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hoodedwing · 3 years

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Achilles Come Down

Summary: Tim thinks the world’s better off without him. Kon thinks otherwise

Characters: Tim Drake, Kon-El

Warnings: Suicidal ideations, Suicidal attempts, Dark thoughts. Looking at possible swearing. (Let me know what I missed out!)

Additional Notes: I got inspired because this has been going around the Timkon universe right now. Also, I’m crunching through for exams so I apologize! If you are experiencing these thoughts, please seek help or talk to someone. I’m here to lend an ear as an anon or openly :) This is, in my opinion, not an awesome fic but I tried :,) [it’s 3am where I am, hoo boy]

Word Count: 1,088 words

***

A crouched figure stayed on top of Wayne Enterprises, a little too stiff for comfort. Crawled against the air vent, his head leant back against it. Tim’s shoes dangle over the parapet, letting the wind chill him to the bones. Quietly, he swings his legs as silence settled over Gotham. The roar of the traffic died and nightlife came full swing.

The first few drops of rain came, lightly landing on him with a soft splash

No one will find me here.

He shivered involuntarily and crossed his arms in a bid to stay warmer. The Robin suit was made of Bat-approved materials and yet he was so cold even when bathed in a sunset glow

Cold

It rains full force, slamming metal on impact. Tim is soaked to the skin in seconds, the wet suit clinging to his skin and messy hair hanging low to his face, shielding his reddened eyes.

He pathetically tries to think of a time he’s warm and safe, preferably in someone’s arms tucked away in the fire of the hearth on a Saturday evening. His memory conjures blurred images, a mix of his fantasy and reality, there was no distinction between truth and lie. He thought about hot food and kisses. Sometimes, his memory inched at sharing body warmth in bed, a mess of twisted limbs.

Them the twisted limbs were of his dead friends, all lying in various positions. Tim's heart almost coded at his vision. Blinking, the next memory transition was to his entire team walking away with Kon especially shaking his head in disapproval.

Tim doesn’t know why Kon's rejection hurts the most. The Kryptonian was soft at all edges, maybe it was the sudden sharpness that hurt, that cut him through cleanly. The back of his throat felt prickly at the image of Kon turning away. Leaving him in the rut, the chaos that threatened to spill.

Then he remembers the desperation when he tried to clone his dead best friend because Kon made him. He was an anchor, a constant, someone who’d check on him if his brothers were unavailable. He was the one that picked Tim up from the floor, made him feel a little more complete. He was the one gently grabbing Tim from a semi-comatose coffee crash and making sure he didn’t faint halfway from low glucose levels. Tim made sure Kon didn’t hide his injuries too, bandaging each other till the moonlight was down.

Kon was dead. He had to accept that.

He cannot.

He cannot walk away from the mess, where do you start when your best friend dies and leaves a huge hole in your heart? What memories can you fill that hole with without hurting? How many things don’t look the same?

And why does the world get to keep moving while you’re in the past picking up the pieces?

He leans forward a little, testing the wind. He wonders how pretty he’d look falling without wings. Which unfortunate soul would have to find his brains scattered on the ground with limbs splayed awkwardly?

What about the news headlines? All filled with his pictures and haunting gory because thirty floors and counting is no easy thing? His face would be splashed everywhere, on the subway, billboards. Heck, they’d print it on shirts too. Suddenly, Gotham would be covered in him like blood spilled from revolutions.

Tim momentarily lapses in his thoughts when his family comes into mind.

What would his mentor-dad say?

Bruce would’ve been relieved, he supposes. One less baggage to deal with.

He’ll just be another statistic, another nameless suicide.

That’s the word, Tim tests in on his lips. Listens to the syllables It felt strange to hear them come from him. Someone who didn’t give up. Someone who resisted the tempting arms of darkness. Someone who thought he was getting better.

He just kept slipping downwards.

Tears find their way to his face, wetting his cheeks. He crawls further into himself, cape draped in folds around him . Pressing his fists into his eyes, he tries to stop the waterfall and sinking heart.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I can't, cannot match up. Its..its a little hard for me. I’ll never be good enough-"

The rest of the words were lost in gasping sobs and uncontrollable trembling partly by rain and his crying.

Tim inches a little closer to the edge, he outstretched his hand to feel the air. The drafts felt cutting to the touch. Shivering, he tested one leg. Dangling, half his body was on the building.

The other, was left in the air.

This is it.

Tim takes a steeling breath and closes his eyes. He imagines the weightless feeling-

“Isn’t it a lovely sunset?”

A voice interrupts his contemplation. Tim feels the presence of a body near him, more specifically, hovering over him. The presence lands beside him gently without a sound, sitting beside Tim.

“Y..yeah. It is.”

He finds comfort in the small conversation, eyes closed still. Why not give it a go?

To his dismay, silence came back again. He sighs, tilting himself a little backward this time. He would come here another night, no point traumatizing another person there.

“Tim, I know you’re not okay-”

Shit, shit, shit. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Is..is it really-

Kon?

Tim’s eyes fly open, hoping it wasn’t a trick. Hoping that his mind wasn’t replaying old memories. Hoping that it was so real, this time and he’d-

“Kon?”

“Yeah, its me. Why are you crying-oof-”

Tim slammed himself into Kon, running his hand through hair. Tightly nestling himself into Subject 13′s neck. Kon was too shocked to hug him properly.

“God..I..I missed you so much. You’ve no idea how much I tried to look for you.”

Tim hiccups, fresh tears streaming again. His hands desperately running on Kon’s back, he returns the favor and kisses Tim on the crown of his head.

“I was..I was so stupid I tried to clone you. Imagine, me? Pathetic, cloning my best friend.”

Kon lets Tim mumble away on his shoulder, eyes half closed at that point. He cradles Tim in his arms and presses him closer to his body heat to keep the shivering boy warmer.

“You’re wet. Come, lets go inside. Cassie and Bart will be happy to see me.”

A small hum came from Tim who made himself comfortable in Kon’s safe grip. With the stiff smile still in place, Kon lifted Tim a little higher, near to his ear so he could hear-

I love you.

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storiesnobodyreads · 5 years

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Dreams In The Sky

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female!reader

Story: Your work requires that you fly across the country a lot, but you’re not the only one who travels often. After a long day, you nod off in an airplane seat when the plane hasn’t even taken off yet, and you wake up to meet Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America.

A/N: so i was sitting on a plane and just sort of imaged how amazing it would be to meet captain america there. so here u go (word count = 3k)

“Alright, I’m getting on the plane now so I’m hanging up,” you informed your co-worker as you treaded up the stairs, people going on holidays in palm tree shirts drumming around you. Your co-worker had been bombarding you with last-minute questions about your recent project, which freaked you out more than anything. You’d have to present your project to a board of wealthy billionaires that might turn your dreams into reality.

“I just have one last detail—” argued your co-worker.

“I’m hanging up,” you repeated loudly, doing so as you strolled past the captain and steward smiling politely at you. “Good morning,” you greeted them, stifling a yawn. You had been working on your project for the past months, non-stop, practically eighteen hours a day. The amount of sleep you’d been getting had been shockingly low, and it was starting to get the better of you. Your friends had convinced you to at least get some hours of sleep during the flight. You knew they were right. There was nothing you could do to improve your project now and you could answer every single potential question. The best preparation that was left was to sleep.

You found your seat, relieved to find that the two seats next to you were still empty so that you could settle in ease. Thudding down by the window, you fasted your belt and plugged in your earphones. Even though you usually weren’t great at sleeping in planes, exhaustion was coming over you in waves of warm blankets. With your calm sleep music in your ears, you desperately tried to keep your eyes open to see the safety instructions, but your eyelids were so heavy.

Faster than you’d like to admit, you surrendered to the almighty power of sleep.

You woke up, feeling like it was only seconds later, with an awful pain in your neck. A little bit of drool dripped from the corner of your mouth that you became painfully aware of; and suddenly you became even more extremely aware of your position.

You were sleeping on the shoulder of the stranger next to you, fucking drooling on them.

Faster than a bee’s sting, your neck snapped up and you jolted fully awake. “I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed. Embarrassment flew through you, your cheeks instantly flushing bright red, thinking you’d rather die than have this happen—

Your eyes fell on the stranger by your side, a tall, handsome man with blonde hair and a healthy beard, with broad shoulders that looked so comfortable to fall asleep on that you temporarily stopped feeling guilt because damn, anyone could fall asleep on those shoulders. His eyes were bright blue and oozed kindly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he studied your horrified reaction.

And then you realised something worse.

Much, much worse.

This was Captain America.

“It’s okay,” said Steve Rogers softly, keeping his voice down for the sake of the other passengers.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, voice high-pitched. “I’m very tired and I really—shit, I’m sorry, this is super awkward—”

He chuckled and firmly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, truly,” he said. “I really don’t mind.”

“It’s just that these past couple of months have been very hard and I haven’t slept a lot and this was the first chance I had to shut off my phone and I just fell asleep—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Captain America insisted. “I’m happy that you got an hour of sleep.”

You stared at him. Of course, you’d heard the stories about how gorgeous and breath-taking he was, and of course you’d heard the rumours about what a kind gentleman he was, but never had you thought they would be this true. “But you’re Captain America,” you stammered panicked.

He cocked up one eyebrow. “My name is Steve.” He held out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. “And you are?”

“Y/N.” You shook his hand. His hands were large and surprisingly soft. Warm.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled. His smile was almost warmer than his hands.

“You, too.” Could he sense that you’d had a severe celebrity crush on him ever since you learned about his existence? Did he know that he was your hero and you had dreamed about meeting him one day? Did he realise that this was the worst possible way to meet a superhero?

But his eyes were sparkling brightly and he looked amused, not an ounce of negativity to be detected. He looked so happy that it brought a grin to your face. Because hey, you were sitting next to Steve Rogers.

“So why are you flying to New York?” asked Steve. You didn’t quite understand why’d he want to keep the conversation going, but then it occurred to you that he probably just didn’t want you to fall asleep on him again.

“Um, I have a presentation,” you replied sheepishly. “It’s this—um, project I’ve been working on. I’m an engineer.”

“Really?” Steve appeared interested. “That’s cool. My friend Tony is an engineer.”

You blinked. “You mean Tony Stark?”

Steve nodded with a sigh. “Yes, I mean Iron Man. I’m actually going to see him now. That’s why I’m flying to New York.” Making you feel stupid that you hadn’t countered the question as to what his business in New York was.

“Right.” You told yourself to behave. Be fucking polite, you scolded yourself internally. You have already drooled on this man. “Why are you coming from Miami?”

“I was on a holiday,” Steve told you cheerfully, immediately plucking his phone from his pocket to show you pictures. Now that he mentioned it, he was looking beautifully tanned. Steve showed a photograph with him and another man standing shirtless on the beach, both beaming like idiots, not having a care in the world. “That’s my friend Scott. We’d both never been. He stayed a week longer together with his daughter Cassie, I promised to help out Tony.”

“Looks great,” you laughed, almost taken aback by how carefree Captain America seemed. He’d always appeared as this serious, brooding character with the issues of the world at mind. A holiday to Miami must have been good for him. “Sure must’ve been a temperature difference compared to being frozen in ice.”

Immediately after saying the words, you wanted to drop through the floor of the plane and plummet to your death. “Sorr—”

But Steve was laughing. It was a good sound. “True, true.”

After that, the conversation was suddenly flowing smoothly. You managed to put your awkwardness out of the way, realising that you could impossibly get yourself in a worse situation than you already had. When the stewards came to bring you food and drinks, you sipped coffee together and shared what you and he didn’t like. It was amazing that you found so much to talk about together. When the food was gone, you unanimously decided to start binging Friends. Unfortunately, your small television screen malfunctioned and even though Steve mocked you for being a so-called engineer, you couldn’t get the screen to work again. You called him popsicle as a curse word and he laughed so loudly that he received vicious glares from other passengers.

Steve then offered to share headphones and look at his screen together. It was cute, even you could see that. However, the screen was rather hard to see with the sunlight reflecting in an unlucky way. You had to dangle your neck in an unnatural angle, aching your muscles.

Steve immediately noted your discomfort. “Oh, you can put your head on my shoulder, if you want,” he suggested softly.

“What?” you glared at him, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You already slept on me for an hour,” Steve elaborated quickly. “I’m sure this won’t be any weirder.”

You felt urged to decline, but then moved your head and felt the pain in your neck, and told yourself that it indeed wasn’t that bad. Therefore, you nodded. “Okay.” You placed your head carefully on his shoulder, hoping to decrease the weight of your heavy skull.

You could feel Steve roll his eyes. “Lie down already,” he insisted with a chuckle, wriggling out his arm to wrap his arm around you, pulling you closer.

Fuck, he was comfortable. Like a warm pillow and blanket embracing you in one, holding you in a protecting shield where no negative emotion could be experienced. You felt one hundred percent at ease in Steve Roger’s arms. And for the first time those months, you didn’t worry endlessly about your project and the presentation.

*****

The only reason you woke up was because the plane had landed. Steve was softly shaking you awake. “Y/N, we’re here,” he whispered in your ear.

Really? Again??

“I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, shooting upright.

Steve shook his head. “I thought we covered this. I don’t mind you sleeping on me.” His own words made him laugh. “You look cute when you’re asleep.”

His words flustered you. “Well, you look cute when you’re awake,” you countered.

He grinned. “Thanks, doll.”

Suddenly, your eyes widened. “My presentation.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“My presentation is in an hour,” you remembered, since the times had been drilled into your brain. Stress that had abandoned you during the flight now came crashing back in. “I still have to prepare and change my outfit and make sure my presentation can be attached to the big screens and I don’t know if--” you were rambling as you were gathering your stuff.

You were already standing, and Steve immediately jumped up to match your height, or, better said, towering over you. You couldn’t get passed him just yet, even though panic was racing through you and you wanted to get to your presentation as fast as possible.

Steve noticed the flares of panic in your eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

“How do you know?” you squeaked.

“Because you are incredibly intelligent,” he answered without hesitation. “Every word you say oozes cleverness. You speak so easily, so confidently. And it doesn’t hurt that your first impression is great. You look like someone who’s loyal, who can be trusted, and who will work hard. The board will love you and everything you say will be listened to.”

You stared at Captain America, who was holding a patriotic speech for your sake, and you could feel your heart swell. “Thank you,” you breathed out. You didn’t know whether he knew that this was exactly what you needed to hear to give yourself a confidence boost.

He stepped out of the aisle to let you pass. “You got this, doll.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you smiled. In a burst of adrenalin, you lunged forward to give him a hug, your bag clumsily banging into the chairs. “I got this.”

“You got this!” Steve called after you as you made your way to the presentation.

*****

Steve was bummed. He’d met the cutest girl. He’d spotted her sleeping against the window, knowing that his seat was by her side, sitting down by the girl that embodied cuteness, and didn’t protest when her unconscious self snuggled up to him. And awake, she was even cuter. Mind-blowing smart. And funny. And beautiful.

But when they’d landed, she’d remembered the reason why she’d been tired in the first place, and had gotten stressed and ran away from him. He hadn’t even asked for your number. No way to get into contact with you again.

Miserable, even though he’d been so cheerful after returning from his week-long holiday with Ant-man in Miami, he shrugged into his leather jacket and called a cab. Tony had offered to send a limo to drive him, but Steve had kindly refused. That’s how he ended up sitting sulking in the back of a cab while being forced to listen to high-volume rap music thinking about a girl he’d sat beside for only a couple of hours.

Of course, Sam and Bucky were there standing out on the porch in front of the Stark Tower, anticipating Steve’s return.

“Look at you, all tanned!” Bucky exclaimed once Steve had paid the driver and fetched his suitcase from the trunk. “Wearing a shirt with goddamn palm trees!”

Sam clapped his friend on the back. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve never been frozen in the ice for seventy years, that’s how fresh you look.”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Steve laughed. “I take it you guys have missed me.”

Bucky shrugged, waving his metal hand dismissively. “It’s not you, I just don’t want to be left alone with this asshole for a week.”

Sam proceeded to punch Bucky against his flesh shoulder. “Next time we’ll absolutely come with you, man,” said Sam. “Must’ve been lots of pretty girls out there in Miami. Scott probably wasn’t fun to party with, though.”

“We didn’t party much, no,” Steve agreed. As the three men sauntered toward the building, Steve decided to confide in his friends. “There was this one girl I met on the plane, though. Her name’s Y/N.”

“Oh, Y/N, huh?” Bucky whooped. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Nice, man!” Sam smirked. “Get her number?”

Steve dropped his shoulders. “No... She had to hurry for a presentation and left before I could ask.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky and Sam said simultaneously.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed in sharply. “It was so weird, we really had this connection, you know. I hope I see her again someday.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, clearly expressing how Steve was a ridiculous hopeless romantic. By then, the three men had arrived in the hallway of the Stark Tower. Steve dropped his suitcase and opened his mouth to continue talking about you, when Tony came sprinting down the stairs. Tony, in full suit, sweat trickling down his forehead as he jumped the final steps, pointed at the three men.

“You’re not wearing the suits I had prepared for you!” Tony exclaimed.

Bucky spoke up, “Steve just got back, Tony, and we--”

“No time for excuses,” Tony interrupted the Winter Soldier, wiping sweat away with the back of his hand. “I had the time wrong and we have to be at the hotel in ten minutes. So chop chop, mother--”

Steve’s reaction was fast, knowing Tony would only get more stressed by the second, “If we don’t have to change outfits, we’ll come with you right now.”

Tony’s face lit up. “Great! Good to have you back, Rogers. Missed your face this week. Tell me all about Miami after the presentations from the wannabe world-changers.” Tony gestured for Steve to leave his suitcase for was it was and then ushered the three men back out the building. “Let’s go!”

*****

Steve was still sulking about the lost love of his life and Bucky, Sam and Tony continued to make fun of him for it. “If it’s really faith like you claim it is, you will find her back,” Bucky suddenly promised him seriously as Tony parked the car in front of an ancient-looking hotel.

“Absolutely, Steve,” Sam agreed, “You’re our golden boy. Luck is not the biggest part of your life so maybe you’ve always had bad luck so that you could be lucky this one time so that you could get lucky this one time--” he nudged Bucky in the ribs, winking exaggeratedly, “--if you know what I mean?”

The men jumped out of the car and ran through security. Amusing that the security guards didn’t even dare ask for identification when Iron Man, Captain America, the Winter Soldier and the Falcon came jogging past. “Happy!” Tony yelled, spotting the man impatiently waiting for them to arrive. “Where do we go?”

Happy Hogan screamed back: “Upstairs and to the left!”

The four men sprinted up the stairs and soon got pointed to their assigned seats. Tony had a special position at the front row, as he was one of the main investors for these young people presenting their research ideas. Steve, Bucky and Sam sat somewhere in the back, purely present to amuse Tony and give advise when necessary.

“We’re really just here to tell the rich folks what we think is cool,” Sam whispered. “Like, which stupid ideas they should give money to. Turning their little dreams into reality.”

“Pretty sure they have better ideas than you,” Bucky butted in.

Sam scoffed, “Don’t think so, you don’t know my brain.”

Steve had his eyes on the stage, where a young man was adjusting his glasses as his sweaty hands trembled holding his little paper with notes. He looked incredibly nervous, reminding Steve of how nerve-wrecked Y/N had been on the plane before for her presentation. If only he could see her again and tell her everything was going to be okay.

The man’s presentation finished in what seemed like a very long hour. Tony asked a couple of questions that the man didn’t have an answer to, after which the jury dismissed him. Several presenters followed, some more interesting than the others, some more capable of answering questions from the audience than others. It took two hours already and the men were starting to grow tired.

At some point Bucky had determinedly set his metal arm on the armrest of Sam’s chair. “Will you move your arm, Barnes?” Sam had hissed.

“No,” Bucky had chimed, after which the two men had bickered back and forth for quite a while. Steve still had his eyes on the stage. An inexplicable glimmer of hope was burning in his chest and he simply couldn’t look away.

The next woman stepped onto the stage and she took Steve’s breath away. The blinding sparkle in her eyes, the way that stunning dress hugged the curves of her body, how confident she took her position behind the microphone and smiled over the audience. Confident as hell, ready to conquer the world.

Steve’s jaw dropped. It was the girl from the plane.

She took a deep breath. And spoke.

Steve’s jaw, if possible, dropped even further. Because goddamn, she was killing it. Her ideas were absolutely brilliant. At some point during her presentation, Tony turned around and mouthed, while pointing at her, “She’s great!”

Steve was nodding vigorously. “Hell yeah, she is.”

Y/N’s eyes, while slamming the last lines of her speech, convincing basically everyone in the building to throw all their money at her project, darted up to the balcony where Tony Stark was seated. Steve tried to make himself small, noting that she was looking in his direction, because he had no intention to distract her. However, as soon as Y/N glanced up, her gaze fell upon the Captain, and her jaw dropped.

Steve, in an awkward automatic gesture, gave her a thumbs-up.

Tony asked a question. She swallowed with difficulty and replied smoothly, thank the lord. Tony nodded, as if she’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “Alright, folks, that was it. We’ll be discussing amongst ourselves now, and if we’re interested, we’ll find you. Good job, everyone.”

Applause erupted from the audience and Y/N did a quick bow before rushing off stage.

Tony was swirling around to his friends, saying, “Well, what do you guys think? I’d say the last one was the--”

Steve jumped up. “Sorry, Tony. I have to go.”

*****

Jesus fucking christ, you were cursing in your head, was this for real? Had you just spotted Steve Rogers sitting behind Tony Stark, a man you were trying so hard to impress intellectually and a man you had developed a bizarrely huge crush on over the past few hours. You had been afraid you’d never see him again, and here he was, watching the most important presentation of your life, and judging you for it. What would he say to Tony Stark about you? Would he even recognise you from the plane?

Your mind clouded with more worries than you already had, doubts about your presentation blinding you as you stumbled through the crowd trying to find your seat. All the other presenters were chatting amongst themselves, visibly nervous, same as you. Except you had the pressure of knowing Steve Rogers resting upon your shoulders. What if Steve had told Tony about how tired and a little baby you had been?

“Y/N!” you heard your name. A voice you’d know anywhere.

You spun around, and suddenly all the nerves vanished like snow in the sun. “Steve!”

The man came jogging over in all his glory, still in the same palm tree shirt that he’d worn on the plane. A wide smile was plastered on his pretty face, and before you knew what he was doing, he was wrapping you in a large hug. “You did so great! I’m so happy to see you! I didn’t know you were presenting here! You were amazing!”

The compliments flew off his tongue so easily it made you blush, and you slung your arms around his neck. He was so buff and warm and, well, thicc, and it felt amazing to hug him. To seriously hold Captain America in your arms. “Thank you! Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Steve then let you go, making your body scream at the loss of warmth. “Me either,” he confessed, unable to quit smiling. “I’m so happy we found each other again. Must’ve been faith.”

You nodded, “It must’ve been.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve could spot Tony and Happy strolling toward you, as well as several other investors that were eying you with interest, and he knew that he wasn’t going to hold your presence for long. You had business to attend to. A strong, independent woman, and with realising that his heart swelled. “Y/N, I really want to see you again. We can’t keep leaving it up to faith, you know. She might grow tired of us.”

You were nodding so heavily you feared your neck might snap. “Absolutely,” you agreed. “We can’t lose each other again. How big are the odds we’ll run in to each other in this world?”

“So small,” Steve confirmed, holding his fingers a hair apart. “So, would you, um, can I maybe have your number?”

A wild wave of enthusiasm and disbelief overwhelmed you. Who’d known that by dreaming in the sky your actual dreams might come true by falling asleep on Captain America? “Yes! Yes, of course.” You accepted his phone and put in your number. “Maybe we could--” you started.

You were interrupted by Tony Stark tapping on your shoulder. “Miss Y/L/N, I’d like to talk to--Steve?” Tony Stark seemed surprised to find his friend talking to you. Seeing Steve’s expression, he connected the dots. “OH! This is--oh. Wow. Well, Steve, I didn’t know you had such good taste in women. I can leave you guys alone for a minute--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve stopped him quickly. He’d noted the other investors approaching and wanted nothing more than for you to work together with the best of the best, Stark Industries and Tony himself. “You do you. Y/N, I’ll call you.”

Your smile was so wide your cheeks started hurting. This must be the best day of your life. “Please do, popsicle.”

Tony Stark erupted in laughter. “Oh, god, you two are made for each other. Now get out of here, popsicle, we have business to attend to.”

*****

@patzammit // @bookgirlunicorn // @buckybarneshairpullingkink // @followyourbucky // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 // @gaybroadwayloser // @fuckthatfeeling // @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked // @daughterofthenight117

#steve rogers #steve #rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #female!reader #captain america #avengers #avenger #tony stark #superhero #fanfic #marvel #fiction #writing #writer #reader insert #reader

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soartfullydone · 4 years

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Well, well. If it isn't the little mouse come to rummage around once more in my things. Oh, no please. Don't get up. I'd love to see what is of such interest to you on my desk. Last I checked, it was a mountain of requisitions from Urban Development. Do close your mouth, pet. You could give give some men the wrong idea. Hm? Why so surprised? Did you really think I would be unaware of the comings and goings in my own office?

ahaaaaa bite me cassie

Rufus Shinra’s office wasn’t as obnoxious as his father’s, but an air of pretentiousness lingered all the same. Melody felt that way about most executive offices. It seemed like anyone in Shinra who breached past the managerial level acquired a new suite big enough to fit their ego inside, the size of the space in direct correlation with the amount of money most of them didn’t deserve to make.

Namely because they weren’t in said office working often enough. With higher-ups, it was always arriving late and two-hour lunches and leaving early. Melody didn’t know what was stronger: her lack of surprise or her disappointment that Rufus appeared to be cut from the same cloth.

As Mayor Domino promised, Shinra’s heir apparent was absent, and this, too, gave her conflicting feelings. Relief. Frustration. However, her disgust was aimed entirely at herself.

Just get this over with.

Walking on the balls of her feet to minimize the clacking sound of her heels, Melody darted across the room, feeling immediately off-kilter.

She couldn’t remember ever seeing so much white. The tiled floors, the seamless stretch of wall, even the great expanse of his steel desk—the room was an uninterrupted blanket of white. The company’s usual selection of marble had been completely rejected for this room, for even the whitest marble displayed veins of black and gray. There were no deliberately placed accents, no splashes of color save for the odd item on Rufus’ desk. A black fountainpen. A silver paperweight shaped almost as perfectly as materia. A discarded, canary yellow paperclip. Then, there were the stacks of papers—Melody recognized the cover page on one stack instantly—the three computer monitors, the leather chair pushed into the desk, all of them white.

It was this chair Melody slid into, attempting to ignore how unnerved it all made her. There was nothing personal. No paintings on the wall, no shrubs in the corner, no pictures of family or friends. There was an entire wall that was a window, which displayed Sector 8 through Sector 2 in dazzling silver as sunlight beat down on steel and stone. Thank God. This was a room one could go insane in without such a view. She had never seen a space that was so clearly used be so cold and clinical at the same time; hospitals had more life.

It’s possible our dear Prince Shinra will be a little more careless on his own turf. Most employees are that arrogant, Mayor Domino had said wryly.

What am I looking for? she’d asked.

Anything.

Melody didn’t have much time. She’d originally guessed she’d linger no more than five minutes, but Domino’s warnings—not to mention her past experiences with Rufus—had scared her down to three. She tried the desk drawers first, only to find them all locked. The one that wasn’t held nothing but a keyboard, and a quick inspection failed to uncover any poorly-hidden notes containing computer passwords or other intriguing information. The computer was locked, too, and a quick keystroke put it back into sleep mode. Her hands flew across the papers on the desk, thumbing through them rapidly.

New recruit considerations for the Department of Public Safety, most of them unfavorable. Performance analytics for weapons prototypes from Scarlet’s department. Melody’s eyes snagged on the schematics and armaments list for a mechanical monstrosity labeled “Project Airbuster” before she was forced to continue on. She reached to move aside the one handful of papers containing information she already knew when, inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“Well, well,” Rufus Shinra said, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear as a strand of his blond hair brushed her cheek. “If it isn't the little mouse come to rummage around once more in my things.”

Melody twisted around—or tried to. The Vice President had other ideas, his hands gripping both sides of the chair and holding it steady, his body an uncompromising wall. She was locked in and going nowhere.

“Oh, no, please. Don’t get up.” Rufus smirked, his tone polite and mocking at the same time. He knew he had her caught. As if to boast this knowledge, he shifted just enough so he could lean over her left shoulder and cage her in further as he pretended to examine the spread of documents. “I’d love to see what is of such interest to you on my desk. Last I checked, it was a mountain of requisitions from Urban Development.”

With a smooth sweep of his hand, he gathered that very mountain she’d messily dropped in her shock at hearing him—feeling him—just behind her. He straightened the papers and feathered through them, the pages skipping across his thumb. “A scintillating read, I’m sure, but...” His sidelong gaze caught hers before it dipped, skimming down her neck, tracing her clavicle, caressing the swell of her breasts. Finishing his lazy inspection, his crystal blue eyes found hers again, searing this time. “Rather than suffer more of Tuesti’s thinly-veiled pleas for financial backing, I’d rather find you waiting for me here, on my desk—but not today.”

Melody had an iron-clad defense ready, but her lips parted in surprise, a blush spreading across her face at how casually Rufus could talk about fucking her. At how intimately she remembered what his cruel mouth could do to her flesh, how quickly his skillful fingers could make her come. She hated how easily he could fluster her by merely mentioning it. She hated how he could dangle the possibility in front of her only to yank it back without any true regret at all.

And most of all, she hated how badly she wanted it—wanted him—anyway.

Rufus regarded her with half-lidded eyes before leaning closer, setting off a new wave of panic and eagerness within her. Was he actually, finally going to kiss her? Was she finally going to discover what he tasted like? He tilted up her chin, and Melody’s knuckles turned white from squeezing the chair’s armrests. His lips were a breath away from hers when he chided, “Do close your mouth, pet. You could give some men the wrong idea.”

He released her with a flick of his fingers and straightened, his focus returning to the desk with a more worrisome air of assessment. At least, Melody should have been worried, should have been busy double-checking that she had put every document back in the exact spot she had first found it. Instead, she was leaning back in the chair, dazed and barely holding onto herself inside her own skin. Little mouse. Pet. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to know how creative he could get with names for her. Gratefulness that she had avoided reaching some point of no return with him again warred with the urge to see how far she could push him until he took what he wanted.

Instead, she steered her resolve toward the plan and managed, “I didn’t mean to bother you, sir. I— I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Hm? Why so surprised?” replied Rufus coolly. He was frowning suddenly at the assessment report from Weapons Development. “Did you really think I would be unaware of the comings and goings in my own office?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what,” he said, his voice and eyes frozen as he turned to advance on her, “are you doing here?”

Melody stood so quickly that she pushed the chair free and clear from her. She meant for her hands to raise in a placating gesture, but they became the barrier against Rufus’ chest to halt him from coming closer. (Not that they could truly stop him. Not that some part of her wanted to cling to the lapels of his jacket and pull him flush against her, imploring him to take, take, take.)

“The proposal!” she exclaimed, her thoughts scattered. “In your hand.”

A crease appeared between his blond brows, doubtful and contemplative at once. “What about it, Miss Westfire?”

Her stomach flipped with a thrill at his put-on formality. She loved how he humored her, but God, how she hated him for how he played with her. “A team member of mine thinks she included a page from another report in there by accident. She was freaking out, so I offered to get it back.” She looked down at the Urban Development proposal, concern flitting across her face. “Assuming you haven’t already trashed it.”

“I haven’t looked over it at all.”

Melody ignored that dig. She crossed her arms, feigning calm as Rufus flipped through the pages much slower and more thoroughly this time.

“Is this what you’re after?” Rufus pulled a page free, and a glance at its surface showed a half-formed spreadsheet, its cells missing numbers, with notes penned in flowing cursive across the bottom of the paper. It also lacked the distinctive formatting that the proposal was required to have and clearly displayed on its other pages.

Melody sighed, relieved. Even though she’d planted the page herself, a part of her had believed wildly that it had somehow vanished. “Yes. Thank you. She’ll be so glad.”

She went to take the page, but Rufus wouldn’t relinquish it. He asked, “Which team member lost this again?”

Her smile thinned. “I didn’t say.”

“Then say, Miss Westfire.”

“I would prefer—”

“I don’t care what you would prefer. Imagine if this held trade secrets, SOLDIER patrol routes, blueprints of our reactors. Now imagine if this information fell into the hands of Avalanche.” Rufus pulled, and the page ripped in an uneven half between their hands. Crumpling his half, Rufus tossed it on the desk, the completed proposal landing with a thump beside it. “Our company—my company—can’t afford this kind of carelessness. Tell me who it was.”

“So you can do what?” She let her half flutter to the floor, her heart pounding in her chest.

“I would think that was obvious,” Rufus said, dragging his chair back. He sat facing her, elbows braced on the armrests and his fingers laced together. “I’m going to fire her.”

Blood rushed in her ears. No, no, no. No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Seeing her indecision, Rufus smiled and leaned forward. “Tell me, Melody. Tell me now, or the one I’ll be making an example of will be you.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. If she bit down any harder, she thought she might shatter her teeth. Rufus’ eyes glittered before he shrugged, unconcerned. “Pity. In that case—”

“Rainy,” Melody bit out. “It was Celeste Rainy.”

Rufus’ smile sharpened. “Good girl.”

“Want me to send her up, too, while I’m at it?” she snapped, enraged at him. Enraged at herself.

“Oh, no. I don’t mind handling all the unpleasantness for you. You’ve done enough.”

Yes. Yes, Melody had, and she had nothing to show for it except getting a faithful, hard-working employee fired over her lies and schemes. Sick to her stomach, she went to leave, uncaring that the Vice President hadn’t dismissed her yet.

He caught her with an arm around her middle; he didn’t even have to rise from the chair to do so, but he did anyway. “Now, I can’t let you go with you looking this upset. What about your reward?”

“I have a lot of work to do.” She refused to meet his eyes. If she did, he would know exactly how much she despised him. More than likely, it would make him happy, and the last thing on Gaia she wanted was Rufus Shinra’s happiness.

“Work, she says.” The tips of his fingers traced the line of her neck. “Everything you do… In the end, it’s all for me.”

She went to protest, incensed, but his hand tightened around her and drew her into him. She felt his leather, fingerless glove press into the nape of her neck, his thumb caressing her racing pulse. Racing because his mouth was lavishing cruel ministrations to the column of her throat, his kiss hot, his mouth sucking hard enough to leave marks on her skin. She gasped as he rose higher and higher, his teeth scraping the underside of her jaw. Each kiss was a new way to claim her, and she was helpless against any of them.

At some point, her knees had buckled. Rufus’ arm was around her waist, pinning her against his chest. One of his legs was in between both of hers, and she moaned, the heat of his thigh driving her temporarily insane. Melody rolled her hips, wanting that delicious friction. Rufus bit her earlobe sharply.

“I said, not today.”

He let her go, removing himself enough that she was forced to get her legs under her. They felt shaky, but she managed. Her hand rose to inspect her neck, which felt utterly ravaged, and it was enough to bring a hint of sanity back. “You call this a reward?”

“You’re never satisfied,” Rufus noted, smiling as if he was satisfied. “That must be why we get along so well.”

He strode to the door of his office, expecting her to follow, which she naturally did. It was her only escape route. She frowned when he opened it for her like a gentleman. “That wasn’t your reward. I’m still debating what it is you deserve.”

Those words caused butterflies to flutter and a chilling dread to settle in her stomach all at once. When she was level with him, she asked archly, “What was it then, besides unwanted?”

Rufus traced her lips with his thumb, felt her shudder before she could stop it. “Don’t lie now.”

He leaned down, so they were looking nearly eye to eye, icy assurance versus burning resolve. “It was a warning, my dear. You’re good at this game, better than most, but you’ll never be able to play it like I can.” His smirk was sharp and prideful. “Next time you want to play spy with me, take greater care with your pawns.”

#:)))))))) I Love It Here #cue scene #ca: observe my sins #Anonymous

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isyancialtan · 5 years

Text

(follows this - part of this series)

If Sarp hadn’t had his phone screen-side-up in his open locker, he wouldn’t have known it was ringing.

“Anne?” He had to shout over blaring hip-hop and the coaches’ yelling, gloved fists hitting bags and the crash of weights and the roar of an industrial fan doing too little to cool the humid air. Even covering his other ear to concentrate the sound, he couldn’t hear Nilüfer’s voice. “Just a minute, I’ll go outside.”

Bracing the phone to his ear, he tucked the last of his stuff—gloves, still-damp towel, water bottle, lock—in his bag and slung it over his shoulder, clapping Enrique’s back as he passed and giving Mark a nod. His first week in New York, he’d been assured that a kickboxing studio not far from his Airbnb in Sugar Hill offered open gym times and a range of training programs…but when he’d showed up on a weekday afternoon, it’d been full of middle-aged women doing something that looked more like dancing than boxing, and most had seemed more interested in flirting than fighting. “Soccer moms,” Enrique had called them, laughing, when Sarp told him about it.

Anyway, he was glad he’d found Church Street, and a couple of guys to be friends with, even if the gym’s location in Tribeca meant he had to go right before or right after work to avoid backtracking the half-hour subway ride. But Nilüfer took precedence over hanging around to talk, and he jogged up the stairs, coming out at street level to a sun-drenched blue sky and the bustle of morning traffic.

“Anne?” he asked again, sitting down on the steps. “You there?”

“Where were you, a club?”

Sarp laughed. “It’s morning here, Mum. I was at the gym.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do you want to call back?”

“No,” he said quickly, “I was done. It’s fine.” In Istanbul, maybe, if he’d been in the middle of a workout he might have let her go to voicemail. But here, across the ocean from home, he would have stopped a match just to talk to her. “How was work?”

“It was fine.” No surgeries that had reminded her of something bad that could happen to him, then. “How’s your day?”

“It’s okay.”

As Enrique came out the door, back in his suit for a Friday on Wall Street, Sarp smiled a goodbye, then it turned to a laugh when Nilüfer urged, “I want more pictures! Send me one of your gym.”

“It’s just a gym,” he said, “nothing different. Anyway, you can see for yourself when you visit.”

“You know I don’t like seeing you fight.”

“I’m not fighting! I’m talking about you. We’ll start promoting you now, and when you get here you’ll be all set to step in the ring. I’m sure they’ve got gloves that’ll fit you.”

Nilüfer laughed. “And what about Hana? Did you have a good time last night?”

He paused, then, the echo of When are you leaving? and I need to think about it and I’m sorry I ruined your first time at a diner and finally her sudden, silent exit all rushing into his mind—as if they hadn’t replayed in endless loops the night before, as if he hadn’t taken it out on the bag this morning. And he said, finally, “…I don’t know.”

“Oğlum,” she said, and he could picture her face right then, her head tilted, brow furrowed, sympathy in her eyes. It’d hurt less, he thought, if he didn’t know exactly what he was missing. “What happened?”

He heard the door creak open behind him, and his gaze fell from the street ahead to the dirty steps he was sitting on—he didn’t want to invite anyone else into this conversation. If he couldn’t have Nilüfer there, he could at least give her all his attention. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I mean, nothing bad, just—we talked about when I leave.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, anne. I don’t know when I’ll be back here, and—”

Whoever’d come outside hadn’t passed him yet, but all of a sudden there were neon orange sneakers in his line of sight; a scrap of paper held out to him. He looked up. “Call me,” mouthed the girl, miming a phone to her ear. With a wink and a grin she was gone, jogging down the sidewalk, and he opened the paper—it was a phone number and the name “Cassie” next to a heart.

“Sarp?” said Nilüfer.

“Yeah.” He folded the paper back up. “…I think she doesn’t want to get hurt.”

He could practically see his mother frowning. “Hurt? You won’t hurt her.”

That was an awful lot of faith in him—faith he couldn’t risk betraying. “Yeah, but—” He sighed. “—Don’t get all excited, but—it was kind of a little more than friends.”

To Nilüfer’s great credit, Sarp thought, she didn’t gasp, or cheer, or tease, or do anything other than pause for a moment. Finally she asked, “What did you tell her?”

“That we could still be friends, even if she doesn’t want anything more.”

“And what did she say?”

“That she’d think about it.”

She was quiet again, and then she just asked, “Are you okay?”

It was so different from what he’d expected—he’d expected her to tell him that Hana would change her mind, or how to fix it, or even that he’d find someone else. He was ready to deal with any of that. But this, her gentle, familiar voice and the whisper of Turkish amid all the strangers speaking everything but, combined with a question he’d tried to avoid thinking about, made him more homesick than the whole month he’d been away, and his silence was answer enough.

“Oh, balım,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, shoved his hair back, looked at the pigeon pecking at crumbs from the sandwich shop next door instead of imagining his mother’s face. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

“Listen,” she said. “Maybe you’re leaving New York in two months. And you’ll leave London after that. But then sometime you’ll go to New York again, and the world is smaller than it seemed before you started travelling like this—it’s easy to stay in touch.” Her voice softened. “If it wasn’t, I’d miss you too much.”

“Damn it,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face.

“You okay?” It was Mark, his gloves dangling from the backpack slung over one shoulder.

Sarp gave him a half-smile. “Yeah.”

Mark nodded, gripping Sarp’s shoulder before striding off toward the subway, and Nilüfer said, “Canım, listen. You’ll make it work if it’s meant to be—friends or more.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And if not—you had good times, met the ablalar. And you’ll have good times again.”

He nodded. “You’ll have to meet them,” he said, coughing to clear the choked feeling in his throat. “They want to see you.”

“I’ll meet everyone.”

And maybe, he hoped, that’d include Hana. “I can’t wait ‘til you get here,” he told her, “you’ll love it.” Because, for all its quirks, New York was nothing like anywhere he’d ever been. Pictures couldn’t do it justice—she needed to see it in person. But then he added, more softly, “…I miss you.”

“I miss you too, bir tanem.” Then a smile warmed her voice again, and she said, “Send me pictures from work, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, finally laughing, and got to his feet. “Chocolate looks the same here, you know.”

“Then put something else in the picture. Your students, or the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Even as he rolled his eyes, the grin didn’t leave his face, and he knew he’d end up finding something to send to her. “What are you making for dinner?”

“Manti. I told Taso I’d give him some.”

“He’s going to get spoiled.” Really, Sarp was glad he was checking up on her.

“No, I’m glad. I’m not used to cooking with you gone; I always make too much.”

“Well, I’ll cook when you get here, all right? Whatever you want. And you won’t have to share with anybody.”

“I’m happy to share with you. Or Taso!” Sarp heard the timer ding in the background—wasn’t it crazy, hearing the timer in their kitchen in Istanbul when he was here in New York?—and Nilüfer said, “That’s the first batch. It takes longer to make by myself.”

“Make Taso help next time,” he retorted, and then, “Send me pictures.”

She laughed. “I will.”

He was almost to work, the ICC’s orange awnings in view, and he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Whenever you need to.” Sarp heard the clatter of a baking sheet on the oven rack and then the creak of the oven door. “I love you, oğlum.”

“Love you too.”

He tucked his phone in his pocket, realizing as he went through the door that he was still holding Cassie’s number. And for a moment, he almost put that in his pocket, too—just in case Hana didn’t call.

But Nilüfer’d said they could be friends, still, and Sarp hoped she was right, and even if she wasn’t, he didn’t want to move on just yet. Hana was worth more than that—she meant more than that.

So, as he entered his kitchen, he dropped the paper into the trash, then reached for an apron, turning on the double boiler and starting to pull out ingredients. Then, as nine o’ clock neared and his students arrived—Luli, the elderly woman who walked over from Chinatown; Remy, who’d promised to teach Sarp to make Cajun food despite having to wade through each other’s accents; Beth, fresh out of high school and determined to own a bakery no matter how many burned fingers or tipped bowls it took; a half-dozen others—he rounded them up for a picture. “My mum wants to see you,” he told them.

Reaching for his phone, Luli insisted, “She wants to see you with them,” with all the experience of being a mother, grandmother, and, she’d just announced last class, a great-grandmother.

“But it’s not our whole class without you.”

That was how Sarp ended up teaching a seventy-six-year-old woman to take a group selfie, their laughter as they crowded to fit within her reach captured on the screen (and in a video, and in a burst). Later, as their raspberry squares were cooling, he sent it to Nilüfer. This is my chocolate class, he wrote, you’ll love them all.

She responded with a photo of Taso holding a big bowl of manti. I’m sure I will, she said. It’s good to see you looking happy.

That morning, “happy” had seemed like a stretch. But now, surrounded by laughter and learning and chocolate, it seemed within reach again. Maybe Hana hadn’t contacted him yet—maybe she never would. And that would hurt—but he had Enrique and Mark at the gym, and his class here, and most importantly Taso and Nilüfer.

Don’t worry about me, he told her. Things are fine.

Maybe not everything—but most things.

And as Luli wrangled the class into another picture (“with the chocolate this time!”, she was saying), Sarp was willing to let that be enough.

#Sarp and Hana Stories #OTP: Sarp Bey and Hana Hanim #Sarp and Nilufer

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runephoenix6769 · 6 years

Text

Winter Solstice Part 3 C

NaNoWriMo, 08/11/18

Teenage Winter Schnee fic..

Chaps 1 -4 here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500653/chapters/38646758

Hope you enjoy.

Part 3 C *unedited*

Wearing her first place sash over her chest and with large silver shield in hand, Jacques began to parade his daughter round the room. Each time they stopped at a group of people so they could congratulate her on the win, he would gloat about her dedication or how he pushed her to be the best she could be.

The way he carried on it was as he had won it himself.

Each time the conversation would drift to business or politics. Again, for the fourth time, she heard the same boring topic,

“Surely Jacques, a man in your position can’t deny that the economic disparity between Atlas and Mantle is astronomical?”

Like he was holding court, the practised CEO controlled the narrative, guiding it in the direction that benefitted the conglomerate. Making sure that the people he deemed necessary over heard what he wished them to.

“We at the SDC are friends of the faunus and are doing our best to help facilitate economic growth in the area. “ Jacques’ took the diamond cute tumbler of Mountain Glen whiskey, “Why just yesterday, the Schnee Family made a large donation to the fund. My wife is on the board of directors, which I’m sure you know.”

She rankled at his use of her mother’s for his own end.

At the other side of the stage Winter watched with seething jealousy as the other teenagers hung about, laughing and joking with each other, playing games on their scrolls, relaxed and carefree after such an intense number of months.

Why did she have to stand here, like an Atlesian automaton?

“You look bored shitless.” A whisper came in her ear, causing Winter to startle, Cassandra Nikos laughed encasing her in an over the shoulder hug from behind, “Accents of red suits you like that, you should try incorporate it into your motif.”

Cast in the same ballot, the overly affectionate red head had been the only person out of their peers who had seemed genuinely thrilled that the Schnee Heiress had been taking part in the competition.

Strict rules demanded that all competitors must remain in the village with an assigned roommate. No exceptions to the rules, no matter how her father fussed. Three roommates had made requests for a transfer until Cassandra had breezed through the door, dumped her bag and dived onto the bed. At first Winter had been cautious, afraid that she was a hanger on, or worse, a competitor looking for an edge, but over the last few months sharing rooms at the numerous competitions, the girl’s genuinely friendly demeanour had won her over and it could almost be said that Winter considered the Argus girl a friend of sorts. Up until recently the two girls had kept a scroll correspondence back and forth, keeping the young teenager abreast of new music and swapping hair and make-up tips, some which had ended with disastrous results.

“Why don’t you come join us?”

Winter shot a glance in her father’s direction, following her eye, Cassandra nodded knowingly.

“Oh, right…. But he can’t do anything about me staying here.” She retrieved her scroll from her pocket, finger making a pattern in the screen,“- How come you deleted your Grimmstagram?

At the question, Winter shifted uncomfortably. What could she tell the only person who had shown any interest in her past her money, name or status? She could hardly tell her the vulgar messages and comments that had flooded her inbox describing in detail all the ways she and anyone she was associated with were going to die. How as a Schnee, she deserved to be violated in the most vicious of ways. It would only serve to frighten off the only person Winter could think of as a peer. Attempting to play it off as cool, she cryptically parted,

“Oh, I just wanted to take a break from social media.. You know, just concentrate on the tournament.”

“So you haven’t heard what Ralph Adel did then?”

Ralph Adel, from one of only a few families on Remnant who could come anywhere close to vying the vast amounts of wealth the Schnee family possessed, was a CCT sensation, renowned for his antics in the playgrounds of the affluent. More often than not, he was caught on the wrong side of the law only to get let off with a slap on the wrist. He could often be found smiling down from gigantic billboards or strolling the cat walk at Atlas Fashion week, modelling his mother’s creations, when not doing yet another court mandated stint in re-hab.

Rolling her eyes and going against her better judgement, she asked,

“Go on… Tell me what the cretin has done now.”

Glad to be the messenger of the salacious gossip, Cassandra animatedly began,

“He’s only gone and crashed his father’s yacht off the coast of Silas somewhere. He was drunk or something. Ran it a ground.. .. 10 million lien, down to the bottom of the deep blue sea.” Cassandra showed her pictures on her scroll, “Look at that!” The images flicked quickly as the girl continued to prattle on, “- He tried to claim the White Fang stole it and then that a Grimm attacked the ship. .. He got an extra million followers for his troubles”

If I did anything like that, my father would thrash me, Winter thought. If she so much as split a drop of water on the upholstery on the furniture she got a dressing down of a life time.

“So what’s the story with you and the faunus boy? “

Catching her off guard, Winter sputtered,

“What? … Nothing… I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Cassandra giggled, teasing good naturedly,

“I saw the way you were looking at him… You fancy him!”

“No, I do not!.... I don’t have time for such childish…. Idiotic… Notions… Dating is stupid..”

“I think the lady doth protest too much!-“ A mischievous glint appeared in Cassandra’s eye causing Winter to internally panic,”- You won’t mind if I call him over then?”

“Cassie… Don’t..” Winter hissed.

It was too late,

“Khenet!!” Using her extra height, Cassandra waved over the crowd. “Over here!”

Winter watched with dread as the faunus boy began to saunter over, holding up a plate over flowing with food as he navigated the his way through the crowd followed closely by his fencing instructor. As he drew closer, Cassandra pulled an over the top comical face, before nearly skipping over to him,

“Hey, Khenny,” She stroked her fingers down his arm, breathing in a flirtatious voice “-Winter was just telling me how much of a magnificent swords man you are.”

“Finally admitted did you?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her,

Winter bit back,

“I said nothing of the sort.”

Graciously, he offered out his plate and Winter caught the way his eyes roved over Cassandra as she made a huge display of being unable to decide between a delicate Valish cream puff or a beautifully crafted Mistrali sushi roll. After making her selection, he offered it out to Winter. All the different foods on offer were piled on top of each other. Carefully, Winter reached for what looked like a safe bet, a plain cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off, only for Khenet to ever so slightly pull it away in jest.

“Why am I not surprised!”

Winter the small white bread sandwich from the top of the pile, biting back the urge to stick out her tongue. Taking a superior tone,

“I don’t want to risk food poisoning. It is my sister’s birthday and I want to be able to enjoy the birthday cake. We flew in a pastrie chef especially from Vale for the occasion.”

“You’re such a snob!”

The President of Remnant’s Fencing Commission suddenly appeared, accosted the trio before an argument could erupt.

“There you are! I have been looking all over for you three.” She beckoned over a photographer, “ A picture for the wall and for the Atlas Times.” Taking the plate from Khenet, who comically skewered another piece of sushi, she asked, “Where are your coaches?”

From behind her tripod the photographer gestured for them to stand closer together. Khenet’s coach gulped his wine, to stand rather unsteadily behind his charge in his light blue sash that clashed with the colours of his garments. Cassandra’s mother, stunningly beautiful and statuesque, took place beside her daughter, fretting over the gold chains that dangled from her daughter’s head dress. Winter took the middle, brandishing the large shield in front that threatened to swamp her. Plastering a fake smile on her face she tried not to think about Violet, how proud she would be, how she deserved to be up here having worked just as hard.

“Where is your coach, Miss Schnee?”

Her father’s voice came like a knife down her spine, as he stood behind her,

“Unfortunately, Miz Hildebrand had a rather important prior engagement to attend to.”

The Vacouan instructor muttered,

“What, more important than seeing her first champion crowned?”

Winter tried to stay erect as she waited for his heavy hands to rest on her shoulders. Instead a warm arm pulled her into a hug and Cassandra pulled a goofy face. Khenet burst into laughter and the photographer began clicking away, the flashes flickering in quick succession as the trio took their pose. Cassandra planted a kiss on Winter’s cheek and not to be out done, Khenet placed one on the other.

A chorus of awws and the flutter of applause at the display of sportsmanship, rippled through the small gathering of those that witnessed the intimate moment.

Satisfied, the photographer began to search through the images.

“It’s for the Atlas Times, is there anything you want to say?”

Determined that her father could not make good on his threat to ostracise the woman she held so dear, Winter mustered her courage,

“Yes…. I want it said, ‘I could not have done this without my coach, Violet Hildebrand,” She peered over the photographer’s shoulder, making sure she was getting everything done word for word. “- And an intrinsic part of who I have become, she taught me strength and perseverance. It is after careful consideration that, Violet, my Father and I have come to the decision that I am to retire from fencing in this capacity and progress to the Combat Sabre, and I hope to be ready as soon as the President of the Commission sees fit as to give me the all clear. It is due to this mutually agreed upon decision that we have sorrowfully parted ways. Thankyou.”

At her words, Cassandra’s green eyes widened and her grip on Winter’s waist became painfully tight,

“Jesus Schneester, he’s going to kill you.”

“Probably.. But at least it shall be for a good reason, rather than crashing a yacht.”

Casting her eyes over the small gathering as her words began to ripple through, she spied her father attempting to smile and nod as various people congratulated him on such forward thinking.

“Yes, yes.. My daughter takes after her Grandfather. He was also a famed Combat Sabreist.”

His dyed white moustache twitched at the left hand corner, as he held out his glass to be refilled. Never taking his eyes off his daughter, he began to approach. For a moment, Winter went to take a step back, thankful that Cassandra’s arm remained as the red head called out,

“Daddy!”

A short stocky man with a barrel chest and heavy muscular arms that looked as if they were ready to burst out of the seams of his Atleasian style shirt strolled over with an a swagger that belied his small size.

“Pumpkin!” He exuberantly bellowed, encasing both girls in a bone crushing hug. “So proud of you.”

For a split second Winter was afraid to exhale in case it was the last lungful of oxygen she would ever suck into her lungs. The man let go giving both girls a gentle pat on the back with his Ursa sized hands. Cassandra still cuddled him close round the middle and Winter could not control the small flash of jealousy at the affection that she would never have.

Auber Nikos turned, held up his flute that looked so tiny in his rather large hand.

“Gele! A toast to the victors of today!”

“Nikos,” Jacques tone came out clipped, “I go by the name of Schnee now.”

“Oh .. yes.. How could I forget,” The russet haired man’s green eyes twinkled with mirth from out from under his bushy eyebrows as he leaned down to Winter like a conspirator, “We used to pal around at boarding school together.”

Listening intently as Auber Nikos began to regale the group with stories about the high jinks they would all get up to as young boys, much to her Father’s chagrin, Winter began to wonder if that was the reason by he was so adamantly refused to allow her to attend such a place. Finishing off a tale about scaring the daylights out of a young Jacques with a fake Grimm costume that had caused him to run screaming like a little girl through the dormitory, much to the amusement of everyone in attendance, Auber’ s shoulders shook with mirth.

“My eldest boy couldn’t wait to go.”

Jacques added, drily,

“Yes, a place that prized brawn over brains, if I recall.”

If Auber Nikos heard the snide insult, he didn’t outwardly show it, instead he let out a booming laugh, causing most of the people in the room to look in their direction.

“How are your brothers? Perry and Gunther, right?”

“Gunther took over the family business as was expected.”

“Grapes wasn’t it?”

“A vineyard!” Her father corrected.

Khenet butted in,

“It’s still just grapes though isn’t it?” He gave Winter a cheeky wink as he stuffed a truffle vol-au-vant in his mouth, Winter swallowed a smirk that threatened to spread across her face as her father bristled. Khenet spoke with his mouth full of pastry, making the motions with his sandals, “I ..erd … hoo squiv…em.. wiv. Bare . feeet?”

Jacques glared daggers at the young boy.

Mrs Nikos diplomatically cut in,

“We saw Pierre recently.”

As Mrs Nikos’ gushed about her uncle, Winter watched her father’s knuckles take on a hint of white as he gripped his drink. They hadn’t seen him in years, preferring the company of men, her father had taken great pains to create a distance between him and the family name in case it tainted it somehow.

“It must be something to have such an accomplished ballet dancer at your disposal?”

Taking a controlled sip of his drink, Jacques replied,

“Quite… Unfortunately, as you can see, Winter doesn’t quite have the stature for it, her sister, Weiss on the other hand is coming along exceptionally well.”

The insult cut to the core. It wasn’t her fault that her physic had taken after her mother rather than her father’s.

“I never had the aptitude for it.” Winter spoke in her defence, “I much prefer horse riding and gymnastics anyways. Both instil and encourage a great sense of balance and low centre of gravity.”

Mrs Nikos’ gave the young girl a pitiful look as Auber said,

“Oh I don’t know, what was it you said Cassie?”

Hugging Winter to her, the teenager said,

“She is so small and nimble I wasn’t able to land a hit on her.”

Before her father could reply they were interrupted by a boisterous shout,

“If it isn’t my old master!” The Senior World Champion clapped the Vacuoan coach on the back, “- I see you’re still milling about.” He nodded at Khenet, “-Well done, lad. I hope your keeping him on his toes?”

Clasping the young man in a hug, the coach grinned,

“Blue, my boy, I see the military suits you well. The last time I saw you, you were a pigeon chested runt.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for you I would never have been a champion in the first place,” Blue parted, “Stick with him lad. I was absolute fodder before he got a hold of me.”

“Excuse me, Mister.” A timid voice asked, “Are you a Huntsman?”

Blue looked round to find the source of the question. Cassandra ushered a carbon copy of herself forward. Wide green eyes looked up at the Huntsman in awe.

“Well…” He paused,

“Pyrrha.”

Grinning, he continued,

“In the military we refer to ourselves as Specialists. But yeah, I am a Huntsman.”

“Is that what you use to hunt monsters?”

Resting a gloved hand on the pommel of his sword at his hip, he gave a nod,

“Would you like to see?”

Pyrrha began to vibrate with excitement.

“Ok..” He held out a hand, “Stand back. Wouldn’t want it to mistake you for a Grimm, now would we?”

In amusement at his display for the benefit of the little girl, the teenagers created a bit of space. Satisfied they were at a safe distance Blue unsheathed his sword with a flourish. Light running along the steel’s polished surface it gleamed as he turned it slightly to show off the razor sharp edge. It looked to Winter like a living thing and she could imagine it calling out, itching to be used and vanquish it foes.

Even Khenet couldn’t hide his admiration of the blade as his ears gave him away, swivelling and twitching, though he tried to look disinterested and unimpressed. Winter internally scoffed as Cassandra’s eyes never left the handsome soldier’s face.

Could she be anymore blatant?

“This ..” The Specialist began to explain, pointing at a barrel beautifully crafted to be hidden and protected behind the coquille, “- is where the dust cartridges go..” He gave the empty barrel an experimental flick. It clicked as it smoothly spun in the wheel house. With a gloved finger he pointed to a slight groove that ran the whole length of the steel. “- The dust travels down along here to the tip… and when I’m ready .. I slice!” He turned, pointing it away from the youngsters before giving a demonstration… “Then BOOOOMPHHCHCH!.. the monster explodes!”

Pyrrha stared up at him with rapt attention as he sheathed his sword,

“Do you want to be a Huntress?”

Barely able to contain her enthusiasm, Pyrrha nodded enthusiastically.

“I want to go to Beacon or Haven like Cassie.”

“You’re going to Haven? “

At suddenly being the sole focus of his attention a blush crept across Cassandra’s cheeks and she nervously plucked at her nails,

“I haven’t decided which yet, but I’ve put myself forward for an early admission.”

“Can’t sway you to join Atlas, no?” With doe eyes, Cassandra shook her head, “And you?”

Khenet scowled,

“I’ll stick to Shade, if its ok by you?”

Blue laughed off the boy’s sullen demeanour,

“It pays for a young man to know his own mind.”

Grousing, the Vacouan instructor plucked a sandwich of a platter on a nearby table,

“Why is it all my best students leave to go to all those infernal academies? Just for once I’d like one to stick around!”

Sticking out his chest and standing at military ease, Blue proudly announced,

“When duty calls, one must answer.”

Resting a firm hand on Winter’s shoulder, her father smoothly interjected,

“My daughter knows all about duty as she’ll be taking a position at the SDC once her education is complete. Huntsman and Huntresses, it’s a noble cause to be sure. Its keeps our borders safe, but it is hardly a profession befitting a young lady. This swords play is merely a hobby for her.”

As a body guard whispered something in her father’s ear, Winter could feel their eyes on her making her ears burn. She willfully returned their gaze. Jacques addressed the group,

“Everybody, I bid you good evening. We must be going if we want the airship to take off before the storm hits. Come along Winter.”

Her father set off across the room with long strides, his body guards clearing a path as if he was some great king and they his subjects. Winter politely shook hands with everyone, catching Cassandra silently motion, ‘call me.’ As she began following her father the teenager heard just on the edge of earshot, Mr and Mrs Nikos’,

“What a horrible man….Can you believe he said that about his own daughter and in front of her?”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. He always was a nasty piece of work. There was a reason why we dusted him to a flag pole.

“That poor girl.... Cassandra darling, make sure you keep in touch.”

#winter schnee #weiss schnee #jacques schnee #berdea cid #khenet chausie #cassandra nikos #auber nikos #pyrrah nikos #willow schnee #schnee dust company #sdc #rwby #winter schnee headcanon #winter schnee fanfiction #rwby fanfiction #nanowrimo kt #nanowrimo

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pen-masta · 7 years

Text

Paradise’s Plight Part 2

1 2 3 4

He sits out on the deck of the bungalow, his feet dangling in the crystal clear water. He smiles as birds fly high over head and a cool breeze blows over the water. The flight was smooth and they had landed a few hours ago, Joy had passed out as soon as they reached the bungalow and she’s still curled up on their bed. He wasn’t really tired and had decided to just relax while she slept. They both agreed to not take any electronics with them so their vacation wouldn’t be interrupted. And he could feel himself starting to really relax as he sat there on the deck, it’s so beautiful here there’s so much to do and they’ve got so much time to enjoy it all.

He looks back at his wife over his shoulder hearing her light snoring. He smiles more, she’ll have to wake up soon otherwise her clock will be off for the whole trip. He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. A piece of paper falls out of his pocket as he does so, and he looks at it for a moment before picking it up. Unfolding the tiny square he smiles at the writing on the page, it’s his list of activities, restaurants, and tours he has planned for them.

He looks back Joy and walks back into their bungalow. He lies the itinerary on the little coffee table, before curling up behind Joy. He wraps his arm around her middle, gently pulling her closer to him. He smiles and peppers little kisses from her collarbone up to her ear, and he runs his hand up and down her side.

She stirs a little and smiles at his soft touch, she giggles a little when he nips at her ear.

“Cassie,” she whines playfully, “I don’t know if you are aware of this or not, but I am trying to sleep here.”

“I’m well aware,” he grins. “But you’ve been sleeping for a few hours now.”

“And?” She asks and opens one eye at him.

“And if you sleep any longer you’re biological clock will be off the entire trip.” He says and rests his head on her shoulder.

“You’re point being?” She smiles and closes her eye again.

“You have to wake up my dear,” he smiles.

She whines and buries her head into her pillow. He chuckles and leans over her more so his lips ghost her ear as he speaks, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Do you or do you not want to be awake at the same time for this trip?” He grins. “If you don’t wake up we’ll never be on the same schedule.”

“Fair point and I hear what you’re saying,” she yawns before rolling onto her back and looking up at him. “But counterpoint I don’t want to leave this bed.” She runs her hands along the sheet, “It’s so comfortable.”

He chuckles, “No one said anything about leaving the bed.”

She smiles and curls into his side, “Good cause I’m not moving.”

He smiles and looks at the paper lying on the coffee table, “But you know I do have some stuff planned.”

Joy whines loudly and sits up, “No Cassie no lists.”

“But it’s good to have lists,” he smiles and gets up. He grabs the paper off of the table and sits back on the bed.

“Cassie every time we go on a trip you always have a list,” she says and hugs her knees. “We are always moving around constantly to the next thing on the list and it just feels so rushed and like you never fully relax because you’re so obsessed with moving on and being on time and blah blah blah.” She sighs and rolls her eyes.

“I won’t be like that this time,” he insists shaking his head. “I’ve got a lot of stuff planned and it’ll be fun and relaxing.”

“Really?” Joy asks seeming to perk up a little.

“Yes,” he grins as she crawls over next to him.

“Let me see,” she says and skims over the list. “Oh yeah this does look interesting.” She smiles and takes the list from his hands. “Let’s see,” she stands up and wonders around the room reading the list. “So there are mountain trails, boat tours, museums.” She nods and walks towards the deck.

“Sounds fun right?” He grins and stands up off the bed.

“Sure does,” she grins and leans against the door frame. “All organized, and scheduled, and looks like we’ll be running around the whole trip.” She smiles at him as he walks over to her.

“We’ll get to see everything,” he says proudly.

“Uh huh,” she nods and looks back at the list. She smiles a little more and steps out onto the deck, “Sure does look that wa--oops!” She says as the wind takes the list from her hands.

Castel shrieks and tries to grab the list from the air, but the paper drifts out of reach flying further away before falling into the water. His mouth hangs open in shock and he looks at Joy who just shrugs.

“Woopsie,” she says with a little smile.

He stutters and sputters trying to form a sentence but his brain can’t seem to function. So instead of words all that comes out are sounds of distress as he flairs his arms between her and the paper that lies in the water starting to fall apart.

Joy just smiles and puts her hand on his shoulder, “No lists.”

“But, but, but,” he repeats like a broken record.

“Let’s not plan anything,” she says wrapping her arms around his neck smiling up at him. “Just be spontaneous, whatever looks fun in the moment. No rush, no schedule, no planners, no lists. Alright?”

He stares at her for a moment before he sighs in defeat. He mumbles a little before wrapping his arms around her waist and smiling back at her.

“Alright,” he sighs, “no lists.”

She giggles a little and kisses him and he smiles into the kiss, picking her up into his arms. She squeaks a little in surprise, but giggles and wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her back to their bed. Neither had any intention of leaving the bed for a while.

___________

Martha sat at the table waiting for her plate to arrive. In her last divorce she had managed to win a lot of her ex-husband’s money, including his business. She had really started to take over his business just before they split and the court found in her favor--after she put on a good sob story of course.

Now she gets to travel from place to place checking in on her hotel franchise and escaping all the annoying people at her office which she liked to call the home base. Fiji, the Bahamas, Jamaica, and Tahiti were her top hotel locations and she liked to pop in from time to time to check on the employees and sales and whatever excuse she could come up with to leave for a few weeks.

But frankly it’s all majorly boring, sure it was nice to get away and relax but there’s hardly anything entertaining to do...for her at least. She isn’t a tourist, she doesn’t play the whole “wow it’s like a whole other world” shtick. Needless to say these vacation spots got really dull and tasteless really fast.

And now she sits in a little restaurant waiting on this incompetent waiter, sipping on her martini. She sighs and looks around the room her patients wearing very thin for her server. It’s sometime in the late evening so the joint is hopping and full of people--tourists really. Most of them in tacky Hawaiian shirts, or sun dresses, or t-shirts, or purple dress shirts...wait a minute.

She sits up more to get a better look at the well dressed couple. They look kind of out of place with the other tourists, they aren’t over dressed but they certainly don’t look like the tacky-souvenir-wearing-generic-leaf-peepers. The man is wearing a purple dress shirt that he’s left unbuttoned at the top revealing some brown curly chest hair, black dress pants, complete with black dress shoes. Brown hair covers his face cut into a clean beard goatee and his curls look to be a little bit of a mess, but it looks like he’s styled it that way and it looks good.

The woman that is hooked on his arm wears a light white skirt and a purple top that matches his shirt. She’s got a purple butterfly clip on the side of her head mixed within her many curls and rainbow fringe sandals dawn her feet. These two definitely look out of place.

Martha leans more over the banister trying to get a better look at the two. They look so familiar! It isn’t until they both turn around to follow the waiter that she gets a full view of their faces. The woman’s face is scrunched a little as she giggles and the man smiles at her, before kisses her lips quickly. And then it hits her.

It’s Castel and Joy!

They’re here? In Tahiti? Together? She sits back as she watches the waiter seat them at a booth and she seems to remember something in a Time Magazine about their wedding. It was a few years ago yes, but she still can’t believe they got together.

Martha watches them from her spot on the upper floor for a moment longer. They both look so happy together. She scans the room to see no paparazzi, no flashes, no cameras, nothing. Castel must have kept their trip on the down low, not wanting to be bothered with pictures of their private lives being taken. She remembers when they were together, how he would go out of his way to come up with plans to avoid unwanted followers.

Martha smiles fondly as she watches them talk and laugh. She almost married Castel, she was so close to being set for life with him. And then Joy got in the way. Martha’s smile falls and she scowls sourly at the two. Joy was always butting in, she was always getting in the way, she was the first to suspect Martha was using Castel and she’s the one that had talked some sense into him.

Sure maybe Martha had just wanted him for his money, but that’s none of Joy’s business. Martha says nothing as her waiter brings her, her meal she just waves him away. Anger boils in her as she watches the two acting like children, blowing the paper off of their straws at each other. Honestly, you’re in public grow up!

She sighs and sips her martini again as an idea rings in her head. She looks back down at the two giggling at their table, and a smile stretches onto her face. I think I found my entertainment, she thinks to herself. This trip won’t be so boring after all.

She watches them from her table as she schemes and plans. Oh yes, things just got a little bit more interesting!

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iestynnicely · 4 years

Text

How Were You Told the Facts of Life?

Listening at the window during my Metrodeco Brighton show was a superfluity of nuns.

One glided up at curtain down and asked if I would sing at a convent charity evening.

I said, of course, sister.

The nun nodded. "Bless you. But just to correct you: not sister - but Mother Superior."

She wondered about the spoken material in my show, in case we might include some of it on the night?

I said I had been asking people how they had been told the facts of life...

Bernard, 72

My sister read about Dutch caps. We looked at Old Masters paintings and wondered how having those funny big white hats on their heads would stop women getting pregnant.

Susan, 46

At school we were told, "Your body is a temple of the Holy Ghost" before being shown a public information film which made us all scream "Yuk". Our biology teacher threatened to put on again Root Canal: The Musical.

Raymond, 51

With the individual sperms themselves being so microscopic, I thought you wouldn't feel then being ejaculated and wouldn't know when to break off with the intercourse. My physics teacher explained the emission process was pump-action and virtually impossible to ignore.

Which has very much proved to be the case, I've found.

Cassie, 19

My eleven-year-old twin sisters' head of year asked if they could be told at home about periods - definitely - and the facts of life, if possible. Mum talked to them separately. Milly had hysterics at the whole idea of periods and when mum tried to tell her the facts of life, stuck her fingers in her ears and sang One Direction. Carolina said periods sounded a bit drastic. She listened in silence to the facts of life, then said that she hadn't quite got it, so maybe when mummy and daddy next had a go at that she could watch?

Marion, 62

My mother said the sexual act was something I should use. I should flaunt the potential of a man getting it from me. I should manipulate. I should cajole. I should go so far and no further. I could be voluptuous. Flagrant; bestial.

I said, "Yes, thank you, but what about the act itself?"

She said, "What do I think I am, a bloody biology teacher?"

Mikey, 29

At fourteen, my dad warned me off booze and drugs and told me where the condoms were. He later asked me to stop traumatising my autistic younger brother by inflating the condoms into limbless Godzillas.

Trudy, 71

I was told not to worry when I started periods because even the Queen and Princess Margaret had the same. When we had whooping cough, we were taken down the livestock market for the benefit of the cows' sweat. If ever a bull mounted a cow, we were told to look away and remember that we had to keep ourselves pure.

When local girls got pregnant, it was all "she doesn't know how it happened". It made me terrified that even if I stood next to my boyfriend to kiss him goodnight by some mysterious happening I could have a baby. I never sat next to my male cousins at tea, either - always at least place one away or diagonally opposite. And I moved seats when a man sat next to me on the tram. This was when trams were just plain trams. Not like today going from East Croydon to Elmers End by enhanced tram.

Gareth, 42

My uncle pointed to a bull and said, "Bull has cow, cow has calf."

Larissa, 82

Oh, you've been talking to me lovely friend in the John Lewis Food Hall, haven't you? Has he put you onto me? Oh. That's...well, I did think he was my friend. It's always been a bit up and down with him. The other ladies in the Mansions said I was wrong to talk to him so much. Kalia said I didn't even know his name. I did - it was on his badge. Eric. But I'd noticed he did seem to just be staring at me the most recent times I've been shopping. I got so worried and asked him if the ladies - Kalia and the rest of them - were right and I shouldn't have been talking to him all those times? About my health scares. That particular time I was speaking to him I'd just had a particularly serious scare. My breast implants. My fourth husband paid for my breast implants; and he's kept the receipt. Oh, I was anxious. The next time I saw Eric was after I'd been for my consultation regarding my breast implants. I decided not to bother him. He was where he usually is, opposite the tea. I just kept my eyes on the display. And he - oh, I was so happy - he said hello and asked how I was. I gushed. I couldn't help it. Gushed about how relieved I was that he was talking to me, as I'd been so afraid that he had never wanted to, really. He explained that at his age, nineteen, he just felt that he had so little experience in such matters as mine and could offer no advice. I said that he should never have worried himself, the scare about my breast implants was over. I wouldn't need to have them taken out after all - I just needed to have my nipples shifted.

What? So, you weren't speaking to my lovely friend Eric? What was the question again? Ah...well, I was a debutante and lived in the town rather than the country, so knew nothing. If I'd known what my second husband in particular had in store for me, I'd have taken the veil.

Thomas, 76

We used to go to Leicestershire every summer for six weeks and there were chickens.

Sonia, 46

My mother drew a picture of an erect penis and then of something that in no way resembled a vagina and said, "That, goes in there. But only when the people concerned truly love each other." I later found out that she had been asked to give me this talk by Miss Cavendish, my house mistress. I also found out that my mother had told Miss Cavendish how when I watched cartoons I masturbated.

"Except," Miss Cavendish said, "your mother being such the scholar didn't say that you masturbated, but talked of your fetishistic auto-erotic tendencies!"

Sian, 62

My mother caught me masturbating when I was nine and a bit. She dragged me in front of a mirror, made me open my mouth and pointed at my uvula.

"See that thing dangling there at the back of your throat?" she said. "Every time you touch yourself like you were just doing down there, it grows a bit. And a bit more. Until eventually it chokes you."

Sarah, 53

When I was about nine, I started asking mummy. When I was fifteen, she said, "You know when we let Saltash off her lead in Stanley Park that time and that boy dog came ever so close to her and did that funny dance with her? Well, mummies and daddies do that. It's natural and nothing to be ashamed of and might be lovely."

Peter, 72

My mum refused to tell me and told me to ask my nan. I asked nan. She said, "No, sorry, Peter. I never even told your mother or your uncles any of that. If push came to shove we might maybe have taken them to the aquarium."

Fiona, 68

I was told that as soon as the ring went on my finger in the church a baby would begin to grow in my belly.

Francis, 73

When I was fifteen my father said he had something to tell me, took me into the bathroom, went bright red and locked the door. I thought, oh god, he's going to tell me that he's gone bankrupt or that mummy's died. Such a relief when he started squirming his way through telling me the facts of life! I already knew them - we had a gypsy family in the village and I was at school with one of the sons - but I wanted my father to be uncomfortable. I only remember certain details of what he told me, such as him calling the penis your person and describing the inside of the vagina as like the nasal passages when one is suffering from a very bad cold. Oh, and he used the full spermatozoa and said it was like live, bleached tapioca, could I imagine? No, frankly, I couldn't. He ended his talk by saying that if I caught anything it would break my mother's heart. "And homosexuality is just silly."

I didn't get to tell the Mother Superior any of the above. I mentioned the subject of my spoken material, and she interrupted: "How lovely that you will sing for us. But about you going around and asking what you have, can I just say this: God does not want us to overreach ourselves."

#factsoflife life philosophy biology humanbiology

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

Silver and Magic - Chapter 12

Summary: You get back home with Geralt. But, it doesn’t last, when a Violet eyed Sorceress shows up.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 5,341

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Rating: M - Cursing, Blood, Bickering, Sex

Inspiration: Me bleidd means My Wolf. What the dragon’s head necklace looks like (x) This is sorta what I picture reader’s sword to look like (x) and how I picture the reader’s eyes (x)

Author’s Note: I’m pulling shit out of my muse’s ass for this chapter, and probably future ones. Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox

It felt amazing to see Crasmere come into sight, you hugged your arms tighter around Geralt's waist as it did, the excitement of being home was strong.

“Y/n! Witcher!” Elias's voice called out as he appeared out of his door, on his way to the market. “You're home, and all in one piece I see!”

You and Geralt exchanged a knowing chuckled, as you smiled at the alderman. “We are, thankfully.” You replied. “I hope, Ifra hasn't had too many patients, while I was away?” You inquired.

“No more than the usual culprits.” He laughed, smiling up at you.

“That's good to know.” You answered, yawning. “She wouldn't mind tending to them for a few more days, would she? I'm rather exhausted from the journey.”

“Of course not!” Elias told you, looking at you like you were mad to think otherwise.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, grateful. “Let's go home, Geralt.” You whispered to him.

“As you wish, en'ca minne.” He answered, patting your arm and moving Roach forward towards the cottage.

“Home, sweet Home.” You giggled, getting down from Roach and stepping up on your porch. “It's always an amazing feeling coming home.”

“I wouldn't know.” Geralt commented, pulling Roach's saddle off.

“Don't you spend most winters in Kaer Morhen?” You asked, turning around to face him. “That's home for you, isn't it?”

“Not really.” He explained, sighing. “It's a home. But, it's not home. I've never come back to any place and felt...”

“Like, you belong.” You said softly, looking at expression on his face. “Like, it was the one place you could be yourself and find peace.”

Geralt frowned, looking the cottage over and turned to look over the land it was on. “I do,” He turned back around to face you, a gentle smile on his face. “find peace here.” He admitted, feeling that peace filling his chest. “with you.”

“Then,” You smiled back, blushing. “that means you belong here, with me.”

He stepped up onto the porch, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I don't want to belong anywhere else, with anyone else.” He whispered, bending his head and kissing you, lovingly, on the lips.

You laughed as he picked you up and carried you inside, taking you to your bed and laying you down, making short work of removing your and his clothing. He grabbed the back of your knees and pulled you to the edge of the bed, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“You're rather impatient.” You laughed, rolling your hips as he rubbed himself against you.

“I've wanted you for days.” Geralt rasped, his eyes a glow with lust.

“I'm all yours, Witcher.” You smirked, hugging your legs tighter around his hips

“Hm.” He grunted, lining his cock up and entered you, with one smooth and hard thrust, making you cry out as he hit both your sweet spot and your cervix.

“Fuck, Geralt!” You cried out again as he drove himself into you again, even harder.

The sharp and stinging slap of skin connecting filled the quaint cottage with the unashamed cries from your lips with every powerful and satisfying thrust, and every, almost, animal sound coming from between Geralt's clenched teeth. Geralt's hands had your hips in a bruising grasp, you grabbed at his thick wrists and pushed yourself down on his cock with every inward thrust, taking him even deeper into your core. You felt the frenzy of your bodies spiral up into their peaks, making you dizzy with the altitude.

“Geralt.” You called out, back arching and head thrown back as you fell from the peak of your orgasm and into an incredibly high and heavy place, all of your senses tingling.

“Y/n.” Geralt panted back, out of breath from the hard and quick pace.

He took a step back, pulling his flaccid cock free of your core, then dropped down on the bed beside you, eyes closing as it all caught up to him. You woke hours later, snuggled into Geralt's side, your head on his chest and feeling the soreness between your legs, but you didn't care, you still felt great from your orgasm. Shifting and sitting up, you brushed back the hair in your face, retying it, before getting up and padding down to the kitchen, parched. You giggled, taking a sip of water and feeling Geralt's arms wrap around your waist, hugging you flush against him.

“I'm right here, Geralt.” You whispered, setting the glass down and resting your head back against his chest. “I haven't left you, again.”

“Just making sure, me minne.” He replied, his sleepy voice close to your ear.

“I was just thirsty, is all.” You assured him, folding your hands over his and looking out the kitchen window to your garden.

“Are you happy?” Geralt asked, looking at the garden as well. “To be home, I mean.”

“I am.” You nodded, and turned in his arms to look up at him. “I'm happy to be with you, more.” You confessed, pushing up on your toes and kissing him.

“As am I.” He replied, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

Breaking the kiss, Geralt took your hand and led you out of the kitchen, you figured he was taking you back to bed, but, he guided you out the front door instead, out into the garden, lit by the full moon. You smiled at him as he made you sit on the stone bench, beside the gurgling fountain. He touched the Wolf medallion that rested against your chest and the Dragon pendant that dangled between your breasts, the only things you were still wearing; before turning away from you. His fingertips grazed the silky petals of the flowers growing in your garden, stopping, he leaned forward sniffing one of them before carefully picking it and turned back towards you, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“A red tulip.” You smiled, taking a deep breath as he held it out for you to smell.

“Do you know what a red tulip means?” He asked, gently touching it to your throat.

“Uh,” You bit your lip, the soft petals tickling your skin. “No, I don't. Do you know?” You asked, feeling the petals caress the skin of your breasts.

“I do know.” Geralt smirked, watching your nipples harden from the flower's light touch. “It means, 'I declare my love.' I learned it from Jaskier.” He said, seeing the amused sparkle in your silver eyes.

“Is that so?” You asked, even more amused and laid back on the bench, letting him trail the flower between your breasts and over your stomach. “And, how does the poetic Bard know about that?”

“He's Jaskier.” Geralt laughed, circling the flower around your navel. “He'll do anything to woo a woman. Rather, he'd do anything to woo the Countess de Stael back, for the millionth time.” He explained, tracing the curve of your hips and down your thigh.

“So, is that what you're doing?” You sighed, looking up at the full moon. “Declaring your love and trying to woo me.”

“While, I believe, I have already done both in various terms.” He smiled, gliding the tulip up your other thigh and over your side, making you giggle as it brushed over ticklish spots. “I am, indeed, declaring my love for you, y/n.” He said, touching it to your heart. “As for wooing you.” He chuckled, his mischievous smirk meeting his eyes as he looked at you.

Geralt carefully tucked the tulip in your hair, behind your ear, and knelt at the end of the stone bench, between your legs, licking his lips and nuzzled a cheek against the side of your knee, the light stubble tickling your skin. He kissed up the inside of your thigh, pausing to give your pussy a light lick, tasting the sticky remains of your previous love making, and kissed down your other thigh, before venturing back up. You smiled softly, feeling his mouth move back to your pussy, giving it slow and light licks, making you moan and brush your fingers through his silvery-white hair, pulling it free and feeling it caress the skin of your thighs as the gentle night breeze stirred its strands. Closing your eyes, you let your senses run free, the feel of Geralt between your legs, pleasuring you, the cool breeze on your naked skin, the sounds Geralt made, the flow of the river nearby and the chirp of some night bird, and the taste of Geralt's lips, still lingering on your own. It all felt so peaceful and right, something you had been craving for such a long time; something Geralt had been searching for as well. Your gasp, as you came, floated away on the wind, and left you limp on the stone bench, a smile on your face.

“You are incredibly good a wooing, Geralt.” You complimented him, creaking open your eyes.

“Thank you.” He smirked, kissing the top of your knee and stood. “I fully enjoy wooing you.” He admitted, pulling you up and sitting down, then pulled you into his lap.

“I rather enjoy it myself.” You answered, brushing your fingers through his hair and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good.” Geralt whispered into your neck, slipping a hand behind you, taking himself and letting your core slowly sheath his cock inside you.

You kissed him, rocking against him and rolling your hips, moving him inside of you enough to stimulate you both, breathy sounds coming from you as your sore and overstimulated core worked around him. You relaxed and tightened your walls around him, rhythmic in your motions. Geralt wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you against him and kissed his way down your lips, over your chin, trailing wet kisses down your throat and over your shoulder and chest, burying his nose into your skin and taking deep breaths, letting your scent of Sunflowers and Cedarwood take over all of his senses, clouding his mind with a pleasant fog.

“Y/n.” Geralt sighed, filling you up all over again.

“Geralt.” You smirked, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him, passionately.

“I'm sure, you're going to want to bathe now.” He said, resting his forehead against your collarbone.

“Hmm,” You hummed, pressing your lips together. “No.” You shook your head and nosed his hair, the scent of Chamomile filling your nostrils. “I'm rather content on smelling like you, for a while.”

He chuckled against your skin, smiling softly. “Let's go back inside, then.” He whispered, feeling the goosebumps ripple over your skin, and picked you up, carrying you back inside and to bed.

Geralt jerked up right, a deep crease on his brow.

You moaned, feeling the bed shake and reached out for Geralt. “What's wrong?” You asked, stirring awake.

“That smell.” He panted, blinking and try to shake it free from his mind.

“What smell, Geralt?” You frowned, opening your eyes and turning on your side to look at him, then caught the scent yourself. “Lilacs and...”

“Gooseberries.” Geralt whispered and got out of bed, yanking his pants on.

Frowning, you got dressed and followed Geralt out onto the porch, finding a young woman standing in your yard, her brow raised and violet eyes looking you and Geralt over. “Yennefer.” You whispered, lifting a brow at her.

“You know her?” Geralt asked, turning his head towards you.

“We've met at Aretuza, once or twice.” You replied, eyes still on her.

“How did you find me?” Geralt asked, turning his attention back to Yennefer.

“The same way I always find you, Geralt.” Yennefer answered, lowering her brow. “I just follow the scent of blood, horse and death.”

You tilted your head at her, blinking once as you realized, Yennefer not only didn't know Geralt's true scent, but the pair of them were once lovers. “You two use to be a couple.” You stated, more than asked.

“Yes, but that ended in disappointment, didn't it, Geralt?” Yennefer replied, giving the Witcher a rude expression. “You might watch out for that, y/n. Just saying.” She added, glancing at you.

“What do you want, Yennefer?” Geralt growled, folding his arms over his bare chest.

Yennefer sighed, rolling her eyes at him. “I, unfortunately, need your help.” She admitted, begrudgingly.

“With?”

“Well, obviously, if I'm asking for your help, Witcher, then it must be with a monster.” She sassed him, folding her arms.

“Obviously.” You rolled your eyes at her.

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at you. “I've come from Ellander, in Temeria. They have some sort of creature tormenting them. King Foltest has asked Triss to find someone to help and she thought of you, but didn't know where to find you. So, she asked me to find you.”

“What kind of creature?” Geralt asked, rubbing the side of his face, he had been looking forward to a few days of rest with you.

“My guess was a werewolf, and Triss believes its a Bruxa.” She explained, impatient.

“You have some experience with Bruxas.” Geralt smirked, looking at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Hm, you're so funny.” You grinned back, shaking your head, amused.

“All right, we'll pack and meet you in Ellander.” He sighed at Yennefer.

“We?” Yennefer echoed.

“I'm not leaving without y/n.” He told her, motioning to you.

“What help is she going to be?”

Your body started to shake and a laughed bubbled up out of you. “You have no fucking idea.” You roared, throwing your head back and went inside.

“Do you love her?” Yennefer called as Geralt turned to follow you in.

He turned back towards her, seeing the look on her face. “Yes.” He nodded, and went in.

“Another monster.” You sighed, swinging up into Shadow's saddle and looking over at Geralt as he mounted Roach. “What are the chances.” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Well, Spring is coming,” He answered, moving Roach forward. “and that is the time monsters start to come back out.” He explained.

“Hibernation.” You nodded your head.

You paused long enough to inform Elias that, yet again, you would be away from home for an unknown amount of time, then you and Geralt continued on towards Ellander. It was a two day ride to the town, filled mostly with rain. Finding Yennefer at the alderman's house, you and Geralt got the rundown of what had been going on.

“There's always been monster attacks on Ellander.” The alderman, Rollo, explained to the three of you as he sat behind his desk. “But, that is only maybe once or twice a month. This thing has attacked that much in the last two weeks.”

“How is it attacking?” Geralt asked him, tilting his head.

“Some are slashed, like that of a werewolf, and others are drained dry, like a Vampire.” He elaborated, rubbing his face, clearly at his wits' end.

“Could a Bruxa and Werewolf be working together?” You asked, frowning at Geralt.

“Don't be silly.” Yennefer shook her head.

“It is possible.” Geralt answered, giving Yennefer a look. “There was a man, cursed, called Nivellen, who was in a relationship with a powerful Bruxa.”

“Seriously?” You chuckled, amused. “You think, they filed each other's claws?” You laughed, looking up at Geralt.

“Wouldn't surprise me.” He smirked back at you, making Yennefer roll her eyes at both of you. “Where have the attacks happened?”

“Just outside our town, in the forest.” Rollo answered, getting up from his desk. “Allow me to show you.”

Leading the way through town, Rollo showed you the area in the woods, where the attacks happened. You, Geralt and Yennefer examined the area, finding the dried spots of blood, scratches on the surrounding trees and bits of torn clothing.

“When was the first attack?” You asked, picking up a brown, threadbare square of shirt and sniffing it.

“Again,” Rollo answered, glancing around nervously. “It's common for attacks to happen, so it is hard to pinpoint the exact time these particular attacks happened. But, if I had to estimate, a month of two ago.”

You stood and moved over to Geralt. “What do you think?” You asked, holding up the patch of fabric to his nose.

“Hm.” He grunted, taking a sharp breath and narrowed his eyes. “Smell like a Werewolf and a...” He took another sniff. “Bruxa.” He frowned at you, confused.

“You think, perhaps there's a Bruxa or Werewolf, living in Ellander, and the other just nests nearby, and their attacks are overlapping?” You inquired, glancing around.

“Perhaps, but the likeliness of it.” Geralt replied, looking around as well. “But, with all the likelihoods we've been through of late, anything seems more than possible.”

You nodded in agreement with him, a lot of things were strange and out of place of late.

“What did happen to you two up in Kovir?” Yennefer asked, eyeing you.

“Normal Witcher and Witch things.” You answered, dropping the bit of fabric and following Rollo back into town.

“Geralt!” A light voice called as he pushed open the busy inn door, making a growl rumbling in Geralt's chest.

“Jaskier.” He huffed, as the Bard pushed through the crowd.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Yennefer.” Jaskier rolled his eyes back, but he perked up a moment later. “Y/n!” He smiled, brightly, seeing you coming in behind Yennefer. “It is marvelous to see you again, how are you?”

“I am rather well, Jaskier.” You grinned back, returning his hug. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, the life of a Bard and all that jazz.” He laughed, pulling back. “What are you all doing here?”

“There's a monster problem.” You replied, glancing around the packed bar. “Either, a Bruxa or a Werewolf, possibly both.” You filled him in, finding a table and sliding into the booth beside Geralt, who rested his hand on your thigh.

“So, the Ex.” He motioned to Yennefer. “and the current lover.” He looked at you, smiling. “How cheeky, Ger- OUCH!” Jaskier cried, rubbing at his kicked shin. “Which one of you did that!?” He demanded, looking between the three of you, like a kicked puppy.

“Jaskier, why don't you go find out if there's any more rooms available.” Geralt growled, kicking him in the shin again.

“What a fabulous idea, Geralt.” Jaskier squeaked, jumping up and scurrying over to the innkeeper.

“You think, it's both a Bruxa and a Werewolf?” Yennefer asked, settling her eyes on you and Geralt.

“Yes.” You replied, fixing her with a look that made Geralt squeeze your knee.

“I'm going to check out the area tonight.” Geralt spoke up, before either of you could go for the other's throat. “Alone.”

Both your and Yennefer's head snapped to look at him, giving him identical 'are you crazy' looks, that startled him for a moment. But, he lifted his brow at Yennefer and settled you with a reassuring expression. You heaved a sigh and relaxed, resting your hand on top of his.

“Fine.” You gave in. “But, if you're not back by morning, I'm coming to get you.”

“That's only fair.” Geralt nodded.

“You're in luck!” Jaskier grinned, hopping back over. “There's two rooms left.”

“Excellent.” Yennefer snapped, getting up and disappearing in the crowd.

“Why are you two so hostile?” Geralt asked, looking at you, sternly.

“Jealous ex-lover and possessive current lover.” Jaskier chimed in.

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt snapped, growling at him.

“Yennefer and I, have never liked each other.” You explained, still staring after where she disappeared. “It goes back to when she was still at court with Aedirn.”

“What happened?” Jaskier asked, sliding into Yennefer's vacated seat across from you.

“She feels that I slighted her.” You answered, pouring a mug of ale that Jaskier brought back with him. “She, and the then king, were trying to arrange something between Aedirn and Kovir, when Eren and I were still together. My option was asked on the subject and was a leading factor to why it didn't happen. Yennefer has felt, if I hadn't put my nose in it or sided with a fellow Sorceress, then it would have happened. But, since I didn't, she's been notoriously salty towards me, and I'm not one to allow people to think they can treat me like that.”

“What was it she was trying to do?” Jaskier inquired, around the rim of his mug.

“Something better left in the past, Bard.” You answered, staring into your tankard.

“Why don't we go up to our room.” Geralt suggested, squeezing your hand. “Get settled in, then I'll go out tonight, and see what I can find.”

“All right.” You sighed, nodding your head and finishing off your ale, then got up. “It was nice seeing you again, Jaskier.” You said, patting him on the shoulder.

“You as well.” He smiled up at you.

“What was it, that you disagreed on?” Geralt asked, once in the privacy of the room.

“A war.” You said, simply, dropping Shadow's bags on the floor.

“With who?” He frowned, shaking his head.

“I don't know.” You sighed, dropping down on the bed. “All I knew was that they were looking for an alliance and aid from Kovir and Poviss to see it through.”

“Typical politics to be so slighted.” He commented, pulling his armor out of his bags.

“Doesn't take much to slight Mages.” You replied, lay back and rubbing your temples.

“So, it would seem.” Geralt answered, letting out a hard breath. “If I'm not back by first light, then come and find me.” He told you, standing at your feet.

“As you wish, Witcher.” You smirked, sitting up and letting him kiss you.

“And don't go fighting Yennefer, or you'll regret it.” He warned, going to the door.

“Oh, and how do you figure that?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“I'll figure it, by putting you over my knee.” He threw over his shoulder as he went out, your laugh following him down the hall.

You slept fitfully and gave up trying to find any, so you pulled out the book of Dragary history and spells that Aero had lent you, reading it to pass the time til first light. You started to grow uneasy as the sky outside the filthy window of the room grew brighter.

“Geralt?” You called, a knock sounded on the door, as you got dressed to go out and find him, answering it. “Yennefer.” You sighed, seeing it was just her.

“Has Geralt come back?” She asked, looking you over.

“No, I'm just going out to find him.” You told her, moving back into the room to grab your backpack.

“I'm coming with you.” She said, following you downstairs.

“Fine.” You called over your shoulder. “Not like I could stop you anyway.” You added, trudging through the early morning street.

You and Yennefer retraced your steps back into the forest, where Rollo showed you were the attacks happened. You saw a small charred spot, where he'd obviously made a fire to keep warm, but there were no other signs of him.

“Geralt!” Yennefer yelled out, turning in a circle. “Shit, what could have happened him?” She asked, quietly.

“Something bad, I'm sure.” You answered, bending over the remains of the fire and touching the burned sticks.

“He gave you his medallion?” Yennefer's voice sounded shocked, as she watched it slip out of the neck of your shirt.

“Yes, he did.” You replied, straightening up, finding the fire was long cold, and touched the wolf medallion. “He gave it to me in Midmaw, after he found me.” You explained, glancing around.

“Where do you think he could be?” She asked you, changing the subject. “He couldn't have headed back to town, we would have ran into each other.”

“I don't know.” You answered, the uneasiness growing stronger.

You slipped your hand into your shirt, gripping the Orzac pendant and closed your eyes, whispering something in Dragary, and opened your eyes again, your dragon eyes shining as you looked around. The land around you changed, no longer the colorfulness of nearing Spring, but silver. The only other color you could see was red, the pulsing hearts of life; a rabbit coming out of his burrow or a bird flying through the trees, your hearing had increased as well, the line of your Dragon Mark throbbed.

“What are you doing?” Yennefer asked, startled by your change.

“Ssshh.” You hushed her, tilting your head and trying to isolate out the sounds of the forest, the sounds of Yennefer's body as she stood beside you.

Your right ear twitched, catching the sound of a slow, but rhythmic, beat. Like, a heart that beat four times slower than a human's. You turned your eyes in that direction and caught the slow pulse of red in the distance, and let go of the pendant and took off in that direction. You found Geralt sitting up against a birch tree, his chin resting against his chest, and knelt in front of him, pushing his head up. He looked fine, like he was just knocked out.

“Geralt.” You called to him, patting his cheek. “Geralt!” You barked, slapping him across the face, making your hand sting.

“Mmm!” Geralt groaned, his head snapping up and looking at you angrily for a moment, before he realized it was you. “What are you doing out here?” He demanded.

“Geralt, it's well after first light.” Yennefer told him, as you looked him over.

“Fuck.” He grunted, pushing himself up and staggering.

“What happened?” She asked him.

“I don't know.” He hissed, pressing his fingertips to his throbbing temple. “I set up camp, felt something behind me, but before I could look, I blacked out.”

“I smell blood.” You said, frowning at the metallic tang in the air.

“It's not mine.” Geralt moaned, shaking his head and taking several steps forward.

“Let me look at you.” You told him, trying to pull him to a stop.

“It's not mine.” He huffed at you, moving forward again, but faltered. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” You frowned, moving beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “What's wrong?”

“I can't,” He blinked several times, looking confused. “I can't...feel my legs.” He looked down at his feet, before his body went limp against you.

“Fuck, Geralt.” You gasped, straining under his weight.

“Y/n?” He whined, looking at you, startled.

You were surprised to see how pale his face was all of a sudden. “Shit.” You looked back at Yennefer. “I'm portalling him back to the inn.” You told her, then did so.

Yennefer appeared a second later and helped you get Geralt into the bed. You struggled to get Geralt's shirt off and started checked very inch of his upper body, pushing him onto his side and doing the same with his back and found a bloody mark on the left side of his spine, the mark of a Bruxa claw.

“Fucking hell.” You gasped, touching it and making Geralt growl in protest. “You were attacked by a fucking Bruxa.” You told him, leaving him on his side and feeling around the wound, seeing small bluish veins around puncture mark. “I think, it's claw was poisoned, and the swelling from the wound and the poison as put pressure on your back, cutting off the feeling and use of your legs.” You explained, a ice cold knot in your stomach.

“If he's not healed, he'll end up paralyzed.” Yennefer blurted out. “Or the very least, die.”

“I am aware, thank you.” You snapped at her, picking up one of your bags.

Yennefer huffed at you and left the room, coming back a moment later with her herbs bag. “Then, do something.” She barked, digging through her bag.

“What do you think I'm doing?” You snapped back at her, mixing together a few herbs into a solution. “What are you doing?” You barked, grabbing Yennefer's wrist before she could press something to Geralt's wound. “Are you crazy?” You panted, seeing what it was. “That, will speed up the poison.”

“You don't know what you're talking about!” Yennefer hissed at you, trying to yank her wrist free of your grasp. “You're going to get him killed.”

“Stop!” Geralt yelled, wincing. “Both of you are going to get me killed, with your bickering.” He panted, a cold sweat breaking out over his body. “Y/n knows what she's doing, Yennefer. Leave her be.” He warned her.

“How are you sure?” She asked, jealous and hurt.

“Because, I come from a long line of healers.” You told her, going back to the herbs you were mixing.

“Your family were farmers.” Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“No, my family are Dragons.” You confessed, not caring at the moment.

“Dragons!” Yennefer laughed, shaking her head. “and you want her to heal you, Geralt.”

“My parents were Ronar and Izzi, of the Dragary.” You explained, mixing in another herb. “My mother was a White Dragon, a healer.”

“This is crazy.”

“Look!” You barked, pulling the Orzac necklace out of your shirt and showing it to her. “Okay? Great! Now, excuse me.” You huffed, sitting on the bed beside Geralt. “Drink this.” You held it up to his lips, helping him sip it down. “It'll help reduce any swelling and reverse the poison.” You told him, brushing his damp hair out of his face, your expression worried and afraid. “I knew, I should have gone with you.” You sighed, rubbing his arm.

“Well, I have to get hurt once in a while, so you have to take care of me.” He replied, trying to give you an encouraging smile.

“You silly Witcher.” You shook your head, smiling back. “You don't need to get hurt, for me to care for you.” You scolded him, playfully.

“Now, she tells me.” He laughed, then groaned.

“Here.” You moved back to your bag, pulling out a vial of some clear liquid and gave him a small swallow of it. “It'll help with the pain.” You looked up, just recalling Yennefer was still in the room, as she went out. “Do you remember anything else, from last night?” You asked, gently soothing your hand over his side.

“No.” He replied, resting his head on your leg. “Just that cold feeling of something behind me.”

“Might need to revoke your Witchering card for this, Geralt.” You chuckled, stroking his hair off his sweaty face.

“Very funny.” He mumbled against your thigh. “It's cold in here.” He added, his voice faint.

You looked around, you were melting as the day warmed up and the fireplace roared. “Here.” You gently moved his head back to a pillow and stood up, pulling off your clothing and laid down with him, laying his head on your bare chest and draped his arm over your waist, hugging yourself against him. “Is that better?” You asked, stroking his hair and arm.

“Mmhm.” He mewled, nodding his head.

“Rest, me bleidd.” You whispered to him, listening to his labored breathing. “Don't, you die on me.” You mumbled into his hair. “Please.” You begged him.

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