#lets make a star crossed moot monster | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

henry-cavill-baby · 4 years

Text

Mark of the Witcher ┃2

Chapter 2: Djinnefer

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Original Female Character

Length: 3k

Warnings: Some smut

Taglist: @lowkeyofsassguard (it’s not letting me tag you, sorry!)

Summary: Bottled Appetites and Carnal Desires

Sleep, it seemed, was an unattainable star in the vast night sky.

And this assumption was proved by one Geralt of Rivia; a Witcher who hadn’t been blessed with a good nights rest in… how long had it been? Two weeks now?

And this wasn’t to go without saying that Geralt had tried hours of peaceful meditation aside Roach, honing in on the wafting breeze through the loose fall leaves ready to fall to the forest floor. The birds in the nearby bushes tittering to one another did nothing but irritate Geralt.

It seemed everything annoyed the Witcher these days.

Monsters seemed to be far and few as of late and the lack of villagers screaming for help and tossing him their coin left him nearly penniless. The utter silence and animal chatter of the forest was no good for Geralt, it took his mind to the memories of his youth in Kaer Morhen—ones he could live without reliving.

Huffs from under the large wicker tree had Geralt turning to Roach, golden eyes squinting with sleep at the companion. “Can’t sleep either.” His voice is gruff and caked with drowsiness, his legs nearly weary as he hefts to stand.

The sun had cleared the misty sky and it burned his eyes.

The ground is muddy near the water bank as Geralt tries to plant his steps and stalk by the river, golden net tight in his fists. Creatures and Demons—the occasional horde of Drowners pried on livestock, and killing a one of them was more work than worth the coin. There were no sounds that would give way to a hiding spot for a scrounging demon to try to take him by surprise.

“Lovely ladies from Nilfgaard… and their ladies can kiss my—Geralt?”

Geralt almost stumbled in his step as a voice known all to well permeated through the air, a frowned expression overcoming his tired face. Of all the things he did not need, this would be the second.

Geralt turns and sees Jaskier—the bard is dressed in a blue and white tunic better fit for a court bard, with that cursed lute still cradled in his arms, pants puffy around the thighs in an obnoxiously fashionable manner—and turns back to the river with a low growl.

“What’s it been? Years? Months?” Jaskier pondered aloud, smiling at the sight of his friend, Geralt. “Does time even matter anymore, really.”

Geralt grunts as Jaskier goes on, still following like an overgrown pup. “I heard you were in town, you know, and while I have missed you dearly—I do think it’s time you got a hobby. You know, get out and see the world.” A thought popped into the Bards head. “Speaking of seeing the world, have you stopped by Cintra?”

The name Cintra nearly chills Geralt’s bones, but he just grunts out a hard, “No.” Continuing on the path along the riverbank, Geralt listens as Jaskier talks to himself.

“How am I, I hear you ask; I’m good, thanks for asking.” Jaskier huffed as his shoes sank slid on a patch of dry mud. “You see, I recently bedded the sweetest Countess and then, right after our fifth round of passionate love making, she sends me away. Can you believe that, Geralt?”

Geralt ignored him in favor of throwing his net in the water… and pulling it back empty. Fuck, he thought, and continued.

“Still a man of few words,” Jaskier hums, taking a swig of watered down ale that seemed a to be on the hotter side. The taste nearly turned his tongue.

“What are you doing, Geralt?” Jaskier nods to the empty net, finally deciding give in to his curiosity.

“Fishing?” He speculated with a frown. “You may be good at many things but I doubt that fishing is your forte. That is unless you catch one and are willing to share with an old friend?”

Geralt grunts and continues along the water line, next in hand as mud cakes everything up to his ankles. Shaking his head, Geralt throws the net again.

“You are still a Witcher right?” Jaskier hums. “I see you haven’t changed your outfit… or hair… or anything really. Why—What are you fishing for, exactly?”

“Is it carp? Is that your favorite?”

No answer.

“Or trout, do you like trout?”

No answer.

“Pike?”

Still no answer.

“Zander? I’m just listing fish now—is that a fish?”

Geralt sighs deeply in his chest, turning to Jaskier with the empty net in hand. “I’m not fishing.” The net is tossed back into the river. “I can’t sleep.”

“Ah.” Jaskier mutters. “That makes complete sense in the sense that it… makes none.” Jaskier stepped as close to the Witcher as was comfortable. “Geralt, talk to me.” Finally, a hint of concern etches into the Bards voice. “What’s happened? Is it about…you know.”

“No.” Geralt snaps. “She has nothing to do with this.” He spits with venom, eyes blazing with unadulterated rage. “I’m looking for a djinn and it’s somewhere in this lake, and I can’t fucking sleep!” He spits before stomping farther down and throws the net, trying to relax his shoulders.

“A djinn—a floating djinn—like a genie?” Jaskier questioned while ignoring the outburst.

“The bad tempered fellas who trick you with the three wish nonsense.” Jaskier nodded to himself, “And pray tell, how will this djinn help with your little problem?”

Jaskier answered himself: “And I’m not one to tell you how to live your life, Geralt, believe me, I don’t want to know what you get up to in your free time. But have you even considered that maybe this has to do with what you’ve been avoiding since last I saw you, currently still are?”

The words were unspoken between them: Child Surprise—Law of Surprise; destiny and what have you.

“No,” Geralt grunts. “It’s not about that. Not everything has to do with her, Jaskier.”

It was a lie he’d been telling himself for all these years now. The dreams never stopped, the cravings never quelled, and the urge to run to Cintra and take what was his boiled beneath the surface, like a pot of stew on the brink of spillage.

“Well, you could be right.” Jaskier hummed, leaning against a shady oak, watching Geralt hock the net back into the murky waters. “But you could be wrong. How old is she now, ten? Twelve?” Jaskier took a sour tone, “Do you even care, Geralt?”

“You know, a lovely Countess told me that Destiny only works harder when those enthralled by it resist its call. And that the harder you run away, the more desperate you become.”

Geralt moves closer to the water and throws in the net again, bending down to see if he’d caught anything and turning to raise a judgmental eyebrow at Jaskier. “Did you sing to her before she sent you away?” He grunted, glaring at the empty net.

“Yes I did.” Jaskier proudly answered then paused, stomping to his friend and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me something, Geralt?”

Chucking the next into the water once more, Geralt turned to Jaskier, raising one white brow with lips in a thin line. The voice of the bard is only making his agitation worse, and he prays for Roach to chase him away.

“No, really—Geralt, be honest with me,” Jaskier bellows into the empty forest. “How is my singing?”

The trees are silent and the bird flutter in anticipation, watching with beady eyes as the Witcher stands tall with a wet empty net, throwing it back into the watery depths once more.

“It’s like eating a pie and finding it has no filling.”

Jaskier stumbles back in shock at his friend’s horrendous insult, sputtering, “You—need a nap!”

Hands planted firmly on his hips and a scowl deeply etched on his soft face, Jaskier waited for his lug of a friend to turn and apologize for being rude. Instead—

“Hm.” Geralt hummed as he pulled the net from the waters, finally having caught his treasure. It was the size of a jug of ale, corked tightly with the symbol of the wizard who’d sealed it away. There was no certainty as to how long it had been down there, and djinns tended to veer towards to malevolent side the longer they were trapped.

Jaskier had been right in that they tended to play tricks when tempted by the faults of men, but Geralt was no man.

“What is—is that it? You found it?” Jaskier asked whilst coming to stand before Geralt. “Can I just—“

“Jaskier—“

They were in a standoff; Jaskier grasping the handle as Geralt refused his hold on the seal, staring at the bard with his deadly gaze. Neither was willing to let go.

Geralt’s attempts at tugging were moot, “Let go.”

But Jaskier was adamant in his grip, “Take back that bit about my filling less pie, and then you can have your sleepy little djinn.”

The urge to simply rip it from Jaskier was more tempting as the seconds passed. But at least the djinn was finally found and he could wish for a batch of well needed rest, though as long as Jaskier was around it wouldn’t be a peaceful sleep.

The Wizards seal popped off the top of the djinn’s previously captive state, and with that, all hell broke loose.

Aleira huffed from her windowsill, looking down at the children playing down below in the streets. None of them had nice clothes, clean faces or fussed up hair. They had no cares in the world outside of games and survival within the protected walls of Cintra. It was such an easy life to live. Guards stand posted by any door leading into the castle making it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak in or out.

The sky was cloudy above the looming Castle, and she prayed for the rains to fall.

“Princess?” the druid Mousesack calls from outside the door, his head poking in to see the eldest child in the line of the throne.

Everything in the young girls room is beyond cleanliness, aside from the stacks of parchment on the wooden desk, a dried up ink quill abandoned. Frown lines mar his face as she turns, showing off her defeated face. “And pray tell, what is the cause of your unhappiness?”

Aleira sighed, palm holding her cheek as she gazed out the window once more. “Nothing, Mousesack.”

He hmm’s and steps into the room, shutting the door behind and falling to his knees before the small princess. “I can’t fix what you won’t tell me.” Baby blue eyes watered before him, and he reached up to cup her cheek, “Please, Aleira.”

Her voice trembled, “Why can’t I go outside like Cirilla?” One finger pointed outside the window, smashing against the glass. “I hate being inside these walls everyday. I despise the lessons at every hour and having dinner with Grandmother every single night. I want to be out there with everyone else, Mousesack. I want…”

I want to be like everyone else

Mousesack let forth a deflated sigh, patting the silk clothed knee of the princess. “Believe me when I say that I want nothing more than for you to be happy, Aleira.” Unspoken words lay lodged in his throat, as he stands tall looking down upon her.

“Grandmother wants to keep me locked away.” Aleira let the words flow. “And I’m beginning to think you would have it that way as well. “

Mousesack shakes his head, grey hairs flying. “That isn’t true and you know it. Every choice the Queen makes is to protect you—“

“Protect me from what?” Aleira demands, standing up and glaring up at the Castle Druid. Her eyes are ablaze with fury and her hands clench at her sides, nails digging into soft skin.

“Our Kingdom is well protected and there hasn’t been an attempt on any of us in years. There’s no reason that a child like Cirilla can prance around with the other children but I’m locked away in here like a monster!” Her voice is trembling with anger, staring up at the man who raised her more than her parents.

Yes, they’d died two years ago, but even then, Mousesack was the closest she had to a father; Calanthe was no mother.

“You’ll understand one day, I swear to it.” Mousesack tries to reasons, moving to leave the girl to her juvenile rage.

“Is it about Geralt?” The name slipped through her lips like a curse. “Is he the cause of all this? Is he to blame for my suffering?”

Aleira wrenched back as Mousesack darted forwards, pulling her close and staring with pursed lips and dark eyes, “Who told you that name?”

His reaction is enough to cause a tendril of fear to flutter up her spine. “No one.” She mutters, trying to move away.

“Aleira,” Mousesack murmurs, trying to calm his racing heart. “This is a matter of your safety, as well as this Kingdom.” She can feel the Druid’s magic haphazardly swirling in the air.” I need you to tell me who told you that name.”

Regret boils in her veins; she should’ve kept it to herself.

That name had sounded like a curse on the tongue of Calanthe, and truly, Aleira had no clue whom this Geralt even was. She’d tried to hear more of the conversation from the hallway, but it had taken a turn to plans concerning the invasion of a foreign forest, and those plans were of no importance to her. The memory of lying in bed and wondering why the name Geralt sparked something deep in her was still a mystery.

“Grandmother.” She muttered while meeting Mousesack’s eyes. “I was eavesdropping and I heard it, I swear.”

That seemed to be enough for the Druid to pull back whilst nodding to himself, hands wringing and eyes darting about the room. Uncertainty whirled around his mussed hair, and she barely had a moment to watch him flee the room.

Subconsciously, she reached back and rubbed the tender skim on the back of her left shoulder, eyeing the salve gifted to her by Mousesack. It was cold on her skin but the aching fled easily, and Aleira collapsed on her bed, listening to the sounds of the children below.

Sunlight poured in through the cracked windows lining the near decimated castle walls. The floors were scattered with crumbled pieces of granite walls and mountains of pillows littered the floor.

The grunts and moans of Yennefer of Vengerberg—one of the strongest witches known to come from Aretuza with a proclivity for chaos and self mischief—echoed around the room as Geralt hefted her hips up higher in his grasp, bottoming out in her wet cunt.

He hadn’t come in to help her expecting a fuck, hadn’t intended for her to try and be a host for the djinn like a madwoman, and the strange desire to not see her die had cost him a wish. This third wish had nearly involved the Witch. Kindness was not a Witcher’s strength. But she had saved Jaskier—even if for her own preposterous reasons—and though kindness was not his forte, paying back favors was.

A life for a life, something along those lines.

Wet slaps of skin echoed as Geralt shut his eyes, nails digging into the soft flesh of her tanned thigh. His pace grew erratic and punishing as the walls of her cunt deliciously drew him in, his own moans joining hers. Ecstasy flooded his veins—carnal desire rising to the surface of his warm flesh.

It had too long since he’d felt a woman’s flesh. It was all too intoxicating for him to bear. When Geralt opened his eyes, expecting to gaze into the lilacs of Yennefer, he saw the ocean blue of his child Surprise.

The girl from his dreams was bare under his naked body; her full round tits bounced with each thrust and he could not resist the eager desire to take one into his mouth and suck like a newborn babe, biting the sensitive flesh. She still smelled of peaches, ones fresh enough to kill a man for, and he would—kill a man for her, that is.

Geralt would burn worlds for this girl, and he didn’t even know her name.

His curls fanned out on the surroundings pillows, and he longed to kiss the full lips that begged for his attention. His thrusts grew erratic and his hold grew tight, wishing this were real.

The mirage of her was gone all too fast and Yennefer screamed to the high heavens and flopped back onto the pillows, cunt walls fluttering around the cock buried deep inside. She was limp as he pulled his soft wet cock slowly out, collapsing next to her. There was no sound but the chattering outside from Jaskier, who’d definitely gotten an eyeful.

“If I’d known Witchers fucked like that, I would have gotten one myself a long time ago.” Yennefer turned and smirked, reaching forward to pin a piece of his white hair behind his ear.

“I’m sure my brothers would make a fine harem.” He grunted, keeping his hands to himself. It felt wrong to want to caress her, so he didn’t.

“Do you have a lover, Geralt of Rivia?” She asked with a raised brow. “I won’t be jealous, promise.”

He grunted but shook his head, “Having a lover would take time away from hunting monsters.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She hummed while twirling a piece of white hair. “I will admit that you are not as scary as you think.”

“Really?” A chuckled rumbled in Geralt’s chest. “You would be surprised how many people throw me out of their town once I’ve done their bidding.”

“Humans are dull, Geralt. Never get entangled with one, they will only disappoint you.” She laughed, “Or die, or get sick.”

“None of us are immune to death, Yennefer.”

Chuckling, Yennefer sat up and stretched. “You would be surprised what tricks a mage like myself can do.” A look of curiosity overcame her beautiful face, “Who were you thinking of? When you were rutting into me like a dog, Geralt?”

There’s no chance to deny it, “I know you saw someone else.”

Telling her about his Child Surprise feels… wrong, so he doesn’t.

“A woman I knew in Blaviken who didn’t see me as a monster.” He recalled, turning to look into her wide lilac orbs. “She was kinder than any man I’ve ever know.”

The two of them laid back and basked in the days sun, not touching but not far apart. They both knew they would need to rise soon and face whatever was to come, but this moment of peace was too good to pass up. And Jaskier singing much to loud outside would be best avoided.

“Aleira.” Yennefer declared, not looking away from the sun. “You called me Aleira; was that her name?”

Chapter 3... eventually, don’t rush me plz

Hope you enjoyed!

#the witcher fanfic #the witcher #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x oc #geralt imagines #geralt of rivia x oc #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagines

81 notes · View notes

haberdashing · 4 years

Text

And Freedom’s A Fairy Tale Lie (6/?)

When Michael is transformed just before killing Jon, the face the Distortion next wears is one much more familiar to Jon than that of Helen Richardson.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

on AO3

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to feel when he made himself sit down and watch a bootleg version of Hamilton just to get the reference Martin (or the thing that now called itself Martin, anyway) had so casually dropped before letting him go.

“Don’t forget to write” made slightly more sense in the context of the musical, with Angelica calling out to the story’s namesake before leaving town (to go to London, of all places)... but what did that mean for him, for Jon and Martin?

Were they supposed to be, like Angelica and Alexander, some sort of... of star-crossed lovers? Because that was... that was preposterous, obviously. Was it meant as sarcasm, since Jon himself was nearly as dedicated to his own form of writing as Hamilton himself, whether Martin told him to do it or not? Was it a replacement for some other sentiment that Angelica--that Martin couldn’t quite bring himself to voice just before leaving?

Jon checked theory boards and lyric analysis online and found himself vaguely resenting that he was putting all of this research into a- a Broadway musical of all things, rather than actual work, but the resentment wasn’t quite enough to get him to actually stop.

What would be easiest was if he could just have Martin come here and talk to him, and in the old days it would have been as simple as sticking his head outside his office door and calling Martin’s name, but these weren’t the old days anymore, and the Martin that remained wasn’t that Martin. Jon had learned well enough from dealing with Michael that the Distortion would appear only when it wanted to, for better or for worse.

Not when you call. Never when you call...

But there was only so much time Jon could spend looking into what Martin had said. He had other research to do, after all, research into things more important than a bit of interpersonal confusion, research that might well be the key to saving the world.

Even as life went on, though, Jon found his thoughts drifting to Martin every now and again.

He thought of Martin before boarding his plane to New Zealand, and before his plane to China, and to America, briefly thought each time about how much easier it would be to travel by magic supernatural door. No double- and triple-checking his packing to make sure nothing within would get confiscated by security and everything was just under the weight limit, no long lines to get into the airport proper, no “random” security checks that always managed to pick him for extra surveillance, no hours spent killing time on a plane as it traveled from place to place. It would be significantly more dangerous, of course--the thing now calling itself Martin was still by and large an unknown entity, not someone he could blindly trust--but also significantly more convenient.

Sometimes, when stuck in line or over-examining every item he packed or half-asleep on a plane, the trade-off almost seemed worth it.

Almost.

The point was moot, of course. The only way Jon would get to travel by supernatural door in the first place was if Martin offered, and he’d yet to see Martin since coming back from his kidnapping by the circus.

Jon half-expected to see Martin when he got kidnapped again. Which... it was rather unsettling that being kidnapped was rapidly becoming a regular life event for him, that this was the third time it had happened in a matter of months now. But Martin had freed him from his previous kidnapping, after all, and if Martin could navigate the circus without trouble, a pair of Hunters should be easy enough for him to handle.

It never happened, though. Every time Jon turned his head at the sound of a door creaking open, it turned out to be a door that had already been there opening for perfectly natural reasons. Not Martin’s door. Not Martin threatening to kill him, or offering a chance to escape.

This kidnapping, apparently, was one he would have to survive on his own.

Which he did, thankfully.

But it occurred to Jon, while half-awake on his flight back home to England, that part of him hadn’t wanted to make it out without Martin’s help, that a sizable part of him had been hoping to see Martin again, even knowing that “Martin” was more monster than man these days.

After all, who was Jon to judge?

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

12 notes · View notes

weirdponytail · 4 years

Text

Eragon: Book vs Movie. Set & Scene 1

SCENE 1, SET

Brom flipped through the thick packet, one leg crossed over the other. He was sitting in a folding actors chair, a troubled expression on his face.

“Wait, so you just want me to read this?” The old man turned to the Shadow behind him. “Just, read this out loud while things happen around me?”

“Correct.”

Brom sighed. “Alright then,” he opened his mouth to begin but then closed it. One of the other lines had caught his attention. “Oh dear. She isn’t going to like that. Um, might I suggest-”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” Out of nowhere, a burlap skirt came flying at high speed to promptly smack the Shadow right in region it’s face should have been. Brom sighed again and covered his face with his hands. “AND YOU CAN KEEP THIS SHIT, TOO! WHAT ARE THESE, MOULDED LEATHER TITS?!” A hard leather…shirt…thing…followed the skirt and struck with considerably more force, two rocks falling out of the moulded…breast region.

The elder Dragon Rider followed the trajectory of the clothing to see Arya fuming on set, wearing her usual leathers instead of the movie getup their employers had insisted on. Durza was a few strides behind her, howling with laughter at the ‘torture’ the directors were putting the elf through. He was practically crying, braced on his knees. Every time he seemed to be close to stopping, the shade would glance at the script of the first scene and start up again.

“Arya, come on.” Brom started. “I know it’s demeaning, and your mother will probably kill all of us involved if you don’t get to us first, but it’s only a few minutes for this scene. Then you can get back in your clothes and, as a bonus, your contract says you can kick Durza in his nether regions after every take.”

Durza stopped laughing.

Arya crossed her arms and glared at the Shadow. “Make it twice.”

“I have no objection to that.” The Shadow threw the elf the clothes.

The woman turned to change and came face to face with the shade, stopping her. “I swear, little elf, if you even think about doing that, I’ll change the script back to the way it really happened.”

Arya smirked. It was hard to take Durza seriously when he was wearing such ridiculous amounts of makeup and color changing contacts. She leaned in until their noses were almost touching and hissed, “You probably like it, masochist.” Then slipped around him and sauntered off. She could feel his eyes on her back and threw a one fingered salute over her shoulder. “And stop staring at my ass!”

Durza coughed, caught in the act, and turned back to the Shadow. “I also have an issue with my…wardrobe.”

“Your contract renders all your complaints moot.”

“But does it really have to be covered in glitter glue?” Durza lifted his armored shirt in dismay. “And why must I wear this padding? I’m not chubby, why do you insist on making it look like I am?”

Brom stifled a sarcastic chuckle. “I know you think you’re a vampire with the new costume, Durza, but you really need to look in a mirror.”

Durza scowled at the Rider before growling “I’ll be at my starting point.” And whipped around with a swirl of his new cape. He passed by the trailer just as Arya was walking out, trying to tug the hem of her skirt further down her legs to cover as much skin as possible. “Nice legs, elf.” He casually remarked and quickly took off in a sprint before she could wind up and punch him all the way to Daret.

The ground began to shake as Nar Garzvog lumbered up to the Shadow, his clan of Urgals in tow. “Misty One, where do you wish us to stand for our part?”

The Shadow waved the Kull off. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you, we won’t be needing you. We’ll be using these men.” It pointed towards the group of six-foot chub monsters with blue sharpie on their faces. “Much cheaper, and less stench. Go on, get out.” It snapped its fingers and the clan disappeared in a poof of sulfur smelling smoke.

“Now, Arya, please take your place. We need to begin. Brom, if you would please?”

Brom cleared his throat and picked up his script as Arya hopped onto the horse provided. “Remember, Arya, just grin and bear it.”

“Yeah, that’s what politics is all about. I’m going to kill Nasuada for suggesting this to raise war funds.”

“Ready? ACTION!”

SCENE 1 FOREST CHASE

Brom cleared his throat again and began in his best ‘Badass Storyteller’ voice.

“There was a time when the fierce and beautiful land of Alagaesia, was ruled by men astride mighty dragons…

“To protect and serve was their mission. And for thousands of years, the people prospered. But the Riders grew arrogant, and began to-” He stopped, flabbergasted. “Now wait just a minute, this isn’t correct at all! We never fought each other, Galbatorix went bloody insane for the Stars sakes!” He twisted around the glare at the Shadow. “What kind of hack is this? You’re ruining an already fragile history!”

“Keep reading.” The Shadow snapped. “History doesn’t make money, drama makes money. I own you until this film is complete, so keep. Reading.”

Brom sank into his chair, grumbling. “This is so beyond my pay grade. Achhem, But the Riders grew arrogant, and began to fight among themselves for power.

“Sensing their weakness, a young Rider named” Brom paused, and took a moment to slowly and carefully pronounce the tyrant’s name, “Gal-buh-tor-ix betrayed them. And in a single bloody battle, believed he had killed them all. Riders, and dragons alike.

“Well, you got something right.” Brom griped, but turned back to reading when the Shadow mouthed ‘own you.’ “Since then, our land has been ruled by Gal-buh-tor-ix. He crushed all rebellion including the freedom fighters known…as the Varden.

“Those that survived fled to the mountains. There, they hoped for a miracle that might even their odds against the king.”

Brom threw the script down. “Now that I’m done with this mediocre pile of shit, let me tell you something! The Varden has never openly had an army verses army war with dear old Galby until Farthen Dur, you illiterate fool!”

The Shadow opened its mouth to reply but a whoop from out in the forest cut it off. “Oooo, Brom is getting maaaaaad!”

“ARYA, BE QUIET!” The Shadow yelled. “You aren’t done yet, Brom! CUE THE CHASE SCENE!”

“Wait, what?” Arya raised an eyebrow then let out a startled yelp as three of the new ‘Urgals’ lunged from the bushes and slapped the three horses on the rump, sending them off at a breakneck gallop. “OH FUCK YOU!”

“Read!” The Shadow snapped.

“Fine! Our story begins one night, as Arya, an ally of the Varden, rides for her life. Carrying a stone, stolen from the king himself.” Brom looked up with a sour expression. “I STOLE THAT, BY THE WAY! NOT YOU!”

“I’m not arguing!” Arya yelled back, trying to reign in the very spooked horse catapulting through the woods with one hand while frantically flipping through the script with another

“CUE DURZA CLOSE UP!”

Durza glanced down at his script and raised his eyebrows, then jerked back as a camera suddenly shot up inches from his face. “Oh! Um…HSSSSSS-“ He managed a few seconds before shoving the camera away. “THAT WAS NOT MANLY OR SHADELY AT ALL!” Laughter from the direction of his elfin companion could be heard. “I WILL HAVE YOU TORN TO PIECES FOR LAUGHING, ELF!”

She ignored him, finally reaching the correct page of the script. “Ah! Human stand ins get shot-”

Two of the new Urgals popped up, holding loaded crossbows level with the two stuntmen currently taking the place of Glenwing and Faolin.

“We’re sorry.” The larger one said sincerely. “It’s nothing personal, really! But they said they wouldn’t wash the sharpie off unless we do what they say.” They both fired.

Two very shocked and very dead stuntmen hit the ground. Arya stepped her now calmer horse around the bodies and settled her chin on her fist, scanning the script again. “And then…then what, Urgals, Urgals, uh…oh here. I get tackled off and throw down a hill.” After a moment of silence, the woman straightened, a deadpan expression on her face. “I should have read this before hand.”

She could hear the thudding footsteps of the Urgal running towards her and quickly clambered to a crouch on top of the saddle. “Fuck it, I’m jumping.” With that, Arya dove off the horse to the drop at the side. Moments later the Urgal landed on the poor animal. “PETA’s gonna sue yo-OW FUCK SHIT OW, SON OF A BITCH WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU WAIT FOR A VALUABLE PRISONER OW TO BE AT THE TOP OF A HILL WITH ROCKS AT THE BOTTOM TO TACKLE THEM?!”

Brom turned to the Shadow. “I’d like to know that as well.”

The Shadow waved it off. “Semantics. Don’t need it.”

“Oh for the love of- This isn’t even the Ancient Language!” Both looked up to see Durza standing on his ‘cliff,’ about to set the woods on fire. “I can’t summon a flame with this!”

“Light the forest on fire.” The Shadow commanded. “You must use the words provided.”

“But that won’t even work!”

“Then set it on fire using the Ancient language in your head.” The Shadow snarled. “I don’t have time for this!”

“That is incredibly dangerous, and my contract-”

“Says you’re a total pussy and that you enjoy romantic comedies and light bondage in the fine print, now SET THE FUCKING FOREST ON FIRE!”

Durza complied, but only while shooting the Shadow the bird.

Right on time Arya cleared the permitted ‘fire circle of doom’ area and skidded to a stop before she ran into the opposing wall of flames. “So, what, we doing this again?”

“Unfortunately.” Durza strode through the fire. Well, not exactly strode. He had to wave his hands in front of his face to prevent the heat from melting his makeup. He cleared his throat and put on his best ‘rape face’ as the script asked. “Give it to me!”

“D-” Arya paused, her previously prepared dirty joke flying out the window as she saw the blocked text. “Wait, this thing says I have my sword out. Why the hell don’t I just stab you in the chest?”

“SEMANTICS!” Came the yell from off scene.

“Riiiggghht.” Arya shoved the script into the leather bracer on her arm. “Achhem, well. Time to be a bitch.”

“There’s a time when you aren’t a bitch?” Durza remarked, appearing sincerely puzzled.

“Shut up.” The elf shifted into a fighting stance. “Durza!”

Durza switched back into his movie persona. “And I’ll let you live.”

“Is there anyone who trusts the words of a shade?” Arya scoffed. “Oh, that’s very true. Hey, do I really have to teleport this?”

“CONTRACT!”

Arya huffed and pulled the ‘stone’ out of her bag. “Fine. This is going to hurt like a bitch.” Seconds later she was on the ground, blinking stars out of her eyes. “Ooowwww…”

Durza chuckled, “Where did you send it?”’

The elf notice where his eyes were. “What, would you like me to hitch my skirt up a bit more for you?”

“What can I say? I like the hot, sweaty leather look.” He grinned. “The light bondage part of the contract wasn’t lying.”

She scowled. “Poor Durza…How will you tell the king…you’re a total freak? Ahhem, I mean, you failed.”

The two then paused, pulling out their scripts. They spent a few moments reading before Durza started laughing and Arya started swearing.

“What the hell is this?!” She yelled. “[ACT LIKE YOU’RE HAVING AN INTENSE BUT PAINFUL ORGASM]?!?! This is TORTURE?!”

The Shadow materialized in the fire circle. “We just need you to act in pain. The orgasm part is afterwards.”

“Excuse me,” Durza raised his hand. “what is a ‘force choke?’”

“Pretend you’re choking her with your fingers but don’t touch her.” The Shadow made a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

The two looked at each other.

“I’m totally okay with this.” Durza shrugged.

“Yeah, well I’m not!” Arya snapped. “No way am I going to roll around in pain then pretend to bask in post orgasmic bliss in front of YOU of all people!”

“Well, we can do something about that first one.” Durza suddenly stomped on the elf’s stomach.

“OW!!” She reflexively curled into a ball. “YOU BASTARD!”

Durza looked over his shoulder at the Shadow. “We have the rolling around in pain part down, but I’m not the guy to call to get that second part. You’re going to need this guy, Faolin, he lives-” Arya managed to roll up and land a particularly damaging punch on the shade’s crotch. “OW!! YOU BITCH!” He collapsed and began rolling around in pain, clutching his wounded merchandise.

The Shadow sighed. “Alright. That’s a wrap. SOMEONE TELL ERAGON WE’RE HEADING HIS WAY!”

“Someone warn the poor boy.” Brom rubbed his temples before packing up his chair and helping Arya up. “Tell him we already have wounded. It’ll be a miracle if nobody dies before this is over.” They stepped over the dead stuntmen and made their way towards Carvahall, Durza crawling behind them.

~~~~~~

(Set & Scene 2)

#eragon #modern inheritance #modern inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle #arya #arya drottningu #brom #durza #saphira #book vs movie #inheritance cycle book vs movie #eragon book vs movie #eragon movie

25 notes · View notes

britesparc · 4 years

Text

Weekend Top Ten #444

Top Ten PlayStation Games I Hope Get PC Releases

And once again I turn my steely eye to the world of gaming. This time though I’m pulling on my blue jumper and talking about PlayStation (because I guess Xbox would have a green one and Nintendo’s would be red? I dunno, I’m making this up as I go). I’ve said in the past that as much as I like Sony and would love a PlayStation, I’ve never actually owned one myself because I always tend to buy an Xbox first. As much as I love the gaming industry, gaming as a past-time, and games themselves as an art-form, I have a rapidly dwindling supply of free time and unfortunately once I factor in trying to see enough films to maintain polite conversation and staring at my phone for hours on end in order to maximise my ennui, I don’t have an awful lot of minutes left in the day to dive into a wide variety of triple-A titles. As such, because I’m used to the Xbox’s way of working, because I tend to prefer its controllers and its whole ecosystem, and because I love several of their franchises (Halo and Fable especially), it’s always Xbox I gravitate towards, and then I just don’t have enough gaming time left over to justify the expense of a second huge console. And let’s get it out of the way – the PlayStation 5 is huge.

As a result, as time has gone on, there is an ever-growing number of PlayStation exclusives that I’ve barely played. In The Olden Days this was less of a problem, as pre-kids (and, heck, pre-everything considering how old the original PlayStation is at this point) I was able to saunter over to a friend’s house and try out games on their console. In this fashion I sampled a good many PS1 and PS2 titles such as Metal Gear Solid, WipeOut, Resident Evil, Time Splitters, Ico, and my absolute favourite, the original PS2 Transformers game. By the time PS3 rolled around this happened more rarely, but I’d argue it was fairly late in the generation when they showed off any games that really interested me (specifically those from Naughty Dog); and with the PS4, I’ve barely played on one at all, more’s the pity. And I really do mean more’s the pity, because this time around there have been loads of games I wanted; they really have had a better generation than Xbox, even if I couldn’t give up my Halo or Gears, to say nothing of the huge collection of backwards compatible games that get played to death by my kids.

That’s why I’m overjoyed that Sony have finally taken a leaf out of Microsoft’s book and are starting to release some of their bigger games on PC. I’ve been largely laptop-only for about a decade now, but it is a very powerful laptop, even if it’s not dedicated gaming hardware, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised how well it manages to run even quite demanding 3D games such as Assassin’s Creed Odyssey or Gears Tactics (I really must try out Flight Simulator sometime soon). The first big Sony exclusives to drop on Steam are Death Stranding (which looks bonkers but not my cup of tea) and the intriguing Horizon: Zero Dawn, which I’d probably really like. But those were never the Sony games that totally floated my boat; no, there are others, and I would absolutely love it if Sony saw fit to unleash them on Steam in the near future. Hey, I’m not picky; you don’t need to day-and-date it. I don’t mind enjoying a “Part I” whilst PS5 gamers are playing the hot new “Part II”. But I increasingly think be-all-and-end-all exclusives are rather old-fashioned, and whilst I get that there should probably be games tied to specific boxes, the services those box-companies provide should be more universal. That’s why I like Microsoft’s Play Anywhere initiative and the mobile game streaming via xCloud. But this is a Sony list, and these are some very, very good Sony games. I assume. By and large, I haven’t played them.

Marvel’s Spider-Man (2018): I love Rocksteady’s Arkham series of Batman games, but I do find them a bit relentlessly dark and miserable with an oh-so-gritty art style. What could be better, then, than a game that seems to play broadly similar but is nice, bright, funny, and sunny? Spider-Man is the perfect hero for that sort of game, and this looks absolutely like everything I’d ever want from a superhero game. I really, really, hope it comes to PC at some point, but I’ll be honest, I doubt it.

The Last of Us (2013): I like a good third-person action-adventure, whether it’s Gears, Tomb Raider, or Jedi: Fallen Order. TLOU looks most up my street, however, for its story, and its seemingly moving depiction of a family unit forming amidst the end of the world. By all accounts it’s a tear-jerker; I’ve tried to steer clear of the plot. Porting it over to PC whilst the well-received sequel is getting an inevitable PS5 upgrade seems like a good idea.

Uncharted: The Nathan Drake Collection (2015): I’ve very briefly played one of the Uncharteds, but not really; I hear they’re like the Tomb Raider reboot, but better, which seems nice. A rollicking third-person action-adventure with an Indiana Jones spirit? Count me in. With the long-mooted film adaptation finally underway, COVID notwithstanding, it seems like a good time to let PC gamers have a go at the classic saga. I’d add part 4 to the existing trilogy collection before shunting it to Steam.

Shadow of the Colossus (2018): I’ve played Ico a bit so I’m broadly familiar with the tone of these games, but Colossus seems like an even cooler idea. Scaling moving monsters, killing them but feeling guilty, sounds like both a great gameplay mechanic and a moving and evocative theme for a game. Port the recent remake to PC please, Mr. Sony.

Ratchet and Clank (2016): full disclosure: the new PS5 Ratchet game is the only title I’ve seen demoed that really looks next-gen, with its fancy ray-tracing, excessive particle effects, and funky portal-based gameplay. How’s about, then, giving PC gamers a chance to enjoy the relatively-recent remake of the very first game? A bit of cross-promotion works wonders, Sony.

God of War (2018): the old PS3-era God of War games never really appealed, I guess because I’m not always a huge fan of hack-and-slash and they gave off a kind of crazy excessive, almost laddish vibe that I found off-putting (having not played them, I may be being incredibly unfair). The new one, though, sounds like it’s all about being a dad and being sad and remorseful, so count me in.

Wipeout Omega Collection (2017): I’ve always enjoyed arcade racers, but one sub-genre that I don’t think gets enough love is a futuristic racer, especially where you’ve got hover cars (they seemed to be quite popular twenty-odd years ago). I played the original Wipeout on my mate’s OG PlayStation, but I’d love it if us PC gamers could play the whole series. Could it possibly be even better than Star Wars Episode I Racer?

LittleBigPlanet 3 (2014): chances are, if I’d done this list back around the time the first two LittleBigPlanet games were released, they’d have topped the chart. They looked like cool, fun platform games, with a fantastic creative aspect; I bet my kids would love them. With that in mind, I’d be over the moon to see Sackboy take a bow on Steam. I’d have put Dreams on this list, incidentally, except I can’t see myself getting a VR set anytime soon.

The Last Guardian (2016): feels a bit of a cheat having both this and Colossus on the list, but I do want to see what the fuss is about. One of those games infamous for its time in development, it seems to be a love-it-or-hate-it affair, and I am intrigued. Plus I want to know who dies at the end, the boy or the monster.

Killzone Shadow Fall (2013): gaming cliché has it that Nintendo does cutesy platformers, Microsoft does shooters, and Sony does third-person action-adventures; so whilst I’m well-versed in Halo and Gears, I’ve never sampled PlayStation’s key FPS franchise. Famous for its genuinely wowing showcase when the PS4 was announced, I’m not sure how good Shadow Fall actually is (or any of its predecessors for that matter) but I’d be very interested in finding out. Alternatively, give us one of the Resistance games and let me tear around an alternative Manchester or something.

So, there we are; ten games that I think are probably quite good – or even, y’know, masterpieces – but I’ve not had the chance to really sample them yet. And short of me picking up a PlayStation on the cheap, I don’t know when I really can. I mean, I told myself I’d buy a second-hand PS3 and a copy of TLOU once this current generation was in full swing, but that never happened. So throw me a bone, Sony! I still want to buy your stuff! Just sell it somewhere else! Somewhere I already am! Like Steam! Please?!

#top ten #games #gaming #sony #playstation #playstation 4 #playstation 5 #ps5

0 notes

pixichi · 7 years

Text

Stealth and Witchcraft Cp.1

The rainy skies overhead had since cleared away into the deep purples and velvety blacks of nightfall, leaving the slums quiet and dismal. Town guards stood huddled around the fire pits, laughing, telling tales. and warming their frigid bones.

Most didn't even notice the cloaked being slipping with ease through the streets.

The figure stooped just beyond the shadows and undid the hood. Dark red hair flowed over the navy fabric like fiery blood. The auburn-haired beauty panted, and leaned up against the brick wall of the alleyway, desperate to catch her breath.

Intense, sparkling green irises looked up at the brilliant night sky. It was late winter now, and the stars shone brightly in the cold dark night. Even the city torches and factory smog did little to dim their brilliance. The sight couldn't help but leave her thinking; what was she doing here?!

It seemed so surreal, like the feeling one got after waking up from a realistic dream. Bolting up in your bed, only to feel relief at the sight of a familiar room. Only in this case, relief didn't come, and in its place, was a numbing emptiness.

Did she really want to do this? A defeated darkness filled her head, threatening to drown out any and all of her joy. It wasn't a matter of preference; not anymore. The decision at been made, and the direction of her future decided.

A single tear fell from her eyes, as the young woman released a load, mournful sigh. Turning away from her depressing thoughts, she continued on her journey.

As she reached the seedier parts of the neighborhood, a loud ruckus caught her ears. The young woman crept out of the alleyway to see two guards kicking a man dressed in tattered rags. Her mouth gaped in horror at the brutish scene.

"We warned you old man, keep yer nose outta our business!"

"You...were going to slaughter that woman...she has a child, and she's five months pregnant with another mouth..." The man protested with more bravery than any soldier. A sharp kick to his abdomen silenced his words.

"That wench has been stealing bread from the village shop for the last three months. Enough is enough! If she didn't want to be hungry, then she should take a job in one of the factories, or at least whore herself out. I'm sure she'd make a killing that way." The older guard chuckled.

"You...monster..." The man began again.

That did it. The other guard hoisted the man to his feet, and pounded his bony frame up against the brick wall. The surveying woman felt cold dread grip at her heart as his fellow produced a wicked looking silver blade, and passed it to him.

"Couldn't just take the beating eh? You had to be difficult." The guard positioned his blade just below the man's ribcage. "Well, we'll teach you what happens to difficult gutter shites..."

The man's eyes were now locked in terror at what was to come. He struggled violently, desperate to escape his fate.

The hidden woman could stand it no longer! She closed her eyes and focused her mind. A dark energy crept across her arms, in a sensation that resembled dozens of crawling insects. She gritted her teeth and violently thrust her hands outward. A sinister blaze of black fire engulfed the two guards, tearing away at their armor, and melting their flesh.

The man fell to his knees, and began to cower as their shocked cries evolved into bloodcurdling screams. Eventually, the spell subsided, and two ivory skeletons were all that remained of his tormentors. The man yelped and shook, dragging his battered body away from the gristly sight.

A dark shadow fell over his person. He looked up to meet the entity, his heart threatening to leap out his throat.

Little did he realize that this was his savior whom he feared.

"W-what do you want?" He asked, voice barely above a pitiful whimper.

"Are you alright?" A soft, female voice asked. The man cringed.

"I-I am...please miss...don't take my life!" He begged, pleading to her on his knees. His fingers were interlocked as he marveled up at her; praying to the woman as if she were one of the old gods.

Begging her not to use her unknown source of volatile power against him next.

"Relax. I only did that to help you. Those men were going to-" She hesitated, deciding that the statement would be a moot point. The cowering bum at her feet was well aware of what the guards had intended. She decided to change the subject. "Hey listen. My name's Gwenevere, what's yours?" She asked.

"Umm...Fredrick..." He managed.

"Alright, hello Frederick. I have a question for you. You do live here in the slums, correct?"

"Uh, yeah." The man replied, still slightly shaken.

"Great! I came here seeking a man named Basso. Do you happen to know where his shop is located?" The beggar rose to his feet, and gave her an odd stare.

"Let me get this straight. You don't know who Basso is, and yet you want to meet with him? That's a first." He mused, temporarily forgetting the formidable power his savior possessed.

"I don't understand. Why would that be so strange?" Gwenevere asked. The beggar just shook his head, and motioned for her to lean forward.

"I don't know why you're looking for him, and frankly, its none of my concern. He usually doesn't like to be disturbed, at least not by anyone other than his contacts. But in light of what you just did, I will tell you where he is." He whispered.

"Alright."

***

The building's windows were dark, but a faint glow of light could be seen from within. Gwenevere took a deep, cleansing breath. Pushing away the last of her fear and doubt, she entered the establishment. A short, stocky man with ripped clothing and an odd smell poked his head out of a doorway.

"Can I help you?"

"Y-yes...Are you Basso?"

"Who wants to know?" The man emerged, crossing his arms.

"The beggars in the alley told me about you...I'm Gwenevere Simmons. I'm looking for work."

The middle-aged pauper could barely believe his ears! A Simmons was never seen this far from their manor, especially to inquire about becoming a petty thief. The prestigious family had everything they wanted; and more.

"Simmons?! As in, one of the most influential families in town? Is this a joke?"

"No! I am being serious!" Gwenevere retorted, nerves budding into tiny fireballs of rage.

While she had never been taken seriously by her family, she had at least expected better of the low class. Those poor fools were about as down to earth as they came.

"I'm sure. Ok, sweetheart, what's this all about? I know you're family ain't tryin' to bust my organization, else they would have sent the guards. Not some dressed down tart!"

The runaway jerked back. A strange sensation filled her: A cold numbing. She had never felt such rejection before...it felt, wrong. But perhaps the worst part, was the fact that she honestly never thought that she would BE rejected. She wanted to help these people after all!

The young woman had never wanted for a life of privilege and luxury, but rather one of raw, unbridled freedom. Now even the poor of this city were denying her this. Who didn't have power over her?!

"I want to be a thief, that's all there is to it." She crossed her arms in disdain.

"Why?! You're rich, you have everything at your fingertips." The young woman winced at his words.

"Not anymore. I-I've given it up." Gwenevere started, fighting back the teardrops that pricked her eyelashes. "I ran away, and I'm never going back. I want to be free." She proclaimed.

Basso ceased his chortles and glared at her. Thick disdain mixed with curiosity now coated his expression.

"Fine girly. But it doesn't matter what you want, yer no one special down here in the gutter. And in the gutter, only one thing matters; survival. If ye don't have any useful tricks or skills, then ye can just sit yer pretty little arse down with the rest of the bums. and wait ta die." Gwenevere cowered slightly at his harsh tone, but she wasn't unnerved enough to back down; at least not yet. "Now if yer quite finished, I've got some brandy ta finish."

The young woman took a step backwards, crestfallen. The strangers words were true; she had nothing to offer him, nor his services.

Unless...

Gwenevere hesitated, the minutes inching by painfully slow. Her father had sworn her to secrecy, regarding her "special skills", stating that it would only cause others to think badly of her. But she was on her own now, and her father was not around to keep her mouth shut.

She had already used it to help that homeless man, why not use it again?

"I-I do have a skill." She peeped. The man crooked a thinning grey eyebrow at her.

"Oh? What is it? Looking pretty? Perhaps you've mastered advanced etiquette?" He wheezed mockingly.

Gwenevere tensed. A playful tingle ran down her spine. It was happening again. That untamed spark of mischief was taking hold of her. Her green eyes drove into those of the man before her. This was madness! She could simply tell him; show him with a minor demonstration.

But no, Gwenevere wanted to secure his interest. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. The shop owner stared at her, never letting the absurdity of it all leave his thoughts.

"What are ya doin' lass?" He finally asked. As if on queue, Gwenevere's eyes met his, though her head was still bowed. The look she gave him must have been intimidating indeed, for it caused the man to recoil backwards, towards his chair.

"Oi! Lass, what the hell's wrong with y-"

Gwenevere didn't answer him. She didn't have to. With a burst of primal passion, the young woman thrust her arms up from her sides. They were accompanied by a quick but brilliant pulsing light. The spectacle lasted only a moment, and when it was over, Gwenevere had regained her resting position. Basso got up from his chair and looked around, unsure as to what had just transpired.

"I can do that."

"Do...what exactly?" He shook. "Was that...was that...magic?" He asked, in a voice barely over a whisper. Gwenevere grinned.

"Sort of."

"Sort of? Is that a joke? I just saw you use magic girl, no use lying about it!"

"If you're so sure it was magic, then why did you ask?"

"I..um..." He scratched his head. "Er, well done kid. Well done. But unfortunately, I'm not sure how using magic is gonna help my organization. I usually look for rogues; those who are quick on their feet and dexterous. Magic is kind of a...big distraction."

"Oh, that was just a light spell. I have many more in my repertoire, including sleep spells, detection hexes, invisibility-"

"Alright, alright!" Basso interrupted, nearly laughing again. "I think we might be able to squeeze ya in kid." Gwenevere was ecstatic.

"Really? Oh thank you! I promise I'll do my best!" She jumped.

"Yeah...I'm sure you will. Only one hitch. You mentioned prior that you didn't know much about stealing. I'm in a bit of a quandary here. You see, I can't just let people who work for me run around the city if they're novices; eventually, they'd get caught, and then they might talk. About me. Ya get what I'm sayin'?"

Gwevevere nodded. Her heart slumped within her chest. She knew where this was going. Or so she thought.

"But, I can't just let a mage offering their services to walk away either, especially such an experienced one. So, I propose a deal. Consider it 'on the job training'."

Basso leaned in closer, almost beckoning the lost soul before him.

"Alright. What kind of a deal is it?"

"I'll send you on some practice jobs with a good friend of mine. His name is Garrett. We go way back, him and I. No doubt he won't be particularly pleased about it, but if I offer him a big enough purse of coins, I'm sure he'll come around."

"But wait. Are you saying...that you'd be paying another thief to train me how to steal?"

"Sure, why not? Trust me kiddo, whatever I have to pay that stubborn bloke; it's worth it to get a mage." The shady man winked.

0 notes