#And those little horse/goat are to die for! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuuno-moved · 2 years

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this year

a bryce kent fic

(alternatively titled "if i don't name every single fic after a mountain goats song i die") (alternatively alternatively titled "bryce was supposed to be my ventsona. so let's vent")

tw for domestic abuse, suicidal ideation, misgendering, alcoholism, death and panic attacks. sorry

...

He was sick.

He stared at his ceiling, hardly breathing, hardly thinking.

His stomach hurt so so bad, and he thought he had a fever, but he wasn't sure why, wasn't sure what was causing it.

Maybe he was hungry.

He rolled out of bed, stumbling to the pile of chests in the corner, digging out a loaf of bread. He unwrapped it carefully, and prepared to take a bite, staring morosely down at it.

He'd baked it yesterday, and it was still fresh.

It should be appetizing.

He should want to eat it. He should be hungry.

He wrapped it again, putting it back in the chest and going back to bed.

He rolled on his side, staring at the wall. Maybe he hadn't slept enough the night before? Maybe that was why he was so sick? Or maybe he had eaten something undercooked? Or maybe the radiation was catching up to him?

Veiler clucked outside, unbothered by Bryce's mysterious illness.

Bryce whimpered, then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. No, there was no time for that, there was no reason to be crying. It was just a stomach ache, he couldn't get whiny now.

He felt like he was dying, like his stomach was trying to turn itself completely inside out.

One traitorous tear slipped out right as Veiler stuck its head in through the door.

He bolted upright, ignoring the way his stomach lurched and churned at the motion, immediately slinging his legs over the side of his bed. "Shit, hey, man."

Veiler clucked at him and he scrubbed his face desperately, trying to chase the burning from his eyes.

He couldn't die. Not here, not now.

He was going to make it through this year if it killed him.

…

He was drunk.

Not super drunk, just a little bit drunk. That was his excuse for crying all over this random girl.

He wasn't a cryer.

Really, the last time he'd cried was when he was a little kid, he didn't cry. But here he was, sobbing like a baby because some chick asked about his scars.

She looked a bit uncomfortable, glancing between him and the door, and he whimpered in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," He moaned, trying to catch his breath. "This is stupid."

"No, it's okay," She said, kindly. "I get it. Sometimes you just have to cry."

He let out another whimper, burying his head in his arms.

"...My name is Imari," The girl said, finally. "Imari Lipon. I'm from Mezalea, I know how it feels to lose things."

She didn't. She really didn't, because Mezalea was still standing.

He just nodded.

The next thing he knew, they were kissing.

The next thing he knew, he was shirtless.

The next thing he knew, he was alone, at a station, with her contact info written on his hand.

His whole body crawled, tingled, burned with the sensation of hands crawling over him.

Was this what he'd come down to? A nameless drunk, a cheap body, a crying stranger in a bar? He was the sole survivor of the Grimlands, the last person to walk those ruined streets. He had a story to tell, but he wasn't sure anyone would ever listen.

He could hear a train coming.

For a moment, he considered leaning forward, just a little bit, just enough to tip forward onto the rails. Enough people had seen him drunk at the bar that it could feasibly be an accident.

No.

No, he thought as the train thundered past. He couldn't die like that.

He messaged Imari, just to talk to someone, just to feel less alone.

He was going to make it through this year if it killed him.

…

He was late.

He had told Imari he'd be home at 5:30, but here it was, 7:49 and he was only just now crawling home, his horse slowly trotting up the driveway.

One of the roosters in the coop out back must have seen him, because it let out a cry, and inside, the light flipped on.

He took a shaky, steadying breath and swung his leg down.

"You're late," Imari said from the door, where she stood with crossed arms, a shawl around her shoulders against the cold. "Two hours late, actually."

"Got caught up with something."

"Yeah? What was her name?"

"Oh, slate, Imari, don't start with this again."

"Walt cried today. He cried because his daddy's never home-"

"-His mom, I'm his mother-"

"-Then act like it," Imari's voice stung. "You act like an absentee father, and a useless husband, and a goddamn drunk- are you drunk right now, Bryce?"

Bryce stared at her, wordlessly.

"You are," She breathed, pressing her hands to her face. "I married a drunk."

Bryce exhaled, trying hard not to react.

"My point is, if you're so insistent that you're a woman, that you're a mother and a wife, maybe you should try a bit to act like it."

Bryce was having trouble breathing. Vaguely, he wondered if his lungs were really filling with lead or if he was imagining it.

He and Imari stared at each other in silence, each daring the other to fold, before, finally, Bryce moved to walk up the porch steps.

"Stop," Imari snapped. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To bed," Bryce sighed. "I'm tired and cold."

"Not my bed," Imari sneered. "You're not stepping foot in my house until you can look me in the eye and apologize."

"You're a bitch. Get out of my way."

"No," Imari planted herself firmly, one hand on either side of the doorframe. "Either apologize or go crawling back to the bar."

Bryce stared at her, dumbly.

"Get out of here." She spat, and slammed the door.

He stared at the painted wood, his mind dull and buzzing. Where could he even go at a time like this? The bar was so far away, and he knew that if he stepped foot in there, he'd never leave.

For a moment, he considered laying down on the porch, letting himself give in to the cold. Let Imari and Walt find his frozen, lifeless body in the morning, let them cry and wail and wish they'd been kinder.

But somehow, deep down, he knew they wouldn't give a damn.

Walt was almost four. He was old enough to understand that his father- no, mother, Bryce was his mother- his mother wasn't around, ever, and his mommy was heartbroken about it. He was old enough to understand absence. He was old enough to know his mother was a damned mess.

If Bryce died here, it wouldn't solve anything. Whether Imari and Walt mourned or not, it'd just prove Imari's point, and he'd be dead.

So he turned around, and started down the porch steps.

He was going to make it through this year if it killed him.

…

He couldn't breathe.

He wasn't sure why, he really wasn't, but he couldn't breathe and his head hurt and he wasn't sure where he was.

He thought he could feel something growing in his chest.

He lay down on the ground for a moment, pressing his hands to the damp pine needles that carpeted the ground.

He'd been out, avoiding his family, trying to find anything to do to stop him from having to come back to Walt's seventeenth birthday party.

He'd never gotten a birthday party, he thought bitterly.

His seventeenth birthday was spent on the streets, hardly a month after his escape, begging for food and pay.

He never got presents and a loving mom who brushed his hair and put it up all special just for him.

But he'd also never had a drunkard mother who fucked off into the middle of the woods to have a panic attack instead of being there for his son.

He felt like shit.

Not in the guilty way- as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty about not being there for Walt- he knew he should love the boy, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel anything other than a mute sort of indifference.

He was a smart kid, and a killer on the piano, and he was kind, and he was brave, and he was athletic and he loved his mom. But when Bryce looked at him, all he could think was how much he looked like Imari, and how little he looked like Bryce.

What if he did die out here?

He didn't want to- he'd finally figured that out- he really hadn't ever wanted to die, he'd always wanted to live, to be loved, to somehow find a world where when he was held, it didn't make his skin crawl. He'd always wanted to grow old, to be content, to not have to rely on alcohol and pills to make himself forget the stifling, suffocating, ever present feeling of being alone.

Because that's what he was. He was alone in the Grimlands, and he was alone here. Even with a wife and son, even then, he really didn't have anybody.

It was cruel of the universe, he thought, to take Angus away.

They had only been friends out of shared bitterness- they'd both been abandoned by the world, and had sworn they wouldn't abandon each other, but, only a couple months after Bryce had met Imari, Angus had told him he was leaving to go back to the ocean.

And Bryce was alone.

He was starting to think this wasn't a panic attack.

He was very well accustomed to how those felt, and this wasn't the same thing. His lungs were full of something.

He coughed.

Blood.

Oh.

He was thankful he was already laying down because he would have surely collapsed otherwise.

He was almost to the trail. If he could drag himself a few more feet…

"Hey drunkard!" Someone called. A hoard of teens stood on the path- how had he not noticed them? "Have some of this!"

A glass bottle shattered on the ground next to him and he hardly had the energy to flinch. The teens yelled and hollered, running off into the darkness.

They were Gobland kids, he could tell from their robes. The country was new, having only been dug up recently, and, faintly, Bryce thought it might be a nice place to live.

He'd always liked caves.

He dragged himself another foot, one hand coming down squarely on a broken shard of glass. He hissed out through his teeth, but kept going.

Think about the caves. Think about the future.

There would be a future, he told himself.

He wasn't going to die here.

He was going to go home, and he would finally apologize to Imari, and he would tell Walt he loved him and he'd actually mean it this time and he'd stop drinking and then he'd move them all to the Goblands and get a job and he'd be fine and he'd be happy.

He wasn't going to die here. Not like this.

He couldn't.

Not when he had so much he wanted to do.

He had never even told anyone his story. He'd written it down somewhere, but no one would read it, because no one wanted another depressing story. They wanted hope and nice things.

And Bryce could give them that! If he survived, he'd write a million nice tales, he'd never talk about what happened to him again, he'd never complain about his life for as long as he lived!

If he survived…

He wasn't going to die here.

He wasn't breathing at all now. Not a bit.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't think.

He wasn't going to die here.

He wasn't

…

He was alive.

He was alive and it hurt so so much. Every touch felt like fire- the soft silk nightgown he wore clung to his skin and burned, the hair on the back of his neck felt like it was going to make him bleed, the wall at his back felt like fire. He was going to be sick.

He wasn't sure why he agreed to hug Rose.

Maybe some twisted, stupid part of him thought it'd fix him, he'd feel some sort of kinship with the teen, but instead all he'd felt was like his entire body was aflame.

He hadn't felt anything in so so long, hadn't had the sensation of human touch in even longer.

The last time he'd been touched had been a week before his death, when he and Imari had an argument, he'd pushed her a bit, and Walt had punched him.

It'd been a deserved punch, he had to admit, he thought he could still feel it in his gut now.

He could feel Rose's heart in his chest from where his shoulder had pressed against it.

He couldn't breathe.

It all felt so wrong.

He'd really wanted the hug to fix him, he'd wanted to feel better, he'd wanted to get better. He wanted to be fine.

He wasn't.

A door opened downstairs and the deep, raspy voice of Acamar rang through the house.

He slipped a hand under the collar of his nightgown to press it against his heart.

It was beating, alright.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

The door to the bedroom opened slowly.

Immediately, he snapped his head up, trying to force his face into something expressionless, something he was used to.

Acamar stood there, one hand on the doorknob, the other hand on the bottom of its veil, tugging it down.

"Rose said…" It hesitated. "Rose said you were having a panic attack."

Bryce winced. "I'm not. I'm fine now."

"You're not… breathing."

Bryce didn't breathe for a count longer, as if to try to convince Acamar that that was normal, but then it all escaped him in a wave and he gasped, slamming his forehead into his knees.

Acamar hesitated, before ghosting across the room, crouching in front of Bryce.

"Can I touch you?"

"No, no, no, fuck, please don't-"

"I won't, don't worry," Bryce could hear it move away a bit. "Can you… can you tell me three things you can see?"

"My legs."

"What else?"

"My hair. Uh, the carpet."

"Good. Three things you can feel?"

"Uh. I don't- I can't-"

"It's okay. Take your time."

Bryce squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw. "Uh. My nightgown. The wall. Uh, my cheeks, oh shit, am I crying-?"

"It's okay," Acamar said gently. "It's fine."

"No, I don't- I don't cry-"

"It might not be crying, your eyes may just be watering from lack of oxygen. It happens. Can you tell me three things you hear?"

"You?"

"Good, two more," Acamar rumbled. "Just name too more."

"Uh, my breathing," Bryce said, realizing abruptly that he could, in fact, hear his own breathing. "And there's someone shouting outside."

"A boiled peanuts seller, I think," Acamar said, a smile audible in its voice. "Have you ever had boiled peanuts?"

"I'm allergic."

"Ah, a shame."

Bryce had lifted his head now, to peek at Acamar through his hair. He couldn't see its face, of course, but it didn't seem to be looking at him. Its head was turned toward the window, and it leaned back against the bed slightly. It looked comfortable.

"I feel better now," He said honestly, wiping the snot out of his beard. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Acamar cleared its throat. "Bryce, right? I'm-"

"Acamar. Yeah, I know. I've been… watching Rose, I guess, for a couple months now."

He couldn't see Acamar's face, but he could imagine its expression. Disgust, probably, or maybe anger.

Acamar hid it well, though, only hummed and nodded.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. Are you… are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

That was a blatant lie, and Acamar knew it. But it didn't call him out on it.

"I'm proud of you," It said, instead, and he froze like a deer in the headlights. "Rose told us what happened to you, and I have to say, you're pretty strong for going through all of that and still being here now."

"It's not like I have a choice," Bryce chuckled, bitterly. "Do I?"

"You do, sort of," Acamar shrugged. "If you didn't want to be alive, you wouldn't be. We wouldn't have been able to bring you back if you didn't want to come."

Bryce froze.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to be here, be alive, be given a second chance at life.

He wanted, selfishly, to taste fresh bread and hold someone's hand and a soft warm bed and to live.

He wanted to be alive.

He was going to make it through this year if it killed him.

#bryce kent #dave's author arc #i literally just torture this poor woman and call it a day #kent heritage lore

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lostmyhufflepuffstatus · 2 years

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Death by Peanut Allergy

Word Count: 1306

Summary: While on a quest Dave, the Son of Demeter comes into contact with an abandoned peanut packaging warehouse with some friends. Little does he know that this is the final quest.

Warnings: Named Character Death

A/N: Not going to lie this was supposed to be a comedy piece but I did the thing that writers do where we black out and then suddenly it gets weirdly sad. Also, I know this is different from my usual Criminal Minds fics, don't worry I still have plenty of those! I had this idea a few days ago and needed to write it. I hope you enjoy it, again my inbox is open for ships, requests, and questions!

The year was 1992. This was supposed to be my final year of Camp Half-Blood. Being a half-blood is probably the most dangerous job in the world, and worse there is no pay and no benefits. But regardless someone had to do it so the gods went around mating with mortals and these demigods were born to do their bidding. There had been little to no missing or dying campers in at least 5 years, which was a huge deal considering how many were lost in the past. It isn’t uncommon for campers to go missing or die. As I said being a half-blood is a dangerous job. If they went missing it was somewhere near Zeus’ Fist, and death was common, especially for those who were dumb enough to go into the woods unarmed to fight the monsters in hand-to-hand combat, RIP Trevor you will be missed. Hopefully, there will never be such a significant loss again, but it’s Camp Half-Blood so who knows for sure?

Anyway, everyone knows that being a demigod can kill you because of gods and monsters, and you have to be careful about who you piss off, but most people don’t assume the mundane will kill them, especially not allergies. Sure there was the occasional camper who was allergic to hay or horses or goats, those can be really awkward to explain especially since a lot of the staff here is half barnyard animal, oh and pollen allergies are pretty common too, friendly reminder that the Dryads do NOT like to be sneezed on, again, sorry about that Juniper. There have even been stories of demigods having lactose intolerance. But no sane demigod believes that their allergies are going to kill them. Death by a monster? Yeah everyday concern, but not something as dumb as a nut allergy, which is exactly what happened to me. My name is Dave Gardner. I was a demigod, a son of Demeter, and I died…because of my peanut allergy.

The quest was going normally. We had a lot of close encounters with death, which nobody was a stranger to. That’s just a typical Tuesday for a camper. On this quest I had Steve and Greg as my group, a son of Hephaestus and a son of Apollo, yes I know how ironic that is; me dying on a quest with the son of the god of medicine. I have to give him credit though, he tried hard to save me. Everything was fine until the Canadians attacked. Technically not Canadians they’re Listerine giants or something like that. I can never remember their proper names though, that was for the kids of Athena.

We had gotten pretty damn far, finally getting to Fairbanks Alaska in order to get some weird herb that Chiron needed for some kind of protection thing for the camp's borders. You see, there was something really weird going on, there were way more monsters out and about than usual. To make a long story short the giants caught up with us because I had made a wrong turn and gotten us lost and we were forced to leave our supplies behind, including my bag which had my epi-pen and my emergency stash of nectar and ambrosia, the food and drink of the gods that was able to heal demigods, but not too much or you’d spontaneously combust. I figured that we’d be able to circle back and grab our gear before moving on, but boy was I wrong.

We were forced into an old warehouse to hide, immediately I thought it was a bad idea, and started having an anxiety attack and everything, well I thought that it was an anxiety attack. All of the symptoms were there for a panic attack, I had clammy skin, uncontrollable sweating, lightheadedness, and of course breathing problems. Still, my choices were either becoming a toothpick for giants or forcing myself to hide in an old abandoned warehouse. I chose the latter.

There were old crates and boxes everywhere with faded writing, nobody would be able to read that even if they didn’t have dyslexia. Greg had managed to confuse the giants with some weird arrow that was given to him by an older camper from the Hermes cabin, I couldn’t remember his name though, but it managed to give us time so we had a few seconds to hide and pray to whoever would be listening that they wouldn’t find us.

We found an old storage closet with even more barrels and crates and decided to hide in the largest one, all three of us fit in there okay, it was a little cramped. As we were hiding I felt that panic attack getting worse, my throat had started to swell big time and it was getting hard to see, not just because it was dark, but because my vision had become very blurry. And that is when it hit me, I was having a very bad allergic reaction. I had never had one this horrible and painful before. I hate to admit it, but I was absolutely terrified. Not being able to breathe and knowing that I am actively dying was worse than staring down any monster.

I couldn’t help but think about my baby sister Katie, she was barely 9 years old, and I had only been able to see her a handful of times. I thought about my Dad, I don’t know where my mom was or if she could even hear me but I was still praying to her. Not for my life but for the protection of Katie, I wish I could see her one last time.

The rest of my death felt like an out-of-body experience, it was like I was watching a movie, where some random side character that people still loved for whatever reason, died. I saw my body collapse to the floor, my friends turned quickly. Thankfully Steve managed to catch my body before I fell too hard, which would give away our position. The giants were in the warehouse now, I could still hear them throwing things around yelling about how much they wanted to destroy me and my friends. I don’t know how I knew but I knew that they were getting closer, the guys couldn’t hear me as I was screaming at them to run.

Greg was looking around the box and the storage room for something, anything that could be used to save my life. My voice was silent as I begged them to run, to leave me behind and save themselves. If they died too I would never be able to forgive myself, they had brothers and sisters back at camp. I tried banging on the walls, banging on the crates, the barrels, and even the guys themselves but nothing worked. I tried everything I could but I knew that I couldn’t do anything. I could see Steve crying, he never ever cried.

I closed my eyes and turned away but when I opened them again, I didn’t see my friends or the storage room, I saw a line, a line of people standing in front of a gate, and a large dog with three heads. I knew where I was, I was in Hades, the underworld, the afterlife, whatever you want to call it. I had accepted my death towards the end, but what I couldn’t accept, was not knowing if my friends made it or not. I had no idea if they made it out of the warehouse in one piece. I have no idea if they survived the giants. I hoped that they did. People say that the worst part of dying is that you never know what happens to those around you. But the worst part for me is not having a chance to say goodbye.

#death by peanut allergy #camp halfblood imagines #camp half-blood #percy jackson imagines #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson

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externalconceit · 3 months

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@positivelybeastly

'Don't do it, Hank,' Tess had told him in that irritating way she has when she thinks everyone else is wrong. 'She's a mysterious. Stay here.' And eventually, 'okay, well, I'll miss you when you die.'

However, 'Puttyfoot Farms' checks out: upstate New York, owned by little known billionaire Sharon St. Clare. Old money--the sort who keeps her wealth quiet until she appears at charity galas draped in Dior, antique diamonds winking in her ears. Or the front of the Daily Bugle for firing a harpoon gun at Ingrid Newkirk. She has the sort of money that allows for her to care for animals more than people, and for those who hear about her go 'oh, yeah, one of those'.

He's greeted by rolling hills and bright white fences, not to mention a handful of alpaca that stare at him, placid and unblinking. Oh, and goats. Pigs! Horses. Not to mention a--farmhand? Butler? If it's the former, he's the cleanest farmhand Hank's ever set eyes on, his buttondown shirt pristine and old fashioned spectacles sliding down his nose as he eyes the blue mutant up and down.

His eyes are pale and shrewd as those of a seasoned general. "Ma'am--" there's a faintly sardonic note to his voice--"is with the cows."

And Sharon St. Clare is indeed with the cows, singing a bright rendition of Sondheim's The Miller's Son. (Tess likes that soundtrack.) She's shoveling dirty hay and cow patties into a wheelbarrow, her hair woven into a coronet of blonde braids like a stereotypical farmer's daughter.

In fact, she's the very image of one of those cliche old illustrations, healthy and wholesome as she stops. A brilliant smile wreathes her face as she regards him, shoving the shovel into its big wheelbarrow of shit as a Holstein heifer with milky, blind eyes lows a complaint.

"Henry McCoy!" Sharon St. Clare sings out, as if they're the oldest of friends. "As I do live and breathe. Come say hello!"

She doesn't give him the chance, instead bounding toward him to clasp both his hands in two thick, dirty gloves. Her squeeze is firm--too firm. "How was your trip, darling? I do hate the subway this time of year--or did you drive?" Again, he's not allowed the chance to respond before she's half-turning to the cool, clinical man who 'escorted' him. "Gerard!" The Butler Farmhand. Gerard Butler. "See to the good doctor's car, won't you?"

Squeeze. "Henry, give him your keys. It wouldn't do to have you walk all that way back."

How did she know where he parked his car?

#long post cw #:shar I missed you:

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boricuacherry-blog · 6 months

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"Oh, mon Dieu, Jesus!" said her mother, "there are so many witches nowadays that I dare say they burn them without knowing their names. One might as well seek the names of every cloud in the sky. After all, one may be tranquil. The good God keeps his register."

The Place du Parvis Notre-Dame, upon which the balcony looked, presented at that moment a singular and sinister spectacle which caused the fright.

"Is it true she has refused a confessor?"

"It appears so."

"You see what a pagan she is!"

At that moment, midday rang slowly out from the clock of Notre-Dame. A murmur of satisfaction broke out in the crowd. The last vibration of the twelfth stroke had hardly died away when all heads surged like the waves beneath a squall, and an immense shout went up from the pavement, the windows, and the roofs.

"There she is!"

A tumbrel drawn by a stout Norman horse, and all surrounded by cavalry in violet livery with white crosses, had just debouched upon the Place through the Rue Saint-Pierre-aux-Boeufs. The sergeants of the watch were clearing a passage for it through the crowd, by stout blows from their clubs. Beside the cart rode several officers of justice and police, recognizable by their black costume and their awkwardness in the saddle. Master Jacques Charmolue paraded at their head.

In the fatal cart sat a young girl with her arms tied behind her back, and with no priest beside her. She was in her shift; her long black hair (the fashion then was to cut it off only at the foot of the gallows) fell in disorder upon her half-bared throat and shoulders.

Athwart that waving hair, more glossy than the plumage of a raven, a thick, rough, gray rope was visible, twisted and knotted, chafing her delicate collar-bones and twining round the charming neck of the poor girl, like an earthworm round a flower. Beneath that rope glittered a tiny amulet ornamented with bits of green glass, which had been left to her no doubt, because nothing is refused to those who are about to die. The spectators in the windows could see in the bottom of the cart her naked legs which she strove to hide beneath her, as by a final feminine instinct. At her feet lay a little goat, bound. The condemned girl held together with her teeth her imperfectly fastened shift. One would have said that she suffered still more in her misery from being thus exposed almost naked to the eyes of all. It was la Esmeralda.

The tumbrel had entered the Parvis. It halted before the central portal. The escort ranged themselves in line on both sides and the two leaves of the grand door swung back on their hinges, which gave a creak like the sound of a fife. Then there became visible in all its length, the deep, gloomy church, hung in black, sparely lighted with a few candles gleaming afar off on the principal altar, opened in the midst of the Place which was dazzling with light, like the mouth of a cavern. At the very extremity, in the gloom of the apse, a gigantic silver cross was visible against a black drapery which hung from the vault to the pavement. The whole nave was deserted. But a few heads of priests could be seen moving confusedly in the distant choir stalls, and, at the moment when the great door opened, there escaped from the church a loud, solemn, and monotonous chanting, which cast over the head of the condemned girl, in gusts, fragments of melancholy psalms -

"He that heareth my word and believeth on Him that sent me, hath eternal life, and hath not come into condemnation, but is passed from death to life."

This chant, which a few old men buried in the gloom sang from afar over that beautiful creature, was the mass for the dead. The people listened devoutly.

They untied her hands, made her alight, accompanied by her goat, which had also been unbound, and which bleated with joy at finding itself free, and they made her walk barefoot on the hard pavement to the foot of the steps leading to the door. The rope about her neck trailed behind her. One would have said it was a serpent following her.

Then the chanting in the church ceased. A great golden cross and row of wax candles began to move through the gloom. A long procession of priests in chasubles and deacons in dalmatics marched gravely towards the condemned girl, as they drawled their song.

At the moment when the archdeacon made his appearance in the full daylight beneath the lofty arched portal, enveloped in an ample cope of silver barred with a black cross, he was so pale that more than one person in the crowd thought that one of the marble bishops who knelt on the sepulchral stones of the choir had risen and was come to receive upon the brink of the tomb, the woman who was about to die.

The archdeacon approached her slowly; even in that extremity, she beheld him cast an eye sparkling with sensuality, jealousy, and desire, over her exposed form. Then he said aloud -

"Young girl, have you asked God's pardon for your faults and shortcomings?"

He bent down to her ear, and added (the spectators supposed that he was receiving her last confession): "Will you have me? I can still save you!"

She looked intently at him: "Begone, demon, or I will denounce you!"

He gave vent to a horrible smile: "You will not be believed. You will only add a scandal to a crime. Reply quickly! Will you have me?"

"What have you done with my Phoebus?"

"He is dead!" said the priest. He staggered, passed his hand across his eyes, looked again, muttered a curse, and all his features were violently contorted.

"Well, die then!" he hissed between his teeth. "No one shall have you." Then, raising his hand over the gypsy, he exclaimed in Latin, in a funereal voice -

"Go now, soul, trembling in the balance, and God have mercy upon thee."

This was the dread formula with which it was the custom to conclude these gloomy ceremonies. It was the signal agreed upon between the priest and the executioner.

No one had yet observed in the gallery of the statues of the kings, carved directly above the arches of the portal, a strange spectator, who had, up to that time, observed everything with such impassiveness, with a neck so strained, a visage so hideous that, in his motley accoutrement of red and violet, he might have been taken for one of those stone monsters through whose mouths the long gutters of the cathedral have discharged their waters for six hundred years. This spectator had missed nothing that had taken place since midday in front of the portal of Notre-Dame. And at the very beginning he had securely fastened to one of the small columns a large knotted rope, one end of which trailed on the flight of steps below. This being done, he began to look on tranquilly, whistling from time to time when a blackbird flitted past. Suddenly, at the moment when the superintendent's assistants were preparing to execute Charmolue's order, he threw his leg over the balustrade of the gallery, seized the rope with his feet, his knees and his hands; then he was seen to glide down the facade, as a drop of rain slips down a windowpane, rush to the two executioners with the swiftness of a cat which has fallen from a roof, knock them down with two enormous fists, pick up the gypsy with one hand, as a child would her doll, and dash back into the church with a single bound.

He held the young girl, who was quivering all over, suspended from his horny hands like a white drapery; but he carried her with as much care as though he feared to break her. One would have said that he felt that she was a delicate, exquisite, precious thing, made for other hands than his. There were moments when he looked as if not daring to touch her, even with his breath. Then, all at once, he would press her forcibly in his arms, against his angular bosom, like his own possession, his treasure, as the mother of that child would have done. His gnome's eye, fastened upon her, inundated her with tenderness, sadness, and pity.

At that moment, Quasimodo had a beauty of his own. He, that orphan, that outcast, felt himself august and strong, and gazed in the face of that society from which he was banished, and in which he had so powerfully intervened, of that human justice of which he had wrenched its prey, of all those tigers whose jaws were forced to remain empty, of those policemen, those judges, those executioners, of all that force of the king which he, the meanest of creatures, had just broken, with the force of God.

#the hunchback of notre dame #book quotes #victor hugo

0 notes

makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that’s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

#bnha 326 #all might #yagi toshinori #stain (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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linkedhearts · 2 years

Note

The memory faded away and the group was back in the room with the doors.

This time the room was noticeably cleaner, more well-lit and the storm outside had faded to a gentle distant rumble. It was still dark and overcast, but little glimmers of light could be seen beyond the cloud level.

Legend stared at his door, all clean lines and bright paint. The scarf he now recognised as Ravio's and the flower as the one Marin always wore in her hair. A symbol of all that he had lost and gained and the hope that he felt because of one Goddess that had walked all those miles with him.

A presence appeared at his foot.

"She was always there. She... She got Ravio for me."

'She saved me' was the unspoken sentiment.

A small furry paw pressed at his ankle. "You worried her the most. You were so young when you started and then never stopped. She still worries for you deeply and she's so very happy that you have Ravio with you. Now that she has remembered that, she feels better about having to have left you not long after. Even if she would have rather stayed."

Legend looked down in the bright eyes of the Guardian and finally felt some of his suspicions fall away. He knew that the Guardian was there to protect the Goddess's mind and had taken physical form to protect them. It was a part of her after all and he couldn't bring himself to be suspicious of their Goddess, not even a small part of her.

He blinked away the stinging in his eyes and coughed under his breath, turning his face away from everyone.

They gave him the moment to recover.

"Who's next?" His voice was rough, but they all ignored that as the Guardian turned to the next hero, shifting into wolf again, only this time she was smaller.

She approached Twilight and nodded to the next revealed dilapidated door which had the carving of his horse whistle and shadow crystal underneath the Fused Shadow while curving around all of it was the face and horns of the iconic Ordon Goat.

"Guess that's me then." Twilight took a deep breath as the Guardian nodded.

"Her memories are returning to their true form swifter as you can tell by her improved mental mindscape, but be warned. She may still have warped memories on occasion and you will need to be quick to remind her of the true events. Even if they are painful." She watched him carefully as Twilight reached for the door.

The Rancher nodded, took a deep breath then opened the door, ready for whatever lay on the other side.

Suddenly they found themselves in a quiet little farming village. Children playing, animals grazing. And there was Twilight. Trying to herd goats. When suddenly everything took a turn. Monsters from out of nowhere rampaging though. Twilight tries his best to defend everyone, but falls. Laying there in the water, the Goddess makes her appearance.

“Oh, oh my sweet boy.” She places her hand on his forehead. “You can’t die here, those kids need you. Your family and your village need you. I need you so much.”

And with a rush of power breathe once again fills Twilight lungs.

And when he met Midna, and he was cursed into the form of a wolf she kept a close eye. She did not know much about the twilight realm or it’s people, but Midna seemed good hearted despite her cold and sarcastic attitude. And she could not follow into the realm so she chose to trust her.

There were nights when Twilight slept, that he swore he felt someone petting his fur. He thought it might have been Midna, but she also slept. It was strange.

And at the end of his adventure, when things were supposed to be happy, when everyone was safe, the mirror connecting Hyrule to the twilight realm shattered. And so did Twilights heart. And the Goddess couldn’t hold him as he wept or mourned. She could only watch him make his way back to his little village and pretend like everything was ok.

#The Chain #DarkGoddess!Reader

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n)’s POV

That night, I have vivid dreams.

It is storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, are trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swoops down and slashes the horse’s muzzle with its huge talons. The horse rears up and kicks at the eagle’s wings. As they fight, the ground rumbles, and a monstrous voice chuckles somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I run towards them, knowing I have to stop them from killing each other, but I’mrunning in slow motion. I know I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse’s wide eyes, and I scream, No!

I wake with a start.

Outside, it really is storming. The kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There is no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom and Percy wake. Mom sits up, eyes wide, and says, “Hurricane.”

Over the roar of the wind, I hear a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.

Then there is a much closer noise, like mallets in the snad. A desperate voice - someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

Mom springs out of her bed in her nightgown and throws open the lock.

Percy’s POV

Grover stands framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pourning rain. But he . . . he isn’t Grover.

“Searching all night,” Grover gasps. “What were you thinking?”

Mom looks at me in terror - not scared of Grover, but of why he’d come.

“Percy,” she says, shouting to be heard over the rain. “What happened at school? What didn’t you tell me?”

I’m frozen, looking at Grover, not comprehending what I’m seeing.

“O Zeu kai alloi theoi!” Grover yells. “It’s right behind me! Didn’t you tell her?”

I’m too shocked to register that he’d just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I’d understood him perfectly, I’m too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover doesn’t have his pants on - and where his legs should be . . . where his legs should be . . .

(Y/n)’s POV

Mom looks at Percy sternly and speaks in a tone she’d never used before, and it scared me a little, “Percy. Tell me now!”

Percy stammers something about old ladies at a fruit stand and a story that lined up with the dream I had had two days previously.

Mom stares at Percy and then me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

Mom grabs her phone, tosses me and Percy our rain jackets, and says, “Get to the car. All three of you. Go!

Percy’s friend Grover runs for the Camaro - but he isn’t running, exactly. He is trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters.

Where Grover’s feet should be, there are no feet. There are cloven hooves.

. . .

We tear through the night along dark country roads. Wind slams against the Camaro. Rain lashes the windows. I don’t know how Mom can see anything, but she keeps her foot on the gas.

I hear Percy ask, “So, you and my mom . . . know each other?”

I see Grover’s eyes flit to the rearview mirror, though there are no cars behind us. “Not exactly,” Grover replies. “I mean, we’ve never met in person, but she knew I was watching you.”

“Watching him?” I ask, turning around to look at the - saytr? - behind me.

“Keeping tabs on him. Making sure he was okay,” Grover says, then looks over at Percy. “But I wasn’t lying about behind your friend,” he adds hastily. “I am your friend.”

“Um . . . what are you, exactly?” Percy asks.

“That doesn’t matter right now.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Percy echoes. “From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey -”

Grover lets out a sharp, throaty, “Blaa-ha-ha! I’m a goat from the waist down.”

“You said it didn’t matter,” Percy replies.

“Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you underhoof for such an insult!”

“Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like . . . Mr. Brunner’s myths?” Percy asks.

“Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?” Grover asks my twin.

“So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!”

“Of course.”

“Then why—”

“The less you knew, the fewer monsters you’d attract,” Grover says, like that should be perfectly obvious. “We put Mist over the humans’ eyes. We hoped you’d think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are.”

“Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?”

The weird bellowing noise rises up again somewhere behind us, closer than before.

Whatever is chasing us is still on our trail.

“Percy,” Mom says, “there’s too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you and (Y/n) to safety.”

“Safety from what?” I ask. “Who’s after us?”

“Oh, nobody much,” Grover says, obviously still miffed about Percy’s donkey comment. “Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions.”

“Grover!” Mom scolds.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?”

I try to wrap my mind around what is happening, but I can’t. I had a vivid imagination, yes, but even I could never dream up something this weird.

Mom makes a hard left. We swerve onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses, wooden hills, and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“The summer camp I told you about.” My mother’s voice is tight; she was trying for our sakes not to be scared. “The place your father wanted to send you.”

“The place you didn’t want us to go?” Percy asks, and I see him furrow his eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

“Please, dear,” Mom begs. “This is hard enough. Try to understand. You’re in danger.”

“Because some old ladies cut yarn,” Percy says, frowning.

“Those weren’t old ladies,” Grover says. “Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you’re about to…when someone’s about to die.”

“Whoa. You said ‘you.’”

“No I didn’t. I said ‘someone.’”

“You meant ‘you.’ As in me.”

“I meant you, like ‘someone.’ Not you, you.”

“Boys!” Mom yells. She pulls the wheel hard to the right, and I get a glimpse of a figure she’s swerved to avoid - a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.”

“What was that?” Percy asks, clearly also having seen the figure.

“We’re almost there,” my mother says, ignoring Percy’s question. “Another mile. Please. Please. Please.”

I don’t know where there is, but I find myself leaning forward in my seat, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.

The hair rises on my arms and the back of my head.

There is a blinding flash, and our car explodes.

Word Count: 1178 words

#percy jackson and the olympians #annabeth chase x female reader #annabeth chase x fem reader #annabeth chase x reader #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x sister reader

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dhwty-writes · 4 years

Note

hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt.

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height.

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.

#my writing #the witcher #geraskier #elliestormfound #look i've got an ask #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #eskel #Lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #kaer morons

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witcher-trash · 3 years

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Weekly Witcher Fic Recs 1

A Beginners Guide to Exploiting the Kaedweni Tax Code For Fun and Profit (aiden/lambert, mature, wip, 115k, modern au)

Aiden Kett and Lambert Wilkson accidentally get married, and this is honestly probably the least of their problems. Featuring, in no particular order: technically not tax fraud from a legal standpoint but definitely tax fraud from an emotional standpoint, gender noncompliance, what do you mean you're moving in together, Geralt of Rivia as a professional horse girl, goats, an egregious amount of snark, a lot of take out food, licensed monster management in leather pants, Aiden's massive competency kink, found family, a great deal of love in the face of mental health struggles, and kittens. Maybe no one in this family had a good childhood, but they'll be damned if they won't fight for a happily ever after.

A Dance. (aiden/lambert, teen and up, complete, 1k, mafia au)

In which, Aiden is very convincing and Lambert can't deny him.

A Griffin's Squire (Coën/erland, explicit, wip, 20k, please mind the tags on ao3)

The School of the Griffin cares deeply about the fate of their fledglings. Those that die during the Trials are buried with full honours, and those that survive are kept at the keep longer than any other school. Furthermore, the griffins ensure they are fully equipped to face a hostile existence and still maintain the knightly values the school holds dear, by pairing them with another Witcher. A knight and his squire. The squire is expected to serve his knight in all ways and learn every lesson the knight has to teach. This is the story of Griffin Witcher Coën, and his Trial of the Squire.

All These Places Have Their Moments (geralt/jaskier/eskel, explicit, complete, 4k, smut)

Geralt and Jaskier invite their friend Eskel into the bedroom because Geralt wants to watch and tell them what to do.

None So Blind (geraskier, mature, complete, 37k, geralt whump, hurt/comfort)

After a mage 'harvests' Geralt's eyes, he is forced to winter in Oxenfurt with Jaskier while waiting for another witcher to take him on his final journey to Kaer Morhen. But did he know the real Jaskier?

resist death, make trouble (geraskier, mature, complete, 30k, angst with a happy ending, post mountain, jaskier whump)

Eventually Jaskier settles down on the bed. When he’s been silent for several long moments Geralt cracks open an eye. The light from the fire in the hearth is more than enough to see by for his enhanced eyesight. Jaskier is curled up on the bed, back to the wall and limbs gathered up to his chest. It’s a childlike pose that strikes a dissonant chord in Geralt’s chest. He remembers spending nights with Jaskier in other inns, in camps on the roadside, and Jaskier sprawls when he sleeps. Limbs flung out in every direction, sometimes close enough to grasp for Geralt’s warmth.---When Geralt carries Jaskier out of the cellar beneath the cottage on the outskirts of the abandoned town he thinks, this is as bad as it will get.

Sing for Me, Little Lark (geraskier, explicit, wip, 50k, modern au bdsm)

It’s Jaskier’s first time in a place like this, a place where he can be free to explore the parts of himself he’s been afraid of until now. Here, it’s open, it’s celebrated, it’s beautiful—yet despite what’s happening on the center stage, he just can’t seem to take his eyes off the bartender.

the warmth of winter (geralt/eskel/lambert, explicit, complete, 2k)

Just a lazy morning at Kaer Morhen. It's warm under the furs and blankets, their shared body heat creating a snug little den under the pile of bed covers. It was a stark contrast to the chilly room beyond, no one yet daring to leave the cozy space within the bed to build the fire and warm it up. Eskel knows how much Lambert shivers in the cold, how it makes Geralt's joints ache. But here in their bed, curled up together in the safety of a Kaer Morhen winter there is no place for that. No need for all the layers they pull around themselves the rest of the year to keep the world out. Here in this warmth is a space just for them, the furs smelling so strongly of the three of them together that Eskel's mind can only recognize that scent as home.

#geraskier #lamden #la #lambert/aiden #the witcher #Coën/erland #geralt/eskel/lambert #geralt/jaskier/eskel #fic recs

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my2phetaliaheadcanons · 3 years

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Pet Owners Part 1

Owning pets is rare for nations because a true nation’s pet has a bond with their owners as much as they do the land. Many of their pets don’t really have something they represent inexactness, it's just they were there when the nation was born, and they bonded. No one can really explain how they come to find their owners, both parties just know.

Some nations don’t have the nation pet, but instead either found a mythical creature or own regular pets that will eventually die.

America – A big black shaggy dog. Allen has owned Makwa since he was a small child. No matter where he went Makwa would follow. This mini mammoth is very protective of Allen and has bitten Oliver many times. This dog has even followed Allen into war zones. Their bond is as deep as man and dog can go.

He is Allen’s best friend and more often than not the wall he bounces off of. Whether he is venting, planning, or just sleepy mumbling, Allen takes the time to talk to Makwa.

England – Flying Chocolate Bunny (FCB) and Flying Strawberry Bunny (FSB). These mythical evil bunnies are downright monsters. Unlike his 1p that has only one, Oliver has two. Both nations discovered their bunny allies together, but instead of taking just one. Oliver decided to take two. They were found when the nations were about 150 yrs old.

Since mythical creatures have longer lifespans, they aren’t nation pets and die much later than an average pet.

FCB has red beady eyes and is the color of dark chocolate. His wings are shaped more like raptor’s wings and have a white chocolate underside to his wings. FCB often twitches and drools and looks like he is about to eat the nearest piece of flesh. He is known for being wilder and more chaotic, he does some of the dirty work for Oliver by getting physically involved. Scratching and biting Oliver’s victims, slowly driving them mad by wounds made from an unseen force.

FSB on the other hand is much sweeter. She is a light red with small yellow spots. Her wings look like a swan's, and have a light green underwing. Her eyes are small beady and green. FSB looks like a toy rabbit, small and fluffy. She is Oliver’s eyes and ears. She spies on whomever Oliver asks her to and takes the time to ensure that Oliver has whatever information that he needs. When Oliver had many colonies she was the one sent to spy on them. She is quick and knows how to use magic to shorten her fly time.

Oliver loves his bunnies and feeds them a lot of cupcakes and meat. He spoils them with fancy beds and toys. Though he does expect them to earn their keep with various tasks given by him.

Canada – A big white polar bear. Kuma is Canada’s oldest frenemy, over the years they have traded blows and saved each other. The amount of trust these two have is unrivaled by any other nation and their pets. Kuma has been with Canada since he was about a week old. Kuma is a typical adult polar bear with a scar across his left shoulder and it splits his fur.

Canada’s scars on his chest come from Kuma. They got really intense in a fight one day and came at each other for blood. That same fight gave Kuma his scar. Both winded up extremely wounded and ignored each other for a week before making up.

Over the years Kuma mostly follows Matt’s orders. But occasionally Kuma acts like a brat and ignores Canada. Kuma has his own little house outside that Canada built, but he also has a huge mat on the floor inside Matt’s cabin.

Japan – Koi. Like it’s been said before, Japan likes koi. They are beautiful and he owns many. He has been keeping them since he was physically about 12 years old. He has a pond that connects to a tank within his home. It is a huge tank that has all the proper fixings that allow for a comfortable space for his fish.

He invests heavily in the industry and always checks the farms himself when he has the time. Many family farms know of Kurai, at least a fake name he puts out, and newer farms hope to receive his blessings. His name carries a lot of respect and honor for the koi industry and those that don’t meet his standards close shop quickly.

Every so often he will enter his koi in contests. He loves to know that his are the best and has many ribbons from the past ones he has either won or come close to winning.

Germany – A small brown tabby. Luther loves his tiny kitty and spends many a nap with this little baby on his lap. His little tabby is called Winzig and her name is literally her size. Winzig was found by Luther one night after making his way home after a night of drinking about a year ago. She was small and hiding under a box by his apartment. In his drunken stupor, he picked up the kitten without thinking and brought her home. She is actually his third cat.

There were two others he had owned in the past. His first was a calico that was named Schnurrhaare (Whisker). She was very aloof, but they too napped together often. She sadly died in the year 1901. His second cat Axel came to him about 1950 and was a gift from his boss. Axel was a big Mainecoon that looked like a burnt cookie. He acted more like a dog than a cat and Luther loved him. They played fetch together.

None of Luther’s cats have been a true nation pet. So, each one has passed, Winzig is still young and very lively so she has a while still with Luther. Though the other two, Luther has kept their collars and buried them behind his father’s house. He leaves little bits of string on their graves for them.

Rome – This old man had a lion. Not just any lion, the extinct European lion. Mars was the name of this old boy and Rome had him from the time he was a child. At first, Mars was unsure about Rome and chased him. Over time the two became close. Mars didn’t have a huge mane it was more of a gentle fluff around his head and down his chest. His body and head were covered in scars. Mars was known to have a light pale coated rather than the deep dusty color of many of his brethren. He had a regal air about him and Rome cherished his lion a lot.

When Rome passed Mars lived on, but not much longer than Rome. He lived about 5 years while being taken care of by Luciano. Mars being old then, didn’t do much and seemed to enjoy the calm final years that Luciano offered him. He got a bigger and cooler grave than his master did.

Prussia – Alvin is an old destrier and looks like a Percheron. Lightly colored with dark grey boots and muzzle. Alvin has been with Wil since he was born, this stocky little foal just showed up outside and has been with him ever since. Alvin has been Wil’s first pick of steed into every battle that used horses and Alvin like his owner is brave and loyal.

Both master and pet love spending nights together riding through the woods. Prussia gives Alvin lots of training and treats. They are so close that more often than not spend many afternoons together. Alvin is also trained for various horse competitions.

Spain – So we all know this man owns a bull. Idiota is special to Armando even though he won't admit it. When Armando is tending to his fields Idiota is there giving a presentation of an old friend. Many believe that Idiota is a nation pet because of how long he has lived and Spain agrees. As much as he gets angry at his bull being stupid he could never bring himself to part with the bull.

The centuries of being petty with each other make it interesting to both parties. Though in times of danger both have each other's backs. Once during a siege when Spain was young, Idiota was all that stood between him and Rome. Though despite losing, it took Rome impaling the bull and beheading it to keep it from defending a young Spaniard.

Netherland – He has a snake. It’s a simple grass snake that often hangs out with him at home. He loves his little snake and named him Hazel. He says his snake looks like a Hazel. Baas and Hazel go on many adventures when the weather is ok for Hazel. He takes him to the store, to meetings with his boss, and other places. They spend lots of time gathering info on people and just pulling pranks. Baas believes that Hazel enjoys it as much as his master.

Hazel has a huge terrarium with plenty of space, heating lights, and pools of water. It takes up a whole wall in Baas’ home. It also contains fish and other small creatures that make the tank self-sustaining.

Baas relates to his danger noodle; in that, he sees himself almost the same as his snake. Both are hidden predators that take care of nasty rats. Which happens to relate to his favorite thing to do with Hazel, feed him.

Austria – A Greater Mouse-Eared Bat, I mean what could be better for him. Austria found Krampus around Christmas time when he heard some noises coming from his attic. Krampus had found his way into the attic and freaked out trying to get out. This caused a tear in his wing, and Austria being surprised by this tiny nightmare.

Austria feeling the spirit of Christmas was compassionate and took care of the bat. First, he forced his way into a vet clinic and had his little Krampus looked at. Krampus's huge tear would heal, but it makes it difficult for him to fly again. That was the vet’s opinion and then went off to call a sanctuary to come and collect the bat. Well, Jon didn’t like that and ran off with Krampus.

Since then Jon has done a lot to ensure his little friend was becoming better. Eventually, the wing healed, but not well enough for flying. So Jon has a little bat that can glide short distances and has a little cave in his home. Krampus gets all the proper nutrition and cleanings.

Though shortly after bringing Krampus home, Jon did call Matt. Matt had some words for Jon when he found out what he did.

Switzerland – This man loves goat cheese, so obviously he wanted goats. He and his 1p own a small herd together that they both manage. Vash does most of the physical labor while Hans makes them look good for competition and takes care of their papers.

They are all Swiss breeds and earn their keep by giving milk. They have a great life with all the latest things for goat care. Hans even personally watches the new items get installed to ensure that it is done right and that his goats are given something nice.

Hans pets them often and coos to them as he does. He keeps plenty of treats on hand, to the point all the herd runs toward him wanting treats.

Iceland – Mr. Puffin or Puff as Iceland calls him. This is puffin is nothing like his gangster 1p. He wears a small top hat and monocle. He is much more gentlemanly and often speaks about how Iceland could be better behaved. He often says things like stand straight, address the lady with respect, and so on. Unlike most nations and their pets growing up at the same rate, Puff was an adult when he met baby Iceland. Which concerned 2p Norway, because he could have been some kind of monster trying to destroy his new colony. One of the few times Norway showed concern for Iceland.

Though being the typical expectation for nation pets, Iceland loves Puff. They spend time together going about and causing havoc and attempting to win Norway’s attention. Though Puff still tells Iceland that there are better things to do than pursue Norway, but Iceland wants his brother’s love and acceptance.

Puff does his best to keep Iceland under control and professional, but he fails often. Though he refuses to give up and rather would keep on taking care of his young ward.

#2p hetalia #2p headcanons #2p america #2p canada #2p england #2p switzerland #2p iceland #2p netherlands #2p austria #2p spain #2p rome #2p prussia #2p germany #2p japan #2p pets

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

thoughts on a centaur au? Jask is a Buck and Geralt is probably one of those Draft horses! maybe when jask goes to Kaer Morhen they are fascinated with Jasks' antlers and Lambert hangs shit on them like Lil'Bleater or bowls

This ask made me do some happy wiggles of excitement because centaurs!! I adore your idea of Lambert hanging things on Jaskier’s antlers and we’ll get there, but first, I think a bit of tension is needed :D

The forest was overrun with men who hunted indiscriminately. Jaskier had been avoiding them y climbing higher and higher up the mountain he had always been warned away from. But he figured that nothing the mountain hid could be worse than what the humans were doing. At least, he thought that while it was daylight and he had energy. Now thought, it was dark, getting cold and Jaskier was hungry. He hadn’t had the chance to grab provisions as he had fled, an arrow glancing off his side, leaving a sluggishly bleeding gouge. Around him, the trees had stopped being large and welcoming with the sun peeking through them. Instead, they loomed menacingly, hiding any number of evil threats.

Exhausted, Jaskier couldn’t go on any longer. He found a small clearing next to the path, haphazardly gathered up a few armfuls of leaves for a makeshift nest and curled up as small as he could, hoping none of the howling creatures would stumble upon him. Sleep, no matter how tired he was, didn’t come easy. Every small snap of twig had Jaskier flinching, trying to listen out for anything prowling closer. Heart fluttering in his chest, Jaskier tried to calm himself yet he didn’t dare even hum to soothe his worries.

He was so caught up in calming his heart and stopping his trembling, Jaskier missed the soft fall of heavy hooves.

“You sure have strayed far from your patch, little buck,” a deep voice all but growled and Jaskier was up, legs buckling nervously as he looked up at the new arrival. He was big, taller and broader than Jaskier. “What brings you to our territory?”

Our?! Jaskier’s breath hitched as he twisted and saw that two more similarly built centaurs had materialised from between the trees. He was surrounded, outnumbered and outclassed. If he had been less exhausted and not injured, Jaskier might have been able to outrun them but, in his current state, he couldn’t even slip past them in all likelihood.

“I was hoping for a quiet, peaceful night in relative safety,” he managed to spit back, wit and tongue still as sharp as ever even if his body wasn’t.

Eyes glinted in the dark, positively predatory. Worse, moonlight filtered through the trees and Jaskier caught sight of scars littering torsos and faces. There was nothing friendly or reassuring about the new arrivals. What Jaskier didn’t expect was a low rumble of laughter.

“You won’t find that here.” And Jaskier didn’t think he could have heard anything less friendly. He braced to make a break for it, willing to risk his all because the only other option was to stay put and die.

“Stop being mean, Lambert,” the one behind Jaskier sounded amused and a lot closer than he was a minute ago. Jaskier whirled around, head tipped down to at least look like his antlers could do some damage if he was pushed. “Relax, little buck, we mean no harm. Could smell your blood and merely came to investigate.”

A hand merrily smacked Jaskier’s rump and he bucked, kicking out and skittering away, colliding into a firm chest with a squeak.

“That was mean, Lambert,” the chest rumbled under Jaskier as hands helped right him. “Go check the traps and pick up our bundles. We’re done for tonight and heading back. Eskel, take the rear.”

The one who was evidently called Eskel grumbled something under his breath about them not being bleeding hearted softies but he still moved as told, offering Jaskier a small half smile.

“Apologies about our herd. Brutish but well meaning. Come back to our home, we’ll tend to your wounds and you’ll be free to go whenever you want. We’ll even give you some food for whatever journey it is you’re obviously embarked on.”

Options were slim pickings and Jaskier could either go with them or run. He was too tired to run though so he allowed himself to be led up the mountain. The path was difficult, he delicately stepped over larger cracks and holes in the ground that the others seemingly avoided naturally, like it was a habit of theirs.

Sooner than expected, they were outside a giant, sprawling keep. Parts of it were crumbling away but a good portion of it appeared to be well maintained.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” the leader said, opening the doors.

“Geralt, what is the meaning of this?” Another large centaur asked, standing opposite the open door. In the flickering light of torches, Jaskier could see they were all draft horses but heavily scarred as if, rather than working in haulage, they fought for their keep.

“A stray. Found him just before the Forktail’s Pass.” Turning to Jaskier, Geralt smiled. “This is Vesemir.”

Vesemir looked about as welcoming as a pit filled with hungry wolves and when Jaskier was ushered past him, he tried to give the old and grizzly centaur a wide berth.

“Let’s have a look at your side then I’ll show you to bedroom.” Geralt said, ushering Jaskier into a room that looked like an infirmary. “Though Eskel’s usually better at healing.”

“Damn right I am,” a voice joined them and Eskel walked in. He should have looked so much more frightening in the light, what with scars marring his face and arms. Yet all Jaskier could see was someone who had a lot of pain in his past.

His side was gently prodded, cleaned and a light bandage was wrapped around it. All while Eskel was doing that, Geralt was silent in a corner and occasionally staring at Jaskier. Or rather, his antlers.

The bedroom Jaskier was shown to was basic but functional. Most importantly, is had a lock on the inside. Though what it would achieve was a mystery when any of the inhabitants of the old keep could probably very easily kick through the wood of the door. It didn’t stop Jaskier feeling a little better as he slid the lock into place. Exhausted, he pulled the knitted throws and pelts into a nest and curled up, leaning against the rest, pulling it away from the wall a little to make room for his antlers.

In the morning, Jaskier was disoriented and still tired. His stomach was actually hurting with hunger so, fighting down the worry, he opened the bedroom door and did his best to strut towards the sound of quiet murmurs and the smell of food. All chatter came to an abrupt stop as Jaskier all but pranced in. His rescuers were still terrifying but at least Jaskier didn’t think they were going to slaughter him immediately. At least, the pelts he’d slept on were all predator ones.

“Good morning my handsome heroes,” Jaskier forced a smile. Eyes followed his every step but nobody moved until Geralt cleared his throat.

“Help yourself to food.”

Permission granted, Jaskier helped himself, piling a plate high with food and trotting to the table. He could pretend this was normal, that he belonged, was one of the giants who lived here. Four sets of eyes were trained on him as he ate and he ignored them in favour of taking a bite and lauding the chef with a happy moan.

His hosts never stopped looking at him, sneaking glances even when they tried to get back to their own meal. Plates empty, it was Geralt who offered him a small smile.

“Shall I show you round?”

If Jaskier hadn’t had antlers, he was certain Geralt would have offered him an arm to guide him. However, too close, Jaskier had to turn his head so he didn’t take Geralt’s eyes out. They had stopped in the courtyard when Geralt finally mustered up some courage.

“May I?” His hands were raised towards Jaskier, reaching for his antlers.

“Of course!” Jaskier even dipped his head to allow it, appreciating how gentle and soft Geralt had been on their impromptu tour. “I shed them once a year. Probably due to do it in a few weeks.”

A wicked smirk split Geralt’s lips wide. “I have an idea.”

There was a general fascination with Jaskier’s antlers amongst the others. While Geralt asked for permission to touch them, Eskel only looked at them surreptitiously. Lambert, on the other hand, was on a mission to be secretive and mischievous. The first time Jaskier ended up with a sausage on his antlers, he thought he’d had a mishap at breakfast and thought nothing of it.

However, the incidents kept up. There was a paper chain, carefully crafted that was draped to span his antlers after Jaskier woke from a nap. For the rest of the day, he proudly wore it, suspecting Lambert was the culprit behind the draping. Though the crafting of the chain was much more the kind of thing Eskel would do. It became a game after that, Jaskier noticed. While the others worked tirelessly to keep their keep and surrounding lands safe and their gardens free of pests, they needed some downtime. Which was where Jaskier seemed to fill a hole in their lives. Singing and bringing a splash of colour and art into their lives, Jaskier was reluctant to leave. Especially when Geralt invited him to late evening walks through Vesemir’s rose garden. It was all incredibly sweet.

As sweet as it was, Jaskier was a bit outraged when he woke up to see Lambert hightailing it out of the room and half the kitchen hung on his antlers, clanging bad enough to make Jaskier jump which only dislodged more pots, adding to the noise.

His antlers had been itching for a few days and Jaskier longed to find a good tree to rub against. Instead, he got to ask Geralt to rub the bases for him.

“Payback is going to be so sweet,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier nodded. The antlers were a little loose. All he needed was something a little heavier on them and they’d likely fall. “I’ll encourage him.”

Sure enough, when Jaskier was pretending to snooze the next afternoon, Lambert appeared with Eskel’s prized goat. It was a sweet, placid thing, Jaskier quite liked Li’l Bleater. He watched as Lambert approached and hefted the goat up. The weight of a happy goat settled on Jaskier’s antlers and there was a small snicker from Lambert. Eskel rounded the corner and he froze at the sight. Which was the exact moment there was a crack and one of the antler fell.

Lambert caught Li’l Bleater before he could fall but there was horror on his face as he watched Jaskier’s antler on the floor.

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuckity fuck.” Lambert backed away and even Eskel looked too stunned to do anything.

Pretending to wake up, Jaskier shuffled around and froze when he so obviously caught sight of his antler. Raising a hand, he patted where the antler had been and, with his best acting skills, looked up at Lambert with devastation in his eyes.

“What have you done to me?”

There was a shriek and Lambert crashed into Eskel as he tried to run away. They stumbled, legs tangling and Vesemir came running to see what the upheaval was.

Jaskier was already doubled over laughing and, from the other side of the room, he could hear Geralt hooting.

“I broke the buck!” Lambert cried. “I broke him.”

Vesemir took one look at the scene, stomped over to cuff Lambert on the back of the head and turned to give Jaskier the same treatment.

“Idiots. The lot of you.” However, his eyes strayed to the antler on the floor. “You got use for that?”

“It’s yours, parental figure of the herd,” Jaskier leaned down to pick the antler up and offered it to Vesemir.

“You’ll do,” Vesemir snorted and took the antler, much more gently than Jaskier had expected. “You know your way round already. Stay as long as your heart desires. And maybe ask Geralt about his heart too.”

He gracefully ignored the snickering comment from Lambert about getting the old breeding block out. Though Eskel did cuff him on the back of the head for good measure. Jaskier had never felt more at home or more accepted. He decided he could easily spend several seasons at Kaer Morhen, seeing if it could truly become the home he’d craved all his life.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #centaur au #long post #tldr: buck jaskier finds a home with the draft horse witchers of kaer morhen

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Note

I would absolutely love to see what happens if Knight Din witnesses Reader accidentally injurying herself. 🥺

AHhh yes omg! I love me some hurt/comfort! It’s in my top three favorite tropes. So I hope I delivered well, lol.

Slip up

Knight!Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k ( i have no self control. I’m sorry)

Warnings: Blood, Injurys (not graphic), terrible medical practices, soft Din.

You knew you should have gotten the fence gate fixed when it had broken all those months ago. But at the moment, it didn’t seem like that big of an issue. It still did its job well enough, it kept the chickens and goats in the yard, and that’s all it needed to do right? So, you just chose to ignore the dangerously sharp piece of metal jutting out from the sodden gate, in favor of convenience, Today, however, the choice seemed to have caught up to you.

The first snow had fallen overnight, and you woke up this morning to your father running about trying to keep the house warm all while instructing you to check on the animals. He kept muttering about how Genevieve would have his head if he let her favorite egg-laying hen die from the cold. You had held back a chuckle at his words, knowing they’re true. Genevieve often came over to buy your extra eggs for her bakery, claiming that your hens laid the “biggest and tastiest eggs around!” - how she could tell that you weren’t sure. So, you abide by your father’s request and headed outside.

It was frighteningly cold, and you pulled your coat tighter around you as you trudged over to the overhang on the side of the house to grab a bail of hay to spread in the hen house. You went about the usual routine for the animals when it was cold and were satisfied to see that none of your chickens or goats were in bad shape. Just a little cold and hungry for breakfast.

You were just spreading the last of the chicken feed when you heard a familiar voice call your name. You turned around to see Din pulling up in his horse, a bright smile on his face as he waved at you. A smile matching his own burst onto your face and you set the bucket of feed on the ground before walking quickly over to the gate to meet him.

You reached the edge of the yard, and without thinking you grabbed onto the top of the gate to push it out of the way...at the same time your foot connected with a patch of ice on the ground. Your feet are taken out from under you as you slip on the slippery patch of ground, and you instinctively brace on the gate. Your hand slides off of its place and glides painfully across the jagged piece of metal jutting out of the wooden gate. A sharp gasp slips from your throat as hit the ground, and Din rushes over to you, concern etched onto his features when he sees the blooming patch of red spreading in the snow beneath your hand.

“Your hurt,” he says as he gently helps you to your feet once more.

You cradle your injured hand, in your free one and watch as crimson drips from your palm onto the bright white snow below you, and you whimper slightly, “I knew I should have gotten that gate fixed months ago,” you gripe, as Din leads you over to your house, “Now look what I’ve gone and done. It will be weeks before I can use my hand properly again...what about all the work I have piled up? There’s a festival coming up soon, and the queen needs another gown, and now I can’t -”

“Hey,” Din’s soothing baritone cuts you off, when he sits you down at the table in your kitchen, “You don’t need to think about that right now,” he tells you, “Can I take a look at your hand?”

You sniffle slightly and nod, holding your hand out for him and watching as he gently takes your hand in his own. You watch as he slowly uncurls your fingers from your palm, pausing when you flinch, and continuing only when you give him a small nod. He looks quickly over the wound and hums low in his chest.

“It actually doesn’t look bad, it’s not deep. You won’t even need stitches,” he tells you warmly, before he looks around the room, “Do you have any medicinal supplies?”

Your eyes widen at his words and you shake your head, “You don’t have to do this Din,” you tell him, “I can take care of this on my own.”

He looks at you with a slightly teasing gleam in his eye and stands, “What kind of knight would I be if I left a lady all alone after she injured herself?” he asks playfully before his eyes soften and he kneels down in front of you once more, “Please let me help you.”

You sigh, unable to resist him when he looks at you that way, and you point into the kitchen, “There are some supplies in the cabinet to the far left,” you tell him softly.

He nods, telling you he will be right back before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear him shuffle around for a few moments before he returns with several items in his hands. He sets down a few bottles and containers on the table, a few strips of cloth bandages, a bowl of water, and a clean rag. He pulls a chair up so he is sitting in front of you and dips the rag in the water before taking your hand gently in his own. His hands are strikingly warm compared to your own cold ones, and you can’t help the way that your face heats up as he begins to slowly clean the blood away from your wound. You have seen this man fight other knights twice his size and unseat men from their horses with grace and ease. So, to witness him being so gentle and caring sends a warm feeling to your chest. Neither of you speaks as Din tends to your injury, both of you afraid to break this slightly intimate moment between you two. You are only sitting a hair’s breadth away from your knight, the curls on his head moving slightly with each breath you take. You can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves as if he were a human furnace himself. The moment is only broken when Din begins to spread an herb salve over the cut, causing you to hiss and jerk away instinctively.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes instantly, taking your hand back in his own, “I just have to wrap it, and then I’ll be done.”

You nod and give him a small smile, “It’s alright Din,” you whisper.

Din takes the cloth bandages and quickly wraps them, once, twice, three times before neatly tying it off with a small knot. He then turns your hand over and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles before taking it away from his lips. Your hand is still in his and he runs his thumb soothingly across the back of it as he looks at you, eyes sparkling with reverence as he does so.

You give him a smile and cover his hand with your free one, “Thank you, Din, you didn’t have to do that.”

He shakes his head and gives your hand a gentle squeeze, careful not to hurt your injury, “No need to thank me.”

You look away from him for a moment, your head turning with what to say before you finally turn shyly back to him, “Would you…” you trail off, your courage waning slightly before you force yourself to continue, “I still need to finish the chores with the animals, and with my hand, I don’t know if I can -”

“I would be delighted to assist you,” he interrupts, voice eager despite his best efforts not to appear so.

You smile and nod, standing from your chair and he does the same, “If you don’t have any other duties to attend to today, you are also more than welcome to stay for dinner later.”

You feel your face flush as you realize what your words could mean and you rush to explain, “But only if you want too, you by no means have to feel that you-”

Din stops you before you reach the door to your house and he turns you to face him. He smiles at you before he reaches up and pulls his scarf from his neck and begins to gently wrap it around your shoulders. He takes your hand in his once more and places another soft kiss to your knuckles.

“I would love nothing more,” he assures you, eyes brights and cheeks slightly flushed.

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips as you open the door and you both walk back over to the yard, hand in hand. At this moment, you are suddenly happy you never got that gate fixed.

*Usernames bolded and crossed out means I couldn’t tag you. Make sure you are visible in your blog settings.*

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#pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #The mandalorian #Pedro pascal #Mandalorian x reader #knight Din AU #Knight Din x reader #Knight AU #Din Djarin

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geraniumsandheliotropes · 3 years

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Fic Recs

As always send love to the authors

Hades

are you tired, because you’ve been running through the labyrinth of my heart for so long by juurensha

Asterius wasn’t sure why his half-sister’s ex kept coming to his gym and tagging him in workout pictures afterwards, but he wasn’t complaining; it helped him keep track of their shared workouts.

It was a little weird that these pictures were all of Theseus shirtless and sweaty, but that was how good workouts usually ended.

Bullfighting for Fun and Profit by technically_direct

Asterius wasn't expecting to run into his sister's ex, period. He definitely wasn't expecting to run into the guy from the opposite side of the ring, for a ten-round cage fight.

God of Blood by NohaIjiachi

In the end, Hades decided to stop questioning as long as the boy was being fed and growing healthy… Even if he had very many questions, the most prominent of which being: What was his son?

But even that would go unanswered, he was sure, and the burning curiosity ended up falling in the background of his many responsibilities. In the end, it didn’t really matter, and Nyx had a point: redbloods died, they would continuously die, and blood would never come to lack for Zagreus to be nourished.

Eventually, even the vague unsettling sensation one could feel upon watching the baby happily consume liters of the thing would come to pass.

Witcher

Sweetheart by inexplicifics

Aiden eyes the man fidgeting in front of the desk a little warily. He’s a big man, redheaded and muscular and with a couple of rather remarkable scars and a redoubtable scowl; he looks, in short, like trouble. If he asks for the fiercest dog they have, Aiden’s kicking him right out.

A Beginners Guide to Exploiting the Kaedweni Tax Code For Fun and Profit by Heronfem

Aiden Kett and Lambert Wilkson accidentally get married, and this is honestly probably the least of their problems.

Featuring, in no particular order: technically not tax fraud from a legal standpoint but definitely tax fraud from an emotional standpoint, gender noncompliance, what do you mean you're moving in together, Geralt of Rivia as a professional horse girl, goats, an egregious amount of snark, a lot of take out food, licensed monster management in leather pants, Aiden's massive competency kink, found family, a great deal of love in the face of mental health struggles, and kittens.

Maybe no one in this family had a good childhood, but they'll be damned if they won't fight for a happily ever after.

Avatar the Last Airbender

Cause and Effect by azenki

"And your name is?" "Sokka." The Phoenix King smiles down at him. "No. Not anymore."

Or: Aang and Katara get trapped in the Spirit World. Sokka launches a rescue mission. It does not end well.

(Otherwise known as that Spirited Away AU. The first two parts of this series don't need to be read.)

that's murder, buddy by egeria

Throughout the streets, on quiet nights, it was rumored the screams of those missing could be heard. Some say the sounds were coming from underground.

Where were the young girls? And what was happening to them? Was an evil spirit haunting Gaoling, or something more human? More sinister?

My name is Zuko, and you’re tuning into another episode of ‘That’s Murder, Buddy’.

Or: Sokka has no idea that his crush is the host of his favorite podcast. (But everyone else knows.)

Again and Again by bip2

After Aang is killed by Ozai, the world is thrown out of balance. Dying from the lightning wound that Azula gave him, Zuko is sent back in time to fix things.

He wakes up the night before his first Agni Kai, and every time he dies the loop resets.

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something-very-special · 3 years

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they ran over the seals

More Replicant playthrough observations and general nonsense under the cut. For reference, up to the keystone quest; completed the Forest of Myth and Junk Heap.

This fucking game I swear to god.

A vaguely coherent ramble about sidequests An observation about sidequests in general in this game -- and I don't recall if I ever voiced this somewhere public or it was just a personal observation from my time with the original -- is that the quests in the first half of the game are all relatively easy to complete. There's that one asshat who wants 10 goat hides, but other than him, most of the sidequests are either very much based on finding characters, or gathering a sensible number of items that are either relatively common, purchasable, or given a guaranteed spawn for the duration of that quest.

The sidequests everybody remembers having to do are in the second half, where everybody is demanding and awful and I'm sorry ten MACHINE OILS do you know how goddamn rare those are? They're goddamn rare.

(We'll not discuss Life in the Sands.)

This is generally agreed to, in the technical vernacular, 'suck'. And it's always funny that the most interesting sidequests are the ones with very minimal requirements (Yonah's cooking, getting Popola drunk, the Lighthouse Ladoh my god everything's gone blurry I'm not crying you're crying who am I kidding we're both crying). That particular aspect of the design also feels intentional, not really gating your ability to progress the really meaningful or funny sidequests behind an unreasonable number of rare items. The other aspect of the design is that these quests are not meant to be completed in a single playthrough; most of them are single-stage and just absolutely unreasonable, but if you're going through the game four times you have a... reasonable chance of getting everything you need more or less naturally.

Nobody does that but I think that was the intended design. I think it's a good idea, although the execution of expectation is flawed so I don't really blame people for saying those sidequests suck. (Although I will in turn blame people for saying the sidequests suck as a blanket statement. Yeah getting that guy who burned his kitchen down a billion Broken Motors is aggravating but did you not find that old man's dog? Speak to Ursula on her death bed? Solve a murder? Then again I think tracking down that rotten son who's trying to get away from The Family Business only to learn his father is a con-artist and get literally no reward is the height of comedy so maybe I'm not the greatest point of reference.)

But that asshole in Facade can get bent. I can't exploit my garden properly, jackass! I am no longer a god of time. (I kid, of course.) (This guys sucks even when you can fix your clock.)

Forest of Myth It didn't even occur to me to wonder how they would incorporate the comprehensive voice acting into the Forest of Myth. I like how it plays out, although I wish the voices maybe had a fade as you went deeper into the dream instead of just cutting out at some point, especially for the lines where the characters are being ascribed actions by the narrator that they themselves aren't doing near the start of the Deathdream. But it's just delightful to go back to it. The second half of the game really sticks in your mind both for emotional reasons and because you play it at least three times per full playthrough of the game, but the first half is just so much fun.

Protip: Talk to everybody after you've finished the dream sidequest. Weiss tries to dissuade you. Don't let him dissuade you. I'm still delighted by the Mayor; "We're building a statue of you, made of solid gold. I know you don't own a horse, but we're going to put you on a horse."

I forgot about Yonah being a disaster chef Papa Nier's reaction to the stew is better. Brother is still funny but Papa Nier just expecting to die is comedy gold.

For anybody curious, the joke about the cakes is that Yonah made 'fruit cake' using some of the worst possible fruits for cake-making. If only she'd thrown a tomato into the mix, too.

Lighthouse Lady Every time. what the fuck is a canal I'm aware of the addition of the new-old content but it didn't occur to me until Popola suddenly starts nattering on about fixing the canal when I'm expecting Yonah to talk about a penpal that oh, yeah, I guess Seafront would have had something going on the first half that would play into the second half? (I assume it does. Be weird to introduce these characters just to have groundwork for an added sidequest. ...but it was a cute sidequest.) But look Popola my boy is supposed to be in the next area I visit could we-- I mean he's on the way could we just-- no-- fiiiiiiiiiine. (It was short and sweet, though, and I appreciate that the couple's love is exemplified by them both calling Weiss a floating magazine in tandem.) On a related note but was I the only person suddenly concerned when the sidequest completion maxed out at 50% and not 51%? I had to double-check with a guide just to make sure, since I've spent the last decade telling people to make sure you hit 51% before going on to Part II.

MY BOY I love that nowadays, Emil is everybody's son. But I really wish I could go find somebody only familiar with Automata and just watch their reaction. (I'm guessing there are streams out there that fulfill this but man I'd love to get it in-person.) If you're only familiar with him from Automata this has to be a mindfuck.

Personal anecdote, but I've had the privilege of playing NIER with somebody else almost every time I've gone through it. I had a wonderful experience of doing a replay some years back with somebody who had experienced it with me before but didn't have the most solid memory of the beginning (and had actually missed the entire weapon's lab the first time through). I get to the boy at the piano introducing himself and the 'Wait, what?' was a thing of beauty.

MY ANDROID This was a welcome mindfuck for me; finding Sebastian and having him 'reactivate' in such an unnatural, mechanical way. I don't recall if it was ever officially confirmed that Sebastian is an android (I know that it's just understood that this is the case but I'm not I can't recall a specific one) but the little flair they added to his animation caught me completely off guard. I liked it!

Destroying the food source A lot of people will cite a major inciting incident for the game as being when the protagonist heading back into the village and killing the child Shades just outside the entrance. This moment is such a great bit of subtle foreshadowing that's so easy to miss... but kind of joining that, just before the Knave of Hearts attacks, I realized that the Shades out on the Northern Plains are clearly ramping up for an assault of their own by murdering the sheep. The sheep population at this point is decimated (which is great when you realize you haven't gotten the Sheepslayer trophy and you're about to enter Part II and you don't know if the boar drifting minigame got carried forward with the inclusion of 15 Nightmares). You go out onto the Plains and you will find not only small clusters of sheep left behind instead of the vast, terrifying herds from the start of the game, but until you get their attention the Shades are prioritizing killing the sheep. (Also annoying because that doesn't count toward my sheep murder number.) The Shades will be out there also killing sheep earlier on, but since the whole map is in Overcast mode after talking to Yonah it's especially prevalent to go out to the Northern Plains and seeing the slaughter. And I realized-- they're cutting the Village off from a primary food source. Shades don't eat and they don't have any beef with the local ungulates (at least, no more so than anybody else does), so why are they hunting down the sheep? To deprive their enemies of resources. Sheep are extinct by the timeskip. It's actually really clever of them, and a really clever indication of their sentience and intelligence before it's fully verified.

"Let's get these shit-hogs!" Everything about the way Kaine and Emil interact across the entire game is perfect I will brook no argument this is objective fact.

Emotive Rectangles I wrote an essay about this before but it really bears repeating that the job the original animators did with this scene is just phenomenal. The way Weiss drifts, flits, flips, fans his pages, drunkenly swerves, shoots around the room in defiance... He's a goddamn rectangle, but there is so much emotion and personality in this scene just based on the movements conveyed through a what is effectively just a box. Ten years later and triple-A titles with full facial capture don't have this much seething personality. I really have to give props to the cavia animators, wherever they wound up. That studio could really put some subtle love and care into their titles, utterly unnecessary and easy to miss but you can tell that whoever was working on it was giving it their all. The books are probably the exemplification of this, but every time I go into Seafront and visit the seals I can tell that the guy on seal duty was having just the best day. They made Emil so pretty There's an FMV cutscene right smack in the middle of the original game after the battle against Noir. I understand why it was a necessity on a technical level, but it always looked pretty out of place and a little uncanny valley compared to the rest of the graphical fidelity. That's no longer a necessity so this cutscene is rendered in-engine. I admit I was actually curious to see it redone this way and it looks fantastic. I single out Emil since he is the focal point of cutscene and because his particular high-poly model had some pretty weird difference from his in-engine model, but he and Kaine both look great. But, like, it's almost mean how pretty he is.

They made Brother Nier so pretty Yeah okay you got me he's kind of hot. Kaine's expression when she wakes up and looks him over is... significantly easier to read now. Good voice, too. (Ancient rumors tell that one of the issues with international releases of RepliCant was that they couldn't find an English VA with a voice that 'fit' Brother Nier. He sounded good out the gate but hearing him growl "Let's go TAKE CARE of those KIDS" during the thief sidequest-- I got chills. It sounds so silly but there's a kind of percolating fury to that delivery. Papa Nier was like frustrated but mostly disappointed dad; I felt like Brother was going to take care of those kids, and nobody was going to find the bodies. Younger Brother Nier just never stops looking goofy to me but Older Brother just looks great in motion, between the alterations they made to the movement and just the entire weaponry system. The distinction between the two halves of the game was always a little odd in the Gestalt version-- not odd enough to really raise eyebrows if you didn't know about RepliCant, but of course you can tell that this age gape between the optimistic doe-eyed dogooder and a man largely ruled by his fury and calloused by tragedy is what the timeskip was going for. Swab me down and call me Ishmael, it works. Younger Brother wasn't quite clicking with me-- not because of any writing or voicework issues, but I've got Papa Nier on the back of my mind and it's impossible not to compare and contrast the delivery and dialogue between the two. I know that this is intentional, too; Younger Brother is supposed to be that happy-go-lucky video game protagonist, always doing the right thing and helping people, in order to contrast against the man he becomes. Even just edging into Part II the effect is dramatic and it recontextualizes Younger Brother into a much more effective overall character. And let me reiterate, I enjoyed my time with Younger Brother just fine, I have no issues with him. But he's up against Well Meaning Big Dummy Part I Papa Nier. No contest. And I'm excited to see where Older Brother goes from here.

Speaking of voices I mentioned this before but the delivery on the character's lines is different. The entire game was re-recorded and quite a few lines are still pretty similar to the original, but there are some that are... definitely different. Part of this is a difference in the relationship between characters based on their life experience and ages-- Weiss is much more of an ass to Younger Brother but has a much more even respect for Older Brother (neither of which are like the rapport he established with Father). Some of Kaine's lines feel more aloof, dismissive, and almost tired in the front half of the game. I haven't really gotten to a point to dig into Emil's rapport with the other characters, but the delivery feels more hesitant and uncertain (which I think is more in line with his Japanese VO, but I'm prefacing that on an untrained ear and a presumption rather than recent memory). It's been interesting to see not just where hey adjusted dialogue (and how-- there are some lines that didn't need to be rewritten), but also how they adjust tone and delivery. Dealing with Younger Brother is one thing, but as I said, I'm very excited to see what's different in the second half, especially being much more familiar with that part of the game. Speaking of Voices! Halua got dialogue! I... preferred when it was inferred (and the implications of "I'll always be watching over you" are borderline malicious given the results of their fusion dance, yeah THANK YOU HALUA this is GREAT). Halua's delivery also felt a little too innocent and upbeat both for the situation and when compared to her narrative voice in The Stone Flower, where she comes across as much more cynical and cold. But given what she's been through and the nightmare she's finally escaping I guess she's allowed express happiness. She's certainly earned the right to having a spoken line. No matter what. Every fuckin' time.

"Here we go." This was always a great line to kind of ease in to the officially-official start of Part II-- every time you start up a New Game+ you're greeted with Emil musing about his conflation of Halua to Kaine, and then the phrase "Here we go". There's a lot in that one line. On a personal level he's grounding his thoughts in the moment and steeling himself for what comes next and pushing through his pain and sadness and fear. Whatever Nier told him in the facility he's still terrified, desperately terrified, that Kaine -- who was the one who told him his life had meaning -- is going to reject him. And why wouldn't she? Ultimately they don't know each other, not really. He understands at that moment that his relationship with Kaine is based on confused memories of his sister, that maybe the bond he thought they established isn't actually real. As soon as he frees Kaine he's going to have to confront her, like this, and how could she ever-- she won't-- but he can't just leave her. Whatever happens next. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. (God it matters.) "Here we go." On a meta level, that's our introduction into the second half of the game. The first half is all prologue. This is where we'll be spending the rest of our time, even to the point that 'New Game+' skips straight ahead to this moment. Now that we've finished the establishment, this is where it all builds and where it all matters. Here we go, audience. The ride starts now. You get up to this point now in Replicant. You get the same lead-in. My dumb ass even whispered "Here we go", because I can't help myself. And he says, of course he says--! "Anyway." ... ...a-anyway? What the hell kind of line is that? "Here's some deeply personal musings that are also an indication of my own discomfort as I babble to myself just to fill the void so I can stave off thinking for just a few more seconds. ANYWAY." What a... bizarre decision. Just bizarre.

Upgraded melee combat The introduction to the armored Shades always feel kind of rough-- the defenses on those Shades are significantly higher than anything you've faced and the new weapons you're given to combat them just aren't that good. (If you got lucky you could have a fully-upgraded Faith by now, which is nearly three times as powerful as the 'heavy' two-handed sword you're given; if you downloaded the 4 YoRHa pack for Replicant you've probably been able to upgrade one of those weapons once, which are also a really nice strength boost that leaves the freebie heavy swords and spears in the dust). As an introduction to the new weapon types it always feels like rough going. But then you get a chance to get decent weapons and the combat system truly opens up, and compared to the first game you really feel it. At this juncture I would always just bustle off to Facade and grab the Phoenix Spear and never look back-- the raw power compared to the rest of your arsenal coupled with the triangle dash is basically the bread and butter of the rest of the game. It's not exciting, but it's effective. No more triangle dashing, which was deeply disappointing... but both weapons definitely feel good. I am also somewhat ashamed to admit that it wasn't until now that I realized attacks weren't just about rhythmic input-- you can hold the attacks down to do different charged hits and combos depending on when you execute them in your combo, similar to Automata. I, uh... I felt a bit dumb. But hey, wow, it's a welcome adjustment and it makes all of the weapon types feel equally valuable for different purposes. I never liked using the heavy blades in the original release because they just felt too slow for the damage output they did, even if their 'point' was mostly to sheer off armor (and they definitely felt too slow for use in crowd control). Now they're still heavy and slower, but not to the point that you're basically leaving yourself open just trying to attack. Spears now do crazy sweeping combos and multi-hits. Both of these properties were borrowed from Automata and I find myself prioritizing melee combat and almost forgetting I have magic because honestly it just feels intuitive and fun. I feel like Kaine and Emil might have gotten a power boost as well? Not that I can really confirm this but going into some of the Junk Heap rooms I'd focus on killing a few robots in the corner and then turn around and just see a field of item drops and no more robots. Don't take my word on that, of course, but they felt a little more effective, and a placebo effect is still an effect. "You're staging a protest? That's fun!" Emil. Rebel without a cause. Will not hesitate to kill you if you trespass on his property. (Might explain the statues in the courtyard, actually.) I'll have to double-check this dialogue because I definitely remember more of a melancholia before we get to roasting marshmallows. I think Papa Nier actually offers to talk to/implicitly threaten the villagers to let them in the Village whereas Brother offers to sleep outside with them... which is actually kind of funny. In the former it comes off as Emil and Kaine maybe kinda-sorta not wanting to be allowed in the Village for their own reasons (they're not happy reasons but they're reasons nonetheless) and reassuring Father that no, it's okay, it's fun! The latter is almost telling Brother to stay inside because he'll ruin their sleepover.

(They're absolutely having giggly girl talk about him outside the gates, 100%.) they ran over the seals All I want in Seafront is to enjoy the music and run out to the big beach and hang out with the last living seals and they put a fucking pirate ship on top of them. Oh, wow. Gideon. Wow. OG Nier featured a Gideon that tried to keep himself together and then had fits of mania. You'd be concerned about him during some of the dialogue but generally speaking he came across as... functional. The delivery on all of his lines is now so insanely murder bonkers, like every line he's addressing you like you're already chained to the wall of his serial killer dungeon and it's glorious. I don't know if the distinction between the games is deliberate (in that Gideon in Gestalt was just more even-keeled between his 'rip 'em apart' snarlings and was always just totally nutso in RepliCant) but I do appreciate it. It's a good mirror to Brother Nier's own anger, which only ever seems to be mollified when he's talking to his friends (even kindly accepting sidequests there's a pretty consistent -- not universal, but consistent -- air of barely-bridled frustration). The other characters that Brother encounters are various reflections of himself if things had just been a little different-- Gideon was a representation of the kind of obsessive madness that would have eaten Brother alive if he hadn't had his network of support. Gideon's constant fury and bloodlust even bleeds into him just saying "What can I do for you?" He has no anchor to keep himself sane, nobody to stay human for; he's all mania, all anger, and he only takes any real interest in Brother on his return because he sees an opportunity to act out his vengeance. After defeating Beepy and Kalil he even goes so far as to not only blame Beepy for killing Jakob, but for also killing their mother, which is patently insane but really speaks to how far his justifications and fury have taken him. Papa Nier responds to his anger toward Beepy by basically backing away slowly and saying "Oookay then". Brother, however, actually commiserates; "That's enough. [...] We get it. We really do." This is definitely one of those moments where Brother's context works better than Father's; he absolutely sees himself in Gideon. He completely understands him and sympathizes. He recognizes the madness of his own quest, he sees where it could take him, and there's a resignation when he speaks to Weiss: "Revenge is a fool's errand." "...yeah." Papa Nier has a similar delivery and similarly implies that he understands how terrible his quest is, but there's something decidedly haunting in Brother's sympathy. Also just verifying something on the wiki and this bit of 'Trivia' really jumped at me:

Gideon is the only character to only cause the deaths of other characters. In his case, he caused a platform to crush Jakob and ordered the deaths of P-33 and Kalil, with P-33 surviving.

Metal AF.

#NieR #NieR Replicant #Rambling #He will always say 'here we go' in my heart #And that's probably a serious medical condition

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