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mechaknight-98 · 3 months

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Party Time (NSFW) Ft: Jeewon

Author note: to have a constant and cleaner master list I reposted this to make the list more consistent in naming conventions since Tumblrr wouldn't let me edit the title.

The adventuring Party was traveling through the woods they were looking for a group of townsfolk who had disappeared a few days ago. You the paladin were unsure of this quest as it smelled fishy as several monsters roamed these woods. However, you relented because your party was low on cash after bailing out the well-intentioned but so very dumb rogue who drew the ire of one of the king's knights. It was winter and night was closing in. Having been exposed to the horrors of the night. so you were insistent on getting back to town safely, but your fearless leader; the human wizard named Alan pushed on. That was one thing you did hate about humans was how stubborn they could be. before you could make a real fuss through the other human in the party (She was also the one that convinced you to join) the cleric named Jeewon assured you that things would go right.

"Yeah you Aasimars always worry too much, and besides if anything happens. We have you and good ole Jeewon to protect us." The astral elf Bard Nayeon says with a smile

"You guys know how I feel about Spooky shit though, and this forest reeks of spooky shit." You say to Nayeon annoyed

There was a rustling of the wind and your party’s druid; an Iceborne named Irene veers around to you all and inquires to the party "Did you guys hear that? it sounded like a sick animal?" Seulgi the siren aberrant mind Sorceror of your party and often the kindest but often the least wise and clumsiest member of our party ran to the noise. we followed close behind. well, not you. moving in the full plate was unsurprisingly difficult. when you close in you take a moment to catch your breath when the cleric pushes you down. confused you look at her but before you can say anything she shushes you. She points ahead where you see 4 pale lengthy bodies surrounding a bear. you hear them crunch into the body as you watch You internally groan. you unsheathe your sword and stand low. you begin two silent entrapment spells to hold the beast when you hear

"Ignis Orbem Ventus" you groan as you see a fireball shoot towards the beasts. you groan externally because your fearless leader made a dumb move. you look to Jeewon and say

"Regroup with Allan and the rest of the party." Jeewon nods at your command and you draw the attention of the 4 pale beasts towards you. you have them chase you through the woods a fair distance but eventually, they encircle you. Their hollow white soulless eyes bore into you and their bodies and bones begin to creak and crack as they change

the first one speaks in a voice that's half a voice you recognize and half a wild animal, "How could you abandon us Indo?" you watch as its face shifts to an old friend of yours.

"We trusted you and you abandoned us." another of the beings says shifting into another one of your friends.

"You were our leader, the visionary. Kazuo's legacy Indo and you threw it all away for nothing." the third said shifting. As these beings spoke you watched them as their eyes and expressions grew more haggard and hungry.

"You abandoned us, and look what we became!" the fourth yelled at you. you dodge the first lunge at you and can fend off the other three while striking. but it's a losing battle. that is until you hear a familiar.

"I guarantee I got ya." and the beastly creatures are restrained. you look up to your friends and race towards them while the beast tries to break their bonds. you all manage to get away safely with barely any scrapes,

as you walk back to town. the Irene asks. "Hey, Atyriox what were those things?"

You reach into your bag of various things you are surprised to feel a sharp pain. when you look down, you see a claw taking out a piece of your right side. you look up and see the 4 beasts smiling and laughing, in a mixture of voices you recognize and beastial ones. You try to hold in your rage, but on the verge of death, it consumes you.

"An extraneous existence. Encroaching on humanity," you scream as the rage takes over. your bones creak and lengthen. Your longsword changes to the great axe as a familiar wave of ancient energy envelops you.

you face the four pale beings, now taller than them. you swing your axe into the first and it embeds itself in the skull of it.

“There's no way out! Game over you are done for!" you yell as you tear the axe blade from the beast's skull and throw it into the other nearest one. the next one embeds its claws into your other side, and in response, you stomp its arm your steps leave a trail of blackened blood in its wake. you turn to the last one and yell "You wanted to eat me huh." it looks at you in terror and tries to run away you grab it and punch through its teeth to rip out its tongue. As it bleeds out you grab your axe as your rage subsides. You hear your friends approach and try to cover up the damage but it's too late when Jeewon sees the nightmarish scene. she turns to you and sees your blood.

"Shit I'm sorry Atyriox. shit, I'm so sorry. We shouldn't have left you." she repeats. you reassure her as she goes to heal you she begins putting out her magic but when the arcane energies begin to work despite her not having the components she turns to your eyes full of terror as her magic mends your flesh.

as the rest of your friends come down to the crater of catastrophe you made Nayeon looks at the carnage then you and says, "Remind me not to make you made. We heard your screams of war miles away. you nod as you turn to Jeewon who is still visibly shaken. You all decide to return to town for safety

"Fuck” Jeewon the cleric said as she walked into the inn they were staying in and you smiled at her adorable walk. She then turns to you and says “Okay Paladin bedroom now. I believe I am owed a massage and an explanation,” You nod before following her up to the bedroom where you both bath together before leaving the lobby of the inn the druid and fighter both look at you and laugh.

"Ooh someone's in trouble." The wizard said

"Shut up Alan." You say to the wizard annoyed that his plan almost got you all killed

the bard looks at Jeewon and you overhear her whisper to Jeewon, "Go easy on him. he seems shaken." Jeewon nods as the two of you head to the bathhouse. Once you arrive The cleric is insistent on not letting you out of her sight. So this led to the two of you sharing a bath. As a cleric of Iyaza the doting and alluring. Jeewon had unrivaled comfort and confidence in her body which was pushed even further by the comfort she felt being around you.

“Okay so tell me everything!” Jeewon demanded. You hesitate not because of your story but because you became distracted by Jeewon’s naked and stellar body. Your mind was brought back to tales you'd hear your older brothers say about the followers of Iyaza the goddess of beauty being the most beautiful and attractive followers of all the 7 favored ones, and Jeewon certainly fit the bill. Flawless skin and impeccable curves as if she was crafted by Iyaza herself, but what kept your attention was not her marvelous body but her adorable smile and generous heart. She loved to help despite being quite the loner type. She was always willing and first to do so. it was incredibly admirable and you found yourself enamored. So enamored that you found yourself leaning in closer and closer until your lips met. In the bathhouse. The kiss you shared was chaste. When you break however filled with the haze of desire but also worry the air shifts heavily she stares at you and her stare is soft not the glare of earlier but a somber gaze.

“Please Atyriox (pronounced Uh-tyr-E-ox) don't shut me out.” Jeewon pleads, her eyes stare into yours and you feel your heart soften even more toward the girl, “what happened out there?” she asks. She leans in closer to you. Her folds rub against your manhood which causes an involuntary groan to escape your lips. using this to her advantage Jeewon begins to unwrap the bandages on your forearms. Before you can stop her she succeeds in her task and removes the bandages. She gasps when she sees the scars.

"Jeewon I... I...I am sorry." you say as your War Beast markings are presented. Jeewon was silent for a moment, then another. It began to be worrying until she said, " Explain."

"Before beginning my studies and dedication to my oath of Restoration, I was a child soldier of The Old Warlord Kazuo. 6 others and I were trained from childhood to keep his kingdom safe. we were stripped from our families and our identities and remade. we were molded in his ideals of what warriors should be like." You explain. Jeewon's glare softens again before asking "So why the scars."

"Our new identities were given to replace our new ones. So we were each given a new name after we earned it. I was given Atyriox after the Endurance beast Alpha Rex.

"Okay Why?"

"To whom much is favored is expected. My warriors will transcend everything that binds them including their fucking mortality." Kazuo would always say and so we became what he wanted. Beast of war, and as our final test, and Kazuo's long list of affronts to the gods. he made us each fight an Apex Beast. Each one chosen was meant to be the opposite of our capabilities, and so I was "granted" the opportunity to face the Apex Beast of Endurance. (you hesitate as the pain of remembering begins to swell.) I was told it was alone and that it was a solitary creature that was hurting the townsfolk. I was told no one would be hurt. I was told that nothing bad would happen, but actions speak louder than words I guess," you finish as tears flood your eyes. Jeewon intimates what you mean and begins to hug you as the quiet sobs become too much to bear. you two stay in the bath until the water has long grown cold. After you two get out of the bathhouse and back into the bedroom Jeewon asks

"So how did you get away from Kazuo."

"Another Warlord Named Shen Long came whose warriors rivaled ours, and I saw an opportunity. I faked my death and escaped into the night away from all of that Eventually I found myself at the monastery and not long after you all found me." You explain

"Fuck! That's intense." Jeewon exclaimed

"Can I ask a favor Jeewon?" you bring up as the two of you enter the bed.

"What is it Atyriox?" Jeewon Questions

"Can you not tell the others about this?" You say

"Well, why not?" Jeewon asks

"Our fighter Jason is from the neighboring country to mine, and he would have problems with my history," you tell her

"Oh okay then. I will keep you until you're ready to speak then." Jeewon affirms as she stands up and paces.

"Thanks!” you exclaim while giving a thumbs up. Jeewon smiles then she walks over to your side of the bed, “Okay. I don't want the paladin Atyriox anymore now I need my lover Ayriox to release some tension. You nod as you understood what she meant by this.

Jeewon cups your face and the tension from earlier returns her eyes fill with desire, but also deep administration and appreciation for you as you watch as her pupils dilate into hearts. You kiss again. It begins chaste but the feeling quickly ferments into lust as her tongue pokes its way into your mouth. Unversed in these affairs you let her take charge. Jeewon breaks the kiss with heavy breath and says “Take off your clothes.”

as the both of you strip you say to Jeewon “By the gods you alluring.” Jeewon smiles as she takes your hands and giggles as they shake in hers. She puts them up to her robust posterior and says, “Gosh you're so cute, but don't be nervous dear it's just me.” her voice as always soothes your belligerent spirit somehow the beast that rages inside but with her its less rage and more freedom it surges through you and you arrive at an even greater serenity then during your meditations. she gently pushes your head down to her pussy and something awakens in you. It was subtle at first and the overwhelming desire was to not only be with Jeewon but also protect her. You look up to her and this wave of lusted calm bathes you and you smile at her. She smiles back as your body moves on instinct to her pussy. You lap up near her clit and she bucks and moans with such an intense ferocity

“Oh gods Atyriox right there,” she says in between moans. She looks down as you continue your ministrations on her and notices your back is glowing. Intrigued but a little preoccupied at the moment Jeewon notes this for later as you continue your care of her womanhood, until her body gives out on her and into her release. She squirts all over your face. She tastes sweet to you almost too sweet. As you wipe your face she brings you up to hers. “Damn I taste good.” she coos as she kisses you.

You smile at your paramore and in a moment of alacrity, you say, “In all the planes I could never hope to meet a star as bright as you. Your melody resonates with the light itself, and when we part my shadows only grow to be extinguished by you when we meet again.”

Jeewon smiles and says, “God I love you.”

“I love you two.” you reaffirmed before diving into another kiss. You both tumble to the bed as your kiss grows more desperate more hungered.

Jeewon smiles and says, “God I love you.”

“I love you two.” you reaffirmed before diving into another kiss. You both tumble to the bed as your kiss grows more desperate more hungered.

“Fuck me till I can't walk then use your hands of the faithful so we can fuck again.” Jeewon’s eyes stare into yours clouded by lust but you are in a similar state as you bend her over the bed. Your shaft grinds against her slit. “Ahh, you've teased me enough fuck me.” the ferocity from earlier blends your mind and you oblige Jeewon. She screams “Oh gods! Oh yes!” you begin thrusting her womanhood as always welcomes you you grab her breast as their soft and perky nature draws the wandering of your hands. “Oh god yes! Massage my breasts.” Jeewon yells as you thrust and massage. She is not far from her second orgasm of the night. Her breasts have always been sensitive ever since the first time you “massaged her” so you begin to slow down and focus on plunging deep into her and pulling out slowly. Jeewon’s body responds favorably.

You probably would have continued that pace all night but the ferocity inside had other plans, you gave yourself away to it and began pounding harder and faster. The intensity of your coupling shook the bed and one particularly hard thrust sent Jeewon over the edge, but your spirit overrode your rational mind and you kept fucking her. Jeewon loved it though when you were rough with her because it meant after you would be so caring and accommodating to her. So despite her muffled screams, you kept pounding your release imminent. Jeewon lifted herself to kiss you again and said “Let it all out Atyriox. Give me all of you.” her words sent you into a freefall as you came in your fancier. She smiled as came having reached her third release of the night. She then began kissing you again before pulling you to the bed. You lay there for a while still connected. Jeewon grabs your hand

“Why did Kazuo choose you?” Jeewon asks

“I was the experiment. All the others volunteered or were bred to be his war beasts. When he took me my dad convinced me this would be the path to stability and success but in reality, it ended up just being chaos, torment, and so much resentment toward everything else.” you elaborate. Jeewon nods as she rests her hand on yours. You both fall asleep. Your dreams are peaceful, but you are jolted awake when you feel an intense but familiar pressure on your cock. You look down to see Jeewon’s hollowed cheeks and puckered lips,

"you looked so stressed while you slept so I figured I relieve the tension," Jeewon says with a smile before a particular gag. you groan and she smiles as she comes up for air. "I love the way your body reacts to my touch so honest and adorable. they way your breath hitches when I do this." Jeewon says with a malicious smile as she grabs your balls, and you stop breathing for a moment, "Or when I go deep on you and you groan." she says as she takes you deep again. "But my favorite has to be when your close and you close your eyes when you're about to cum." Jeewon coos as she coaxes another orgasm out of you. She swallows and keeps sucking until you start quivering. She gets up and smiles. "No more secrets okay," she says playfully, as you groan. she smiles and says "I'll take that as a yes."

The next day breakfast in bed is delivered but you and Jeewon have other plans for the morning as you fill your morning filling her. she's all smiles. As you ram into her from behind you watch as her breasts and ass jiggle hypnotically as you thrust in and out of her. Jeewon looks at you with a lusted-over smile. "Oh, Iyaza thank you for bringing me such a kind sweet, and gentle man who fucks me so well," Jeewon says smiling.

You look at her filled with unbridled lust and affection before saying “cum with me Jeewon.”

Jeewon responds “Yes my darling” as you both tumble into bliss together. You both fall into the bed again and cuddle together before your stomach growls Jeewon turns to you and says, “Come on let’s get some breakfast.”

All you can think about is how much you love this girl

#kpop fanfic #male reader #kpop smut #cignature #jeewon #jeewon cignature #jeewon smut #fanfic

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queenxxxsupreme · 9 months

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Benevolent Creatures (Jaskier x siren!reader)

A/N: Hi babes!!! I will be posting a little something shortly to just explain a couple things but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: nothing outside of canon for the Witcher Netflix

Word Count: 4.5k

“Where is Jaskier leading us, Geralt?” Cirilla asked quietly. Geralt looked over his shoulder to where she sat atop Roach.

“I don’t know.” He answered.

Just ahead of them was Jaskier. He strummed his lute as he walked down a narrow path of moss-covered stones.

Ciri’s eyes flickered to her right. Something scurried beneath the underbrush.

“How much longer until we get to wherever it is you’re taking us, Jaskier?” Geralt stepped over a tree root, then guided Roach by the reins over it.

“Not long at all.” The bard spoke over his shoulder. “We’re nearly there.”

“And where exactly is there?” Ciri raised her eyebrows. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’ll see.”

Geralt didn't like how silent everything was. There were no crickets, no frogs, no birds. There was no sign of life anywhere in the swamp.

Roach huffed and whinnied, jerking her head back. Her ears flickered back and forth as if she too was trying to find some sort of sound.

“Shh, girl.” Geralt signed axii, calming her down.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ciri furrowed her brow.

The witcher looked to his Child Surprise, then returned his gaze ahead.

“She knows something isn’t right.” He pulled back a branch from a black willow tree that dangled in the path.

Just a few moments later, the walkway opened up to reveal a pool of water. A wooden bridge that seemed to be decaying crossed over the water and led the way to a small wooden structure on the other side of the pool.

The wooden structure— which appeared to be a home —sat up on wooden stilts four feet off the ground. The front porch wrapped entirely around the home. Green moss and vines of all sorts grew along the sides of the structure, appearing as though it was being engulfed in greenery.

“Jaskier!” Geralt hissed. “What are we doing here?”

“Relax, Geralt.”

As he climbed the stairs to the house, Jaskier straightened out his jerkin and tucked his hair behind his ears. But he decided that having his hair behind his ears wasn’t a good idea and made him appear as though he was trying too hard. So he shook his head out to give himself a bit of a roughened look.

Letting out a breath, Jaskier raised his hand to knock on the door. Before his hand even touched the door, it was pulled open.

You stood just inside your home, a soft smile on your lips.

Without so much as a second thought, the bard embraced you in a firm hug. His arms wrapped around your waist and then around your shoulders. He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your intoxicatingly sweet scent.

You kissed his neck since that was all you could reach, your fingers grasping his jerkin.

Jaskier pulled away so that he could properly kiss you. His hand found your chin, tilting your head up.

You smiled against his lips. Your hands came up to hold onto either side of his face. The sound of his heart beating quickly filled your ears. It was a familiar sound you always longed to hear.

He pulled away first, blue eyes finding yours.

“You smell odd.” You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked up at him, brushing your thumb across his stubbly cheek.

You couldn’t quite place what he smelled like, but it wasn’t his usual scent. There was someone else laced with him, someone’s scent that made the hair on your neck stand on end.

“Well, I haven’t properly bathed in days— thanks to a series of unfortunate events.”

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to offer him a bath, but you heard movement to your right. You turned your head, eyes landing on the witcher and the child Jaskier had been traveling with.

You could sense her Chaos, the powerful aura radiating off of the girl. But she wasn’t what concerned you.

The white haired witcher carried twin swords on his back. A part of you wondered if they were the same swords he had decades ago. The same swords he used to try to murder you with. The same ones that he used to kill your sister.

A scar on your forearm burned from the sight of the swords. Instinctively, you placed your hand over the scar.

You took a step away from Jaskier, brows drawing together.

“Julian, what is the meaning of this?”

Geralt’s nose scrunched as he realized who you were. Your voice was far too familiar to forget. His medallion trembled, causing him to place his hand over it. The wrinkle between his brow deepened with frustration.

Without any explanation to the girl, he reached an arm out to guide Ciri behind him.

The simple action made you even more tense and unsure of the situation. He was preparing to fight you.

A growl began to vibrate in your chest, animalistic and primal.

“What the fuck, Jaskier!” Geralt demanded, drawing a sword from his back.

As you growled once more, dagger-like claws grew from what had once been human nails on your hands.

The bard came to stand between you both, holding his hands out to either of you.

“No, no! There will be no fighting!”

“Witcher.” You spoke through your teeth.

“What is she?” Ciri asked quietly, her question directed to Geralt.

“Siren.” Geralt let out a breath. He didn’t want to let on that he was worried. Should you choose to do so, you could very easily incapacitate him and slaughter Ciri and Jaskier. “Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought us here?”

“We will be safe here for a little while, Geralt! At least until we can get some sort of plan figured out.”

Your eyes shot to the bard, unaware of his intentions. Never had he brought anyone to your home.

“Ciri will not be staying here.” Geralt told him, yellow eyes finding yours.

Your lip curled up into a snarl. Human teeth were replaced with what looked like dozens of sharp canines.

“Alright, darling.” Jaskier turned to face you, reaching out to place a hand on your arm. You turned and stormed into your home before he could put his hand on you.

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

Jaskier followed quickly behind you.

“Y/N, I don’t—,”

“You brought a witcher here to my home, Julian! And now I cannot stay here!” You spun around to face him. Your chest ached with betrayal.

“My love, my dear heart. Geralt isn’t here to cause you any harm.”

“You can’t see into his mind.” You shook your head, walking away from him once more. “He’s already made his decision and decided my fate.”

“He’s probably made that decision based on what he knows of other beings like you, but my heart, you aren’t like them.” Jaskier took your hand to stop you from moving away from him. “You are different. All you need to do is show him.”

You looked up at him, searching his blue eyes for a few moments.

Gods, you had missed those blue eyes so much.

“I won’t beg a man for my life, Julian.”

You pulled your hands out of his and turned to walk away again. This time, you only made it a few steps before he spoke.

“I’ve told you stories of Geralt before, my sweet. You’ve heard the ballads of our journeys. I am so, so sorry that I brought them here to your home.” His eyes fell down to his hands momentarily. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other choice, dear heart. That girl out there, she’s in danger and this is the only place that I know she is safe. And Geralt trusts me, he trusts my judgment enough to allow me to bring her here…. So I-I suppose all I am asking is that you just please, please my love, my heart, trust me as well.”

You looked past him to the front door that was left open. The witcher still stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the porch.

Your stomach twisted with the idea of letting him into your home, into what was perhaps the only safe place you had left. After what had happened the last time you encountered the witcher, the mighty Butcher of Blaviken, you didn’t even want to be in the same providence as him.

“I do trust you, Julian.” You murmured.

Jaskier kissed your knuckles and then your lips, smiling at you.

“I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than that.” You raised your brows as he took a step away from you.

“Indeed I do.”

***

While Jaskier talked with Geralt and Ciri outside, you busied yourself with straightening a few things in your home.

There was a small stack of books that had grown on the kitchen table. You picked them up and crossed the room to the wall of bookshelves on the opposite side of the room.

“I didn’t think sirens were capable of appearing….” Ciri trailed off as she walked into your home. “Human.”

“They aren’t.” You placed the last book on the shelf. “Sirens are only capable of looking like sirens.”

“But you said she was a siren.” She looked over to Geralt.

“It’s…. complicated, Ciri.”

You crossed your arms, eyes set on Geralt.

“Because something is complicated, you refuse to explain it to her?”

The witcher gritted his teeth together.

“You are standing before what is perhaps the last Nixe on the Continent, Ciri.” Geralt held your gaze. “They were nearly hunted to extinction at the beginning of the century.”

“Why?”

“Because they are extremely dangerous. Far more than the sirens you’ve seen from Skellige.”

You tilted your chin up, trying your damnedest to remain calm and collected while the witcher spoke of the truth he knew.

“Every creature must hunt for their food.” You said. “A lion hunts for its food just the same as a fawn. Doesn’t mean the lion should be killed.”

“Your kind turned into a problem when you began slaughtering hundreds of humans purely for entertainment.”

The tension in the air was thick and uncomfortable as neither you nor the witcher backed down from the glaring contest.

Jaskier clapped his hands together, making you look in his direction.

“Alright! Geralt, let’s go outside.”

“Come on, Ciri—,”

“No, she stays here.” Jaskier pointed to Ciri.

Geralt’s eyes shot over to the bard.

“I am not leaving her here with—,”

“Yes, you are.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm. “If Y/N wanted to spill blood today, she would have done so already. You know that. Now, outside! Come on!”

You watched as Jaskier ushered Geralt out of your home and closed the door behind himself.

Ciri looked around your home for a couple moments before her green eyes flickered to you.

“How long have you known Jaskier?”

“A while.”

“Geralt said you were dangerous.” Ciri’s blue eyes looked you over. “You don’t look dangerous.”

You wore an off white dress that brushed the floor as you walked. There was a slit up one side of the skirt that came just above mid-thigh. Over the dress was a dark green underbust corset. You wore no shoes, finding the material irritating and the restriction caused by them unbearable. Brown leather bracelets encircled both of your wrists and ankles.

You twisted a ring on one of your fingers as you moved towards the kitchen table.

“Come have a seat, child.”

She sat down across from you, curious to hear what you had to say.

“My kind…. We are very similar to sirens found on the coasts. We both are only women, and we both can produce what you know of as a siren song. But only sirens can fly, and only nixes can shapeshift.”

“That’s how you are able to appear human? By shapeshifting?”

“Yes.” You nodded, rubbing your arm absentmindedly. “Centuries ago, nixes existed just as any other creature. I suppose you could say we are dangerous, but humans are dangerous as well.”

“How are you dangerous?” Ciri tilted her head to the side a little.

“Just as sirens do, nixes hunt humans.”

The girl shifted in her spot, her eyes falling to the deer mandible on the table.

“Don’t worry, child.” You reached over to offer her a comforting hand, but at the last minute, you decided against it. You returned your hand to your lap. “Julian wouldn’t have allowed you here if I was like that.”

“Nixes…. What did Geralt mean when he said nixes kill for entertainment?”

You let out a soft breath.

“Nixes and humans are very similar, dear. Humans kill for pleasure too. They start wars, they slaughter their neighbors…. But my kind, we had a few slip ups where we went too far…. And there was no going back. For that very reason, we were hunted to near extinction.”

The front door opened and automatically, you stood up. It was only Jaskier, who offered you a gentle smile.

“Ah, sorry about that, ladies.”

“Where’s Geralt?” Ciri asked.

“He had to take Roach into town to be stabled.l since Y/N doesn’t have a stable she could stay in.”

“I have no need for a horse.” You reminded him. “They tend to have a strong dislike for my kind.”

You sat back down in your chair as Jaskier came to stand next to your chair.

“I apologize for his behavior, my sweet.” He placed a hand upon your arm and leaned down to kiss your head.

“There’s no reason for you to apologize for the ways of another man.”

“I hope Ciri isn’t giving you any hassle.”

The girl wrinkled her nose at Jaskier.

“None at all.” You smiled, shaking your head softly. “She’s just curious.”

***

Jaskier took Geralt away from the house in hopes that maybe you wouldn’t hear their conversation. But the witcher wasn’t keen on putting space between himself and the monster that had been left with his Child Surprise.

“I will not go any further, Jaskier.” Geralt spoke firmly, stopping his tracks just a few feet from the porch.

“Geralt, you—,”

“You led us straight to a fucking siren, Jaskier.”

“You don’t understand, Geralt! Ciri is safer here than she is anywhere else!”

“She’d be safer in a wyvern’s nest than here.”

“In all our years, Geralt, we’ve come across plenty of monsters that weren't actually monsters. Y/N is one of those–,”

“I promise you, Jaskier, she isn’t what you think.”

“But she is, Geralt!” A smile came to Jaskier’s face. “I’ve known her for seven years, and I swear to you she is one of the kindest, most gentle beings I have ever met. And-And I cannot have you holding such a harmful bias against someone I love!”

Geralt shook his head, rubbing his brow.

“You said the same thing about the blacksmith’s daughter in Caingorn last month.”

Jaskier shook his head and waved his hands dismissively.

“No, no, Geralt. Love isn’t black and white my friend! It’s shades of gray. Y/N— She is my one true love. The one my heart yearns for every bleeding second of the day. The one I long for when I am away. The one that causes a fire in my–,”

“Does she know your love isn’t black and white?”

“Yes! She does! And she is welcoming to my love.”

The witcher raised his brows. Jaskier let out a sigh, brushing his hair back.

“Geralt, please. She’s someone important to me. I love her and I trust her with my life. Yes, in the past she has hurt people…. But what matters is that she isn’t that anymore.”

Geralt shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flickering to the house.

He wanted to trust Jaskier, but sometimes the bard’s judgment could be distracted by the presence of an attractive being.

“The first time I feel that Ciri’s life is in danger, we are leaving.”

“Thank you, Geralt!” Jaskier embraced him in a tight hug. “And I will speak with Y/N about her…. Hospitality. Though I’m sure showing up on her doorstep was quite the surprise. Y/N isn’t keen on strangers, but she is a sweetheart once you get to know her.”

The witcher grumbled, disagreeing with his friend.

***

With two satchels over his shoulders, Geralt made his way into the house. His eyes flickered around the room in search of Ciri. He spotted his Child Surprise sitting at the table with you and Jaskier.

Jaskier’s chair was pulled rather close to yours, his arm wrapped around yours and your fingers laced together.

For a split second, Geralt saw you smiling as you spoke to Ciri. But then your eyes flickered over to the White Wolf and in the same instant, the smile fell from your lips.

“It’s getting late.” He spoke, placing the bags down beside the table. “Jaskier mentioned a guest room where Ciri could rest.”

“Just down the hall.” You nodded once.

Ciri’s stomach growled with hunger. She smiled sheepishly, bringing her hand up to her stomach.

You and the witcher were the only two to hear thanks to your enhanced hearing.

“My apologies, child. I wasn’t aware I’d be having company.” You frowned, feeling a bit guilty that you didn’t have the proper food for her.

“In the morning, I will go into town and gather what supplies we will need.” Jaskier volunteered.

You stood to your feet and moved around your home, picking up a netted bag.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” Jaskier’s eyes followed you.

“I can’t have her going to bed with an empty stomach.” You gestured to her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. For the meantime, start a fire in the hearth, please.”

As the front door closed behind you, Ciri looked at Geralt.

“I quite like her.”

He grunted and rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to pass judgements.”

“Same could be said for you.”

Geralt turned his head to look at the bard, who moved away from the table to start a fire in the hearth.

***

After a small dinner consisting of fish cooked over the fire, you found yourself sitting alongside the young girl as she asked you questions.

“Are Nixes from a specific area?”

“We can inhabit any water source. Lakes, rivers, ponds, seas.”

“And swamps?”

You smiled a little, nodding your head.

“Yes, even swamps.”

“Where are you from?”

You looked over to her for a few moments, trying to think of a good answer.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, child, you don’t keep track of something so trivial.”

She nodded her head and fell silent for a little while.

“I think it is a good time for bed.” Geralt stood to his feet.

“Y/N, have you got anything Ciri can change into?” Jaskier asked. “At least until her clothes can be washed tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. But I do think she could use a bath before changing into clean clothes, don’t you think so, dear?”

“A bath would be lovely.” Ciri nodded her head enthusiastically. The poor girl was smudge with dirt and grime. Her greasy hair was pulled back into a braid and she smelled less than pleasant. A bath would be the perfect way to finish the night.

“There’s a pool of water not too far away–,”

“It’s getting dark outside.” Geralt interjected, causing himself to be at the other end of your glare once more. “There are things outside that could harm Ciri.”

“I can keep her safe, witcher.”

Geralt locked his jaw.

“Geralt.” Jaskier said his name as if to encourage him to let you take the young girl out.

“Fine. Ten minutes.”

You nodded once, a wordless agreement.

***

You sat on the edge of the pool of water. One foot was dipped into the water. You leaned back on your hands, your eyes flickering around the edge of the woods.

While the princess bathed, you sat guard.

Crickets, cicadas, and frogs made a beautiful and tranquil sound that resonated through the woods. Every now and then, something would splash as it broke into the water on the other side of the pool. Ciri would jump and turn in the direction of the noise. You would tell her that it was a bullfrog or a fish breaching the surface, and you may have lied a little bit to her whenever the noise came from an alligator. The animals had no interest in coming close to you, so the girl was safe.

“Y/N? Can I ask you something?” Ciri brushed her wet hair over one shoulder. You gave her a nod in reply. “Geralt is usually a very good judge of character…. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so hostile towards someone within the first few moments of meeting them.”

You turned your head to watch a black and white ringed snake slither along the top of the water and away from yourself and Ciri.

“This isn’t my first encounter with him.” Your eyes flickered back to her. “The Continent is unfortunately far too small for those of us unfazed by time.”

“I take it you don’t like each other.”

There was a long pause as you gazed at her, tempted to tell her all the gory details of the first time you ran into the infamous Butcher himself.

“He killed my sister.” Your voice fell to a quiet murmur.

“I…. I’m sorry for your loss.

You sat up, brushing the dirt off of your palms.

“She was the reason for her own demise in the end. Witchers rarely give my kind a second chance. The White Haired One saw us as more than just beasts. He gave my sister and myself a second chance. She could not control her urges.”

“Urges?”

You nodded lightly, reaching your hand out to skim the surface of the water.

“Every monster craves something. Most act on their hunger, slaughtering entire villages to satisfy their cravings. Some act on the pain that rests inside them. They destroy whatever they can get their hands on in an effort to get others to feel the same pain they do.”

“And what is it you do?” Ciri tilted her head to the side just a little.

“Survive.”

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x siren!reader #jaskier x siren #jaskier fic #jaskier #dandelion #dandelion the Witcher #the Witcher 3 #the Witcher netflix #Jaskier the witcher #julian alfred pankratz

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nerdalmighty · 1 month

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hey! so, i just recently started playing baldur's gate 3 after seeing people put it all over my dash for months--and you're one of the people i've seen reblogging a lot of posts about it LOL. so if you don't mind me asking, i was wondering what kind of character do you/did you play as? and do you have any sort of backstory for your tav that you'd like to share?

Hoooooooooooooh my god thank you so much for asking. I have a friend who comes over to watch me play on Thursdays and I make a powerpoint every week to catch her up on what she missed - this week's powerpoint literally has slides about my Tav's background (more on those later). This is about to be long, I'm about to drop ALL my lore so buckle up! AND THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY BG3 BRAIN WORMS!!!!! I'm glad they convinced you to play 😈

So to begin, I've been in my first ever dnd campaign with a group of friends for a little over a year now. I didn't know much about Baldur's Gate except that it was a dnd video game and that you could romance people. Me, being a Big Fan of Romance And Fantasy was like "okay well I'm in" and my friend actually let me start a game at his house. Through that, I met Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion.

Backing up a bit to my character; I decided I'd put my character from my irl dnd campaign into the game since I already knew her whole deal. I get pretty overwhelmed with making decisions, ESPECIALLY with big open world games like bg3, so knowing who/what I wanted to be really helped me out.

In the campaign I'm in with friends, it's pirate themed, and I play a half-elf bard named Birdie Harp who's secretly half-siren (murder mermaid). To make a long story very short, she was born in the arctic and escaped her murderous pod during a coming-of-age trial where she also lost her siren abilities (hypnotizing voice, breathing underwater, etc).

I've watched a ton of Dimension 20 which is an actual play show on Dropout.tv (an "actual play" is where you watch other people run a campaign of dnd - like Critical Role, which a lot of people have at least heard of - HIGHLY recommend Dimension 20, as I find it incredibly funny and easier to get into than CR because of the episode lengths), and I knew that I really liked the silliness and theatricality of the bard class. I also loved the bards from The Owl House which helped influence my decision as well.

To be honest, Birdie is my first ever dnd character, so she's basically a self insert but with a MUCH more traumatic backstory than me (this IS dnd after all). As for the half-elf aspect, it was more of an "I want to be half mermaid, what's similar to that?" as opposed to a love for half-elves or something.

BACK TO BALDUR'S GATE - knowing I wanted Birdie to be in the game, I felt a lot less overwhelmed to come up with something entirely new - I knew a lot about the bard class having played one so I wanted to CONTINUE playing one (and I've learned even more since playing bg3!).

When I finally got my own game (I no longer play at my friend's house, but in the comfort of my own home), I recreated Birdie and started on my journey in earnest. I'm VERY MUCH someone who likes to be in control and know what to expect, so I've had guides and walkthroughs to help me the whole time - SUE ME! When it came to first meeting Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion back at my friend's house, Gale actually immediately stole my heart - a kind, witty wizard who likes books and cats? Literally say less. I went home from that session with my friend fully thinking I'd be a Gale girlie until I really looked into the other options and saw The Vampire.

Blah blah blah, he's hot and funny, but he can also be incredibly soft, which really won me over in the end. So I've been romancing That Guy.

Through Acts 1 and 2, I wasn't all too sure about this version of Birdie's background - sure she COULD still be that half-siren from the arctic, but the game kept suggesting she was FROM Baldur's Gate. I LOVED the inclusion of the harpies in Act 1 and thought maybe that was a viable entry point for her backstory, but so far, she was kind of just... me? She was making the choices I wanted to make (and a few that I knew Astarion would like lmao), but she wasn't really her own entity apart from me except for her name. She also felt vastly different from that character I'd created for my friends over a year ago. For instance, my irl Birdie currently has a crush on a Gale-type character, but this Birdie is ass deep in Astarion (hey, sorry I said "ass deep in Astarion"). The thing I love about Baldur's Gate 3 is how you can really come up with your own backstories, since the in-game one for your Tav is so vague. It's totally fine to ignore tiny details in the game and mold them to your own headcanons for your Tav, but I was so unsure of what I wanted for this Birdie that I kind of internalized that she was from Baldur's Gate.

HEADS UP! The following has some spoilers for Act 3 and some side quests, so STOP reading if that's something you'd care to avoid (the last 3 paragraphs of this post are SAFE from spoilers):

When Act 3 finally rolled around (which is where I am currently, I only have the one playthrough so far because I become INCREDIBLY attached to things), I stumbled across the Water Queen's House in Baldur's Gate. Ah ha! Now this felt promising.

A temple dedicated to the Vengeful Sea Goddess, Umberlee, and her loyal Wave Servants to serve her. It's ocean themed, it has mermaid undertones, and their goddess is basically evil. Seems like the perfect place to FINALLY insert this version of Birdie. I wasn't 100% sure until I completed the Iron Throne mission and was faced with either handing a (mostly) innocent man over to the Wave Servants, or fighting to defend him.

Here are a few of the slides from this week's powerpoint that I mentioned all the way back at the start, starting with SOME background on the Wave Servants:

Ass and Shart are what I affectionately call Astarion and Shadowheart (Also I got this beautiful "Birdie" art on Pinterest which originated from someone named Dantrelium on Reddit):

Apologies for the small text here, but there are some more details about THIS Birdie here, which I literally made up/figured out earlier this week:

Essentially, this Birdie was born at the Water Queen's House as Kittiwake Crest - Kittiwakes are common arctic birds, which I thought would be a nice little homage to the original character she was based off of. She was raised by the collective of Wave Servants there, the main one being Flood Tide Allandra Grey who seems to be head honcho at the Wave Mother's House (in this reality, she is).

Since Umberlee is such a vengeful goddess, I imagine she asked her Wave Servants to commit unspeakable acts in her name, mainly drownings, which THEY see as merciful, but I think Birdie always saw as horrifying. Who were they to decide the fates of others? I also think that the Wave Servants themselves were abusive during her upbringing to keep her in line (but much like how Nocturne was a light in the darkness for Shadowheart, I don't think EVERY Wave Servant was evil). GOTTA have a classic tragic backstory.

Upon researching Umberlee, I learned that most of her servants are clerics, so in my mind, that means Birdie was raised to eventually become one, with her official title eventually going to be "Seawind Kittiwake Crest." Is she still half-siren/mermaid though? Not entirely sure. This IS a magical world though, so I'd be inclined to say yes, probably.

But when we first meet the Wave Servants, they're singing beautifully for their drowned sister, Holli. I think Birdie REALLY loved music and singing with her sisters and secretly trained herself in bard magic when she should have been learning to be a cleric. It's also a classic trait of bards to hide their pain through humor, so I often imagine the type of stupid things Birdie gets up to to bring herself joy (my favorite headcanon being when you meet Skittle the Rat in Wyrm's Rock prison - he's a rat merchant who speaks exclusively in puns. I think Birdie and Gale would excitedly throw puns back and forth with Skittle while Astarion and Shadowheart begrudgingly (and affectionately) roll their eyes in the background).

Another thing I love about the game is how you can string together your own ideas of how companions react to things between big cut scenes. For example, in my head, in my game, Astarion has really become a Big Softy thanks to how fucking Stupid (affectionate) Birdie acts in life and has drawn him out of his shell, but also runs a tag team scam with her where she plays her lute to distract people while he loots an entire place. Gale is Birdie's partner in crime when it comes to tomfoolery and loves to joke and fool around with her (so long as it goes easy on his knees). And Shadowheart is basically a sister figure who flip flops between sassing with Astarion and joining in on the fun. THEY'RE JUST THE BEST, OKAY? OF COURSE I'M GONNA WALK AROUND WITH A BUNCH OF IDIOTS. I LOVE THEM.

Anyway, back to Birdie's backstory: she always hated the atrocities that were asked of her, and she was looking for a way out, but was too scared to take that step and leave since the Wave Mother's House is all she's ever known. One night, while stepping out to quietly dip her toes in the water, the Mindflayers captured her, and that's where we start Act One, all the way up on the Nautiloid. She changed her name to Birdie to distance herself from her previous life, fully took up the bard class, and the rest is history.

Back to that dilemma with handing over that (mostly) innocent guy or fighting the Wave Servants: with encouragement from the party, they convince Birdie to face her traumatic upbringing and fight the Wave Servants once and for all. At this point in Act 3, she's basically helped every single person with their problems except her own. Here's another slide featuring Ass and Birdie:

That's right folks, Birdie faced her past! But the bad news is we don't get to see Astarion in this (audio from The Adventurous Adventures of One Direction):

(Video description - Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3 wearing the Wave Mother's Armor with the following audio:

Guard 1: Whoa, check it out.

Guard 2: Hubba hubba hubba.

Gaurd 1: Nice. I love dudes in skirts.

END VIDEO.) I don't want to tell you how many times I recorded that until I felt like I got it right lol. Also yes, I DID do a scum save where I handed the guy over ONCE just so I could see Ass in this outfit, but Birdie did canonically save Redhammer in my actual save file.

And honestly, that's BASICALLY it for now! My most recent save was after that battle, so I need to figure out if Birdie's going to go back with her party to confront the rest of (or most of) the Wave Servants, or if this chapter of her life is closed.

In an ideal world I'd LOVE to make one of those artsy gif edits of my Tav like this and this, but PS5s make it hard to download clips without uploading them to YouTube first which I don't really want to do.

Thank you SO MUCH for this ask, I had a blast writing it!! Sorry it's so long, I just love this game so much and LOVE talking about it. Please feel free to ask more questions OR chat with me about YOUR Tav! I'd love to hear all about them :)

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shaampoo · 3 days

Text

OMG!?!??! I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS SONG (and AU), RIGHT NOW!!!

(By Lydia the bard

TINKERBELL VILLAIN SONG - Fall Little Wendy Bird Fall | Song by Lydia the Bard and Tony | Animatic

The title^)

youtube

First of all the cover art is AMAZING, Tink is SO pretty, the sparkle and lines on the wings, her grin, HER HAIR, HER EARS, HER DRESS,

Also, "Fall Little Wendy Bird Fall" is a great title

Now the video itself and its lyrics, i really REALLY want to just compliment every single frame of this video, its so beautiful, so well done, its like it was blessed by The Muses of greek mythology,

Okay so the lyrics at 0:45

"You dont seem to quite understand what is at stake,

This messed up little family that i had to make"

Not only is this line so beautiful with the way her voice sounds, its pretty much a nod to the fact Tink and her friends kidnapped peter pan and the lost kids to keep her and her friends alive

(0:55) \/

"If i could let them all go home please know that i would

But it'd do more harm than good"

Just Tink expressing her guilt that she and her friends kidnapped the lost boys so that they could keep existing, but like, JWHSEAJKHWED, she ofc doesn't want her or her friends to die, and since people are slowly not believing in fairies anymore, they're slowly going extinct, ALSO, Fawn and Silvermist are DEAD, so yeah, that messes with someones head

AAAALSOOOO, i LOVE their silhouettes, the height and weight differences instead of them all having the same height and weight like in the movies, plus, i LOVE that despite not looking like how they do in the movies, you can probably still tell who is who,

ALSO

Even if it wasnt intentional, i like how in kinda faraway shots, Tink has a more cuter roundish look, while in closer shots shes more edgy and more intimidating(? if that's the right word), kinda showing how others view her (kinda?) as a cute fairy, maybe underestimated, but yknow, close up, shes plotting to kill a child

(1:15)

I love how Tink is gesturing in this scene, cause 1. It conveys to the audience what she wants from the lost boys and 2. Canonically, when fairies talk, people usually just hear jingling of bells, so shes gesturing because shes also conveying what she wants to the lost boys

1:23

"Swear its nothing personal, its a necessary evil"

I just love this line because it is a necessary evil, she needs the lost boys and peter pan in neverland to believe in fairies so that they exist, and Wendy is pretty much a threat, since she makes the lost boys want to grow up with families,

Also, the lost boys look so cute in here, i cant remember their names tho, one is holding a slingshot, aiming at wendy, one is holding rocks , and one has a stick , so Tink just told these children to assassinate Wendy, or at least attack her.

1:35

I love how the kids explain that Tink make them do it, and Peter Pan just glares at Tink, and i love that I'm pretty sure that Peter isn't mad/doesnt blame the lost boys

As seen in this scene where Pete is smiling and stuff at the Lost Boys and/or at Wendy

1:55

I love how Tink refers to Wendy as a "Nasty little spark" because, a spark can turn into a fire, damaging a lot of stuff and people, pretty much saying that Wendy has to be snuffed out before she causes a fire,

"Setting fires inside my house is just not allowed"

Pretty much referring to the fact that Wendy, the spark, is creating a fire, aka, making the lost boys want to grow up and go back to the real world, making them not believe in fairies anymore, thus, making her and her friends die, which is, not allowed.

Also. the fear in Tink's eyes is so fear, her expression is on point, the mix of concern and fear is just, so beautiful, also i love her pointed ears

2:17

First of all, this screenshot does not do justice to the actual design of the mermaid (siren?), cause they are AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL, GORGEUS.

Also, the fact that Tink is persuasive enough to convince someone to kill Wendy in such a short amount of time is impressive, and the fact that the mermaids agreed so quickly is also impressive,

When it failed, the absolute horror and shock on Tink's face? Shes horrified that another plan of hers failed, and shes scared that her friends might die, like, wow

The despair on her face is just so...asdjwoaijdoiwajd

3:38

The fact that Peter Pan (i cant even give him a nickname cause Pete sounds different and P.P. is just wrong and Pan is just A Thing), first at the gust of wind that blows away the pixie dust (which keeps the ship afloat) he covered his eyes, maybe cause the dust or his hair in his eyes, then he looks at Tink in anger and shock and probably some confusion, then looks at Wendy, in concern and fear,

Theory: Pan knows that, since Tink doesnt want the lost boys to leave, and he knows that gust of wind was from the fairies, and Tink's dislike and hatred to WEndy, that Wendy was probably the only one not going to be saved, which is why he only looks at her and tries to save her (that or he's a SIMPPPPPPP /j)

3:50

The fact that you can see Wendy screaming??? Chills,

And the black screen right after, signalling Wendy's death is just amazing

Anyways, overall, what im saying is

THIS SONG IS AMAZING GO CHECK IT OUT, GO CHECK OUT THIS PERSONS CHANNEL, THEY HAVE GOOD VILLAIN SONGS, THEY EVEN HAVE ENCANTO!!!!

#Lydia the Bard #Villain Song #Villain Songs #Fall Little Wendy Bird Fall #song analysis #Though i did little analyzing but idk #GREAT SONG #TInkerbell #?#Youtube

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soft-for-them · 1 year

Text

Dead dial - Leon Kennedy x plus size reader

Summary: You're a nursing student who lives in Raccoon City who frequently talks to an old friend, Leon Kennedy, over the phone. Just as he's about to move to the same city as you the living dead start to roam the streets. (There is some descriptions of zombie related gore.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Replaying Resident Evil games. Might not be 100% canon, I'm not really into the RE law. Also this will get a part two if people like it enough. Not proof read because I'm tired.

“You know this probably is a bad idea, Leon.”

Balancing the phone receiver between your ear and shoulder you try not to pull in the old spiral cord too much, the old in phone wall in your outdated flat is probably as old as you.

Standing in your small kitchen, the kitchen island digging into your soft flesh as your lean into it so the phone cord does not snap, you look out the old creaky wooden window past the fire escape to the dim yellow bulb street lights and rain soaked grey buildings.

Sirens loud and ear piercing can be heard, followed by the flashing of the obnoxious red and blue lights of multiple cop cars. You’ve never really trusted the police in this city, funny considering the man on the end of the phone is about to become one.

“(Y/n).” Leon says with an exhausted sigh. You can imagine his rubbing his hand through his hair whilst saying it.

“There’s something going on here-“ you step closer to the widow the phone line going straight as you look outside like an nosey old person would, “-the hospitals have been so hectic lately.”

You should know, you’re a second year nursing student, it’s the whole reason you moved to Raccoon city in the first place. (It certainly wasn’t the damp filled flats and lovely raining weather that brought you here.)

For school you work partly in the city’s hospital and for weeks now the ER has been flooded with people, you don’t know why, but many either have been sent home or have suddenly died. There’s even a rumour that patients have been taken as test subjects by Doctor Bard, though you’ve been too busy dealing with the rise of ‘cannibals’ to even care. All the nursing students have been worried, hell everyone working at the hospital has been worried, but the city’s government and press have been keeping the rising casualties hush hush.

“I know…” Leon begins his words long and worried, “Was it bad today?”

He knows your answer regardless, for the last month you conversations on the phone have been less about happy things such as seeing a fluffy dog on a walk or eating a tasty pastry and more on just about how you feel like you’re an overworked underpaid nurse already with how much you’ve been helping at the hospital whilst also studying and working a part time job.

“They say us going to the hospital is for educational purposes, at first it was but now we just go to be extra hands. They need it. I saw a doctor collapse today she was so over worked… and well at least all this overtime is going towards my grade.”

“(Y/n).” Leon echoes your name so quietly to stop you from rambling, he has known you long enough to know when your anxious rambling begin.

“Haha-“ you nervously chuckle as more sirens blare on, this time from ambulances rushing down the narrow roads lined with parked cars and thin pavements, “-I’m going to get an A with all the work I’m doing.”

“(Y/n).” his voice is louder and filled with concern.

“I hand to hold man down today whilst he screamed… he was screaming Leon-“ tears start to bubble up in your tired eyes, them threatening to drip down your face like the rain drop on your windowsill, “-I- I-“

“(Y/n)… listen to me, ok.”

“I’m listening.” You sniff as you lean back on the kitchen counter.

“You’re ok, Sundays almost here and then you can have day off, I can call if you like.”

Leon hopes you will for his relationship isn’t going well and ever since you moved away he hasn’t had a proper friend to talk to about such mundane and normal things. He likes hearing your voice even if lately you’ve been sounding worn out and a bit sad.

“I- I have work Saturday and I’ll sleep through Sunday, I- well- I don’t want to miss a call, but it’s hardly a day off Leon.”

“Ring in sick, go to that café you want to go to- what is it call- Lauren’s?”

“Lorenzo’s coffee and cake.”

“Yeah, that. You said they have a cream cake and imported coffee beans.” He remembers you talking about it on a past phone call, “Or you said that you wanted to go to that pop up art exhibit-“

“- The classics one –“

“-Yes, you said there is a Van Gogh there.”

He recalls you staying that a private collector was exciting their art collection which just so happened to have a Van Gogh sketch in it. You were so excited when you told he almost asked you to go with him to it, totally forgetting you now live in to different places and not in the same apartment complex like you did before.

“I ends Friday.” You glumly say.

“Then call in sick Friday and Saturday.”

Surly your boss would believe you more if you’d come down with say a cold on the Friday rather than suddenly getting on the Saturday, that’s what Leon thinks as he says the idea to you.

“I guess it does make it more believable to but-“

“-but?”

“…I don’t want to let anyone down Leon. This city is going to shit and I don’t want to be the asshole who fucks everything up because I don’t turn up to work or class…”

“You work in a supermarket.” His voice is filled with a fun confusion, like he’s amused and shocked at your words, as he ponders how not turning up at your cashier job will affect the city.

“So? Three shops have already closed down this month, the customers have doubled because people have to eat and- and-“

“(Y/N), you’re overthinking again. They can handle a day without you.”

“They can?”

“I can’t handle a missed phone call from you, think about it. A day off and a long phone call with me or no day off and a missed phone call because you’re too exhausted to wake up?”

“You know I’d take the phone call regardless.”

“Take the days off and call me tomorrow, it’s getting late and we both need some rest.”

It’s your cue to say goodbye, which is already drawn out and filled with cheesy jokes from Leon that make you laugh. You always did say that going to bed on a happy note makes the next day a better experience and Leon remembers it, so he always tries to cheer you up before either one of you hangs up.

“Night Leon.”

“Goodnight (Y/n).”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

You didn’t take the days off but you did stay up late long enough to speak to Leon. He was having girlfriend troubles and you talked to the sun came up.

You were on your way to a lecture but a mass email was sent out telling everyone to stay home, or arrive at the hospital to help out, you chose the former opting rather to go home and go back to sleep.

Maybe you’ll go to the hospital to help out later on.

Apparently half of the students were already at the university when the email was sent out and apparently a lot of teachers were too. Many people have been sending messages through the many university group chats and message boards to stay away from the school. On person said that the city was going t be evacuated.

The sirens have been going off for days now, public transport has been limited that morning for some odd reason, you had waited at you bus stop for a half hour before getting a text from a friend telling you about the email and walking back home.

Even now you hurry as if someone is following you.

It feels like for the last week the city has become smaller and smaller, like a video game with a map yet to unlock. More and more people have become ill and it seems the Umbrella Corporation is being shoved in your face, their advertisements playing every commercial break along with warnings to stay inside unless you need to go out to work, school, the shops or hospital.

You have no clue what’s going on but you’re glad Leon is starting work here, even if he’s a cop.

You hope that Leon will get to the city quickly. You see, it all started with a call from him last night of him crying and saying his girlfriend dumped him and ever since that call it has seemed to get worse for you both. No longer was he going to have that nice shared flat with her in Raccoon city and from what you heard he was drunk, whilst you were up all night the sound of sirens and screams keeping you up.

Last night you stayed up with him until he fell asleep and even then you couldn’t sleep. Even this morning, you were worried sick about him driving down to Raccoon hungover, so you left him a voice message.

“Hey, Leon. I’m just about to head out to class, but um just know I’m here for you if you need me, oh and drink some water and take some paracetamol... Yeah, anyway I was thinking that well if you want to you could crash here if that apartment situation is still – you know- fuck, it’s too early to think and talk coherently… Um, yeah, the offer’s there if you want, you know where the spare key is hidden, speak to you soon. Take care Leon. Bye.”

And even now as you rush home avoiding everyone out on the streets, which is odd because there hardy seems to be anyone at all, well apart from some people asleep on benches like they were drunk and apartment buildings filled with shouts of people angry and annoyed (which you don’t realise is the sounds of zombies roaming around.)

You hurry up your pace to avoid a crowded looking street that looks to have a car crash and an onslaught of on lookers on it. You don’t take one look at the reanimated corpse who stumbles out the car and bites an onlooker, you just carry on rushing back to your flat, a bad feeling taking over you.

Passing burning buildings not yet entirely engulfed in flames but getting there and all the cars normally parked on the sides of the road gone from their owners trying to escape the city you finally get your apartment complex, the big double doors barricaded shut, a cabinet pushed against the fragile glass.

You wonder up to the door to see if someone is near the metal letterboxes or if the janitor’s closet is open with the janitor taking a break. Leaning your head on the glass you look around but no one is there to help you get inside.

“Hel-“ you begin to speak, your hands clutching the straps to your backpack but you stop yourself, the odd feeling of dread making your stomach do back flips.

Stepping backwards you hear a blood curdling scream.

You whip around to see a woman coved in blood crying and crawling out of the spinning doors of the fancier apartment complex just a bit down the street, her voice screaming a croaky ‘help’ to no one in particular.

“Don’t be a coward (y/n), you’re a nursing student, go help her!” the voice in your mind urges you.

Freezing still in front of the barricaded glass doors you look on to the speck that is the screaming woman, your hands clutching at you backpack straps so much that that the plastic fabric irritates your skin.

White doctor daps step backwards and not forwards, the tarmac scuffing your shoes.

You’re too scared to help the woman.

A loud moan like growl reverberates the ground, you look to your left at the glass doors to see a person, no, a dead man walking. He tries to walk to the door the furniture blocking the door making him slump over, only his hands touch the brittle glass.

The noise of gargling blood, the sight of his glassy dead eyes, the absence of a left arm, it makes you panic. You desperately look around for anything, anyone, any opening to escape all the while the dead get closer and closer.

Finally you spot the side alley, well it’s technically a whole road that leads to another street but with all the rubbish and filth only police cars and rubbish trucks drive down it. Apparently your block of flats used to look over a nice patch of grass that was a park but a couple years before you moved in they had built more buildings grey and dull blocking out the sun light.

Passed the rubbish bins you see the fire escape, the same fire escape that leads up to your window.

You look one more look at the dead man banging his head on the cracking glass, then one more look at the now quiet woman slumped on the ground, back to one look at the dark alleyway, you know what you have to do.

You bolt.

Dodging black bags of gooey trash and a hoard of skittering rats you clamber up the frail rusted frame of the fire escape. You take two steps at a time up the stairs each step rattling and swaying the old structure. You do not look back as trampled footsteps echo out in the street nor do you dare look into the passing windows, some covered in bloodied handprints.

Soon enough you get to your window, your flat on the fifth floor a welcomed sight to see.

The old wooden windows are slowly rotting away and the locks are permanently broken. You’re thankful that you hadn’t bothered locking the make do lock you drilled and secured in the window, the blocky hinged lock looking locked deterring any burglars from coming in.

Leon had said that he’d happily fix the window for you when he was settled in the city but considering what is happening you don’t care all that much for the lock, only that your friend is ok.

With a couple of rattles and a whole load of upper arm strength you slide the window up. There is just about enough space to fit in, though you’re going to have to suck in your tummy to do so and you’re going to have to shove your backpack in first.

You do just that, the backpack falling off the counter onto the floor with a thud, then you squeeze yourself through, your hips hurting as you force yourself in, your ass landing on the draining board next to the sink.

“Fuck.” You mutter as you bang your body on the hard surface, your feet hitting the ground as you push off the counter.

As soon as you are stable you lock the window the fastest you’ve ever done, closing the blinds along with it, doing that partly so no one can see you inside but also partly so you don’t have to see the outside world.

You’re finally home but you’re scared as hell.

Automatically you go to your rotary phone hanging on the wall.

You pick up the receiver, your fingers automatically dialling Leon’s home phone.

There is no ringing or waiting sound.

The phone line is dead.

A/N: If you want a part two please send in an ask rather than commenting for another part, this is just because asks are an easier way for me to track requests. Comments are still welcomed and requests are open!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader

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jaskiercommabard · 7 months

Note

Hey! It's moonykins from AO3! You asked for a prompt so here's one: Jaskier getting hurt on a hunt he was perhaps not supposed to be on and Geralt feeling guilty because Jaskier could have died. Geralt can take care of Jaskier and bandage him up and Jaskier probably survived because of his own dumb luck. Feelings can come out? I really suck with ideas but I wanted to give you something <3

Thank you ANGEL for this prompt, this was interesting and fun to write. Thank you also for your very thoughtful and encouraging words.

This one got away from me again, probably to no one's surprise. I hope it's alright!

Read on AO3 (4k)

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“No!”

“Yes.”

“No! You’re telling me they aren’t related to mermaids at all?”

Geralt nods sagely and knocks back the last of his ale, then hails the barkeep to refill their cups as Jaskier hides a smile. It’s a balmy spring night, late enough in the season that the hearth in the Drunken Gull remains unlit - a treat, this far north, one that has both their shirts unbuttoned - and he’s caught Geralt in the rare, talkative mood that only strikes him when he’s been paid up front for an easy contract.

“But the songs-”

“Lies.”

“The stories!” Jaskier flaps a hand above his head, gesturing vaguely to stars that - he presumes, despite being in the midst of a revelation - still hang in the sky above the roof of the tavern. “The constellation! The Seven Sirens, Geralt!”

“In Zerrikania, they call those stars the Seven Goats,” he deadpans, amusement sparking in his rolling eyes. "Goats aren't relatives of mermaids either. Write that down."

Geralt taps the songbook laid open on the table, flicks Jaskier's nose when he tries to shut the witcher’s finger in it.

“You're a menace, you know. Terrible. I thought they were just…just..” Jaskier’s hand flutters in the air again. “Ornery, flying mermaids!”

“Mm. Common misconception. Sirens aren’t sentient - not like merpeople or humans, anyway. More like…sharks. Or wasps.”

“But they look like-”

Geralt slaps his broad palm down on the bartop. “But they look like women!”

Jaskier can’t help his startled laugh, and Geralt huffs easily back at him. His mouth is twisted up at the corner, amber eyes expectant, and it’s…something. It’s something.

“Go on then, witcher, tell me. Why do they look like women?”

Jaskier leans in close like he's asking for a secret. Geralt leans in close like he's telling one.

“It’s not a mutation. It’s an adaptation,” he says. His breath smells like honey and hops and the flagon of vodka Jaskier’s goaded him into drinking.

"Brilliant," the bard says.

"Effective," the witcher concedes. "Up close, once you get them riled, they change. It’s…”

His voice drops off, eyes shuttering slightly.

“Ugly?” Jaskier provides.

“Ugly,” he confirms, but he’s still frowning. His fingers tap the bar restlessly, disturbing the beads of condensation gathered below their mugs, and Jaskier's eyes get caught on the motion.

On nights like this - nights when they’ve been laughing - something ancient always comes to settle itself heavily over Geralt. He knows better than to try and lift it.

Jaskier clears his throat, pulling them both from their separate thoughts. When he grins at Geralt, his companion hums agreeably enough in return, and it's as close to a goodnight as they'll get.

Jaskier claps him on the shoulder anyway, squeezing to pull himself up. He's just on the right edge of drunk, perilously close to giving himself a wicked hangover if he doesn't quit - that won't do, now that he has plans for the morning.

“Thank you for indulging me, my friend.”

Geralt shrugs easily, lifting his palms as Jaskier gathers up his untouched quill and empty songbook.

"On my own head be it."

So really, all things considered, it's not even Jaskier's fault that he ends up trailing Geralt to the shore the following morning, not with an invitation like that.

After no small amount of charm laid on the baker’s daughter and the stablehand's father, Jaskier finds himself with a honey-soaked bun in one hand and a crudely drawn trail map in the other. Trail might be overselling it, really - it’s little more than a footpath of tamped-down grass, with dense sagebrush and gently drooping ferns encroaching so heavily from both sides that it disappears altogether in some places. A layer of oppressive fog, so thick it hides most of the formidable Koviri mountain range in its haze, doesn’t ease the way either, but Jaskier is a coastal boy. He follows the call of seabirds and takes his time licking the honey from his fingers as he picks his way toward the ocean.

Eventually, the dense forest starts to give way to the coast and the hard-packed dirt beneath Jaskier’s boots becomes slippery with silt. Younger trees take the place of the massive ones, bending out from the soil at impossible angles where the ocean has washed it away to expose their roots. When the trail finally disappears completely, he finds himself on a high, rocky outcropping above the sea. It occurs to him that the view must be astonishing on a clear day, but as it is, the fog sits so thick above the turbulent sea that he could almost pluck it from the sky like spun sugar.

Spotting Geralt is easier than he thought it might be, even in this weather. He's built - and outfitted - to blend into the night, black armor standing out against the morning sky and greyish bark of the cypress tree he's climbed into, but that won't stop him getting a job done.

Not for the first time, Jaskier is fascinated by the stillness Geralt possesses - even as he settles into his hiding spot behind one of the larger boulders dotting the cliffside, he’s tapping out a rhythm with his fingers, chewing on the inside of his cheek, shaking hair out of his eyes. The witcher doesn’t move any more than a boulder would, doesn’t bend to the wind any more than a tree would. He simply waits, crossbow upraised, until the first siren emerges from the fog.

From where Jaskier crouches, the adaptation is indeed an effective one - to his human eyes, it looks like Geralt has shot an angel from the sky. He’s struck by the grace of it falling, leathery wings cradling her, blowing like great sails as she tumbles down into the horizon. It could almost be a song, but when she splatters on the rocky outcrop below, Jaskier loses the melody.

Several things happen at once, after that. A shriek rises from the fog, just one at first before more join in an eerie, skull-splitting chorus. Jaskier’s ears are roaring with it as Geralt starts picking them out of the sky with impossible precision. He’s thinning them out, but not enough, it can’t possibly be enough. Geralt drops from his perch and lands easily on his feet - Jaskier can almost hear the curse he lets out from where he watches the remaining sirens swarm around the clifftop, banking hard to swoop and dive at the witcher. The crossbow is thrown down in favor of a silver sword - Jaskier sucks a breath in as it slices through the air in a wide, red arc, and then he’s gone.

Geralt has disappeared in the fluttering swarm, invisible until a blast of magic explodes from the center, knocking some of them back into the air and sending a few of the others to their deaths in the churning water below. Jaskier waits. He does wait for Geralt, but the hand that had cast the sign simply crumples to the ground beside the odd angles of his fallen body.

So, objectively, it is not his fault, with Geralt unconscious in a slowly growing pool of blood at his feet, that he finds himself in the thick of a hunt he promised not to join, defending them both.

“Hand-and-a-half, my arse, Geralt.” His shoulders are screaming as he lifts the witcher’s silver sword, which certainly should be called three-or-four-hands-at-least, but he plants his feet on either side of his friend’s body and raises it anyway. He can’t swing it, really, the thing is far too heavy for him to wield with any precision, but it keeps the few remaining sirens at bay long enough for him to dig the heel of his boot into Geralt’s side. It earns him a promising groan and he takes a steadying breath. He can do this, he can keep them back until the professional is on his feet again. Ornery mermaids, he tells himself, they're just ornery mermaids.

The weight of the blade wrenches his wrists as he jabs it toward the two closest creatures, making them hiss and scream. It’s horrific, bone-jarring, hitting his head like twin daggers. The shrieks send him to his knees until he’s crouched over Geralt, the blood dripping from his own ears and nose mingling with the already gory trenches in the witcher's armor. Gritting his teeth, Jaskier lurches forward and buries the blade in the belly of the monster that had carved bloody grooves into Geralt’s chest while Jaskier had watched, horrified, too far away and too weak to stop it.

Geralt was right - they are ugly up close, ugly enough to staunch some of the guilt rolling in Jaskier’s gut, anyway. Gone are the fair faces they use to lure fishermen to their nests - those plush lips stretched thin around dripping, needle-like teeth, flowing hair gone wild and tangled like sea moss. Their talons rip into the earth, close enough that the sharp tips are stained by the widening pool of blood that surrounds them.

When the creature at the end of Geralt’s sword crumples, its sisters fall back, rising into the air with great flaps of their wings that send sand flying into Jaskier’s eyes.

“That’s right,” he shouts triumphantly, jabbing his weapon into the air. “And stay out, you ugly-”

Ah, fuck.

She rises from the fog like a shipwreck, raising herself above the cliffedge with concussive beats of her ancient wings, so impossibly large that the tattered ends of them blur into the edges of Jaskier’s vision. They’re ragged and torn in places, littered with scars so deep Jaskier can see the sunlight shining through them, yet still they keep her aloft. She’s two, maybe three times the size of the other sirens, easily. Ekhidna.

“Geralt, get up,” he shouts as the creature’s reflective, fish-like eyes settle on them. It's worse than any storm Jaskier's ever been in, the wind and water from her wingbeats tearing at them like a hurricane.

"I need you," he shouts frantically, shaking one of Geralt's armored shoulders. Fear grips him for the first time since he rushed out to help the witcher, perhaps for the first time in his very short life - that's what it feels like, anyway, as the ekhidna's tail begins to coil in the sky above them. "Come on. I can't- I can't do this, I need you."

She's flipping in the air like an acrobat, diving at them with deadly grace, and Geralt’s eyes are still closed. Jaskier twists, curls himself over the other man’s body to shelter him as best he can, his own useless fear choking him as the ekhidna's shriek grows louder, closer, until-

Until it doesn't. Until the air goes still and silent around them with a pressurized pop. Jaskier's eyes open - when had they closed? - to find Geralt already struggling to his feet, hand outstretched to hold the golden shield around them.

It bursts like a soap bubble when the beast hits it, scattering in a shower of orange-gold sparks, but it's enough to knock her back. Enough for Geralt to get his feet under him and yank his sword from Jaskier's trembling grasp.

The witcher is unrelenting, brutal, graceful as he beats her back, wielding his weapon with no more strain than it takes Jaskier to wield a quill. She swipes at him with her great claws, bares her gory teeth, and still he lunges. He has her balanced on the edge of the outcropping, ready to take flight, when he buries his sword in her chest. He pulls it back with a grunt of effort, green-black liquid spouting from the wound, and launches a boot into her gut to topple her over the precipice.

He wastes no time rounding on Jaskier, stomping back until he's looming over the bard still kneeling in the bloody dirt.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he demands. Oh, he's furious.

"I was thinking you were bleeding out and covered in monsters, and that you needed my help!"

Geralt scoffs, teeth bared, and it hits Jaskier like a bolt.

"It would have been helpful for you to stay at the inn, like I told you to."

"If I had stayed at the inn, you would be fish food right now, not henpecking me for saving your life."

"Idiot," the witcher hisses.

"Prick," the bard bites back. They both deflate after a tense moment, the frenzy burned out of them, and Jaskier hauls himself up with Geralt's offered hand.

“Ah, very good," he says, taking a few steps back to dust off his trousers. He's shaking like a leaf in a storm and his clothing is covered in witcher blood and siren guts and gods only know what else, likely a total loss.

He must look a sight, which explains why Geralt is looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"Well done, witcher. Well done, bard-”

“Jaskier, get back from the edge.”

“I don’t know about you, but I am swearing off fish forever, in fact-”

“Jaskier.”

“-maybe women, too, for good measure. At least scary ones with needle teeth and-”

“Jaskier, get back-”

He has the length of a single heartbeat to meet Geralt’s eyes, to watch him lunge forward with his hand outstretched, before the sky tips and Jaskier is falling through it. He barely has time to register the hot slice of talons ripping through his leg or the brain-rattling pain of the ekhidna’s final shriek before they plunge into blackness together.

Jaskier knows the sea, but not this one - it’s dark, made darker still by the clouds hanging in the sky he’d fallen out of, and so impossibly cold that it sucks the air from his lungs. Those massive wings must have broken their fall enough to keep him conscious, but now he’s caught in them like a net, already half-full of seawater and sinking far too quickly. They’re not leathery, like he thought, but fishbelly-slick, making it impossible to find purchase in the ever-darkening water.

When he kicks himself free, he’s buffeted and turned by the current, unsure of which way he should be swimming to get back to the surface.

He can’t even see past the tiny bubbles already starting to escape his nose, but he knows he’s losing too much air as his lungs begin to burn. It’s all turning white at the edges by the time his chest starts to tighten, and still he pushes through the water.

Julian Pankratz came into the world with a song to sing. That's what his mother tells him, anyway, when she reminds him that she labored for a full two days just for him to greet her screaming. The servants and townsfolk had gathered behind the manor to throw flowers into the sea while she brought him into the world - buttercup and blowball, daffodil and coneflower, sprays of roses the color of noontime sun - an offering to the Goddess, a plea for her mercy.

Did he look like a flower, tumbling through the air? Was it a song?

Julian is six years old. It’s his birthday, and his father is showing him how to cast a net into the mudflats behind the manor to catch alewife and perch. The sight of the netting makes him sick, all bloated with wriggling silver skin and dotted with eyes that bulge out into nothing. He spends the rest of the afternoon alone, hunting seashells, lining them up on the shore until the sun spreads like fire on the horizon. He dips his ears below the water when his mother calls him in, letting it swallow his name. Julian, Julian -

“Jaskier!”

Someone is shaking him, slapping his face. A great weight meets his chest, socking him like a sledgehammer - it might steal the breath from him, if he had any.

He’s twelve, all knocking knees and long-limbed shyness, showing the porter’s son how to coax little crabs out from the tidepools. Their clay-stained knuckles brush in the silty water and his face grows hot, hotter still when Janus hooks their little fingers together. Julian runs, then - runs until his lungs feel as though they’ll burst. He doesn’t play with the servants’ children again after that.

He’s retching, the salt-bitter water burning his throat as it comes up. There’s no room for air, no time to breathe before more spouts forth from his mouth and nose. He’s twisted onto his side, fingers clawing through the sand like bloody talons.

Eighteen, and he holds Julian beneath the waves until Jaskier emerges. The world is stretched out before him and he’s hungry for it, starving, holding it in his teeth like a first breath. Posada is as far inland as he's ever been, far enough that his clothes have just stopped smelling of brine. He crests and falls like a wave that afternoon, crashing against his own heart, dissolving into foam and rising again. Three words or less.

The first breath hits him like fire, colliding sharply with the water still left in his lungs, but it comes. He takes another, chokes up more foam, and then he must be back in the water because he’s rocking, rocking. There’s a shh-shh in his ear, like the inside of a seashell, a secret thing. It’s warm against his temple, his forehead, his eyelids.

Twenty. Drowning in Rinde. Heat, salt, copper, bubbling up in his throat, stealing all the spaces air should be. Geralt is holding him, until he isn’t - until he’s holding her. Hope washes out like a tide.

Consciousness returns to Jaskier in fits and starts - the crackle of a fire and the distant, scratchy hum of early cicadas comes first, then the cool breeze ruffling the dry hair across his forehead. Everything else is warm, soft enough at the edges to let him float just below the surface of awareness for a while, just beyond the grasp of pain.

When he does manage to drag his eyes open, they settle on a familiar shape - Geralt, outlined by the glow of a fire, folded into a meditative stance beside the bed. His chest is bare, starkly pale against the gashes that are already healing - not quite closed, but already turning a healthy pink at the edges.

His hands are closed around one of Jaskier’s, rough and warm. Something about that is peculiar, but it slips from his mind, silverfish-quick.

He turns instinctively into that warmth but doesn’t have a chance to examine it further before his body ignites in pain. It feels as though he’s been wrenched apart and put back at odd angles, his insides not quite where he left them. He gasps, a mistake that sets him heaving, hacking around shards of ice as the shadow beside him startles and shifts.

“Easy, Jaskier. Small breaths,” Geralt’s voice is rough in his ear as he tilts Jaskier to one side, just in time for him to retch into a waiting basin. The ringing is back in his ears, his mouth full of brine and blood, when he’s hauled back up. The room spins.

“What,” he tries to ask, but it comes out as a wordless croak.

Geralt's hand sparks weakly in the corner of his vision, and then the rough edge of a mug brushes his cracked lower lip. Hot tea, something vaguely medicinal but sticky-sweet with honey, soothes his dry mouth but scratches his throat. It’s taken away too soon when his chest spasms again, forcing what little air he has out in burning gasps until his vision starts to blur.

He's gulping, hiccuping, his body crying out for air, but there seems to be no room for it.

He registers, distantly, the bed dipping under Geralt’s weight as his fingers are gently unwound from where Jaskier is clawing into his arms, and then their hands are tangled together.

One hand pressed flat to Geralt’s chest, the other against his own, their discordant heartbeats keep time beneath his palms as Geralt takes slow, shallow breaths. Jaskier matches them in time, regaining some control.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“What do you remember?” Geralt asks in return. His eyes are shadowed, searching Jaskier’s face in the dim light as he wades through his muddled memory. Images bubble to the surface, disjointed, curling in his stomach like he’s falling again.

“The water, and- oh, ow, fuck- my leg.”

Geralt winces, nods as Jaskier reaches down to clutch at his thigh above the neatly bandaged wound that had, until now, escaped his awareness. The movement tugs at the other set of bandages, snug around his ribs. When he looks at Geralt for an answer, his golden eyes flick away, pupils narrowing as he stares into the fire. It looks like a door closing.

“You weren’t breathing.”

Of course. Jaskier had seen it once at Oxenfurt - a ghastly demonstration on a corpse, no match for the brutal reality of it that had come years later when they spent a season in Skellige. Jaskier had been held back with some difficulty, thinking one of the villagers was beating a man who had washed up along the shore to death. The sick snap of a rib cracks in his memory.

"Broken, then." It's not a question - not a hopeful one, anyway, but Geralt shakes his head.

"No, but badly bruised." His voice cracks like it chokes him, like it's weighing him down, and Jaskier can’t bear it.

"Ah, good news. We'll be back on the Path in no time, then-"

"You will stay here and rest," Geralt interrupts.

"Geralt, enough." Jaskier swats the witcher's hands away where they fuss at the edge of his bandages and attempts to push himself upright with trembling arms. "I am not some fragile-"

"You are fragile, Jaskier," he growls, snatching the bard's wrist in his hand to still him, grip just tight enough to make him wince. Geralt drops it like a hot brand. "You're human."

Jaskier's heart falls into his stomach. It's churning, tempestuous, stealing the breath from him. Just human, always just human. He feels small, insignificant as he drops his hands into his lap.

"Geralt, I don't-" Jaskier swallows thickly, struggling to keep hold of his shallow breath. "I don't feel well, could you-"

"What is it?"

“Could you just…yell at me in the morning?”

“I won’t yell at you in the morning.” Something peculiar dances at the edge of Geralt's voice, and Jaskier knows better than to think this is the end of it.

“What, then?”

“In the morning, we will find the healer, and then I am going to make sure this never happens again.”

A cold spike of fear, of grief, jumps into Jaskier’s throat, a fresh wave of saltwater already stinging behind his eyes as he nods his understanding.

“You’re going to leave me.”

Geralt shifts, his expression tightening in a way Jaskier is sure will hurt to remember later.

“I should.” And then, impossibly, “But I… I would not like to be without you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier stares at him, unreadable as always, before he decides to throw himself from another edge.

“I would not like to be without you, either,” he whispers, carefully metering out his precious air with each word as his foolish heart slams in his chest. Surely, Geralt can hear it. “Do you understand?”

Geralt laughs, the wretch. It’s a wet, breathless thing that he throws into the ceiling, like he’s praying to one of those gods he doesn’t believe in. The palm of one broad, warm hand slides up Jaskier’s arm, along his shoulder, against his neck, soothing the chill from his skin. Geralt tips into him slowly, slowly, until their foreheads press together.

“I do,” Geralt breathes, so close that Jaskier feels the words on his own lips. “Now, I do.”

Two fingers hook beneath his chin, tilting his face up. Geralt’s eyes have gone round and soft and fond, the agelessness slipping from them for a moment. He gathers Jaskier’s hand against his chest again and he can feel the witcher’s tempered heartbeat flipping beneath his fingertips.

Surely, Jaskier must be at the bottom of the ocean. Surely, the sweet brush of lips at the corner of his own is merely a pleasant hallucination. It's probably a crab eating his face.

"Wait, no," he squeaks. That wonderful pressure disappears immediately. "I mean, yes, I mean, Geralt!"

The witcher in question only watches him, merciless amusement arching his brow.

"I've just thrown up half of the North Sea," he says seriously. Geralt grins, unseriously, as Jaskier tugs on his wrist to get him closer anyway.

"Don't care," he mutters against Jaskier's cheek.

“You smell like a grave hag.”

"I've smelled worse, and you wanted to kiss me then, too."

"You're disgusting," Jaskier protests, tipping his face into Geralt's anyway. "And a bastard. I hate you."

"You don't," he accuses.

"I don't," Jaskier agrees, and grants Geralt his kiss, dry and chaste and sweet against his salt-chapped smile. Their noses are in the way, the angle is wrong. It’s nothing like he had imagined - and gods, he had imagined this - and nothing, nothing, has ever been more perfect.

The fog has lifted, dawn curling her golden fingers toward them through the mountain peaks in the distance by the time Jaskier wakes again. He's startled from a dream, something about flowers falling from the sky, but it floats away from him like mist when he finds Geralt’s hand settled carefully around his hip. He smells like saltwater and cypress, leather and horse - like an old home, and a new one.

“Geralt?” he asks, softly, just in case his witcher has found sleep. A gravelly hmm slips into his ear anyway. “You'll stay?”

"I won't leave you," he answers. "Go back to sleep."

“Good," Jaskier mumbles, somewhere just on the softer edge of wakefulness. "I won’t leave you either."

In this light, with the morning sun washing them in gold, with Geralt's heart beating free and steady under his open palm, it could almost be true.

#Brought to you by the writer having pneumonia #I hope you like this!! I shook your prompt and 4200 words fell out #Thank you so so much #I'm unhappy with this one but I can't poke it any more than I already have #Geralt x jaskier #geralt x jaskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fic #I'm so bad at tagging #the witcher #geralt of Rivia #jaskier

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satancopilotsmytardis · 2 months

Text

Changing Currents Ch. 2 Sneak peek

Oh this chapter is gonna be a beefy boy, enjoy a sneak peek because I can't help myself.

Toga, Kenji, and Jin are excited for the party, which means that they are more than happy to take Dabi under their care and bring him along the reef to one of the smaller spires. This one is particularly well-suited for reef-wide revelry, built over years by their sorcerers carefully carving out the rock. It looks the same as the other sharp spires along their reef, with sharp walls high enough to hide that inside it has been carefully hollowed out. There are levels going through it, until at the top, there is a large pool in the stone for those more comfortable in the water, but with plenty of room around the edges for a fire to be lit and for tables of food and drink to be brought for their indulgence. The ship that Toga and her school sunk was more than stocked enough to bring them the means for them to have four or five more large-scale celebrations which he can't say that he's exactly looking forward to.

Parties, open to all of the reef, are just excuses for people to come and try to ply him with alcohol to earn favors or make requests. Or try to seduce him. Make no mistake, Yotsubashi is a strong community organizer and he could really have no one finer in charge of their supplies, but he does not want to get romantically involved with him, even well before Dabi was pulled in by the tide. At least when his father is here there are less Folk trying to pull his attention to get this or that without going through the appropriate channels. At least Shuichi is as uncomfortable in these large crowds as he is and usually will stay nearby to help him out of conversations that he doesn't want to engage in. Atsuhiro also does a good job of distracting, and honestly if Tomura wasn't well aware of how sharp his mind is, he would wonder why he didn't become a bard himself with how he loves to entertain and perform.

He watches Dabi as he's pulled onto the dance floor, Kenji and Atsuhiro quickly surmised that he's more comfortable moving on the land than through the water and showing him how to move along with the music and dance. Like with everything else that he has been shown, Dabi adapts rapidly. He learns that the other two are moving to the rhythm and he watches what others do around him. He has a sharp mind himself, able to watch and build his skills based on the new information he takes in. He dances, holding Kenji or Atsuhiro's hands as they pull him in and out, as they spin him around between the two of them, for a while, but soon he's laughing and smiling, dancing between stone and water to his friends. Their friends. He has been told in no uncertain terms that if he does not do right by Dabi all of his companions will be very cross with him.

He sees Toga and Kenji pull him over to one of the tables, picking up three different bottles and a goblet and thinks that he should probably save his lover before he ends up with an awful hangover, he's stopped as a familiar and unwelcome voice at his shoulder.

"Your Highness,"

He schools his expression into one of disinterest rather than disgust as he turns to the shrimp. "Chisaki." He greets carefully.

The other Folk bows just enough for it not to be considered an insult before straightening up without being given permission. "I trust that you're doing well this evening?"

"Very well. The sirens more than deserve the revelry after their hard work these past few months. Their bounty has brought good tidings to us all."

"That's true," but he doesn't give a fuck about that. "Though speaking of bounties, it could be favorable to look to the future, could it not?"

Here it comes, "I hope," he lets some of his annoyance slip through. "That you aren't attempting to suggest an idea that would infringe on our neighbor's territory and bring us to war. An idea," he stresses as he sees the other Folk start to open his mouth, "that was dissuaded by your late father, the King, and myself on multiple occasions."

"An idea that was unrefined," he says smoothly, though he sees his pincer twitch slightly. "But one that I took the criticisms of and used to create a better one. This kingdom could stretch across this entire reef--"

"It will not." He says putting a bit more force behind his tone. "Our people flourish because we maintain our territory carefully. We keep our reef in balance. Extending our reach in a war that will kill our people for land and resources we don't need is misguided at best and entirely foolhardy at worst." He turns from the other Folk, looking to see where his friends have taken his mate. "We will not be discussing another one of your proposals again, Chisaki. Good evening." It's not often that he uses his status as the prince to end a conversation so bluntly. He's usually more tactful, but neither he nor his father are really interested in war. Not now. Though he would, on a very personal and petty level, like to destroy Hollow Barrier for what they've done to Dabi. But he doubts his mate would actually appreciate that sentiment and he is not going to risk the lives of his people to take revenge that doesn't belong to him in the first place.

He doesn't look back to see if Chisaki is seething, if he rejoins the party or if he departs to sulk, it doesn't matter much to him. Not a surprise though when Shuichi comes up to his other side to check in, "Should I have Jin's people make more patrols near his district?"

"Yes. He's getting more discontent, I would rather know sooner than later if he decides to do something as foolish as attempt a coup." He considers for another moment. "Coordinate with Toga as well, I want to know if any of her school have made their way to his area and anything they might have seen. If anyone can supply evidence of his treason, they will have the pick of his innards."

"He really pissed you off tonight, huh?"

"I'm tired of him nipping at my limbs. No matter the service that his father provided mine, that does not make him above or equal to the crown. He will learn to bow or I will have him broken."

"And you're sure you're not just extra pissy that he distracted you from making sure that Kenji and Toga don't get your boyfriend drunk?" He would normally have let that go, for as frustrated as he is with Chisaki and his lack of respect, there is a difference between him and his lieutenants. The circle of friends and community leaders that he has relied on to ensure that each part of his kingdom works harmoniously together. Friends he trusts to do their jobs well and professionally, but who are his friends when they aren't working. But there is an edge in Shuichi's voice that gives him pause now. The lizardfolk must have heard it too because he winces slightly, looking for all the world like he wants Tomura to ignore it.

"What is it?" And he comes to a full stop, giving a glance at the other Folk around them and very quickly having a section all to themselves to talk.

"...So you're just gonna kidnap him?"

Tomura feels a frown tug at his lips, his friend not meeting his eyes. "Is that what you feel we did to you? You know that if you want to leave, we'll find a way to get you home."

Shuichi runs a hand through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I was a slave on that ship, I was sold by my family. This is the best place I could have found myself. But I don't want to leave. What about him? Just cause he likes it here doesn't mean he's gonna want to stay forever. Doesn't he have family he actually cares about?" He finally meets his eyes again. "I don't mean to overstep, but what happens if he gets homesick? Are you really just gonna let him come and go as he pleases, knowing that he's going back there to starve? And what happens to him? If his people find out where he's been going, who he's mated to, what he's been eating?" He huffs a breath, bubbles billowing out of his snout. "I'm glad you're happy, I am, but you're normally more level-headed about stuff than this, Shig. If you really want to spend your life with him then it might be time for the honeymoon phase to end and for you two to have a serious conversation about this."

He pauses, mulling over the words before he speaks. Friends who keep him grounded and focused where his father encourages his whims and passions with a single mindedness. "We haven't even had the honeymoon yet." He says somewhat mournfully.

Shuichi snorts. "Yeah we know, he would have been more black and blue if you had."

He's well within his rights to smack him across the back of his head with a tentacle. But he does take what he said to heart. "You're right. We have been having some of these conversations, but not all of them." And they should. He would like to know where they stand on this before his father returns and he has no idea how soon or far that might be. "I do appreciate the concern. Though this isn't something I thought you would be interested in discussing with me."

"Oh, trust me, I would have much rather not, but the rest of them are hopeless romantics. Atsuhiro said that every first love should be a whirlwind, but you don't do things without commitment anymore. Figured someone should check in that you're thinking about what that looks like long-term." He leans against the edge of the stone lip, "Besides, we like the guy. Can't have you fucking it up."

"I'm sorry am I claiming him or are you all?"

"Eh, you belong to us and he does too if he decides to stay, and we get to decide if you two are better together or apart. Watch out, Kenji thinks he's a cutie."

"I hate you all, you're insufferable. Tell Jin to put his people on Chisaki's territory."

"Yes, Your Highness." Shuichi takes the dismissal with far less frustration than they began the conversation with and departs to find the starfish.

Tomura doesn't watch him go. He is more interested in getting over to Dabi as quickly as possible as he sees Kenji pouring his cup full and Dabi eagerly bringing it to his lips. Oh no. He weaves his way through the crowd and swims up to the edge of the pool at Toga's side.

"How many has he had?"

"Tomura!" Dabi immediately starts purring, choosing to kneel down against the stone so he can lean in and unabashedly nuzzle their noses together as his purrs get even louder. "Where did you go? I missed you. Will you dance with me?"

"We let him try the rum and the gin--"

"Blech," His mate immediately sticks out his tongue like a guppy and Tomura thinks he's going to perish from how cute he looks like that.

Kenji snickers, "Yeah, he didn't like those, but he is partial to the whisky and red wine."

He sees his lover start to look for his goblet again when he hears the names of the drinks. He uses a tentacle to take it from the stones and shove it into Toga's hands. She, at least, can hold her liquor. "How partial?"

Dabi makes the saddest little chirp at him. "'on't talk around me. I'm here. I'm not small," And there's a slight tremble in his voice that breaks his heart. He catches his mate's face between his palms and purrs back at him softly.

"You're right, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Do you remember how many drinks you've had?"

"...No. Can I have another?" He looks up at Kenji and oh, he is going to let Dabi kill her for the hangover he's going to be suffering in the morning.

"I thought you wanted to dance with me?" He distracts before Kenji can enable him.

Dabi brightens immediately, "Can we?"

"Of course we can, precious." He coaxes Dabi back into the water, he is absolutely not dexterous enough to move on the stone with any kind of coordination, and his mate comes with him eagerly. He does glare at his friends over his shoulder, slashing a tentacle through the air to tell them very firmly that Dabi is cut off for the rest of the night. He has no idea how the other Folk will react to the alcohol and he would much rather not have his first experience drinking end with him needing to see Shuichi for healing.

He's never been one for dancing, but it lights Dabi up the same way he'd first seen when he'd started being able to catch his own fish. A joy fills him up behind his skin that makes Tomura achingly aware of just how empty he looked when they'd first met. His chest aches as he twirls Dabi through the water and his mate laughs loud and bright, blue eyes shining with his glee. He seems so much happier here.

But Shuichi is right. No matter the abysmal relationship with his father, the strained one with his youngest brother and sister, he loves his mother and other brother. He wants them safe and thriving. If Dabi disappears, then he'll be presumed dead. His food rations will stop going to their home, stop going to his mother. He won't want her to starve. He wonders if he would bring her here. He would happily open their home to her. But that's something they have to talk about. There is so much that they have to discuss.

Dabi spins into his arms and gives him a messy, happy kiss before he's darting away again, moving like his body isn't sure if they're playing or dancing. But that's all things that can come tomorrow. Or maybe the day after, given how relentless he's sure his hangover will be in the morning.

#tanco speaks #shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction #fic wip #fic excerpt #mer!au

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sezja · 2 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 12: Semi-Conscious Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV, Alternate Universe Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet (pre-relationship), Coeli Qoet Triggers/Content warnings: n/a

In the cramped confines of the airship's engine room, he waits.

When should he leave, Guydelot wonders - now? He'd heard Sanson and Mogta talking only a moment ago, drifting away. Where are they, even? Somewhere in the Sea of Clouds, Moglin said; vague as all hells. It'd taken a miracle to get back to Gridania and sneak on board the Adders' airship; if the bloke guarding it hadn't owed Guydelot a favor or five, he never would've managed. It'd taken some quick thinking and even quicker talking: he was a member of this mission, after all; that's on record, and he knew Sanson'd be along shortly with the orders.

For all that, now that he's here...

What do I even say?

Sweat rolls down the back of his neck, and he doesn't think it's just the heat of the engine. It's not like him, this hesitation. Not like him, either, to linger like he had in Tailfeather. Normally, when he decides he's damned well done with a situation, he takes his leave - and he stays gone. He'd stormed away from Sanson fully intending to head back to Gridania and wash his hands of the whole mess; let the prissy little prig chase his Ballad of Oblivion to the ends of the world for all he cares.

Or so he'd thought. But he'd lingered, he'd hesitated, coming up with every reason to give it another day...

So what're you gonna say, then, he asks himself, hands curling into fists in frustration at his own hesitation. What is he waiting for? The perfect words? He's a bard; he knows damn well the right words aren't gonna just fall into his lap. And they sure as hells aren't gonna come to him here, are they?

He clambers outside at last, sucking in a breath at the frigid skybound air, a bracing contrast to the engine room. No need to wonder where Sanson'd gone: there's only one path. Guydelot walks slowly, thoughts still churning through his mind. What would Sanson say when he came strolling up?

Does he even dare hope Sanson is just as tormented over all of this as he is? Coeli sure seemed to think so, and then there's the journal burning a hole in Guydelot's satchel... notes on song, sure. And notes, pages of them, of all the things... all the things he wanted to tell Guydelot about, when they meet again.

And isn't that something?

Isn't that-

Fighting, he realizes, his archer's instincts finally winning out over his heart's twisting and turning. He's hearing the sounds of battle.

He's left it too late, he's waited too long.

Damn it all, and damn me, too, he thinks, drawing and stringing his bow; if he hurries, he can still be of some use against... against whatever it is they've found here; whatever beast guards Sanson's Ballad.

It's not a long run, but it's long enough.

He gets there in time to watch Coeli put a last desperate arrow into the red-feathered siren, before the viera crumples to the ground in exhaustion. The siren herself gets out one last ear-searing shriek before she bursts into a seething cloud of aether... which is then drawn back into an innocuous-looking stone monument, evidently from whence it came. Guydelot stands helpless, useless, bow in hand, observing the carnage.

Coeli's wounds don't look bad: she's simply been sapped of all energy by the siren's... song. She opens her blue eyes long enough to notice him, but lacks even the stamina to look surprised - if indeed she is. Her gaze leaves him, traveling toward something lying in the tall grass: something yellow. Something yellow and very, very red.

The bow falls from Guydelot's hands as he runs, unthinking.

Sanson.

He'd taken the brunt of the battle himself; of course he had. His lance is red with the creature's blood, but for every blow he landed, it seems he must've taken three - Sanson Smyth is a mess, and no mistake. Guydelot sinks to the ground beside him, fearing the worst. Part of him flinches away from the idea of even checking for a pulse - if he leaves now, if he runs away again, he can tell himself pretty lies about how the last time he'd seen Sanson, the man had been alive and well...

And maybe if I'd been fast enough, he still would be.

Gritting his teeth, he yanks off a glove and rests his hand on Sanson's throat.

Only for the man himself to flinch under Guydelot's touch.

"G..." Those too-blue eyes flutter open. Barely. Confusion mingles with pain. "Guydelot...? What are you...?"

It goes through him like a knife, and all Guydelot can think about is the thousand times his commanders have reprimanded him as a good-for-nothing, a layabout; a sorry waste of a talented archer. All talent, no discipline; that's Guydelot the Spent! Never where he needed to be! Always had somewhere better to be; always had something better to be doing than following godsdamned orders! And now here he was, the perfect chance to prove to himself - to Sanson - that he was worth a damn, and-

"You... you came," Sanson breathes, wonderment in his eyes, teetering on the edge of consciousness. "I... th-thought.."

He forces himself to speak. He's got nothing better to do. "Too late. I'm sorry, Sanson; I thought I'd..." What? Help? He hadn't known what he meant to say or do. He still doesn't.

He watches Sanson drift. There's a rustle in the grass: Coeli, inching closer. She's learned some healing tricks; thank the Matron for small miracles.

An absence occurs to him. "Mogta?"

She glances at him as she works, weaving aether into mending Sanson's many wounds. "Sanson tried to send us both away," she says, quietly. "Mogta is flying to the encampment of the Vanu Vanu, to seek aid."

He nods, subdued but relieved; he'd feared, for a moment, that his reluctance had cost the moogle bard his life.

It may yet cost Sanson his.

He tried to send them both away, he thinks, heart sinking like a stone: fighting the creature alone would've been suicide, and Sanson's seasoned enough to know it. Why? Why throw away his life on a futile battle, when there was nothing to be gained by-

"It... it never existed."

Sanson's voice again, hazy. Barely conscious at all, speaking as though in a dream. On an impulse he doesn't want to examine too closely, Guydelot takes one of the man's hands. Sanson's eyelids flutter, and his fingers twitch in Guydelot's.

"It was all just... some story, mistold or mis... misremembered," Sanson mumbles, despair in his voice. "An entire tribe... of moogles... she... and the Ballad..."

"Sanson," Guydelot says, uncertain. "You ought to rest. Let Coeli patch you up. We can talk later."

"No," Sanson says, abruptly, squeezing his hand. "No. I need... I was wrong, Guydelot, I was wrong about... about everything-"

"Well, you can be as wrong as you like after you're healed up-"

"I was wrong about you-"

Gods, I can't do this now, Sanson; don't do this to me now! "You're full of holes and barely awake, Sanson the Stiff," he snaps. "There's not a thing you can say now that won't keep for a bell or two. It's waited this long."

Whether the rebuke exhausts him or his wounds claim him, it serves to drop Sanson fully into unconsciousness, which Guydelot's willing to count as a miracle and a reprieve. He takes a shuddering breath, and with only one or two false starts, manages to begin singing a song to augment Coeli's healing: Sanson needs all the help he can get.

He pretends not to feel Coeli's too-knowing gaze on him as he sings.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday12 #my writing #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #coeli qoet #today's offering is an au: what if guydelot showed up late to the siren fight

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a-998h · 15 days

Note

hi! this is my first time requesting!

can you do the Stardust Crusaders with an off-duty popstar reader whose stand ability allows anyone, including its user, to break into song as if it were a musical and it gives the affected a great singing voice? If the Crusaders need a distraction, the reader gladly offers to help! Sometimes, one of the crusaders would join and sing along with the reader. and sometimes the reader and the Crusaders would have entire performances together.

(Basically the reader is kind of like a bard.)

Thank you for this, the whole concept sounds like comedic gold to me❤️

The stand will be called Siren Song

(Going from most to least willing to participate)

Jean Pierre Polnareff

This man is a deep tenor

He also screams band or theater kid

Begs for you to use you stand when ya'll have off time

I bet this man can only sing in French

He probably has a decent singing voice and probably sung to Sherry when they were kids

The first one to sing along with you

Has the time of his life when you go full musical

Tries to get you to use it on Jotaro all the time

He also dances like he's in musical too

Since your stand looks more mermaid/siren like, Silver Chariot likes to touch its scales

Wants to touch you stand's tail, but they tried to bite him

Makes sure to have water for you, just in case

Will definitely buy one of your albums after the kick Dio's ancient ass

He would definitely share French songs with you

Becomes your biggest fan

Calls you Rossignol

Oldesph

Another deep tenor

He thought it fun when you would sing to group

Whenever you go full musical, it scares him

Also has a decent singing voice, than you Holly

Is dramatic, but not like Polnareff

Whenever he sees your stand, he wants to touch the scales

Keeps his robot hand away from your stand

Will try his best to sing along

Shares his favorite songs with you

Usually joins in singing after Polnareff

Probably can't dance well, mostly due to his age

Proud of you in the only way a grandpa can be

Will definitely buy one of your albums if they're in America or Japan

Calls you Canary

Muhammad Avdol

Baritone

He's 50/50

He is team dad so...

He'll sing along to you songs

Is happy that you make the group happy

Whenever you go full musical he plays along

He loves the dancing part of the musical part

He can definitely sing in Arabic

Tries to teach you Arabic songs and Arabic dances

Your stand and Magician Red don't get along

Will check for albums of yours

Is thankful your stand makes the group happy

Calls you altaayir almugharad

Noriaki Kakyoin

Higher tenor

He is insecure about his singing

He has fun with the others whenever you start singing

During a full musical moment, he tries his best

Likes how your stand makes his singing voice better

He can dance well

Teaches you video game songs

When you start a sing along, he is reluctant at first

He does sing along quietly

Shares his favorite music with you

He will buy one of your albums

Is a bit proud of you

Both your stands get along

calls you furunushi or Māmeido

Jotaro Kujo

My god

This man is a deep bass

He acts super embarrassed by your constant singing

All that smoking messed up his throat

He won't ever sing along

He will fight against your stand power so damn hard

He hums the songs, but never admits it

Will lovingly tell you to shut up

Never admits to liking your music

When things go full musical, he tries to not participate at all, but he ends up doing it at some point

Secretly likes the fun vibe you bring

Star Platinum tries to befriend your stand

Will secretly buy an album of yours

#stardust crusaders #jojo bizarre adventure #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo #jojo part 3 #jjba jotaro #jjba oldseph #jjba part 3 #jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba kakyoin #jjba polnareff #jjba avdol #muhammad avdol #jean pierre polnareff #noriaki kakyoin #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar

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dancingwiththefae · 9 months

Text

If he sinks to darkest night

A prince gave up the life he knew for his siren until he could not

Radskier, 1.9k, s3 spoilers, kissing, angst,panic attacks, blood, regicide, sad ending, AO3

“A prince and a siren?”

Jaskier laughed at the bewilderment on his face. But who could blame him? Each story he told about his time with the Witcher was more incredible than the last. And no less baffling.

“There’s poetry in that isn’t there,” Jaskier replied, fingers absently caressing his lute, “a creature of the sea and of land falling in love. Two people from two different worlds. And what are they willing to give up for love.”

Radovid watched him as he spoke. Hair delicately tucked back behind his ear. Small smile lingering on his lips as he spoke. Chemise open, chest on display. He somehow managed to look dishevelled and put together at the same time. It was endearing. And attractive, he had to admit. They were enjoying one of those rare moment of peace that they could share together. Jaskier sat completely at ease in his chambers. It was a far cry to how he looked when he had arrived. There was always a stiffness to his posture when he visited. Always uncomfortable around royalty and courts and noble fanfare. He tried to hide it. But Radovid saw through it. Jaskier was a performance, impenetrable to most. Not to him.

“So the prince and the siren, locked in a battle of who is willing to give up the life they know for the other.” Radovid couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice. It was an enchanting story. “What happened next?”

Jaskier’s hands returned to their place on his lute. He plucked the strings elegantly as he continued his song.

“His choice was made aside the sea,

A twilit red horizon.

For she had finally made him see

His place among the sirens.”

Radovid’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t quite imagine it. A prince giving up his status, his everything, for the person he loved. How must it have felt to make such a decision? To know for sure in your heart that this was what you wanted?

“For if yer goal be Paradise,

Just give your love a firm nudge,

If he sinks to darkest night,

Embrace his Little Sacrifice.”

The song ended. Jaskier looked at him, waiting for a response. Radovid was threatened to be overcome by what he felt. He took a breath, sat forward in his chair.

“The prince he…made the sacrifice.” He chose his words carefully. Mulled over every one.

“He did.”

The prince fidgeted in his seat, reflected on the story the bard had told.

“Truly,” he said at last, “you’ve told some tales in your time but this- I can’t imagine someone making such a decision. A prince no less.”

Jaskier watched him carefully.

“Sometimes the life we’re given is not the one we want.”

“But such is the way of life,” Radovid replied as a matter of fact.

“Not always.”

He wondered what it would have been like to give up the life of a prince. He knew from experience that it was not all what people thought it was. Still, he couldn't deny it came with benefits. He never had to worry about where his next meal came from. He wore fine clothing. People who would attend to his whims. Sometimes in Jaskier's stories, he would talk of the hardships he and the witcher faced. Hungry days. Camped out in bad weather. Counting their coin. Was it worth it, he pondered, for freedom.

“More wine?” Jaskier’s voice cut through his thoughts. Radovid nodded in assent. The bard carefully laid his lute down and got up. He sauntered over and poured more wine into his glass for him. Radovid waited until he had placed the bottle down to wind his arms around his waist and pull him into his lap. Jaskier laughed and let himself be dragged him. He threw an arm around his neck and their lips met. The bards hand tangled in his hair and let out a pleasant hum. Radovid dragged his fingers across his chest. They parted and Jaskier sighed. The princes hand came up further to cup his cheek.

“You are my siren,” he murmured, “stay the night. Be with me.”

“Just for tonight,” Jaskier replied softly, “I need to leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Then I will make the most of my limited time with you.”

The bard surged forward to capture his lips once again.

***

“Just let me be there for you. Prove that I am more than a mask.”

Jaskier's face shifted with emotions that made anxiety rise in his gut.

“Maybe,” the bard settled on. A glimmer of hope. It was better than nothing. He could work with hope. It pained him to let Jaskier slip through his grasp right now, but he took comfort in the fact that it was not forever. Jaskier needed to find his family. Radovid would do anything he can to help him. Because that was what this was all about wasn't it? Surrounded by so much death and destruction. They were in the midst of war. All they had now was each other. It was love. Love was the most important thing. To Radovid, at least, it was everything.

“Wait,” the prince called before Jaskier could disappear through the doorway. His heart sang when the bard turned back. Radovid reached out to him, took him by the hand. The trepidation was back in Jaskier's face. Fleeting, but he didn't miss it. He brought his hand up to lay a soft kiss on his knuckles.

“You are my siren,” he whispered.

Something changed between then. The bard understood. He understood what he was telling him. This wasn't an end. It was a beginning. Radovid was all in, heart, mind and soul. He was willing to make the sacrifice. Jaskier gave a small nod. And Radovid let him slip away. He stayed behind a moment so that he was not tempted to follow him, and then hastily make his escape. The fighting had stopped. He tried his best to drown out the cries of those suffering around him. There was nothing he could do for them. He weaved his way through the broken battlefield towards the exit. He was halfway across the bridge when he ran into Philippa.

“Ah, there you are,” she said with mild concern, “I was beginning to think you'd been buried under the rubble.”

“Philippa,” Radovid greeted, “I'm glad to run into you actually. I need to get back to Tretogor as soon as possible. I need to talk to my brother urgently.”

A hard smile spread across her face. The prince had no doubt that she wasn't looking forward to her next meeting with Vizimir after the shambles that had happened today. But he wasn't overly concerned about that. He had better things to worry about than her being reprimanded by his brother.

“Of course,” she replied with false cheer. With a wave of her hand a portal opened before them. “Come. It seems we both have urgent matters to attend to.”

***

It had all happened so fast. One moment he was headed to his purpose and the next... Long live King Radovid rang wrong in his ears. His brother's body barely cold on the floor. The image of him lying there, throat cut open with cruel precision, would never leave his mind for the rest of his days. The walls closed around him. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. His prison had no bars. It had expensive drapery, servants, and silver cutlery. It was still a prison. His eyes locked with Philippa's. He wondered if he'd ever seen a genuine expression on her face. Something in her eyes was so...cold. Maybe he could process that later. But not now. Now, his mind went back to Jaskier. The prince could not escape to his siren in the sea. The tide went out, leaving him behind. Trapped on dry land.

“I think the king may need a moment to process,” Philippa spoke up.

“Indeed,” Dijkstra agreed, “his Majesty needs some privacy.”

He couldn't keep his focus on the conversation. The words became indistinguishable noise. People were moving around them. Blurred shapes. Radovid stood still amongst them. A servant appeared through the mist and stood before him. Offered a bow. Led him out of the room. He followed the blurry figure without a sound. One foot in front of the other. Mechanical. He didn't know where they were leading him until the familiar door of his private chambers appeared. It was opened for him. He forced out a small 'thanks and walked through.

The door closed behind him. Radovid looked around his room. Everything was as he had left it. He had left his chambers a prince. And returned as a king. His eyes stung with tears. He had been so close. So close to happiness. Vizimir hadn't fully understood his reasoning. But he wanted him to be happy. His brother hadn't been perfect. When it came down to it, they loved each other. And then suddenly it was all gone. The rug pulled out from under him. He ran his fingers along the fine upholstery of the chair Jaskier liked to occupy. A prison is a prison.

He fell into his chair. The emotions began to slip away, a numbness taking its place. He stared blankly out into space. He didn't have the energy to cry any more. There were no tears left. He glanced around with a kind of detachment. Was this to be his only sanctuary? Or perhaps they would take that away from him too. Eventually, his eyes landed on his lute. It sat in the corner. An old, worn thing. He’s used it for practice, planning to replace it when he improved. Maybe have one made for Jaskier too as a surprise. Not to replace his old one. He was always so attached to that thing. To show him how much he cared. There was no point to that now. Just to go out and get one would require so much more planning now. He didn’t want a servant to do it. He had wanted to do it himself. His world was limited now. Responsibility weighing so much more than the crown placed upon him.

Radovid pulled himself up and strode across the room. A feeling he couldn't describe squeezed his chest at the sight of it. It sat there, pathetic. Worthless. But still asking to be held. He picked it up by the neck and sat back down. Settled it into his lap. It didn’t feel right. Like he couldn’t quite get comfortable holding it. He carefully plucked the note. It was wrong. Fuck. What had he showed him? He slid his fingers up a little, tried again. That was it. He played the notes mechanically. They echoed out into the empty room.

“Ponder all your wants in life,” he sang quietly, “and make a little sacrifice.”

A knock came at the door and Radovid jumped.

“Your majesty,” came a voice from behind the door, “you’re needed for important matters. At Lady Philippa Eilhart’s request.”

The king sighed deeply. He dropped the lute carelessly on the floor and rose. Straightening his back, he took a breath. And then strode forward with the mask of a king. He opened the door, greeted the servent and let himself be led away. The door closed behind him. An empty, hollow room. The lute on the floor left to gather dust.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #radskier #jaskier #radovid #prince radovid #the witcher s3 #the witcher spoilers #the witcher netflix #hmmm im sorry they were made for tragedy im afraid

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bardic-inspo · 1 month

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Midnight Chimes

Chapter Three: Restless Bones

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

She’s small. Fragile. Suggestable, if he suspected correctly. Time to tug the puppet strings. If she doesn’t bend, she’ll break already and they’ll all be better for it. Show me your teeth again, Astarion thinks, or I’ll show you mine.

Chapter CW: A bit of gore, and Astarion being in full Act I manipulation mode.

A/N: Cross-posting from AO3. Dividers by @cafekitsune.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

Astarion moves when she makes him. Naomi shoves his shoulders with as much force as she can muster. “Astarion -- look out!”

Astarion stumbles a step back. A half-dozen curse words die a sudden death on his tongue. He sees the split-second smear of it pelting straight towards them, barely a breath away from collision.

“What the-- oh, fuck!”

On instinct, Astarion’s palm flexes in front of him. Thunder quakes from it, sending the zombie staggering. Quick as a whip, he draws his dagger and throws. The blade cleaves into bone as brittle as twigs. But the creature only sways. Astarions seizes the hilt and stabs, again, again, again until all that’s left is a heap of mottled flesh at his feet.

A clatter from behind catches his ear. Astarion jerks his head towards the sound. The scent of soil turns in his nose. Crawling, skeletal creatures peel out of the earth. He counts five in his sightline, but the rustling undergrowth threatens more.

His eyes dart to his tent, to the shape of his bow propped just inside. The threat’s too near, and the bow’s too far. Astarion turns the dagger in his grip and wakes frost in his free hand. What little magic he can muster will need to be enough. To buy them time, at least.

Hopefully, there’s some sort of spell woven in Naomi’s manic panting. She’s rigid as a rock at his side except for her heaving chest.

“Wake the others!” he hisses.

Naomi blinks once, twice, before her eyes slide shut. Astarion buckles beneath a fierce, sudden twist between his own. His tadpole writhes. He feels the tendrils of the others nearby, tangling like stray webs in the wind.

And then, noise. Like none he’s ever suffered.

His head fills with the feral shred of a violin. It’s raw. Raging. He's dragged through the sound, burnt by it like he’s been raked over a bed of coals. It sizzles in his every inch. Discordant. Consuming. Maddening.

Quick as it came, it cuts quiet again. Still, his skull throbs, like it cut away flesh, too. Gods, do the snarls closing in sound sweet in comparison.

Astarion shoots the culprit a venomous glare. “What the fuck was that?!”

“I woke up the others!” Naomi snaps back.

“Did you have to be so utterly wretched about it?!”

At least she’s moving now. But so are the undead, bolting free of the trees. Astarion shoots spears of frost at their feet. It doesn’t slay them, but it slows them well enough.

A song starts beneath Naomi’s breath, strung with a spell and words he can barely capture. It’s elvish. Far lovelier than the sounds she sent screeching through the tadpole bond. Though, he’d take that awful torrent again if it meant downing the other undead.

Her voice stokes something in him. Naomi lights a little flame in the back of his mind. Maybe it’s supposed to be there -- maybe that’s the spell she’s working. It moves through him gently, tenderly, leaving warmth in its wake. Not so different from the day he woke on the beach and found himself in the sun’s good graces for the first time in nearly two hundred years.

But it feels so small. So fragile. So easily snuffed. For a moment, all Astarion wants in the world is to see it, to watch the light of that little candle dance. Astarion turns his head towards her.

Realization scalds him like the sun used to. His skin crawls with it. Every other undead turns just as he did. They change course in unison. Even the few only feet away from him.

Every single one of them wants to see her snuffed.

Naomi’s song stutters short. Her eyes stretch wide. “Shit.”

She’s swarmed in seconds. He can’t see her beneath the barrage, but he hears her. Her scream burns like a brand. Even his bones ache with it.

And then her blood hits the air and teaches him a new meaning of what it is to burn.

Astarion’s throat clenches, rough as sandpaper. So dry, it’s scraping. So much blood soaks the dirt. A waste. Just like the rest of her is sure to be, if someone doesn’t do something.

Astarion lurches into motion, slashing wildly. He cuts through the zombies as if they’re nothing but paper. They bear down on Naomi as if Astarion is nothing at all. Nothing fazes them, not until they face fresh death. Nothing shakes them from their target.

Nothing short of divine intervention does the trick.

With a searing shout, the zombies smear like inksplots; black, bleeding lines dissolve in a stark white flare. Shadowheart storms towards them, righteous light bound between her palms.

A pair of the wretches still pin Naomi flat. They let Astarion shear them to rotted bone. They let him tear, and rip, and ruin. But they don’t let up on Naomi. Not until they’re left in pieces.

She’s near buried in them, when it's done. The bones rattle from her quivering. Shadowheart pulls her from the pile. With a whispered word and a brief glow, Naomi’s bleeding starts to stem.

“What the hells happened?” Shadowheart gasps, looking between them.

The others are roused, too. Lae’zel tears off through the tall grass surrounding the clearing, blade drawn. Wyll and Karlach circle the perimeter, alert and watchful. Gale makes it halfway towards the tattered tent near the camp’s edge before he abruptly stops. The loose canvas flutters on a cool breeze.

Naomi’s eyes glaze over as she looks past Astarion’s shoulder. “Alfira…”

Astarion winces. So, that’s what stopped Gale in his tracks. And there’s little wonder. What’s left of the bard is spread across the ground like clumpy jelly. Nauseating, even by Astarion’s standards.

“Can you bring her back?” Naomi asks thickly.

Shadowheart shakes her head, forlorn. “Even if she would return, she doesn’t have a body whole enough to return to.”

Shadowheart’s eyes flit to Naomi, settling intently.

“What is it?” Naomi asks when she doesn’t avert her stare.

“You have necromancy stains on your arms.”

So she does. Astarion watches the black, veiny marks seep back into Naomi’s bluish skin. They don’t last long. They weren’t there before their little scrap, he’s sure. Naomi turns her palms over and over again, even after the stains have vanished entirely.

She looks shaken. She’s still shaking. She looks delicious, with blood strewn like tattered lace across her neck. Most of it’s hers. It’s drying to staleness before his very eyes. Still. It smells divine. Astarion drinks in the scent, faint with lavender. There’s something sharper beneath it. A note that eludes him. He could name it, if he could only taste it.

But her semi-sweetness is washed out by the electric tang of fear, palpable on his tongue. Naomi’s brimming with it. She seemed so capable, before this mess. Now, she’s a scared little squirrel. Bearing a light-footed stance, so as to dart as the soonest sign of danger. Glassy eyes so sure she’s in danger.

He thought her too clever to trifle with, the first time he saw her. He thought her a villain the next. Now, she’s a victim. Someone he could take advantage of. After all, she was so receptive before their untimely interruption and Alfira’s untimely demise.

Astarion could use someone, anyone in his corner. She’ll be grateful to have someone in hers.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Astarion scoffs. “She didn’t summon them. I would’ve noticed, we were together all evening. Besides, they were dead set on ending her.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow. “I never said she did. Those marks can come from undead attacks as well. Though, someone or something had to draw them here. We’ve camped here for weeks. If there were undead in the area, we would’ve-- we should have known by now. If we’d trespassed on sacred ground, or even the opposite, we would’ve disturbed it sooner.”

“Or,” Gale says, sauntering over, “someone sent them after us. Perhaps someone from this cult we keep hearing about.”

Astarion clicks his tongue. “Well, what about the dead bard? One night in our camp, and this is the chaos she causes!”

“She’s dead, Astarion,” Naomi sighs, defeated.

“Yes, I said that, darling.”

“I suppose she could’ve been an agent with the cult,” Shadowheart ponders aloud.

“And even if she wasn’t,” Gale says softly, “she was wracked quite terribly with grief for her former teacher. That alone could have drawn in the dead, if they happened to be near already.”

Naomi looks at him sharply. “Grief could do that?”

“Speaking of grief,” Astarion huffs, “Naomi, dear, next time you need to send an alarm through the tadpole, do try to make it less ear-splitting.”

Shadowheart frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Naomi sent that gods awful noise--”

“I didn’t hear anything through the tadpole. I just felt a pinch and woke up.”

“As did I,” Gale says with a shrug.

“Same here,” Karlach adds, joining them.

Astarion lets out a puff of air through his nose, in lieu of the choice words he had at the ready. So, it seems she saved the sour notes just for him. He shoots her glance, and finds Naomi already watching him curiously.

She knows what she did. In the moment, she knew. It came from her head, after all. Yet, no one else heard it but him.

“My mistake,” Astarion says, with a stiff smile. “You’ll forgive me, this evening’s been a bit of a blur. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Gale leans a low murmur to Naomi’s ear. He lays a hand on her shoulder too. A nice touch. One she doesn’t shy away from.

“I’ll inspect Alfira’s lute once we've found somewhere new to settle,” he tells her. “It looks like it survived unscathed. Assuming it isn’t cursed, perhaps you could make some use of it.”

“Cursed?” Naomi echoes, slack-jawed.

Poor thing is still trembling. Still bleating and repeating words from the others, unable to muster her own. He thinks of the woman in the barn who killed a bugbear with her middle fingers and a muttered vulgarity. Who yelled ‘fuck it’ and delivered on that vehemence by delivering death to her enemies. Who wouldn’t let an arrow dream of touching him.

That’s who he hoped might have a hope of saving him from Cazador, if the druid they seek saves them all from the tadpoles. She's nowhere to be seen, now.

But then, she is more suggestable in this state.

“As unlikely as it may be,” Gale says, “ it’s better to be certain. Especially given the circumstances.”

“You’re right,” Naomi says, as if the thought alone is a splash of cold water. “It could be a curse.”

Shhhnng. Astarion shivers at the sound of stone coursing over steel. He spies the sheen of it among the darkness. Lae’zel’s amber eyes glow with unspent ire. She runs the whetstone down the blade again and again.

“I will remain on watch until dawn,” she growls.

“Is that supposed to help us rest soundly?” Astarion groans. “Because it’s definitely doing the opposite.”

Astarion does sleep. After all, a dream’s a better gamble than whatever wretched memories might play out in a trance.

But tonight, he lost the bet. He’s lost in the woods. Frantic. Scurrying. Like the rats he eats. Never, never the blood of a thinking thing. Not for his lips.

Teeth nip at Astarion’s heels. His bare feet thump against the dirt. Stones cut them bloody.

Still, he runs. Faster. Faster. Not fast enough.

Cazador calls him.

And he’s lost. Everything.

Dawn is still a stranger when they trudge from their camp for the final time. The notion of it hasn’t drowned out the stars just yet.

By the looks of them, none of the others managed much rest, either. The circles under Shadowheart’s eyes are as dark as Astarion’s nightmares. Gale’s aged at least a decade in a manner of hours. Karlach’s fire is a muted glow, like tired embers. Lae’zel looks as hungry as he feels, lips pulled back over her teeth like she’s yearning to tear with them. Even the Blade of Frontiers is rather dulled. He doesn’t have something sweet and naive to say. Not this morning.

Neither does the bard they have left. Naomi’s eyes are downcast, stuck to the toes of her boots. If Astarion had to guess, she hasn’t closed them for even a blink. Not since last night.

None of them look back as they leave their little home-away-from-home for the last time. Astarion does.

It’s a strange thing, that this patchy grass and packed dirt held something like safety. He’s never been safe. Least of all here. He wouldn’t be, even if their little woodland clearing sprouted the walls of a fortress. Maybe if it grew an army to match.

But he could rest here. At night, he could lay his head back and see so, so many stars. More than the city let him see. Here, he could watch the tips of the trees blush with sunrise. They’re only just starting to, as they slip out of sight.

He wonders if he’d know it again, in another year, when some beast has gnawed down the bones they left behind, or buried them anew. If he’d see this place, and remember. Or, if he’d look and think it’s only grass. Only trees. Nothing special.

It feels fateful, that it was all only fleeting. That last night, of all nights, he dreamed of Cazador. Now, the ground’s drenched in blood and strewn with restless bones. As fitting an end to it as any.

Perhaps, today, the tadpoles will meet their end, too. But his freedom can’t. Won’t. He’ll leap to his own end before he lives without it again.

The woods are wide awake, even if their party is only half so. Together, they pick their way down a winding dirt trail, one stamped out by beasts as much as man. They find a cave, curtained with vines and a sheer spill of water falling from above. Perhaps a new place to pitch their tents.

It doesn’t thrill him, slinking off to somewhere damp and dark where they can’t see the sky. Incidentally, the local beast isn’t thrilled at the prospect of roommates.

Astarion presses to the cool stone of the cave wall, inching out of cover to loose an arrow. It spears through the owlbear’s side. The creature thrashes, feathers flaring with its deafening screech.

Naomi skirts the cavern’s other edge. Silver light shimmers from her fingertips, like freshly fallen snow. His arrow gave her the opening she needs to-- to--

Not do that.

The spell itself seems to sigh, letting out the faintest huff as an ivory glow flashes and bursts above the owlbear’s head. Magic motes drift through the air and clump. They fall thick and fluffy, like the guts of a child’s stuffed animal. The owlbear’s head swivels towards her, yellow eyes mystified.

They bulge a moment later, beak agape around its final cry. Lae’zel drives her sword up and through its throat. Her stare sears well past her fallen foe, scorching the bard she’d much rather stab. “Tsk’va!”

“Was that--was that supposed to be sacred flame?!” Shadowheart looks about to burst into one. Her hands clench at her sides, cheeks reddening in unspent rage.

Karlach’s inferno only shrinks with the sad sag of her shoulders. “Oh no,” she groans.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Astarion fumes through gritted teeth. “Not this again!”

Naomi has nothing to say for herself. Still skulking, still bound between too-tight shoulders, shrunken into her own body. Little squirrel, he thinks with a sneer. Nowhere to run now.

She’s small. Fragile. Suggestable, if he suspected correctly. Time to tug the puppet strings. If she doesn’t bend, she’ll break already and they’ll all be better for it.

Show me your teeth again, he thinks, or I’ll show you mine.

A sharp-edged silence settles in, like black ice over dark water. None of the other stony faces dare to break it. Astarion huffs. He takes the distance between himself and Naomi in a few long strides, yanks her scarf into his fist, and pulls her towards the rippling pool at the cave’s other end.

“Time to start talking, dear,” he says tersely, relinquishing his grip. “Why are we regressing?”

“I-I just need to clear my head,” she stammers.

“We are strolling into the belly of the beast,” he spits, wringing his hands. “There are said to be hundreds of goblins in that castle. We need our bard on her bardest behavior. So why the hells isn’t she?”

Naomi’s eyes fall again. He bites back the urge to ask her what’s so special about her damn shoes. They’re tattered near the ankles, caked over in mud. Worn to death and thensome.

Astarion rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me this is about the other one.”

Naomi’s brow furrows. “The ‘other one’?”

“The dead one. Dear Elvira, or whatever her name was!”

“Alfira,” she says curtly.

“Fine, fine,” Astarion grates out a sigh and takes a low breath in.

Not because he needs air in his lungs. Because he needs to perform.

He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly, and when his hand comes away, his eyes are softened in some figment of sympathy. The strain leaves his jaw to hide away in the back of his mind.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, voice low with authority guised as care. The same undertone that held her rapt attention last night, and wraps her around his finger, now.

He knows it works, because her face changes, too. Still wary. Like the slightest wind might startle her. But her violet eyes are fixed on him now, and she can’t quite look away. Even if she does, he’s seen her. And studying the dirt won’t shelter her from that sort of scrutiny.

What a poor, wounded thing. He’s found the bruise. Time to press.

“You think it is,” he says with the barest shake of his head. He slides a hand along her shoulder as Gale did. With far more finesse. His thumb lingers near her collarbone just long enough to be felt. But his touch slinks off like silk a second later.

He can hear the hitch of her heartbeat. See the shape of her swallow. Nearly taste that pulse, pumping an untapped bounty of blood through her veins. Potential, in its purest form. She’s filled with it. Squandering it. He won’t make the same mistake.

He’ll taste it. He’s decided. He’ll taste it tonight.

Taste whatever else she is, beneath the trace of lavender and the oppressive weight of uncertainty. If Naomi can’t find her strength, he’ll need his more than ever. If she can’t make herself useful, he’ll make use of her well enough.

Some of the strain seeps out of where he buried it and tenses his jaw anew. If he can do this, he can do more. Be more than Cazador meant for him to be. More than a rat-catcher, scurrying in shadowed streets.

The back of his throat scratches. Astarion’s voice grows coarse. “You blame yourself, because they wanted to eat you, too. Some people just happen to be very tasty, it’s not--”

“I think it’s because I sang,” Naomi blurts. “I hadn’t. For a year.”

So, the wound runs deeper. It didn’t take much for her to let him see it. Not much at all.

Astarion tilts his head. “Why?”

“Superstition,” she says in a whisper. Like the word itself might hear her. Gods forbid.

Astarion scoffs, arms crossed. “You can do better than that.”

Her eyes narrow by the barest degree. “Because the last person I sang to tried to kill me.”

Astarion arches a brow. “Were they dead, too?”

“No.”

“Are they dead now?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so. But--”

“Pity,” he says coldly. “But you’re not dead, either. And if you don’t sort through your own bullshit sooner rather than later, you’ll get the rest of us killed.”

A choked noise leaks from her lips, but nothing more. Good. Better she learn to swallow that self-pitying drivel, or at least have the courtesy to shut up about it.

Some people have real problems, after all.

“What did you think I’d say?” He laughs darkly. “‘Come here, I’ll kiss it better?’. Ugh. You’re better than this!”

She’ll need to be, if she’s going to be anything other than a liability. Or a palate cleanser.

His snark finally stirs her, like a wayward flicker among dead ashes.

“It was less than a day ago, you dick!”

She spits sparks, but he doesn’t flinch. A smile steals over Astarion’s lips.

“Get over it, darling. Or at least find another fucking flute!”

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #tavstarion #astarion romance #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #naomi tavriel #midnight chimes #my writing

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velnica · 28 days

Text

Lv. 60 — The Ballad of Oblivion (part 3)

Continued from part 2.

Guydelot is nothing if not DRAMATIC

They're so fucking INSANE for this.

Sidenote: I took so much time screenshotting and typing that I'm about to be kicked out of this duty LMAO

I got kicked out but the weather is better so I guess I can take better screenshots lol

I N S A N E

Look at this dramatic bastard, saying that they're in this together—to the bitter end—after he fucking up and went to mope on some mountain by himself whilst keeping an eye on Sanson lol.

Sansonvision™

Sanson: WHAT? HOW? WHY?

Guydelot: Confesses his plan to hitch himself to Sanson for the rest of his life

And here it is, the true power of song: Dynamis the desire to aid our comrades, made manifest.

Sidenote: They really should feature the bards more in EW because what they do is absolutely Dynamis related wtf.

Also I love how confident Guydelot is here. He's a good bard! He knows its power by heart!

I N S A N E

And Sanson knows this deep in his heart too! And he trusts that Guydelot isn't about to lead them astray.

The gang's all here! Time to kick some Siren's ass

Hubby was talking to me when I was in battle so I forgot to take screenshots oops. Guydelot as always is a charmer of course, "Your song is bad and you should feel bad!" is a classic.

And yes Guydelot, tell us where you hid your gangly max-height Elezen limbs. Sanson here is also confessing that he was worried that Guydelot just up and left.

Guydelot also confesses that he knows Sanson was worried. Probably from the journal, but he has been following Sanson from the shadows since Tailfeather so he probably realises it just by reading Sanson's body language.

Maybe you should be more worried about those lovesick notes you left all over the margin, Sanson...

And just like that Guydelot shows his true colour once again. He's a man of action, not words (song lyrics not included) and the fact that they bested the Siren with the power of their own song was enough. Who cares about all of these documentation and whatnot.

I find it funny here that because this story still does involve the WoL, they just had to include this bit. But it would make more sense to have Guydelot perform his feat in battle and observe him there than rely on the WoL to do it. In fact, why not both?

In fact Guydelot reacts to this lol. He's like 'we wrote our own Ballad and you want to note her abilities instead???'

Mogta's got the right idea though!

Continued in part 4!

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #guydesan #bard boys #heavensward bard quest #if Dramatic has a photo #it would be a photo of Guydelot #Everything about this is so Pride and Prejudice #just Guydelot sauntering into the field all dramatic #top tier love confession btw #Just straight up says “I can't leave you to your own devices”#The unspoken bit: “I want to stay by your side (and keep you from stupidly sacrificing yourself out of misplaced guilt)”#ffxiv

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likeafairytale · 3 months

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"You dreamt of me? Tell me more." - Nathaniel to Achilles

Achilles laughed a little to Nathaniel question, shaking his head. He knew he shouldn't have admitted that, but he was often talking before thinking, which was often a disadvantage. The surgeon was still laying on the couch he slept on, looking at the prince, who was still in his bed. When he opened his eyes and saw that the siren was still there, he was quite relief, he did not know what though, but he was glad Nathaniel was the first person he saw waking up. Then, he had the stupid idea to tell him he dreamt about him, he did not know why he said that, the words left his mouth before his brain could comprehend them, and he regretted it for it could be seen has weird and maybe disrespectful even, since Nathaniel was a prince, and they didn't really know each other. So he closed his eyes, cursing himself for his stupidity, but when he opened his eyes, Achilles saw that cute smile on Nathaniel's face, and that was enough to make him relax a bit, while his heart missed a beat.

The young demigod stood up and stretched, before coming closer to the chair he tended Nathaniel's wound the previous night. For a moment, he stayed motionless in front of the chair, looking at the prince, silently. Nathaniel stayed in bed, looking at Achilles with a smile on his face but a puzzled look, when finally the latter laughed a little, which made the siren understood that he had to come closer too. A bit embarrassed, the prince finally left the bed to sat on the chair, where the surgeon took off his bandage to look at his wound.

“I'm afraid it wasn't a very interesting dream to hear about.” Achilles said after a moment of silence while cleaning the wound.

“I'd be the judge of that. Go on.”

“Fine, your Highness.”

“You know, each time you call me 'your Highness' I sense some sarcasm.”

“Oh, is that so obvious?”

The demigod couldn't help but smirk, which made Nathaniel laugh a little. For a while, they stayed there, looking at each other in silence. Now, Achilles' face was close to Nathaniel's one. Without realizing it, the bard quickly looked at the siren's lips, while his heart beat a bit faster. If Nathaniel did not clear his throat at the moment, which bring Achilles' back to reality, he probably would have done something he shouldn't have. Shaking his head, the surgeon finished cleaning his patient's wound, putting a fresh bandage on it.

“You should be careful, though. I don't care if you're condescending with me, to be honest, I really want you to call me Nate. But others won't like it.”

“Do not worry about me, I am charming enough to get my way out of any situation.”

“I believe that, yes.” Nathaniel whispered, and somehow, it made Achilles blushed a little. “So? That dream?”

“Alright, let me see...” Achilles started, searching in his memory of his dream. For a moment, he was silent, lost in his thoughts, but after a while, he sat on a chair next to Nathaniel, putting his surgical equipment away. “We were in a field of dandelions, having a picnic.”

“I remember that day...” Nathaniel whispered for himself, but Achilles did hear it, which made him frowned.

“You remember my dream?”

“What? No, I was talking to myself... I know, it does not help you think I am sane, now, don't laugh! Keep going, I am listening.”

“Fine, hmm... We had ham sandwiches and strong alcohol.”

“You even remember what we were eating?” Nathaniel said quite surprise, making the surgeon frowned even more.

“I have a very good memory, a gift for details.” Achilles admitted while shrugging. “That's not really a meal for a prince.”

“You'd be surprise what I can eat. What else?”

“It starting to rain, I wanted to leave, but you insisted for us to stay, because you wanted to see the sunset. I obliged. We were soaked, but the sunset was beautiful, so I wasn't truly mad at you for that.”

“Don't stop now, and then? What happened?”

“I don't know, I woke up.”

“Oh...”

Achilles could hear how disappointed Nathaniel was, which surprised him. He felt a bit stupid now for talking about it, and he looked away, pretending to be more interesting in his tools than the previous discussion. Nathaniel was a bit sad Achilles did not remember more. What the surgeon thought was just a silly dream was actually a date they had in one of his previous lives, and the siren remembered it quite well, as it was one of his favourite memory. He did force Achilles to stay under the rain just to see the sunset in the field of dandelion. He remembered how Achilles was mad, telling him off about how they will get sick if they stay under the rain too long, but as soon as he saw the sunset, the doctor kept quiet, too hypnotized by the sight in front of him. What Achilles was missing was that after that, they kissed –and even did more than that– under the rain.

Nathaniel thought it was a shame that Achilles did not remember the kiss. But at least, he remembered, even though it was through dreams. After a few minutes, where he was lost in his thought, the prince stood up, bringing Achilles' attention to him. The surgeon frowned when he saw the siren putting back his torn shirt.

“You're leaving?” He asked, a bit sad by the idea, not truly knowing why.

“Yes, I have too."

"Oh..." Achilles tried his best to hide his disappointment, but he probably did a bad job at it, for Nathaniel smiled a bit. "I'm sorry if I scared you with my dream... It was just a silly thing, I-"

"No, it's fine. I love your dream. It seems like a nice dream." Nathaniel reassured, and he could see it worked, for Achilles' seemed less tense all of a sudden. "I just have somewhere to go... But we'll see each other, I'll make sure of that.”

“You're a strange man, Nathaniel Blackwater.”

“I know, you'll grow to like this about me.”

#achille petrova #achilles x nate #nakiel #achilles writing prompt #writing prompt #i love them sm #they are so cute #this is canon that ash had many dreams that are actually memories #and many of them will be dates w/ nate #because it's cute #also for sure nate will try to recreate the date #probably ask cally to make it rain for him #that will be damn cute #icanbeyourgenie

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odditycircus-2002 · 3 months

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Hi again, this is the same anon that sent you the music video reaction request and I wanted to do something today. I was wondering if you could do something with the Outworlders stumbling upon a sex shop and they're just curiously wondering around the store looking at all of the products inside like all of the lingerie, toys, pornos, Kamasutra books and whatever else they sell in sex shops and for added hilarity they stumble upon monster dildos for people with exotic taste and both Syzoth and Medusa Reader are both shocked and intrigued about it with Syzoth mentioning it looks suspiciously like a Zaterrans male appendage. Also could you please add Ashrah and Baraka in the mix because I want to see their reactions to this too and maybe before everyone leaves both Syzoth and Medusa Reader pull Johnny aside and ask him if he could buy them a couple things for them so that they can try them out with their respectable partners. And to explain how nobody's freaking out at Ashrah, Baraka and Medusa Reader's appearances Johnny simply explains that they just left a costume convention and everyone's complimenting their costumes confusing them even more.

A/N: Okay, that'll get the "marked for mature" checkbox! Cause I ain't having minors read the hilarity and depravity that goes on.🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 But I think I'll limit the Outworlders here to Medusa!Reader, Baraka, and Syzoth. And I changed the last part to being that all the Outworlders just came off a movie set. I hope you don't mind.

The next time you and Syzoth headed to Earthrealm to help with one of Johnny Cage's movies, you went urban exploring with your Zaterran friend alongside Baraka and Ashrah. Somehow, while looking around the Las Vegas strip, you and Syzoth managed to came upon a full blown sex shop.

You were drawn in by the lingerie the display mannequins were wearing, not too much unlike the ones you've seen at other shops in Sun-Do. You entered without a second thought.

Syzoth initially wanted to stay outside the shop and wait for you, since he had no interest in browsing the store, but had his mind changed when you cracked open the shop door.

""BY THE ELDER GODS!!!"

He heard you cry out which made him swiftly follow you inside to see what caused you to exclaim so loudly, stopping dead in his tracks when he got a good look inside the store.

"What is this place?"

Syzoth whispered under his breath at the red and pink lights that illuminated the displays of lingerie; the shelves of lube and aphrodisiacs of all flavors; the shelf containing books opening to erotic illustrations of two humans in bondage; an entire wall of assorted paraphernalia right next to the shrine of dicks that took up another wall and acted as the crown jewel of the shop.

As if drawn in by a silent siren song, you, with Syzoth following close behind you, make your way to the wall of silicon dicks that came in all shades of skin color and more.

"Incredible isn't it? It's our little shop's main attraction."

You both jump at the store's employee sitting behind a register the entire time. They then reach behind their register to approach you and the Zaterran.

"Yet, judging by you two's costumes, which are pretty awesome btw, I feel like you're both into something more exotic."

The employee gestures to the locked-up case of dildos closer to the floor. Unlike the other humanoid dildos, these ones came with ridges, knots, spear-headed tips, and dulled barbs. Not to mention, all of them were LONG and THICK, with some as thick as your wrist.

"Ordered from Bad Dragon!"

"... A dragon made all of this?"

You inquire in befuddlement while feeling like you might pass out from the heat built up in your mask. The employee chuckled at what they thought was a joke. Syzoth, meanwhile, was observing the monstrous-looking dicks with a hand to his chin. Specifically, one with a pointy head and round bards along the underside.

"Odd. One of your... products looks like a male Zaterran's."

You almost gave yourself whiplash from how fast you snapped your neck in Syzoth's direction.

"WHAT?!"

The employee excuses themselves, stating that if they need anything or have any questions, then to come to them. Needless to say, you and Syzoth had plenty of questions that the employee patiently answered.

"So the point of this shop is to assist customers with their sexual pleasure?"

"Right, and their partners' if they wish as well."

That last answer made you and Syzoth more interested in the shop's wares. You found yourself drawn to the bondage section of the store, given how you always would read about it in your erotic books but never got to try any of it for yourself until recently. You were surprised to learn that lube has different flavors. The thought of using any of the store's items on Baraka filled you with trepidation and excitement.

You were contemplating the fetish wear while Syzoth was asking the employee about which vibrator would bring Ashrah the most pleasure when the latter and Baraka entered the store, having finally learned from some passerby where exactly you and Syzoth went. You and Syzoth resembled deers in headlights when locking eyes with your partners. Baraka and Ashrah take a moment to survey the shop, ignoring the employee who welcomed them and complimented them on their "costumes".

Baraka's eyes widen at the sexual goods surrounding him and provocative lingerie modeled by the mannequins, including the one you were standing by. He looks towards you and then the mannequin and back. You cannot tell under the pink and red lights how Baraka's face and the tips of his pointed ears were becoming a bright red from his blushing. You shrink in on yourself as you pull your cloak's hood over your head, too distracted with your mortification to notice how strained Baraka's face is from his mental attempt to will growing boner away.

Ashrah had a less mortified reaction as she scanned the shop before remarking how it reminded her somewhat of the Netherealm demon's pleasure dungeons but far more pleasant to the senses. Especially the smell, she mentions. Ashrah then notices the wall of dicks near the back of the store and remarks how one of them closely resembles Syzoth's penis. That's when the store employee starts laughing to themselves.

You admit to Baraka in a barely audible whisper that you still prefer Baraka's over the substitute ones. The Tarkatan stays silent momentarily, with steam practically coming out of his ears, before thanking you for the compliment. This gives you more confidence to beckon Baraka to inquire about trying something new with him.

Meanwhile, Syzoth explained everything he'd learned from the store employee to Ashrah. Ashrah, open to trying out these softer forms of pleasure, not including extreme sadism, started browsing the shop with her Zaterran lover. However, she finds it difficult to choose anything since she insists Syzoth satisfies her more than enough. This makes the store employee gush.

Not too long after Baraka and Ashrah entered the store, Johnny Cage entered. He looked a bit winded, as if he jogged for a bit to find all of you. You and Baraka were looking for something to use as padding for his spikes, while Ashrah was considering the angel-themed lingerie.

The store employee immediately recognizes the action star and now the director, then asks what movie or series he's shooting that involved you, Syzoth, Baraka, and Ashrah. Cage just sliced back his sweaty hair before making an easy lie through his grin to not freak out the person because they're surrounded by people who are not actually costumed.

You whispered to Baraka to just play along when he opened his mouth to contradict Cage, to which he obliges to not cause them to panic. However, that didn't stop the former tribune from grumbling under his breath.

Cage then reminded all of you of the next scene you were supposed to film tomorrow, which was really code for heading back to Outworld. You and Syzoth then pull the movie star to the side to ask him to buy a few things for them from this shop. Syzoth reasons that Earthrealm wouldn't accept Outworld currency. You promised to pay Cage back with the koin equivalent. Seeing as that means being paid back with gold coins, Cage agreed. The action star did raise a brow and glanced at you when seeing your purchase of a multitude of bondage equipment, including plenty of blindfolds, heavy-duty gags, and lube.

You and Syzoth happily thanked Johnny Cage as you took your respective bags. By then, you needed to stop at a restroom briefly to wipe away the blood leaking from your nose as you thought about the multitude of ways you'll be making Baraka scream for you tonight.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat 1 #Oddball writes #mortal kombat reptile #mk syzoth #baraka x reader #mk1 #syzoth #Baraka #Ashrah #Johnny Cage #cw: sex mention #ask answered #anon ask

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