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grimesgirll · 16 days

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can you do rickyl x reader where she gets jealous and gives them attitude🙏

ninety-eight hours it’s been since rick and daryl left for what was supposed to be a “dry” supply run.

another hour and you think you’re going to simply die from the wanton ache in your cunt and the paranoia creeping with every passing minute.

you hate when they go away. it’s the worst. but it’s what your lovers have to do if your community wants amoxicillin and food that‘s not canned peas or tuna. the only bigger drag than you losing out on a few nights of getting the stress fucked out of you and mornings with tender wake up calls; that cool new girl went with them.

just a few weeks ago, daryl and aaron had discovered a former phd student wandering the outskirts of shenandoah national park. the twenty-eight year old had been walking from her biology program in new jersey in an attempt to reach her family’s house in norfolk, virginia.

back to alexandria, she brought a backpack, some stories, and a green haze to your vision.

within a week, you’re wishing daryl and aaron hadn’t brought her back. the worst part is that you really can’t speak on it with anyone because you’ll sound like a jealous bitch, which you kinda are. it’s not your fault that you don’t know shit about how to age a deer or microorganisms or macroinvertebrates or interesting biology major jargon that gets rick and daryl’s attention.

you didn’t finish your degree. the apocalypse had made sure of that. yeah, this girl’s thesis defense had been cancelled but she already had two degrees and a fucking certificate.

yeah, daryl doesn’t have a degree. but this girl’s family grew up hunting - proud turkey hunters, she’d specified after daryl asked her about her turkey shotgun. they hit it off so well that she’d even gone on a few hunts with him. you refused to eat the pheasant she shot. when she came into your kitchen proudly touting a half butchered boar, you simply narrowed your eyes, turned to rick next to you, and asked if you should take chances eating wild boar meat after the prison.

let’s just say you can’t stand her.

it’s not rational and it’s surely not healthy but you can’t bring yourself to address it in any meaningful way. all you can do is smolder. and that’s exactly what you do when rick and daryl come through the gates, fully engaged in a conversation with her.

“find what you need?”

you’re walking up to the three as soon as they pass you. rosita had been chatting you up and you assumed that your boys would come over and greet you with at least a kiss but no! they’re walking past you with her. the perfect, perpetually prepared girlscout that makes you want to tear your hair out.

two twin pairs of blue eyes find yours and daryl’s eyes are overflowing with longing, but before they can even say hello, she’s in your face, greeting you and handing off some seed packets she’d found

what a bitch.

almost turning your nose at her, you instead decide to accept the packets without a thank you. you make a beeline straight for rick, leaning up on your tippy toes to capture his tongue, wrapping an arm around his neck to lower him into your embrace. every ounce of waiting and wanting is spilled onto rick’s lips. you kiss him a bit too fervently for a welcome back kiss at your community’s gates. it’s an abuse of power on your part.

it’s dramatic. it’s theatrical.

it’s just as bad when you do the same thing to daryl, attaching yourself to his side as the newest addition to alexandria clears her throat and continues on about the supplies they managed to secure on their “dry” run. specifically, some supplies for her to try to solo it again - but this time - finally land in norfolk. you know that rick and daryl were out there - away from you - for more than just some glorified grad student’s get home bag but every second that she drones on has you yearning for her to pack her bags tonight.

“so, once my wrist is fully healed. i’ll be out of here.”

“thank god!”

rick’s eyebrow raises and if daryl could go quieter, he would.

the walk back to your house alone in alexandria is awkward.

the scene you’d caused had rick giving you a look that told you if you didn’t quit digging now, you’d end up in a trench of conflict. not just being at odds with the newcomer, but rick’s lack of patience for this kind of behavior from you. that doesn’t stop you from starting again as soon as they enter the bedroom.

“neither of you came over to say hi to me when you got in the gates.”

it’s the first thing out of your mouth once the door has shut. your arms are folded over your chest and you’re glaring at them like you didn’t just put on a grand display and snub the girl staying down the street. eyes focused on them, you’d be hard pressed to tell that you even could even name the other girl.

“so you’re gonna skim past talkin’ to her like that?” rick’s giving you that same you can’t be serious look he sends your way when you’re brattin’ out like this.

“i said my thoughts out loud. sorry.”

“ain’t you got no filter?”

“no, daryl,” you reply, looking up at them from the soft bed. your hands dig into the mattress. “that overnight “dry” run turned into the entire weekend and the first thing you guys do is stroll in with her and not say hi.”

“why do you care so much? she’s leavin’ soon.” daryl reminds you, fighting a yawn.

you frown. “you guys relate to her more.”

rick guffaws and daryl’s eyes are rolling.

“what? you think she’s flirtin’ knowin’ how to catch herself a fuckin’ meal.”

“but she’s older than me.”

“not by much, honey,” rick dismisses your concern.

the downtrodden look on your face is unmistakable. you’re quiet, considering how to justify your jealousy when you feel a tear coming on. daryl notices when you try to blink it away and is the first to drop the bone the two were picking with you. he’s next to you, a hand on your waist and your thigh, and that’s when you exhale in frustrated, exasperation, “you were gone for four days and you couldn’t even say hi to me.” you’re shaking your head, knowing it’s dumb. “its not nice but it just got me so angry.” you almost omit this last part but the borderline law enforcement stare you’re receiving from rick has you candid. “i just needed you guys to come up and kiss me - or something after not knowing if you were alive or not. the run went too long. got me worked up.”

“and you think you deserve to get fucked first thing after pullin’ that shit?”

you bite your lip. rick can read you too well. really, there’s nothing to discuss.

did you really think they would lose interest in you that easily? or is this just a ploy to work them up too? to cash in on the good, hard fucking you know they’d subject you to if you turned up your brat factor for their return. it’s downright devious but who are they to deny the smoldering opportunity falling in their laps?

“can you be a good girl?”

you nod, not breaking eye contact as he slips his thumb into your mouth while undoing his pants with the other hand. “maybe we can get this to do somethin’ useful, huh?”

daryl stays quiet but the smirk as he watches you lick rick clean tells you that he has an idea. he’s full of ideas, most of which involve stuffing you full in some capacity but just from bud reaction to the scene that unfolded, you know he’s in a teasing mood. too feverous and on the same page as rick about your jealousy to give you the fucking you want straight away.

there’s probably a bit more of explaining that you need to do but when rick says, “hands and knees,” you’re forgetting all about the better educated woman and getting into place on the plush bed. the brief scowl on your face can’t be missed but it doesn’t matter because you automatically open your mouth wider once you’re faced with rick’s too-big-for-your-mouth cock.

you’re so focused on rick that the stripe being licked down your slit from behind has you choking on rick in surprise. the constable groans at your tight throat clenching around him.

“missed this pussy,” daryl’s gruff voice against your cunt brings you back to reality. the reality where he’s flicking his tongue over your already aching, swollen bud.

so that’s what that tear was, you deduce, suddenly aware of your missing panties.

“you’re overthinkin’,” rick says says with a hand in your hair. “you belong to us. we belong to you.”

“yeah, no new girl’s gonna come between us.” daryl assures you, breathing lust into your cunt. “gotta get out of yer’ fuckin’ head.” daryl chimes, not even giving his tongue a break when it wasn’t on your clit. “i finally get someone with a brain to go huntin’ with and your first thought is that i wanna fuck ‘em.”

rick smirks down at you, mouth too stuffed full of cock to deny any of it. he runs a hand through your hair and eases up on your throat, growing impossibly harder at the sight of his thick dick against your glossy, shining lips. a hand finds your chin and his cock falls from your mouth. “you better not forget that you’re made for us. don’t want no one else but you.” his cock jumps at the way your pupils grow from his lust induced speech. “you’re ours. that pussy’s in the shape of our cocks. beautiful brain’s all wrapped up in us, like we’re wrapped up in you.”

you could cream at his words. any minute you’re going to on daryl’s tongue. back as forth, the younger man is sliding his tongue all over your clit. he even dips the appendage inside of you to tongue around and spur rick into thrusting his cock back into your mouth so he can enjoy your needy whimpers around him.

“so fuckin’ good for us, baby. like she never could be.” rick huffs, chocolate curls falling back with his head.

all you can do is moan around him in response. daryl doesn’t let you process rick’s words because you’re too busy processing the overload of pleasure he’s inducing in you. you writhe back against him, canting your hips into his mouth just as rick twitches in yours.

your hips are bucking and you almost fall forward on rick when daryl triggers your toe curling release, savoring in the ooze as he laps your weeping cunt. tears well at your waterlines with rick’s cock bulging in the cheeks of your mouth. those tears spill with the rush of energy in your cunt. spasming and clenching, leaking onto the devoted tongue seeing you through.

“hope this holds you over,” rick remarks, pulling his still aching cock out of your mouth while glancing over at daryl happily cleaning up your release with his tactful tongue. “‘cause you’re gonna’ be sore after tonight, darlin’. whatever you need to get it in that pretty little head of yours that you’re ours, and don’t need to worry about anything or anyone else.”

as your first orgasm of the night fades and the shaking in your legs pauses, there’s a post-climax clarity that hits you like a truck. you’d be face down on the bed trying to pretend you didn’t exist if not for the hands eliciting the most vibrant whinnies from you, twisting your pleasure receptors like play-doh. you’re not far from coming again and that’s the only thing saving you from the shame of how you treated the newcomer. it wasn’t kind. wasn’t rational. treating her so poorly because of how well she worked with your men. greek gods killed insolent hosts who disrespected their guests, what would rick and daryl do to you for snubbing one of the last polite people on this rotting rock?

being well rounded isn’t a crime, you remind yourself.

and your men don’t need to remind you again with words how much you mean to them. that your jealousy is unfounded but they want to kiss you better anyway. it doesn’t matter if it takes all night, they’ll be reminding you exactly where and who they want to be with.

with you being made for them, how could they want anyone else?

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friendship-ditch · 3 months

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Your muse

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: Your girlfriend Katniss loves to read your poems, so you write one just for her.

Warnings/Note: None! As fluffy as Katniss’s hair

Word Count: 1386

The house was quiet with the new morning, the only consistent noise being the gentle patter of rain on the windows and the soft scratch of a pencil. Somewhere in the kitchen the sink dripped.

You were sitting at the desk in the study, notepad on the surface and pencil in hand. You were scribbling light words across the paper and humming softly. When the words stopped coming to you, you would doodle for a few moments until they came back.

The front door cracked open and you heard the stomp of wet boots being abandoned by the doorway.

“I’m back!” Katniss called in a soft tone. You could hear her walk into the kitchen and set something on the table, most likely some bird. “Y/n?”

“In the study!” You called back. Normally you’d get up and rush over to her but the waterfall of words was pouring from your brain to the paper and you didn’t want to lose it.

Katniss chuckled from the kitchen. Soon she came into the room, her wet hair free from its braid and her shirt a little damp from the rain. She’d discarded her jacket and cleaned up a little though there was a smudge of dirt across her forehead.

“New work?” Katniss stood behind your chair, her hands on your shoulders. She peered at the paper which you promptly covered and pushed away.

“Nu-uh, it’s not good.” You tilted your head back, looking up at her. The two of you exchanged a gentle kiss.

With a soft sigh, Katniss leaned against your chair a little more, arms sliding around your neck in a gentle embrace. “Come on.” She whined. Her fingers raked through your hair in loving strokes and she rested her chin on top of your head. “You know I love your work.”

“You love the final draft. I never let you see the work-in-progress version because it’s shit.” You said. You planted your hand firmly overtop the paper. “Plus, this one’s special.”

“Special?”

“Yeah.”

“Well now I’m even more intrigued.” Katniss kissed the top of your head. “Come on, come lay in the living room.”

With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you grabbed your notepad and followed Katniss out toward the living room. You plopped down on the couch and got settled while Katniss changed her shirt. Thunder had started to rumble outside and the rain was coming down a little harder.

You picked the notepad up and flipped to a new page. Nothing you wrote down was exactly what you wanted or nearly as perfect as you had hoped. You couldn’t show it to Katniss like this, not yet.

Katniss came back in a dry t-shirt, though her hair was still damp. She nudged your hands from the pillow in your lap and laid her head there instead.

“How was hunting?” You smiled down at her, setting the paper aside and tucking the pencil behind your ear. You moved one hand to stroke her damp hair, pulling a few leaves out and craning through the dark locks to work out the knots from her early morning hunt.

Katniss relaxed under your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“It was alright…” she mumbled softly, content under your touch. “The woods are slippery in heavy rains like this, I nearly fell into that stupid ravine again.” She chuckled, laying off your concern with a shake of her head. “One of my snares caught the pheasant.”

You smiled once more, moving your hand from the end of her hair up to her scalp, still stroking like you would a cat. Katniss let out a soft purr-like noise as if to play along with your thoughts and the two of you giggled.

“I was worried. I woke up and you were gone.” You scolded her in an affectionate tone. “Or… you left earlier than usual, at least.”

“I wanted to beat the rain, I wasn’t so lucky.” Katniss flipped so she was laying on her back and looking up at you with warm gray eyes. She reached a gentle hand up and brushed her fingers against your cheek. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Oh, I’m pissed.” You shook your head with a teasing smile, setting your palm on the side of her face in return. You wiped the dirt smudge from her forehead. “No, I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Katniss grinned a little. “I’m fine. But I’d be better if you’d show me that poem you’re working on.” She said.

“Come on, Katniss, it’s awful.” You shook your head once more, gently pressing your finger into the tip of her nose, then just gently trailing your thumb down the side of her nose and under her eye. “Art takes time.”

“Nothing you make is awful.” She insisted, shaking her head. “Just let me see, maybe I can help.”

You both laughed at that.

Although Katniss was amazing at speeches and using the right words to motivate others, she wasn’t the best at using her words for things other than that, especially not art.

“Not yet.” You replied. “Patience, Katniss.”

“Ugh, you’re so stubborn.” She complained and rolled over to lay on her stomach again, burying her face into the pillow in your lap.

You chuckled again and ruffled her hair. You placed the notepad on her back and started writing once more, a sudden wave of inspiration hitting you.

About an hour later, you finally finished. You tore the paper out of the notepad and reread it with a proud smile.

Katniss, who had fallen asleep, stirred awake at your sudden movement. She blinked sleepily at you, those gray eyes of hers full of curiosity.

“Did you finish?” She asked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Mhm..” You scanned the paper again as if you were a little hesitant. This poem was different from the other ones you’d written and you were a little nervous to share it with her.

Katniss sat up and when you were finally ready, gingerly plucked the paper from your hands.

You waited quietly as she read it.

This poem was about Katniss. You’d written about her a lot in your poetry but it was never very obvious or clear, usually just subtle hints. This time you didn’t bother to hide it in the subtext, it was clear as day. Katniss was always your muse and you figured it was time to let her know.

When she finished reading the poem, Katniss set it in her lap and read it once more, then set it aside so she wouldn’t wrinkle the delicate paper. Her hand wrapped around yours and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Y/n, I..” Her voice caught in her throat and she blushed at the little squeak that came out through her lips. Katniss had a hard time believing others even tolerated her, so to read what was essentially a profession of your love on paper was groundbreaking for her already fragile mind that you’d so carefully put back together.

Your cheeks flushed a light shade of crimson as well and you couldn’t help but smile. “Is.. it okay? Or is it too cheesy?”

“It’s perfect.” Katniss managed to say with a teary smile. She wiped her face and then just flung herself at you, arms catching around your torso and face burying into your chest. “It’s… it’s not true, but it’s perfect.”

You shook your head, laying down on the couch with her cradled in your arms. “It’s very true. Every bit of it.” You murmured, kissing her forehead and giving her a tight squeeze.

“You’re going to make me cry.” Katniss whimpered as if she wasn’t already crying. She tore her face from your shirt and looked up at you, face redder than before. “But… Thank you, y/n. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You murmured.

Once Katniss settled back down in the warmth of your embrace, she laid her head on your chest and smiled. Her fingers gently played with the fabric of your shirt as yours played with the now dry locks of her hair. The poem you’d written now lay beside your book of various others and your mind was already buzzing with all kinds of new ideas for poems for and about your best supporter.

#katniss everdeen x reader #the hunger games #catching fire #katniss everdeen #katniss everdeen x fem!reader #katniss everdeen x you #the mockingjay #x reader #this one’s actually really cute guys #unfortunately you’ll never see the poem because I can’t write poetry #just believe me it’s good

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lambden · 1 year

Text

my entry for the latest flash fic challenge was revealed! the image prompt was a grand ballroom and I chose to write this ridiculously silly and also sexual-with-no-actual-smut fic where geralt reluctantly LARPs with jaskier. enjoy!!

2.9K, M, no warnings Also on AO3!

“My lord,” begins Jaskier, tentative but with that ever present edge in his voice that means trouble. Geralt sets down his knife hard. The table shakes but the wine does not spill, and the witcher is glad for this, as his companion would no doubt lunge to clean up the mess. “Is the duck to your liking?”

Geralt hisses, “Stop.”

“Oh? Shall I have the chef executed?” Tearing into his own meal with unabashed glee, Jaskier only pauses to grin at him. “Or shall I call your Knight Commander to send out his men in search of a fine pheasant for your dinner?”

“How about roasted bard instead?”

“Very well.” Jaskier accepts his fate with dignity— and a theatrical gulp and grimace. “If you wish it, sire. I’ll have them bring out the pyre immediately, and you won’t hear even a whimper from me; I consider it an honour to die in service of the best king who ever lived—“

“Jaskier, if you don’t stop, I’ll meditate the rest of the night.”

This threat finally gives Jaskier pause, although Geralt doubts he’ll stop the charade for long. He can’t even really blame the bard for his absurd behaviour; not when this is one of the more absurd situations they’ve been thrust into together. Or, rather, that Geralt has been thrust into while Jaskier has clung to his arm, ready and willing to face any and all shenanigans.

They’re on hour three of the confinement. At dusk, the royal family had taken their finest horses on an overnight journey to the next kingdom over. The official reason for the trip was to oversee the wedding of their eldest princess and a foreign prince. But the real reason is that the paranoid king suspects treasonous conspiring in his court. So in secret he hired Geralt, and told the witcher to guard his throne room overnight. If anyone on their staff tries to break in to peek at valuable documents or switch heirlooms, well— the king will have his traitor. And Geralt gets paid either way, so he couldn’t give less of a fuck.

He had been hesitant to take this job, especially since the royals reached out to him specifically and personally. But their kingdom is relatively small, and as soon as Geralt discovered that he wouldn’t be expected to accompany the nobility on their journey, the contract became irresistible. A royal salary for a job involving very little actual contact with royals. Plus a large dining hall with provided dinner, wine, and a bath and bed for him to use upon their return in the morning.

If only he’d known in advance how much the bard would love it.

For three hours now, Jaskier has been ‘sire’ and ‘milord’ and ‘your Excellency’ing him, to the point where Geralt is contemplating abandoning the throne room altogether. Geralt had scoped out all possible entrances to the monumental room, including secret trapdoors or hidden windows behind paintings. All the while, the bard had eagerly regaled him with a full set that he never asked to hear. Geralt had carefully examined each curtain for potential lurking spies, as Jaskier built a whole fiction about his wise dominion over his epic kingdom. And now that he feels comfortable enough to sit and eat, the bard insists on laying a serviette over his lap and pushing in his chair.

The lukewarm food is still better than they’ve had in weeks, but the duck is a little dry. Geralt reaches for the carafe of red wine from Toussaint, but to his extreme annoyance, he cannot fucking reach it. Embarrassed, Geralt mutters, “Pass the wine.”

The smile twitching at Jaskier’s lips is positively impish. Not for the first time, Geralt wonders if there’s any truth to Yennefer’s theory about Jaskier’s bloodline being touched by the fae. “If I do, will you play along?”

“Ugh.” The doors are unlocked and unguarded, but there’s no one here. The twilight has long faded from the curtains and they still have a long night ahead. Geralt inhales, nose flaring, and then finally caves. “Is that any way to speak to your king?”

Jaskier’s delight almost makes this silly charade worth it. The bard jumps to his feet, bleating out apologies, “I’m so— my— I misspoke, my lord, please forgive me,” and he grabs the pitcher. In an instant, Geralt’s goblet is refilled; the witcher raises a hand to stop him before Jaskier can pour him far too much. As he backs away and sets the carafe down, the chandeliers hanging above their heads twinkle in his bright gaze. “Will that be all, sire?”

“I should order you to go give Roach a sponge bath,” Geralt snorts. Jaskier doesn’t even falter, still standing at attention. “I suppose my options for what I can ask you to do within this throne room are limited.”

“Anything,” says Jaskier, too quickly. Then his pulse picks up, and blotches of pink creep into his cheeks and along his throat. Even if he didn’t mean to voice that aloud, he doesn’t walk it back either. Carefully, the bard folds his hands behind his back, and adds, “Anything you desire, my lord.”

The grandiose, sprawling throne room suddenly seems as small as a closet. Geralt takes a long sip of his wine, and doesn’t remove his gaze from Jaskier as he swallows. The bard twitches as if uncomfortable, but he doesn’t move an inch— he just stands there, blushing, hands behind his back in servitude. Geralt expects him to break the tension between them with a quip, an awkward laugh. Anything.

Back when they first started adventuring together, Geralt dreamt of having the bard like this; but Jaskier was too young, too inexperienced with the world. There were times when he’d angrily shoved his companion up against his wall and covered his mouth, and he had felt Jaskier’s warm breath on his gloved palm and the evidence of his body stirring between them. Other times Geralt had feigned a meditative state as the bard, only a dozen feet away, took himself in hand and moaned over and over. Always the same name. Geralt wonders if Jaskier still gets off thinking about him, or if his lust for the witcher faded as they travelled together.

Jaskier stands, silently awaiting his orders.

“Sit,” Geralt says, his voice unexpectedly thick. At his command, Jaskier retreats to his seat, and nearly collapses into it. “And eat. I want you to finish your plate, first and foremost. I can’t have… my most trusted advisor starving to death.”

Jaskier nods, lifting his fork and knife. His face is still pink. Satisfied, Geralt reaches for his wine, resting his elbow on the table and leaning a little more into his assigned role. The wine is good, and the food, though cooling, is still enjoyable. He makes sure to keep watch on the door, lest anyone come to interrupt their fun. But… the embarrassment that he thought would be too much to handle is nowhere to be found. Instead he finds he enjoys watching Jaskier actually do what he says for once.

As soon as Jaskier’s lips close around his last bite, Geralt rises from his seat at the head of the table. The abrupt scrape of his chair against the floor makes the bard jump, but thankfully he doesn’t choke; he only swallows his food quickly before mimicking the witcher.

Geralt tosses his napkin away, carrying only his goblet and his swords over to the royal throne. He reclines into it without hesitation, spreading his legs and rolling his head back as any real spoiled king would. In his decades, Geralt has seen a hundred nobles drunk on their own power, bloated with wealth even when their kingdoms live in poverty. He summons that same self-importance now, running his hands through his hair to undo his loose braids. It’s easy to mimic a stuck-up king.

It’s harder to maintain his composure when he rolls his chin back down to see Jaskier already staring, standing before him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. The bard’s frippery fits him well; he looks right at home in this royal court, as he would in any. Geralt tries not to sound too distracted as he asks, “Is there something else, Jaskier?”

“No, my lord,” Jaskier answers. Again he speaks too quickly; again he’s blushing.

Geralt takes pity on him. “Why don’t you play me another of your compositions? I only invite the best bards into my court, you know. And it’s said across the land you’re the very best.”

Now he’s just teasing. Even as Jaskier frantically grabs his lute, he responds with the utmost sincerity, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Despite that witcher you follow around,” jokes Geralt. “Bit of a prick, don’t you think?”

“He is my muse, my lord,” Jaskier says. He strums the first chord of Toss A Coin. “I could no sooner deliver an insult to him than I could deride my own writing abilities, for, indeed, my work had no meaning until I stumbled across the witcher.”

“I doubt that very much. Trained at Oxenfurt, didn’t you?”

As if chastened, Jaskier lowers his head. Geralt knows better— he doesn’t have to see Jaskier’s flushed face to sense his racing pulse. “Yes…”

“And you have connections all across the Continent,” teases Geralt. He’s beginning to understand why Jaskier enjoys this game so much. “Could one witcher really mean so much to a bard as travelled and distinguished as you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier repeats. He lifts his chin; his eyes are bluer than ever. “I would never have travelled anywhere without him— or if so, it wouldn’t have meant anything. And with all the audiences I have had, none have distinguished me from the others as he has. He means everything to me.”

“Ah,” chokes Geralt, unexpectedly affected. “The passion behind your work is clear, then, master bard. You… love this man.”

“Of course,” Jaskier says. He has previously proclaimed his love for Geralt at least dozens of times: when the witcher let him ride Roach after he twisted an ankle, and again when Lambert had asked why he had come to Kaer Morhen, and sometimes out of nowhere. Why are you staring? Just thinking about how much I love you. Geralt had always interpreted the sentiment as teasing and altogether unserious. It is impossible to avoid taking Jaskier seriously when they’re alone like this, and when damp emotion gathers in his already bright eyes. “Of course I fucking do. Um. Your majesty…?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt begins. Speaking is more difficult now than ever, and he chews his lip before probably landing on the wrong thing to say anyway: “Come kneel before your king.”

“Yes,” breathes the bard, before falling to his knees so hard he must hurt them against the polished, cold floor. Geralt does not let his pain go unnoticed, leaning forward so far out of his throne that the chestplate of his armour touches his thighs. He takes Jaskier’s blushing, bright face in his broad hands, laying his fingers on the man’s temples before kissing him deeply.

Jaskier’s mouth is a revelation. Geralt pulls him up, kissing him all the while— he never wants to break away— and Jaskier follows readily and eagerly. It takes very little work to tug the man up into his lap, and once his thighs bracket Geralt’s lap on the heavy throne, Geralt’s questing fingers sneak up to weave themselves in Jaskier’s short, soft hair.

“Oh,” the bard groans, low and desperate. His head moves with Geralt’s hands; the witcher exposes his neck easily by pulling his hair, and it’s just as easy to duck down and kiss his bare throat above his fancy collar. “The king roleplay really did it for you, huh? Or is this the wine?”

“Not the wine,” Geralt growls, nipping his pulse.

Jaskier actually squeaks, which is delightful and adorable and only encourages Geralt to bite him again. “Right. The throne, then? I can’t say I blame you, witcher dearest; I knew you’d have fun playing pretend with me. You only had to let yourself give in—”

“Far too much talking,” he complains, dragging his fangs over an exposed vein. Even though he obviously doesn’t press hard enough to draw blood, his teeth leave a monstrous pink scrape over Jaskier’s neck. Geralt should probably feel worse about that. His cock throbs inside his armour. “And it’s not your stupid game either.”

“Really? Then pray tell—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt hisses, exasperated. He’s been exasperated for hours now, and even though this isn’t how he expected his irritation to peak, he has no complaints. He reaches for the man’s hips, dragging Jaskier closer on his lap until he can rock their hips together and show him the hard, hot proof of his desire. “It’s you, you fool. Of course it’s you.” Jaskier’s eyes widen; maybe he truly hadn’t known, all these years, that Geralt returned his affections. “Do you really think I’d do all this stupid shit for anyone else?”

Before Jaskier can voice whatever further doubt is on his mind, Geralt kisses him again. This time the bard kisses back instantaneously, with the same passion he carries himself with on stage. Geralt grins into their kisses— until Jaskier does something very clever with his tongue, disrupting his brain processes entirely.

He hadn’t expected much from this contract. He quickly rewrites it in his memory as the best job he ever took.

The bard’s clothes are hanging off the arm of the throne when, from out in the hall, the witcher hears a distant creak.

Geralt’s warning is somewhat muffled against Jaskier’s lips, and he doesn’t think the bard would have enough time to hide anyway. He ends up lifting the man with one arm, determinedly ignoring the loud moan that Jaskier releases at that. It’s easy enough to set him down next to the throne; grabbing his swords in time is somewhat more difficult.

As the bard takes cover, Geralt strides over to stand in front of the door. Sure enough, it slides open and the royal family’s seneschal enters. He’s as astonished as could have been expected. “What the fuck are you doing in my lord’s throne room?!”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Geralt growls right back. “I was hired to guard this room, and instructed that no one would come calling. Why didn’t you accompany your king and queen to see their daughter off?”

“My job is to stay here and care for the castle and its staff,” the seneschal insists. A bead of sweat drips down his neck, and he does a poor job of hiding his nerves; even a human could detect his stress. He glances around Geralt at the table laden with half-eaten dinner and half-finished wine, and the curtains drawn shut to avoid watchful gazes from below. Luckily, Jaskier had the smarts to yank his clothing out of sight— and the throne, though perhaps sweaty, is empty as expected. “Perhaps… you could take your leave for the night? We’ve a few empty rooms; you could sleep there.”

Geralt huffs, amused. “And leave the most important room in the palace unguarded.”

“How much has the king offered you?” The seneschal fumbles to find coin, still sweating. “I can pay!”

The tiny snick of his dagger leaving its sheath is almost impossible to hear, but to Geralt’s enhanced senses, it echoes around the room. Before the seneschal can draw his weapon and make his attempt at an assassination, Geralt’s steel blade is up against his throat, pressing him back against the open doorframe. “Not interested.”

By the time he returns from the dungeon, Geralt is covered in a thin layer of old dust and new sweat. He’d actually cherish a bath now, although he still won’t have the opportunity until the morning. Even though the seneschal has been secured and is awaiting further judgement, he still needs to maintain his post.

But when he pushes open the doors to the throne room he sees a new king seated atop the throne; although right now, Jaskier looks more like a succubus. His body is entirely bare, and his legs, spread wide open, are an invitation that Geralt eagerly takes. He strides the length of the enormous room in only a few steps, finally coming to kneel before the throne so that he can stare up at his bard.

With a disaffected tone only betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes, Jaskier asks, “Has the threat been disposed of, witcher?”

“He’ll have to wait out the rest of the night in a cell,” Geralt tells him. “Then in the morning his king can hand down his sentence.”

“You’ve done well,” Jaskier murmurs. His hand almost feels like a benediction when it comes down to gently trace the bone in Geralt’s cheek and jaw; the witcher closes his eyes, and Jaskier exhales deep. “You deserve a hefty reward.”

“I have one in mind,” teases Geralt. When he opens his eyes, Jaskier already has a fist around his length, watching the witcher closely. Geralt grins, thrilled, and lunges for his reward.

“While the princess and her betrothed were away,

Back at home the king and his lover did play—”

“No.”

“On a cold winter’s night,

Under chandelier light,

A man of such great might

And an arsehole so tight—”

“Jaskier!”

“Hang on, I’ve almost got it! After apprehending a treasonous foe,

And hanging the bastard by his little toe,

The witcher returned to collect his reward,

And entered the throneroom of the great warlord…

The witcher approached him and began to talk;

‘Sire, I much desi-re to ride on your—”

“JASKIER!”

#geraskier fic #my writing #geraskier #flash fic challenge #this was very fun !!! as i said in the ao3 notes it felt like a bbc merlin shoddy plotline but whatever #anything goes #i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! <3

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echo-goes-mmm · 7 months

Text

Ambrose and Elliot #12

Masterpost

Warnings: explicit sexual behavior (no actual sex), nudity in a sexual setting, implied past torture, implied past non-con, rape mention

Elliot was acting distant again. Earlier he’d clung to Ambrose’s side, and now he stayed just out of reach. What had set him off?

Ambrose decided not to comment on it.

He filled out a couple order forms, sent them off, and started on moving around storage. The weather was set to cool off tomorrow night, and fall harvest would be in soon. Ambrose could already smell the fresh pumpkin pie and hot chocolate in his future. Not to mention the game the village hunters would bring in. He’d already put a notice out that he’d pay a premium for pheasant, and Jack Miller called dibs on supplying.

Rearranging was hard work, and took until dinner time. Even during dinner, Elliot was subdued, more than usual. Elliot loved food, and seeing him sapped of enthusiasm for a meal troubled Ambrose. He went up to bed after helping him clean the dishes. Hmm. Maybe today was too much for him after all. He probably shouldn’t have asked him if he wanted to continue shopping. Elliot pushed himself too hard trying to please people.

Ambrose trudged up the stairs. The work was done, the entire first floor clean, and he was ready to collapse until morning. It really was too bad his blessing didn’t cover tiredness.

He opened the door to his rooms. Maybe he should start eating meals regularly again. It was a pain in the ass when he didn’t technically need to anymore, but it would set a good example for Elliot.

He placed some logs in the fireplace so he could light it straight away tomorrow night. Ambrose opened the bedroom doors, yawning as he turned the handle.

Elliot was kneeling at the foot of his bed.

Elliot was kneeling at the foot of his bed naked.

Ambrose froze, mid yawn. Elliot crawled towards him. His jaw snapped shut when Elliot began to kiss his boots, polishing them with his tongue. Frozen in shock, he was helpless to watch Elliot make his way towards Ambrose’s crotch, kissing up his thigh.

Finally, Ambrose got his body to move, jerking away, “Don’t do that!”

Elliot flinched, and bowed back towards the floor, his forehead pressed to the wood. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

His back, now that Ambrose could see it clearly, looked covered in spiderwebs from all the scarring. Long, thin, and shiny scars from what could only be a whip.

Ambrose was gonna throw up.

He darted into the bathroom, dry heaving into the toilet.

___________________

He’d made Master sick. It was all his fault, and he was going to be punished. So much for helping Master relax. It would take all night to scour the blood from Master’s lovely rug and floors by the time Master was done with him.

Maybe… maybe if he took initiative, Master could relax and punish him at the same time. Elliot began to lick his hand.

___________________

Ambrose couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. Well, he could, but Elliot deserved better. It’s not his fault. He’s doing what he’s been taught to do.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

He grabbed the fluffiest bathrobe he had and walked back into the bedroom. Only to find Elliot fucking himself on his fingers.

He tossed the robe at Elliot and screwed his eyes shut. “Stop that. Put on the robe.”

Elliot made a miserable sound, and there was a sickening slick pop and some shuffling.

“Is it on?”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Elliot. Ambrose opened his eyes. Elliot was staring at the floor.

“Elliot. Why?” Who made you think this was okay?

“I thought you…” he faltered. “Don’t you… Don’t you want me, Sir? To help you relax?”

Oh no. Everything made sense, and Ambrose hated it.

“Elliot, I’m never going to touch you like that. You can’t be doing this. Never proposition me or anyone else again. Understand? Nobody.” he snarled.

It was harsh, but by the gods, Elliot needed to get it in his head. He didn’t really want sex from Ambrose. He was asking to be raped. Offering himself up when he didn’t want to. When he was too afraid to say no. Elliot hadn’t refused Ambrose in anything yet, and he doubted he could. Even for something like sex.

Elliot's eyes were wide and afraid, but he nodded. Ambrose deflated. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Just… get to bed okay? It’s late.” Elliot scrambled for the door.

“Ellie?” he turned back towards Ambrose.

“Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

Elliot looked away, and left.

Ambrose wasn’t sure Elliot believed him.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

#they had to talk about it at some point #BEHOLD! WHUMP! IN A WHUMP STORY! it took forever but here we are #ambrose and elliot #whump #my writing #slavery whump

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khazadspoon · 9 months

Note

Hi!! I saw your post about prompts and if you're inspired, I'd die for a fic (or your headcanons) about how Thomas had to court a young James McGraw who is all insecure because of the class difference etc. But of course Thomas loves him and doesn't care, and insists on being called Thomas, and it's just so confusing to James at the beginning, and... ahhhh, them falling in love is so beautiful in my head, so gentle and tender and fragile, but at the same time so powerful! And... I don't know... I'm just always craving for more content about the two of them being young and happy and in love (and unfortunately it didn't last, but of course I choose to ignore that part when I am in my precanon era feelings XD). Please and thank you!!

OH MY FRIEND MY FRIEND LET ME GET INTO THIS.

Of course Thomas doesn’t get the class difference thing. He doesn’t understand that James is from a whole different world - he has been in the Navy since a young age, grew up with strict rules and roles and regulations. He doesn’t step out of line unless it is Absolutely Necessary. James McGraw is a man who loves and hates himself and can’t function without the certainty of socially acceptable rules to follow.

And Thomas? He comes in and changed all of that. He and Miranda both do, but for James it is Thomas who unravels everything and lays bare the ridiculous nature of civilisation. And it’s by accident.

As soon as they meet Thomas insists on familiarity. Dinner is a casual affair. Talking in his study is done in shirt sleeves instead of full regalia and powdered wigs. In larger crowds there is decorum to consider but with the two of them? There are no rules or boundaries. Thomas is as much James’ liaison as he is Thomas’. James has to force himself to unlearn, albeit temporarily, the norms he has ingrained into himself by the world. He learns to let his sarcasm and dry wit out, to poke and prod at Thomas in a way he never would with his naval peers. Thomas is…….. he is the exception to every rule James has.

And then there’s the kids. And the relationship.

Thomas buys him books, gifts him things from the Hamilton’s private collection, let’s him keep trinkets he can’t quite keep his eyes from. Thomas courts him with trips to gardens and theatres and houses and walks in the not-so-rough parts of London. He all but sweeps James off his feet with gestures and words. He writes James letters and poetry, puts notes in the books he gives James, and all of it is so overwhelming that James almost does bolt like a pheasant flushed out on a hunt. But with a calming word from Miranda (to both of them, she knows first hand how excitable her husband is around things or people he loves) things settle.

James falls in love slower than Thomas does. Thomas falls in love days after they first meet. James doesn’t realise he can even love a man for a long time - then he starts to understand, is terrified of it, but learns that actually it isn’t a bad thing. The shame lingers, we know this, but it gets smaller with each slow and sleepy smile he sees in the morning, each gentle kiss, each hoarse cry and sweat soaked night. James unlearns the codes he has written into himself and replaces them with the articles and psalms Thomas reveals to him.

They get such a short time together before it all falls apart and burns but it is such a glorious time. Full of laughter and gifts and love. There is so much to be thankful for even if James is left half dead when the end comes.

#flinthamilton #black sails #thomas hamilton #captain flint #they destroy me m’lord

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themackenzieboydchronicles · 2 years

Text

Mack Comes Back to Reality after His Week End in Rome.

Mackenzie Boyd Fanfic.

Mack arrived back from Rome and dropped Lucy off at her parents and went to see Aaron. "How did your weekend go Mack" asked Aaron.

"It was very romantic" Mack replied. "Just what we both needed to take our minds off everything here"

"Hope you looked after her" said Aaron winking at Mack.

"I did, I spoiled her" said Mack. "She's such a lovely girl Aaron"

"Well I'm going to spoil you soon. I've booked that week end in Barcelona for us" Aaron said passing a cup of tea to Mack"

"Ah. The Great British Cuppa" laughed Mack "The tea out there is rubbish" he laughed.

"So you're back to reality Mack and the simple things in life" joked Aaron.

"Ugh!" Mack groaned "Are the press still sniffing around?"

"Fraid so they came to the bar every night listening for gossip. But Nicola got rid of them told them in no uncertain terms where to get off" Aaron explained.

"Well she is a force to be reckoned with" laughed Mack going through his mail.

"Oh for God's sake no" said Mack throwing a letter he had just opened to the ground. "Another visiting order"

"Come here Mack don't get upset" Aaron said putting his arm round him. "Come on let's go to the pub aparantly gran has been acting weird lately so she'll be glad to see you. She thinks a lot of you and you always know how to cheer her up"

"Well I'm afraid I'm not in a very good mood after getting that letter from the prison" said Mackenzie.

"Whats wrong Mack" asked Chas seeing Mack was upset as he sat down with Aaron.

"He's upset about Meena mum. There was another visiting order when he got back from Rome" Aaron explained.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take. This should be the happiest time of my life waiting for our baby to be born and Meena's ruined it" said Mack.

"Right" said Chas "I'm coming with you. We'll sort her out good and proper. Now drink this whisky and you take him home Aaron and look after him"

"Are you sure about visiting Meena mum? asked Aaron "She can be a handful and she loves to kick off at visiting times apparantly"

"Yes in fact I'm going on my own. I don't think Mack should keep putting himself through this and its taking its toll on Lucy" said Chas.

"I know" said "Aaron if anything happens to the baby because of all this stress Mack will be devastated"

"Well I figure I could talk to her woman to woman" said Chas "She needs to know that she is upsetting a lot of people by talking to the press"

"Don't know how to thank you" said Mack. "I just can't face her anymore. She's really wrung me out to dry"

"You just let my son take care of you that's thanks enough" said Chas "I want to see that lovely smile of yours again."

"Thanks Chas" said Mack.

"Well if you really want to thank me try cheering my mother up" said Chas. "There's something not right with her. She's been acting weird lately and she nearly set the pub on fire cooking a pheasant that Sam had nicked"

"I'll see what I can do" said Mack.

#mackron fanfic #mackenzie boyd.#aaron dingle #charity dingle.#meena jutla.#faith dingle #emmerdale

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princessbatears · 2 years

Text

Winter Challenge 2021 - Day 12 (Lonely)

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Werewolf Female Reader Summary: When Pero's injured during his travels, someone keeps visiting his campsite while he sleeps. Once he finally catches them in the act, it's not at all what he expected POV: Pero Warnings: written in the third person instead of the second, injury, attempted violence, animals killed for food, language, mention of bodily functions Words: 950

Nursing a small campfire, Pero stares out into the dark forest. His goal tonight is to kill his stalker before his stalker gets him first.

The cold mountain region he recently found himself in has very few job opportunities, so he’s making his way through a pass to the nearest large city.

A couple of days ago, he twisted his ankle badly and was forced to camp. It wasn’t broken, but it couldn’t hold much weight. Luckily for him, the weather, while cold, was dry and he found a decent spot to build a fire.

In the morning, he’d awoken to his fire blazing stronger than it’d been before he fell asleep and a fresh, dead hare laid by him, ready to skin and cook.

To some, this might have seemed like a kindness, but Pero knew better. People don’t just help another for no reason. And they certainly didn’t do it and then just disappear without taking credit.

Concerned about an ambush, he left the hare where he found it, put out the fire, and used a branch as a walking stick to continue his hike. He took a weaving, complicated path in the hope he’d lose whomever had stumbled across him the night before.

Much to his frustration, he couldn’t go far before his ankle gave out and he was forced to camp again. All he could do was hope it was far enough.

For the rest of the day, he stayed vigilant, resting his ankle and working on carving a better walking stick to help him leave as soon as he could put weight on it. When night fell, he did everything to stay awake, but, at some point, exhaustion and pain caught up with him.

When he awoke around dawn, he found his fire piled high with wood again and a dead pheasant left next to him. It’d been plucked and was ready to cook. As appealing as it was after days of jerky, there was no way he was stupid enough to eat it. There were all sorts of poisons out there.

His fear morphed into anger. Who the fuck was doing this? What did they want? Why didn’t they just kill him already?

Knowing it was pointless to try to get away with his bum leg, he decided he’d just have to confront them and have done with it.

Adrenaline keeps him alert. It’s well into the middle of the night now, but there’s no sign of anyone. Finally, it occurs to him that the person must be a coward and isn’t going to come out unless they think he’s asleep.

He lays down, closes his eyes, and pretends to be doze off. He’s been in enough prisons to know how to feign sleep better than the average person. It’s all about deep, steady breathing.

When he hears a rustling right above him, it takes absolutely every ounce of control not to jump out of his skin. How did they sneak up without any sound at all?

Hand clutching his knife, Pero peeks. Instead of the man—or, even, woman—he expects to see, it’s a massive white and light grey wolf adding logs to his fire with its hand-like front paws. What. The. Fuck.

No wolf he’s ever seen is so large, has those kinds of paws, or the wherewithal to know to build a fire. This is an abomination, and it must die.

Before he’s even moved, though, the wolf looks right into his slitted eyes and it pulls its lips back in a small, warning snarl, as if saying, “Don’t even try.”

But the intelligence he sees just scares him more. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he launches himself at the wolf.

With one paw and very little effort, it slams him to the ground and holds him there. With its other front paw, it tosses the knife away. It puts its huge face right against his and roars.

He pisses himself a little.

Pero squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he’s going to die. This monster is going to kill him here in the middle of nowhere. No more booze, no more women, no more food, no more marauding, no more fun. This the end.

To his immense confusion and surprise, something soft and damp touches the end of his nose. The wolf is licking him. It lets out a sound that could almost be mistaken for a laugh.

Was this someone’s enchanted dog?

But, no, it has to be more than that because, when stares into his eyes and he sees warmth and kindness in them. Against all reason, he relaxes.

As soon as his body loses its tension, it gives his cheek a gentle lick and then releases him. It points at something on the ground: a plucked, dead goose. Then, it gestures at the fire.

Pero swallows, finding himself once again a little unnerved by how clearly it’s able to communicate.

When he doesn’t move, it huffs impatiently, grabs the goose, picks up a long stick, and then stabs the carcass through. It holds the goose over the fire, rotating it slowly for an even cook.

“Is it poison?” he demands despite himself, sitting up.

The affronted look is answer enough.

This time he asks in a quieter voice, “Why are you helping me?”

It shrugs, its eyes now sad. Something about that expression makes his heart ache. It seems as lonely as he is.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely.

The wolf nods, handing him the stick. Then, it runs off.

Pero watches it disappear, hoping he’ll see it again tomorrow.

Thank you SO much for reading this story; I'd love to hear your thoughts! 🥰

Pero Tovar Masterlist

Werewolf Masterlist

#aerynwritesdc21 #winter challenge 2021 #pero tovar x reader #the great wall fan fic #were!reader

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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 years

Text

WIP Update (WIPdate?): The Witcher King

Dandelion plucked a pheasant leg from his plate and wafted it threateningly in Aiden's direction. “You have a lot to learn about courts in the north. You scoff now, but think of the humiliation when all we have to offer at Geralt's side is wine, wheat and Metinnan silk. Culture, that is what we need to bring to those heathens. Culture.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “They will have their own culture. We'll need to adapt to it.” Aiden nodded in agreement and the three of them lapsed into silence as they ate.

Indeed, Geralt had read widely for months. Knowledge was power, after all. But the more he read, the more unsettled he became by the stark contrast between the warm climes of his southern home and the frigid northern regions. They traded in the bizant, not the gulden. They worshipped Freya and the prophet Lebodia. Most of the official accounts had been dry and boorish, but Aiden had always been able to source texts that Geralt's tutors would blanch at. So Geralt's study of economics, faith and customs had been tempered with more exciting stories of prophets being eaten by dragons. Geralt had enjoyed one in particular, recounted by Addaria Bach, a dwarven musician from the Copparette, about how followers took Lebioda's remains from his sarcophagus during certain festivities to kiss them and, much like the dwarven poet, Geralt had been amused by the prospect of pious priests in silken robes kissing fossilised shit.

“What are you smiling at?” Dandelion asked around a mouthful of pheasant.

“Prophets and dragon dung,” Geralt replied blithely and Aiden grinned.

They saw the lazy evening hours away with inane conversation and a few songs on Dandelion's lute, before bedding down on their sleeping mats. The temperate was barmy and there was no sign of rain, so they had decided to sleep outside under the insect netting. Geralt stared at the glittering stars above his head and picked out the constellations one by one. He wondered whether the stars would look the same in the north, or whether they would be as alien to him as the currency and the faiths.

The crickets and crackling fires around the camp were soon accompanied by Dandelion's soft snores, and the camp quietened enough for Geralt to pick up on a conversation happening several metres away.

“Heard the beast's ruthless,” said one low voice. “Emotionless. Doesn't feel a thing. Only appetite he has is for the flesh, younger the better.”

Another soldier scoffed around his tankard. “Let's hope that Prince Geralt inherited that famous stamina of his great-granda Hugo then.” There was a round of raucous laughter, and then, “By the time that monster's finished with him, he won't be walking at all, let alone worrying about riding a horse.”

I'm meant to be working on Decembert and Geraskier stories, but my brain decided no. Instead, we've gone down a rabbit hole of lore and continued writing The Witcher King. Prince Geralt's on his way west to catch a boat from Cidaris to Pont Vanis in southern Kovir. He's doing a lot of introspection, worrying, you know, Geralt type things.

Lebodia's story is great. Not only was he worshipped by one of the last Manticore Witchers (Merten), but he feels a lot like the Continent's answer to Buddhism. Compared to the northern Pantheon (very Olympian/Nordic) and the Eternal Fire (very medieval Christianity, right down to the crusades), Lebodia promotes peaceful ways, simple wisdom and kindness. Literally, that's it. Here's a teaching:

"He who intends to walk the valley of darkness ought to bring a lantern with him. For he who sprains his ankle in the darkness will not walk far." –The Good Book; or, The Teachings of the Prophet Lebioda

He gets eaten by a dragon while trying to protect some villagers from it. Lebodia is known as the Great Beggar, and I guess this kind of reflects "higher society's" low regard for the religions and prophets of the peasantry, perhaps. But I like to think Lebodia's story would resonate with Geralt a whole lot. Kindness, practical wisdom, defending the innocent.

Now, Hugo of Rivia, my dearest boy. Hugo is distantly related to Meve or Reginald (the family trees are a little vague), but he is also Foltest's ancestor (which could potentially make Geralt related to Foltest, which... urgh, royal interbreeding). But Hugo! He got pegged by his wife so hard he couldn't ride a horse. Proof, I hear you cry.

Hugo of Rivia was the second Prince Consort of Bienvenu, queen of Temeria. Not much is known about him other than the fact that he fared much better than his predecessor, Ragbard, in the queen's bedchamber. Rumours were rampant that he had to work very hard to fulfill the expectations of the queen - hence the ever prying eyes and his rather famous reluctance for riding horses. (Witcher Wiki)

He's also reported to have died of "sexual exhaustion" trying to give the queen a second child, although his efforts were "heroic". There are many a rude song written about it and I'm sure Dandelion knows them all. As for the soldiers in the earlier excerpt commenting about Hugo's stamina, I'll leave the interpretation of their intent down to the reader. Either way, I want to slowly shed more light on Geralt's past and why his reputation at home (and his self esteem) is so very low.

With thanks to my partner in crime, @cylin-aka-ankamo, for ongoing support with this project. Go check out her Witcher King art.

#rawrkinwrites #wipdate #the witcher king #Witcher Eskel #Eskel #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #longpost

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thinking-about-sw33ts · 3 years

Text

αѕ ρяσмιѕє∂ нєяє ιѕ σиє σf тнє fαиfι¢ѕ!! ι ωιℓℓ ρσѕт тнє σтнєя σиє αѕ ωєℓℓ, ѕσ ∂σи'т ωσяяу! αи∂ αѕ αℓωαуѕ ιf тнєяє αяє αиу ѕρєℓℓιиg мιѕтαкє(ѕ)/єяяσя(ѕ), ρℓєαѕє тєℓℓ мє αи∂ ι ωιℓℓ fιχ ιт тнє ѕαмє gσєѕ fσя тнє тяαиѕℓαтισи(ѕ)!! αи∂ мαувє fσя α fєω σf тнє ∂єfιиιтισи(ѕ)! αgαιи, αℓℓ σf тнєѕє ωιℓℓ вє σи ωαттα∂ тσσ!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⭐️Corsets⭐️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anime:

🗝Nanbaka🗝

Supporting ship(s):

🎥Tsukumo🎥 X 💢Honey💢

Type:

🌸Fluff🌸

🌶Spicy🌶

AU(Alternative Universe):

🗝Normal🗝

Love interest for Reader:

🛠Trois🛠

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

“For the last game! Is of course, the sake barrel tournament!” Mitsuru claimed, while floating over the roaring audience. After explaining what the objective was, the game soon began.

Samon immediately charged after Kiji, while Honey and Trois quickly ran towards the large wooden barrel, with cell 8 on their tail.

I feel myself getting worried, knowing that Trois and Honey weren’t really much of a fighter. So cell 8 beating them wouldn't really be much of a surprise.

“Quit it Monkey! Don’t you dare ruin my makeup! Do you know how much time I spent on this!” Kiji cried out, using his dual weapons to dodge Samon’s swinging staff.

“Shut up, Pheasant!” Samon shouted, trying to at least hit one of the pressure spots on Kiji’s body.

Suddenly Trois grabs Honey’s leg before swinging him around, and tossing him towards the wooden sake barrel, Honey landing perfectly in the middle, breaking the wooden seal over the wooden sake barrel, before falling in, and getting soaked by the sake.

The audience being completely silent, clearly shocked by what Trois had done, before roaring out cheers of excitement.

“And there ya have it folks! Seems like Building 3 finally won the new year's tournament, for once!” Mitsuru announced over the mic, clearly pumped up.

Suddenly Kiji brings one of his hands, and places it on his hip, striking a victorious pose. “Hmp, and that’s what you all get for doubting me.” Kiji purred out, his confidence showing.

Honey soon rises from the wooden sake barrel about to shout at Trois for what he just did, before trying to process everything that had happened staring back at the said frenchie.

Once he realizes what had happened he gets out of the barrel before cheering himself. Trois on the other hand stares at me, before flashing a charming, but gentle smile.

I felt my cheeks getting warm, before smiling back. Giving him a thumbs up. “Aren’t you going to give him a victory kiss, inmate 6?” Ahato asked, giving me a closed-eyed smile.

“I suppose so.” I replied, leaning against the red railings, desperately trying to calm down my raging blush. Soon enough Cell 6 returned back to their seats. Each boy being seated on my side.

“I, Ahato, is always and very impressed with what you do! You did great, Kiji Onee-sama! We’ll finally get a raise!~” Ahato fanboyed, high-fiving Kiji with both of his arms.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Mon Amour~” Trois asked, tapping his cheek with his pointer finger. I rolled my (E/C) coloured eyes at him, before giving in, and giving him a victory kiss on his cheek.

While Honey sat on the other side of me, completely ignoring the both of us. The warden soon started her speech congratulating the winning building.

During said speech I had managed to nudge Honey’s arm using my elbow, catching his attention. I pointed to a different building, building 13.

While pointing to the said different building, I was also directly pointing at a certain pink haired shinobi. This action made Honey blush, turning his gaze away from me, and staring at the shinobi.

‘He totally has the hots for him.’ I thought to myself smugly, while smirking. From the corner of my eye, I saw the said shinobi waving at Honey, which Honey waved back. A little smile grazing his face.

‘I didn’t know he could make that face.’ I thought to myself, finally ignoring the two of them, and focusing on the speech.

Soon enough, the speech was over, and the feast took place! After the feast we got escorted back to our cell. “Goodnight you three!~” Kiji announced, doing his final rounds before going home.

Suddenly Honey raises himself using his elbows. Trois doing the same shortly after. While I just turned at them, laying down, too lazy to sit up.

“This year was nice.” Trois commented, smiling softly. “Another year, where I get to see your hideous face, once again, Trois.” Honey teased, a smirk planted on his face. Trois ignored his comment, paying attention to me.

“What did you two want, exactly?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. “A lingerie viewing exhibit~” Both of them purred out, clearly excited. A little blush could be seen on their cheeks. While their eyes sparkled.

I just shivered, not knowing why they’re so fascinated with women’s underwear. “Lights out!” Ahato announced, before shortly shutting off the lights after. “What about you, (Y/N)?” Trois asked, while Honey didn’t say anything. Although, clearly listening in.

“A phone that stores all genres of Manga, Manhua, Manhwas, and Anime!” I announced, excited. My (E/C) eyes sparkling. “That sounds nice.” Trois commented, a small smile grazing his features.

Soon enough Honey slowly went to sleep, snuggling deeper inside his dark purple futon, the both of us following shortly after. Trois slowly gets up from his mint green futon, and slips in my (Y/F/C) futon.

Trois held me protectively, yet softly, his legs tangled with mine. He raises a few of my (H/C) coloured hair out of my forehead, before planting a soft kiss. Giving my lips a small peck as well. I placed my hand on his cheek, caressing it. He softly grabs my wrist, before planting another kiss directly on it.

Giving me yet another gentle loving smile. Me, softly smiling back.

“Ugh, get a room.” Honey groaned out, annoyed. “Says the one who has a crush on that ninja from building 13.” I replied, annoyed as well, clearly just trying to enjoy peace, and quiet with my lover.

“What!?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

The next day soon came, as well as our prizes. After eating breakfast in the cafeteria. Feeling absolute euphoria eating (Y/F/F), my favorite!~

While Trois ate some Cream stew, and Honey a clam chowder. We quickly got escorted to Kazari’s lab by Kiji. “Oh, hello there number 6. Just wait here, while I grab your prize.” Kazari explained, hurrying to go get the prize from another room.

I sat on a chair, patiently waiting for Kazari to come back. Soon after she comes back with a (Y/F/C) coloured phone, which she hands to me.

“It has all the latest Mangas and Animes, along with some of the oldest ones, and ones in between.” Kazari added, petting my head.

“Thank you so much Kazari!~” I cheered, quickly opening the phone. Hopping on a Manga I’ve always wanted to read. Soon enough we got to the boy’s prize.

Trois inviting Uno, thinking he might want to see it as well, much to Honey’s dismay. Kiji soon comes back, fetching us, before taking us to another separate room. The boys quickly head inside, clearly excited.

“Oh my~” Both boys mutter out, surprised. Once they settle down from their excitement, they scatter looking at the different lingeries, bras, and panties.

“Oh my god! This is pure heaven!~” Honey cheered, looking at the different selections of panties. “They even have white lace~” He mutters out, reading the sign on the bottom. His emerald eyes sparkling with endearment.

Uno soon joins in, entering through the door, before looking at a certain baby blue lingerie two piece set. His ocean coloured eyes sparkling with excitement.

I just stare at the unnecessary commotion their making, my (E/C) orbs judging them ever so slightly. As much as I loved my perverted boyfriend, Trois, sometimes his pervertedness can get out of hand.

I quickly go back to reading (F/M) on my(Y/F/C) phone, ignoring them, and leaning against the wall. That focus slowly breaking from the commotion the boys were making.

I walk around, looking at the different things as well. Before stumbling on a plain (Y/F/C) corset vest. ‘I have been wanting to try a corset for the last few days.’ I wondered to myself, not knowing that I was actually muttering it out. All of a sudden I felt someone hugging me from behind, making me jump, since I was surprised.

I looked behind me only to instantly calm down, seeing that it was only Trois. He places a few strands of my (H/L) (H/C) behind my ear, before trailing a few light, fluttery kisses down my neck. I chuckle, the sensation making me feel slightly ticklish. Making me blush lightly.

“Did that one catch your eye, mon chéri~” Trois asks, his deep rose coloured eyes showing nothing but mischief. “And what if I say yes?” I asked him back, wondering what he had stored.

“Ugh! I told you before, get a fucking room!”

“Damn pretty boy!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✨Timeskip✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

“Apparently Honey was allowed to stay at cell 11, building 13 for the night.” Trois explained, using his towel to dry his hair, before brushing it. I nod, to show that I was listening.

“Lights out!” Kiji announces, before doing another round. Soon after the lights shut off, covering us in total darkness. The only light coming from the moon in the starry sky.

“I got you a little of something (Y/N).”

“And what might that be?”

I sat up from my (Y/F/C) futon, curious for what he got me. He quickly goes towards one of the white fancy wardrobes, pulling on one of the bottom drawers, before fetching a medium sized (Y/F/C) wrapped box.

He hands me the box, excited for me to open it. Once I opened it, I realized that it was the corset vest I took a liking to. “How did you even get this?” I asked him, generally surprised, before excitement took place.

He ignored my question, quickly pecking my lips. “You’re too cute for your own good, Mon Amour.” Trois purred out, taking my hand, and kissing it.

“Such a gentleman~” I praised him, feeding his ever growing ego. “Do you mind if you put it on me?” I ask him, turning away in order to hide my red face. “Whatever you need sweetheart~”

Trois sits beside me, before grabbing my wrist, which makes me fall directly on his lap, facing him. He quickly fetches the corset, placing it on me.

I hook the pieces on the front. I feel Trois’ hands on each side of my hips, guiding them up and down, before getting the two strings from the back of the corset, wrapping it around his hands, and pulling.

I slightly jumped, getting startled, before relaxing once again. Once he had completely pulled them he quickly tied them. “You look like an absolute God/Goddess in that (Y/N).” Trois whispers into my ear, before placing his head on my shoulder, cuddling me.

He soon raises his head, capturing my lips against his. Our tongues moved smoothly against each other. We quickly pulled apart, since the need for air was growing stronger. A string of saliva connecting to each other’s lips.

We both panted, clearly out of breath. He headed over to my neck, covering it with noticeable hickeys, and love bites. Before I could moan, I covered my mouth with my hand, so that I wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises.

“People can see them.” I panted out, blush covering my cheeks, from what had earlier happened. “Good~ People can see that you're mine.” Trois replied, smirking to himself.

“Oh my God! Trois what are you doing!” Kiji shrieked out, shining his flashlight on us. “Wait, is that the corset from the exhibit?!” Honey questions, a mixture of surprise and disgust hinted in his voice. “Honey weren’t you supposed to be with your ninja boyfriend!” I questioned back, panicking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translation(s):

• Mon Amour = My Love.

• Mon Cherie = My Dear.

Definition(s):

• (Y/F/C) = Your Favorite Colour.

• (Y/N) = Your Name.

• (H/L) = Hair Length.

• (H/C) = Hair Colour.

• (F/M) = Favorite Manga/Manhua/Manhwa.

• (E/C) = Eye Colour.

• (Y/F/F) = Your Favorite Food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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iturbide · 3 years

Note

Dimitri would be SO happy if Claude made that dish for his birthday you cannot change my mind

Why would I try to change your mind when you’re 100% correct?

Just imagine it: it’s Dimitri’s birthday, which of course falls in the middle of winter, and it’s freezing cold out so everyone is crowded into the dining hall for the party since it’s big enough to fit a ton of people and above all it’s warm from all the cooking going on. Naturally there’s a big birthday meal for Dimitri, with Dedue and Ashe and Mercedes preparing some Duscur and Faerghus classics both for dinner and dessert. And everybody comes...except, Dimitri notices, he hasn’t seen Claude. How strange. Perhaps he got held up with something?

But it gets later and later and there’s still no sign of him. People start heading off to bed, and Dimitri starts wondering if Claude didn’t get the note that they were all going to be in the dining hall.

It gets later still, but no one claims to have seen him. Sylvain falls asleep at the table after drinking too much of the punch he spiked, and Dimitri begins to wonder if Claude is coming at all.

Dedue and Felix finally pick Sylvain up to get him off to bed, and Dimitri promises to come soon, he’s just going to clean up a bit. He’s the last person there and it’s very quiet as he gathers empty dishes and takes them to be washed...when suddenly he feels a blast of cold air, and turns to see Claude bundled up in a heavy snow-dusted cloak. He looks around wildly for a few seconds and finally spots Dimitri, at which point he visibly relaxes and makes his way over. “I was worried I was gonna be late and miss you,” he chuckles.

“You nearly were,” Dimitri huffs, going back for another armload of dishes. “Everyone else has gone, I just thought to do my part with the cleaning.”

“Aw, come on, Your Princeliness, you shouldn’t be washing dishes on your birthday!” Claude laughs. “Let somebody else do it.”

“It would be rude to leave it for the morning,” the prince protests.

“Then I’ll do it -- here, I’ll trade you.”

Dimitri sighs as he stacks the dishes in the wash tub. But he does turn, once his hands are free...and sees Claude holding out a covered platter that’s visibly steaming, even inside. He can’t help but be curious, so he takes it and lifts the lid...

He recognizes it as soon as the aroma hits him. What Dedue snuck to share with him was just a small portion, and only lukewarm by the time Dimitri tried it -- but this is clearly freshly prepared and only recently finished, judging by the heat of it. “Sorry I’m late, by the way,” Claude says as he sneaks around and starts on the washing. “You know, I’d had an idea for what I wanted to do for your birthday, but then I was in the market and they had some spices I just couldn’t pass up, and I’d just been by the greenhouse and seen what they were pulling up, so...”

By this point Dimitri has put the cover aside, and when Claude offers him a newly washed utensil the prince takes it without hesitation, remembering to say ‘thank you’ only as the first bite is almost in his mouth. The archer doesn’t seem offended in the least by his lapse of manners, though -- he just smiles and hums away at his washing while Dimitri takes his taste.

What Dedue had shared with him seems a pale imitation of what the prince now has in his hands. The flavor is unlike anything he’s ever encountered in Duscur, Faerghus, or here in Garreg Mach -- even the Alliance staples the cooks prepare pales before this. It’s a struggle to slow down and savor it, though he’s glad when he manages it, because it’s that much richer when he does -- and yet it’s still gone too soon, at which point he takes the last bit of soft flat bread that had been part of the meal and scrapes up every last shred of meat, down to the smallest drop of juice, determined not to waste even a morsel.

“Wow, somebody was hungry,” the archer laughs as Dimitri licks his fingers. “Didn’t they feed you at your party?”

“The meal ended quite a while ago,” the prince says sheepishly.

“Fair enough,” Claude grins. “You ever had anything like that before?”

“No,” Dimitri lies, unable to meet the archer’s eye directly (which, he fears, tells Claude everything he needs to know). “What was it?”

“It’s a little like Derdriu fried pheasant,” he replies easily, adding another plate to the stack growing beside him, “but with a few adjustments. Instead of just pounding the meat flat and frying it, it’s minced fine and mixed with herbs, onion, and spices, then flattened out and cooked. The spices make all the difference, but try telling that to a Derdriu native...”

“If I knew more of them, I would try to,” Dimitri insists. “Did...did you make that yourself?”

“That’s why I was so late,” Claude grins.

“You could have done it here,” the prince points out.

“That would’ve drawn way too much attention -- and judging from how you went at that, I don’t think you’d have been up for sharing,” the archer teases.

That, Dimitri concedes, is a fair point.

Setting aside the last of the cutlery to dry, Claude wipes his hands on the nearest towel and turns back to the prince. “Happy birthday, Dimitri. I hope it was a good one, and I hope the year it brings is even better.”

His smile, as ever, is infectious. “Thank you. For the well-wishes, and for the gift. Would it...be too bold to ask if you might make it again sometime? It would be...a meal always tastes better in good company, from my experience. Next time...we could eat together, perhaps?”

Claude’s grin changes while Dimitri watches, almost imperceptible: a subtle quirk at the corners of his mouth, a sudden softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I’d like that,” he agrees.

#answered #anonymous #fire emblem: three houses #brothers in duscur #fanfiction #snippets #this is all just a hypothetical we understand #i just sometimes like writing random things #this is still not actually my au i'm just fostering it #but also claude and dimitri being friends is a weakness #so how could i not just embrace this notion #gimme that sweet sweet platonic content

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The Monster’s Lair - A Belle Tune

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

Chapter 1 - A Belle Tune | Chap 2 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - stalking, mild injury, angsty vibes

Author’s note: Here we go dear readers, a whole new series!! As I was setting out the plotline I kept saying to myself; “Let’s make this 3-5 chapters, a short series, okay, Wolfie?” ...Welp... Apparently I have many talents, but writing short series is not one of them. I’ve tried again and again to reshape the plot into a shorter, snappier version, but I just couldn’t. So, here goes; 12 chapters of broody vampire Henry and sweet Belle. I hope you are ready ❤️

Word count: 1.991

Reading music: Agnes Obel - Tokka

(Link to my Masterlist)

It was the first day of Autumn, summer finally past, as a tale of old was sung anew.

The land was cracked open dry and dusty after months without rain, the crops starting to fail just before harvest season. It made the tensions run high amongst the town folk, their worried eyes aiming upwards. The air had been thick for days now, the clouds drifting heavy and grey on dreary skies, foreboding a long awaited storm that just wouldn’t break.

And yet, not all were worried. At this moment the morning air felt slightly cheery too, as a soft tune wove through the ancient pine tree forest that lay like a prickly blanket over the rolling hills.

It was a familiar tune, sung by a familiar woman’s voice, her pale skin and dark braided hair a sight he saw often in these parts of the land. Before her, two mutts sniffled happily, their wet noses pushing through the fallen leaves and shrubs that covered the dry forest floor.

From the shadows of that same thicket, he was watching her, watching her rosy lips curl up in that dreamy smile, her feet kicking her blue skirts with confident strides.

Belle, he knew her name by now, was one of the few who dared to wander so close to his grounds, his domain, her skirts rustling as she conjured a book from the depths of her pockets. Always reading.

At first he had been somewhat surprised to see a woman of her position even owning a book, a proper book. Her father was but a poor horse handler and her family long deceased.

But, indeed, she could read.

With an elegant hand she brushed down her skirts before sitting down on that same fallen down tree that she used everyday; her hide-out whenever the weather allowed. Clicking her tongue she instructed her dogs to lay down, her hand flicking through the book, returning to the page where she had left off a day ago.

Away from the snarky remarks and jealous whispers of the town folk, here she could read as dawn cracked over the horizon, her presence welcomed by the listening embrace of the forest and its inhabitants. The birds quieted their song and the mice and squirrels halted their squabbling, just long enough to look and listen, bewitched beady eyes watching the pretty woman as she started to read aloud.

It was an old and leather bound rendering of Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche, an ancient fairy tale, the book nearly falling apart as she brushed her fingertips over the yellowed, vulnerable pages. She had read it a dozen times now, and yet the monster couldn’t help but listen, his lips moving in a silent joined recital. He knew the words by heart at this point.

What exactly she did by the day time he couldn’t tell, his disposition making it impossible for him to visit town when the sun was out. And thus he would just imagine it. Perhaps she worked as one of the chambermaids for the Les Comtes. Perhaps she helped her father in the stables - he had seen the old man during the nights many a time, his rough hands being ever so gentle with the handsome beasts that belonged to the Les Comtes. In fact all was owned by the Les Comtes, the family so rich that almost all villagers worked for their estate and businesses.

Far too soon Belle’s voice would silence again, her finger tracing the page she had ended on, memorising it before gently closing the book, her eyes looking up through the thicket of the tree branches, watching those looming clouds up above. He knew what she thought; it was going to rain and she probably couldn’t return to this spot for a long time.

After the rain would come hail, winds, winter. And as it goes with reading outside, her natural reading nook was simply not able to hide her from the elements, and, with her reading hobby sneered at by the town’s folk, this might very well be her last reading session for this year.

With a sigh she got up, calling for her dogs and making her way back to the village, long skirts kicking, her book hidden back in the depths of her pockets. Oh, how he was going to miss her. Even if it was just for a day. Here in the forest he was awaited by an eternal nothingness. No job, no destination, only empty days that wove into a long string of months, years, centuries.

Returning to the crumbling ruins of his castle, the grande structure long past its glory days, he wandered endlessly through its halls, dust collecting on items that shouldn’t ever run into such disuse. Plates, cups, the fireplace, the beds. For centuries now he could not feel the pleasure of the simplicity of life. The food ashen on his tongue. His eyes, though closed, never truly resting. His skin no longer feeling the comfort of a warm hearth. His still beating heart but a mousy whisper of its once roaring strength.

Watching those heavy clouds above the treetops, he knew that it would be long before he would get to hear her voice again. A storm was looming, the long dry spell finally coming to an end and taking with it the long awaited rains. He knew it was a necessity, the listening critters around him feeling desperate for food now winter was soon to arrive, but he couldn’t help but feel a deep disappointment all the same. Because with the dreary days would come even more dark hours for him, the last sparkle of joy ripped from his life until spring would probably come again.

—

‘Another one dead.’ The hunter growled, heaving the dead dog’s body from his cart, the boneless heap of bled out sinew and fur unceremoniously dropping to the dusty ground. With the ongoing drought, food has become more and more scarce. Crops were failing, wild animals were roaming nearer to the village and despite their best efforts, the hunters had great difficulty to actually catch anything. Something strange was afoot in the forest and rumour was about; it was the beast!

‘So no luck then.’ Arthur said in a hushed tone, his old knees cracking as he squatted down to inspect the remains of the hound. And indeed. Neck cracked, jugular torn, the required strength for such an act belonging to no less than a bear..or beast..of sorts.

‘Twas a mad dog anyways. But still..’ The hunter squinted, looking out over the yellow grassed meadows, to the edge of the forest where that monstrous beast hid away. ‘..we must see to it. The darn thing must be done with once and ..for..’ He blinked, then looked at Arthur with mild confusion. ‘Is that Belle?’ He pointed at a figure that appeared from the tree-line, two dogs at either side of her light blue skirts.

Arthur pushed himself up with a groan and also squinted his eyes, his sight no longer what it had been. ‘If it’s a pretty thing with two mutts, a dress of blue and a smile for days, it must be Belle.’ He said, his vision too blurry to discern anything that resembled his daughter. The hunter gruntled his disapproval, though not denying that it was indeed Belle, his strong, broad shouldered frame turning back to his cart to bring out what few rabbits and pheasants he had managed to catch in his traps. ‘You ought to bring some sense in that girl, Arthur..’ He warned, bushy eyebrows frowning as he looked back at the girl, her skirts twirling as she threw a stick for the dogs to fetch.

‘She is just so very much like her mother.’ Arthur sighed, not fully agreeing with the hunter’s sentiments as his lips curled in an amused smile.

‘Tcould be the death of her, old man. The beast is out there, I know that much. In fact. There’s a meeting in the town hall by sundown, in case you wish to join.’

‘Good..good...’ Arthur nodded, only half-listening now, his eyes finally managing to focus on Belle as she kicked her legs over the wood log fence near the stables he worked, her face all smiles and skirts a muddy mess.

Oh..Belle!

The shutters of the barn-like town hall shuddered, the wind outside picking up and the torch flames dancing wildly in the draft. It was a busy night, the floorboards creaking as the town’s men got up from their benches to express their bewilderment and frustrations, loud “Aye’s” and “Nays” echoing in the air as the discussions roared.

Now the food reserves of the town were running low and people had to ration, the tension was near tangible. Winter was coming and the people felt as restless as the storm that was picking up outside. The pigs needed to be fed, the elderly were struggling, sickness was spreading and all fingers pointed angrily at the direction of that wicked forest. The Beast’s forest.

‘Dear people! My people!’ Old Master Le Comte stood up from the throne-like seat that was situated right at the head of the hall, his fatty fingers balancing a shiny cup of wine. He raised his hand to calm the uproar, old furrowy brows raising up to show two grey, beady eyes. ‘Say AYE and agree, that we must see to the end of this beast for once and for all. He threatens our livestock, steals our hunted bounty and his cursed evil talons bring us only disease and misfortune. This drought? I would not be surprised if it were by HIS design!’ He exclaimed.

The town roared up with enthusiasm, fists raised in the air as a loud ‘AYE’ resounded front to back. In fact only the old man Arthur sat quiet, far in the corner, thinking fingers pulling at his moustache. He had discussed the matter with Belle and all she had to say was; “It is indeed quite practical to make a simple minded animal responsible for all your sorrows. But is it right to kill it because you conjured an image of beastly proportion, fed by your own fears? From what I heard he only has killed those who came too close..far too close.”

‘HELP HELP!! The church! A FIRE!’ The large doors of the hall swung open as a young man burst through, arms waving in despair, the discussions regarding the monster quickly forgotten as everyone made haste to stop the flames as they quickly swept around them, the simple wooden structures of the inner town feeding themselves like perfectly dried logs to the hellish bonfire.

Arthur looked up from his daze and slowly followed the hastened crowd outside, his feet no longer so fast as he felt a sudden, surprising coolness in his neck. A wet coolness. With a question in his eyes he looked up at the darkened sky, feeling another drop on his wrinkly skin. Rain? Did the gods bless them just in time? Would all be well?

A conclusion made prematurely, as a new alarm was struck from the village’s heart.

‘THE BEAST! TIS THE BEAST!’ The loud screams came from the village square, Arthur’s attention immediately drawn back to the people that sped past him. Oh no..oh no...BELLE! She was alone, she was..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud Arthur smacked to the ground, his eyes blinking in shock as he saw the person who had bumped into him rush passed, the silhouette of the person already fading from his vision as all he could do was claw into the dusty road, eyes seeing all black.

Oh no...he thought, his body now fading out of consciousness. Belle! She must be warned! She was all alone! The beast..Oh Belle..the beast..and...Belle...

With heavy blinking eyes he scratched and cried, trying to gain the attention of people rushing by, but failing. None could hear or see him as the storm drowned out his wails and the night hid him in unblinking dark, leaving him with little else but hope, hope that Belle’s joyful tunes would indeed not be ended at the slashing of beastly claws, like the hunter had warned him for this morning.

Oh Belle, dear Belle..

Chap 2 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @elinesama @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #vampire!henry #beauty and the beast au #vampire #beast #angst #adult fairytale #belle #apuleius #cupid and psyche #stalking

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justanothermemething · 4 years

Text

✧･ﾟ: * Sɪx Lʏʀɪᴄs Sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ Sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs

HEART OF STONE

❝ You’ve got a good heart. ❞

❝ I know it changes. ❞

❝ You came my way and I knew a storm could come too. ❞

❝ You’d lift me high, or let me fall. ❞

❝ Promised I’d withstand any blaze you blew my way. ❞

❝ I knew I’d always stay. ❞

❝ You can build me up, you can tear me down, you can try but I’m unbreakable. ❞

❝ You can do your best but I’ll stand the test. ❞

❝ You’ll find that I’m unshakable. ❞

❝ When the fire’s burnt, when the wind has blown, when the water’s dried, you’ll still find stone. ❞

❝ You say we’re perfect. ❞

❝ You hold us close for the world to see. ❞

❝ When I say you’re the only one I’ve ever loved I mean those words truthfully. ❞

❝ Your love could disappear. ❞

❝ It isn’t fair, but I don’t care. ❞

❝ My love will still be here. ❞

❝ Soon I’ll have to go. ❞

❝ I’ll never see him/her grow. ❞

❝ I hope my son/daughter will know s/he’ll never be alone. ❞

❝ Like a river runs dry and leaves its scars behind, I’ll be by your side. ❞

❝ My love is set in stone. ❞

HAUS OF HOLBEIN

❝ ___ goes around the world painting all of the beautiful girls. ❞

❝ The king/queen chooses one but which one will it be? ❞

❝ You bring the corsets, we’ll bring the cinches. ❞

❝ No one want a waist over nine inches. ❞

❝ So what the make up contains lead poison? ❞

❝ At least your complexion will bring all the boys/girls in. ❞

❝ Ignore the fear and you’ll be fine. ❞

❝ We’ll turn this vier into a nine. ❞

❝ Just say ‘ja’ and don’t say ‘nein’. ❞

❝ We must make sure the princesses look great. ❞

❝ We know what all the best inventions are. ❞

❝ Try these heels, so high it’s naughty ❞

GET DOWN

❝ Sittin’ here all alone, on a throne, in a palace that I happen to own. ❞

❝ Bring me some pheasant, keep it on the bone. ❞

❝ Fill my goblet up to the brim. ❞

❝ Not very prim and proper. ❞

❝ Can’t make me stop. ❞

❝ I wanna go hunting. any takers? ❞

❝ I’m not fake cause I’ve got acres and acres paid for with my own riches. ❞

❝ Where my hounds at? ❞

❝ You said that I tricked ya, cause I didn’t look like my profile picture. ❞

❝ Too bad I don’t agree. ❞

❝ I’m gonna hang it up for everyone to see. ❞

❝ You can’t stop me. ❞

❝ I’m the queen/king of the castle. ❞

❝ When I get bored, I go to court. ❞

❝ I have a little flirt with the footman as he takes my fur. ❞

❝ As you were. ❞

❝ I ignore them. ❞

❝ Lookin’ cute. ❞

❝ I look more rad than Lutheranism. ❞

❝ I’m causin’ a sensation. ❞

❝ Let’s get in reformation. ❞

❝ I ain’t sayin’ I’m a gold digger. ❞

❝ My horses can trot up to twelve miles an hour. ❞

❝ Let me explain. ❞

❝ I’m a Wienerschnitzel, not an English flower. ❞

❝ No one tells me I need a rich wo/man. ❞

#rp meme #ask meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #rp sentence starters #prompts #rp prompt

68 notes · View notes

coreastories · 4 years

Text

Three Hours For Chicken

Companion to Corea News: Royal Panic! The queen was lost--and found-- in Seoul

The queen of Corea wants chicken, and she goes after what she wants, even if the chicken is in Seoul and she lives in Busan.

“Not arrive together anywhere?”

“Queens Day is for the queen. The focus is on her. The king can watch and visit, but everyone is supposed to see the queen, not the king.”

Seung-ah made notes. Separate cars. No. Separate times of arrival. This wouldn’t be too difficult, just complicated. She had to prepare for two scenarios: if the king followed tradition, and if he dismissed it and escorted the queen everywhere.

Lady Noh was saying, “Ah my head,” so perhaps the old woman was also thinking the same thing. Their king and queen were the opposite of predictable.

Seung-ah could soon hand this over to the Royal Household and the logistics would be their problem. She just had to sign off on everything first, with Lady Noh’s advice and approval, because everything about the Queens Day was under the domain of Public Affairs.

Her note-taking was interrupted by a text message. Only four people were set to come up on her screen with a pop-up.

Hey Seung-ah. Can you come to the study, please? Conf.

Tae-eul. The queen. “Conf.” stood for confidential, which meant not to say anything if Seung-ah was with anyone. So she pretended to be preoccupied with the arrangements and bowed to leave Lady Noh.

It was 7pm. Tae-eul probably wanted to eat together. And probably didn’t want Lady Noh’s currently overzealous guarding of what Tae-eul ate.

When she arrived at the king’s private study, she found Tae-eul pacing on the rug.

“Ma-- Tae-eul, what is it?” Seung-ah was still learning to use the queen’s name when they were alone as the queen requested. It helped that Seung-ah now used it in her head when she thought of Tae-eul. “Did you ask for dinner already?”

“Can we take your car?”

“What?”

“I want to eat banban.”

“Banban?”

“It’s chicken. Half plain. Half seasoned. And a hundred percent making my mouth water.”

“All right, I’ll ask for--”

“No, we’ll take your car.”

“Mwo?”

Tae-eul sighed. “I already told Jangmi. Just get your car over here.” Tae-eul pointed outside the French windows. “But don’t say anything. Even to Jangmi if you see him when you get your car.” Tae-eul tapped her ear.

Mollified that Jangmi knew even if the rest of the Royal Guard wasn’t supposed to, Seung-ah did as she was asked. Then she got a funny feeling in her stomach when the queen came out of the French windows and went to the car at what seemed like a very specific angle from the wall, got in, and promptly laid down in the backseat.

“What-- what are you doing? Are you feeling ill?”

“Yep. But I’m fine. Just don’t say anything. Jangmi is meeting us there.”

“Meeting us where?”

Tae-eul didn’t answer.

The palace gate staff knew Seung-ah’s cars, knew her face, and let her pass through without inspection. About a hundred meters from the gate, Tae-eul popped up in the backseat like a rabbit nosing the air.

Seung-ah’s stomach roiled. It was no longer a funny feeling. It was more of a realization now.

“Tae-eul. Did you use me to sneak out of the palace?”

“Yes.”

“Is Jangmi really meeting us?”

“No.”

“Does Jangmi really know?”

“No.”

“I’m turning the car.”

“Oh no, please,” Tae-eul rubbed her hands together in apology and pleading. “I just need some time away. Please? I would have gone with the king, but he’s in Seoul. That’s it. I can meet him there. No harm done.”

“WHAT?!” Seung-ah shrieked. “We’re going to Seoul?!”

“Yes.”

“It’s three hours away by train!”

There was a pause in which Seung-ah’s hope that they weren’t really going to Seoul soared. Then the queen grabbed that hope and tossed it to the ground. “Oh. Right.”

“What do you mean oh right?! Did you forget the distance to Seoul?!”

“Calm down. It’s only three hours.”

Only three hours! Seung-ah wasn’t religious but called out to God just then. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She supposed she could clutch at the reasoning that the queen wanted to go to the king.

“Let me tell Jo Yeo--”

“Later. We’ll tell him later when we get there.”

“Are you trying to get me killed?”

Tae-eul snickered. “Yeong won’t kill you. He loves you.”

“Stop that! What about the king?”

“Don’t worry about him.”

Seung-ah snorted. “At least tell Jangmi then. Have mercy on Jangmi.”

“He’s fine. He’s asleep. He took medicine for his toothache.”

Seung-ah groaned.

“I’m sorry. I just… I need to go to Seoul. The chicken place at Misa Lake Park.”

Seung-ah groaned again. All right. She would tell Yeong when they arrived in Seoul or way sooner than that. Hopefully, the king and queen’s room remained undisturbed by palace staff or Jangmi stayed asleep, whichever would get them past this with the least fuss.

She looked at Tae-eul through the rearview mirror. The queen wore a Nova Shirt, a Cabello pullover, and a Harris Tweed wool blazer Seung-ah loved. The total cost of the ensemble was over a million won, not counting the jeans and shoes. Not the cheapest in the queen’s wardrobe, but not that expensive either. Not by Seung-ah’s standards. And the queen looked deceptively casual, so they could probably get on the train without attracting attention.

Tae-eul chose that moment to squeeze her way to the passenger seat through the center console and Seung-ah concentrated on not killing them both and not cursing out her queen. Seriously.

Tae-eul settled in with her seatbelt on and Seung-ah took deep breaths.

Then Tae-eul turned to her and said, “So what are we talking about on the three hours on the train? Did you and Yeong go past any bases yet?”

Seung-ah stopped breathing. She felt her face go searing hot. “Stop that. Let me drive. Maybe you should get back to the back seat. But I’ll stop the car so you can get in there using the door like a normal person.”

Tae-eul just flapped her hand in dismissal. “Do you know Yeong is ticklish in his ankles?”

“Mwo?” She was saying that so much tonight.

Tae-eul laughed. “Yeah. I saw it at the gym. They were doing judo and Jangmi was about to grab Yeong’s ankles but Yeong dodged--danced away, really. That was weird. So I whispered to Jangmi to keep going for Yeong’s ankles, and I told him to touch it, not grab it.” Tae-eul curled in on herself, giggling. “I’ll show you the video later. I think getting kicked in the face is why Jangmi has a toothache.”

Seung-ah laughed despite her nerves at this insanity she was currently dragged into. The queen’s laughter was infectious like that. Yeong was ticklish in the ankle. Hmmm. But poor Jangmi was kicked in the face. “Poor Jangmi.”

“I know, I’ll make it up to him.”

To Seung-ah’s horror, tears spilled from Tae-eul’s eyes.

Shit. What the hell. So she said, “Yeong likes to be kissed on the neck.”

Tae-eul wiped her eyes and perked up. “Really?”

Seung-ah was relieved. She grinned. “Yeah. He sorta shivers and goes soft in my arms when I do that.”

“Awwww.”

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

“Status.”

“Good and quiet here, Captain.”

“You sure?”

“Her Majesty is in her bedroom. Lady Noh is in hers. Time is 2100. I’ll update you again at 2200.”

“All right.”

Captain Jo hung up and Jangmi sighed in relief. But his cheek felt like it still had a phone against it. Oh man, it was swollen. Wasn’t the medicine supposed to be anti-inflammatory?

He rooted through his medicine bag for other meds. What he took earlier had stopped the pain and knocked him out but apparently wasn’t good for much else.

When he turned back around to face his bedroom’s bank of monitors that came with being Unbreakable Sword to the queen, a court maid was waving to the camera.

Jangmi swallowed his new pill dry and flew out of his room.

He got there in under a minute but the court maid had already multiplied into three and Lady Noh was there.

“What is it?” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the king and queen’s chamber. No queen. Ahhh shit fuck balls.

“Is the queen in the kitchen?” he asked the maids. They shook their heads.

Lady Noh said, “I already called the Control Tower. Her Majesty isn’t in the palace and the grounds. She was seen going to the study a little before seven, and then Seung-ah went there as well. Could they have been together? But Seung-ah was seen going home alone.”

He dialed Seung-ah’s number. She didn’t answer. Probably asleep. Shit. He called another number. “Go to Myeong Seung-ah’s house then call me when you have her.”

With a cold pit in his stomach, he called the captain next.

“Captain. I don’t have the queen. We haven’t had eyes on her since seven. We’re retrieving Myeong Seung-ah. She’s the last to have seen her.”

The captain was quiet for three seconds. Jangmi didn’t breathe. Then Captain Jo Yeong spoke in his quietest, sternest voice. “I’ll try to get Seung-ah on the phone and let you know. Do your job. There’s protocol.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jangmi made a gesture for the maids to leave, and Lady Noh swept them away. Jangmi dialed 8877. The voice on the line only said, “Yes?”

“Crimson Pheasant. Two hours. Myeong Seung-ah, Royal Public Affairs Office.”

“Confirming receipt.” The line went dead.

He hoped Seung-ah wasn’t in the bath or anything, because as the last person to have seen the queen, the Royal Guard and the Corean Armed Forces were about to break down her door.

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

“I should tell Yeong now. Look, Jangmi and Yeong both called and you didn’t let me answer it.”

“Sure, go ahead. I don’t want them to worry.”

Seung-ah stared at Tae-eul. “I know you’re my queen but you’re an idiot right now. If you didn’t want them to worry, you shouldn’t have gone to Seoul in the first place.”

Tae-eul didn’t reply. The server had arrived just then, so Tae-eul only probably heard, “Here’s your chicken.” Seung-ah rolled her eyes and sent a quick text to Yeong.

And then, because Seung-ah had been hungry for dinner since six pm, and the chicken was right there all beautifully golden, she also ate her share of the fricken chicken. Could be her fricken last meal, anyway.

There was a loud hum outside, overhead, and then a whoosh and thunderclap that had nothing to do with the clear skies. She had an idea what that was. Yep. Probably her last meal.

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

Gon was a little surprised that he actually managed not to panic. He was getting better. His life with Tae-eul wouldn’t be quiet, but it wouldn’t be doomed either. He had an assurance about that, and he was getting better in his faith and trust in that assurance.

Jangmi had arrived by chopper, and he hadn’t straightened since. He was still bent at the waist, reporting to Gon.

“Her Majesty had a headache so she went to bed around three pm. We didn’t disturb her. She hadn’t come out until 6:42pm when she was seen going to the study. We can’t reach her because she left her phone on her bed. We couldn’t reach Myeong Seung-ah either and she’s not home.”

“Jangmi, please straighten up. I’m not blaming you. She probably went somewhere with Seung-ah. You need to add another camera in the patio of my study. There’s a blind spot.”

Yeong looked at him. Yeong knew Gon had used that blind spot before. Before Gon could call out Yeong for glaring at him, Jangmi straightened and Gon recoiled at the sight of his face. “What happened to you? Did the queen do that to you?”

At the same time, Yeong said, “Did I do that to you?”

“No, no, Captain, you kicked me here.” Jangmi touched the opposite cheek. The one that wasn’t twice its size. Then he touched the swollen cheek gingerly. “This is a toothache.”

Gon was torn between amusement and sympathy. He turned his snort of laughter into a grimace. He was about to ask if Jangmi had taken medicine when Yeong made one of those showy, smooth movements, taking his phone out of his coat pocket and checking it.

“Pyeha. We have the queen. She’s with Seung-ah. They’re at Chika Chika by Misa Lake Park. The car is ready.”

Gon sighed in relief and exasperation. Chika Chika. As in chicken. Misa Lake Park, as in Hanam-si. Tae-eul went to Seoul for chicken? “You two. With me. Now. The others can follow.”

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

Chika Chika was deserted, thankfully. Not that Gon wouldn’t have gone in even if it was full of customers. He saw Tae-eul from the tall windows, and saw her see him and her face soften in greeting and happiness at seeing him.

He would never get tired of that. If he had felt any anger at all, which he hadn’t--not really-- it would have evaporated right then. He was standing by her table in a few strides. Seung-ah looked at him pleadingly, so he smiled at her in assurance. The poor woman sagged in relief. She deserved a raise.

“Are you done eating?” he asked Tae-eul.

Tae-eul wiped her mouth, drank water, and then got up in a too-bouncy way that made him wince. But she was fine. She was fine. He took her hand and he let her pull him to the railing by the lakeside. He saw Yeong and Jangmi on their phones coordinating with everyone.

They deserved a raise, too. Though he had made certain years ago that the Royal Guard would be rolling in money so they couldn’t be bought. Maybe he could give them something else.

They arrived at the railing and he watched Tae-eul take deep breaths of the night air.

“Pyeha. Mama.”

They turned to Seung-ah. She was holding her phone up. “Let’s do this. For something sweet in the morning. People were asleep in their beds, you know.”

He saw Tae-eul smile so he smiled and that was the photo done. Seung-ah left them alone. He put his arm around Tae-eul and felt his smile grow when she leaned into his side.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t look that much sorry.”

She smiled wider. “The banban was really good.”

“Yeah? You didn’t even get me takeaway.”

“I forgot, I’m sorry.”

“Did you really forget the distance between Busan and Seoul?”

“Did the air force really fire warning shots?”

He pressed his lips together and looked at her as sternly as he could, when he knew his eyes were soft for her, this side of her he was seeing for the first time.

She laughingly sighed. “I knew I was in Busan but I also thought I was in Seoul, that driving here would only take about 10 to 20 minutes. Can you believe it?”

“I can believe it. They say that happens.”

“It’s crazy. You should have seen Seung-ah’s face.” Tae-eul laughed. Gon couldn’t help grinning back. He loved that she was happy. She looked so beautiful when she laughed or smiled this way.

He tightened his arm around her. “I was already on my way back to you. You just beat me here.”

“I didn’t come for you. I came for the chicken.”

They laughed.

“You’re insane. Are you all right now?”

She snuggled against him, nodded, and squeezed his waist. “Let’s go home. I want to go to bed.”

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

“Crimson Pheasant Code Green. 2300. Pheasant and Dragon taking off for Busan 2300.”

Jangmi hung up with the Royal Armed Forces palace switchboard and nodded at Yeong. That was the end of it. Yeong nodded back. “You need to get to a dentist, hoobae.”

“They can’t do anything until that swelling goes down anyway,” said Seung-ah, joining them on the bench. “Try this, Jangmi.” She rummaged in her purse and gave Jangmi a whole bottle of pills.

“You have that in your purse?” Yeong asked dubiously.

“Of course.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah. I’ve had time to recover. The worst was when I realized the queen intended to go to Seoul and we were already outside the palace.”

“I think we need to get more of that chicken,” Jangmi said.

“What’s the difference between that chicken and the chicken in Busan and in the palace?” Yeong asked, truly mystified.

Seung-ah tilted her head in that way she did when she was thinking or about to make an observation. She had no idea Yeong tilted her head that exact same way when he kissed her.

“I think there’s a hint of some sort of caramel in the coating. Then it opens up to this--”

“OH!”

Yeong and Seung-ah both jumped at Jangmi’s exclamation.

“Oh no. Noona. They probably broke down your door.”

“MWO?!”

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

#CoreaNews #CoreaFiction #Tae-eul brain fog #ehehehehe #poor jangmi #the king eternal monarch #the king: eternal monarch #TKEM fan fic #leeeul couple #mineun

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Hunting Trip

Warning: omg bunnies don’t make it. And bandits, but who cares about them? Blood. Fighting.

The kitchens of Garreg Mach are always working. You like to think of yourself as the backbone of the monastery. The Knights of Seiros and the Academy are two armies, and everyone knows an army marches on its stomach. If it is not cooking, you’re preparing and preserving foods. Pickling and brining, smoking and drying, counting and measuring. Head Chef Martha has reviewed the stock. They need at least 40 more rabbits put in brine soon. She picks you to ask the professors for some volunteers to form a hunting party.

Petra is sent from the Black Eagles. Felix from the Blue Lions and Leonie and Ignatz from the Golden Deer. Everyone brings bows as requested. You have a sack with multiple snares, several hunting daggers, and a sword. Felix doesn’t go anywhere without a few swords, Petra has brought one as well. Everyone agrees to meet at sunrise in front of the gates of the monastery. Heading to the East the party enters the woods and begins to set the snares. The group moves silently through the woods, closer to the edge of the forest.

Felix stops and signals, Petra nods, the group moves slowly to the edge of the woods. Ahead is a clearing. Arrows are nocked, suddenly the fluttering of wings and call of pheasants is loud as a flock takes to the air. Arrows quickly chase the birds, causing some to fall back to the ground. Leonie carries the bag with eight fresh pheasants as everyone recovers their arrows.

They sit in a circle taking a brief rest break. You pull out small sacks full of biscuits, sausage and sweet rolls.

“We are having excellent weather for the hunting.” Petra smiles taking a bite of a roll.

“Hey, if you don’t have use for the skins, can I have them?” Asks Leonie. “those would be great for winter jackets, especially the rabbit fur.”

You smile at the frugal friend. “Yes. We’re too busy to preserve them properly. We usually compost them.”

“What’s our count?” Felix asks, taking a couple more pieces of meat.

“Eight rabbits, seven pheasants and five fat red squirrels.” You answer. “Thank you for giving up your time.” You shyly smile, knowing the students are very busy with their own schoolwork and chores.

Back on the hunt, the group moves to the north of the monastery. Petra and Felix seem to be competing as to who can bag the most rabbits. They are tied at eight each. Walking to the edge of the woods you look out over a field of wild grasses, out of the corner of your eye you see smoke drifting into the sky. You run back to your fellow hunters.

“I saw smoke. Someone must be out here.” You announce.

“We are to be using the great caution.” Petra agrees.

Felix immediately heads in the direction of the smoke, followed by Petra. You hang back a bit with Leonie and Ashe. You only see the backs of your friends, they talk between themselves, then Felix returns.

“Bandits. Looks like they plan to attack the village across from the monastery. The three of you should circle wide out that direction.” Felix points. “Firing arrows down from the high ground. Once Petra and I see the arrows, we will go in and attack. There are only 7 or 8 of them, certainly enough for us to take down.”

You nod with your companions and quietly move through the woods in the direction you are sent. There is a bit of a ridge there, the bandits must be on the other side. Everyone takes a deep breath.

Leonie whispers. “One…two…three!”

Suddenly arrows are raining down on the bandits as they are scrambling for their weapons. There were more like nine or ten of them. Petra gives out a war cry as she and Felix start fighting with the brigands. The archers aim carefully now as friends are in the middle of the melee. Ashe cheers as he takes another bandit out.

You hear a movement to your right, one of the bandits is sneaking up the far side of the hill trying to end the rain of arrows showering down on his comrades. You drop your bow and pull out your sword, swinging when he is close. The bandit counters your swing, then parries, causing you to jump back out of his range. You bring your sword back, taking a hard swing at him, he catches it against his blade. Seeing an opportunity, you put your weight against your blade, sliding forward along his and into his neck causing a deep gash in his throat, you then kick him in the chest. Dropping his weapon he falls, tumbling down the hill. You grab his sword and throw it toward Leonie and Ignatz. Running down the hill towards the sword fighting you find the battle is at an end. Felix is finishing his last opponent. The other archers follow you down the hill, bringing your bow with them.

“Everyone okay?” You ask as you notice a cut in the navy-haired swordsman’s shirt, blood staining the slice. “Felix, sit.”

“You’re a cook, not a cleric.” He angrily grunts.

“I work in a small room with sharp knives, cleavers, boiling liquids and other dangers. We all heal. Luckily I’m one of the best.” You say as you pull his shirt out of the way. Grabbing your water skin you soak a clean handkerchief and clean out the wound. Not too deep, still needs healing. Laying your hands on each side of the wound you call upon faith magic needed to close the gash, leaving a faint pink line in the swordsman’s side.

“Thanks.” Felix mumbles, looking away.

The hunting party begins to head back, the unplanned battle taking a lot of energy out of everyone. They still manage to bag more rabbits as they finally make it to the snares.

“Thanks. You can go.” You wave.

The students start heading back to the monastery, the walls peek over the other side of the clearing. Felix turns around, helping you gather the snares.

You give him a curious look, then return to remove another rabbit from a trap.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself. Our fight earlier proves that.” Felix grumbles as he puts several snares back in the bag.

“Thanks.” You say softly, not looking at him. The count is 41 rabbits, so the mission is completed successfully. Everything is packed up. You reach for the bag of snares, however Felix has already hauled it over his shoulder before you can grab it. You nod in thanks.

Quietly the two of you walk back inside the gates and head to the kitchens. You reach out your hand to take the bag from the swordsman.

“Spar with me.” He asks.

This catches you off guard. Not knowing what to say, your mouth answers for you. “Okay.”

You leave the food with the kitchen staff. You request that they save all pelts for Leonie. Then you head to the training grounds where Felix is already busy with his sword forms. You stand to the side and watch him. He finishes his form then waves you over and points to a spot next to him, handing you a wooden sword. He takes his ready stance and looks at you. You assume the same stance. He takes his sword from its sheath pulling it to a ready position and steps back. You copy his steps. He continues this through all twelve positions of the form. He brings you back to the starting position. At each step, as you follow his movements, he explains that it is taking action against an enemy, he describes how they are attacking, the direction that they are coming and where their weapon is aimed. The third time through he mirrors your moves, correcting your stance, foot placement, the swing of the blade. The fourth time he is alongside you, both of you completing the form together. He then has you complete the form alone.

“Good. Practice that every day. Maybe next week I will show you another.” Felix says in a neutral tone.

You nod in response.

“You don’t talk much.” Felix says, watching the wooden sword he is twirling in his hands.

You shrug. “Not much to say.”

Felix shakes his head and takes a few steps away. Suddenly he turns around, practice sword at the ready. “Spar!”

You take your stance and he immediately is on the attack. You are able to block many of his swings, however your offensive jabs and attacks are simply awful.

“What’s your problem?” the swordsman spits angrily. “You could fight the bandit, but you’re hardly trying here.”

“Don’t want to hurt you.” You cough, embarrassed.

“I can’t judge your technique, see how good or bad you are, can’t help you improve unless you give 100%. Fight me like you mean it.” Felix brings his sword down in a hard swing to emphasize his point.

You take a couple of deep breaths to clear your mind. Finally you nod.

Felix comes at you like a lion after its prey. You start off defensive, then begin to counter. Eventually you focus on the battle, the fight. Countering, blocking attacking when there is an opportunity. He gets quite a few good hits on you. Your strikes were mostly blocked, but a few are going to leave him some bruises later, you think. You finally get a foot hooked behind his knee throwing Felix off balance as he hits the ground.

“Oh. Sorry.” You say as you reach out your hand to help him up.

Felix grabs your arm, rolling and jerking you down to the ground, lying on top of your sword arm as he puts his blade under your chin. “Yield.”

“I Yield.” You groan. You put your hand over your face. He hadn’t yielded and here you were giving him your hand. Basic amateur move.

Felix gets off the ground dusting himself off. “Not bad for your first time. Your stance is awful, your thrusts are all wrong. You need to angle your swings better but you are a hell of a lot stronger than you look. Not only that, you kept me working out for over two hours without complaining. Not bad.”

You nod just as the bells ring.

“Guess we missed lunch.” Felix mumbles.

“Come, I know a guy…” you say, heading for the kitchens. Before long you’re sitting in the dining hall eating grilled spicy salami and cheese sandwiches.

Felix finishes every bite of his sandwich. “Are you working tomorrow?”

You nod.

“When are you done? I mean, do you want to spar again?” He says, picking at something on the table.

“Two. Yes.” You smile at him.

“Great, it’s a date.” Felix says as he quickly heads off to the dorms.

“Hey Felix. Who’s the lovely lady you had lunch with?” Sylvain says as he taps his best friend on his shoulder.

“Shut it, Sylvain.” The swordsman says, looking away from him as he continues forward.

“Well, I’ll just have to find out myself then.” Sylvain calls back, a smirk on his face.

Felix keeps walking away until he is slightly hidden by a post in front of the rooms as he looks back to the kitchen. He watches Sylvain stride straight into the door you’ve just entered in the back of the kitchen. Suddenly, the redhead is falling face first out of the door, his arms wrenched behind his back and he hits the ground hard as you slam the kitchen door shut behind him. Serves him right, Felix grins.

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #felix hugo fraldarius #petra macneary #leonie pinelli

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darth-salem-emperor-of-earth · 4 years

Text

Not sure if I’m late or not but here is my latest entry for @naruto-fantasy-week, a prompt for Day 5! I doubt I’ll have enough time to eek out fanfics with the last two prompts before the event ends but I’ll eventually write them and post them anyway and go back to this fanfic and the previous to spruce them up and expand on the ideas I came up with for each fanfic/prompt.

There is some violence mentioned and acted upon, especially in the end, but it’s nothing too graphic. And as a fun tidbit, cantarella was a poison rumored to be used by the Borgias but since there’s not a whole lot of evidence the poison exists, I took artistic license with it to suit my purpose of this story.

The title derives from the lyrics of Nightwish’s song “7 Days to the Wolves”.

Summary: He was a man of many faces, shapes, and ideas. Unfortunately, shapeshifters like him were a prize to be captured and then used for gladiator arenas. While he was used to the killing that didn’t mean Orochimaru never stopped contemplating his revenge. Who would have thought he would find another shapeshifter hidden right under Danzo’s nose? Naruto Fantasy Week, Day 5. Prompt: Shapeshifters. [Orochimaru x Sakura]

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“Serpents were in my heart.” — Mary Shelley, The Mortal Immortal

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The white wyrm rested, and waited, in anticipation for that small cellar door to open and here the sounds of the humans issuing orders at him, telling him how lucky he was that a wretched snake, a shapeshifter, continued to live under the generous hospitality of Danzo, and if he continued to do his part in the fighting pits, he would be fed and not lose any of his scales.

Orochimaru snarled at the door, wishing he could snap the wood in two and break the bones of the sentries posted outside his door. He heard that same annoying speech approximately 5475 times, once a day, for the last fifteen years. And sometimes they lied, for after battles, if he ended the match too quickly or gave his hapless opponent a swift, clean, and painless death, they’d drug him and pry a few of his white scales off, while the magic they used to bind and control his shapeshifting restrained him from unable to lash out. Such actions served to not only remind Orochimaru of who was in charge of his life and to sell his pearlescent scales to the highest bidder, adding a hefty, lucrative amount to Danzo’s coffers.

One of these days, he was going to swallow Danzo whole and let that fool slowly digest in his stomach. His death would be slow, agonizing, and very satisfying.

A guard eventually did open his chamber door, recited the boring, useless drivel Orochimaru heard over thousand times before nodding over to the masked mage at his side. The unknown mage wore a rodent-like mask, different from the last mage who temporarily lifted the block on his shapeshifting.

“Danzo requests your presence, your human presence, at his side. The next match is starting soon.” informed the masked mage once the yellow glow departed from his outstretched hand. Orochimaru narrowed his slitted golden eyes dangerously. He remembered what happened when they first allowed him to change shapes, to assume his human form. He acted all compliant and understanding, lulling them in a false sense of security right before he first bite off the head of the mage, then a nearby guard, before shifting out of his wyrm body and back into his human self to escape the narrow door and grab the first weapon he could find to slay the other guard who was about to raise the alarm of his escape. He was eventually recaptured before he could leave the keep, home of the fighting pits, and was whipped brutally for his attempt. Yet through it all, Orochimaru still had to laugh bitterly at their earlier carelessness. Did they not forget who he was and why Danzo decided to let him live after his greatest transgression (besides being a shapeshifter)?

Before the village discovered his identity of a shapeshifter–creatures the elders condemned as monsters, only fit for extermination–, he was a trained warrior, a skilled killer who served the town while keeping his snake-like gilded eyes hidden in his youth through glamor or shaded spectacles. His parents could hide their natural heritage and appearances better with simple alterations and had no need for glamor, since they were older and more experienced shapeshifters. Yet all their years of experience and aptitude didn’t save them from being slaughtered–by the orders of Danzo. And Sarutobi, the village’s main leader, Orochimaru’s very teacher, turned a blind eye, and let the cloak-and-dagger execution happen. And then promptly turned around to lie to his young pupil’s grief-stricken face about his parents’ deaths.

He didn’t regret killing that old bastard for lying to him after all those years. He may have not wanted his parents to die or issued the decree but his negligence, his cowardice, and acceptance of shapeshifters being lesser beings, like animals, made him just as guilty as Danzo, who hung up his parents’ skins up on his office for all to see. He had forced one of them to turn into a large serpent and the other, a small dragon, all so he could use their hide as a trophy. Such disfigurement was the most traumatizing death any shapeshifter could experience, especially if their corpse was paraded around like a proud prize for humans to gawk at.

Orochimaru was left alone in his cell once more so he could transform back into a human and change into the clothes that were left for him. Those robes were always placed so neatly in the corner, waiting for him, when he was permitted to be human. His scaly body was soon a tall, lean pale man with long, silky black hair, and he kept his signature, curved golden eyes with dark purple markings around the eyelids. Everyone already knew who he really was so why bother mask his true appearance?

By the time he was escorted and brought to Danzo, the power-hungry man was already barking orders at the serving girls to bring him more sake and food. For Orochimaru, he simply inclined his head, inviting him to take a seat and watch the upcoming match. Just like always, whenever he planned to sic some unfortunate soul in the ring with him, as a wyrm. He wanted Orochimaru to study the gladiator’s fighting techniques and movements beforehand, a sure sign that he wanted his opponent to die in the battle arena.

Most likely a political opponent of Danzo’s or a dissenter he labeled as a ‘traitor’. My, my, he’s finding so many of them these days.

The fighter down below was fast, Orochimaru would give him that, but strategy was not his forte. He dodged most of his larger foe’s attacks and was more of the type to wear his assailant down until they became exhausted and made mistakes. And he repeated his defensive blows often, another tactical error. Basically, his onslaught with him would hardly be a worthy match.

Sighing in disappointment, Orochimaru helped himself to a goblet of water, draining its contents dry before setting the cup back down. As if on cue, one of the serving maids rushed up to him to refill his drink. He turned around, about to politely thank her (after all, unlike some, he actually had manners), and he heard a sharp intake of breath. When a pink haired server came into his line of vision, his nostrils flared, and her green eyes stared at him surprise. He understood her reaction.

Here, amidst Danzo’s private posse of servants, trusted men, and soldiers, was another shapeshifter. And unlike him, she was not branded or wearing chains that restricted or prohibited her from transforming into other animals or people. Which meant…

Danzo doesn’t know she’s a shapeshifter. How bloody rich.

If he wasn’t in the presence of Danzo’s oh so charming company, he’d laugh viciously at the irony right there, on the spot.

The girl–no, young woman–whoever she was, fumbled with the pitcher during her moment of distraction and quickly averted her gaze to focus on not making an entire mess of the water and attracting the unwanted attention of Danzo. Meanwhile, as she concentrated solely on watching the water rise in his metallic goblet, Orochimaru leaned forwarded and whispered in her ear.

“Be careful, little one. Better stick to the shadows, lest someone gets suspicious and uncovers your secret. Then you’ll be chained, just like me.”

That mocking warning startled her but she uttered nothing. She merely finished filling up his cup and returned to her original location, off to the corner and out of sight. Yet she did sneak a glance over her shoulder to get a glimpse of him one more time before she returned to her duties and he resumed his bored review of the fighting before him. Hopefully, that fledgling shapeshifter had enough sense in her to realize she risked more than just her life staying here and would quit the village in the dead of the night.

There was no need for this putrid city to have two shapeshifters under their control or be responsible for another’s one death.

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He was wrong about the other shapeshifter.

She must be lacking wits, to sneak past all the guards just so she could creep into his cell and offer him water and leftover food from the kitchens. Some might call her courageous but all Orochimaru beheld was a foolhardy woman who should have left Danzo’s service, packed her bags, and left this godforsaken place already.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he hissed, revealing his rows of sharp, venomous teeth.

The roseate haired shapeshifter ignored him, setting down a jug of water, scraps of chicken, pheasant, beef, and wild boar. The tender, seasoned meats and the spices cooked into its juices wafted through his nose and he eyed the meal curiously.

“I never thought I would see another shapeshifter,” she began, inching the food tray closer to him. “Especially one imprisoned by Danzo. I thought he had a strict ‘kill every single shapeshifter I see’ policy.”

He chuckled dryly. “He does, unless he wants to use you for his own purposes. But why are you here to see me? You risk torture and certain death should the guards notice you.”

“But I wanted to see you!” she protested. “I haven’t seen, much less talked to another shapeshifter in years. Especially one who could help me–teach me, that is!”

“Teach you what?” Orochimaru finally decided to sate his hunger and first devour the bits of pheasant, relieved to find that the chef didn’t use too much pepper and balanced the amount of herbs just right.

“To change into larger, stronger creatures,” she explained, verdant eyes sparkling with hope. “You see, I was adopted by humans and they didn’t know my true heritage. So I had to learn how to transform on my own or scavenge for any books left behind by shapeshifters for helpful tips. I can do small animals and creatures but nothing as big or impressive as this.” She gestured to his wyrm body.

That explains how she was able to skulk past all the sentries.

“Why should I help you?” Orochimaru cut in, cocking his big, heavy head at her. “Why stay here, talking to me, instead of departing this wretched town and start searching our own kind? Surely, someone there can help you better than I.”

Her green eyes leveled with his amber ones, resolute and dark. “Because I crave to kill that bastard Danzo and I believe you’ll help me do that. And besides, I want to help you escape this horrible place.”

She didn’t even know him and yet, she wanted to help set him free. This shapeshifter was a strange creature, but he understood the hunger for revenge. It was a language he fathomed all too well and the burning desire had kept him going for all these torturous fifteen years. Danzo expected him to try to escape again or at least, try to murder him, but he didn’t anticipate her. And that raised the odds a little in their favor.

“What an intriguing proposal,” he practically purred, his breathing fanning against her face and causing her pink hair to billow out behind her. “In exchange for me training you in how to change into more complex forms, you’ll help me escape from this dungeon, and somehow, together, we’ll kill Danzo. Is that correct?”

She nodded firmly. “Yes. And I don’t care how long the training takes. I want, no need, to master my shapeshifting.”

At least she was dedicated, eager to learn. Orochimaru couldn’t abide small-minded people and those who had no drive, no interest in acquiring more knowledge and skills.

Either way, he was trapped underneath the fighting pits, with nothing else better to do so why not? At least this way, he wouldn’t be so dreadfully bored.

“Very well, I will accept this offer. However, I will need to know the name of my pupil. It’s only polite after all.” He forked his long tongue at her, amused when he startled her a little.

“It’s Sakura.” She bowed her head in reverence. When was the last time someone gifted even a small measure of respect like that? “What’s yours? I need to know the name of my teacher too.”

He grinned wide, knowing full well his face probably appeared utterly monstrous and terrifying but to Sakura’s credit, she didn’t flinch or scramble away from him in supreme terror.

Good.

“Orochimaru. Now, let us begin with your first lesson.”

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Contrary to the popular belief among humans, shapeshifters didn’t magically obtain knowledge on how to transfer into every creature or animal in existence overnight. Each attempt took time, energy, training, and practice to learn, control, and master each form, so a shapeshifter could not only move and talk in their new form but stay in it for long periods of time. The same went to altering their human appearance or body completely.

So his lessons with Sakura continued for years as she made progress with more medium sized animals or changing her human self to the point no one would recognize her. He never inquired why she wanted Danzo dead so much because that was none of his business and right now, he was not that interested in prying into her personal affairs. In return, she never asked what he did to be imprisoned so cruelly by Danzo. However, he did not miss the way her eyes would linger over his old scars or small, open patches of flesh where his scales once were and her face would scrunch up into pure, indignant rage. It was adorable, actually.

Yet he could hardly say the same whenever she was too exhausted in her training to head back to her room and go to sleep in her bed. Instead, Sakura would simply collapse amidst his coiled, scaly body and wrapped her arms around him, almost as if she was giving him a hug. Part of her features were usually resting up against his neck, so near his face that half of the time Orochimaru was tempted to shake his head or move around to jostle Sakura out of her slumber but something always prevented him from doing so. Maybe it was pity seeing how weary she was, juggling her servant duties, making sure her identity as a shapeshifter is still a secret, and then sneaking into his cell during the night to receive more lessons from him. She probably didn’t even realize she was falling asleep on him. Regardless, Orochimaru allowed this habit of hers to continue and only waited a few hours later to carefully wake her up and remind her to get back to her room before the sun rose and the other servants inquired about her absence. The routine turned into a cycle he had no motivation to stop.

While Sakura was improving with her shapeshifting and finally could move onto the larger creatures, they began to discuss, in all seriousness and not just idle musing, about escaping and slaying Danzo in the process.

“Poison would be the surest way to kill him,” Sakura opined. “There are so many different varieties out there that are slow acting and don’t show any immediate signs of poison until after death. And I serve him his meals occasionally, right after he is given his medicine. I can always poison the drink he takes to wash the foul flavor of the concoction down. He wouldn’t be able to notice a difference in taste.”

“A fine idea but Danzo is a paranoid man, especially since he knows I want to kill him and many of my previous forms favored snakes, serpents, or dragon-like beasts. I’ve heard he boosted his immunity to several poisons so if we choose poorly and select the one he’s immune to, then we wasted our time.” Orochimaru pointed out, stretching out his long, cumbersome physique in this rather cramped cell.

Undaunted, Sakura still pressed the venom route. “What about poisons that will simply immobilize him and prevent him from speaking or moving for a long time? Surely he wouldn’t have spent his time increading his defense for poison that won’t kill him outright or over time.”

Cocking his head, Orochimaru regarded her curiously at her suggestion. If Danzo was paralyzed like that, preferably in his bed, those close to him would raise their suspicions that this wasn’t natural and the work of some curse or toxin. On the other hand, if they measured the dose correctly and timed its effect exactly, then it could be possible to have the old devil at their mercy. That is, if he was predicting Sakura’s plan accurately.

“Are you suggesting we use a poison that will paralyze sometime in the night, rendering him unable to defend himself or call for help as we kill him?” he stated, making sure they were on the same page.

Sakura nodded, eyes resolved, her face grim. “Yes. Do you think that scheme would work?”

“It could, if we can get our hands on this specific poison. Cantarella, I believe it’s called. Do you know where you can obtain some?” Creating cantarella on their own would take far too long and even though shapeshifters were blessed with longevity, Orochimaru did not want to take any more risks with these nighttime lessons of theirs. Sooner or later, someone would notice Sakura’s odd nocturnal routines and investigate. And such nosiness could get them both butchered.

“Yes, I know someone. He poses as a traveling merchant and has no love for Danzo or this village. He won’t ask questions if I purchase the cantarella from him.”

Orochimaru hummed with approval. “Good, that issue is taken care of. Now, onto the other snag in this scheme of ours.” Lifting his head up, he gestured to the thick, old, and heinous brand embedded in his upper torso, located right on his upper left chest if he was a man. “This brand and the chains that bind me here prevent me from transforming. Since none of us know how to remove the brand or negate it completely, we need one the sealing rings the mages use to control whether or not a shapeshifter can change their form.”

Moving away from her spot on the hard, damp ground, Sakura approached the branded section and gingerly reached out to touch it, tracing the design slowly. “I think I can get one. It might take me a few days or a week to butter up the mage but I have a plan.” She turned her head towards him. “Trust me on this. By the end of this week, I will get us that ring and once we have it, then all we have to do next is administer the cantarella.”

“And not get caught in the process,” Orochimaru reminded soberly. “If Danzo or one of his supporters catches wind of our plot, then we’re good as dead.”

And this time, Danzo will skin me for certain, wyrm form and all.

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His concern on Sakura’s unspoken plan to get a sealing ring from a mage was apparently groundless. For by the end of the week, after she entered his cell in the form of a cat, he glimpsed the ring in her mouth. She dropped the item in front of her, a triumphant beam on her feline visage before steadily changing back into the petite, muscled young woman with short, cropped rose hair and jade eyes.

“How long do we have before the mage starts searching for his missing ring?” was the first question Orochimaru asked, not touching the said ring right away. For years he longed to get his hands on this trinket, to use its powers to nullify the brand’s power and finally control his own shape for a change. It didn’t matter whether he or Sakura used the ring, the magic inside would work and he could shift back into his human self again or take the form of another animal. They were lucky the sorcery within those rings could be accessed by anyone with just a simple word, a word Orochimaru heard often enough with his now almost twenty years of imprisonment.

Contemplating his query, Sakura scrunched her nose up to concentration on her estimation on the amount of time they had left to enact their wild scheme. “I think we have until morning. The sleeping potion I gave him will leave him knocked out the rest of the evening and night.”

Sleeping potion? If he had eyebrows in his wyrm form, Orochimary would have risen both of them. Only those who possessed enough knowledge and skills in medicine would boost such confidence in the lasting effects of a sleeping potion. No mere amateur could create a legitimate concoction that would actually work.

Sakura never ceased to surprise him.

“A shapeshifter and a practitioner of medicine? My, my, you must have an interesting story to tell. I must say, I’m rather impressed with your skillset.” Orochimaru remarked. He remembered a former comrade-in-arms who was a combat medic, the first in her line of work. By the time he murdered their former teacher, Sarutobi, she had already left the town and roamed the countryside to be with her lover, a civilian named Dan. If Danzo was now fully dominating this town, she would have been aghast and then incensed what became of her home.

Orochimaru hadn’t thought about Tsunade for a long time. Being chained in a dungeon and used for gladiatorial matches had a peculiar way of warping one’s memories and perception of time, it seemed.

Sakura brightened at his praise, the luster in her eyes practically illuminating his dim, dusky cell. “I’m happy to hear that, Orochimaru. Sleeping potion can be chancy, especially mixed with alcohol, but the mage I was charming earlier already wanted to spend some time alone with me after his shift. Getting the sleeping potion was actually harder than mixing it into his ale. By the time he wakes up tomorrow, he won't remember if we had a wild night or not.”

Mocking laughter percolated from the back of Orochimaru’s long, thick throat. Undone by the lust in his own loins. How insipidly easy.

“As long he won’t recall clearly and the potion lasts, we have our chance.” He nodded to the ring on the ground. “Use that thing on me. It’ll be easier for you to release the binding seal on me rather than myself.” His tail or mouth were much too enormous to hold the ring securely with dropping it or accidentally swallowing it. “All you need to do is chant ‘Release’ and I should be able to change my form at will.”

Sakura gifted him a skeptical look. “The word to use is ‘release’? Nothing else? Nothing more complicated?”

“I never said the mages under Danzo’s control were intelligent. Most of them are mindless drones. Danzo mass produces those rings to help all of his soldiers and assassins combat shapeshifters so of course he wants them to be easy to utilize.”

She glared at the offending ring on the ground prior to picking it up and slipping it under her finger. Her mouth opened and formed the lone word, her voice low, soft, but commanding.

“Release!”

He felt the brand heat up, the pin-prickling warmth uncomfortable at first prior to evanescing away into nothing. The shadow of control the brand had always rendered inside his mind and body was gone, replaced with an empty sensation that there was no magic this time to stop him from shifting.

His body grew smaller and assumed a new shape. His alabaster scales became white skin, long, luxurious hair the color of jet black cascading effortlessly down his scalp and past his shoulders and back, and he relished the feel of arms, legs, hands, and feet. The only part of him that remained the same was his golden eyes, outlined by violet markings.

Sakura stared up at him in wonder, holding the ring up for him to take and use for his own protection. “I’ve never seen you shapeshift before. You did so flawlessly...it’s like watching water move on its own.”

An indulgent half-smile slithered across his lips, accepting the ring and dropping the trinket over his pointer finger. “If you live long enough as I have, then you’ll be able to shift your body as swiftly and deftly as me.” His eyes roamed past Sakuraand over to the cell door behind them. There were no guards around but they still had to be cautious. They were so close to the final stages of their plot.

“I take it since you made plans to snatch this ring that you already are in possession of the cantarella?”

She nodded. “Yes, and I’ve been scheduled to bring Danzo his meal and drink tonight, with the physician who will feed him his medicine.” A black smirk spread across her fair visage. “I will be needed for this duty in less than an hour.”

He expected such news but the information was so welcoming and pleasing to him that his half-grin soon morphed into a smirk identical to hers. “Perfect. Go and make the preparations and let me know when it’s done. When night has fallen, we will shapeshift into an unnoticeable animal to enter his room. After that…” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if the two of them would just be wishing Danzo goodnight instead of murdering him in his bed. But the sinister, vindictive gleam in both of their gazes belied the softness of his tone. Orochimaru could imagine Danzo’s blood on his hands, coating the entire wall in a crimson palette. ��Well, let’s give the people of this...amusing establishment something to chat about tomorrow morning.”

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The priceless, alarmed look in Danzo’s eyes would be forever burned in Orochimaru’s mind. There was a small fragrance of fear emitting from the usually prideful, smug hunter of shapeshifters, the tantalizing smell hovered so deliciously over him as the two shapeshifters approached the bed, a candle in both of their hands so Danzo could witness his assassins. The cantarella worked wonders for even now, Danzo could not move nor speak to save himself. All he could was listen. Listen and wait for his demise to come.

“I warned you all those years ago that killing me would have been wiser for you,” Orochimaru intoned darkly, his whispery words surely evoking the same memory from Danzo. The candlelight illuminated his amber eyes so clearly in the vacant darkness of the room. “But I shouldn’t be so rude and hog all the introductions. Sakura, dear, why don’t you jot Danzo’s recollection of you? Judging by the confused expression on his face, I say he doesn’t recall you.”

Danzo wheezed and grunted, mouth hanging up like a fish, but his fear was now replaced with utter rage.

In an instant, Sakura held a dagger over his chest, a silent snarl overcoming her mouth, her face promising no mercy and a slow, painful death. She glared at Danzo like he was vermin, not fit to even exist in this world. “I doubt you remember me, you bastard. Why would you, when you banned the women in this village the right to become warriors? And why would you care about some girl all those years ago, from a civilian family, who could not possibly be a threat to you? After all, it was her friend, that orphan boy whom the neighbors whispered about having shapeshifting powers and that he acted more like an animal than a boy? Isn’t that right?”

By now, in the midst of her ranting, Sakura had already begun to sink the blade into Danzo’s stomach and the old coot hacked, and then gurgled out wordless noises, his eyes wide as saucers. Although Danzo could not scream out his agony, Orochimaru still tore some of the bedsheets and stuffed them in his mouth, just in case. Sakura retracted her hand, only to plunge the dagger into another area of his abdomen once more.

“He was just a boy, Danzo! And he was my friend!” she growled, jade eyes ablaze with retribution, fury, contempt, and grief. Emotions Orochimaru comprehended all too well. He could never forget behelding his parents’ hides decorated in Danzo’s office, no matter how hard he tried. “His name was Naruto and you executed him for being a mischievous shapeshifter.” Again and again she stabbed, garnet holes oozing out of him and spreading outward to create morphless, endless streaks and designs, staining his clothes and sheets until the entire bed cover, once a bland beige color, now was dyed a deep burgundy hue. “But you missed one. You missed me, Sakura. All this time, I’ve been serving your food, pouring your drinks, and you didn’t fucking realize a shapeshifter was amongst you this whole time.” She spat in his wrinkled countenance, giving the dagger another savage twist before she rend the weapon out and handed the blade to Orochimaru.

Your turn, she seemed to convey.

He tilted his head at her as a silent ‘thank you’, the hilt of the sanguinary, jagged dagger warm, consoling, and solid against his palm. He rested the edge of the dagger against Danzo’s throat, the point delicately piercing the skin of that center bulge. “I know based on how much blood you have already lost thanks to Sakura’s wonderfully enthusiastic work that you don’t have long for this world. So in your last fleeting moments, I am going to fulfill my promise to you and take my pound of flesh.” Danzo’s eyes bulged in recognition, his chin soaked with his drool.

Orochimaru cackled. Excellent, he still remembers my first threat to him before he cast me into the dungeons.

“That’s right, Danzo. I’ve come to carve out your heart at last.”

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When he and Sakura changed into bats and flew out of the open window Sakura had left ajar hours earlier, when she added the cantarella into Danzo’s drink, the sun was barely reaching the tips of the hills and bringing faint tinges of purples, pinks, and oranges to the night sky. By the time the servants opened the door and witnessed the gruesome display of what little remained of Danzo, the two shapeshifters would be a distant memory and far from the village’s reach.

“What will you do now that Danzo’s dead? You can shapeshift on your own quite well.”

At his question, Sakura frowned. “I’m not sure. I always assumed I’d die right after assassinating Danzo so I never really figured out the part of what comes next.” She combed through her lush, pink hair, her fingers untangling any stubborn knots. “But I recently heard some shapeshifters live away from humans and formed their settlement. Perhaps we could find them and live amongst them?”

Funny how she included him in her idea. Yet Orochimaru didn’t protest. It wasn’t as ifhe had any fine plans of his own and besides his parents, there was no one else in the world who cared about him. Save for Sakura.

“I suppose that idea has merit,” he admitted, pretending not to notice the delighted sparkle in her verdant gaze or the way her lips curled upwards in triumph. “Let’s give your plan a try and see if we’re lucky enough to find more of our own.”

Much to his surprise, she reached over to grab his hand and held onto it, a small smile gracing her lips. “Even if we don’t, we won’t be alone. I’m…” She swallowed briefly before resuming. “I’m grateful...and delighted to have you in my life, Orochimaru.”

He squeezed her hand fondly, the right words caught in his throat. So was he.

Regardless, Sakura understood his unspoken sentiment and continued to grin ever brighter for the rest of the day.

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