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tenjikyu · 6 months

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𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 - 𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘬𝘪 - 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ really angsty with some fluff at the end , male!reader throughout the entire series .

PART I • PART III • GENSHIN M.LIST

tag list :@wanderchive @wanderer-baizhu-simp @gimmealamp @mis-disaster @remi-appalace @lucianidealz @sleepdeprivedpotato @unemiart @heejinsong @kiiyoooo @sweett-heartzz @camryn-ciel67 @aruaruaru @danika-redgrave124 @ravencalamity @snowcatlove @bunbunboysworld

it’s been awhile since diluc had seen his little brother’s face, and from the moment he stepped into the manor he knew something was up.

he noticed it in your eyes, the colour dimmed down and that childlike glint lost into the depths of your coloured iris’. he saw your eyebags, weighing down your once flawless skin. he noticed your attitude, expecting a big hug and questions of his wearabouts, however he received nothing more then a harsh glare and a quiet “i’m going out, see ya”, not even sparing him a second glance. you just walked out the door, not a care for his presence.

what a familiar sight that was, only the brothers roles had been reversed. just how much had he fucked up, and what was left of yourself to apologise to?

you laid your head on the young bards thighs, his fingers dancing upon his lyre with a gentle breeze forming in the winds. your tears stained your cheeks, however you made no attempt to wipe them, as a soft white feather came down before your fingers could reach and wiped them away for you.

“what should i do barbatos? i’m lost” you whispered gently, the gods ears picking up every word as your lips moved.

lord barbatos knew the answer, however he knew you may not take his answer lightly. you were only getting colder, showing even less signs that your old self was still present in your husk of a body.

for now though, his thin fingers would continue to caress your head, stroke your hair and keep you close. for now, he would do his best to stand in as your light in the dark, your safe place.

lord barbatos knew, deep down in his soul, that you weren’t just unhappy, you were utterly shattered and no amount of apologies, gifts or explanations could repair what your brothers had caused you.

for now though, he wants you to just continue holding onto whatever you can of your sanity.

you wandered aimlessly around the streets of mondstadt, dragging your shoes against the pavement and sulking to yourself. the lingering numbness that never left your side since that fateful day was a lot more rowdy then usual, thumping in your stomach. how much longer should the gods make you suffer like this? how many tears will you shed on that bards shoulder until you finally feel at ease? how many times do you have to push away diluc before he takes the hint that he can’t fix this??

making your way back home to the manor, you dreaded what awaited you.

it was the same thing every time you made it home.

diluc would be sitting in the dining room chair, mulling over how to approach you. he’d give you an apologetic smile, open up his arms.

and you’d shove him away, just like every other night.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T CHECK IN ON (Y/N)?! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING SINCE I LEFT YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL” diluc’s voice boomed through the dawn winery.

“I WAS SCARED DILUC! I WAS TERRIFIED YOUD DISOWN HIM, JUST AS I WAS!” kaeya had fought back.

that shut diluc down, and so kaeya continued.

“ YOU UP AND LEFT HIM JUST AS MUCH AS I DID, DONT YOU DARE MAKE ME THE SOLE PERSON TO BLAME. WE BOTH FUCKED UP MAJORLY AND NOW THERES NO FIXING IT! YOU SAID IT YOURSELF EARLIER, HE WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH EITHER OF US ANYMORE” kaeya sobbed, salty tears soaked his cheeks and dropped onto the wood floors of the tavern.

both of them fell silent upon heading a third party enter the tavern…

“ he left.” was all venti spoke.

it was only just above a whisper, red strains in his eyes indicating tears had recently filled his vision not long beforehand.

“i didn’t stop him, he just picked up a bag, said his goodbyes to me and headed towards liyue. my best guess? he’s either headed towards inazuma to be as far away from this mess that you both have created, or he’s headed towards fontaine using liyues route, as an attempt to throw the both of you off his track.”

and then, the sounds of the dieties shoes exited the tavern.

the two contrasting brothers could only stare in utter disbelief at the bards words, but then,

they ran.

almost in sync with eachother they raced towards the manor i’m a rush unlike any other they had ran.

kaeya had never run so fast and diluc had never felt so ill. both of them could only pray to the gods above that there would be some form of evidence of your whereabouts once they arrived back at the manor.

and they were completely out of luck.

your bedroom had been destroyed beyond repair. diluc hadn’t entered your bedroom once since his return, in hopes to give you as much privacy as possible and kaeya hadn’t even entered the place since the fight.

your bedsheets were mauled, almost as if a boar had trampled on them. your clothes were everywhere, only your staple clothes seemed to no longer be in the room. notes upon notes with incomprehensible writings but obviously very emotional statements were scattered around them. your walls had marks and scratches from furniture denting them, plates and cutlery were stacked on your desk and finally,

you. you were gone.

for the first time 3 years, diluc held his brother as he broke down in your bedrooms floor, his own body suddenly to heavy for his legs to withstand.

and unfortunately for them, it would be a long time before they ever got to see you again.

you had finally made it to the entrance of the court of fontaine, only your bag in hand as well as a melusine next to you, guiding you to your new home that you had purchased with some of the mora you.. obtained while back in mondstadt.

“here it is! this apartment unit has been on the market for awhile considering it’s price! i’m surprised a foreigner was the one to claim it! all the furniture is already in the house, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. here’s the keys!” the ever so kind melusine handed to you.

not having the heart to be rude to such a sweet creature, you gave her a gentle smile and she skipped away. with a deep breath, you decided to head into your house..

or you tried to, anyways.

“hello there good sir! it’s lovely to meet you! we live close by and thought we’d introduce ourselves.” the hyperactive man in front of you spoke.

sighing to yourself internally, you decide it’s better to start off on a good foot over a bad foot when it came to your neighbours.

“my name is lyney, and this is my lovely twin sister lynette! we have a younger brother too, however he is currently out diving at the moment, so he couldn’t be here to greet you. both my sister and i would love to have you come to one of our shows that we’re performing in two days time! here’s a free ticket.” he winks to you, handing you a ticket, lyneys (seemingly reserved) sister only sighed at his antics.

“thank you.” you you muttered. “now may i please enter my house? i’d like to see it” you say with a.. slightly irritated tone, however neither of them payed much mind to it.

“of course, mon chéri! but only if you let us in for tea” he once again winked at you with a sly smile.

you knew should have just shut the door in his face when you had the opportunity…

#genshin #genshin x male reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x male reader #sibling hcs #angst #family hcs #male reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya x male reader #diluc x reader #diluc x male reader #some more venti bc he’s the reason i got into genshin and i love him to bits #lyney and lynette #lyney x reader #lyney x male reader #lynette

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dragonstoners · 2 months

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𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 | 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

18+ | Minors DO NOT INTERACT | Ageless blogs will be blocked

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: aemond targaryen x reader

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: canon-typical misogyny, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, toxic relationships

𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: f!reader, noble!reader, obsessive!aemond, toxic!aemond

⁃ it starts off strange, naturally. aemond’s way of showing interest is like a game of cyvasse, where you don’t know you’re playing until you’re losing.

⁃ he begins by throwing words like daggers, seeing which ones will stick, as well as which ones will miss. “courtesy is often the cloak of deceit,” he says one day as you pass by, eyes sharp, challenging you to disagree. you’re left pondering his intentions, unsure if this is disdain or a warning. you're not even sure he knows your name, but he's got his eye on you, that much is clear.

⁃ all of his tests are subtle at first, almost imperceptible… at least to everyone else. during a meeting including your house, he undercuts your suggestions with a smirk, “is that the best wisdom we can muster?” making you doubt your voice, your place. yet, when others join in the critique, his dissent stops, a silent barrier against the tide.

⁃ he starts to frequent areas of the red keep you're known to visit, under the guise of random meanderings or pressing royal duties. his presence is always pronounced, a storm cloud in a serene sky, yet he never directly acknowledges you unless absolutely necessary. when he does speak to you, his words are a mix of backhanded compliments and critiques designed to unsettle, to pull your attention and push you away all at once.

⁃ he tests the waters with questions that cut close to bone, speaking in riddles of his kin and house, gauging your reaction below a veneer of idle curiosity. "and what do you say of the whispers about my brother?" he asks, his gaze sharp, searching, every one of your words and expressions a stone in the foundation of this game he’s you’re both playing.

⁃ he’s watching, always, from the corners of rooms, from across courtyards, his gaze a heavy thing. you start to feel it, the weight of his attention, in every place you go. “you seem to find yourself in my path quite often,” he remarks, a statement that makes it seem less like coincidence and more like an invisible thread pulling you into his orbit.

⁃ at a court event, a bard mishandles a tale of your house’s valour, rendering it comically rather than heroic. while others laugh, aemond's eyes find yours across the room, his gaze sharp and assessing. later, you hear the bard has been given a generous sum to leave king's landing — and the realization that aemond might have been defending your honour, in his own convoluted way, leaves you bewildered.

⁃ only next, he's once again all about putting you in the spotlight for the wrong reasons. during a dinner, he casually asks if you truly believe in the tales of old valyria, making your opinion sound naive in front of everyone. it's like he enjoys seeing you squirm, but when you catch his gaze, there’s something else there, maybe respect?

⁃ after a particularly sharp exchange, you wander the quieter halls of the red keep, mulling over aemond’s pointed remarks. “is loyalty not our greatest virtue?” had left his lips with a smirk. his words had a sting, intended for you in a room full of eyes and whispers. it wasn’t just the comment but the public questioning of your loyalty that left a bitter taste. it’s the solitude afterwards that weighs heavily, making you question where the line between loyalty and a noose truly lies.

⁃ then, when you're about ready to write him off as a typical targaryen prince, toying with you for amusement and not much different from his elder brother, small things begin to happen. a finely-made bone comb appears amongst your things, no note, nothing to indicate it’s origins. it's truly beautiful, haunting almost. none of your household maids know where it has come from. you do not think about it again, until your maid casually notes the comb is in fact made of dragon-bone whilst she brushes out your hair one evening, and your heart drops.

⁃ when news reaches you of a lord questioning your place at court behind your back, nothing comes of it. no confrontation, no public defence. however, the lord's aspirations wither as if touched by frost; his allies turn away, his influence ebbs, and he is left to the cold mercy of court politics. you never explicitly see aemond act, but the timing is enough for you to know he is responsible.

⁃ the cloak follows, materialising on a chilly evening, draped over your chair, with no explanation. the craftsmanship is impeccable, finer than anything you’ve ever owned. it’s the colours that give him away – shimmering greenish blue with bronze detailing adorning the hood, unmistakably the colours of vhagar, etched into your memory from watching in wonder as aemond took her to the skies above the keep. when he sees you wrapped in the cloak, his smirk is a tell. "gevie," he mumbles, almost begrudgingly, before he’s speaking with a nearby lord as if you do not exist. (later, you discover he had said beautiful in high valyrian, after hours upon hours of scouring language books in the library.)

⁃ when you confront him about it later, his only response is a cryptic, “it suits you,” his eye glinting with something like satisfaction. the ambiguity of the comb was one thing, but the cloak is a statement. he sees it, you wearing it, as an unspoken acceptance of his claim, a mark of his territory, even if only known to him, and now you.

⁃ but even with the dragon-bone comb brushing along your scalp and the cloak wrapping you in its warmth, aemond’s tests don’t cease. they become more direct, more challenging. he questions your judgments, pushes you to defend your beliefs, each instance a gauntlet thrown at your feet. “prove me wrong,” he dares, and every time you rise to the challenge, it feels like a victory and a defeat, all at once.

⁃ his kinder actions aside, he's still a storm, a dragon at heart, unpredictable and restless. one moment, he's pushing you away with a cutting remark about how easily charmed you are by shiny things, the next, he's singling out anyone who dares speak lowly of you, though he'd never admit it's defence.

⁃ at a small gathering in the courtyard, a long-standing court noble sidles up to you, their voice low and laced with mock concern. “he’s got his eye on you, hasn’t he?” the words linger, unsettling in their ambiguity and specificity. you pause, the realization that your identity is becoming entwined with aemond’s reputation unsettling you. aemond has never hinted at any interest directly, nor publicly, yet his actions speak volumes, and, you realise in that moment, it’s not solely obvious to you anymore. soon after the incident, you find out that same noble has suddenly, unexpectedly, and without formal reason, returned to the seat of their house.

⁃ his idea of openly flirting with you? challenging you to a horse race when he falls into stride with you during a royal hunting trip in the kingswood, under the guise of proving your recklessness. "i believed you too fragile, my lady," he teases, goading you into proving him wrong once again. his singular attention on you, which is no longer lost on the court, is both infuriating and exciting.

⁃ challenging aemond becomes an unexpected thrill, not only during a ride but over a map of disputed borders laid out in the council chamber. “might there be room for diplomacy?” you suggest, the words hanging boldly between you. his look is sharp, a mix of annoyance and something vaguely resembling admiration. it’s a small victory, asserting your voice amidst the power plays of court.

⁃ at a feast, when you catch him observing from across the room, there’s a moment where the world narrows to just the two of you. later, as he escorts you to the far-side of the keep to your quarters (with his kingsguard and your maid as chaperones) he openly negs you about your taste in music, literature, the arts, but always in a way that demands a response, a defense. it’s exhausting, exhilarating, maddening.

⁃ the tension between public perception and private truths comes to a head when a rumor reaches you about aemond defending your honour in your absence, against a council member nonetheless, stirring a complex mix of emotions. confronting him leads to a terse exchange, “i can defend myself” you start, watching his reaction closely. his reply is noncommittal, a shrug that does little to clarify his intentions, leaving you to question the nature of his interest. it’s this dance of half-truths and veiled motivations that keeps you wary, even as court intrigue pulls you deeper.

⁃ but within weeks, at a ball, his behaviour is so uncharacteristic of his typical self-seriousness that it has prince aegon downright gleeful in his amusement, and queen alicent looks as if she’s seen a ghost. aemond is seen drinking, whispering with others, occasionally even laughing. however, his eye never strays far from you, always positioning himself where he could get to you if he so pleased. he dances and flirts with a handful of ladies other than you, but each step seems a performance, deliberate and pointed. later, he privately comments on how predictable such events are, subtly relishing in your sulky expression and stiff responses.

⁃ jealousy becomes a tool after that, a sharpened blade wielded with precision, but only ever at you. he’s seen in the company of the most eligible ladies of the court, only to cast them aside with a cold indifference as you approach. "mere court games," he scoffs when you question it, but the message is clear, and the music, testing the lengths of your interest.

⁃ if your gaze lingers on another, noble or common-born, their fortune subtly wanes and they suddenly seem… less. aemond doesn't openly compete; still, pieces move, fall and retreat in a carefully woven net of doubts and second guesses, a whisper here, a look there, enough to make rivals for your affection run for cover without a word spoken against them.

⁃ more gifts arrive, still with no indication of their sender, but layered with meaning; a book on war strategy with passages underlined and notes in the margin, a brooch echoing both the targaryen and hightower sigil, as well as a sapphire necklace that you do not understand the connection of, yet – each gift a tangible tether to him. aemond does not react when he sees you with his gifts, except for looking vaguely pleased with himself, which is hardly out of the ordinary. however, his grandsire otto does a double-take as you pass him in the hall whilst wearing the sapphire one, and soon after queen alicent is personally inviting you to ladies luncheons and visits to the sept with her pious entourage, rarely accepting your attempts to decline.

⁃ suddenly, your opinions, your insights become valuable to aemond. "what would you do?" he asks at point blank, unexpectedly. he is not simply testing your loyalty or competence anymore, but also making you a co-conspirator in his plans, a shared counsel that blurs the line between advisor and confidante, drawing you deeper into his web.

⁃ there are also more guards being stationed in the spaces you regularly inhabit, silent sentinels who only seem to materialise with your presence. a guard, often enough a kingsguard, is seemingly always readily available to escort you to wherever you wish to go, whenever you wish to go. that in itself is a privilege few ladies are afforded, if not a confirmation that this newfound surveillance protection is aemond’s doing.

⁃ even if you pretend not to, you don’t miss the way select servants follow you from one of your duties to the next under the pretence of cleaning spotless floors. more concerning are the shadows and faint footsteps that you notice on occasion. a silent assertion of his presence in your life, protective yet possessive. it’s there in the corridors you walk, the gardens you frequent, a reminder of his reach, his interest, a silent witness to your virtue and a deterrent to your vices.

⁃ the isolation comes gradually. “they do not see you, not truly,” aemond whispers during a stolen moment, his surprisingly warm fingers grazing your cheek. these days, he casts doubt on the intentions of those around you, proudly and indiscriminately. it’s a not-so subtle tug away from the crowd, toward him, towards his house, towards the brewing civil war, and the frightening thing is, it works. he had spun a web, complex and suffocating, around you deftly, and you had not seen the delicate strands until it was too late; you find yourself seeking his company, his approval, even as you bristle at his methods.

⁃ so when he corners you under the cover of moonlight, asking, “what is it you want?” it feels like the culmination of a long, intricate dance. it’s a challenge, a confession, a turning point. his question isn’t just about desire; it’s about allegiance, about choosing sides in a game you never agreed to play. the gifts, the challenges, the protection, the whispers, the barbed words — all of it binds you to him in a way that’s impossible to ignore. and you realise, with a mix of dread and fascination, that you’re too entangled to simply walk away.

𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘 © do not copy, repost or translate my works without my permission

thank you for reading – feedback and requests are welcome x

→ 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖆 𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 🕊️

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x noble!reader

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archie-sunshine · 1 month

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Gonna get a bit obscure (had to check to make sure you hadn't drawn them)

Trailbreaker perchance?? Bard type character (with his drinking...habits)

Also shocked no ones asked for the classic villains like Galvatron, Tarn+DJD, or Overlord

YOU DONT HAVE TO DO ALL OF THEM just some bbgs to consider <33

I'm not gonna do the WHOLE djd (though there is a request for kaon im still mulling over) but heres tarn at least!! I have a thing for putting him in furs, i just think it suits him...

he kinda.... looks pretty similar to normal, i feel like he already kinda looks knight esque in mtmte

#archie answers #transformers #my art #my requests #mtmte #knightformers #tarn

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mlm-writer · 6 months

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Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic

Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl.

You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy.

Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound.

“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire.

Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave.

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked.

When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”

Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night.

Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you.

When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.”

Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you.

The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin.

Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency.

Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one.

Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself.

“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!”

He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que.

Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared.

His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer.

“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny.

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

#gender neutral reader #male reader #the witcher #the witcher s3 #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x male reader #geralt x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher fic #dandelion #jaskier #milva

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shy-urban-hobbit · 8 months

Text

Care to go up against me, Princess?"

Ciri looked over from where she'd been whacking seven shades out of the training dummy to where Lambert's cat, (' Aiden', her brain supplied), was leaning against the wall. She was sure he hadn't been there a minute ago.

"Why?" She asked warily, Geralt's warnings about cat Witchers coming to mind.

Aiden shrugged, "Everyone else is busy and I'm bored. Vesemir gave me the okay to oversee your training for the day. Would go and bother Lambert but learnt the hard way not to do that when he's playing with his bombs. It gets messy, and not in a fun way."

Jaskier, who had been sat bundled up by a brazier watching (read: babysitting. Ciri wasn't stupid), snorted a laugh.

"You can tell me to piss off and I can see about trading with Eskel or Coen. I won't be offended" Aiden offered with an open smile. He'd recognised Vesemir's olive branch straight away but he wasn't about to use it to make the young cub uncomfortable.

She looked between him and Jaskier, the bard merely shrugging as Ciri mulled it over. He couldn't possibly be that bad if Vesemir had allowed him to stay and with Jaskier sat right there and Eskel just in the stables, she wasn't technically alone with him…

"Alright. But just a quick spar."

Aiden's smile grew.

"Don't be afraid to move." Aiden said, leaning on his wooden training sword, Ciri stood bent double as she heaved for breath, aching and frustrated from the multiple hits Aiden had managed to land on her whilst she'd barely touched him, "You keep coming at me full frontal like that you're basically painting a target on yourself. It became predictable, which means it became dangerous."

Ciri straightened up indignantly, "The wolves are always telling me-"

"No offence to the wolves." Aiden interrupted gently, "But they're all over six feet tall and built like brick shithouses. Brute strength and stubbornness works for them. They can take the hits and keep on coming. You, unfortunately, are a bit more breakable." He very lightly poked her in the belly with the end of his sword, "But you're also small and fast. Use that."

He tilted his head thoughtfully, "If you like, I can show you some basics from my school that might benefit you."

"You mean how to fight dirty?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them. To her relief (and confusion) though, Aiden merely laughed in response.

"Is it fighting dirty if it's against something trying to kill you? And out of the two of us, which one has more bruises right now?"

He replaced the training sword and picked up the coat he'd discarded earlier, shaking the snow free, "Again you're free to say no, but the offer stands. You too, if you like." He said looking towards Jaskier, or more specifically, the small dagger at his belt as he made to leave, "I'm curious if you can actually use that."

"Wait."

Aiden stopped, waiting for Ciri to continue.

"Learning a couple of things couldn't hurt. Could it?"

Geralt smiled as he made his way back through the gates. The sun has almost set and with how treacherous the mountain could be, he knew the sensible thing would have been to hunker down and make his way back in the morning but after three days, he was too eager to see both his bard and his girl. His excitement was short-lived as the sight that greeted him at the other end of the courtyard had him immediately seeing red. Jaskier sprawled on his ass on the ground, Aiden with his back to Geralt but he spotted a very familiar head of blonde hair peeping over his shoulder as Ciri appeared to be struggling in his hold. the pommel of a sword in the hand which wasn't restraining her. Fucking bastard! He knew he should have given in and allowed the two of them to accompany him on the hunting trip!

Abandoning Roach and the game she was carrying, Geralt unsheathed his sword and charged.

"Aiden!"

Jaskier's yell came a second too late as he realised what Geralt was intending. Witcher reflexes meant Aiden was able to move quickly to drop the sword and shove Ciri away from him but not quickly enough to avoid a blow to his shoulder as the white haired Witcher roared furiously, "Get the fuck away from them!"

Aiden immediately dropped to his knees, as he turned to face Geralt, trying to look as non threatening as possible with one hand pressed to his now bleeding shoulder.

"Geralt, no !"

"What the fuck, Geralt?!"

"What the hell is going on out here?" Eskel yelled as he emerged from the stables, nose wrinkling at the overwhelming mixed scents of anger, confusion and fear.

"Eskel. Go get Vesemir." Geralt growled, not taking his eyes off Aiden.

"No need." The Witcher in question appeared next to Jaskier, drawn out of the main hall by the sudden noise. He offered Jaskier a hand up as he took in the scene, "What is happening here?"

"I found the Cat threatening Ciri with a sword."

"You mean this sword?" Jaskier asked moving forward to pick up the wooden blade and waving it in Geralt's face, "We were training, nothing more."

"By whose leave?" Geralt demanded before turning to Eskel, "And you! Where the hell were you when they needed you!"

"Hey!" Eskel snapped, "I've been in the stables since they started this morning. You really think I wouldn't have intervened if I'd heard anything untoward? Which. I. Didn't. They were never in any danger."

" Aiden!" Lambert came running towards them, panicked by the scent of blood and the sight of Aiden on the ground, "What is your fucking problem!" He yelled, squaring up to Geralt, "The old man put him in charge of Ciri's training for the day, he wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to be!"

"Forgive me if I don't take you at your word given your attachment. I don't want Ciri learning anything from him. "

Aiden was marginally surprised that Geralt didn't spit on him for emphasis.

" Enough!" Vesemir barked in a tone he knew would immediately bring his pups to heel, "Everyone inside. Now! Eskel, take Ciri and help Coen in the kitchen. Lambert, see to Aiden. Geralt, with me."

Read the rest on my A03!

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert #aiden whump #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher jaskier #jaskier

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redlittlefoxari · 3 months

Text

To The Ends Of Faêrun: Chapter Sixteen: Something in the Air

This series is book two of a fanfic I have already written called Astarion Epilogue: An Adventure in Making Life

Master List Here for Books One, and Two

*List includes a prequel that is essentially one-shots of their adventures over the fifty years after the battle at the end of the game*

Warnings: Blood, Sex, Violence, NSFW 18+, Smut

Summary: Tav gets wrapped up in the Midwinter festival, Shadowhearts and Gale are drinking. While Astarion is hunting for dinner. But something is in the air.

Tav stood in the square just over the bridge leading to Moonrise towers. The distillery that once housed one of the most disgusting creatures she had ever seen in her life was now cleaned, polished, and in total working order again. Dozens of people poured in and out, looking for more than just the hot cider and mulled wine that lay on tables all over the square. They looked for spirits and conversation as the music from a traveling bard played and made casual conversation almost impossible. It’s not that they were terrible by any means; it was just that the volume at which they played their violin was a little grating on the ears.

Everyone had forgone their armor in lieu of some more casual clothes. Gale was inside the distillery giving an impromptu lecture to a few drunk bystanders dressed in a wool sweater and jacket. Shadowheart parked herself next to the cauldron of mulled wine and wore a long, fur-lined winter dress with an equally long jacket. Tav decided to go with something that allowed her to move freely just in case she needed to spring into action. She wore a long-sleeved red blouse and a pair of tight-fitting pants, her hair tied up in a ponytail to stay out of her eyes.

A gaggle of children ran by, Apple being among them as she ran with her new friends. Tav kept a watchful eye on her child as too much sugar had led Apple in the past to get overly excited, and that usually led her to bite. Halsin had made it a point to introduce Tav and Astarion to all of the parents and villagers he could, which helped alleviate some of the anxiety of letting her around strangers. They had found that what Halsin had said was true; everyone in the settlement was, as far as she could tell, of a sound mind. The only problem was a few angsty teenagers who weren’t even at the party at the moment. So the only thing Tav was worried about at the moment was Apple getting too excited on candied Apples or the dozens of other sugary drinks and food items and biting someone.

She looked around for Astarion, who was notably absent. He had told her that he was going to get something to eat, and that was almost an hour ago. Tav just chalked it up to animals being hard to come by because most were in hibernation. Or that he had to go further away from the settlement where people wouldn’t see him feed. Either way, Tav was starting to wonder where he was and if she needed to go out and look for him.

“How are you enjoying the party?” Halsin’s voice came from behind Tav, causing her to jump. “I’m sorry.” He grimaced. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay.” Tav placed her hand over her heart. “It’s hard to hear anything over that violin.”

“I’ve asked him to play softer a few times now, and it has fallen on deaf ears.” Halsin shook his head.

“Maybe that’s why he plays so loud.” Tav smiled. “They made themselves deaf.”

Halsin laughed, which caught the attention of a few people who were around, including the bard who shot the two of them a dirty look. “I think he knows we are talking about him.”

“At least people are talking about it.” Tav shrugged. “That’s all bards care about anyways.”

“Very true.” Halsin looked around. “Where is Astarion? Is he not with you?”

“He’s getting something to eat.” Tav touched her neck with two fingers.

“Ah, I should have guessed.” Halsin nodded. “I’ve noticed you haven’t left this spot all night.” He gave her an assessing stare. “Are you not enjoying the party?”

“No, I am…Well, as much as I can from here.” Tav’s eyes trailed after Apple. “I’m watching her.”

Halsin followed Tav’s line of sight to her daughter. “I told you everyone here will not harm her; they are good people; you even saw that yourself earlier.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.” Tav watched Apple grab a sweet roll. “Apple! Put that back!”

Apple dropped the roll and looked around to find Tav. “Sorry, mom!” She licked her fingers before running off with her friends again.

Tav blew out a sigh as she returned some of her attention back to Halsin. Leaving one eye on the dessert table. Halsin looked at her with sympathy as he started to understand why Tav needed to abstain from the night's events.

“When she has too much sugar, she gets excited; when she gets excited, she bites.” Tav said matter-of-factly. “You wouldn’t believe all the times we had to apologize and explain away why she bites.” Tav deflated. “But we found that if we limit her sugar intake, she doesn’t bite.”

“I see…” Halsin trailed off.

The two stood and watched everything that happened around them. People started to come out of the distillery and dance. Now, having enough liquor in their systems, the loud music didn’t bother them. Tav could only guess how many children were going to be born nine months from now due to their parent's drunken reverie, and it brought a sad smile to her lips. Tendrils of sorrow spread through her chest at the thought. She thought about it briefly and then pushed it away altogether. Not wanting to be put in a sour mood by her own mind.

Halsin assessed her before speaking. “Why don’t I keep an eye on little Apple for you the rest of the night?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Tav gave him her full attention. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your people.”

“You wouldn’t.” He placed his hands on her shoulders as he stepped in front of her. “I have already spoken to everyone I care to, and before I saw you, I was already on my way to play with the children in my bear form.”

“Are you sure?” Tav looked at him, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth.

“I’m sure!” Halsin turned Tav around and pushed her towards one of the many cauldrons of hot cider and mulled wine. “Now go! I will make sure Apple is taken care of and in bed at a reasonable hour.”

Tav turned her head slightly. “Just be sure she doesn’t eat too much! Oh, wait, I need to tell her to stop and drink some water; she's been running a lot.” Tav looked around for her daughter.

“I will let her know!” Halsin used his archdruid voice. “Now go!”

Tav moved towards where Shadowheart was seated and grabbed a cup. She looked at the two cauldrons filled with the available piping-hot liquids. Shdowheart was enjoying the mulled wine that was spiced with cinnamon, orange peels, and cranberries already deep in her cups as Tav noted the red glow of her cheeks. Tav decided that she should still have her wits about her and grabbed the ladle that belonged to the non-alcoholic apple cider.

“You’re not going to get drunk off of that one.” Shadowheart spoke just before taking a drink from her glass.

“I know.” Tav drank her cider and felt the heat course through her body. “I don’t want to get drunk in front of my child.”

“Oh right… For some reason, I keep forgetting you’re a mother.” Shadowheart looked around for Apple. “I need to come see her more… She is my favorite niece.”

“She’s your only niece,” Tav replied, rolling her eyes.

“Right, and that’s why she’s my favorite.” Shadowheart gave Tav a playful smile. “She is great; you know the two of you got lucky.”

“In more ways than I can count.” Tav looked at the crowd forming around the bard.

Drunken men and women tried their best to sing as the bard played, and none of them hitting the right notes. Tav took a long drink from her cider, warming her further as she hummed along to the song. The song was called The Beauty of Baldur’s Gate and told of the beautiful maiden who slew the absolute along with her righteous friends and saved all of Faerun from the Mind Flayer invasion. As far as songs about her went, it was one of Tav’s favorites.

Shadowheart looked at Tav. “Didn’t you and Astarion once enter a bard competition?”

“UGH!” Tav growned at the question. “No, he entered me in the contest to catch a man who was killing the local bards.” Tav turned her attention back to Shadowheart. “It turns out a bard slept with his wife and took it upon himself to eliminate all bards from the town.”

Tav remembered the day Astarion had burst through their room at the local inn they were staying at and proclaimed that she would be participating. After a long argument, Tav conceded to participating. They had planned to have Tav not actually sing but instead get access Backstage in hopes that the killer would strike. But one thing had led to another, and Tav had found herself on stage with the crowd calling for her to sing. Then another local bard started to play the flute, and something in her called for her to sing. All the while, Astarion took down the murderer from backstage, and Tav took first place.

“Didn’t you win?” Shadowheart raised an eyebrow in question.

“Only because the murderer had already killed all the best bards in town.” Tav downed the remains of her cup and turned to fill it again.

“Why don’t you go up and try your hat at getting the notes right.” Shadowheart gave Tav her best puppy dog eyes. “I’ve never heard you sing, and I would love to.”

Tav avoided her gaze and instead turned her attention back to the crowd surrounding the bard. They had moved on to another song, and the crowd had swelled to almost double what it had been only a few moments ago. Tav could barely see him as he continued to play host to the drunks around him. They still were having trouble finding the correct notes.

Just as Tav was about to head inside to find Gale, the bard stopped playing and shouted over the crowd. “Is there anyone out there who is not drunk and can carry a tune?” He jammed his finger in his ear. “I fear I will contract tone deafness if someone does not aid me soon.”

Tav started walking away past Shadowheart when she stood abruptly and grabbed Tav’s hand. Raising it high in the air. “My friend can offer you some aid!” She shouted.

Tav pulled her hand from Shadowheart's grip and got in her friend's face. “What are you doing?”

“Making you have a bit of fun.” Shadowheart swayed. “It’s Midwinter! Come on, live a little!”

The crowd parted as cheers started erupting from all around Tav. If she walked away now, it would look as if she was scared, which she wasn’t, nor was she afraid to stand in front of this crowd. She blew out a long, calming breath and walked up to the bard, who was looking at her expectantly.

“Hello, my lady; my name is Samuel Crestwind.” Samuel bowed. “And what name does a woman as fair as you go by?”

“Tav.” She looked around at the crowd, waiting patiently for the next song.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the same Tav that liberated this place of the shadow curse and save Baldur’s Gate?” Samuel asked in awe.

“The very same.” Tav looked away and blushed.

“Everyone!” Samuel addressed the crowd. “We don’t have any ordinary person before us! This is Tav, liberator of shadows and the legendary hero of Baldur’s Gate!”

The crowd cheered as Samuel made his announcement, and Tav’s blush deepened. She could feel a strange power surge from the crowd as they cheered. It felt almost as if she was gaining something from them. A strange form of magic, but just as she felt the strange tug, it was gone before could identify it.

“What songs do you know, Tav?” He gave her a flirtatious smile.

“Pretty much all the popular ones.” She gave him her best polite smile. “Just start playing, and if I don’t know it, I’ll make something up.”

“As you wish.” Samuel lifted his violin so that it rested on his left shoulder. “Let us see what you can do.

Tav swallowed, and Samuel started the first few notes of The Green Eyes of Mallistari. The song was about a human woodsman who had fallen in love with an elven woman, and they met under the full moon to state their love for one another. Tav rolled her eyes and took a deep breath before opening her mouth to serenade the crowd.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken Astarion far too long to find something to eat. As he crested the hill that bordered the settlement, the Midwinter party was already in full swing. The hunt wasn’t a complete bust, as he was able to find two squirrels and a raccoon. Not as good as other things he could be dining on, but they would do for the meantime.

A crowd of people surrounded a bard and his partner as the two danced and entertained the growing crowd. Concern gripped him as he continued into the square where he had left Tav two hours ago as he couldn’t find her anywhere.

Astarion looked over to see Shadowheart clapping. Her body turned around on the bench to watch the crowd better. He approached her to see if she knew where Tav went as he clocked Apple playing with a bear that he hoped was Halsin. As he approached Shadowheart, her face broke out into a wide smile. It made him uneasy as it gave him the aura that she knew something that he didn’t.

“There you are!” Shadowheart stayed seated. “Where have you been? You have missed one hell of a party.”

“I was getting something to eat.” Astarion continued to look around. “Have you seen Tav!?” He shouted over the noise of the bards and the crowd.

“I have seen her.” Shadowheart smiled into her cup as she took a drink.

“And where is she exactly?” Astarion didn’t have time to play games with her, not when Tav could be alone somewhere.

“Behind you.” Shadowheart leaned back against the table.

Astarion looked behind him and just found the crowd. “Are you saying she’s in that crowd?”

“More like the crowd is around her.” Shadowheart slurred as she spoke.

He turned back around and really listened to the voices that were going on around him. Beyond the sounds of the drunks cheering, there was a high, sweet voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. Not since the days when Apple needed to be sung to sleep, and although Astarion did his best, he was never able to hold a candle to the voice that Apple always asked for. He looked back at Shadowheart to confirm what he was thinking. All she did was nod; she didn’t need him to ask his question to know what he needed to know.

Astarion started to make his way through the crowd, pushing his way past dozens of men and women. All of them were not putting up a fight, as many of them were too drunk to know what was happening before he had passed them. As he got closer to the front of the crowd, Tav’s voice became clear and it was harder to deny that it was really her. It had taken Astarion hours to convince her to do the bard competition over fifty years ago, and she still fought tooth and nail to get out of it any way she could. The only logical explanation as to why she was doing it willingly now was that she must be shit-faced.

As he broke into the front of the crowd, he was shocked at what he saw. Tav’s curls cascaded over her shoulders in a waterfall of brown silk. She was glowing in the moonlight but not from any magic but her own sweat that glistened on her forehead and the parts of her chest he could see. A large smile accented her face as she sang and danced to the tune that some man playing the violin was fiddling away. Her face was red, and she was panting, which told Astarion that she had been doing this for quite some time.

The song ended, and she locked eyes with him. “Astarion!” She ran over to him, and as she did, she tried to catch her breath. “Did you find something to eat?”

“Yes…” Astarion looked into her eyes. “Tav, how much have you had to drink?”

“None.” Tav panted. “Shadowheart volunteered me to come up and sing.” She grabbed his hands and smiled. “And then the crowd started cheering, then the next thing I knew, I had sung six songs.”

She was positively glowing. The smile on her face beamed at him, and Astarion found himself staring back at her in awe, gravitating towards her like she had cast a spell on him. Tav was stunning, a vision of pure beauty as she looked into his eyes, and it felt as if she was the answer to everything he had ever asked for.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tav giggled before fear took over. “Is Apple okay?” She squeezed his hands. “Halsin said he was watching her! Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Halsin is doing a fine job entertaining her; it’s just…” Astarion trailed off as he released one of her hands and cupped her cheek with his now free hand. “You look radiant, my Darling.”

Tav leaned into his touch. “I’m sweaty, that’s probably why.”

“No.” Astarion stepped towards her, not caring that a horde of people surrounded them. “You put all the goddesses to shame with your beauty.”

Astarion leaned down and placed his lips to Tav’s. Her lips parted to give him full access to her mouth. She tasted like spiced Apples baked with cinnamon and cloves, whereas he tasted the iron of the animals he had just consumed. The crowd around them cheered, and some grumbled about how it wasn’t fair that pretty boys always got the bards. A different hunger grew in Astarion as he broke the kiss and saw the same hunger in Tav’s eyes.

“Come with me.” Astarion pulled Tav through the crowd.

Tav waved goodbye to Samuel, who shouted his dissatisfaction at Tav's departure. “Where are we going?”

“To feed each other mind, body, and soul.” Astarion started to make his way to the inn, Tav following not far behind as she held onto his hand.

Tag list:

@ofmyth-andmagicart @lunaredgrave @littlekidsteve @omnia--mea-mecum-porto @ayselluna @myreadingmanga123 @kismet-of-the-divine @nicalysm @justlilpeaches21 @five-salty-bitters @lenarosic88 @caydevakarian @supervrgnsokay-blog @ravenswritingroom @kalypsoox @foxiecelery @wisteriaofthegraves

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

Note

If you still want prompts, how about 2 for Geraskier? 💚💕

2. A casual touch on the shoulder to acknowledge them

Jaskier is sitting by the campfire, hunched over his lute as he mulls over a particularly tricky lyric, when he’s startled by the unexpected feeling of a hand brushing his shoulder. With a shriek, he startles and drops his lute. It’s not until a hand snaps out and seizes his lute before it can crash to the ground that he realizes that it’s not some ruffian who’s snuck up on him while he’s composing, but Geralt.

“Geralt!” Jaskier claps a hand over his chest. “You just scared the shit out of me! I didn’t know it was you!”

Holding Jaskier’s lute in one hand and an apple in the other, Geralt looks at him blankly. “Who else would it have been?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I was scared shitless.” Jaskier doesn’t point out that in the months they’ve been traveling together, Geralt has touched him a grand total of three times. Once was the punch that Jaskier can fully admit that he deserved. The second time was when he grabbed Jaskier’s arm to drag him away from a drowner who was about to snatch him while he bathed. The third time was to press a damp cloth over a gash in Jaskier’s arm left by a griffin. All three times, the contact was brief and businesslike, lasting mere seconds.

Jaskier gets the impression that Geralt doesn’t like being touched, which has been an adjustment. He’s used to exchanging casual touches with his friends and family—kissing his mother and sisters on the foreheads, picking up his nieces and nephews and spinning them around, throwing an arm around Essi’s shoulders, leaning against Valdo while they sit together. But every time Jaskier forgets himself and claps a hand on Geralt’s shoulder or picks a bit of grave hag out of his hair, the witcher looks like he’s just swallowed something sour.

Geralt snorts and holds out the apple. “Here. Your stomach has been growling for an hour.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinks and takes the apple. Now that he’s not entirely focused on his composition, a new version of Toss a Coin recounting Geralt’s heroic defeat of a wyvern, he can feel the hollowness of hunger in his belly. “Thank you, Geralt. That’s… very thoughtful.”

“Hm. All the rumbling is disturbing my meditating.”

“And me playing the lute isn’t?”

“Getting fucking used to that,” Geralt grumbles, handing Jaskier his lute, and turns away.

Jaskier finds himself grinning at Geralt’s back. “Does that mean you’re starting to like my music?”

All that gets him is another grumble, but Jaskier’s spirits aren’t dampened. Because this is the first time that Geralt has ever touched him just to touch him. It wasn’t much, just a simple hand on his shoulder. It certainly wasn’t the myriad ways he’s guiltily fantasized about Geralt touching him over the last few months. But it’s still the first sign the witcher has given that he’s starting to grow comfortable in Jaskier’s company. That someday, he might even like having Jaskier around.

“Thank you, my friend,” he calls.

“Not your friend,” Geralt says, as Jaskier expected him to. Ah well, progress is progress, no matter how slow.

Jaskier takes a bite of his apple. It’s the best thing he’s tasted in a long time.

24 Touches Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome @toapoet

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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karniss-bg3 · 7 months

Note

With all the talks about Kar'niss as a bard, I was wondering if you could write something with Tav and Kar'niss dancing together? (though I guess given how tall Kar'niss is, it might be difficult)

The air was thick with the aroma of burning wood from the nearby campfire. A blanket of stars spanned across the sky, twinkling from a far off distance. Tav had broken away from the group for some quiet time, wandering toward a nearby stream so they could bask in the crisp night air. Once they settled on the shore near the forest line they pulled out their violin from it’s case. They took time to tune the instrument, desiring a moment to play a pleasant tune for their pleasure. Tav sensed eyes on him from the nearby treeline, their head turning to see the familiar silhouette of a drider lingering between two trees.

“You’re welcome to join me if you��d like. I’m not opposed to the company,” Tav said.

Kar’niss froze once he realized he had been spotted, his hands clasped together to rub them in a nervous fashion. He emerged from the underbrush and wandered over to where Tav was seated, maintaining a small measure of distance.

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss asked, peering over their shoulder at the violin.

“Taking a moment while we have it. I haven’t had the chance to play for a bit, now seemed like a good time. Do you play any instruments?”

Kar’niss’ brows knit, mulling the question over. “We...used to. Don’t anymore.”

“Oh?” Tav perked up, interest piqued. “What instrument?”

“Violin, flute at times. Long time ago, doesn’t matter now.” Kar’niss waved a hand dismissively, turning his face away from Tav.

“Well, would you like to with me? A duet sounds fun. We have an extra violin in camp.”

Kar’niss scoffed and reared his head back as if insulted. “We cannot play anymore. We would ruin your music with our screeching.” Tav chuckled while pushing themselves up to stand. “I doubt that. Just give it a try. If you hate it then you aren’t obligated to continue. Please?” Tav leaned forward and boldly bat their eyelashes at the hesitant drider.

His cheeks puffed out with indignation. “Are they mocking us?”

“No, not at all. I’d just like to try something with you, that’s all.”

He growled under his breath, tapping a single leg against the ground while considering the proposal. “...Fine. One song only. If the instrument breaks it is not my problem.”

“Wonderful! I’d not worry much about the violin honestly. I think Astarion stole it from some merchant or another, won’t be much of a loss if it snaps. I’ll be back!”

Kar’niss watched Tav scurry back to camp to retrieve the item. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, his pedipalps trembled in place, betraying his anxiety for the performance soon to come. He’d not have to wait long. Tav had been swift in their retrieval of the instrument, they ran up to Kar’niss and held it up for him to take.

“Phew, there you go,” Tav panted, wiping a bit of sweat from their brow.

He lifted the violin and bowstring into his clawed hands, looking over each piece as if he’d been reunited with an old friend. It felt strange in his grasp and the jagged nature of his fingertips made either item a challenge to grip. Tav stood back and let him become adjusted to them, watching as he plucked a few strings to test their muted chords in succession. His nose wrinkled with some concern.

“What is it you wish to play?” Kar’niss asked.

“Have you heard of the waltz of the feywilds? It’s a bit complicated but it is one of my favorite songs.”

Kar’niss squinted and mulled over the request, his tongue darting out to swipe over his lips. “We are not certain. The title sounds familiar, it has been too long since I have played it.”

“Tell you what. I’ll start playing solo and if you catch the rhythm feel free to jump in as you wish. How does that sound?”

He hummed and nodded. “Very well.”

[Music]

Tav tucked the butt of the violin under their chin and rested the bow over the strings, straightening their posture. Kar’niss mirrored this, relearning the proper stance. It was a bit awkward as his chin now had an extra layer molded over top via the hardened chitin but he managed to adjust well enough. Tav positioned their fingers over the proper strings on the violin neck and began to play, a gentle melody rising from the instrument into the night air.

Kar’niss closed his eyes as Tav began to play, opting to focus with his pointed ears rather than his sight. He listened to the first notes of the song and honed in on it, digging deep into the recesses of his memory in search of something he’s heard before. It took him a moment but he soon willed himself to play the first note, sliding into Tav’s solo to turn it into a duet. At first he struggled, his fingers larger than he was accustomed to which made hitting the right strings a struggle. He’d strike off key or hold a note for longer than it was meant to be but Tav didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re doing great, keep going,” Tav insisted.

He exhaled his nerves and stuck with it even if he felt the urge to drop the violin and walk away. Steadily, he became accustomed to the added bulk of his chin and fingers, shifting the instrument in such a way that it worked for him rather than against. Once he did so the notes flowed smoother, in line with Tav’s own contribution. This made Tav smile, their body bobbing up and down on their knees once the music started to hit their core.

Their playing continued, gradually picking up pace into an uplifting harmony. Even for as stiff as Kar’niss could be he felt the draw of the music seep into his skin, pulling him back to a different time in his life. As his comfort levels grew his confidence in manipulating the instrument to his will increased, playing with a bit more passion than at the start. Despite his best efforts he found himself swaying from side to side in time with the beat, his long legs curled while rocking his large body like a pendulum. Tav took notice, unable to wipe the growing grin from their face. They chose to join him by shuffling their feet on the grass below, stepping from side to side to match Kar’niss’ rhythm.

He tipped his head to the side slightly at the sight of the display, deciding to up the ante a notch. He lowered his front half toward the ground, extending his pedipalps to drum against the dirt when he felt added percussion was needed for the melody. Tav unleashed joyful laughter due to Kar’niss’ improvised antics, finding them clever. They stepped forward and began to dance around the drider while he tapped at the ground, spinning and skipping around his impressive abdomen, soon returning to his front. All the while the two continued to play, their song growing in intensity as they progressed.

Kar’niss had become lost in the duet, the faintest of smiles threatening to stretch his mouth. The ballad increased in pace and came to a high pitched mid point, the pair putting their all into assaulting the strings with determined ferocity. Kar’niss closed all of his eyes and tipped his head back, matching Tav tit for tat. Once the mid point had passed they would side step to and fro while facing one another, Tav spinning around in place and Kar’niss following suit. Albeit his turn was slower thanks to his extra girth, but he still managed to do so with grace. Tav stepped toward their partner and Kar’niss stepped in to meet them before both walked back to restore distance between them. His legs stamped at the ground in sync with the anthem, his torso bending into the violin as he leaned into the more fast paced tone. His rounded abdomen swayed and rocked concurrently with his legs, putting his entire body in motion.

Both continued to prance from one side to the next in unison with one another, turning around in place at proper intervals, lowering their bodies into a crouch then springing upright. The smile Kar’niss had fought came out victorious, fully visible on his expression. It was a toothy grin that was both endearing and haunting at the same time. Despite his impressive size Tav wasn’t intimidated with his dance partner, rather savoring his enjoyment knowing how rare such a treat was for him.

The pair were reaching the crescendo of their song, the very apex building in urgency between the pair of them. As the final elongated note was shared between them, Kar’niss lifted his body upward while he held the high pitched sound, pushing until he was balancing on his back four feet. The other four extended outward alongside his pedipalps, opening wide as if he were in a defensive stance and yet that was far from the case. He tipped his torso back until his hair fell from his shoulders and dangled freely in the air, Tav watching the display in awe of his beauty in that moment.

The lengthy note was dropped, the final chords played afterward in rapid succession to end off the song with a flourish. Both Tav and Kar’niss played the final refrain in a quick strike and once finished they dropped into a low bow in front of one another. Their arms extended outward, bow string and violin clutched in either hand jutting from their grasp. They held the lowered position for a moment to catch their breath, Tav the first to lift their head to find they were eye level with Kar’niss; A rare thing indeed. Their gazes met, the drider offering the smallest of smiles in Tav’s direction, his hair a mess across his face.

“You did it,” Tav whispered.

Before Kar’niss could respond the pair heard the sound of clapping nearby. Tav stood with a jolt, looking behind them to see others at camp had gathered around. Wyll in particular seemed enthused by the performance.

“Well done, well done!” Wyll called out.

“Got an encore in you??” Karlach shouted.

Tav smiled sheepishly at the pair and shook their head. “I doubt it, but glad you enjoyed it.”

Kar’niss made a face at the unexpected audience. He dropped the bow and violin, backing away as he felt a tingle in his cheeks.

“Kar’niss, are you alright?” Tav asked.

The drider growled ever so slightly and then turned, quickly scuttling away from Tav and the others. He fled back into the underbrush of the forest and disappeared from sight, having none of it.

“Ah shit, did we scare him off?” Karlach asked.

“We’re sorry Tav, we didn’t think it’d be a bother.” Wyll added.

Tav exhaled and wandered over to retrieve the discarded instrument, looking it over with some fondness.

“No, nothing to be sorry for. I think he is a bit more shy than he lets on. Give him time, he’ll return when he’s ready.”

Kar’niss wandered back into the forest and climbed into the tree he picked to call home for the night, complete with scattered webbing throughout the area. He’d settle on a thick branch, his arms crossed as he worked through his temporary embarrassment. Part of him was still in disbelief that he’d done that at all, that he still could. The feeling of an instrument in his hands felt better than he dared admit aloud. Once he started to calm down he turned his gaze to the stars, a sight he often favored while alone. The tips of his pedipalps began to gently tap at the branch below, one, two, one, two. He bobbed his head from side to side and before he knew it he was humming the song they had just played. He continued to do so while training his eyes on the sky, his wobbled smile making a return.

For now at least.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #my writing #bard #music #violin #kar'niss fanfic #bg3 fanfic #kar'niss x tav #gender-neutral tav #This was a challenge but fun to write #Kar'niss is 80% legs

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dapandapod · 2 years

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Good morning panda brain!

So!

Jaskier helps Geralt through his bisexual awakening.

Geralt knew people can like both. Triss and yen are know to take lovers from any gender and he has never thought twice about it.

Until he realizes Jaskier does too.

And Geralt tries to work through it by himself, mulling it over, trying to figure out if it is *just* the bard he is attracted to, or other men too?

But he finds he get confused and frustrated because it is hard to identify feelings, even more so if they are his own? So one day/eve/ something he asks Jask for help, because he is the safest one he knows to ask.

(There might also be a hint of self sabotaging afoot but he doesn’t realize that)

“How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“If you like both?”

And then Jaskier asks a series of questions (he makes sure Geralt is alright or if he doesn’t have an awnser/want to say it, that Geralt doesn’t have to say but he should think about it) about what makes Geralt notice a person, draws him in.

In the end they say something in the lines of;

“It is fine to experiment. Just try not to do that with the subject of your affection.” And then after a while “I could help you..”

And before Geralt thinks of what the fuck he is saying, he blurts out something like;

“I was told not to experiment with the subject of my affection” something something.

And Jaskier goes all 😳😳😳 because ofc he hoped and dreamed and he too helped out in some self sacrificing thing in hope to make Geralt happy, even if it was with someone else, and now he gets this??

And then begins the circling around each other, because it would hurt if Geralt tried these feelings with someone else (and with the risk of him falling for that person) while being *told* he is the reason for this bisexual crisis/awakening.

But also it would hurt even more if they tried, if Jaskier opens that door and allows himself some room to feel all those suppressed feelings - but as an experiment, one that Geralt might find that no, he doesn’t feel that way, thanks for helping out - and closing the door again.

Buuut all goes as it usually does with Geralt - maybe they part for winter, Geralt on the way there thinks about every man he ever found hot, and maybe it is not many, but enough to feel like yeah, there is something there.

And then he spends the entire winter fantasizing about his bard, how it would feel to woo him, and finds that he likes it.

Come spring, maybe they re unite but there is something tense now between them, the fine line of pretending Geralt didn’t say he might fancy the bard, just to be able to keep going without throwing themselves at each other.

The bard never said anything back after all.

An out, if Geralt decides he doesn’t feel that way.

But then Geralt starts to try it out. Reaching for Jask’s hand, touching him more, smiling, maybe even flirting.

And eventually Jask has to ask, has to check that this is not an experiment, because Jaskier’s heart won’t be able to take it.

And Geralt sits quietly for a while, starting at the flames. Maybe they are in a room or maybe they are in the forest, but he sits quietly to think, and it is so very hard to bear.

And maybe Geralt decides that

“I may be inexperienced with this, and even if I have found I find other men attractive, it is towards you I am drawn. So if you would let me, I would try to make you think of only me, too” or something.

And he hopes Jaskier doesn’t mind inexperienced lovers, well. Geralt has been with people before, but he haven’t… loved them.

And he tells Jaskier that, he will make mistakes yes, but he is trying to learn, and he hopes, but if Jask wants nothing of it, he will stop. Clarifying stop trying to woo jask, not stopping to feel that way, about him and about men.

And maybe Jaskier needs to think about it.

Eventually Jaskier says that, he knows what it is like to have his heart broken. Expressing love is easy for him yes, but loving? *Loving* is hard. And it hurts like hell.

So he begs Geralt, begs him to take care. Because if they try this, there might be no going back. No place to return to, should this fail. He can’t guarantee he can heal should Geralt break his heart.

And they go forward with glacial speed, working to change the foundation, gently building trust and affection. They are apart for big stretches of the year, but reunifying has them growing closer.

Very little changes, but Jaskier notice how Geralt is looking at him. Keeps looking at him. Keeps reaching for him.

And eventually, when Jaskier dares believe this is not a passing thing, he reaches back.

They find themselves sleeping closer on purpose. They start wintering together, properly, and find themselves always in each other’s orbit.

They are in every sense a couple, but the physical one. And even if Geralt is the inexperienced one, he lets Jaskier set the pace.

And the bard works himself up to it. Hand holding becomes kisses on the hand. Kisses on the hand becomes kisses in the cheek. And one day, just after lunch at Corvo Bianco, Jaskier kisses him on the cheek, but remains close.

Geralt lets him, waiting and watching, until Jaskier presses a peck to his lips too. And then another one. And then before dinner, the dams are broken, and the peck turns into a kiss, a proper, lingering, earth shattering kiss.

And Geralt, the absolute ass, is murmuring against Jaskier’s lips, even as he is pressing Jaskier against the table, even as they are smiling and kisses, he says

“Have you been experimenting with the subject of your affection?”

“It seems that I am.”

“Some would deem that unwise.” Geralt says, kissing jask again. “What is your conclusion?”

It is a question in jest, he knows, but Jaskier studies Geralt’s face, holds his face with both hands as they become serious.

“That I love you.”

Which … has been a terrifying thought. Up til now, it has been the most frightening thing to carry.

But now? Now they are in each other’s arms, now they are on equal footing. Now it means the same thing for them both.

#6am panda brain strikes again #all I wanted was Geralt’s bisexual awakening and Jaskier helping him #and smooching #yet here we are #geraskier #the witcher #getting together #friends to lovers #floof #dapanda writes #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier the bard #julian alfred pankratz

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mahoushojo-chan · 7 months

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Astarion x Tav || dissociation

something i wanted to feel

warnings: dissociation, ptsd, trauma synopsis: disguised as a drow, tav finds astarion after he's reverted back to old, unhealthy ways of using his body. she brings him back. When Astarion hears her normal voice, he feels soothed. “You weren’t here, fully. I wanted to bring you back.” She explains, like it’s the simplest thing. “If I let you continue, it felt like I would lose you.” she continues. an excerpt of 'cause my love (is mine, all mine) word count: 1,001 pairing: astarion/tav other tags: f!reader, half-elf?tav, bard!tav, hurt/comfort, angst, non-sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, song inspo: sanctuary by joji ao3: here concept: dissociation and grounding techniques

The elf—half elf, maybe, based off the point of their ear? They grab Astarion’s wrist to stop him, and pull him away. “P-Put on your clothes, first.”

There's something off, like the pieces of the puzzle don't quite fit together. The man before him appears unnaturally flawless, almost like plastic rather than real flesh. Confused, Astarion takes a step back.

“Well, if that’s… what you wish.” Astarion replies and proceeds to redress himself. He's so bewildered by the situation that he foregoes any reverse strip-tease or other playful undressing antics; it completely escapes his thoughts. He simply puts his clothes back on, sliding his pants over his legs and fastening his belt. His shirt follows, and after it's on, he walks back over to the other person. Astarion supposes that this is okay. He hadn't exactly planned anything out, after all. Whether he’s naked or clothed while he does… whatever he’s going to do doesn’t matter to him at all.

"Now, where were we?" Astarion inquires, his hands gently cradling their artificial features, as he attempts to regain his focus.

However, they gently remove his hands from their face and clasp his hands in theirs, asking, "How does it feel?"

Astarion’s response is automatic. “Oh, it feels lovely. I’d love to see what other—”

“Ah-ah,” they tut, “tell me about my hands. How do they feel?”

Astarion takes a second. A hint of confusion prods at his mind for a second before he understands that he’s supposed to actually be using his body to relay these sensations. He looks down, and the discrepancy between how they look and feel strikes him again. “Well, they’re soft, of course. They’re… thin, and graceful…” he says, all compliments that he expects they would want to hear. But then his hand runs over their ring finger, and he blinks, because he feels a callous that he doesn’t see. Then, he begins to realize who he’s with. “There’s always a callous that never quite heals, here… and then the scar, and… well, you have a hangnail here. Your nails have grown out, Tav.”

He grins, finally thinking he’s realized their ruse. When he looks up, he sees Tav give a tired smile, though she’s still in her disguise.

Instead of ending it there, she continues with a pleased hum, “Are my hands warm?”

“Yes, always. A little warmer today, but—what are you doing?” Astarion interjects, confused.

She never answers him properly at times like these. Instead, she asks him, “Do I smell bad?”

Astarion takes some time to mull it over before he shakes his head. “No… no, you rarely do. Well, my tastes deviate from others, and I take quite a delight when you’re covered in blood, of course, but—”

“What do I smell like?”

He takes in a breath of air, and then deeply exhales. Her scent is familiar, now. “Like… well, something floral, usually. A little like parchment, maybe the slightest of resin…”

She dispels the disguise. Even though it's just the two of them, it seems a bit reckless, considering he’s not sure how they'll escape. However, Tav usually thinks ahead more than he does, and Astarion doesn't have the time to dwell on it as she continues her line of questioning, “And do I look okay?”

Now that he sees her for her, his gaze drops into something more affectionate. “Your hair never sits quite right, here.” He says, teasing the rebellious tuft of hair on her head before flattening it. “There. Now you look perfect.”

He lingers a little when she finally lets go of his hands. He feels a little disappointed, but she self-consciously helps to flatten her hair. Astarion takes the opportunity to finally ask, “Care to tell me what all that was about?”

When he hears her normal voice, he feels soothed. “You weren’t here, fully. I wanted to bring you back.” She explains, like it’s the simplest thing. “If I let you continue, it felt like I would lose you. My only regret is not coming sooner…” she continues.

Astarion blinks in surprise. He realizes he hadn’t particularly been in pain, and part of him still feels like he wants to get lost in his own head, but Tav’s soft explanation—though he’s not quite listening to it so much as he is just relaxing into the comforting cadence of her voice—keeps pulling him back out of it.

The almost liberating numbness is inexplicably nudged to the side by his desire to feel her again.

Then it dawns on him, the gravity of his recent actions—how he had behaved when he was still feeling like a puppet on strings. He remembers pinning her against the wall, pressing his lips to hers, and he stammers, "Oh—I'm sorry for... I mean, I didn't mean to—"

"It was never going to happen," she states, and Astarion experiences a brief pang, a sting in a vulnerable spot, just for a moment. It's as though she's saying, I'm never going to sleep with you, but that’s what he wants, isn’t it? He wants not to sleep with her. He wants something beyond mere physical intimacy, and he has that with Tav.

Seeing his confusion, she snaps him out of his reverie and tells him, “It didn’t mean anything.”

This, in a way, makes the feeling worse because Astarion interprets it as ‘forget it ever happened’. But given that he’s still rather embarrassed about the whole ordeal—the inability to recognize her, his behaviour—he’s actually okay with complying.

So he takes her hands this time and rests his forehead against hers. She feels as warm as he remembers.

Finally, he responds. “Thank you.”

She seems to let him rest for a moment, and he sees her whisper a word of healing. He feels some of the earlier bruises and gashes heal themselves, and it’s not perfect, but he feels significantly better. At that time, he finally separates from her. But then, now that he’s fully present, he sees her as she is—she seems tired, her features gaunt, but she seems relieved.

#astarion romance #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #bg3 #writing #astarion x mc #tw: dissociation #tw: trauma #tw: ptsd #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #writing prompt #astarion fic #grounding techniques

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bapydemonprincess · 2 months

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Concern

"Oi," A familiar drawl snaps the butler out of his brief mental check of today's chore list. Chin pinched with black gloves. Looking off into nothing.

Currently both the Gardener and Young Master are standing by, all taken care of; bundled up for the winter chill that has hit them hard this year.

The Young Master insisted vehemently to accompany him and Finnian on their wood gathering. Saying all but "I'm completely done with all my work thus far on my studies, I assure you. so let me get out of this blasted stuffy room for once."

Again in the present Sebastian is still mulling over what he'll be shouldered with after their stroll, and so he still doesn't hear (or more like refuses to acknowledge) the chef approaching them, a purpose in his stomping gait as he arrives right in front of the other man.

"Oi, what th'ell you doin', Sebastian, eh?"

He briefly pinches the end of Sebastian's scarf he threw on half-hazardly, violently shakes it for emphasis, then let's it drop again.

All while looking the butler in the eye as if suddenly he wants to have a bout right there in the main entryway.

"You tryin' t'catch yer death on purpose or wot?"

Sebastian practically snorts, but refrains, lips twitching at this sudden appearance of Mother Henning from the usually unbothered and lazy as-all-get-out chef.

"Oh, is there a problem, Bardroy? Would me being a little chilled while going out for but a mere half an hour bother you?"

"Oh you think you'd be just a "little chilled" eh? Thinkin' you wouldn't come back an' end up catchin' a cold or flu, or even bloody pneumonia with 'ow god awful it is out there, eh?"

He waves briefly over to the boys awkwardly standing near by.

"Meanwhile you got them all bundled up fit for endurin' a winter storm!"

"One: They are children and I am not. Two, Bardroy: it certainly is not my first English Winter, trust me, three-"

Bardroy grabs both ends of the loose scarf and this time tugs firmly, making the taller man prattling before him practically fall forward.

But he doesn't.

Bardroy's firm grip makes sure the other man merely is forced right into his face.

Their foreheads knocking gently, as Sebastian's eyes open wider and stare in pure surprise, those thin eyebrows lifted up high for once.

"Listen 'ere, you," Bard growls low, "believe it or not, the deep south o' Arizona an the like get bloody cold as fuck, got it? In the deserts at night a man can freeze t'death before 'e even realizes it. So don't. Fuck. Wiff cold. Don't ya dare go an' fuck with those harsh winter woods, with these boys on tow, an' next thing ya know Finny's gotta carry back a long ass big ol icle of a butler, prolly cryin' all the fuckin' way, too."

He stops. Finally. Panting a little from this tangent out of no where, noticeably getting red in the face too.

And the butler, still enduring having his face pressed into Bard's the entire time... stars to smile.

And his eyes go half lidded again.

Shimmering and dancing with amusement aplenty.

"Ah, so it would bother you to some extent, then. I see."

And he says it so softly it's almost a whisper, or like just a comment he's making to himself.

Growling again the other man pushes this time, in order to straighten Sebastian up and push him a few inches away.

However he doesn't let him go for long. Oh no, the chef proceeds to grumble under his breath (something about "damn stupid pretty boy with no bloody sense a' self preservation I swear-") as he unwraps the butler's scarf from around his neck and then leans in further, almost aggressively thrusting himself up close again, to wind it back round him. Tighter, more hugging his neck, and finishes with tying what is left somehow.

"There, that's better," Bard openly comments, looking still mad about it but now satisfied with himself as he pulls back a little. But quickly, idly, pats the other man's coat front as if to confirm everything is good.

"I'd also suggest a cap o' some kind too, awright. Somethin' like the scarf. Damn the consequences o' messin' up yer pretty hair an' all that, it's about survival and nothin' else, you 'ear me?'

He finally shuts up this time, really meeting Sebastian's eyes this time, and so invested in this he's expecting to see some kind of expression of grat-

Sebastian sweeps in to kiss the man's cheek.

"Thank you dear," he purrs.

And then he's turning back to the boys and trotting to the door with purpose.

"Now. Let's carry on, before we lose anymore daylight, hm? Follow me."

And Sebastian, the Young Master, and Finny are almost out the door.

When the demon hears the familiar loud groan of a man who's just realized his predicament he's gotten himself into coming from back inside.

And Sebastian allows himself the pleasure to grin to himself, eyes shut, looking the picture of a creature who's just won a hard fought battle and all the spoils that entails.

Note: this whole scene is inspired by that now famous kuro chapter title page from chapter 198:

#kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #o!ciel #bardroy #bard #finnian #finny #sebard #my writing #Ofc now imagine it looks loose here because he undid Bard's work on purpose to spite him ;3 grshtdrjk

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morocosmos · 3 months

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#loveintheair Day 5 - Touch

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Relationships: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet Warnings: Injury, Kidnapping, Medical Treatment Prompt List and Event by millymischief Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

“Easy now, Chief. This is gonna sting for a while more.” There is a tremor in Guydelot’s voice that Sanson has never heard before in the two years they’ve known one another, as the bard dabs cleansing potion on his wounds with a piece of gauze. Several bloodied pieces already lay discarded in the bin, which they'd pulled next to the couch they're sitting on in Sanson's apartment.

Bare-chested, he feels exposed in the chilly autumn air; under Guydelot’s scrutiny, whose touch is steady, but perturbingly delicate, like he’s afraid Sanson will splinter and crack into a thousand pieces. He winces, half out of pain and half out of shame as Guydelot dabs at a particularly large cut on his back. One of Nourval’s guards had slashed him with the tip of his spear, and the cut ran deeper into his skin than the rest. In the mirror — Sanson had all but insisted that Guydelot bring it here, despite his friend’s baffled protest — the wound looks angry and red, on the cusp of infection.

Small wonder, given he’d been dragged through dirt and mud for almost a sennight. There's a dull, haggard look to his eyes in the mirror that the fading sunlight won't reach. His captors had seen that he had not bled to death or died of thirst, but little else.

“Sorry.” Guydelot’s quiet apology takes Sanson aback; he is being far too serious about this. Where Sanson might have once appreciated the change, it feels wrong now, like the world around him has tilted. “I’m fine. There’s no need to be so gentle,” he insists. He goes for a reassuring tone, because Matron knows how worried his friend must have been while he’d been gone. He'd thrown in a few light-hearted complaints about how much it had twisted his pride to call on Commander Vorsaile's aid on their way back to Gridania, but Sanson hasn’t missed the dark circles under his eyes, nor the way Guydelot hasn't left his side since they walked away from that dreaded clearing.

He must've worried him half to death, and all because he’d been so stupid as to fall for Nourval’s trap without a second thought.

There’s a hollow chuckle from Guydelot, who shakes his head. His hand, still holding the gauze, drifts down to Sanson's shoulder. “Not just that. I should’ve followed you. If I’d been there, maybe you wouldn’t’ve…” His voice breaks, just by an ilm, but it’s enough for Sanson to sit up straight as his friend leans back, eyes wide and hands held in the air. “But you’re here now, eh?” he says, a little too quickly. “No sense in mulling over the worst version of things.”

Guydelot. Sanson doesn’t know what to say, or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to say it. Hadn’t he turned that very thought over in his head, endlessly, each and every night while he was held captive? Carried it in his chest like poison: that the last time he saw and spoke to Guydelot might have been carelessly spent, a moment of no consequence. That he'd leave him behind without ever saying the words he's wanted to say since his feelings struck like a bolt from the Destroyer himself, somewhere along the path of their friendship.

“Chief?” The concern in Guydelot’s voice snaps some sense back into him. Captivity has addled his mind; professing his feelings here would be ridiculous…wouldn’t it?

But he remembers the pensive way Moro'a had looked at the two of them when it was all over, and the words he'd said to him in private, before the Warrior of Light was called to the Far East. Don't leave it too late.

Gods, if he’s been so obvious about it, there’s a chance others have noticed it as well. It is a terrifying precipice to stand upon. Yet Sanson had nearly lost his chance once — could he stand to lose it again? With difficulty, he finds his voice. “Guydelot.” His friend looks back at him, slightly apprehensive.

He still can't find it himself to say the exact words, but he tries. “Thank you,” he stammers out. “For…for this. For finding me.” A sudden sliver of courage bolsters him, and he takes Guydelot's free hand, hearing the bard's breath catch as he curls his fingers into his palm.

“I'm sorry for worrying you.” He swallows. “I hope this is not too forward, but I…” His momentary boldness deserts him, but their hands are already joined; mild panic seizes him. What is he doing? He is Guydelot's commanding officer, his superior — he cannot be propositioning the bard in his own home when he merely wishes to make sure that Sanson's injuries are seen to-

Except…

Guydelot is laughing. A softer variation of an all too familiar cadence, it sounds suspiciously relieved, and all too sweet to Sanson's ears.

“And here I thought I'd have to coax it out of you in another five years.” Sanson throws him an exasperated look, to which the bard adds, “Give or take. Matron’s teats, Sanson…”

Sanson is about to object to invoking Nophica's bosom in the middle of a- a confession (that's what this is, isn't? At least take it seriously!) when Guydelot threads his fingers between his own, bringing his thoughts to a jarring stop. The bard places his remaining hand atop theirs, and the gauze tumbles to the back of the couch, forgotten.

“I’m glad you're here. So please…stay.” There's that quiver in his voice again; Sanson never wants to hear it again.

Feeling his own throat tighten, Sanson squeezes their fingers together. “I am here. For as long as you will have me,” he whispers. It's a long, long time before they let go.

#kae scribbles #loveintheair xiv 2024 #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #i squint every time i look at this but i'm releasing it now...to the world....#every now and then i'm obsessed with the idea of bard boys only getting together after sanson's kidnapping #sometimes because of sanson's kidnapping

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dancingwiththefae · 10 months

Text

If he sinks to darkest night

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

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

“A prince and a siren?”

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

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

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

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

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

“His choice was made aside the sea,

A twilit red horizon.

For she had finally made him see

His place among the sirens.”

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

“For if yer goal be Paradise,

Just give your love a firm nudge,

If he sinks to darkest night,

Embrace his Little Sacrifice.”

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

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

“He did.”

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

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

Jaskier watched him carefully.

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

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

“Not always.”

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

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

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

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

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

The bard surged forward to capture his lips once again.

***

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

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

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

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

“You are my siren,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A knock came at the door and Radovid jumped.

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

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

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

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