Thank you so much for tagging me Nat - @moonman-84 <3
London, autumn 1979. The flat above the little Muggle bookshop in Islington was theirs—Sirius, Remus, and the ever-present chaos of James Potter crashing in whenever he wasn’t off doing whatever it was the Order asked of him these days. They were twenty, kinda broke, half-feral with the war humming at the edges of everything, and stupidly, fiercely in love. Sirius and Remus had been together since seventh year offically, but even before they had been the kind of solid that didn’t need labels but had them anyway. James had always been the third point of their triangle—best mate, brother, the one who could make them laugh until they cried even when the world felt like it was ending. It had started, like so many things did, with James and his bloody camera.
“Hold still, Moony,” James murmured from behind the lens, the soft click of the shutter the only sound besides the low crackle of the record player. “Merlin, you look incredible.”
Remus knelt on the worn rug in the middle of the sitting room, cheeks already flushed pink. The black lace lingerie clung to him like it had been poured on—tiny knickers that barely contained how hard he was, a delicate bralette that did nothing to hide the way his chest rose and fell with every shaky breath. Sirius had picked it out weeks ago from a dodgy Muggle shop in Soho, eyes dark with promise when he’d slipped it into Remus’s hands. Tonight Sirius had dressed him in it himself, slow and reverent, whispering praise against every inch of skin until Remus was trembling.
And then there was the necklace, a thin silver coloured chain sat at the base of Remus’s throat, at the end of each line was a halfmoon. It looked innocent enough—until Sirius wrapped the end around his fist and gave a gentle tug, then the chain would tighten just enough to make Remus’s breath hitch, a perfect, controlled pressure that sent sparks down his spine straight to his cock.
“Beautiful,” Sirius said softly, his voice low and warm. He was lounging on the sofa in nothing but low-slung trousers, dark eyes fixed on Remus like he was the only thing in the room. “Look at you, love… My sweet, desperate boy in his pretty lace. You love this, don’t you?"
James’s camera clicked again. “Fuck, yes. Tilt your head just a bit—there. Sirius, pull the leash a little tighter? Not too much. I want to capture how his eyes go all glassy.”
Sometimes I think about putting her name back (I can't write with YN so I have to use a name) because of stuff like this. It loses a little of it's impact when Logan says her name because she's being stubborn af.
WIP whenever: Tender and Dark (Star Wars - Obi-Wan & Anakin) (Witcher AU)
[ID: a banner image reading “Work in progress Wednesday.” Wednesday is crossed out and replaced with Whenever.]
thanks for the tag @koumine!
It's faded somewhat, but I'm still like 32% feral about this edit that ioorveth made of Witcher!Anakin & Mage!Obi-Wan. I'm a fan of antagonists working together and so spun out from a little ficlet about them to this longer thing (currently 4.6k).
Obi-Wan and Anakin only know each other in passing, but when Anakin gets himself into trouble, Obi-Wan can't help but give him aid.
I'm tagging @girlwithakiwi, @quiet--menace, @twinsunstwink, @raeality, @whimsicalmeerkat, @alondradina, @bad-at-names-and-faces, @lavvytaffy ... if you see this and want to play, you're it! Tag me when you post!
(550~ words, rated teen)
Anakin started toward the stairs, bare feet a mere whisper on cold flagstones. Obi-Wan slipped alongside him, catching sight of the glimmering twilight through narrow windows.
“May I ask why you are slipping from the Queen’s chamber just as the sun is rising?” Obi-Wan asked.
Anakin stopped short on the landing, freezing at the sight of the first golden rays. When he turned to Obi-Wan, he seemed pale. “I need to get out of here.” He licked his lips. “Now.”
At first Obi-Wan thought Anakin was worried about being caught so close to Queen Amidala, that his jab had struck well. But despite the distance between their people, the ruthless monster hunters and those who lifted themselves above monsters, they still understood something intrinsic that common folk seldom did. There was little that could shake a witcher the way Anakin seemed to be affected. And the look on Anakin’s face then had nothing to do with politics or gossip, it was the fear of being hunted.
For all his joking earlier, Obi-Wan did know the castle well, even with all the renovations over the last half century or so. “This way,” he said, hurrying them down one flight of stairs and into a gallery.
They ran along it to a narrow stair behind a tapestry, one girl holding a basket scolding them under her breath as they rushed past, then breaking off with: “Beg your pardon, lord—” but they were gone and the rest her words were lost.
Too soon, all too soon, Obi-Wan could see the candles were no longer holding against the daylight. He brought them into the old front hall, where muddy boot tracks showed that the grooms had already come from tending to the horses, and Anakin’s sword clattered out of his hands on the stone floor. Obi-Wan went to his knees beside the witcher. “We have to keep going,” he hissed, unsure but fearful of what they were running from all the same.
“I’ll try,” Anakin said, voice low, wracked with pain. He did not move.
“Whatever’s wrong with you, we need to get out now.”
“I know,” Anakin growled. “I can’t.”
Anakin had yellow eyes, had always had yellow cat-like eyes as long as Obi-Wan had known him. All witchers had them. Now however, on his hands and knees, back arching in pain — food poisoning? — Obi-Wan watched as the color bled from his irises and his canines grew. Not food poisoning.
“Help me.” Those might have been the words, but they were lost in the gnashing of teeth, the groan of pain which sounded more like a low growl, and suddenly Obi-Wan had a lean bronze wolf on his hands, covered in the shreds of clothing Anakin had just been wearing.
His stomach dropped. He picked up Anakin’s sword and boots, speaking the spell which would open a portal for them and take them to safety. The wolf was sluggish, cowering in the pain of transformation, and Obi-Wan had to pull at the rough, curling coat to get the creature to move. Anakin, Obi-Wan reminded himself. The wolf is Anakin.
Beyond the swirling magic, there was a green forest clearing, a place Obi-Wan knew would be empty of people. The wolf stumbled alongside him, falling to the ground as soon as they were beyond the portal, panting heavily, spasms running along his spine, contorting his eyes. Anakin. The wolf is Anakin.
We all probably have them, those scenes that never made the story, the stories that never went anywhere, all those small and larger bits of love we wrote and still hoard on out hard drives. So now - let's share!
The Rules are simple: 1. Share a piece of fic that you cut out for some reason, or a piece of a fic, that you began and never continued, some lost piece of your writing, be it long or short, prose or verse. Unfinished Art and Illustrations are also welcome.
2. Tag five or more people or about everyone where you are curious for them to share a piece of their writing. Specific questions are welcome, but don't need to be adhered to.
3. Be kind. Let's spread positivity. Show support for your fellow artists and writers. Laughing along is great, mocking is not welcome.
4. Tagging someone back is totally fine, if the person doesn't want to share anything else, or anything at all for that matter, that's fine too.
And as it was my stupid idea, I'll open it with a piece of Bear-Witcher goodness, meant to introduce the secret new Bear Hideout, in a story that went a totally different way ultimately.
If anyone had told Ivo that there was a place even colder than Haern Cadurch, he would have told them to go and howl his woes to some Griffin, they had to be good for something, did they? But Solyóm Vár was exactly that: cold. Situated in the Northern Kestel Mountains the cold was fierce and intense. It was only October and the world outside had sunken under snow and ice. Ivo would not have come up to the tall Watchtower, had not Ravin, their lookout, reported that someone was still making it up the pass. Holtak Utja was an ascent that put the vaunted Killer of the old Wolf fortress to shame and should not be risked in this weather. But someone was trudging up the slopes.
Ivo squinted to see more, he could barely make out the figure in the heavy snowfall. Blast it, it could not be a coincidence. When they had vacated Haern Cadurch many years ago, vanishing into the night, they had left the world to believe, that they just had split up, not caring what happened to anyone. Instead, they had slipped north, towards the castle that Arnaghad had considered from the start, and only not made use of early on, because of the relative closeness to Morgraig. By now, with all Witcher schools razed off the ground, raided, raped and destroyed, the Bears actively encouraged the illusion that nothing of them was left, except a few antisocial loners, who walked the world, caring less about anyone around them. They usually even sent one or two of theirs to winter in Kaer Morhen, so the old Wolf would not get smart and ask questions.
Anyone who risked Solyóm Vár pass at this time of the year and in this weather must have a reason, and the only reason there could be was someone knew they were here. Not a good thing. “Could be someone who escaped the eruption,” A deep voice stated beside him, as a huge man ducked under the roof of the Watchtower. Axios had come up to join him. “That Volcano has a lot of people scrambling for shelter, might push a few even onto our doorstep.”
The Eruption had been felt, Ivo would agree, the western dragon mountains were the worst affected, even Solyóm Vár had felt a few tremors. “I doubt even people fleeing would come up here,” he replied. The fortress was ancient, even the elves had only found it and abandoned it soon enough. Tarach Vyar, Garden of the Dead, it was called in Elder. If someone found them - other than by accident - it would be worrying. They had managed to hide their school for decades now, and Ivo had no intend to change it.
Again he peered through the veil of falling snow, there also was a measure of ash on the wind. The man down there had made it round the steepest bend and climbed upwards vigorously, now and then resting and leaning on his left side. A posture Ivo recognized. “Damn, that’s Arnaghad,” he growled. “And if he is going that slow, he is injured,”
“He said he wouldn’t be here this winter,” Axios rumbled, his deep voice betraying more worry than Arnaghad would let them get away with, could he hear.
They both had read the same letter, but it seemed things had changed. “The eruption could have cost him his winter hideout.” Ivo descended the tower’s stairs swiftly, “or he moved, ere he could be accused of witchcraft and be blamed for the volcano.”
Axios had followed him down to the main yard of the castle. “You want to get him?” he asked, there was no disapproval in his voice, nor approval either. Bears were survivors, and they relied on themselves to get them out of shit. It did not mean they did not help each other.
Ivo had already whistled for one of the younger bears to bring him a coil of solid ropes. “You stay up here, I might need you on this,” he said, as the narrow dark gate of Solyóm Vár opened.
He slung the rope through the steel ring in the wall and went. Right before the gate was the worst part of the climb: a steep frozen ascent that was murder, even in high summer. Now with snow drifting through the air and fell wind driving at him, Ivo need all of his preternatural balance and strength to not be simply thrown off the track. It took him only a few breaths, to notice it - there was ash in the air. Fine grey flakes dancing down with the snow, mingling and mixing, forming a grey sheen of sleet on the ground, making walking all the harder. Ivo skidded down parts of the climb, cursing, steadying himself against a rock and on he went.
Arnaghad came up, trudging towards, him, he moved slowly, like every step took more willpower than the one before. He was wrapped head to toe in furs and clothes, trying to stave off the icy wind. “What’re you doing here?” he growled at Ivo.
“Getting you home,” Ivo replied, he knew his reputation as a hard bastard had been taking a dent lately, but who cared? Wordlessly he handed Arnaghad the rope, helping it to secure it. Even that short contact alerted Ivo to how much dirt, ash and caked mud covered Arnaghad’s armor. Whatever had happened to him? He did not ask, that would have to wait until they were up in the castle.
The climb back was brutal, in spite of being short. They had to fight for every step up towards the gate, and even with Ivo’s help Arnaghad barely made it halfway up, where Axios found them. With his help they made it to the courtyard, the gate closing behind them. Ivo was glad that Axios read the situation much like he did and helped him to guide Arnaghad inside the main building. Inside the stone halls were illuminated by slightly eerie lamps cut from smoke crystal. None of the Witchers knew how those lamps worked, except that some underground gas was fed into the crystal to achieve luminescence. Their dim light was more than bright enough for the witchers.
In their pale shimmer Ivo truly saw Arnaghad, he was leaning against a wall, his entire body was dirty. Caked blood and mud, ash and a sheen of frozen snow and ice formed a kind of second skin, it did not need a guess to see that Arnaghad was exhausted. “Good mother of the forests,” Ivo growled, “what happened to you? No, don’t say. Let’s get you down to the baths, and let me check you over. Axios - run ahead, and find some clean things for him.”
Ivo put all the authority he had behind those words. He usually was in command when Arnaghad was not here, but ordering the old bear around was always a dangerous endeavour. But the big man did not even respond, he allowed Ivo to grab his arm, drape it over Ivo’s shoulder and slowly walked, leaning on him.
The baths of the castle were down in the belly of the castle. The Gnome’s who had built this place - according to some scholars - had left surprisingly large baths. The stone tubs were lowered into the ground and each was linked to a constant stream of cool water which was in turn drained at the other end of each tub. For some reason there was no warm water - maybe Gnomes disliked it - but the Witchers made use of their own magic to heat the water to a point of comfort.
Ivo helped Arnaghad sit down on one of the stone benches that lined the hall, to help him get out of the armour and slowly dismantle the outer shell of cloak, fur, snow and ash, that was wrapped around his body. It helped somewhat - Arnaghad’s skin was also caked over with mud, blood and ash, there was no part of his body that seemed to have escaped that dirt, snow and sweat had helped it to bake together. “Gods above, what did you roll in?” Ivo grumbled and cast a sharp igni at the tub to heat it up. “Into the water with you, the warmth will do you good.”
Arnaghad sank into the huge basin, black traces rising from his skin almost at once. He leaned back against the side of the tub, leaning on his arms and exhaled deeply. “Lindworm pit,” he rasped, “the volcano broke one open. Six of them, plus the brood mother.”
Axios pushed a small basket towards Ivo, it held several huge tree sponges, and an assortment of bottles and soap. He arched an eyebrow, that wordlessly asked whether Ivo needed help. Ivo shook his head, as he shrugged off his tunic, and easily slipped into the water beside Arnaghad, grabbing one soft rag to start the washing process. “A lindworm pit with a brood-mother?” he asked trying to assess the situation. “We haven’t seen one of those in how long?”
“Two-hundred-and-sixty-one years, the red brood-mother on Skellige,” Arnaghad replied, he had his eyes half closed and barely reacted to Ivo, as he swiped the soft rag over Arnaghad’s skin, prying lose an entire layer of dirt and blood. “This one was black, huge beast, and her worms were bad news. Had it all - tar pits, acid pools, did I mention huge…? Hungry too.”
Six plus a brood-mother… that was bad news indeed. “We’ll need a hunting group,” Ivo said, the water was getting grey, and was luckily washed away, as fresh water was pressed into the basin. He cast another igni, to heat the water up again. “No less than six people, eight would be better.”
“No need,” Arnaghad blinked at him, slowly coming out of his stupor. “You don’t have to wash me,” he growled, trying to sit up. “And no hunt.”
Ivo ignored the growl. Arnaghad needed help, he could see that and a bit of care had not harmed any tired bear as of yet. “Lean back and relax,” he said, tossing the rag out and going for another one. Arnagahd must truly have rolled in the worst shit. “And why no hunting party? We cannot have those beasts for neighbours. Or do you think we’ll nilfgaard’s forces up here soon? Then we might just leave them to it.” The Lindworms would probably eradicate a few regiments and drive the price for their removal up.
“They are dead,” Arnaghad rumbled, he pushed away from the edge of the basin, leaned back and dunked is hair into the water, releasing a huge stream of black dirt. “All dead, brood-mother too.”
“You went after six worms and the brood mother?” Ivo couldn’t help, he almost shouted. “Arnarghad, have you utterly and completely lost your mind?!”
“Didn’t mean to,” Arnaghad replied, dunking his hair in again, before allowing Ivo to nudge him again to sit, and relax. “Birdie had already jumped in, when the worms attacked the refugees from Elos Exar. Had two worms down and the third one almost when the ground gave in and the brood caves opened. He was already injured and still dishing out punishment, but he could not have lasted against them all. So I jumped in. Killed the worms first, then took down the brood-mother.”
Ivo and Axios exchanged an almost panicked glance. They both could translate the name ‘birdie’ easily enough. Erland. “I had no clue he was still alive,” Ivo said carefully, and untruthfully. “If you saved his sorry hide, where is he? Might be a good chance to… y’know?... work out your differences.”
He knew he was on dangerous grounds now. Arnaghad was very complicated when it came to a certain Griffin. “No,” Arnaghad rumbled. “Leave the past to die. He’s moved on. He has the little Griffin now, no need to dredge up the past. He was wounded, badly. I couldn’t carry him up here. Hid him in the ridge caves, his healing will repair the worst damage and the little Griffin was close, should find him. He’ll help him… get him through.”
Arnaghad probably did not know it, but there was a softness in his voice when he spoke of them. Ivo closed his eyes, centring himself. Coën was out there, alone in that storm and with who knew what else had been woken by the earthquakes that had followed the eruption.
At the benches Axios rose to his feet, his hands moving through a series of fast signs. I’ll go get them. Both of them? Think we can trust them? The gestures asked.
Ivo nodded, and added a swift Please find them. Just outside of Arnaghad’s eyesight, before placing his right hand against his chest, indicating that this request was important to him.
Axios grinned and headed out, without losing any time. Worry and relief warred inside Ivo. Axios was strong, he had once carried a wounded Arnaghad all the way up here, he could handle one wounded Griffin, but in this weather? He had to hope that it was possible. Coën, please be safe. Ivo thought, before he turned his attention back to Arnaghad. “Let me guess, you rolled in the worm’s tar pit?”
“Was thrown in the first time, then Erland had to use aard to blast it all across the cave.” Arnaghad said with a scoff. “The ashfall did the rest. Now stop fussing, I’ll live.”
“I am not fussing, you are being difficult,” Ivo replied, he could see half-healed injuries that now became visible as the layers of dirt, soot and grime had come off. If Arnaghad were not a witcher, or anything less sturdy than he was, he’d be dead.
Ivo had Arnaghad clean, out of the water and his injuries tended to, when he heard familiar steps approaching. Axios. Could he be back so fast? Cave of ridges was several hours downhill. “Steady, not much further,” he heard Axios’ deep rumbling voice. “Mother of the Earth, I can really claim your grandmaster is a stink, and I’d not be lying, Coën.”
Ivo’s heart skipped a beat, when he heard the name. However Axios had pulled this miracle, he’d be grateful for it. Looking up he saw the huge bear witcher walk in, along with Coën, between them was a third man - just as dirty and exhausted as Arnaghad, supported by both to somehow keep walking.
A deep growl emerged from Arnaghad, as the giant rose to his feet. “Didn’t say invite strangers into our hideout, Axios,” he said, but his voice wasn’t half as hard, as it used to be in the past.
“It was my judgement call, Arnaghad,” Ivo said firmly, squaring his shoulders. “Them dying out there will cause more questions than us taking them in.”
Before they could debate it - and Ivo was willing to stand up to the big bear on this one - Erland collapsed, crashing to his knees, his body finally giving out under the strain. Arnaghad forgot the discussion, Ivo and about everything else as he hurried over, kneeling down beside the exhausted man. “Damn it birdie, your healing should have handled the worst already.” He growled, both hands grabbing Erland’s shoulders to steady him.
“Won’t work, brood-mother poison, you know how that one goes,” Erland rasped, his eyes were glazed over, he was just barely keeping himself from passing out.
“Ivo, get one of those tubs warm, we need to get that grime off, before we can check the injuries,” Arnaghad said, eyes finding Axios. “Go to my quarters, bookshelf - the torn one in green leather, pick it up and bring it to Junod. Somewhere in the middle he will find the recipe for something called Blue Winter Tears, and no matter how weird the brew will sound to him, I need a batch, as fast as he can make it.”
“You still have it?” Erland’s voice was very low when he asked, he had managed to settle on his knees, but his body was shaking with exhaustion.
“‘Course I do,” Arnaghad began to help Erland take the armour off, the metal pieces had been heated by the fire of the lindworms and baked together with the ash and the tar, the burn marks beneath were also drenched with blood and grime in equal measure. “Not like I can find notes on what potions work on you anywhere else.”
Ivo had chosen the lowest tub to heat, still as exhausted as the wounded man was, it would be a risk leaving him alone in the water. He’d probably just collapse and go under. Before he could voice his worries, Arnaghad cast him a sharp glance, before looking to Coën. “Little Griffin?”
“He needs some bath too,” Ivo interjected. “And rest. He doesn’t look much better than you two. So I fuss over him and you can fuss over Erland.” His voice was a bit more forceful than he wanted to, but right now he needed Arnaghad to forget his stupid ideas about Coën.
the lovely @pascalpvnk tagged me and i love them for that ♡ thank you so much for including me ♡
things are tense on the Crest in the next chapter:
“What about you, surely you’ve been privy to it?” Mayfeld’s eyes found your own, a smirk pulling at his lips. You narrowed your eyes at him, not willing to play into his teasing with so much as a shake of your head. It was none of his business, none of anyone’s business but Din’s. The lack of respect they had for his way of life, his religion, his Creed was sickening. Their collected ignorance a telling sign that they didn’t care about anything that didn’t directly serve them. Then the insinuation of intimacy and the breaching of personal boundaries had your shoulders knotting tight, fingers tapping against your thigh.
“Aw, c’mon, Mando. We all gotta trust each other here. She trusts you, for whatever reason, what’d you have to do to gain that?”
“Do not incite her, in any matter.” The modulator crackled with the force of his words, as if they were being spoken in that dark voice through clenched teeth. You let him take the figurative step of telling them to control themselves, having worked with at least one member of their little quartet before. He knew better than you, what type of people Ran employed and kept in his company.
