. Plus some scar worship, of course.

Casefic/Undercover Dubious Consent - In order to break up a slavery ring, Iorveth goes undercover as Roche’s ‘pet’. This requires them trusting each other an awful lot and also, Iorveth is a little worried about how much he likes wearing Roche’s collar.

Sequel to Red is the Rose - as Iorveth and Roche journey to Kaer Morhen to help Geralt, they slowly figure out how their relationship works - and how to move it forward.

Curse Breaking - Roche finds Iorveth in an abandoned Scoia’tael camp, slowly dying from a curse. Roche manages to cure Iorveth and then decides to help Iorveth rescue the rest of his Scoia’tael from a mage. With a little help from Triss, of course.

Bloodplay - Roche begins to hunt the Scoia’tael and has a very strangely arousing encounter with Iorveth.

Fake Relationship - Iorveth and Roche team up to investigate a couple’s resort where both Temerian soldiers and Scoia’tael have gone missing.

An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it - Roche dreams of Iorveth watching over him in his sleep.

An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose - when a mine collapses in Vergen, Roche is thought dead for a period of time until he is rescued. Iorveth knows they’ve always agreed not to pursue anything with their flirting, but he HAS to know that Roche is okay.

Heavy Be The Head - Roche is stuck running Temeria post-W3 and he despises it more than anything. Fortunately, Iorveth shows up with a proposition: to go kill war criminals together. How can Roche say no?

Pre-W2 Ambassadorial AU - Temeria welcomes the first elven ambassador in a long, long time. Triss decides to be friendly and drags Roche along for the ride.

Stubbornness and Self Care - The Scoia’tael come to Vizima to negotiate a treaty with King Foltest. Iorveth is trying very, very hard to represent his people, but his migraine is unbelievably bad. Fortunately, Roche manages to convince him to rest and have someone else stand in for him.

Pregnancy Prompts Iorveth tells everyone - Iorveth is very, very excited to be trying for a baby and tells LITERALLY everyone he can.

Pregnancy Prompts Philippa POV - post-W2, Philippa decides to return to Vergen and try her luck. Saskia decides to give her a second chance, which many, many people disapprove of.

Temerian Civil War (A Single Spark) - when Foltest sets Iorveth’s forest on fire, he creates a scism in Temerian politics. Suddenly, three factions are vying for control: the Loyalists, the Pragmatists, and the Unified Temerians.

Identity Porn - As the Scoia’tael begin to emerge as a threat, Roche is sent to investigate them. This leads to meeting an elf in the Flotsam inn and starting a relationship with him. Except neither know who the other really is.

Letters - Roche is running Temeria and hating it when he starts receiving letters from Iorveth. He has no way to send letters in return, but he finds he enjoys seeing Iorveth’s thoughts and ramblings as the elf turns into a street musician.

Dijkstra + Roche 1 - Dijkstra notices how fucked up the dynamic between Foltest and Roche is and is reminded of his own history with Vizimir. Then he decides to teach his Temerian counterpart some self-respect.

Dijkstra + Roche 2 - Roche is captured by Redania as an unnamed spy. He’s caught Dijkstra’s attention because he hasn’t told them anything at all, not even his name. They only know he’s Temerian because of his tattoos. So Dijkstra decides that the way to break this man is through converstaions, over which they slowly develop a grudging respect for each other.

Holy shit. This is not even all of my WiPs, guys. What the fuck am I doing!??!

Anyway, please let me know: which 2 fics should I prioritize working on so that they can be published to hit that 100 round number?

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #WiPs #the witcher #my fics #fic planning

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queenaeducan-writes · 3 years

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Healing Hands

Fandom: Elder Scrolls, Skyrim, 3DNPCs/Interesting NPCs Pairing: Rumarin x Eilonwy Rating: General Audiences Words: 2k

Repost of a work that’s since been deleted on Tumblr. Rumarin is a character from 3DNPCs and not in any way my OC!

Read it here on AO3.

For weeks they’d been travelling together, now. Sharing food and shelter, stories and songs. It had been an experience, to put it delicately. She’d come to Skyrim seeking knowledge, but had found a friend instead. Eilonwy watched him sit by the newly lit fire, trying his new ward out. As his hand unflexed a frail shield manifested, causing his arm to tremble until the ward broke. “You are improving,” Eilonwy said gently.

The other high elf scoffed. “At least it’s big enough to shield my head, now. I suppose my innards will simply have to fend for themselves.” He was smiling as he nodded his head toward her, looking at her hands. “In the meantime I can cower behind yours. They’re big enough for the two of us.”

She laughed, stifling it with her hand. Whenever he made her laugh she’d always snort something terrible. It was not the sort of noise a woman of her age ought to be making, especially not on account of a man. “You assume I will remember to cast them.”

“That is true. Though I like the strategy we’ve worked out. You go in, hands blazing, towering over your foes, and I swoop in and finish them off!” Rumarin swept his hand over the fire, slashing the air with an imaginary conjured blade. “It works surprisingly well.”

All over Skyrim they had walked, all in the hopes of teaching him a new spell. They’d visited healers, eccentrics, and even the undead. Each time they failed, it had always been her who seemed more upset about it. Rumarin laughed it off with a joke, while she stewed about it for hours. A good teacher did not dismiss a student because they required a different style of teaching. It was difficult to tell how serious Rumarin was about learning new spells, but he had travelled across Skyrim and back to learn one. That required dedication.

Eilonwy traced her fingers over the fabric of her robes, pulling at the frayed ends. “May I ask you a question?” she said, moving around the campfire until she caught his gaze. “We went from border to border trying to find a mage that could teach you, yet in all that time you never thought to ask me. Why?” She’d asked herself that question for a while now, ever since they’d met Valgus at the sign of the Steed. It didn’t make sense to her, but then again many things about Rumarin didn’t make sense to her.

“I did ask for your help, remember? You blasted me with lightning. I still don’t have any feeling in my left foot,” he replied evasively. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Before that, though,” she pressed him.

“When we met you wouldn’t shut up about the College, I didn’t think you would be able to offer me anything.” Eilonwy knew she ought not to be hurt by that, that by now she ought to have thicker skin. Still, it stung a little.

“I came to the College to seek a safe haven, for research. There are a few hundred years of magic-using before them. My first spells I didn’t learn from tomes, I repeated their names and effects. I told myself again and again that I could walk on water, until the spell was the only thing in my mind, and my words became true.” She still remembered what it felt like, to feel her foot touch the water, but not sink. Two steps later and she sank faster than a rock, but for that one moment she thought herself the most powerful mage in the world. “The spell you learned today will save your life one day, especially if you keep following me. If you’re willing, I can help you learn more.”

Rumarin’s attention had returned to his hand, contemplating it with an expression rarely seen on the blade binder’s face. “No tomes?”

“None.”

“Fine, but if it doesn’t work then you pay me 100 septims. No, you treat me to a meal. And the next time you drag my up High Hrothgar you’ll have to give me a piggyback ride.”

“It’s a deal,” she said. “We shall start tomorrow.”

* * *

When Eilonwy had told him they were starting tomorrow, he had imagined that meant they’d be starting bright and early. He was surprised to find that by the time he stirred, she’d packed half the camp away. It wasn’t like her to back out of a promise, which was lucky because half of her life seemed to be made of them. It was always ‘I’ll find your lost amulet’ or 'I’ll kill the bandits’ with her. She’d kept every one so far, as far as he could tell the only two promises left unfulfilled were saving Nirn and, well, teaching him a spell.

“Are we leaving?” he asked. “I always find it easier to learn when there’s a beer at hand, don’t you think-”

“When we stop for the night, then we can begin. In the meantime, it gives you time to practise your ward spell. Master that, and I’ll determine where we can go from there,” she explained, slipping her blue robes on over her clothes. She was always so matter-of-fact with him, as if she were compensating for his… his everything. There were days when Rumarin wanted to get her drunk, just to see what embarrassing thoughts she kept hidden under lock and key.

“Yes, Ms. Eilonwy,” he said with a smirk, shrugging on his knock-off college robes.

They were on the road within the hour, their camp strapped to the back of the sturdy palamino that Eilonwy had steadfastly refused to name. He’d taken to calling it Apple, anyway. When they were walking it was mostly him who did the talking, he liked to think his jokes brought life to the frosty tundras of Skyrim. Of course, here in the Rift there was already plenty of life to be had, but Rumarin didn’t see much harm in adding to it.

Eilonwy had taken a liking to his jokes right away, even the bad ones. It had been ages since someone had laughed at the punchline to 'Have you seen a healer?’. He had been in the midst of forming a comment about the forest when the first arrow whizzed by them. “Would it be too much to ask for one leisurely stroll through the forest that doesn’t end with a bloodbath?” he moaned.

His companion already had a fireball at the ready, throwing it into the face of the first bandit who stepped into her line of sight. “It seems like the perfect time for you to try out that ward spell of yours,” she said, before charging off. He lost sight of her fast. The bandits came out of the trees from both sides, they were on him in seconds. Apple turned tail and fled, the horse had even less appetite for battle than he. A bandit swung at him from his left, and he’d barely enough time to cast a ward spell as the mace connected with his shield. It shattered in an instant, and he remembered what that Tolfdir had told the apprentice mages. Cast the spell before you need it. Right.

He stepped out of the way of the bandit’s next strike. Conjuring a blade, Rumarin couldn’t help but smile as he swung at his foe’s chest. The bandits had probably been expecting another spell weaver, not another sword to cross blades with. He was ready for the next strike, his ward up well before the mace clashed against it. It was nerve-wracking to see a spiked ball of death mere inches from his arm. As he took the opportunity to stab, he found himself wondering if there was a way to make wards more solid looking.

His blade found the weak point in the bandit’s armor. He didn’t have to guess if that was it for the bandit or not, the look in his eyes said it all. Rumarin pulled out his sword, and slashed it across the bandit’s throat. He never knew if he did it out of pity, or habit. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, as there were others that had to be dealt with. Some fled, he liked to think it was he that frightened them, and not the fireballs that exploded in their faces. The ones that remained soon met the end of his sword.

As the bandits dispersed, he began to think about finding their horse. Hopefully it hadn’t stampeded into a den of frostbite spiders in its haste. Or worse, a dragon. It had happened before, it was a miracle poor Apple still lived to tell the tale.

A cry grabbed his attention, however, and in seconds he forgot about the horse. “Eilonwy?” he called, seeing nothing but trees on either side. A bolt of lightning caught his eye, and he ran towards it. Another bandit lay against the ground, the smell of burnt hair overpowered the smell of blood. Not a few yards away Eilonwy lay, propped up by a tree. She clutched her side, blood seeping between golden fingers. “What happened?”

“She snuck up on me,” Eilonwy muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Rumarin managed a smile, though it felt more forced than his usual grin. “Well, not everyone can be as skilled with wards as I am. Luckily, you’re better at about everything else. Heal up, I think Apple’s half-way to Whiterun by now.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Ran out of magicka.”

“Er, here, maybe we have a potion.”

Eilonwy attempted what he thought was supposed to be a smile. It looked more like a grimace. She looked at him, eyes squinting from the midday sun. “When I told you I felt like we’d forgotten to pick something up in Riften…”

Rumarin felt the blood drain from his face. He’d had the rug pulled out from under him before, but never like this. “Shor’s Stone isn’t too far down the road. I could-”

“You need to do it.”

“The horse could probably heal you better than I can.” The joke fell a little flat, but it was hard to think of anything when all he could see was blood on her robes.

“Rumarin.”

“I’ll try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll give you a week to recover before I expect that piggyback ride.” He saw the crows feet in the corner of her eyes crease, and he knew she was smiling.

It had been so much easier when she was the one using a spell on him. There wasn’t any time to tell her jokes about the long-term effects of this one paltry restoration spell. No time to tease her and tell her that she’d probably fall in love with him after this, and if she did he wouldn’t blame her. Women liked the sensitive types, and healers went hand-in-hand with sensitivity.

He held his hand over the wound, trying to remember what it felt like when she felt him. It always felt… warm. It felt stupid to compare it to a hug when their bodies never met, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Rumarin traced his teeth with his tongue, concentrating on that feeling, no matter how stupid it was. After a moment he felt a tingling in his fingers. He heard a tiny jingling sound, like there were small bells ringing in the palms of his hands. The wound on Eilonwy’s side began to close, growing together like it had never been split in the first place. Surprise lit up the bladebinder’s face, and before he could even finish he looked at her, beaming. “You should get injured like this more often! That way I’ll have it mastered in no–” As quickly as the magic had come, it was gone. No sooner than that, he saw her her skin start to bruise a brownish-pink, like the wound had opened up again inside.

Eilonwy didn’t seem put off, however. From her pack she pulled out a tiny blue bottle, and chugged it down. In a flash the bruise was gone, leaving nothing but smooth golden skin behind. “But you- I, did you do this on purpose?”

“No,” she replied, sitting up a little straighter. “Er, yes and no. The bandit did get me, but before I lost my strength I managed to find this on her person.” Eilonwy waved the empty bottle in her hand. “I thought I’d use it as a learning opportunity. It saved me the trouble of staging something else later." Rumarin let out something that was somewhere between a scoff and a sigh, sinking onto his knees. "I was afraid you would catch on. After observing how quickly you learned to use a ward in a controlled, but dangerous environment, I thought it only natural to apply the same to healing spells.”

“You’re…” Words failed him. He had known the mage had a reckless side, every adventure did, but this?

“You’re a healer,” she said. Eilonwy stood carefully, using the tree to balance. A second later her hand reached out to him, waiting for him to take it.

“I am, aren’t I?” he said. Grasping her hand, she pulled him up. Rumarin barely had a moment to steady himself when she pulled again, this time into a hug. After the nonstop action of the past five minutes or so, it was a refreshing change of pace.

“I’m proud of you. Sorry if I, er, if I scared you.”

The nice thing about Eilonwy was that he knew she was being genuine, whether he deserved the comments or not. “I wasn’t scared,” he said, already feeling his predisposition for jokes returning. “Maybe I was a bit… concerned.” She giggled, pulling back to smile at him.

“Does this mean that you’ll buy me dinner at the next town we pass?” she asked, her hands slowly letting go of him.

“I think that part of the deal only extended to me.”

“In that case maybe I’ll have to teach you another spell. While I was lying there I thought about riding through the entrance to the Greybeard’s temple on your shoulders.”

His ears had to be deceiving him, was that a joke? “I’ll consider it.”

Eilonwy laughed again, beginning to walk back towards the path. “I can even incorporate it into your training. I happen to know a few feather spells…”

“Ask me again later,” Rumarin said as he placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards where Apple had run. “I need to recover from the trauma of this last lesson first.”

#fandom: elder scrolls #fandom: skyrim #fandom: 3dnpc #character: rumarin #character: eilonwy #pairing: rumarin x eilonwy

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

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blakeworther- I personally I love your hc’s so much- any au’s or anything ya got for them? I really wanna know more about what goes on.

This was once again a BAD QUESTION TO ASK

Aside from the Skyward Sword AU, which I never went back to again, there’s only one AU that I like for Blakeworther, which is the AU that I like for everything ever. I’m not even sure I consider it a true AU, even though it absolutely is. So, okay, I have this thing called the WHAM ARMY, which is a massive crossover group of my favorite villains (led by the eight who make up the acronym but this ain’t about them). Obviously, because Victor, Vincent, and Albert are all pretty firmly villains (even if they lean “those weird morally bereft people we end up being friends with somehow”), I want them to join the WHAM ARMY. So my thoughts for them here are pretty much how they’d react in a multicrossover setting, which of my other villain loves they’d get along with, and what the intro arc is for them. Keep in mind I haven’t gotten here in the fanfic yet, so some of this could change in practice, but here are my plans right now.

Cringe ahead.

-They aren’t the originals. I want to make something that doesn’t trip over canon’s current trajectory, even though I don’t know exactly where canon is going, so what happens is that Vexen (Kingdom Hearts) is going to rebuild the three of them as replicas, since he can easily find memory cores for Victor and Vincent in Myers’ storage rooms and there’s just going to be an Albert core there for no reason.

-Vexen then pulls some Chain of Memories magic and restricts the memories they have access to. They will only remember things we have literally seen in VTSOM/TWDAK, and then I can have him release more of their memory banks to them as we get more chapters. (Even if they all three get redemption arcs, my replica versions can stay little shits!)

-He DOES NOT tell them that they’re not the originals! For all they know, they fell asleep at the last day they remember and woke up here. But they figure it out on their own despite his best efforts. They still want to get their memories back anyway so they know what the people they were replicated from were like and have a framework to build their personalities from.

-Yes, of course they’re cyborgs! Cyborg replicas. Since they’re operating by KH rules, they prooooobably don’t need to eat human meat? But also I like when villains do fucked-up things and I have jokes about the others packaging “cyborg chow” to embarrass them so maybe they still do engage in a little cannibalism, as a treat

-Each was engineered with a different specialty. Vincent’s is raw physical strength; he can walk into a gunfight without even needing a weapon and still have a chance of winning. Victor’s arms have been upgraded to hold a variety of cannons; he’s the team sniper. Albert is the team “mage”; he can conjure Dream Eaters. In this AU, TWDAK Dream Eaters and KH Dream Eaters are basically the same thing. Albert has mastered a strange art of being able to draw Dream Pieces out of the Realm of Sleep and implant them in physical forms of creatures in the waking world, creating his army. They look like they do because he hates the pastel aesthetic of KH Dream Eaters and redesigned his personal ones to look more fitting with his aesthetic. He’s also a speedster.

-The intro mission involves Vexen attempting to track down a newly-rebuilt Xion (this AU is divergent from KHIII) in Radiant Garden so he can bring her back under his control with some brainwashing. I’m also bringing in the Tsviets as past experiments of Vexen’s, so he’s basically pitting his newer models of experiment against his old ones.

-The party he already has built by this point is going to be Demyx, Simon Laurent (Infinity Train), Tsumugi Shirogane (DanganRonpa), skekSil (The Dark Crystal), and a couple other people I haven’t hinted at instory yet and don’t quite want to spoil. But Simon, Tsumugi, and skekSil will all also be Vexen’s creations - Simon and skekSil are replicas and Tsumugi is an android.

-Vincent, Victor, and Albert wake up for the first time, and while Vincent and Victor remember each other as friends, they’re just like “And why is our nemesis from RMU also here?”

-Albert probably fights with Vincent for dominance of the trio and I’m not sure which one of them is the trio leader at this point.

-I moved Nine Bean Hill from World of Final Fantasy to Radiant Garden because Radiant Garden needs a coffee shop and first of all, thanks to Hunger Games Simulator fuckery, my friends and I have an in-joke about Vincent Edgeworth having an eternal grudge against Dunkacino, so I’m going to use the coffee shop to reference this somehow without having to put actual Corporate Brainwashed Al Pacino in this ‘verse

-But also I like to think Lann and Reynn play a lot of bubblegum pop, so catch Victor and Albert dancing to the PA like idiots and then getting Demyx, skekSil, and Simon in on it while Vincent and Vexen are like “Oh God why are these our friends”

-(There are reasons this particular Demyx goes by a different name instory and it’s weirding me out to type “Demyx” for this post)

-Without spoiling too much of the arc, there IS a part where Blakeworther beats up the Tsviets, there IS a part where they battle the Anima summon from FFX and win, and there IS a part where despite all of this, Xion kicks their asses across the city

-They go through this mission seeing each other as partners and friends (though Vincent and Albert are reluctant to use the “friend” word at first), but after they all get back to base, they’re just...suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that they’re strangers in a strange land missing half their memories.

-They room together, and they end up crawling into the same bed for solidarity reasons. This is actually where I first envisioned the “rough day” sleeping position - Vincent and Victor are chest-to-chest, then Albert just snuggles in behind Victor and the other two are like “Okay, we’re gonna just let this happen” and Vincent and Albert touch at one tangent point where their arms cross.

-The days might get a little rougher after they realize they aren’t even the originals.

-Eventually they assimilate into the chaos house with no problem.

-Vincent tends to hang out with the party poopers of the house. Especially Mozenrath (Aladdin: The Animated Series). (P.S. If there are any VTSOM fans out there who also know the 90s Aladdin TV series...I CAN’T be the only one who noticed the surface similarities here, right?)

-Victor Blake and Roman Torchwick (RWBY). Oh, God, this is the hell duo. They’re party animals who love to dance and drink and dance drunk. It was not a good idea to let these two redheads meet.

-Albert and Neopolitan (RWBY)! They both love stabbing people and Victorian button boots! I actually kinda have this idea that they would pick up more fucked-up serial killer types to hang out with them - Mad Madam Mim (The Sword in the Stone) is their patron despite being a much tamer example, but Albert also decides he really likes Scaramouche (Samurai Jack), Junko Enoshima (DanganRonpa), and Jerome Valeska (Gotham).

-For a real deep cut, Albert also opens up a joint Dream Therapy office with Dr. Cheshire Broach (Crypt TV). It’s either called “Krueger & Broach” or “Broach & Krueger” depending on how long it takes either to notice that the other moved his name to the front of the sign again. You should ABSOLUTELY not trust either of these men to give you legitimate therapy (though if you’re good friends with them, they can and will use their dreamon powers to help you best your nightmares in a bloody fashion).

-Actually this ‘verse is the entire reason I thought of them doing drag karaoke to “United We Stand” by Amberian Dawn because the WHAM ARMY is all about karaoke, drag, and any combination of the two

-I haven’t decided yet if their romance will be a slow burn or a faster affair. I’m expecting them to tell me as I write out the fic. But I think in a lot of respects, it’s going to be more of a friends-to-lovers story than their original forms had. The three of them are forced to become an elite cyborg warrior unit created by the same mad scientist, they had a big bonding mission together where they became ride or die (whether or not they want to admit it), and eventually...we can start revealing that they’re CATCHING FEELINGS.

-The WHAM ARMY has many, many power couples and ships of various numbers of people but Blakeworther ends up becoming yet another POWER THROUPLE around base, and it’s understood that messing with one of them will earn the wrath of the other two

-They go on to assist in many, many missions with the purpose of taking over various worlds and kingdoms and just fucking them up

-Vincent Edgeworth will kill the TBTC equivalent of Dunkacino

You have to understand that TBTC is my hyperfixation to end all hyperfixations. Every piece of fiction I touch ends up related to it in some way. At some point the majority of how I interact with Blakeworther is going to be through this AU. I’m just a sucker for crossovers and villains having a place to be bros and party.

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #blakeworther #friendly reminder that i do also take headcanon requests about the wham army!#just saying!#ASK ME ABOUT MY CROSSOVER UNIVERSE!

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optimisticvoidwalker · 3 years

Text

The Hexorcist Part 1 of 2: Enraging Failure.

(Based on this reddit prompt, while also taking some inspiration from The Textorcist.)

Its not easy being both a priest and a powerful mage, but I manage. And yet this ghost... They seem to know me, to a point where I'd say is almost creepy. I remember my Uncle Ray would tell me about these types of ghosts. He'd say they stalk people for elongated periods of time, to extents that not even Banshees would travel to, but are almost never a threat. Then again, he'd always be periodically drunk when telling me this, so I had to take his words with a grain of salt. However... 4 attempted exorcisms, and 4 corpses that resulted. This last one nearly got me fired from my position as priest. However, each death left a note specifically addressed to me in their left pocket.

The first note had the following:

To the Textorcist's nephew:

You might be wondering why I killed my possession target to escape you. Simply put, I want to have fun with someone that can be considered an equal. See you in 5, Marcus.

Signed, X

The second note followed with:

Hello again, Marcus Bibbia.

You may be saying "Why did you take so long to pick and kill a new target?" or you might not be, you never know with you priests... Anyways, when I said 5, I made sure to be as non specific as possible to make my appearance less predictable. See you again in 4.

Yours truly, X

The third note added with:

Jesus, dude,

I get the feeling you hate me. I didnt even get to kill my host that time, you killed him before I could. Do you need someone to talk to?

And the last one, in bold letters says: Ok, we NEED to talk. Meet me at your place. Midnight. Let noone see this.

I waited at home until midnight. The eerie silence in my house was deafening. Even the analog clocks right down to my grandfather's grandfather clock didn't make a sound. The clocks all struck midnight, but... there were still no sound. My heart skipped a beat, as the first noise I actually heard in 30 minutes was my wristwatch, which I set the alarm to midnight for. "Of fucking course the son of a bitch is a no-show..." I angrily mutter after calming down. All of a sudden, as if right on cue, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The temperature in the entire house dropped by 10 degrees celsius exactly, and despite the lack of light in the house, everything looked to be brighter than normal, but tinted green.

"Sorry I'm late, Marcus," a female voice called out. I don't know how or why, but this voice enraged me severely. Without thinking I lashed out at where I swore I heard the voice from, only to be stopped by an unknown force. The voice reveals itself to be a translucent female figure that grabbed my arm mid-swing. As she revealed herself she spoke again, "You really need to calm yourself. Holding hatred against a spirit doesn't do you any favors, and that's not even considering all the undead rules I'm breaking just to calm you down..!"

[To Be Continued]

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mi6-cafe · 4 years

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HERE ARE THE DRABBLES FOR WEEK 2!

Ready to READ&VOTE?!

Well, let’s refresh your memory first.

This week our competitors were asked to write exactly 200 angsty words inspired by the phrase: ” to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield ”

HOW DO YOU VOTE?

Read all the drabbles. (they’re below the line)

Choose three that you like the most.

Fill out this VOTING FORM, telling us your favourites. (You can even leave anonymous feedback for the author).

NOTE: If you are a competitor, you CANNOT vote for your own fic. But please, do vote. :)

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

Title: Sisyphean Author: Anyawen Warnings: MCD (Major Character Death) Summary: Cause. And effect.

He had refused to give up when the signal was lost. If there were the slightest chance, the smallest trace, he would find and make use of it. He wrestled with technology, fought bureaucracy, and ignored his own limits. Like Orpheus, he followed a trail gone dark and cold to find the hell where his beloved was held. A team already en route for rescue, he activated a camera. Like Orpheus, his love was lost as he laid eyes on him. An indicator light on the camera blinked to life, betraying their surveillance, and they gained visuals only to watch his agent's execution. Unlike Orpheus when he lost his Eurydice, he did not fall prey to despair. He would not betray his lover's memory or dishonor his sacrifice by pining away. He channeled his grief into ingenuity, political savvy, fierce protectiveness, and an icy, vengeful fury. He focused on the interests of the country for which his lover had given his life, and the other agents who continued to risk everything in that same service. He would do everything in his power to keep them safe and bring them home. Gods have mercy on any who tried to stop him.

Title: Savvy Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: no Archive warnings apply Summary: Bond is missing...

He couldn’t find James.

He’d often had to remind the newer techs that the double-oh agents might play dumb to get out of filing reports but the nature of their job these days required them to be almost as computer-savvy as Q Branch themselves. And Bond was more skilled than most, though he kept it quiet. So an unaccustomed panic threatened to overwhelm him the longer James was missing.

There was no trace despite hours of desperate searching through surveillance footage. He’d even hacked into dashboard-camera databases online. Bond had walked into that bloody meeting and all electronics had gone dark.

“If he were dead, there’d be a body!” he’d shouted at M. Other agents were out looking, but there was no evidence at the location. If Bond had been abducted, there was no rescue possible yet. Q refused to think of torture.

James would leave a sign...somehow...somewhere...if he could.

In frantic desperation, Q started checking logs of internet-connected devices. A smart bulb in an industrial warehouse was reporting an intermittent error, probably from faulty wiring, but Q mapped the errors and times from the online log and found a rough pattern: long long short long. Morse code for Q.

Title: Blind Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None. Summary: He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

He needed to find them, but he couldn’t see.

Fear. A fist, seizing his heart. Squeezing his chest until all he could feel was sheer panic. Struggling to breathe.

A hundred scenarios ran through his mind, a warning of what might happen if he failed. Cyber attacks going unprevented. Terrorist attacks unthwarted. Agents dead. All because of him.

Because the Quartermaster wasn’t at his post.

He needed to find them. The Quartermaster needed to return to his post.

But he couldn’t see.

Where were they? All the intel said they would be here. They must be here. They had to be.

What if they weren’t?

How would he explain?

What would he say when M asked him why the Quartermaster was missing?

There was no other option, he had to find them. He couldn’t give up.

But he couldn’t see.

Blindly, he reached out, feeling around. His fingers brushed over the debris of a life interrupted. He recoiled as his hand came into contact with a pool of liquid. Still warm.

Oh, God!

More urgently now, he sought, knocking things aside. There wasn't enough time!

There!

Q put on his glasses, finally ready to face the day.

Title: Tennyson Author: sorion Warnings: - Summary: Bond loves more easily than he would like to.

‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.

"What utter nonsense," Bond said, drink in hand. It wasn't his first. Nor his second.

If he could travel back in time, he'd choose not to love. Every time.

Love brought him nothing but betrayal and pain. How could loving and losing be better than never loving in the first place? He wouldn't be blind to the inevitable betrayal (and death) without love.

Today's reason for the drinks was that time travel didn't exist, and Bond had once more been confronted with the frustrating fact that he couldn't not love, time and again. Much as he would have liked to.

"Just how drunk are you?" someone asked, sidling up to his solitary spot at the bar.

'Not drunk enough to purge you from my system,' Bond thought. Despite his best efforts and iron will, he made the mistake of lifting his head, meeting questioning but undemanding eyes.

Reflected in those eyes, he found the truth that love was as much his constant companion as death. Neither weakness nor enemy, but the backbone of his very nature.

"Perhaps... 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world."

Title: Hunger Author: sunaddicted Warnings: canon typical violence, toxic relationships Summary: the truth hurts more than a bullet wound He pursed his lips, eyes contemplating the ruin spread out at his feet: his life, his career, his dreams - everything lay shattered on the ground, all of his hard work and his striving aspirations turned to dust. "Hungry - you were always hungry for more than you can chew, clever boy" Q pursed his lips, refusing to look at the other - stubbornly staring out at the moors, fog slowly raising from the earth like poisonous vapours "It's your fault, Raoul" "Shut up" "It wasn't the plan!" "¡Callate!" Suddenly there was the cold circle of a gun's barrel pressed in the middle of his forehead - so icy that it almost burned against his skin. Q swallowed, tightening his hands in fists that would do nothing to protect him from a bullet straight to the brain "She doesn't give a shit about you, she never has" Raoul sneered "And you do?" "Yes, I do" Raoul laughed, derisive and cruel: it hurt more than a bullet ever would but Q wasn't giving up on him - he wasn't sure he could; yielding under pressure and escaping just wasn't an option, they were together for life, inextricably bound together. No matter how deadly Raoul's love was.

Title: Lost and Found Author: Ksania / starrboned Warnings: implied canon-typical violence Summary: James made a promise he couldn't keep.

James finds him kneeling in the ruins, a dark silhouette against the fiery sky.

His sword makes a quiet "slink!" as he unsheathes it, flaring in the dying light. The blade's pale as it kisses Q's neck.

"Hello, James," Q says. "I hoped it would be you who'd find me."

Waves clash beneath them, salt heavy in the air.

"Nothing to say?" Q asks. "You always were a man of few words."

"They're coming," James breathes, watching as Q rises to his feet, turning.

His eyes are bloodshot, face pale. Black cloak hanging from skinny shoulders. A shadow of the man who held James's heart.

"James." Q cracks a smile. "You promised."

Once upon a time, when they were a Queen's mage and her knight.

James grips his sword, knuckles white.

He lets the blade drop. "I'm not killing you."

"You must." Q takes a step closer. "You know what she'll do -"

Footsteps approach. James pulls Q into his arms.

"Then we both die!" Q hisses, clutching at his cloak. "And everything was for naught!"

"So be it," James smiles, kissing him. "We both knew it was going to end this way."

Q sighs. "They're here."

James raises his sword.

Title: Adamant Author: IrishWitch58 (captain-magicalkitty) Warning: Effects of violence Summary: Q ponders the similarities between himself and 007

The monitors beeped steadily, monotonously. Q hated the sound that screamed the fallibility of his systems, that made him face the ways in which he couldn't keep his agents safe. He shifted in the chair, the same he had occupied for the past 10 hours. He was connected to his branch, overseeing ongoing activities but that mattered less than the silent battered figure in the hospital bed. James had once again both succeeded and failed in that spectacular fashion that made him the best MI6 had. The mission goal had been accomplished but the medical evac had been a skin of the teeth exercise. More damage done, more scars. Bond's resume was written clearly on his body, scars upon scars marring the skin Q valued more than his own. Q acknowledged that his technological efforts could only do so much. It was the indomitable spirit of the man that was at issue. His nature was to push beyond the known and see for himself and to never give in to circumstance. In his own way, Q was the same, which was why he would sit and wait and plan how to avoid the next disaster, as unyielding as any agent.

Title: The End Author: Venstar Warnings: angst(?) Summary: farewells.

It was all coming to a close with this next mission. It was a death trap. Once he went in, there was no coming out.

“Duty calls, I must go.”

“That's bollocks.”

007 smiled down at Q and brushed a finger across his chin and down his jaw. “This will be your first resurrection to witness, won’t it? Every story has an ending.”

“There’s only one 007 in my books.”

007 laughed at the jokes Q valiantly made with effort.

Q’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed into a straight line. “I’ll find a way to get you back.”

“Seek and you will not find me,” Bond whispered, “It will be a new 007 when you finally yield to the inevitable.”

“Never!”

“So they replace me and they will replace you.”

Q shook his head. “We could leave. Would that be so terrible?”

007 looked at Q with pity in his eyes. “That would be treasonous.”

“It’s not like you’ve never skipped town before!” Q blurted out, his cheeks red.

“I am no traitor.”

“No, you’re a loyal dog. Now I understand why M kept that hideous thing on her table.” Q spat his words at 007’s feet.

“Goodbye, Q.”

Title: Never Yielding Author: iambid (flantastic) Warnings: None Summary: James is bullish, Q just wants him to stop.

Q waited for him outside M’s office.

“What the hell, Bond?”

James didn’t miss a step as he carried on down the corridor forcing Q to trot to keep up with him.

“James! Talk to me!” He pleaded.

James stopped abruptly and whirled around.

“About what? What exactly would you like to talk about?”

“This!” Q responded hotly, gesturing. “Why are you going back out into the field?”

“Because they need me.” James snapped.

“But I thought…”

“What exactly? That a gunshot wound would put me out of action permanently? That I would want to spend the rest of my days hanging around your house like some kind of rescue dog? I have a job to do, Quartermaster.”

He went to turn but Q grabbed his wrist.

“What about us?” Q asked quietly.

“There is no us.” James said and then, when he saw the hurt in Q’s eyes, he added; “It was a dream. Thank you for taking me in and taking care of me, but it can’t continue.” He looked down at Q’s hand, still resting on his wrist, and regretfully shook it off. “People like me don’t deserve people like you,” he said sadly before walking away.

#10

Title: ghost Author: azure7539 Warnings: none Summary: Question and answer.

What went wrong?

By the time he arrives, there’s nothing of value left. He takes in the sight of the cramped room—one bare mattress in the corner, energy bar wrappings pushed into a pile, empty water bottles strewn around the floor—and stops at the coffee table. The near humid scent of cigarettes lingers in the air, unseen but winds like spidery gossamer, spooling from the crushed fags in that full ashtray next to an abandoned laptop.

His eye twitches.

Barely gone but not within chasing distance, his mind grudgingly concludes, and he sits down on the cracked tiles with a grunt. Despite the Caribbean sun flaring outside an unrelenting spot of heat as it pierced in through the windows, the place sustains a perpetual coolness that settles on his shoulders a phantom weight.

Really, he should worry more about potential booby traps in the laptop, but the thought doesn’t even stir his apprehension, and he opens it anyway.

The words he finds on the screen seize his breath before flickering back into an empty void.

His earpiece crackles to life with a hissing fit. “Status report.”

“He’s gone,” Bond growls, shutting the device with a harsh click.

/I went wrong./

#11

Title: The Perfect Gift Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None Summary: "to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield."

The moment he saw her, he knew she was perfect.

Madelaine was not just beautiful, but brave, smart and had a backbone of steel. Knowing her background, she was the ideal partner for an old warhorse like James Bond.

Q felt the tiny flame that had been nurtured by every bit of banter, every special look sent his way, every promise extracted, compounded by every risk he had taken for Bond, flicker and die.

When he returned to his favourite workstation in the bowels of Q Branch, the information he had requested from the Archives had already arrived. Q had followed Bond’s career even before their first official meeting and as he looked over the old blueprints, he realised this would be the perfect farewell gift for Bond.

Besides, it would make an excellent project for the Garage minions. With a little creative accounting, sketches already flowing from his fingers to his screen, he would pour every ounce of his brilliance into the DB5 and it would be ready when Bond got back.

Then Q would be able put all those inconvenient feelings behind him and say good-bye to James Bond, with a smile, like the friend that he was.

#12

Title: 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world Author: scarytheory Warnings: mention of character death, depression Summary: James's got his happily ever after with Madeleine. Still – he's struggling every day.

...you should know-

James wakes up from a nightmare, panicking, trying to catch his breath. Madeleine is used to it by now. She just whispers ‘you're safe, you're home’, still half-asleep. But he gets up and pours himself some whisky because he doesn't know what home means anymore.

Everything is blurred. Maybe he made the wrong choice. Even though she's here, and he loves her.

But he's still thinking about that phone call. It's been six months, and he can't stop thinking about it.

“Q died. I thought you should know.”

Wrong home.

More whisky.

And more nightmares.

There is a weird inner ache that James can't even name; he is too afraid to do so. A little bit of it belongs to Madeleine because they can't be happy together; it will never be enough. It's also about Q because James failed him. He knew and he left anyway, left everything that could have been.

But mostly it's about James himself. Because he's so tired and scared to go back and fight again. But in the end, he knows that he will do what he always does.

Not yield.

Not yet.

Even though the whisky is burning in his throat.

#13

Title: Unyielding Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Q will hate that fucking poem for the rest of his life...

“You’re going to lose him.”

“I’m not,” Bond grunts over the comms.

“Repositioning 006 to intercept,” Q replies, signaling to R.

He looks back at the screen to find Bond has stolen a motorbike.

“007, stand down. The plaza’s too crowded.”

“All the more reason to stay with the bomb.”

Q sighs, switching screens to an aerial view. Bond’s so stubborn since his return.

Though, not at first. At first he was accommodating… practically deferential…. And Q was unyielding in his anger. It’s taken months to find their rapport... for Q to acknowledge they still make a good team, ignoring the dull ache of what else he wishes they might be.

“Approaching the bridge.”

“I see you,” Q says, refocusing.

“Good place to douse a bomb...”

“But how would…” Cold dread fills Q. 007 is still fast, but even he acknowledges his reaction times have slowed...

The motor revs. “'We're not now that strength which in old days—’.”

“James Bond, don’t you dare quote Tennyson at me!”

Q watches Bond grab the mark—

“JAMES!”

—and hurl them both off the bridge. He hears the rush of wind, a splash, and then static.

The water-muffled explosion on the screen is silent.

#14

Title: The Balad of Sir Bond Author: ladymars Warnings: Implied Major Character Death Summary: A prince seeks for his knight.

Lady Moneypenny, from her kneel and still wearing her tattered armor, presented a scrap of burnt fabric to her prince. "This is all we found of him, Your Highness." Cold ice ran through the prince's veins. His breath left him. "No, that can't be..." "I saw him go into that cave myself," the knight interrupted, her voice tight, "I told him we should return, call for reinforcements, but he pushed inside." "Stubborn bastard..." Sir Bond had escaped from dire situations, deadly situations, returned to life with a smirk, a swagger, and the head of their enemy in hand (never his sword, of course, always losing and breaking those), but from a man-eating monster? Of course he's stupid enough to jump in without hesitation. Something pushed the prince up from his throne and to his feet. He staggered as if grief had possessed him and moved his limbs like the automatons he assembled, a yearning pulling him forward. "I'll find him. He's out there. I'll search the ends of the world for him." Moneypenny paled. "But sir—" "No!" His voice did not sound like his own, strangled and high. "He's out there!" A fury flickered in his eyes. "I'll never yield."

Thank you all for writing these wonderful drabbles!

Thank you all for voting and making this properly fun!

Here is the post announcing the winners.

#LDWS #angst #signal boost #writing competition #james bond fanfiction #last drabble writer standing #drabble

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loki-hargreeves · 4 years

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Geralt of Rivia x Vampire!Reader The Prize of Blood [PART 2]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3 – coming soon!] [MASTERLIST]

Warnings: poisoned reader, sexual thoughts, being under a spell, angst, gore, tending to wounds, blood, fluff Word Count: 5,5K Chapter Summary: You, Geralt and Jaskier continue your way through the enchanted forest in search of the mage. The poison in your system is making you worse and you need to hurry. Under the influence of the poison, you say things you shouldn’t have. Jaskier falls under the spell of the forest, which makes Geralt the only ‘sober’ person in the group and the responsibility is all on him. Finally, you find the mage when it seems like all hope is lost. Will she be able to help you? Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot. It turned into a multi-part fic. Love that for me! Please enjoy 😊 I will tag anyone who wants to be tagged!

THIRD POV

Geralt was right on point about the changes. They had gathered their belongings from their campsite and decided to continue their way deeper into the heart of the forest. After walking for only what felt like a few minutes, Y/N felt physically much weaker. Her legs were wobbly, and her vision was doubled. Whenever she blinked, everything blurred around her. Something made her head ache terribly! Everything felt wrong and she could hardly continue.

“Y/N, you don’t look like you’re doing too well,” Jaskier noticed. He was walking right next to Y/N as Geralt lead the way. Every once in a while, Y/N would tell him where to go, but most of the time they would walk straight ahead.

Jaskier’s comment made Geralt stop in his tracks and he turned around to face the ill woman. The sight made him curse. “The poison is affecting you quicker than I thought,” he admitted and walked up to Y/N. All she wanted was to find the mage who could make her feel better, or so she hoped. “Can you walk?”

Y/N was stubborn. She hated feeling like she was in the way, so she was determined to take care of herself at all costs. But right now, she was afraid she would pass out if she had to take another step on her own. Shame made her cheeks feel warm and she faced her feet, avoiding Geralt’s piercing gaze. “I don’t know, Geralt,” Y/N answered him. She sounded defeated. “But I have to stay awake. I have to…we could get lost…” Her words came out in a slurred mess by now.

Geralt captured her body in his arms before she would’ve collapsed on the forest ground. He was deeply worried for her safety by now, but he didn’t want to show it. He was afraid that his stress would only make her feel worse. After thinking about it for a while, Geralt removed one of his heavy bags and tossed it to Jaskier. “Carry that,” He ordered, believing Jaskier was able to do as told.

Jaskier grabbed the bag and kept his complaints for himself. He didn’t mind carrying the awfully heavy bag, as long as they would find the mage and fast. He too only wanted the best for their friend who would be absolutely fine if she hadn’t come with them on this journey.

Geralt helped Y/N on his back and he held onto her legs tightly. Once she was leaning against his back securely, they continued their way deeper into the enchanted forest, staying alert for any danger that could come their way. Y/N hated that despite all her pain, she enjoyed being on Geralt’s back. He was so strong, it felt like he carried her with such ease. She was so close to him, her cheek rested against his back and his soft, long hair. Gosh, he had always smelled nice, very masculine, but right now he smelled better than ever. Y/N felt like she could get drunk on that musky scent alone.

“Y/N, which way should we go?” Geralt wondered as they reached a path. It divided into two smaller paths, one to the left and one to the right. Both options seemed inviting as the plants grew beautifully all around them. Somehow, the forest looked too good. There were no dead trees, no broken leaves nor pests on the exotic flowers. Geralt knew it must’ve been because of the magic. It looked so alluring, probably to make people feel wrongly safe. He knew better than to trust what he saw. Someone or something had put a spell on the land to protect the forest.

The woman barely registered Geralt’s question. Her pain had slowly faded away, as if Geralt’s scent worked like pain medication. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face closer to his body, surely alarming Geralt.

Jaskier turned to look at her and his eyes widened in surprise. He could recognize that look anywhere! Y/N looked intoxicated and…aroused? It felt so wrong to even look at her as a sloppy smile decorated her pretty face and her dilated pupils were fixated on Geralt. Her hands that were holding around his shoulders were now playing with his long hair. Did she just bite her lip?! “Geralt, is she alright?”

“Oh, shut it, Jaskier! I’m fine. No- I’m more than fine,” Y/N purred and gently traced her fingers on Geralt’s face, following the structure of his prominent jawline. She was amazed just how well she felt every bump of his stubble under her fingers. If it wasn’t for her drowsy state, Geralt would’ve enjoyed this. But he knew it was wrong. She couldn’t help herself!

“Her senses are growing stronger, Jaskier. It’s one of the side effects of the poison,” Geralt explained and completely ignored the woman that was in wonderland on his back. “Y/N, please think. Should we go left, or right?” He tried to ask her again, growing restless the longer they just stood there.

Y/N raised her gaze from Geralt’s face and looked ahead of them. After glancing at the two paths, she felt the urge to continue left. It felt like the forest was calling for her. “Left,” She finally gave Geralt her answer so she could return her focus on him.

Jaskier and Geralt looked at each other worriedly, their silence saying more than a hundred words. They were both skeptical and slightly weirded out by Y/N’s behavior, but they didn’t say anything about it. Just like that, they continued left and hoped she was right.

“Geralt?” Y/N said his name quietly, wanting his attention.

Geralt was focused on walking down the path. He was worried that if they took too long, it would be too late to help her, that is IF they were able to help her. They couldn’t be too sure of the mage’s powers. It didn’t help at all that she was in such a strange state of mind. Every time she spoke, even Jaskier would get worried. He didn’t want things to get awkward. Being worried was enough. Secondhand embarrassment would be too much.

“Geralt, you smell so good,” Y/N told him absolutely shamelessly. Jaskier knew this was serious, but he couldn’t hold back a grin as he heard that.

Geralt clenched his jaw and decided to ignore her completely. If he gave her the wrong kind of attention now, she would only get worse. His heart was heavy with guilt. He knew she wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for him nor would she be saying these things. Did she even mean any of it? He couldn’t help but wonder.

“Jaskier? Why is he ignoring me?” Y/N didn’t get attention from the Witcher, so she turned to look at Jaskier. He had always been friendly to her. He wouldn’t ignore her as well, right?

Geralt hoped Jaskier wouldn’t say anything foolish. “I don’t know, Y/N. I think you might’ve made him speechless,” Jaskier suggested rather harmlessly.

Y/N couldn’t comprehend how she had done that. “Oh Geralt, did a cat get your tongue?”

Wonderful, Geralt thought. “No,” He muttered rather coldly and kept on walking.

She was far from done with him. Y/N began to feel incredibly warm. It was almost like her cloak was made out of the warmest material on the Continent. She wanted it off, now, but her limbs were too hard to move. If she could’ve chosen where she could be right now, she would be in a cold bath, preferably with Geralt. Even the thought eased her a little bit. “Geralt, I’m so warm. Can’t we stop and take a dip in the lake?”

“We don’t have time,” Geralt explained to her quite simply.

A pout formed on her face and she sighed. In her head, they weren’t in a rush. She didn’t feel too bad anymore. The pain in her neck was the only thing that truly bothered her. It felt like there was a stream of pain entering her body from the bite mark, making its way into her veins. For now, she had no choice but to admit her defeat and stay on Geralt. That wasn’t something she wanted to complain about.

They walked for what felt like hours. Jaskier had changed the position of the bag several times from shoulder to shoulder. Despite the long way they had walked, Geralt hadn’t taken a break, not even once. Y/N was amazed by his strength and determination. He had walked several miles with her on his back!

“Geralt,” She broke the silence that had lingered around them for a while now. “My teeth hurt,” Y/N whispered. Now that she mentioned it, the pain in her mouth seemed to get worse. Dumbfounded, the woman pushed a finger inside her mouth and felt something extremely sharp. Why were her teeth suddenly so different?

Geralt knew it was a bad sign. If her teeth were beginning to change, it meant her body was changing too. “Fuck,” Geralt cursed as worry spiked within him. They still hadn’t found the damn mage! Deep down, Geralt feared they were on the wrong path. Everything felt like a bad dream, quite frankly. Soon Y/N would wither in pain as her body would change, her eyes would feel like they were burning into her skull, her fingers would feel like they were being broken as her nails would grow stronger and sharper. She would feel like dying right before transforming. After all, once one had completely transformed, their past selves would die. They would be granted longevity and other powers that had to take root in their bodies. Geralt knew that the transformation was pure hell and he didn’t wish for her to go through all that.

Y/N startled when she suddenly felt Geralt’s pulse. It was so slow, even under such pressure. She could almost feel how it pumped blood through his body. She pressed herself closer to his back so she could listen to his heartbeat which was incredibly calming. It didn’t take long until Y/N wondered if his heartbeat was this slow when he was working out…or perhaps when he was making love. Would it make his heart beat harder? Would a long night of love making cause his pulse to peak higher? Why did the thought of making love to Geralt sound so appealing? Y/N had thought about it before, yes, but she would always push her own thoughts away. What a fool, she thought of her past self as she finally let her dirty thoughts develop in her mind.

Geralt had incredible stamina. She was sure someone like him could go on about it for hours. He had the sexiest voice she was sure she had ever heard. Y/N wondered what he would sound like while whispering the most sinful things into her ear. Would his fingers feel as good as her own? Better, perhaps? All the thoughts spiraled in her mind and she began to feel a pressure in her stomach, which she knew all too well. This time, she felt it much more intensely. It felt like all her senses were heightened and she craved things much deeper than before.

When a moan left her lips thoughtlessly, Geralt nearly stopped in his tracks. Did he hear right? Judging by the surprised look on Jaskier’s face, he definitely heard right. “Do you feel well?” Geralt wondered.

Y/N’s breath was heavy. She had barely moved at all in the last few hours, yet she felt so horribly out of breath and thirsty. She wanted to answer him, but suddenly it seemed impossible to form a sentence.

Out of worry, Geralt stopped walking and he placed Y/N down on the ground. She nearly collapsed on the spot, but he caught her just in time, helping her to sit down on the ground. Geralt touched her forehead and noticed something eerie: her body was ice cold, yet she was sweating. “Jaskier! Do you have water?” Geralt wondered. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she heard him mention water. She was ready to beg for a sip of cold water.

“Jaskier?” Geralt turned around as his companion failed to reply. To Geralt’s horror, Jaskier was out of sight. It had only been a few seconds, but somehow, he was gone. It felt just as horrifying as it did when he noticed Y/N was gone. Something twisted in Geralt’s stomach in a sick way and he wanted to find Jaskier as fast as possible. Had someone been following them? Was Jaskier under attack?

This day really wasn’t one of Geralt’s greatest!

“I’m sorry, Y/N. We have to find him,” Geralt explained as he picked her fragile body up in his arms. Y/N didn’t say a word as Geralt carried her bridal style and the rushed forward in the direction Geralt believed Jaskier had walked into. His eyes scanned their surrounding closely, but all he saw were trees and plants. There was no sign of the unusually cheerful man. “For fuck’s sake. Jaskier!” Geralt yelled, hoping to catch his attention.

Y/N’s eyes barely stayed open at this point. They felt incredibly heavy and pain was slowly taking control of her body all over again. It seemed like the pain spread from her chest and dug its roots into her bones. She felt hot and cold at the same time. Her mind could hardly comprehend what was happening. Was Jaskier gone? Why was Geralt yelling?

“Y/N, do you have any idea where he might be going?” Geralt asked the woman who could hardly keep her eyes open.

She registered his words, but it took a while for her to think over them. Jaskier was gone, they were in the enchanted forest. The forest would definitely lead Jaskier to the nearest exit or…a trap. “Turn around,” She suddenly demanded. It was a possibility that the forest’s spell had made Jaskier make a 180 and walk over their old footsteps.

Geralt didn’t really want to turn around. He wanted to find the mage, but he was afraid if they lost Jaskier now, he could fall into a fatal trap. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so restless. He had only spent a day in the forest, and he had learned to hate everything about it!

An unfamiliar voice seemed to come out of nowhere and it startled the Witcher who hadn’t expected it at all. “Relax, Witcher. Your friend is safe,” it was a woman. “The forest nearly had him dead until I got my hands on him.”

“Who the hell are you?” Geralt asked the woman who was in front of them. He noticed that her skin was peachy, and she looked young. Her dark hair was braided, and she wore a long, black dress. Her appearance was elegant and almost calming. Something about her made Geralt feel like he could rest his shoulders.

The woman smiled widely. “I’m the mage you’re searching for,” Somehow, she knew about their intentions.

Relief washed over Geralt as he heard that. For the first time in a while, he was glad to see a mere stranger. “Can you help us?”

“Follow me and then we can see what I can do for you,” The mage turned on her heel and began to lead them to her home. Geralt had no choice but to follow her. He hoped that the mage had good intentions. He looked at Y/N who was now asleep in his arms. They were lucky the mage found them, or else Geralt was afraid the forest could’ve won over them.

Just as promised, the alluring mage took them to her home. Geralt was happy to see Jaskier inside. He was fast asleep on the floor, but at least he was safe. The mage closed the door and magically lit several candles to bring light inside. She lived in a wooden house by a large tree that cast a shadow over it, keeping it well hidden. Geralt noticed plenty of books all over the place, potion bottles here and there and the strangest objects. She had a bedroom in the back of the place and the kitchen resembled a lab more than it did a kitchen.

“What happened to her?” The mage wondered. Geralt had placed Y/N on the couch nearby and he stayed by her side, feeling protective over her.

“She was bitten by a higher vampire,” Geralt explained shortly.

The mage raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I’m surprised she’s not screaming in pain by now.” The mage ran her hand up and down Y/N’s face almost like she was caressing her. Geralt had no idea why, but he didn’t interrupt the mage either. He simply watched as the mage parted Y/N’s lips and looked into her mouth. “I see her teeth have already grown. Such beautiful fangs.”

“Can you stop it?” Geralt wanted to know. He was getting impatient.

The mage laughed all of a sudden which pissed Geralt off. What was so funny? “Please! Geralt, darling, you should know there is no stopping a transformation like this. The moment those fangs sunk into her neck; she was doomed.”

Geralt couldn’t believe it. He had the tiniest bit of hope that this was irreversible, but now that was crushed to bits and pieces, far beyond repair. It felt like someone punched him in the guts as he took in the mage’s words. The guilt from earlier returned, only this time around it was much worse. He turned to look at Y/N who was unconsciously listening to her fate.

“I can mend her pain during the transformation, so it won’t be too hard on her, if you’d like,” The mage offered. It sounded like she pitied Y/N, or Geralt, perhaps both of them.

A rumble of noises caught their attention as Jaskier got up from the floor. “What the hell happened? Where are we?” He seemed lost.

“You’re finally awake! The forest tried to kill you, but you’re lucky I was there to stop it,” the mage was kind enough to explain the situation to Jaskier. He seemed horrified by the news, but miraculously he didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he focused on his surroundings. He saw Geralt, which filled him with relief. Y/N was on the couch and this woman was there too. “Wait- who exactly are you?” Jaskier wanted to know.

“My name is Reidreeka. I’m a mage,” She introduced herself to Jaskier while sorting through one of her shelves. All of a sudden, she grabbed a bottle and her eyes seemed to light up. Geralt followed Reidreeka’s every move closely. Despite her kindness, he wanted to be cautious. “Found it!” She seemed happy about the bottle in her hand.

“What is that?” Geralt wanted to know as Reidreeka made her way back to Y/N.

“Don’t worry, it’s just human blood,” She revealed as it was nothing.

Jaskier scratched the back of his head. “It’s completely normal to store human blood in your house, right?” He seemed slightly worried about that. Geralt wondered how she got her hands on that and what she intended to do with it.

Reidreeka sighed deeply and she caressed Y/N’s temples. All of a sudden, Y/N opened her eyes and she seemed to wake up from her deep slumber. Right away, Geralt noticed something strange. Her eyes looked much brighter than before, as if someone magically saturated her natural eye color. “Well hello, my dear. Did you sleep well?” Reidreeka asked Y/N almost like she cared about her.

“Where am I?” Y/N wanted to know. Her voice was hoarse and dry. It made her cough a few times into her palm. Geralt absolutely hated to see her like this. Soon they would have to break the news to her that she would never be the same ever again. Geralt already regretted it so much.

“You’re safe, Y/N. We found the mage, Reidreeka. She will make you feel…less terrible,” Geralt explained to her.

By now, Jaskier sat down on the armrest of the couch, next to Y/N’s legs. He followed the situation intensely and it was magical that he had been so quiet for so long.

The mage opened the bottle of blood, throwing the wooden cap away. “Drink this, it will make you feel better.”

“Are you making her drink blood?” Jaskier spat out, revealing what it was to Y/N who seemed startled by it. Great!

Geralt wondered why the mage was doing this. “Why are you doing that? Won’t she get hooked on the taste?”

The mage rolled her eyes. She seemed bored by the men. “That’s a myth! Higher vampires can live well without blood. It won’t be an issue. Besides, the blood will work on her like alcohol. It will temper with her feelings and numb some of the pain that is about to come.”

Y/N seemed absolutely mortified as she listened to the mage. Vampires? Pain? “Aren’t you going to make me normal again?” She could hardly speak. Her eyes were widening open from fear and Geralt noticed that her cold hands were trembling. She sat up straight on the couch and glanced at Geralt, desperately hunting for answers. All he could do was give her a sorry look.

The mage broke the news to her, “I’m so sorry, dear. The transformation is too strong, it’s unstoppable. But fear not, it won’t be too bad. I will make sure of that.”

“Am I going to be a vampire forever?!” Y/N raised her voice as her emotions began to pour over. It was something she had no control over. Geralt decided to sit down next to her. He sensed that she needed comfort right now and he was ready to give it to her, even with Jaskier and Reidreeka around.

“I’m afraid so,” She pulled her lips into a thin line and nodded. Then Reidreeka handed the bottle of blood to Geralt, signaling him to make Y/N drink it. The mage got up from the floor and returned to her shelves.

Geralt could smell the blood. It smelled like coins and it was strong, pushing its way into his lungs. “Come on, Y/N. You should drink this,” Geralt hoped he could help her down the crimson liquid.

Tears were forming in her eyes as she stared at the bottle. She seemed horrified and even disgusted by it, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she grabbed the neck of the bottle and shakily brought it to her lips. Geralt didn’t let go of the bottle, sensing that she was so weak that she could easily drop it. He helped her gulp down every drop of it, making sure nothing was wasted. Once she finished it, Geralt put the empty bottle away and watched how she would react to the blood.

It had stained her lips, which looked like she had hurt herself. “That was…less disgusting than I expected it to be,” She admitted after a while. In fact, the blood tasted sweet. She knew blood used to taste irony and gross. This time around, it tasted like a sweet dessert, something she would only be served at the utmost fanciest parties. Y/N realized it must’ve been because of the changes she was going through. The news had shocked her. Yes, she realized she was becoming a real, living and breathing vampire, but it didn’t want to settle in her mind.

“I can’t believe I just saw you drink blood,” Jaskier admitted. He had been watching them closely as the mage worked in the kitchen. She was mixing some herbs now.

“Neither can I,” Y/N pulled off a sad smile as she faced her friend.

Geralt noticed that her mind seemed clearer now. She was no longer trying to flirt with him like she had done in the forest. This reminded him more of her old self, but he knew it was the still before the storm. Soon enough, her body would be in immense pain and she would probably wish the vampire had taken her life in order to avoid her impending doom. Geralt was sure he would guide her through it. It was the least he could do for the woman he cared so much about, whose life was turned upside down because he asked for her help.

The mage turned around to look at Y/N while she was mixing herbs. Geralt knew that Reidreeka was waiting for Y/N to be overpowered by pain any moment now.

“Geralt?” She turned to the Witcher by her side. There was almost a pleading look in her eyes as their eyes locked. “Please don’t leave me after this. I don’t want to go through this alone.”

Geralt didn’t have the greatest past of keeping companions close to him, but he knew he couldn’t say no to her. “I won’t,” He gave her his word and saw how happy it made her in the middle of the chaos they lived in.

Y/N leaned against Geralt and wrapped her arms around him. It felt like the only rational thing to do. That’s when she felt it. Something within her body twitched and turned painfully. Her bones ached in pain and a moan of discomfort left her mouth.

“Uh- Reidreeka?” Jaskier jumped off the couch and hurried to make his way to the kitchen. He seemed worried by Y/N and for good reason.

Geralt held her tighter against him so she wouldn’t toss and turn and possibly hurt herself in the process. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I won’t be able to let go of you. It’s for your own best,” Geralt explained. He made sure he held her in a way she couldn’t pull her arms back nor kick anything. She was locked in his arms and so far, she wasn’t resisting him. Usually, people who went through such traumatizing changes would struggle to stay still. Some had even tried to jump out of buildings to end their agony.

“What’s h-happening to me?!” Y/N winced in horror. It felt like her bones were breaking inside her body over and over again. Her muscles were tensing uncontrollably and it felt like someone poked her with needles, all over her body. She felt her heart beat irregularly which was more than startling. Breathing became nearly impossible. It didn’t take long until she tried her best to free herself from Geralt’s tight grip – but it was hopeless. She felt like she lost control of her own body. With every break of her bone that felt absolutely deteriorating, she would try to move. It felt like bugs crawled all over her skin and she tried to get them off. “Make it stop!” She screamed in raw misery. “Please!”

Geralt clenched his jaw harder and held her a little tighter. He didn’t want to show it, but the situation was breaking his heart. It reminded him of why he never kept people close. Every damn time, it ended up hurting one or the other. He wanted to curse, he wanted to yell and break everything around him, but he couldn’t. He could only hold her and stare blankly at the wall in front of him as the woman he cared about broke apart in his arms.

“Don’t let go of her,” Reidreeka demanded almost too seriously as she returned. The mage had a bowl in her hand with the herbs from before. Geralt nodded and watched what the mage was doing. She grabbed some of the crushed herbs with her slender fingers and smeared it on Y/N’s bite mark, making Y/N flinch as the mixture made contact with her wound. Reidreeka chanted something that Geralt and Jaskier couldn’t understand.

Tears rolled down Y/N’s face and onto Geralt’s clothes. Her face was now nuzzled against his chest and he could feel her sobs. They were loud and absolutely hellish to listen to.

He wished he could have taken her pain instead.

Y/N twisted her arms with strength she definitely didn’t have before. Geralt felt her nails sinking into his arms that she held onto, her nails somehow piercing through his clothes. When he felt her sharp nails sinking into his skin, he could only curse under his breath and take it. “I’m sorry…so sorry,” She mewled between her sobs, implying that she couldn’t help herself.

Reidreeka said something much louder this time and miraculously, Y/N’s entire body fell limp. Her nails weren’t deep inside Geralt’s skin, she wasn’t resisting his grip nor was she crying. The chaos around them vanished into thin air and she fell into another deep slumber which was probably for the best. “What happened to her?” Geralt needed to know. He scooped Y/N onto his lap much comfortably so she could rest in a better position.

“You should thank me, Witcher. She will finish her transforming in a trance, slumber – whatever you wish to call it,” She explained as she removed her hand from Y/N’s body. Jaskier and Geralt watched as the mage returned once again to the kitchen, this time to wash her hands.

Jaskier noticed how strangely his friend was behaving. Sure, Jaskier had teased the Witcher at the pub about his feelings for Y/N because he didn’t think they were serious. But seeing him now, holding onto her as if his life depended on it, it became very real. Geralt must’ve cared about her all this time. His behavior didn’t come from someone who left someone for three years without regrets. No. Geralt might’ve lied to himself, but Jaskier saw through his demeanor. He pitied him and Y/N who had her life tormented so fast.

“She will be fine,” Jaskier hoped he could make Geralt feel better. Words weren’t easy when it came to the lonely Witcher. Geralt just looked at his friend and nodded, wishing dearly that Jaskier was right.

“Please, feel free to carry her to the bedroom. She needs rest. We may speak once you’ve made your lady friend comfortable,” Reidreeka broke their little sentimental moment. She knew that Geralt and Jaskier hadn’t come all this way only to help Y/N. Something told the mage that the Witcher had questions only she had the right answers to.

Geralt wasn’t too excited to chat, but he knew that he had no time to waste. He appreciated Reidreeka’s offer and so he carried Y/N into the bedroom that was at the back of the house. Jaskier stayed in the lounge to talk with Reidreeka.

Geralt opened the door with his leg and walked inside, closing it the same way. The bedroom was surprisingly large. It had a door that led to a bathroom, a huge queen bed and an impressive wardrobe too. The room was full of all sorts of plants, which didn’t come as a surprise when Geralt took into consideration whose house they were in. He made their way to the bed and he placed Y/N down ever so carefully. Her body was cold and limp. She was hardly breathing, and it only seemed to get worse. Within an hour, he was afraid her heart would stop beating.

Geralt grabbed the soft blanket and put it on Y/N’s lifeless body, tucking her in as comfortably as he could. He made sure the pillows under her head were fluffed. When he was done, he could’ve left, but his legs felt like rocks. Did he want to leave? Of course not! Geralt stood by Y/N’s side for a moment and he couldn’t tear his eyes off her peaceful face. In her sleep, she looked so unaware of her own living nightmare. She was beautiful, so innocent. Geralt hated what life had done to someone like her. Yes, Y/N would live longer, she would gain powers, but it was all for the wrong reasons. What if she didn’t want that? Geralt decided to stay for a moment, trusting Jaskier to keep Reidreeka company. He always knew how to keep a conversation going, even when he was the only person talking.

The Witcher, contrary to common belief, did care like a human would. He had tried to repress his own feelings for a very long time, but it never truly worked. Right now, he felt the same sorrow that a commoner would feel if their loved one was in pain. Geralt felt the same guilt that a commoner would feel for bringing their loved one into danger. He felt the same love for her that a commoner would for their beloved.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Geralt whispered, which was barely audible. Ever so gently, he caressed her cheek. There was a dry bloodstain in the corner of her mouth, presumably from the blood she drank earlier. Geralt wiped it off with his thumb, touching her so faintly as if his touch would break her. After he had allowed his self-pity to nag at his skin for long enough, he decided it was time to go. He leaned closer to her resting body and pressed his lips on her forehead. “It’ll be alright, I assure you,” Geralt gave her a quiet promise. His hair touched her face softly, but she didn’t even react to it. Just like that, he was done. Geralt left the bedroom, but he didn’t close the door. He was too scared to let her out of his sight again.

[PART 3 - coming soon!]

A/N: The angst train continues! The reader is a vampire. The story is evolving. I’m surprised how much I enjoy writing this and I truly you enjoy reading it. Your feedback would mean so much to me! Thank you for reading <3

#Geralt of Rivia #Geralt x Reader #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia x You #Geralt fanfiction #Geralt x You #Geralt x Y/N #tw gore #tw #vampire fanfiction #Geralt of Rivia x Vampire!Reader #The Witcher x Reader #The witcher fanfiction

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talesofealdancynedom · 3 years

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Feon Seabryd in fairy robes, with storm staph.

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 4.1 - Time Stands Still: Feon 4/10) part 4. Stories of Old

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In spring, Meriam received a letter from the Northlands. The lord of Isfisceard, caught word of Meriam and her men wandering in and out of Celticia, to speak with Helrem in Algonquia. With Francia being hostile towards all three lands, Meriam had trespassed into Celticia to avoid death. However, The Northlands of Celticia had tightened its boarders, and was sending rangers and setting up outposts; The land was strained from battles from both Algonquia and Francia. The lord requested Meriam’s presence, to deal with a specific matter, in exchange for alliance with Anglia. Meriam was eager to accept, and make another ally at Francia’s boarders; and not get punished for trespassing. The courts would not let her leave however. They had a matter of special importance for her as well. Meriam was carrying their only heir to the throne, after Eatheltwein, making her even more valuable. They had forgotten Meriam didn’t take kindly to being treated like a fragile tool. She was being a royal brood mare for them against her wishes, and they still weren’t satisfied. Meriam left with her five loyal men, a doctor, and the Celtician lord’s letter on her pillow for the king to find.

Celticia was temperate and wet. It smelled of rain, and upon its odd rock formation and cliffs, was the hum of the soothing low pressure. The scent of the sea embraced them, as Meriam and her party approached the docks. Crossing up the north isles was the last leg of the journey. Meriam was pampered by everyone; to her appreciation and disgust. It almost tarnished the wondrous experience of the Northland kingdom. The island of Isfisceard, was radiant. It was strewn with storm wildings, rain nymphs, ridge back drakes, hydra, and more. The most intriguing and enchanting things, aside from the beaches, sea walls, ferns and sequoia, was the voices that welled up from the depths; Fish children. There are no mermaids, sirens or selkies in Anglia, but there are many in Celticia. For there are many mariners and fishers, of whom a sixth would gladly wed a questionable, thirsty, hungry, and irresistible, maidens of the sea. While Meriam’s men were bewitched by lust, Meriam was overcome with awe and wonder. As a seer, her heart was a flutter with all fey before her. Meriam, as a mage, was drawn to magic. Thus, it was more fascination than lust, that seduced her to get a closer look. Not that the Fish King’s children weren’t to Meriam’s liking as well. As they docked at their destination village, the captain said they were lucky Anglian folk don’t sing. Cheerful tunes tend to attract less lovely daughters from the deep.

Eager for a proper sleep, Meriam went directly to the lord’s house. But he would not let her rest; he held both her hands and bowed.

“Greeting Mage Queen Meriam. I am honoured you have accepted my invitation. I can tell you are weary, but a lady as precious and fine as you, needs to be kept safe; your men will remain with me, while you retire with Lady Feon Seabryd.” The lord smiled. His accent was both chipper and confusing. Like a thick Irish dialect. Meriam stepped back; what threat would be anticipated that would require her to sleep in a lighthouse, while her trusted knights became drunk lustful decoys.

“I am here to settle my debt, and forge alliances. Tell me your bargain; I am most short these days.” Meriam snapped. Then the lord, still bowing, noticed she was with child, and looked up at her grimace. The lord shivered in fear. Her khol, drawn like a hawk’s face, emphasizing her yellow eyes.

“My apologies your majesty. Let us make haste in signing the papers. You and your men must hear why I am so desperate to protect you, and improve our lands relations.” He said, leading them into a circular hall decorated in tapestries of fish fey and knots. The greens, teal, blues and bronzes complimenting the elaborately carved wooden stools and table.

“Sit, sit.” The lord prompted. Meriam’s men looked calmer then usual; they could handle a court room, after riding dragons. Magic, and their queen’s missions to make peace, was no longer confusing or dramatic.

“Alright, were all settled down now. So, what I need from this alliance, is an army to help this town. A messenger came from the east with a warning: In one season’s time, we will have the army of the Far North at our wall. Meanwhile, Francia is stalled by our land’s rangers and fey. Algonquia is slowly advancing, and occupying Celticia; We are weak. They come to finish their take over, by coming to Isfisceard for our lands only mage; the aforementioned Lady Feon. She sing’s storms and spells, and keeps balance between us and the magic of the sea. Each kingdom has a mage these days, and killing each other’s mages seems to be a common political strategy.” The lord explained.

“You want an army to protect your nations mage?” a knight asked.

“Aye. She is a kind charmer, with four beautiful children. Isfisceard would not be the same without her. But more then her death, I fear the mages of Algonquia. For the reason they are immune to our soldiers and fey, is because their prince and princess, the nephew and niece of the king, are both mages. Edmond Monabellen: The Wolf Prince of The North. He has walked through arrows, and cut cities in half. Him and his siter can control fey in battle, and their men and women are fearless in war. He is a paladin clad in violet and gold, with the eyes of a wolf, and riding his bear familiar. His sister, Luthid Geagwulf, is a witch that works from the camps, to manipulate the battle field. Their army has yet to lose a warrior. If they come for Feon, they will kill all of Celticia’s remaining armies, and take us before Francia does.” The Lord rambled. “I hear your power over time is great Meriam Craweleoth; between you and your kingdoms cavalry, I believe prince Edmond can be stopped. The Northland’s may be in your favour against Francia, if their wolf prince is defeated.” He concluded.

Meriam absorbed the information. Helrem had said nothing about the paladin prince in the Algonquian courts. Wolf kingdom mages, who could be advocating for magic, were being used like pawns in war. This is not how magic is supposed to be used. Their king is a coward for sending his only heir into battle, and a disappointment for abusing magic. Or worse, Edmond and Luthid were skirting their natures out of familial or patriotic obligation, and were in so deep, they can not escape war, despite their better judgment. If Meriam could resolve this, everyone would win.

“I agree to your terms. We will see who is willing to come to your aid by mid harvest. Hopefully my magic will prevent us from being tardy. May I rest now? Lord of Isfisceard?” Meriam said, signing the papers.

“Yes, you may; Feon will be waiting by the beach. There is a white stone of quartz she likes to sing from. Can’t miss it.”

Merriam approached the fogged bay, that echoed of song, along with a closer voice. Upon a random tall stone of white quarts, was a freckled woman in teal fish kingdom fairy robes, holding a wooden staff set with a large emerald. Her long hair was red as blood, and her eyes like blue pine. She sang sweetly into the water, and its flat surface sang back. Her colours were unnatural; as if changed by magic from her going dark from tragedy. She looked like she was having so much fun, that she didn’t notice Merriam watching.

“Are you Feon Seabryd? I am Queen Meriam of Anglia; your lord said I was to stay with you and your family for safety.” Meriam said.

“Aye. Wait till you meet my family-” Feon said, gazing at Meriam. She looked like a ghost dressed in her black feather and crushed velvet fairy robes. “You’re going to have a baby! That’s so exciting! I know just the way to treat you; as a mother myself!” Feon chimed. She took Meriam’s hand and gently led her to a house at the bottom of a light tower, that was carved into the sea wall of the bay.

“I hate children. I don’t want to have a baby; that could kill a woman.”

“I love my children! All four of them! They were a pain, but they are like precious jewels. I smile everyday when I see them. Speaking of children, I have a son who is also a mage, though he don’t know it yet. Lyra is his name; a charmer just like me. Possibly even a storm breaker like me too! I have many notes about mages, and magic workings. You are a seer, right? Maybe reading or copying them would be restful for you?” Feon suggested. With magic on the table, Merriam was warming up to the idea of being in a peasant’s bungalow, surrounded by wild children. The only child she ever liked was Eatheltwein; and she was not responsible for his care.

In the cabin, Feon had her children bring her and Meriam food to study. Feon was excited to pick the brain of a seer, and Meriam was happy to finally be sitting. Feon had many books and journals in her room; it was crowded in a hurricane of organized chaos, around the two beds she shared with her husband and children. Meriam was brought back to her childhood in Francia, sharing a bed with her friend Felin.

“What type of mage are you?” Feon asked, placing a teal leather journal on the table. “For example, I am a Storm breaker; we summon and control weather when magic moves through us, from being really happy. But if we don’t have a storm staph, we will lose control and go gray dark; causing natural disasters. I got my storm staph sent to me from a warlock in Sinonia, of the Grand East, who is also a storm breaker. In fact, the lad sent me many, requesting I place them in the Fish Kingdom in the shadow veil, because The Fish Gate is down the cliff of the lighthouse…” Feon said, handing the journal to Meriam and showing off her wood and emerald staph. Meriam examined it carefully, it was wonderfully crafted. She wondered how the parcel arrived through Francia, and then recalled that they took postage seriously there; you could mail one hundred mice to a foreign land and no one would stop you. A good package, is a delivered package. Feon knocked on the table Infront of Meriam to get her attention.

“Oh sorry, you reminded me of something… I guess I’m a Memoirium de Morte; a mage who can manipulate time. I didn’t realize we had types.” Meriam laughed, melting into the reclined chair covered in plaids.

“Do share! I want to complete that teal compodium, with details about all the mages for our ancestors!”

“Why do you write texts instead of poetry? I thought you were a charmer?”

“I am. But I am also a mother and avid hobbyist. Oh, thank you Lyra” Feon said, taking the kettle and pouring tea. An older boy with ginger hair and green eyes brought it. His long-curled hair was twisted in various strands and weaved into a knot; and he seemed to almost glow with joy while he hummed.

“Ah, one of your children. The Lyra of which you mentioned…” Meriam said.

“Aye, your majesty. I hope you enjoy the tea!” Lyra bowed before dashing off. Meriam gave a cough and returned her attention to Feon.

“You hate children? Why?”

“Hate is a strong word. I prefer the phrase: ‘I am opposed to.’ As too why, maybe it’s I don’t want a dependant human to keep me away from my adventures, or worry me. Or perhaps I don’t wish to put my life at risk to appease a court of men. The reason is irrelevant, and it is no one’s business what I choose to do with my life and body.” Meriam snarled, tossing back the staph. “Give me some of your journals to copy for my records, and tell me what you want to know about my abilities; or more why I don’t just use them to resurrect people or manipulate their memories.”

“I’m sorry. Just don’t understand is all. But as for your special magic, the question in these times isn’t why you don’t use your powers, but why Anglia doesn’t make you.” Feon said.

NEXT--->

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#art #tales of ealdan cynedom #short stories #fantasy #story 19 #meriam #nihten #feon #lyra #sirulius #edmond #luthid

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bardsingingasong · 4 years

Text

My words are my weapon, but my lute also can be useful

Well, this is my second work in English. I feel more comfortable writing in this language now. But have in mind that isn't my first language and probably the work has many mistakes.

In any case, I hope you'll enjoy this!

Read on AO3

My words are my weapon, but my lute also can be useful.

He really wasn't planned to go to Blaviken.

Jaskier was walking in the paths when he saw a sign on the way that pointed to Blaviken. His mind reminded automatically all the stories that he listened when he was a child. All in his house knew the story of the butcher of Blaviken. Jaskier grew up listening theses stories and now he knows that wasn't true. Yeah, of course, Geralt killed many bandits and Renfri but it wasn't for all the people said. The Bard knows what his Witcher isn't a butcher. For one reason or another, he was forced to do what he did.

When he was a child, Jaskier loved this story. Now he hated. He knows Geralt, he knows the Witcher never kill an innocent one. All these stories make Jaskier feels sick. They aren't true, and he wasn't letting these idiots of Blaviken to blemish his Witcher's name! If he can avoid it.

And now he was here.

Blaviken wasn't what he expects. The streets are dirtier like any other village, but not than dirtier like others. Jaskier thought the habitants of Blaviken was more distasteful, but for his surprise that wasn't true. Maybe he only wants an excuse to hate the people of Blaviken for humiliating Geralt.

Jaskier knows both versions of the story. He knows how blavikens was afraid of the Witcher but he also knows how these persons trowed rocks to his Witcher. For Jaskier, this sample of disregard is not justified. And he pretends to change it.

He'll sing all his repertory about how wonderful, brave and incredible is Geralt of Rivia.

Walking on Blaviken's streets, Jaskier discovered how people don't forget the story. He started to search for an inn where sleep during his stay. In the first inn, the innkeeper would hire a simple room for a few coins less than he expected.

The the innkeeper was fat. His face was red and he was lost some teeth. A little hair layer covers his head. Maybe, in the past, he had great hair, but now the last of his hair was gone. The man was too happy with the idea of a famous bard playing in his inn. To his joyfully try to convince Jaskier to play exclusively in his inn, he made a mistake.

"You're the best bard of the Continent," He said "But it's better if you try do not sing about the white wolf. Blaviken hasn't forgotten his butchery".

Jaskier doesn't need much time to change his accommodation and swear to himself that he never play in this inn.

His search was pretty well after that, but he only chose one of the inns owners were frank with his and she doesn0t mind if he sang about Geralt.

The first day was an exploration. The bard wanted to know the best places to play his songs, he even asked the villagers for information. Lucky for him, his name was quite famous at this point and he would play in every inn easier.

The second day was more productive. He starts to play few songs in a local tavern, only for extending the rumour of his in the village. While he was playing, he has free drinks, food and other type of attention. The villagers were delighted to hear him and they try to gladding him to play the song what they want. The women and men come and back once and once for try to capture his attention.

In fact, was a good day, principally for his bag. The number of coins in his bag was double when he finished for the day. More money ever was bad news. This will count as a win for the bard. Jaskier enjoyed the night. He sang, ate and drank what he wants even he had some fun with a particular hot man who insisted on bought one or two drinks for him.

After this Jaskier has gone to bed drunk, full and satisfied. With this situation, the third day he started to play in the streets and the only sang about Geralt, winning one or two bad looks of the villagers.

He really didn't care what villagers think about the songs, he only wants to sing about Geralt, he wants to rub the fact of how powerful and good the Witcher was. If Blavikens had a bad experience with him, Jaskier wants to make clear that was their fault, not Geralt's fault. At this point, the bard even doesn't care if he'll need to run out of the village. He'll happily run for his life if he made Blaviken feel regretted by how they treated Geralt.

At the beginning, people looked at him with curiosity. This feeling changed quickly to disregard and then to the disgust. Many of Blaviken's villagers talked to each other in front of him, mumbling how strange was a famous bard sang in favour of the white wolf. They thought Jaskier can't hear them under his self voice. But the bard had heard every word. Jaskier doesn't do anything, he needed to continue his performance. The mumblings don't distract him, he had an objective and nobody would stop him to comply it.

During his trip to Blaviken, the bard composed a new song. The title was The real history of the butcher of Blaviken, and he planned to sing this song for the first time in the village. The ballad had one or two bad words about the villagers, but they aren't pretty obvious. On the other hand, the words that he said about Stregobor was another question.

He knows Geralt's version of the story and There's nothing to make he thinks that Geralt could have lied to him. His trust in the Witcher more than any other person in the world. His songs were only a little compensation for everything Geralt gave to him. Jaskier would be happy if he can pass the rest of his life with the wolf travelling together. There isn't anything that Jaskier didn't give him yet.

The bard was a man in love with the white wolf and everyone knows how the downgrade was a man in love.

The mumblings were changed to screams fulled of hate. But no one of his listeners tried to stop him. Maybe they were too afraid of how bad publicity the bard can make about Blaviken, or maybe they're too afraid of the possibility of the Witcher comes to avenge his bard. Jaskier laughed inner, he was born in a noble family, he knew how to play with the farmers and ordinary people.

He was playing around the village for a few hours when a man approached him. He was an old man who stopped in front of him, the man heard his song to the end and when Jaskier finished singing, he started to applaud.

The man clothes were black and luxurious. He doesn't be another villager more, he would be important, maybe he was a noble or one's mentor. Jaskier doesn't know, but he felt like when he was a child and his tutors scolded him. His eyes are blue like crystal. Jaskier doesn't be a big fan of his eyes, they made him uncomfortable.

"Your voice was one of the best I hear in years young man," he said. Jaskier was sure he doesn't look so young at this point, but he only smiled back. "I'm curious about which led you to make this song in particular. It's not common for nobody thinks about the butcher of Blaviken like this".

"Someone made me aware of the truth under the legend" He answered. Jaskier had been in very hostile situations and he knew how to handle them. If he answered mysteriously to the old man probably he'll go after one or two sentences. After all, the bards had the right to keep their secrets about the fonts.

The man looked Jaskier from top to bottom. He knew the old man was studying him, looking at something that Jaskier doesn't know what is. After a while moments of silence, the situation was starting to be much for him. Jaskier wanted to run away from the man, far away from his look. He was just about to leave when the man started to talk again.

"This wasn't what happens" His words made Jaskier scroll. "Geralt of Rivia isn't a hero or something like this, he's a Witcher, a murder. Whoever who put this idea in your mind, maybe just played with you young man".

"And what do you know that, sir?" Jaskier needed all of their strength to not scream. He wouldn't let the man insult Geralt in front of him. "The legends usually are half true half false. What does the original version true? " He replied. This old man might have seen something in the scene, but, according to Geralt, all the villagers cannot see the complete scene. Maybe he was one of the persons who threw stones to Geralt for a mistake. Jaskier didn't know and he doesn't care.

"Because I tried to Geralt made the right decision" Their words were like a wall where Jaskier crashed. His mouth opened a little and all his face showed the surprise that he felt. The killing of Blaviken took place twenty-five years ago, it wasn't strange someone of the villagers was lived yet.

"You're Stregobor" he mumbled almost sure about his conclusion.

"Yes, I'm".

The silence set up between them during a while. It can't be true. Jaskier thought Stregobor left Blaviken after Renfri's death. The stories he listened never mentioned that he only assume that. If he had known this fact probably he was to be more careful about how sang in favour of Geralt.

On the other hand, Stregobor was who instigated the villagers against Geralt. If Jaskier wants to teach them a lesson, Stregobor must participate. The bard pretended to be in shock, he put the belt of his lute out of his shoulder. He set aside the lute, holding the instrument for the pole.

For a time Jaskier was without words. He didn't know what say even many things pass for his head. Stregobor seemed to notice it and started to talk after the bard can say anything.

"I know how you're a bard," Stregobor said. "You travel with the Witcher, followed him in the paths. You chose to share the life of an outcast". All of their words made Jaskier feel sick. How this son of a mare can talk about Geralt like this? "Why a pretty boy of a good family like you would follow someone like Geralt of Ribia?" Stregobor continues. Jaskier started to shake. Every word the mage said feel like a pouch in his stomach.

"What that monster can let a viscount stay at his side? Witchers have only made problems".

"You don't know Geralt" Jaskier's voice was trembling with rage. He never felt so angry with anyone more than Stregobor at this moment. None of one was bothered to know Geralt, anyone wanted to spend his time to break his walls and watch the truth of how Geralt was. But Jaskier does. He knows how Geralt was when he was angry when he was scared. And he knows how protector and affection the Witcher can be while he loves someone. "You have no right to talk about him like that".

Anyone would notice the tense atmosphere between them. Most of the villagers passed for their side carelessly. During minutes none of they said nothing. Jaskier was angry, more than that, he wanted to hit Stregobor in his face, he wants to cry too because this isn't just. It's not just Geralt and the other witchers must be forced to live like this, with everyone's hate focus on them.

"So, it's love. You love him". Stregobor said after a while. A smile spends of his face. He was mocking Jaskier. "Poor Julian, how much time will take the Witcher before he throws you out of his way? He'll do. Never trust in a Witcher young man less of Geralt of Rivia, the butcher of Blaviken"

Jaskier didn't know of where his force came from but he grabbed with strength the pole of his lute and hit Stregobor in the face.

The villagers stopped their way to look at the two men. Jaskier was breathing fast. The adrenaline was running on his body, he hasn't thought about nothing more to shut up Stregobor. The bard only met one sorceress before Stregobor, but Yennefer never does this even she was scared. If Jaskier had to choose he prefers Yennefer.

"If you'll insult Geralt or any other witcher in my presence, I'll chase and kill you.". Jaskier said. His voice was hard, trying to copy his father. "Maybe I'm a bard now, but I'm still being a noble, one with a powerful friend".

The bard picked up his bag with an elegant move and he started walking. While he would walk away from Stregobor, he saved his lute in the bag. He thought he would need to run away soon or later and he preferred that the lute was safe.

No-one stopped him when he left Blaviken. Months later, some stories arrived at Jaskier's ears. Stories what spoke about one bard bewitched by a Witcher and a sorcerer who tried to free the bard, but he can't. Jaskier wanted to back at Blaviken and burn the entire village.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Far away of Blaviken, a Witcher was trying to drink alone in a corner while his friend was playing around the inn.

While he drank a woman approached the table and sit in front of his. Geralt of Rivia founded Yennefer of Vengerberg watching him closely.

"I have news," She said. "About your boyfriend".

"What boyfriend?" Geralt mumble. "Talk clear Yennefer".

"I talk about Jaskier"

"He's not my boyfriend" The Witcher grumbled quickly. Maybe the relationship between him and the bard was close, but they didn't talk about what they are. Geralt doesn't want to put a name before talked with Jaskier about that.

"Sure?" Yennefer seemed fun and this has never been a good thing. "He'll be after you know how he hit Stregobor with his lute after the old insulted you".

Geralt spit out the beer of his mouth after that. While Yennefer left the Witcher put his head in his hand, full of shame and fun. That's what stupid, but he was his stupid and Geralt loves him.

#geralt x jaskier #geraskier #dandelion #geraltxdandelion #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #stregobor #yennefer of vengerberg #my fic #Jaskier is also protective #the witcher #the witcher netflix #butcher of blaviken #blaviken

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