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the-spinning-jenny · 3 years

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hiraeth

For @a-kind-of-merry-war who wished for whump and hurt/comfort, angsty with a happy ending, and creature!Jaskier. Hope you like it! @thewitchersecretsanta

---

Jaskier is not knowledgeable about many mythical creatures, but he knows the following to be true.

Sirens search for humans to eat them. Mermaids search for humans to drown them. Selkies, though, selkies search for humans to find someone they can call home. They search for someone to give their coat to hold and cherish them.

Jaskier knows these things for certain. After all, he is a selkie too.

---

Jaskier knows Geralt of Rivia is a great and good man. He saves lives when no one appreciates it. He kills monsters even when people cannot afford to pay for it.

The two of them are sitting around a campfire some weeks still traveling together after the edge of the world events.

“Despite what you may say, my witcher friend, you are a good man,” Jaskier says as he looks into the fire and plays some chords on his new lute.

He hears Geralt scoff.

“Bard,” Geralt says. “We are not friends and you do not know me.”

“I know enough. I could know more,” Jaskier smiles.

Geralt grunts. He throws more wood into the fire and the campsite is silent for some while except for Jaskier’s lute. “What happened with Filavandrel is me at my best, bard. Everything else will be worse. I don’t want you to know me better and neither will you want to,” Geralt says at last.

Ah, but Jaskier knows in sea bones that he does want to. Jaskier sees the man across the campfire from him, he sees the good man for who he is, and he knows that he wants to make Geralt his home.

He’s followed Geralt to the edge of the world and he will follow him anywhere, land or sea.

---

Life onshore can be difficult, Jaskier had been warned by other selkies, but none of them know how hard life onshore with a witcher can be.

Witchers are feared and hated everywhere from what Jaskier can tell. They get underpaid, they get turned away at inns, and in general, people just aren’t very nice to them. It’s annoying, Jaskier decides. It’s definitely inconvenient for Geralt, and being the stubborn selkie Jaskier is, he decides that if he wants a happy home, then he must get others to treat his home better. And although he’s not sure if Geralt is ever really happy, it can’t hurt if Geralt can at least get a decent night’s rest in an inn room instead of on the dirt all the time.

Jaskier unleashes as many songs about the White Wolf and witchers’ heroics as he can think of. They’re catchy and it takes years, but he knows they’re working. He’s accidentally even made himself a bit of a famous bard too while he’s at it.

He gets better at helping secure inn rooms for Geralt. He even helps barter with aldermen and nobles who hire Geralt in order to make sure Geralt gets paid fairly.

He’d think after all those years of devotion that Geralt would at least call him a friend. He thinks Geralt has to know that Jaskier cares. Maybe he doesn’t know the depth of how much Jaskier cares, but Geralt should know at least that Jaskier cares by now. Jaskier does not even ask for much; he knows he can’t compete with beautiful, powerful Yennefer and Jaskier just wants Geralt to be his home even if it’s as friends. He’d been ready to give his coat to Geralt after the whole djinn incident if he didn’t find Geralt with Yennefer afterwards.

Jaskier has said time and time again that Geralt is his very best friend in the whole wide world. This time, they’re in the dragon hunt on the mountain and Jaskier sees that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t agreeing with each other again. He thinks, maybe, and he asks too if Geralt wants to go to the coast with him. Because Jaskier isn’t Yennefer, but he hopes that the coast could bring Geralt some peace and joy as much as it brings Jaskier.

He hopes so much.

---

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands," yells Geralt, rage seething from his face, voice raised and so very angry, mouth curled into a snarl and, well, Jaskier does go to the coast in the end.

He just happens to go alone.

---

It’s been a few quiet months. Jaskier mostly goes from one little coastal town to another and finds taverns to perform in just fine. He makes good money, but it has been a while since he’s sung about the White Wolf. Jaskier is doing fine, he supposes. He’s sitting at the bar in a tavern one bleary, rainy afternoon when the front door slams open and a local fisherman runs in to sit beside him. He looks over to the tavern keeper across the bar.

“Melitele, you would not believe what I saw on the beaches just now!” the fisherman exclaims to the tavern keeper. “I think there’s a stand off between some Nilfgaardians, a white haired fella, and a child. Passed by them while docking at the pier. You’d best warn everyone to keep clear of the beaches right now. It could get messy.”

The tavern keeper grimaces. “Nilfgaard is always looking for trouble, those no gooders,” he remarks.

Jaskier’s blood runs cold and he shakily asks, “Where was this?”

The fisherman scoffs, “Bard, this is no battle you want to witness for a song. Best look the other way for these sorts of things.”

Jaskier insists again, pries out directions, gets called a stupid fool, and runs towards the beach.

---

When Jaskier gets to the stormy beach, he sees a distressed blonde girl, Geralt fighting with another soldier in the water, and what he presumes are a couple dead Nilfgaardian soldiers lying around on the sand between the girl and Geralt.

The girl, which Jaskier assumes is Geralt’s child surprise, turns around at Jaskier’s fast approaching footsteps and he hopes that he looks every bit of the completely approachable bard lugging a lute and an inconspicuous bag with his selkie coat. She frantically says, “Please! Sir, I-I screamed a-and the soldiers chasing us are dead but my guardian and one of the soldiers got blown into the waters and please, you’ve got to get help!”

The girl clutches at one of Jaskier’s arms pleadingly. Jaskier looks over to see Geralt, losing to the last soldier trying to drown him. He sees the soldier shove Geralt under the water and the girl gasps in horror.

“We don’t have time to get help. Geralt needs help now,” Jaskier says and the girl’s eyes widened.

“Wait, how do you know Geralt-”

Jaskier shakes the child surprise’s arm off him, drops his lute, and takes out his coat. He runs into the ocean, puts on his coat, and swims as fast as he can to Geralt.

In the waters, Jaskier sees Geralt and the soldier battling it out, but Geralt is quickly losing. They turn to see Jaskier in selkie form approaching and the soldier desperately tries to swim away, but it’s too late.

The soldier's neck doesn’t stand a chance against a selkie’s teeth.

It’s relatively easy and fast for Jaskier to take a barely conscious Geralt to shore. Jaskier prays to the gods he had arrived in time. He doesn’t know how long Geralt has been in the water. Once he brings Geralt onto the sand, he sees Geralt coughing out water and making a move to sit up.

“What the fuck?” Geralt sputters out between coughs.

“Geralt!” the child surprise exclaims in tears as she runs towards Geralt with Jaskier’s lute hanging on her back using the lute straps. She’s dragging one of Geralt’s swords with her behind her.

She drops the sword besides him. “You’re okay,” she sobs into his arms.

“Ciri, I’m alright. Why do you have Jaskier’s lute?” Geralt asks.

The child surprise, Ciri, looks up and says, “Who’s Jaskier? I asked a man on the shore for help and he dropped this and he dove into the waters to help after he turned- he turned into…”

Ciri trails off and looks at the selkie. Geralt does the same.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, looking at him.

Jaskier takes off his coat and throws it to the side. He’s back in human form and holds his hands up. “Geralt, it’s me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s eyes grow big. He shoves Ciri behind him protectively and reaches for his sword. “What the fuck are you?” Geralt says as he raises his sword at Jaskier.

There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined Geralt finally finding out that Jaskier is a selkie.There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined his reunion with Geralt since that cold, cold day on the mountain. A stormy day on the beach with dead soldiers lying around everywhere, one lone soldier’s body floating in the waters that Jaskier freshly murdered, and with Geralt’s silver sword pointed at him - this is not a scenario Jaskier had imagined for things to go down at all.

“I’m a selkie. I’ve always been a selkie,” Jaskier miserably replies.

“Are you playing some sort of sick selkie game with us now? Are you the real Jaskier?” Geralt accuses. The sword pointed at him does not lower.

“Geralt, what?! No, it’s me!” Jaskier exclaims, but he sees the view around him. Dead men surrounding them, the rain pouring hard still on everyone, Geralt’s immense glower and Ciri’s confused face.

Jaskier’s heart breaks even more and a sinking, terrible feeling forms in the pit of stomach. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

So, Jaskier runs. He thinks he hears his name being shouted, but he knows Geralt’s too tired to chase him.

Jaskier closes his watery eyes and runs faster.

---

Jaskier lies on his bed in his room at the inn.

His clothes are drenched in sea water and rain, but he doesn’t care. He curls into a ball on his side and shivers. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying down but Jaskier thinks if he stays in bed, he finds breathing a little bit easier even if things are a mess right now.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Geralt finds him. There is no point in changing into new clothes. Jaskier curses himself and realizes he ran off without his coat and lute. His most prized possessions are left back at the beach. If there is an award for being the worst selkie ever, Jaskier is winning it.

Someone knocks at his door.

Jaskier breathes in shakily. “Door’s unlocked,” Jaskier says. “If you’re going to kill me, perhaps re-consider waiting until the rain’s let up and we could do this outside. Beheading stains very badly on bed sheets.”

Jaskier hears the door open wide and there’s light feet moving fast towards him. He opens his eyes and looks up to see Ciri standing beside the bed. She sticks out her arms holding his coat, which has carefully folded, and places the coat in front Jaskier.

“Thank you for saving Geralt,” she says. Her face has stubborn determination.

“You’re not scary to me. I won’t let Geralt kill you,” she continues.

Jaskier weakly smiles. “Good to know,” he says. He looks behind her.

“Where is your guardian, anyways?” Jaskier begins to ask, but he sees Geralt run in the hallway outside his room and then notices the two of them.

Geralt steps into the room with Jaskier’s lute in one of his hands. “Ciri, go to our room. I’ve...things to discuss with Jaskier,” he says hesitantly.

Ciri nods and whispers to Jaskier, “It’s okay. I think I knocked some sense into him and you’re okay, I promise,” she says before leaving the room.

Once the door shuts behind her, Jaskier sighs. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He shakily says, “I can leave once the rain lets up, Geralt. We- you- we don’t have to talk about this.”

Jaskier looks down at his coat. “This monster’s going to take himself off your hands as soon as he can, alright?” Jaskier says quietly.

He hears Geralt walk over to him and sees the lute being set down on the floor beside him.

He looks up to see Geralt kneel in front of him. One of Geralt’s hands slowly reaches for Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier tries not to flinch away, but something on Jaskier’s face still gives it away because Geralt grimaces.

“You’re really a selkie, then,” Geralt says at last.

“Surprise?” Jaskier says weakly.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, Geralt starts again, “Witchers don’t normally deal with selkies. To my knowledge, they’re usually harmless and their only interaction with humans is if they have lovers to-”

“Give their coats to,” Jaskier finishes.

Geralt nods. “Have you? In all our travels, I never saw you do that,” he says.

Jaskier’s eyes start to sting and he gives a strained smile. “Ah, I’ve awful timing, it would seem. And there was never a good time to give it to you,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt looks shocked. The moment the words leave Jaskier, he feels freer. What a terrifying and freeing thing to lay it all out, he thinks.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier continues. “I tried, you know? But it would appear all I’ve ever done is make things worse and I wasn’t going to fight against Yennefer. I know, alright, there is no competition there-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries to interrupt, but Jaskier keeps on talking.

“No, it’s okay, Geralt,” Jaskier says even though he’s trying to keep back tears unsuccessfully. “You don’t like all the songs I’ve sung. I talk too much, I’m in the way, and all I’ve done is make things worse for you. You’re right, I’m just shoveling shit and I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not a very good selkie-”

Geralt pulls Jaskier into a hug and Jaskier freezes.

“Forgive me, bard,” Geralt says.

Geralt pulls back from the hug to look at Jaskier. His hands still hold Jaskier’s sides.

“You’re- you’re a good selkie,” Geralt tries to say and Jaskier sobs. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear and Jaskier can hardly believe it.

“Jaskier!” Geralt says with alarm, but Jaskier shakes his head.

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that,” Jaskier says and Geralt has never looked more sorrowful.

“I should not have yelled at you on that day on top of the mountain. My anger with Yennefer, it should not have been aimed at you,” Geralt says and then continues, “Forgive me, bard. You were my only friend who was good to me for all these years, and I should have said that I want you in my life, not out of it.”

Geralt looks over to the folded coat, lets go of Jaskier, and picks up the coat. “Here,” he says. “Ciri and I - we wanted to give this back to you. I know selkie coats are important. Take your coat. Forgive me, and if you wish, come with me and Ciri to Kaer Morhen. I won’t take you for granted again.”

“You mean that?” he asks.

Geralt nods. “You’ve always been good to me, bard, and I’d like to do the same.”

Jaskier weighs his options. “And if I want more?” he says. “If I wanted to give you my coat, would you hold onto it?”

Geralt’s expression softens, but Jaskier panics.

“Nevermind,” Jaskier frets and looks down. “It- I shouldn’t have asked. It’s a lot and I don’t know where you stand on this, but Geralt, you have to know what it means when I said before I wanted to give you my coat, I -”

“Jaskier, look at me.”

Jaskier does so and Geralt’s soft look is still there.

“There has not been a day that has gone by since that day on the mountain where I have not missed you,” Geralt says. He holds Jaskier’s coat carefully and nods.

“I accept your coat. If you wish for more than friendship, I will gladly give you more,” Geralt says.

Jaskier smiles so wide. He’s so happy he doesn’t think twice before he surges forward to kiss Geralt. It’s brief bliss and then Jaskier jerks back when he realizes what he’s done.

“I, um,perhaps a bit premature of me,” Jaskier stutters.

Geralt hums with amusement. Then, he leans in and asks again, “Jaskier, come home with me to Kaer Morhen?”

---

Jaskier nods and whispers a yes. When Geralt closes the gap between them and kisses him, Jaskier has never felt more at home than he does right now and he is of the firm belief that it could only get better at Kaer Morhen.

#thewitchersecretsanta #a-kind-of-merry-war #geraskier

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1morefairytale · 3 years

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Prompt 30: Abstracted

((Hooboy. This one is not good. But it's done!))

“You know I wouldn’t normally ask this of you. I wouldn’t normally ask anything at all, really, because I know you’re busy with your own things and I don’t want to inconvenience or bother you because I know that irritates you, but I don’t think I can do this without you and it’s not the sort of thing that I can ask anyone else. I definitely can’t ask anyone official for this. Not that I’m saying that someone official would be better or anything. Because in this case? They wouldn’t! But I recently learned that I’m not especially good at climbing-- “

Malika had just walked in the door of the La Noscean daycare when she was accosted by… whatever this was. She’d only come here because it was the closest safe place where she could get some sleep in a bedroom that had been specifically set up for her. She didn’t have any interest in watching over children, or getting to know the members of this free company as dear friends, or, really, interacting with anyone here at all. She definitely hadn’t had any plans to have a conversation about… whatever this was… with the green-haired, goody-goody Raen who worked here.

“Uh.” Malika said blankly and then blinked as she tried to figure out what in the seven hells was even being asked of her. “Hi, Saachi.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Saachi grimaced. “I should have said hi first.”

“No problem,” Malika assured her. Then, pretending she had not heard any part of the rambling request at all, she began moving towards her room. “Goodnight.”

“Oh,” The Raen flushed slightly, embarrassed to be put in a situation where she had to make the request all over again. As far as Malika was concerned, she didn’t have to make the request again. She’d hoped that her walking away from it would make the polite Raen too uncomfortable to attempt again. Alas. “Oh. I was hoping I could ask you for a favor. Which I’m very sorry about because you look very tired. And I wouldn’t normally ask you but--”

Oh no. Not the whole thing all over again! Malika closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then smiled when she opened them again. “Right. Ok!” She put a hand up to stop the poor girl. “Tell me again what you’re wanting? But give me the short version. Like the very very very short version. Like the one sentence version.”

“Ah. Ah hah,” Saachi chuckled nervously, fully aware that she was very bad at giving ‘very very very short, one sentence version’ of anything. “Right. So. I need you to steal something.”

Malika’s eyebrows shot right up. Her ears did too. She was suddenly interested.

“Oh no.” Saachi lamented. “That was one sentence on its own. I’m really bad at--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Malika assured her. “And being a ‘hero in training’ as you call yourself, you don’t steal things, huh”

“Not usually,” Saachi answered a bit awkwardly. “It’s less about trying to be a hero and more about--”

“Ok. So what am I stealing? Why?”

Saachi took a deep breath and exalted it slowly through her nose to calm her nerves. “It’s really really bad is why. Gods knows I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really really bad...but it is. If I were better at climbing I’d do it myself. I wish I could do it myself. But I’m slow and noisy and this is really a matter of discretion because the person involved doesn’t have a great record of being trustworthy and--

“Saachi,” Malika said again patiently. “What am I stealing? Why?”

“On a job with the Adders my team uncovered a magical artifact. It’s a book. It has no title. It’s got a very simple binding and a very basic brown cover. It looks, honestly, just like a blank journal. It didn’t even look very ancient to me. Like you could just find this journal in any bookstore in Eorzea. And that’s exactly the problem. It’s not a blank journal at all. Well, I mean it kind of is? The thing is--- this is a book that hasn’t been written… yet. It writes itself as you read it. The way the scholars talked about it is that it is a book that is created somewhat out of time and can’t be written until it’s read. But for the person who does read it, it can lead them to-- well, the scholars said insanity is the best case scenario.”

“The best case scenario is going crazy?” Malika didn’t have the energy to ask how a book could possibly be “out of time” or not be written until it was read. She definitely didn’t have the energy to listen to the theoretical explanation of it at this moment either. She was certain it wouldn’t lead her to any greater understanding of how artifacts worked and that it would definitely just eat up more time. “What’s the worst case?”

“They think it could be like some kind of contagion. Interaction with the person who read the book could make the people around them crazy.”

“Ah,” Malika answered. “Ok. We’re on the same page then… Apologies for the pun… Anyroad, it sounds really really bad. It also sounds stupid, strange and unlikely. But,” she sighed, “No more so than any other artifact I’ve heard of, I guess.” It would be forever a mystery to Saachi and Malika both what could inspire people who made artifacts to create items like this.

Malika shook her head, “But if you found the book and gave it to the Adders, why am I stealing it?”

“Well, it looks like any other blank book, remember?”

“Uh huh.”

“So… one of the Adders on the job got it confused with another book. They took and vaulted an actual regular book and this led to that, I guess, and now an Ul’dahn noble has this book. We can’t just go asking for the book--”

“Why?” Malika asked, unconvinced. “My guess is that if you knock on someone’s door and ask to have a blank journal because, and I quote, ‘Best case scenario: If you open the pages and read it-- don’t ask me how you read a blank journal, you just do-- it will make you insane. Worst case: it makes everyone insane.’ that they will probably have a lot less interest in using it as a diary for all the things they get up to and people they push around day to day. Hard to get much out of being a wealthy asshole if you’re too crazy to enjoy it.”

Saachi frowned and then shrugged her shoulders, conceding the point that it would, certainly, be difficult to enjoy being a noble if narcissism was somehow replaced by full-blown madness.

“Well. It’s just as likely that hearing that they have a powerful artifact that could have such a devastating effect on people would make them want to -keep- the journal and use it as a weapon. As you pointed out, this is a very influential and wealthy person. This noble, in particular, enjoys collecting rare items. Getting this item, even just asking for it, would surely have political repercussions. So we’d really prefer they not even know about this.” Saachi wiped her hands, sweaty from nerves, on her apron and continued. “Which is why, ideally, we’d get in without anyone noticing and switch that book for an actual journal. Then they’d never even know what happened. But the house is staffed. There are maids, butlers, guards, dogs, the works. And we suspect the book will be on the third floor in the study, the library, or the bedroom. If you can get to the backyard of this place without being seen, you can get into the windows of each of those locations. But you have to be quiet.” Saachi wrung her hands nervously and sucked on the inside of her cheek. “And you can’t be caught.”

“Ok, boss. So you want me to sneak around this well-fortified mansion after climbing to the third floor, evading all possible people that could be up there--”

“--and any alarms,” Saachi dutifully pointed out.

“--And any alarms. Right. Try to find this specific non-descript book in possibly a study or a library that will be full of books and hope I get the right one without opening it to make sure and replace it with this decoy blank journal?

“...Yeah.”

“Great!” Malika laughed. “This sounds stupid, horrible, tedious, and impossible. I’m in.”

Saachi blinked and relief washed over her face. Her eyes widened and a giant, appreciative smile spread across her face. “Really? You will? I can’t thankk you enough! It’s a really good thing that you’re doing. Heroic even! It could potentially save so many lives.”

“You just have to give me your necklace.” Malika motioned with a nod of her head to the opal choker the Raen wore around her neck. Correction: that she always wore around her neck.

Saachi’s hand instinctively went to it and her relief completely vanished. “My necklace? I… I but… why?”

Malika shook her head. “Doesn’t matter why. Do we have a deal?”

The why, of course, was that it seemed to be an item that held extreme personal significance to Saachi. Items of significance were the only items Malika ever really cared about acquiring.

The Raen felt the opal in the center of the choker with her thumb, her expression far away as she momentarily went back in time to when she’d first acquired it. It was a look Malika knew well. It was the look people always had when they were about to give up something they loved. A shot of guilt crawled up through Malika’s stomach and then through her veins. She rotated her shoulders in an attempt to get it to slide off her. She could no more stop her compulsion to take people’s most treasured belongings than Saachi could stop her compulsion to be a big damn hero. But Malika wasn’t a big damn hero. She wasn’t a hero at all. And she wasn’t about to stand here and let Saachi confuse her for one either.

“Ok,” Saachi said, unfastening the necklace to hand over. “But I’m going to get it back.”

Malika’s eyes widened with surprise. She hadn’t expected that. “And how are you planning to do that?”

Saachi, face resolute and proud, and a stubbornness in her eyes that Malika was unaccustomed to but had heard about before, answered, “In a sentence: I will steal it back if I must.”

The Miqo’te grinned. Her tail swished. And, for one moment, she stopped thinking of Saachi as every other goody-goody she’d ever met. “Really? I thought you said you can’t do that.”

“I can’t climb to the third floor quietly to steal something. I never said I can’t steal at all.” She gestured to the choker with her head in the same manner Malika had moments previously. “So that is only yours until it’s not again. Please go get the artifact back.” And from her bag she withdrew the very simple, very plain decoy journal.

Malika chuckled and put both items in her bag and bit back the urge to make a crack about hiding the choker on the third floor of some building. Instead, she simply said, “You got it, boss.”

#FFXIVWrite2021 #FFXIVWrite #Abstracted #This is really long I probably should have abstracted it more #FFXIV #Prompts #Writings #Saachi #Malika #Magic book #I just made this up as I was writing it so... it makes exactly as much sense as you'd probably expect something like that to

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shadow-scenarios · 4 years

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Omggg how you wrote out my request certainly surprised me but I totally enjoyed what you did with it!! And you said that you'd love to write a second part? Well, may I perhaps request that? 👀👀 (P.S.: I'm really relieved that you liked the idea haha, I've been sitting on it for awhile)

Hey again, simulationone!! I’m happy you like the direction I look it in. I was going to have the Reader become Akechi’s Navigator but I think that was a better direction to take it. Also, I tried a different style with this one, so I hope you like it!!

I loved the idea, it was so unique! If you have anything else that you want to request, you’re more than welcome to. By the way, this is suuuper angsty. If you don’t like that kind of thing, skip this post!!

Link to Part 1 here!!

- Nexus.

Trigger Warning: Major Character Death ;; Blood ;; Violence ;; Injuries ;; Swearing

Dance With Justice [2] | Goro Akechi

Perhaps there was a reality where she never had to hurt anyone. A world in which the Phantom Thieves never existed & justice was never an issue. Everyone could simply be happy without any concerns. However, thus was not her current fate.

This was never supposed to happen. She was going to die here, stuck in Mementos until she bled out.

{ Sat, 23 / 10 / 20XX }

Akechi had laid the plan out to her on this day: He had been given an opportunity to meet with the Phantom Thieves at the Shujin Academy. In particular, there was a panel in which a Q&A style show was being held. All they had to do was attend & imply they knew the identities of the Phantom Thieves before he ‘ inconveniently received a phone call ’. Afterwards, the group would be forcibly assembled in the Faculty Room & there they would unfurl the evidence. The photos the both of them had gathered & the video of them disappearing into the Metaverse.

As a result, they would be forced to stop committing their crimes after they took down the Palace of one individual in particular: Sae Niijima. He did admit that he was afraid for the life of his colleague because she was investigating the Phantom Thieves. If they were the perpetrators behind the metal shutdowns, she might be targeted next because she was seen as a threat.

However, there was one thing they were not to be informed about. The additional plan to arrest their leader as a warning of sorts. Additional police forces were to be sent out into the Metaverse & they would corner him when he was alone. It was quite simple but effective. All they had to do was cooperate with them.

This was all communicated to her over lunch in the school rooftop & she nodded, steeling her resolve.

{ Wed, 26 / 10 / 20XX }

Alas, the school festival came too quickly. The first day was ‘ unimportant ’, according to Akechi { although he did look rather embarrassed when she asked what happened with the Phantom Thieves... }.

It was about 20 minutes before the panel was due to start & she had already taken a seat somewhere near the centre. People were already gathered at this point because the Famous Ace Detective: Goro Akechi was going to be answering questions. Frankly, she found it quite creepy the levels most fans went to in order to see him.

Eventually the debate began. Makoto Niijima, student Council President, was hosting & essentially demanded answers related to his detective work reguarding the Phantom Theives. It was immensely impressive how he managed to dance around the answers, giving something vague yet satisfying. Was this is the life of a celebrity?

The question about the identity of the mysterious group soon came up. As her cue came, she texted him & there was the sound of Akechi’s ringtone going off. Silence spread through the auditorium in a strange mix of disappointment & comedic timing. After making a remark along the lines of not wanting to be trolled online, he quickly requested that a break be tacked on.

Quietly, she moved her way across the row & slipped out before the crowd could congest any corridors. The PE Faculty Office was easy enough to find, with many students easily offering directions. Slipping in before anyone else, there he stood.

“ Akechi. Are you ready for this? There’s no going back after we present the evidence. ”

“ Of course. The Phantom Thieves are a menace to society & by getting rid of them, people will finally feel safe in Japan. That’s what you want as well, right? ”

“ Yeah. Murderers aren’t welcome. ”

Once they had all entered, she presented the photographic evidence & introduced herself. Ryuji was in shock. Makoto seemed to be struggling to process the information. Explaining how both herself & Akechi had met, she pressed onto the point: Sae Niijima. She had to be saved from the mental shutdown culprits. An agreement of sorts was made by their rather stoic leader Akira. They would all work together to solve the cases.

{ Wed, 16 / 10 / 20XX & Thurs 17 / 11 / 20XX }

After the initial investigation into Sae’s Palace, keywords & location, these were the days of infiltration, so to speak. The Casino of Jealousy was vibrant & full of money. Coins were messily spread around on every single surface, posters containing snappy tag lines about how winning was key to survival. It was all so decadent. Cognitive shadows lined up for a chance to participate in the game known as the legal system. What a sick way to look at justice.

Despite the crimes they had committed, the Phantom Theives were very casual. They showed no symptoms of guilt nor doubt & insisted on these strangely flashy moves such as the All-Out Attack or the Showtime, in which they would defeat a bundle of enemies all at once. Although they were powerful, did they really feel the need to show off that much?

The other problem was their leader, Joker. He was tenaciously gripping onto both herself & Akechi { or Crow, was it? She never understood the need for the ridiculous code names... } to remain on the front lines to see what they could both do. Despite having bounds of energy at the beginning & regular breaks, it was quite tiring to keep having to constantly battle. Perhaps that was why she ended up being held captive by a Shadow.

It demanded Yen & safety. It was not a substantial amount of money & the Palace’s supposed ‘ Security Level ’ was not particularly high. She had seen how Akira had been picking through remains of the corpses of these beings, as they contained Yen. For some unknown reason during the negotiation, he simply refused to part. Apparently Joker, the supposed leader of the just Phantom Thieves believed some money more important than an ally.

Even as the shadow tore through skin & left almost fatal wounds, it hurt more to reaffirm her belief that the Phantom Theives were merciless.

Waking up was a surprise to be sure. To be greeted by Akechi in the nearest Safe Room asking if she was okay? It was very much a shock. He offered to patch up the wounds that were unreadable by her own hands & scolded her for being so reckless on that battlefield. It was good that both Queen & Mona were on hand, otherwise she would have died. Despite the presence of the other members of the group, this felt like a rather intimate moment.

The two of them kept having these strange moments: Delicately & intimate but as though something was missing.

A touch that lingered for longer than it needed to; Comforting words on a cool evening when she felt upset; Sitting within close proximity despite there being more space for the two of them than needed. Small signs that seemed to be hesitantly trying to convey something.

Even now as she paused to take in his appearance, it was startling. Dressed up in his princely regalia that was his Metaverse outfit, he looked rather charming. With golden tassels & a red cape, something about him seemed to just ooze noble. Though at times he could be slightly extra with the poses he pulled, Akechi was kind.

That was why she never saw it coming.

{ Thurs, 18 / 10 / 20XX }

Signaling for a meeting, Akira explained that they were going to write & send the Calling Card today. The debate about where to send it was long, strenuous & boring. After they eventually decided to be direct by mailing it to the Niijima residence, everyone disbanded for the day.

Aside for Akechi, who invited her to play Darts in Kichijoji. What a strange request.

The atmosphere was actually rather calming. At night, there were few around to disturb them. Handing over 800 Yen to play, the game began. It was nice to simply be able to talk about something unrelated to the Phantom Thieves for the both of them & although Akechi’s aim was unerring, she found it rather difficult to hit the tiny target, let alone land it in a specific place to score as many points as possible. After a while & with some expert advice, there was definitely some improvement.

By the time night struck, she had barely noticed until he had pointed it out. Everything was moving so swiftly. Offering to walk her to the train station, he was ever so polite. Until it rained.

It absolutely poured down with rain as the two of them descended the stairs of Penguin Sniper. Luckily, she had packed an umbrella into a crevice in her bag. The detective next to her? Not quite as fortunate as he sighed. Feeling bad, she offered to share & he accepted with reluctance after realising that it was better than the alternative of running home in the rain.

Being this close was both enthralling & embarrassing. Something about being forced this close to him was killing her. Akechi seemed to be doing alright, staying underneath to avoid both his hair & briefcase from becoming drenched by the cascading water. After a while that was in some respects a long time but in others not long at all, they reached the train station, parting ways when they had a difference in train line.

She knew exactly what she was feeling: There was no use in denial. Repressing such feelings would be more painful in the end. However, now was not the time to tell him. Catching the Phantom Thieves & saving Japan was more important than a high school romance. Filing the secret away for later, it was kept close to her heart.

{ Fri, 19 / 10 / 20XX }

It was almost too easy how quick everything was to fall into place. Putting on her best acting face was difficult but it was a believable lie, especially when most of the stress was based around getting Joker out alive. All their valiant efforts were for nothing. Similar to a spider spinning a web to catch prey, they had fallen victim.

After facing down the shadow of Sae Niijima herself on this strange roulette like battlefield, her desperate desire to achieve victory at all costs was her downfall & as she fell to her knees, clearly defeated, Queen went over to comfort her. Skull took Fox with him to steal the Treasure & once they discovered the numerous police forces that had made their way into the Metaverse, everything was taken up a notch.

Whilst Joker agreed to take the Treasure, thus becoming a distraction, everyone else would take the time to escape back to reality. A makeshift plan but one that would work in both her own & Akechi’s favour. Dashing along the protruding walls of the casino was thrilling as the group moved in sync, grappling along & weaving through like a natural born instinct.

Inevitably, he was captured. The leader of the Phantom Thieves, put behind bars. People would be safe from the mental shutdowns, they would no longer have to worry about having a psychotic breakdown. Without the branch that held them all together, there were no roots. As to not arouse suspicions, everyone parted ways until Akechi stopped her.

“ I... Know it’s rather late & we’ve just been to the Palace but there’s something I need to warn you about in the Metaverse. Will you join me in Mementos tomorrow morning? Preferably before school, if that’s okay with you, ” was all he requested with a ghost of a smile.

“ Sure, I don’t mind. Is there something else dangerous I should be worrying about? ”

“ It’s nothing too urgent but I thought I’d bring it to your attention since we are working on this case with the Phantom Thieves together. After all, we still need to hold the others accountable for their actions. ”

With that, she left. Akechi had always been a reliable source of information, so why would he lie?

{ Sat, 20 / 10 / 20XX }

It was the early morning. Despite the cold, she was in warm spirits as she approached the Shibuya line. Waiting there for her was the Detective Prince himself. Overnight, there was a decision made that once Akechi broke this bad news to her that she would change the mood by confessing. After all, it would be difficult to keep under lock & key.

Fading into the background as other students filtered in, they talked for a short period of time before getting down to business. Typing in ‘ Mementos ’ to the MetaNav was easy enough & there they were, standing at the dusty entrance.

Together, they fought their way down into a few floors below the surface. Although it took longer for them to traverse these levels due to not having a method of transportation such as the Mona Car, the Shadows were easy pickings for the two of them. At least, that is what she thought until two laser blasts from a ray gun burnt into her back.

Standing over her was a very different Goro Akechi to the person she had preciously known. What was once a charismatic smile that could charm anyone become a psychotic grin that looks unnaturally wide. Though she had once thought of his eyes as a storm of emotions, worries about the future & the safety of Japan, they were most definitely a typhoon, pulling victims in to tear them apart without a trace of mercy. Even as he called her a blind fool for trusting him & berated her sense of justice, the burning pain of the wounds that burnt through the Metaverse outfit were clouding her vision. She could have sworn there was the sound of someone walking away but there was too many sensations for her to clearly tell.

No one was going to find a dead body in the depths of Mementos. She found it morbidly ironic that her last thought was that she would never be able to tell Akechi how she truly felt.

Word Count: 2.3k

Publish Date: 06.10.20

#{ crow }#{ oh boy did I want to name this Dance With Justice 2: Electric Boogaloo }#goro akechi x reader #akechi x reader #goro akechi #persona 5 royal x reader #persona 5 x reader #persona 5 imagines #persona #p5r #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: injuries #tw: swearing #tw: violence #{ why is this my longest work what the heck }

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

Note

could i get a rec list of long (30k+) frank-centric any pairing fics? (preferably not in first person, and if there's smut with bottom frank)…weirdly specific but at least i know what i like?

Being specific is totally fine! Depending on what it is you’re looking for, it can even be super helpful :) I originally thought this would be difficult, but it turns out I already had all of these in my bookmarks. It didn’t specifically check for bottom!Frank though (sorry).

Frank-centric Longfic

Gerard Way's (Vampire) Detective Agency by jjtaylor, Pennyplainknits, mainly Frank/Gerard, 164k, Mature. Pete, in Decaydance Mansion, with a yarrow stake. Frank and Gerard, in the greenhouse, with a plant of questionable origin. Bob, everywhere you look, with a gang of assassins for justice. Vampires, valets, pamphlets, haunted furniture, dub-thrall, disembodied voices, zombie couriers, and sinister rituals.

Nightswimming by waxjism, Frank/Gerard, 141k, Not Rated. My Teenage Romance

Unholyverse by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 187k, Mature, Explicit. Religion! Horror! Exorcisms! Piercings! And Gerard is a priest.

Illyria (King and Country) by tabulaxrasa, Frank/Gerard, 57k, Explicit. Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria. Frank hasn't really been a stable boy since he ended up in the archduke's bed, but now Gerard's exile is over and he's king. Frank has to survive court, politics, and scheming nobles to figure out exactly what he is now.

Stunning Someone by morbid_beauty, Frank/Gerard, 82k, Explicit. Frankie, a tattoo artist living in Brooklyn, has basically everything ze wants...except, like, someone to cuddle with at night. As lame as that sounds. Gerard, an art student living in Manhattan, meets someone of questionable gender and starts a friendship with an unrequited crush. (Or: the one where Frankie is genderfluid, Gerard is kind of ignorant to much of the queer community, and sometimes you just fall for a stunning someone.)

Envision the Magic by innocent_wolves, Frank/Gerard, 69k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard is a talented magician, responsible for much of the success of the famous Envision Destiny cruise ship. He's also one of those people. You know, one of those people who just seem to take up all the space they come across with their arrogance and confidence. You wouldn't wanna touch their personality with a 10-foot pole, but still people admire them. That is beyond Frank. Working behind the cruise ship bars and seeing Gerard pretty much every day, he can't understand what's so great about him. Besides, everybody else doesn't have to deal with his snide remarks and rude comments. Because if there's one thing Gerard seems to love, it's the act of constantly pestering Frank.

Truths That He Learned by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, Ashlee/Patrick/Pete, 37k, Explicit. It's Frank's senior year, and it seems like he's constantly having new experiences, at least half of which come as a complete surprise to him. He falls in love, comes out, and has sex, not necessarily in that order.

Fit to be tied by maryangel, Frank/Gerard, 56k, Explicit. Frank is a bartender. Gerard is an alcoholic. They were clearly made for each other. Also, Frank is a werewolf.

Only Going One Way by ataratah, jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, 73k, Mature. Crossover with due South. Constable Gerard Way of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Detective Frank Iero of the Chicago PD team up find Mikey Way in a city where bowling alley score cards hide secret codes, where the good guys are either lying or undercover (and sometimes lying about being undercover), and where criminal bakers make drug-laced frosting.

James Cameron Got It Wrong by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, 57k, Explicit. In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Rock and Roll Never Looked so Beautiful by corruptedkid, Frank/Gerard, 58k, Explicit. Gerard Way is a rising solo artist, set to become the next big thing in the alternative scene. Frank Iero is a trashy punk with a reputation of his own as the frontman of Pencey Prep. When their paths cross, a love story is born, only to come crashing down when Gerard hits it big. As Gerard ascends to the A-list, Frank adjusts to life on his own. He almost manages it - until two years later, when fate puts him face to face with Gerard once more. Everything has changed, but the connection between them is still there. Their story has ended once before, but if they're lucky, they just might make a new one.

I never told you what I do for a living. by not0-fuckin-kay, Frank/Gerard, 60k+, PG-13 to NC-17. Frank Iero, male nurse at Pete Wentz's private hospital and possibly more to one new patient he can't keep his eyes off of. When a new pateint is brought in with amnesia, just days before Christmas, and with nothing but the clothes on his back and a strange drawing, it's left to Frank to find out who he is and what happened to him. When he does, it changes Frank's life forever, as he's thrust into love and health scares he never thought would complicate his life. This is the story of how he tries to make it through, juggling his job and his love-life and just trying to make things better. With Patrick the doctor, Bob the ward supervisor, Travis the unlikely therapist, and Mikey, the sometimes wannabe homicidal geek.

and me here on the ground by ohnoktcsk, Frank/Gerard, 32k, Explicit. Frank's worked hard to build a life for himself in the city of Jersey, where dragons swoop and dive over the river, and every day is divided by the ringing of the city bells. He knows the streets of the city like he knows the the tattoos on the backs of his hands, and he's content with what he has: a job as a bike courier, friends who love to give him shit, and a crush on a professor of art history at the local university. But he's also got a secret—one he's been running from for a long time. But all it takes is one delivery to a mysterious, quite-probably-magical bookshop to show Frank that there are some things you can’t outrun. Especially since he’s finally found a place that he doesn’t want to leave.

Companion by onceuponamoon, Frank/Gerard, 34k, Explicit. A workplace AU. There’s a dude sitting in one of the high-backed chairs opposite the reception desk. Mostly obscured by a fake ficus plant between them, the guy probably wouldn’t have been noticeable save for the lazy sprawl of his legs, the Chucks contrasting against the floral rug.

Your Heart The Only Place That I Call Home by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 30k, Explicit. When Frank and his crew of morally ambiguous ethernauts (pirates, as Imperial law would have it, but that's such an ugly word) fetch up on the doorstep of the fabled Sanctuary, they aren't expecting to find much - least of all a long-lost brother, a garden in a box and the key to an ancient riddle.

Give Me a Reason by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard and most variants thereof, 38k, Explicit. July 2007. Frank is fucking stoked for the next tour. This one will be the best ever, because his wife's gonna be with him the entire time. They've been married for less than six months, and he still can't fucking believe he got to marry her. This summer is going to rock. But life never happens as he plans.

In Repair by autoschediastic, Frank/Gerard, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Promises, Promises by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 31k, Explicit. "Sources on our investigative team say this was a bank robbery gone wrong, and that, when faced with a police task force surrounding the building, the suspect grabbed the nearest person and is now holding that young man at gunpoint as he makes his getaway."

Cover To Cover by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 32k, Explicit. You've Got Mail AU. Frank owns The Shop Around The Corner, which specializes in classic and rare books, and Gerard is opening up a large branch of Way Books & Café down the street. They meet online and fall in love.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 30k, Mature. Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

Let The Darkness Lead You Home by rivers_bend, Frank/Gerard, 49k, Explicit. Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero's parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he's born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he'd go to in order to find a new family to call home.

Gross roomies by turps, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Of All The Hidden Corners by moneyes, Frank/Gerard, ~44k, PG-13. An epic, adventurous tale filled with alternate universes, lords, mischief, magical powers, snark, boyfriends, and luck of the bad kind.

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights.

Paradox 'verse by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 42k, Mature. You know the saying. The best part about hitting rock bottom is that you get to meet a hot psychic.

#frank/gerard #ray/mikey #frank/mikey #lindsey/frank/jamia/gerard #fic rec list #longfic

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canadian-buckbeaver · 5 years

Text

Falling for a Count

In the early days of the plague you find yourself alone. Asra is gone. They had begged you to leave the city, to come with them and Faust, but stormed off in anger when you refused, leaving both Vesvuia and you behind.

But you couldn't bear to let Vesvuia fall, to watch as its citizens fell ill and died. Not when you thought that you could help. So you partner yourself up with Doctor Devorak, employed by the castle to find a cure for the plague and save the Count from its grasp. The more you work there though, the more you realize that there is more to the Count than you originally thought.

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Hopefully you guys enjoy. If you do, please like and reblog as Tumblr has me hidden from everything still and refuses to do anything to help me.

Count Lucio was a difficult man to work with.

Scratch that. You were far from his equal in any sense of the word. He was the war hero, the count, the leader of Vesvuia. You were nothing but a peasant in his eyes, one that was to worship the ground he walked on.

Let’s try that again.

During your work at the palace, you had discovered that Count Lucio was a difficult man to work for. Every little inconvenience was a worldwide disaster that needed to be solved yesterday. Tantrums were a daily, if hourly, occurrence. Screaming matches the norm. On the other hand, his wife, the beautiful and charming Countess Nadia, was an absolute dream to work for. On the worst days you told yourself that at least they balanced one another out. Add in that the castle was large enough to hide in and that Lucio demanded an entrance with every room that he entered and it was easy to simply avoid the man if necessary. IF it was necessary.

All in all, it wasn’t so bad being employed by the palace you supposed. The servants were always busy doing something or the other so they mostly stayed out of your way. The linens were the softest, thickest cloths that you had ever experienced. The food was incredible – the rumours about the chefs being world-class were not lies or embellishments. And Doctor Jules was a fantastic teacher and one hell of a doctor. He was an educated man, one that was filled with an endless supply of stories, facts and jokes. And despite you having very little medical background, he had been able to turn you into a fairly decent medical apprentice under him. Sure, he was a bit bashful and more than a little clumsy, especially after a few drinks at his favourite pub, but you enjoyed him as a teacher regardless. His patients all loved him despite their dire predicaments. He wasn’t Asra, but he would do.

Asra… what would they say if they could see you now? Your heart still ached when you remembered the way that they slammed the door behind him, leaving both you and Vesuvia behind. They had been so angry, furious that you would choose to remain in this sick and dying city than travel to safety with them and Faust. You just hoped that they understood. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to go with them, because that would be a lie if you said that you didn’t. You loved nothing more than to travel with them, to explore the magical realms and dance the night away with them. If it had been any other time you would have grabbed their hand and followed them out those doors. However, this time, you couldn’t. Vesuvia needed you, the people you knew and loved were becoming sick and dying around you. You needed to help save them in whatever way possible. As long as you were alive and able, you couldn’t sit idly by and watch people die. The Red Plague needed to be stopped. It would be a crime to sit back and do nothing.

They would understand. They had to. After all, you guys had been through so much together. Asra was your best friend, your teacher and your lover. They were truly your everything. They wouldn’t throw that all away just for the sake of a misunderstanding, right?

Right?

The castle at least kept you busy, kept your mind off of them. The plague had quickly spread through the peasants and was quickly making its way through the middle class and the noble families. It was no wonder that Asra had run off when they did. The disease showed no mercy. It came, it conquered and then it killed and moved on to the next victim. It showed no sign of stopping, no remorse, no sign of a cure or preventative. No immunity. That was the reason why you and Jules had been called to the castle. Lucio himself had developed the red scleras that were characteristic of the plague but currently developed no other symptoms. No cough, no pale and sweaty skin and no blood. Heck, aside from his eyes, he was still his pompous self (though who knew how long that would last). He was a brat, a smart ass, a spoiled shell of a man who was used to glory and power, nothing standing in his way of something he wanted. He was not below acting out in the middle of the hallway or in the middle of public, throwing a fit if something was less than perfect…

But there was something else about him…

Of course, many, many moons ago, Asra had warned you to steer clear of him. They wouldn’t go into detail as to why, just that you needed to stay away from him. Apparently both them and Muriel worked for him as young and hungry orphans. But, other than that, they would say nothing. Just shake their head or say that they didn’t want to talk about it. Even when they were pressed, they would simply look over you with those shadowed violet eyes and just ask you to just trust them on this.

But now, especially with Asra gone, there was just something about the count that drew you to him. Was that aura of mystery that Asra kept around him? Curiosity perhaps? He was someone that you had never dealt with before, a complete wild card. Or maybe you were just a little more upset with Asra than you let on. That was probably more or less the reason behind it you told yourself.

Days turned into weeks as you and Julian toiled into the night, searching for anything that might lead to a breakthrough. Julian was sure that the key to a cure was in the infected’s blood. The symptoms, to him, pointed to blood being the answer. Their sceleras will turn red, the eyes bled, the patients coughed red spittle, looked pale and shaken. Surely there had to be some sort of connection between blood and disease. Jules’ beloved leeches were never more than an arm’s length from him at all times. He was constantly observing what the creatures’ reaction to the blood was. Together you two read book after book, pouring over the scribbles of doctors and nurses past. Yet their knowledge and discoveries seemed few and far between. And yet there seemed to be no shortage of patients or victims. Everyday there was someone being wheeled into the little dungeon that the other plaque doctors called a lab. Doctor Valdemar dissected brain after brain, body after body, noting the effects of the plague on the entire body.

Valdemar. That was another that you couldn’t get a proper read on. The green-skinned doctor seemed rather entertained, disturbingly enthralled with their work. And not in a discovering how to stop it sort of way. It seemed to be more of a general curiosity, an excuse to play and learn. Their smile would chill you to the bone. More than once, you had sensed their red irises on you, a creepy smile on their face. Like they knew something that you didn’t. The thought made you shiver and more determined to not be in the same room as them alone. Even Julian seemed more than a little shaken by the doctor’s actions.

Days passed and turned into months. You threw yourself into your work. Treating patient after patient, trying to provide what comfort that you could to them, reading book after book, anything to keep your brain occupied and busy. Thoughts and figures were scrawled down, reports written and reviewed. Anything that would prevent yourself from thinking on two certain boys that kept creeping into your dreams at night.

First, Asra… your teacher, your master. Your lover and friend. You hoped that both Faust and them were safe. Their anger still cut you deep when you recalled how they left you here but you didn’t wish them ill-will. You loved them too deeply for that. Even in your darkest moments you knew that they only sought to protect you. No matter where they ended up, anywhere was indeed better than here at the moment. Their predictions about the plaque were becoming scarily accurate. No one here was safe or immune from the disease and there was still no stopping it. They had probably sought shelter in his Oasis but it still didn’t abolish the thoughts that raced about in your brain. In your reoccurring nightmares you saw white, curly hair hanging over an operating room table while Valdemar’s bloodied saw creeping closer to their skull. It never failed to jerk you from your sleep, your heart aching in your chest.

And then… then there was the Count.

The Count was the complete opposite of Asra. Where Asra was reserved and secretive, preferring to keep certain emotions or parts of their history to themselves, Lucio was an open book. The whole castle knew when he was upset or angry, happy or pleased. Unafraid to publicly display his emotions if necessary or desired. He would reenact his greatest moments on the battlefield to any curious onlooker. Public or private, the setting didn’t matter. His temper tantrums were public knowledge. He was selfish and could often be considered cruel. And yet, there was something else, something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Like the hard, sharp man was a bit of a front. On more than one occasion you had seen him playing with his hunting dogs. Two long-haired beauties that more than adored him. They weaved through his legs, knocking him over on more than one occasion and sending him sprawling to the ground. The two would be seen jumping up to kiss and lick at his face, their fur and drool covering him from head to toe. But Lucio would be far from furious. He would laugh and smile, petting them and cooing softly to them. Praising them and finding any random, dirty stick that he could to play fetch with them. Completely different from the count that would throw goblets of wine should a drop of gravy find its way to the snow-white tablecloth.

You couldn’t help but think that perhaps there was more to the Count than first met the eye. Sure, he was an ass but still. Dogs were animals that could tell a lot about a person and how they really were on the inside. His dogs wouldn’t act like this if he had nothing redeeming about him. He couldn’t just be an ass, could he? Right?

You couldn’t afford to be distracted by such trivial matters. Heaven forbid should Lucio ever discover that you considered him a trivial matter.

Time turned, life continued on, and the work never ended.

* * * * *

Stretching your back, you glanced outside of the windows of the clinic. It was another overcast day, one that held no heat or relief from whatever winter god or goddess kept you tight in their grasp today. It seemed that even the outside was mourning the newest deaths of the plaque today. With a sigh, you turned back to your sheet, continuing your report.

“… Katie (patient #0735) was seen today. Her eyes are completely bloodshot, irises remain the same colour. Her parents state that she has been crying tears of blood. Feeling weak, dizzy and lethargic. High fever and sore throat. No appetite but thirsty. Cried out for water in the middle of the examination. Drinking water provides no relief. Sweat was pink…”

The door to the clinic was thrown open. “Apprentice!” one of the servants from the castle called out, causing you to jump and bump the table that you were working at.

Thankfully you were able to grab the sheet of paper that you had been working on and save it from the spill of the ink bottle. Another mess to clean up. “What is it?” you asked, trying your best not to sound too annoyed at the interruption.

“My apologies.” The servant stepped forward, giving a small bow in apology. “It is the good Doctor. He has requested that you grab more ink, paper and a few of his books. He gave me a list to give to you.” The servant held out the sheet, careful not to touch your fingers.

You sighed as you looked over the note. That was no mere errand run. There had to be at least fifteen different things on the list. Why hadn’t he come as well? “Thank you. Did he mention when he needs it by?”

“Within the hour.”

“Within the hour?!?!” you croaked, looking at the list again. It would take the better part of that time to rush back to the castle from the clinic. He had to be ridiculous.

“I’m sorry. He said that he was on a roll and couldn’t leave…”

“Of course he did. Thank you. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” You promised the servant. Waiting until the servant left and closed the door behind them, you quickly grabbed a small satchel. You seized ink and paper, notebooks and quills. Anything small that could fit in the bag. You would need your hands free to carry the books that he wanted.

Minutes later you were about as ready as you were going to be. You gave Brundle a good scratch behind the ears before leaving the clinic, locking the door behind you. You didn’t need anyone sneaking in and stealing the painkillers again. That had been a mess and a half to clean up.

Rushing down the street, passed familiar face after familiar face. You supposed that the good thing about being Julian’s apprentice was that you got to go and be out and about, meet new people, see the neighbours. Many waved at you or cried out in greeting, others grabbed their partners or children, pulling them out of your harried way. You were on a mission and they knew better than to get in between you and it.

Panting, you approached the guard station in front of the bridge. The guards knew your face by now and let you in without incident. At least that wouldn’t slow you up this time.

But that meant that it couldn’t be your excuse for being late.

Stepping into the palace you knew that you couldn’t risk it. You needed to take the most direct route into the labs to see Julian. He was expecting you for a few minutes now. You couldn’t bear to be late again. The disappointment in his eyes had cut through your soul. He looked like Brundle when you took away his bone.

Hurrying faster, you rushed a corner without glancing behind first…

Running smack dab into a flesh and warm body.

With a cry, you stumbled, dropping the books as you tried to catch yourself from completely flattening your victim like a pancake. The person took a few desperate steps back, their hands grabbing your waist as they tried to catch themselves and you as well.

It was like slow motion. Papers flew everywhere, spilling out of your bag, a couple of quills floating slowly to the ground. Books thumping to the ground and spilling open, losing bookmarks and dog ears. Notes flew everywhere like a paper blizzard. You were no longer sure which way was up anymore. Everything was white.

And then you hit the ground, the other person breaking your fall on the hard marble floor. Even with the other person under you, the air was knocked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and winded. A piece of paper had floated down, covering the face of the other person. Groaning, you sat back on your heels, rubbing at your head. That had hurt. “I’m so sorry,” you began to say. “I should have checked the corner first before running around it and…”

You froze, watching as a hand reached up and pulled the paper away from their face.

A golden gauntlet pulled the paper away from their face.

Red eyes stared daggers at you, sharp eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing into slits as they slowly sat up. Blonde hair was tousled and messy, the white jacket crumpled, and the red sash around their torso no longer straight.

Of all the people you could have run into, you, of course, had to run over, and trample, the Count.

The same Count who would scream at one who dared cough in his general direction.

The same Count who would hold public executions in the coliseum, the Scrouge literally ripping men apart, for something small and trivial.

And you, you, a mere commoner, had just run him over like he was some sort of speedbump.

You were so dead.

Maybe you could write a letter to Julian and ask him to share it with Asra before your passing.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, M’Lord.” You began grabbing the books and papers around the two of you. Paper was absolutely everywhere. It was an utter mess. And still, still, the Count coldly stared down at you, his eyes narrowed into red and yellow slits. “Just… just… just let me get this all out of your way and then I can help you up… I… I don’t want you to slip and fall… well. Again I suppose.” You continued to babble and make a complete and utter fool out of yourself. as you seized the papers that were out of his way. Only then did you offer him a hand.

He glared at you a moment. He was still quiet, not a word had fallen from his mouth. He stared at your hand for a moment before looking back up at you. Oh, you must have really offended him. You quietly gulped, already thinking of what you can put in a farewell letter to Asra should the Count decide to kill you for your transgressions.

Then, remarkably, he took your hand. Not with his metal gauntlet, but with his flesh and blood. His hand was warm and soft, probably having been bathed in the finest ointments that gold and money could buy. Swallowing hard, still mentally preparing yourself for the tongue lashing that you were undoubtedly about to receive, you carefully pulled him up.

“There we are Count Lucio,” you told him once you had him on his feet again. You lowered your head to him as you apologized, already hearing him readjusting his cloak and clothing. “Again I am so very sorry and…”

“COUNT LUCIO! ARE YOU OK?” One of the guardsmen were rushing over to you two, their helmet bouncing on their head. “I SAW EVERYTHING! I’LL HAVE THEM THROWN INTO THE DUNGEON TO AWAIT THEIR SENTENCING…” They seized you by the arm and had already started to pull you away from him. Your heart fluttered into your chest. Oh no. This was it.

And Julian was never going to get his books.

“That isn’t necessary.” Count Lucio said to the guard, brushing himself off.

Both you and the guard froze at his voice. “Erm… sire?” the guard asked, perplexed. “Are… are you sure? I mean… I…”

Lucio finished adjusting everything, looking every inch the Count he was. His white linens practically glistened in the sunlight, the medals on his sash blinding you with light. “If you truly did see everything than you would have noticed that I ran into them.”

You were sure that your mouth was hanging open by about an inch. Count Lucio… blamed himself? But this was the man who was never wrong.

“My lord? Are… are you sure…?”

Count Lucio turned towards the guard. “Did I stutter or make myself anyway unclear for you to understand? Or perhaps your helmet of yours is too tight to help you think properly. I said I ran into them. You will do no such thing with one of the doctor’s apprentices. Do I make myself clear?” his words were cold and sharp.

The guard gulped, springing into a salute. “Yes, M’Lord.” He said before rushing back off to whatever corner he was from.

The Count turned towards you. “Pick up your papers and books and don’t leave my hallway in such a mess. Next time you chose to run about my castle, watch where I am walking first. I do not want this to happen again.” Without another word, the Count tossed his cloak over his shoulder and continued walking. Your knees were shaking as you began to gather the rest of Julian’s items. You hoped that the ink wells didn’t crack open in your little collusion with the Count.

In what seemed like no time at all, you were rushing down the steps to the dungeon offices of the many doctors. You could hear flasks moving, instruments being dropped and moved. “Doctor Julian? Doctor Julian, are you still in here?” you called out. Valdemar looked up from their table and gave you a familiar smirk before turning back to their experiment.

“In my office! Why are you so late?” the familiar burr answered, the sound of pen scratches never ceasing.

You sighed in relief. “You wouldn’t believe what happened…”

* * * * *

It had been some time since the incident with the Count. You had noticed that the Count seemed to be more aware of you whenever you passed by. If you were in the same room you would see that he was always within your line of sight. If you passed by him you could feel his eyes on you, watching you like a hawk. If you and Julian were eating supper with the other doctors you would often see him eyeing you from over the table. If you and Julian were outside hunting for leeches, he would be outside as well, playing with his dogs.

You would have thought that it was simply your imagination until Jules had commented on it as well.

“Seems like Lucio is keeping a closer eye on you than usual lately.” The doctor quietly remarked to you as the two of you headed back into the dungeon.

You sighed, looking around to make sure the coast was clear before replying. “I think he’s worried about me running into him again and causing a bigger disturbance.” You said quietly. Julian and Lucio went back, way back. Back before Lucio was the Count of Vesvuia. Julian could probably get away with saying a few more things than you could.

Julian shook his head. “You should have seen the last person to run into him. That man was chased out of the castle before anyone else could react.”

“Sounds like the man has a temper.” You said quickly, causing Julian to give a bark of laughter.

“My dear apprentice, that is one way to describe it. Have I ever told you about the time that Lucio…” Julian never got to finish his sentence before the two of you were interrupted.

There was a furious stomping heard from around the corner as the two of you approached. The Count, again in his pristine white glory, was furiously making his way towards the two of you. His red and yellow eyes staring into Julian. “JULES!” he barked causing the both of you to jump. “I have a headache, fix it!” his eyes glittered dangerously, daring him not to mess with him.

“Yes sir, right away sir!” The doctor managed to get out as he rushed away. Leaving you alone with the Count. Nodding to him quickly, you turned to follow Julian out.

“Not you.” Count Lucio said, his hand reaching out and grabbing your shoulder, pulling you in front of him again. You froze as those eyes looked you over, scrutinizing every inch of your body. You quietly gulped, trying to hold your knees still and keep them from shaking. His golden gauntlet came under your chin, poking your head up. Forcing you to look up into those dangerous eyes. What was he thinking? Perhaps he was thing how he should have had you executed when you ran him over in the hallway? Or maybe he knew something about your past before you met Asra. Or maybe…

“Feel like playing a real game of doctor today?” he asked with a smug purr, shooting you a winning smile as his dimples winked at you. There was a faint dusting of blush on his cheeks, instantly making him look more personable and alive.

You gaped at him like a fish. Did… did he really just say that? Like… your face was going red, you could feel it. “I… I mean… I…”

His gauntlet seized your hand. “Excellent. Follow me then. I know this castle like the back of my hands.” He winked at you again before pulling you through a seemingly solid wall. The wall rippled around you, the magic cold and dense, before it ebbed away, swallowing you up like you were never there.

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years

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This is the first chapter to that random ass idea I had that got over 100 notes. Thanks to @ahh-fuck and @ruusverd-witcher annnd @shelikesgoodfics this actually got developed into more than a tumblr post. So, thanks. You can read here under the cut.

When Geralt had first left Kaer Morhen, he had had trouble believing everything he had been taught about humans was true. Times had been changing, and the general public had been turning on witchers. He had left, expecting to make some kind of fortune, a name for himself, and to live differently than he had lived in the keep. He had expected fear to stop dogging his footsteps. He had been wrong.

And yet, when he had killed his first monster, he had learned every single cynical training master had been correct. The girl had not thanked him, he had not done a noble deed, he had simply killed a rapist, and terrified normal people.

His life, as promised, had been full of miserable hardship, frequent wounds, and constant discomfort. It was near impossible to get a room in some towns, and yet in others he did just fine. He had some friends across the continent, at least until Blaviken. There, he had managed to turn himself into an enemy of most people, and with his distinctive white hair it wasn’t as if he was easy to hide. The alderman had turned on him, but without arresting or killing him at the very least.

Stregobor had made his life even worse, spreading disdain for witchers all because Geralt hadn’t wanted to help him. They had a history as it was, and it wasn’t the first time Stregobor had fucked him over. The sorcerer had almost gotten him killed all thanks to general maliciousness and a faulty hourglass. Geralt was sure if he ran into Stregobor again, it would end badly for him, again.

It was for the best that he didn’t have feelings, not truly. A few vestigial memories, much like the now-useless tendon some people still had in their forearms. A reflex, perhaps, was all that remained of what it meant to feel. And if that didn’t always feel exactly true, well, he would make it true. The trials had hurt, and he had no desire to find himself back at Kaer Morhen as a failed experiment where they would attempt more trials to try and eradicate any lingering feelings of his. Not that he desired or didn’t desire, he killed monsters for coin so he could stay alive. That was it, that was all there was. He meditated to maintain control of his mind and body, he slept when and where he safely could, he ate when he could, and whenever possible, found a hot bath.

Until Posada.

He had decided to check out a ‘doevil’ in the fields at the Edge of the World. Since no such things existed, he had been somewhat derisive with the local townsfolk looking to contract his services. While he had not been wrong, the creature had been anything but a ‘doevil’ of any kind, he had received more than he bargained for.

The creature had been a sylvan, and while they had tussled, the creature had meant him no real harm. While they had tried riddles, and scuffles, it had near ended bloody when Filavandrel and his ilk had debated killing the witcher and Jaskier. Who had, for some gods forsaken reason seen Geralt in a tavern and decided to attach himself to the witcher like a burr on a woolen blanket. It had not displeased Geralt, since he could not feel displeasure, but it did inconvenience him, because now he had another life to protect other than his own. And he did not need that kind of encumbrance.

Nothing he had done had worked to drive the bard away, which had made things even more difficult. Not aggravating, he would have no idea what aggravation felt like. Not speaking to the bard did nothing. Not sharing supplies did nothing. Not giving details of various monster hunts did nothing. So Geralt switched tactics. He tried describing how he got his scars in gruesome detail, or at least so he’d thought. The bard simply complained he was light on details like always and had asked more questions. Just how bad did the bite of a wyvern hurt? Was a crushed ankle truly that hard for a witcher to recover from? Utterly mystified, Geralt had given up on driving away his unwanted hanger-on.

Soon enough they were sharing whether Geralt wanted to or not. If ‘want’ was even the right word for it. He was not accustomed to having to share what little he had. It didn’t make any sense to him that the bard would add to his supplies, or share a nicer blanket, or anything else. But being devoid of feelings it would make sense he would not understand the actions of those who had them and acted on them. Jaskier noticed he was cold, and as such put their bedrolls together and spread his cloak around them both. Jaskier’s cloak was much better quality and trapped heat far better. While he could not conceive of a single reason for the bard to do this, it meant he was warmer and experienced less physical discomfort so he didn’t bother to protest.

No part of the witcher code said he had to suffer privation. Nothing he had been taught said he had to be uncomfortable. It was just that he probably would be. If Jaskier could afford better food than he could, there was no rule saying he could not eat some of it if it was offered to him. And so by that logic he was able to accept things from the bard without hesitation. To kill monsters he needed enough to eat, and he could not lose fingers or toes to frostbite and still maintain his skills as a swordsman.

Another thing that made no sense to him at all was Jaskier’s lack of fear of him and total acceptance that Geralt would rarely if ever speak to him. Sometimes he would share a one-word answer or question, but much more than that was frequently out of the question. After he had made the mistake of letting Jaskier listen in on him negotiating a contract, the bard had puffed up full of righteous indignation.

‘Why won’t you talk to me like that? Look at you! You can speak full sentences when you want to! I thought all of that up in Posada was because of the elves and the lady of the fields, I thought it was some kind of magic. Now I know you just choose to be taciturn and silent with me on purpose!’

It had been patently unfair and untrue, Geralt just had no idea what to say to him most of the time. His response was simply ‘then go.’ He would have liked to have said ‘if it bothers you so much, you can go. I never asked you along. I’ve never asked you to stay, I’ve never done anything to indicate I want you trailing me around like a lost pup. And yet here you are.’ He just couldn’t do it. Jaskier hadn’t asked a question. Hadn’t demanded an answer, had just yelled at him for a bit, panting, and left to get himself a drink at the tavern. Geralt had been surprised the bard had returned that night. He had reeked of sex and ale, making Geralt’s nose itch uncomfortably. It had been difficult to fall asleep after that. The woman the bard had chosen had a particularly noxious perfume, and with his heightened senses he could hardly breathe for the rest of the night.

When he had packed up his things that morning, he had not expected Jaskier to stay with him, walking beside Roach like always. They passed through Aedirn into Temeria, heading for Redania.

Geralt had no way to explain to Jaskier what his training had entailed. Young witchers were not supposed to speak out of turn. They were not supposed to speak at all unless spoken to. They should use the minimum number of words to answer any question. If the training master could figure out how to answer with fewer words, you took that many raps as punishment for wasting time. The only time you were allowed to speak first or add words was when negotiating. You needed the skills to get a fair price per the risk of the monster. While adding excessive words was still punished, the training over how to negotiate was far more comfortable.

They continued on together, and while fishing for a meal stumbled upon a djinn. Immediately Jaskier did something completely stupid. While Geralt might not know what it is to have feelings, he fully knows the difference between stupid and not stupid. Deciding to call upon the power of a trapped and angry air-spirit was the definition of stupid. Not to mention he’d seen another side of the usually pleasant bard that day. Wishing apoplexy and painful death and forced love onto others. It had been an oddly uncomfortable chain of events. Geralt would have wished for a meal, which was why they were fishing in the first place. If only Jaskier hadn’t ignored him and had left more slack on the line they would have been eating catfish, not fighting off a djinn amphora.

When Jaskier had suffered horrible damage to his throat as a result of his impetuousness and questionable decision-making skills, Geralt had dragged him onto Roach and pushed both himself and his horse to find help. It had been more or less worthless. Chireadan had not given him the details of what tangling with Yennefer would entail at all. Just as Geralt had found he did not want the bard to lose his voice. It made no sense and made his stomach coil in knots. What should he care? Perhaps it would save him the trouble of having to keep the other man alive as they travelled. He had told the half elf he would sit on a scorpion for Jaskier. And he had meant it, which left him wondering for hours what was wrong with him.

By the time he had reached the sorceress he had managed to figure out why he would do anything for Jaskier: It was his duty as a witcher. He was there to save the people, albeit usually for coin. Although Jaskier did often provide a roof over his head, a warm bath, body heat, and the use of his cloak and bedding. It might not be coin, but it was a creature comfort freely given. A transaction, and he was indebted to the man with the cornflower blue eyes.

When all was said and done in Rinde, the town half destroyed, Geralt had learned something in him that should have been dead wasn’t. After kissing Yennefer he knew he would never want to kiss anyone else the way he wanted to kiss her. Sex with her had been unlike anything he had ever experienced and he would have done anything to do it again. Dangerous for a witcher to want anything other than the meeting of basic needs. He had left Rinde with Jaskier in tow.

It had been easy to ditch the bard in Oxenfurt and take a contract down the Pontar. With winter coming he had no desire to spend the frozen months stranded in the cold and made his way back to Kaedwen and Kaer Morhen just as the first snows began to fall.

He had spent much of his time that winter in meditation, working to quell and destroy any lingering vestigial feelings inside of himself. He had considered cutting out his own tongue rather than risk it betraying him around his companions. The urge to talk, to tell Jaskier things was sometimes so overwhelming he would have, if he had had any idea of how to begin. The problem was that he shouldn’t want to tell Jaskier anything, he should just want him gone. He should not hope that they will meet up again when spring begins to thaw the land and make travel possible. In fact, he should be relieved that he will be only responsible for himself until their paths cross again.

It had been easier to justify his longing to see Yennefer again. Sex was a primal want, and the witcher mutations hadn’t removed those from him. While it wasn’t a need, and his own hand would suffice when necessary, it had been so different with her. He had slept with plenty of whores, but there was something different about not paying. About someone who looked you in the eyes and desired you. No shame, no disgust, no vague reek of fear, nothing to indicate any distaste with the act. Not that many whores minded him, he was polite, he didn’t ask for much, and as such he wasn’t treated too oddly. There were plenty of monsters who looked like normal men, and whores had plenty of experience with those. There were also monsters who were nothing to be afraid of, and the women were well aware Geralt was one of them. No one looking to hurt you would say things like ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’

He stopped in Vengerberg on his way to a contract in Guleta. He’d made his way through Kaedwen trying to decide what to do with himself. Several contracts, little to eat, and a few non-life-threatening injuries had perhaps clouded his judgement and he’d found himself looking up the sorceress. She’d welcomed him with open arms, a hot bath, and several warm meals. Not to mention she had let him share her bed. In that time he’d recovered and moved on to the contract further south. Then, unable to help himself, he’d gone back to her. If pressed for a reason he could not have said why.

She had notified him of contracts she heard of through her own networks, and he had taken them. Sometimes she was able to portal him there, much to his and Roach’s disgust. Neither one of them liked walking through those cold black holes into an abyss. He was usually left to make his own way back, but at least it saved him some time overall. He was also never required to make his way back, either. Sometimes he felt a bit like a housecat, allowed out to wander as it willed and if it came back, all the better. And if not, well, there were other cats.

She did not mind his silences, or his one-word answers and questions. She knew what he was thinking. She could have entire conversations with him without him ever having to open his mouth. Although, she did eventually stop answering him unless he verbalized a response to her. It was easier after a while, sharing books, talking about abusive rulers, that sort of thing. History was easy, too, because he could recite answers to her just like he might have back in his schooling at the temple in Ellander, or at the keep.

While he did not like when she lost her temper at him, he bore it. And eventually grew brave enough to push back. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever really met before. The first time he’d snapped back he’d expected to find himself deposited in the middle of a frozen wasteland with no memory of how he’d gotten there. It hadn’t happened. They had bickered. He had left of his own free will, which surprised him, and then come back a few hours later feeling calmer. It had just been adrenaline, he told himself, not anger. Witchers couldn’t feel.

He ran into Jaskier on another contract, and was not unhappy to see the other man. They travelled together while he took down a bruxa and then he found himself drawn back to Vengerberg. No magic. His medallion wasn’t so much as twitching. No, he just felt like it would be alright to be there. A place where he had food, a roof, a warm place to sleep, and intellectual stimulation alongside the physical. It was as much a haven as he could have imagined while growing up. While Yennefer lost her temper and threw things around and was horrible at any kind of compromise, she never hit him. She never deliberately sought to hurt him or wound him. It was a strange kind of life. Until finally he moved on.

He faced down Foltest’s daughter and rescued her from being a striga. Afterwards, he recuperated in Ellander in Melitele’s temple until Jaskier came to find him. The bard had heard Geralt was injured and came to see him. It was good to see Jaskier again, and Geralt had found it was slightly easier to talk to the bard. Not as easy as he might like, but sometimes he was able to express a thought or two. Maybe get in a full sentence, and when he couldn’t, if he stared at the bard’s lute long enough Jaskier would sing or play and any need to have a conversation would be swept away by the music.

He had suffered some interesting events in Cintra, but he had six years before he would need to deal with the fallout of that particular incident. It had been nice to see Mousesack again. The druid was not shy of admitting their friendship and it had gotten him out of some miserable scrapes here and there. Not to mention it had stopped Calanthe from having his head decorating a pike on her castle walls. He sometimes wondered what Mousesack got out of their friendship.

He understood with Jaskier that the bard got inspiration for songs, and fame for being ‘trusted’ to travel with a witcher. And he got laid quite a bit for being brave enough to travel around with a monster. Geralt had greatly disliked when they had traveled to Oxenfurt and Jaskier had wanted to introduce Geralt to some of his friends. They had treated him much like they might treat a bear on a chain. A curiosity, a horrible beast trained to perform some tricks, but nothing of any value of its own beyond its strangeness. The bard had seemed mostly oblivious, and Geralt couldn’t fault him. It wasn’t as if he tried to keep up with the conversation or pay much attention. And he had absolutely refused to do any ‘sword tricks’ until they’d mostly given him up as a mute. It had been underwhelming.

The only good part of their time in Oxenfurt had been having access to the library. Geralt had never seen so many books, not since the sacking of the keep. But some of these books had nothing to do with anything important. It was odd to read a book of stories and fables without being asked to look for the truths behind them. He could just sit in a chair, in the library, and read as he pleased. It was somewhat like his time with Yennefer. Calm, peaceful, and given to quiet contemplation. Outside of the occasional drama and fuss. His presence had unsettled and upset some of the students and teachers. For others he had been a source of fascination. They had hounded him, trying to seek answers he couldn’t have given them even if he’d wanted to. With his enhanced hearing he had been well aware of how people thought of the ‘dumb albino witcher’ the bard had acquired. As if Geralt was a possession Jaskier could purchase.

This was perhaps why they had purged witchers of emotions. A normal man would be enraged at such treatment. A normal man would perhaps rise to the challenges, show off his skills and mastery, and would as such find himself swinging from the gallows. Geralt was not a normal man, and Geralt had bitten his tongue, and stayed silent, and crushed himself small. He left Oxenfurt with all of his belongings and his limbs firmly attached.

It was frustrating to be around people who didn’t think he had anything to offer other than brute force. While it wasn’t a new experience, he had gotten somewhat accustomed to Yennefer taking his intelligence for granted. She never over explained things or treated him like a simpleton. Overall Jaskier didn’t either, but at times he put Geralt’s teeth on edge. Finally, one night around the campfire he had snapped, “I’m not stupid.”

Fear had automatically swamped him. Or at least a conditioned fear response. He had frozen; eyes wide with horror that he had said anything out loud. No one had asked him his opinion and speaking out of turn was incredibly stupid. Surely now the bard would give in to the urge to cane him, and he would have to take it, rather than risk angry villagers tying him to a stake and burning him alive. Or hanging him after a solid beating. Perhaps they would draw and quarter him instead? No one would allow him to defend himself and let him escape consequences.

“I know you’re not,” Jaskier had frowned.

Geralt had been confused and lost, this was not how the exchange went. He spoke out of turn, and then he got hurt for it. Sometimes, when he knew the punishment was inevitable or just absolutely worth it, he would dig himself into a deeper hole. This was not one of those times, and he’d sat there by the fire, utterly dumbstruck.

“Why would you think I felt you were stupid?” Jaskier pressed, brows furrowing.

“You talk to me as if I haven’t lived more history than you’ve read,” Geralt tells him flatly, hoping that’s the end of the conversation. It’s the truth, at least. And he had been asked to share his reasoning. So he had. There could be no punishment for that, could there? Besides, the bard wasn’t strong enough to truly hurt him, was he? He wasn’t particularly delicate but he wasn’t strong like Vesemir. Or any of the other training masters. He could take whatever abuse the bard wanted to inflict on him.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t speak much, it’s hard to judge. I know you aren’t stupid, Geralt. I’ve never thought that. Not once. Perhaps a little thick about some specific things, but not in general. You’d be long dead if you weren’t incredibly intelligent. It’s just, when you aren’t responding any, I end up making more noise than I need to so that I can fill up the spaces.”

“Like now?”

“Yes,” Jaskier snorts. “Exactly like now. Can you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“Hurting your feelings?”

“Can’t hurt what isn’t there,” Geralt told him affably. “At least now I know why you make so much fuss over everything.”

“What?”

“To fill up the spaces.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad this is what we’ve come to understand. Not that you should talk more,” Jaskier had laughed. “Or that I wouldn’t mind conversation from you. I like when you add your insight. It’s very…”

“Insightful?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jaskier had not known what to think when he had met Geralt. The other man had been nothing like what he’d expected a witcher to be. Geralt had chosen to help people when given the chance, often times for a pittance rather than what he should have been owed. When he heard of a contract but people threw stones at him, he frequently waited until nightfall and would consider taking the monster on regardless. It depended on how dangerous it was, and if he thought perhaps making his way back through later would result in a warmer welcome. He had expected a witcher to be devoid of all feeling, nearly inhuman, and while intelligent, intelligent in a predator way rather than a human way.

The more time he spent around the witcher, the more he learned everything he thought he knew about them was wrong. Or at least this particular one didn’t fit the mold. Geralt rarely discussed much of anything with him, unwilling to be drawn into conversations. He could be coaxed into a sentence here or there but seemed to prefer one word answers, no matter how simple they made him seem.

Jaskier hadn’t even known that Geralt could communicate in full sentences until he heard him negotiate a contract.

“Not enough coin.”

“What? That’s a hundred crowns!”

“For a pack of creatures you can’t even identify? You expect me to go out into the dark with no idea what I’m facing for barely enough coin to purchase a room in an inn and a bath?”

“You’re a damn witcher! It’s what you do! The coin should be a bonus, you murderous beasts were made to kill, so kill damnit! The monsters, not us!”

“I hardly see much difference right now,” Jaskier had interjected idly. He had ignored Geralt’s glare but hadn’t bothered to speak up again.

“I kill monsters for pay. If the pay is too low, I walk.”

“We don’t have more to give you!”

Geralt slapped the contract down on the table. “I can read. Here the offer says two hundred. Not one, but two. Double. So I am telling you, you honor the contract, I bring you the corpse as proof, you pay me, and we pretend none of this happened. I won’t stay on, I’ll move to the next town over and you needn’t see me again. Or, you continue to kick up a fuss, I walk away, perhaps someone you care about dies, and you wish you’d paid the fee you advertised.”

“Fine! You fucking bastard!” The man spat at Geralt’s feet.

“I will take half the coin up front, in case you decide to continue your lying streak. You will have, as collateral, my horse and whatever gear I don’t take with me on the hunt. When I get back, you will give me the other half of my pay, and I will collect my property and go. Are we clear?”

“I won’t shake hands with a mutant such as yourself. But aye, damnit, just as you said it will be.”

“I will be staying behind to watch that the witcher’s things don’t mysteriously vanish while he risks his life for an ungrateful pisspot such as yourself. And before you decide to test me, just remember I am quite famous. And many people are very fond of me across many kingdoms. If you think your life is unpleasant now, I can assuredly make it worse.” Jaskier smiled broadly, using a grin he had learned from one of his history teachers at Oxenfurt whenever a student fell asleep in class. That particular teacher had been rather fond of carrying a small riding crop with him for such occasions.

Geralt had been surprisingly sensitive to the moods of others, and initially Jaskier had chalked it up to his heightened senses and training. With more exposure to the witcher, he found it came out of genuine compassion -even if Geralt would insist it absolutely did not because he felt no such thing. He wasn’t capable of it. Which was utter bullshit. He had seen his friend happily entertaining the village children while the bard booked them a room at the inn. Not everyone approved of letting children near such a ‘vicious monster,’ but once they saw Jaskier with him and unharmed it tended to help. Not to mention the fact Jaskier was absolutely unafraid of touching Geralt, touching his things, drinking from his ale cup, or just in general being a horrific nuisance. The witcher always tolerated him with good grace. He had asked about it once.

“Why must you go out of your way to treat me like a pet?”

Jaskier had been utterly shocked Geralt had bothered to initiate a conversation much less speak in more than monosyllables. It had taken him a few minutes to gather his wits. “Think about it, Geralt. If they see me fussing with your hair in a way that clearly aggravates you and you don’t kill me, what are the odds you will kill their children?”

“Hm.”

As they got more used to each other, Jaskier was more able to read his moods and body language and knew when he wanted to ask a question. While sometimes he truly had no idea what Geralt could possibly want to know, he learned several ways of asking a question that allowed Geralt to respond and also ask his own. Frequently, his questions were about emotions and what it was like to have feelings. Usually more framed as an attempt to understand why Jaskier did things the way he did, and not in terms of himself. After all, as Geralt frequently reminded Jaskier, he had no feelings and couldn’t conceptualize them in terms of himself.

Another thing the bard had learned that he hated was Geralt was almost incapable of asking for help. He also wasn’t entirely aware of his own needs. While Geralt knew he had to eat, he also knew he could go several days without food and so when their packs were low he went without. Jaskier honestly hadn’t noticed, which horrified him in ways he couldn’t explain. He had noticed after they had split apart for a while and reunited in Verden. Geralt had been looking gaunt and moving a little more sluggish than usual and it had taken a ridiculous amount of effort for Jaskier to determine the source of the change.

The witcher had been emaciated and coming upon the brink of starvation. Jaskier had badgered him for hours before they had stopped to make camp and Geralt had stripped out of his armor and shirt. His skin had looked stretched across his bones like he was curing it for leather. The next major town they hit on their way to Brugge, Jaskier had spent exorbitant sums on food and a comfortable room for them to stay in while Geralt recovered. He was also learning that Geralt did not sleep properly often and was truly horrible at taking care of himself because he didn’t see a need to.

The bard had been almost tempted to drag Geralt back to Aedirn and Vengerberg to see if the witch would take him back simply because at least he’d been well fed and clean when he’d lived there.

“Don’t you feel hunger?”

“Yes.”

“So why not eat?”

“No coin.”

“I know you can hunt.”

“Too tired.”

“That’s not it, I know you. You can set snares just fine. Or grub up a tuber or some berries.”

“No good hunting.”

“Ah. You mean you worry the peasants you pass would go hungry if you killed a rabbit they might never catch?” Jaskier looked to the sky as if a voice would answer him in place of Geralt’s taciturn silence. “You have to eat, because you have to keep up your health to kill monsters so you can get more coin. When was the last time you bathed somewhere other than a stream or puddle?” The bard had worked more soap into his hands and carefully started washing more muck out of Geralt’s hair. “You wouldn’t ask Roach to carry you without feed for weeks, or grass to crop. She’d die. You also walk her so she doesn’t get worn out or lamed when you’ve ridden her a long ways. You have to take at least half as good care of yourself as you do the damned horse.” He had been somewhat amused to see the witcher falling asleep, apparently enjoying the sensation of fingers massaging his scalp. However, Jaskier’s tirade was far from finished. “Geralt!”

“Shh,” the witcher had rebuked him, closing his eyes, and leaning into the touch. Jaskier hadn’t had the heart to keep pressing him after that. He had instead watched as Geralt fell asleep in the bath, trusting Jaskier to finish cleaning his hair.

While overall he was fairly sure he was unsuccessful teaching Geralt to take better care of himself, he did notice problems earlier on. It was easier to notice when Geralt’s head started to droop just a bit, and to decide he was simply ‘too tired’ to go on and they needed to make camp or stop and eat before going on. He learned different signs for when Geralt was in pain, and how severe it was, and berated him soundly every time he let a wound fester without proper treatment. Occasionally they’d split apart for a few months only to run into each other again and Jaskier would take up dogging Geralt’s footsteps until the vagaries of fate pulled him away. He was always pleased to note, however, that Geralt never looked as bad as he had in Verden.

After Caingorn they had headed west. No real destination in mind. They were well enough supplied that they could afford to travel at a somewhat leisurely pace. Jaskier continued to pester Geralt and occasionally found himself wishing he hadn’t.

“And what would be so bad about all that?”

“A whipping.”

“Ah.” His voice had dried up in his throat. “But… when you were just children?”

“Discipline.”

“A whipping?”

“Children need discipline,” Geralt had repeated.

“I see. Of course. That… that quite makes sense. Of course. How could I be so silly?”

“What?” he’d demanded, deeply unsettled by Jaskier’s odd jabbering.

“I just, no one ever whipped us. Not that I’m aware of. Sure, a switch, or in the case of one professor a riding crop. But, Geralt. A whip?”

“Hard life,” he’d shrugged.

“I know,” Jaskier had said softly, knowing if he apologized Geralt wouldn’t understand. The gesture would be meaningless. Not unlike how Geralt had long since given up on shaking hands to seal contracts and now when people held their hands out he just stared blankly. Without humanity behind things, without feeling, without veracity, it was meaningless.

“What kind of monsters do you think you’d like to run into?”

“None,” Geralt grunted from Roach’s saddle, looking at him oddly.

“Well, then how will you gain enough coin for a hot meal and a nice bath?”

“Don’t need one.”

“Yes, but you like them. I know you. We’ve been friends long enough that I know what you like. I know your favorite meals, I know you like warm baths. I also happen to know how much you do enjoy a kip on an actual bed in a decent inn. Especially after weeks on the road.”

“Unnecessary,” Geralt argued back, uninterested in talking about this further. Jaskier knew if Geralt had wanted to keep talking he would have expanded the conversation some or tried to make some kind of eye contact rather than just bite off the shortest answers possible.

“If you weren’t a witcher, what would you want to be?”

“Can’t want,” Geralt had reminded him.

“Bullshit. Your body wants food, your mind wants rest, your cock wants sex, you know damn well what wanting is.

“Not very poetic,” Geralt had hummed, still refusing to engage. Then he’d eyed Jaskier slyly. “If not bard, what?” seeming almost pleased with his ability to turn the conversation away from himself.

“Oh, a viscount,” Jaskier said breezily, and laughed when Geralt choked in response. “Yes, I’d be Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, and I would fall in love with a Duchess and sing songs for her as long as my heart desired.”

“Honest?” Geralt presses, eyeing him oddly and Jaskier knows what he’s really asking.

“You know how to speak in sentences, Geralt. Try it.”

The witcher had snorted at him in disgust, spit on the path and lightly kicked Roach into a faster walk.

“What you’re feeling right now is annoyance!” Jaskier called after him, slipping his lute from his back to his chest so he could walk and play.

Many miles later, Jaskier had slowly convinced Geralt to describe some physical sensations to find out if they matched up to human feelings. He had felt that perhaps if he could draw some parallels it would make Geralt less resistant to being honest with himself. Their conversations were stilted at best, but it fostered a different kind of trust between them, something fragile and new.

“Palms sweat, stomach hurts,” Geralt offered, eyes roving as he tried to think of other symptoms he could register that Jaskier might translate into a feeling. “Headache, sometimes. Nausea?”

“Perhaps spoiled clams?” the bard suggested and then laughed when he saw Geralt huff. “Could be nervous. I know when I’m about to do something I don’t want to do I frequently feel nauseous. Especially when I first started performing. Oh, I would sweat like a pig until I had the audience singing along with me. Or stamping their feet, or just… listening. When I knew they were my audience now, not just a collection of people. Or, when as a boy I knocked over a very expensive vase my mother was fond of. I had to tell her the truth of course, but all the same I wasn’t sure how she would react and my stomach twisted in knots.”

“Did not.”

“Of course not literally, I suppose I could say it like you did, it hurt, I was nauseous. But that’s not very poetic is it? And you seem to think I always have to wax poetical or I’m somehow doing something wrong when I talk. Then you get frustrated I won’t speak plainly for you. So please, Geralt, which would you prefer?”

“Quiet,” the witcher supplies without taking so much as a second to think.

Jaskier knew by now that the little look Geralt gave him out of the corner of his eye was his version of a smile. He still puffed himself up, knowing that was what Geralt wanted. “You asked!” he protests, happy to put on a small show if it will amuse his friend. “You started the conversation! You don’t get to decide to just end it! That’s not how this works! Didn’t they teach you manners at your witcher school?”

“No,” Geralt tells him after a moment’s pause and careful consideration. “Elbows off the table. Please and thank you,” he mimics and Jaskier knows he’s hearing an impression of long dead training masters. Geralt had surprised him many a time with his impersonations. With his enhanced hearing, Geralt was well able to mimic tone and vocal pattern when he felt like it. “Children are to be seen, not heard,” he continues, a small crease between his brows. “Chew with your mouth closed. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

Jaskier isn’t sure if he should smile or not, he can hear the stuffiness in Geralt’s rumbly baritone. The precision of the words spoken in a way Geralt would never say them. He settles on a somewhat bland smile, a little unsettled. “That sounds rather miserable. So you learned table manners, perhaps, but not the very fine rules of conversation.”

Geralt glances at him, and Jaskier hates that he can tell the memories weren’t fond ones or even amusing ones. The witcher lifts a shoulder. “Yen helped some,” he offers.

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier agrees quietly, rather than make a jibe at the sorceress’ expense. Usually it’s worth it to get Geralt riled up over it, but right now it seems unnecessarily cruel.

“You talk more,” Geralt adds, sensing the bard’s discomfiture and not sure of how to help.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Jaskier smiles. He lightly squeezes Geralt’s shoulder and brushes his cheek before standing up to stretch. “Are you intending to walk us all the way to Poviss?”

“Contract,” Geralt reminds him firmly.

“So we will walk until we find one, and if it takes us until we cross the mountains and hit the coast, then so be it,” Jaskier sighed.

“Alright?”

“Of course, Geralt. Just tired. We’ve been walking for weeks without so much as a barn in sight. You darting awake at every noise in the night makes it a little hard to sleep.” Jaskier feels his heart break when he sees Geralt’s shoulders round. “I wouldn’t change anything about how we travel. At least not you and I. I would do anything I could to make people treat you kindlier. But, Geralt. I am so glad you’re alert and ready to keep us safe against any danger. I hope you know that.”

Geralt just grunted, curling into his bedroll and turning to look up at the stars above them. Hesitant, and more than a little afraid to ask, he glances over at his friend and licks his lips before opening his mouth and shutting it.

“What?”

The witcher shifts uncomfortably in his bedroll. It isn’t allowed. He isn’t some infant, some juvenile simpleton begging for a scrap of kindness and entertainment. He glances around a bit, trying to find some sort of lie but can’t help himself from staring back up at the stars.

“Oh,” Jaskier says quietly, watching Geralt look away and back up at the sky several times, throat and jaw working as he wrestled with himself. “Well, let me curl in closer, so I can point at them while I talk.”

It’s a simple matter to shift their bedrolls so Jaskier can shift his head onto Geralt’s chest, using him as a pillow. “There, that one, the belt, the Hunter. There’s many stories about him across the continent and he has many different names, but you knew that. Perhaps one day I’ll find a story of the Witcher written in the sky, instead. Who knows?” he keeps his voice in the simple cadence he uses for telling stories. “But, for now, we’ll stick to what is. And I will tell you what my mother told me about how the Hunter found himself immortalized among the stars…”

#geraskier #gerlion #yenralt #yenneralt #jaskier x geralt #lil ot3 as a V here #but mostly just the boys #will write more fic in exchange for comments #in case anyone's wondering

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arabellaflynn · 4 years

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Hello, all. It has been a rough pandemic.

As you may have figured, since I am in the performing arts, I have been completely out of work since this shitshow began. The earliest venues will open up here in MA is September, which is not helpful for me, because I need to be out of my current place by 8/31. No one will rent to me on my Patreon income, so I've been trying to figure out how to supplement that with other online work.

My first thought, frankly, was camming. I'm attractive and I know that, and I don't care about being naked in "public". I have a lot of opinions on the legitimacy and legalization of sex work, but making a statement would be a convenient bonus; I'd be in it for the tips. As the appliance menagerie on the Flintstones used to say, "Eh. It's a living."

The best camera I currently have is attached to the slightly-less ancient laptop. You know, the one with the broken hinge that won't hold the screen up on the right. Only the wifi on that computer has quit working. The onboard chip was always kind of flaky, but for some reason it has chosen now to deteriorate to the point where it no longer acknowledges a router on the other side of the goddamn wall. Shooting in the living room with an ethernet cable is not an option, because another housemate is already doing that.

I bought a dual-band USB wifi adapter with antenna. It's a Realtek chip -- not gold-plated, but also not total junk. I specifically checked to make sure it worked with Ubuntu Bionic before I ordered. I have now installed three separate sets of drivers in three completely different ways, read everything ever written about this on AskUbuntu, and still the computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. Not even if I blacklist the onboard chip to keep it from falling back into previous bad habits.

The other elderly laptop (with the working wifi) has a cam that tops out at 640 x 480, which I suppose might squeak by as a tiny facecam on Twitch, or for tutoring where no one cares about pixelization. The microphone, however, is crap. It's a tinny omni on the screen bezel that likes room noise more than my voice. I don't have an external microphone, and there's no onboard Bluetooth for my wireless headset. So I bought a USB Bluetooth adapter, which this computer is ignoring as hard as the other one is the wifi dongle. I have a wired headset with a mic, but because this computer is probably mere months too old to know what to do with an inline mic on the same jack as the output signal, it doesn't register at all.

The camera on my phone is potato quality, because that is honestly about how much the phone cost. Ditto the refurb Kindle. Neither is smart enough to keep up with streaming video, which I found out when I tried to do a video rehearsal for something months ago.

I have no place to do any kind of professional non-entertainment streaming work (e.g., tutoring) with my terrible equipment in any event. I don't own a desk. If a free desk appeared on my doorstep tomorrow, I would have nowhere to put it. My bedroom is small enough to contravene the Geneva Convention requirements for POW cells and I'm basically stuck in here, for reasons of both air conditioning and not having to interact with a house full of people who very much want me gone.

What I do have is a set of working emulators and some free video editing software, so I decided to take a stab at a subtitled Let's Play. I can certainly ramble on for 30 or so hours of Final Fantasy II. At the very least it'll give me something scheduled to do. So I pulled everything out and set it up, only to find that my controller was "pining for the fjords" -- no lights, no acknowledgement from RetroArch, no response to any button presses.

...

...okay, well, at least we're down to a level of equipment I can afford to replace. So I am waiting for the mail carrier to bring me another $10 gamepad, whilst stuck in bureaucratic hell. I'm down to emergency public assistance, which keeps asking me to send them random documents, inconveniently one at a time. Even when I can submit them online I'm required to wait a minimum of 2-3 business days before a human can look at them. I'm trying to not be mad -- they are clearly horribly overworked -- but it also leaves me with a lot of time to do nothing but busy-wait. They've finally decided I'm destitute enough for food stamps, so now I have to sit on my hands until the card arrives in the mail.

The chronic, crushing lack of resources is not helped by (or helping) the fact that I'm just not functioning very well. I was already on the edge of disintegration when the lockdown orders hit anyway; I was taking every piece of work I could find in an effort to scrape together enough for first/last/deposit on a new apartment, and honestly that's more than I can handle. I can consistently get to about 20 hours of "stuff that can't be done while in bed, wearing pajamas" per week, with occasional spikes up to about 30, before I start losing the ability to take care of myself. I skip showers, let my living space become a complete disaster area, and go to bed without dinner because the whole process of choosing something to eat, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up after myself is so overwhelming that I just burst into tears and don't do it. I fed the rats twice a day and cleaned their cage once or twice a week, but couldn't manage to do the same for myself.

It's difficult to explain to people the state of being physically and mentally exhausted without also being sweaty and shaky from muscle fatigue. Perhaps the single most salient example I can give is lying in bed at night and realizing I kind of vaguely needed to pee. Not like urgently -- just enough that I knew if I didn't, I'd wake up the next day with an uncomfortably full bladder. Then just lying there anyway, not because I thought suffering was noble or I deserved it or anything idiotic like that, but just because taking care of it would involve standing up, walking into another room, and initiating a new task, and I did not have the capacity to do any of those things.

If you suggest I start making a to-do list, I will sit down right now and invent a brand new Blunt Object Transfer Protocol (botp://) expressly for the purpose of punching you, personally, in the face over the goddamn internet. I will even credit you in the patent application. I will not share the licensing profits, which judging from social media right now, would be approximately all of the money on the face of the Earth. I do not need "life hacks".

What I really need is a case worker, or possibly a babysitter, or just to have shown up at the ER about two months ago, because that is the only way I have ever found to get people to pay attention when I ask for help. Otherwise I get triaged out of sight and out of mind -- they ask if I'm suicidal, I tell them no, they tell me 'okay, here's a prescription for six Xanax and a packet of resources, go home and fix it yourself'. I'm just like, you sons of bitches, do you think I don't know how to Google things? If I could fix this on my own, I wouldn't be talking to you. Except I can't right now, because plague.

Everyone wants to fob me off on someone else. I was referred to an SSDI attorney by a friend, because frankly that's where I'm at right now. I wrote to them, specifically mentioning his name and the associate who helped him, and explained that I was basically a vegetable and I needed help applying for disability. I'm a college-educated suburban white girl, who grew up hearing her parents make rude jokes about welfare queens -- I have no idea how any of this works and I'm so broken I kept losing my place in a blanket whose pattern was literally "knit-purl-knit-purl to end of row; turn work over; repeat". Their response was "Sounds like you need some help applying for SSDI/SSI disability. Here's the website for the Boston Bar Association, good luck!" Crisis lines of both the psychiatric and financial varieties keep directing me to one of two national clearinghouse sites for social support services, both of which direct me to each other, because neither has any programs in my area.

I am trying really, really hard not to resent the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who has any sort of support system right now. One housemate has almost the exact same list of medical problems that I do, and is also completely out of work right now. She is married to the one who has a grown-up salaried WFH IT job, and will never have to worry about having a roof over her head or food in the cabinets. The single housemate has supportive family literally a five minute walk down the street; if she ever gets her feet kicked out from under her, she can stay with them temporarily while she scrambles back up. Another friend yote out to California right before lockdown to stay with his family. A local offered to help me with paperwork, then ghosted me intermittently before explaining that he was having a hard time himself right now and barely had the capacity for his own life. I have an elderly rat, no more savings, and no options.

I don't even know how I'm going to move the little I own. How do you even ask people to do that in the middle of a pandemic? If I don't have the money to move, I definitely don't have the money for a moving company, and I'm envisioning all of my community-minded friends pursing their lips in judgement and declining because like all the good people they are diligently social distancing.

I have also discovered, while hauling an empty suitcase out to Watertown and a full one back home again, that I do not cope well with face masks. It's fine if I'm not doing much, especially if I'm in a climate-controlled space like a store or the T, but as soon as I exert myself at all, I see spots. And no, it is not a matter of "just get used to it"; I have tested this by trying to wear a mask during my home workouts. It is just stuffy enough under there, and there is just enough reduction in air flow, that the world keeps going all film-grainy and dark on the sides, which I know from experience is the first step on a very short path to the Magical Land of Syncope. I had to stop during the outdoor trek and sit on the suitcase about twice a block through the commercial district, where it stayed on because there were people. This was when it was 72 whole degrees out (and the AC is generally on 74°F inside) which doesn't bode well for moving my heavy shit around in late August.

I'm normally good at catching things at the weird-vision stage, although enough random strangers and T employees have asked me if I'm okay that I have to assume I look as ill as I feel at that point. And I have an absolutely tragic talent for talking people out of calling emergency services when I do actually keel over, but everyone is so health-panicked that I don't think it would work right now. I know what's happened and why, but I can't exactly communicate that to bystanders when I'm unconscious. As nice as EMS is, I don't feel like waking up to a round of Twenty Questions ("How many fingers am I holding up? Who's the President? Do you have a seizure disorder?"). So I just don't go out.

Alison over at Ask A Manager got a question about this the other day that suggests this is considered legitimate can't-(always-)wear-a-mask territory, and I am able to wear a mask where required in MA, which is indoors/during interactions with other people when it's actually useful, so I don't have any qualms on the scientific or legal front. I have just never been a good judge of how much potential peril/damage it's "reasonable" to put up with, and I don't have the capacity to explain myself over and over again a million times a day.

I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of covid, I'm tired of living in a big glitzy continent-spanning banana republic, I'm tired of anxiety, I'm tired of other people carping at me to do things I can't in order to fix their anxiety for them, I'm tired of not having the space to dance, I'm tired of asking for help before things fall apart and being told 'well, come back when it is an emergency', and most of all I'm tired of this cycle where I tell myself "I'm going to stop being lazy! I'm going to put on my big-girl pants and wake up early and work 40 hours a week and support myself like an adult!" and then fail at it again because I just do not have the capacity to do that. I do not know how to make the system understand that I need some kind of support right now.

Sorry for yet another depressing update, but that's where I am right now.

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docholligay · 5 years

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@amberlilly asked me for “The Senshi react to Bioshock Infinite!” A lot of times these “X reacts to Y” prompts can be really difficult, because they can so often descend into really TV-style “Oh that was cool” type stuff and that’s not really what makes me feel proud and happy, so this took me a while, but I think the end result is really interesting stuff! Please let me know if you enjoy! This, as always, includes MY TAKE on the SIlMil, so if “Angel Noble Moon Kingdom” is your thing this may not be for you.

Mina didn’t take anything seriously. Everyone knew that, because that was what she wanted everyone to know. Mina laughed and she made jokes and she was flippant and she never thought about anything too overly much, and that was the way she liked it. That was the way she liked it to be known.

Games were just a fiction, everyone knew that, and that wasn’t any less true, she supposed, as she watched the band of crows fly out of a man’s hands, and she elbowed Rei in the ribs, telling her she only wishes she had that sort of power. The water tentacles were Haruka’s wet dream, weren’t they, she laughed. Haruka scowled, and Mina didn’t take anything seriously.

What could she possibly feel, about a man who knew there were horrors in his past, that he had done things that made him a monster, even if that Booker no longer existed in this timeline?

Booker ran through the rebellions he put down of men the same as him that he was told were lesser, and he served and he put his bootheel through babies’ skulls, and remembers, oh how he remembers.

She looked over to Mako, who almost certainly did not remember when the planet of Mercury gave their underpowered rebellion, when Jupiter and Venus and Mars crushed those bookish weaklings with little thought to the matter. When Mars set their libraries on fire and laughed at the flame. When Jupiter grinned as she tossed a flaming book crashing through the stained glass of a university building.

When Venus put the survivors of the protest to the sword.

When she made Sailor Mercury kill her sister for her participation.

But this was all a fiction, a fiction of a man from a faraway time in a place that never existed, and the other Senshi hooted and hollered as they passed the controller around, and drank potions that made this man into the things they used to be. The elements, abridged, and Mina could always sniff out a liar.

Oh to have been Mars with her fire, or Neptune with the crash of her own sea. The rest of them had powers that were destructive in all those easy ways that were like a game in themselves, ways they could wish for even still. But not Venus. No, Venus, as Mina, needed no element but her own ferocity on the battlefield, and so she had been gifted the gifts of the human mind, of memory. Venus could see them, and plant them, and with a touch, call up the most painful moment of your life.

Mina could not do that, but she could see and do enough. She was not a Seer, but she was not completely removed, either, and she existed as her own island.

But she didn’t take it seriously.

What could she possibly take seriously, about a game where a man knew the past was there, just at the edge of his memory, and that something had been lost, something he had to find, something he had to make better?

Booker found Elizabeth and determined to be what she needed him to be. We aren’t trapped in what we were, are we? What something in another ripple of time might have been? He saved her from the Prophet, because prophecy is all about ruin, and sometimes you need to fight to free someone. Sometimes you have to kill, to protect.

You could reject prophecy. The proof of that was in Haruka, shoving a sandwich into her mouth and yelling at the screen, and in Michiru, sipping her wine, the matching scars on their chests the only symbol of a death that was meant to be.

And so that she could hear Queen Serenity, with her dying breaths mirrored in Venus’ own, seaking of the Moon Kingdom to come, and that Venus would lead her daughter to a new order that would cover the Sol System, that would bring this System to order once more. This was prophecy, and for this she ripped the shards of power from their bodies and sent them, like eggs, to wait on earth.

Why she’d been so fond of what would become Tokyo, Mina wasn’t really sure. You’d think she’d diversify her portfolio a little.

And there was Mina, joking again. The game was a joke, yelling at Elizabeth, a source of immense power, to get her shit together before she got killed, there was nothing but jokes to be seen in that. Being the instrument of something you can’t understand, something you were dropped into, who could understand that?

The room was filled with laughter and chatter, and Mina laughed too.

What could she feel about being haunted by a feral ghost?

Lady Comstock became a memory and a lie and a legend, and those things can still strike, her shrieking fight against the will to change the future, the desire to bring forth the truth in all its ugliness and inconvenience. Preserved under glass, the story being told against and again about those terrible Vox Populi, and how they killed her, and how terrible is it?

The Vox Populi didn’t kill her, but maybe they should have. Maybe the people should rise and defeat those that would keep them down. Maybe Venus and the others weren’t heroes but with footsoldiers in the oppression that the Moon Kingdom meted out, in the name of peace.

“There was never a bad peace.” Mina could still hear her, with Venus’ ears, as these words echoed off the cold crystal walls. She smiled. The Queen always smiled when she said these things.

Even in death, Serenity had written the story, and when the kingdom of the moon was brought to Mina, Pluto told her of a beautiful kingdom, with a princess, and there was peace, and the people of Earth disrupted it, because Beryl was evil, because love between the Earth and the moon was forbidden.

Poor, sweet Pluto. She had been lied to more than any of them, kept so far from the kingdom, watching its destruction through a sad mirror at the gate, clinging to those instructions from her beloved queen. Raise these girls, and make them fighters. Raise this kingdom, again, for Princess Serenity. For me.

She looked to Pluto, who whose eyes were on the screen with that face that knew so much, and so little. Did she think often, on her deception? As both deceiver and deceived? Mina could think of little else, as the silver Lady burst through doors and windows, screaming out the hatred of this interloper, bringing violence and death.

That same scream had filled her mind, as she Remembered. Not those memories suggested to her, by Pluto, by the shard itself, by that sweet whispering voice that said how she loved her wayward daughter. No, Serenity had made a mistake with that shard, in that those powers were bound to memory, and she could not erase that, not all of it. Not for all of them.

Haruka did not remember that Uranus was a coward, and so she was brave. Mako did not remember that Jupiter was a destroyer, and so she grew beauty.

But Mina remembered Venus was a commander, and that she was hard and cruel and regimented, and those memories dug into her brain stem. Sometimes Venus’ voice slid out of her mouth, and she gagged on it like a poison slug. Neptune was an assassin, and she slithered that knife into the King’s back from the shadows. Did Michiru know she was born from the seed of a traitor? Did she feel that same pricking heat in her chest as Mina did, knowing the thing might escape?

Their eyes met over the bouncing heads of the others, but Michiru’s eyes were as inscrutable as always, one of the few hidden corners Mina knew in all the Senshi.

Mina joked as they wound around lighthouse after lighthouse, each one leading them to a false home, a new place where things were changed and yet always, always the same. All they could do was try another lighthouse. Go through another tear, and be born again.

She let her eyes wander around the room as she fed that perfect knowledge that Mina took nothing seriously, that she was light and flippant and for all the world a perfect goof. Serenity wasn’t the only one who could create a story, and cast herself as she wanted it to be.

Venus had made her girls into soldiers. She had beaten them and praised them and brought them to heel and made them into the most terrifying force in the Sol System. She had done this with efficiency and power and a certain violent grace.

But Mina loved hers. She wanted Haruka to stop trying to give her life. She wanted Rei to forgive herself her mistakes. She wanted Michiru to feel she was part of a team. She wanted Ami to feel heard.

Mina wanted all these things, against what was foretold. Against what Venus whispered. She wanted to love them as Venus had ruled them. But that wasn’t supposed to be part of the game.

What could she feel about this man, whose only way to save what he loved was to die?

#scribbling under a bare light bulb

42 notes · View notes

mystery-salad · 5 years

Note

7, 13, 20 and 22 from the angst questions for all of your characters (cause i'm selfish uwu and want to know /all/ lmao i am so sorry)

Oh my god HOLY SHIT i have THIRTY EIGHT character slots,,,,,,you will get all the ones that are intended to be permanent characters which is 34 of them I hope you’re ready for a long-ass post man cause that’s 136 answers

7. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would it be and why?

Taomesin: They already have killed those they want to, the people they’re meant to fight! Big enemies. They don’t really go killing randomly and wouldn’t see a point.

Nixxte: High-ranking inquest, someone who’s death would completely destabilise the inquest system for a while.

Tirs: Envert. The two have some history.

Mint: No one! They’re perfectly happy and know that Azin will protect them from anyone and anything! Azin is all they need and they would never dream of killing anyone! They already cause enough trouble with all their ptsd.

Bodacc: If she could, whoever is the reason she was abandoned as a baby. She doesn’t know who it was, if her parents are alive or dead. She loves the warband that raised her but she truly regrets not getting to immerse herself in asuran society growing up.

Mango: No one in particular, though probably a childhood rival or two.

Imekaari: Braith. But Cue did that, so anyone else from Lace’s past that hurt them.

Tojoll: Rytlock

Elaphurus: No one! Baby angel is so sweet they just want to help and protect!!!

Aqun: Maric, he’s more than earned it in her eyes.

Tvelle: She’d like to have killed Scarlet herself.

Whomstdve: No one she’s chill

Laighe: Illiadde, the two have some very antagonistic history between them.

Ennreck: He’d certainly like Kralk to Cut That Shit Out

Aezlin: He already gets to do this! If someone bugs him he can just tell Oriphio who will take care of them~

Vellask: She doesn’t have anyone in particular she’d kill. The spores would like to kill everyone if they could though.

Terizzi: They’ve killed those they needed to, now they just want to live alone in peace. They’d run from or kill anyone who’d approach them now if that counts.

Strair: They would go after Faolain, or whoever leads the court now. The court has just caused too many inconveniences to them tbh.

Kvold: He’d kill Affa, Lace’s employee that first ‘rescued’ him from the court. That dude rubs him the wrong way for several reasons.

Embrant: She would’ve killed Kvold after he broke Wrelia for a while.

Rieft: Whoever’s hurt Veirett. She loves her old mentor and wants her to truly be happy.

Illiadde: She already does kill everyone my dude

Cue: He’s already killed the man he hates most, Braith!

Odollumn: She doesn’t care enough about anyone to genuinely want anyone dead of her own motivations.

Regniette: They would take out the idiots who are still trying to follow Joko even though he’s dead.

Nimue: He doesn’t wish death upon anyone

Ezra: An employer or two. She’s hoping one day she’ll get contracts put on them that she can act on too!

Fhariem: Faolain and whoever her successor is, for taking the Court in such a pitiful direction over time.

Envert: Those idiot cowards who kicked her out of the Grove just for being curious about some more interesting experiment ideas. Come on, some bloodshed is necessary for the really good questions!!!

Cherie: He will befriend everyone instead!!!!

Fuilliome: A fellow mercenary who’s taken his jobs and targets a little too personally. It’s just a job man, and you’re inconveniencing him now with your unprofessionalism.

Renee: Half the nobles on earth. If you’ve met one you’ve met them all and they rarely actually aid in saving the world instead of just whining dramatically about it.

Tenor: She already kills those she wants to, though she’d love to get ahold of Lace herself. If only she could get Cue out of the way so she wouldn’t have to worry about dying…

Jioro: Queen Jenna, she has it coming for using sketchy technology to make guards that can be hacked TWICE!!!

13. What does it take to make your character cry?

Taomesin: They have never cried in their life!!! They’re emotionally numb!!!!!!!

Nixxte: Just average stuff, extremely sad moments, losing a loved one, etc…

Tirs: Memories of Envert

Mint: Memories of when they were captured by pirates, the thought that they will never be welcome in the Grove again, the thought that most people would hurt them, Whenever they hurt or disappoint Azin, ptsd flashbacks or relapses.

Bodacc: Whenever she tries to interact with other asuras and usually gets rebuffed for being so unusual

Mango: Average things, sad moments and deaths of loved ones

Imekaari: Friends in pain, that time he was tortured by Lace when they were mordrem, average sad things, he happy cries too if he’s overly happy c:

Tojoll: She will angry cry if something has gone wrong enough, and will be absolutely inconsolable for a while if a loved one dies.

Elaphurus: They cry when scared, which happened a lot when they first awoke in the Maguuma jungle.

Aqun: It takes a Lot, she’s very very emotionally level and good at keeping things in perspective. If anything were to happen to Roanna, Jioro, or Veirett though she would cry.

Tvelle: Sad sappy stories, really really really cute things all make her cry

Whomstdve: Average sad shit sometimes, she doesn’t really cry much

Laighe: She really tries not to cry in front of people, but she’s woken up from nightmares often crying or dry sobbing. She cries over deaths of those she cares about.

Ennreck: If one of her pets dies or has to be put down, it’s a sad day on the ranch…

Aezlin: Are you kidding? Of course he doesn’t cry it’s not a pretty look darling~

Vellask: If the spores infect or kill someone she didn’t intend, she gets incredibly sad and very apologetic to that as-good-as-dead person.

Terizzi: They have a lot of panic attacks that lead to tears. Also if they are somehow isolated from their creatures they’d sob in a panic.

Strair: Illiadde dying or Lace dying would make them cry. Good luck getting them to admit it though!

Kvold: So much makes him cry, he’s a very sweet very emotional boy. Such a sweetheart, especially since recovering from his Court conditioning.

Embrant: Wrelia being hurt makes her cry, and also when anything happens to harm the Grove. Death makes her cry a lot.

Rieft: Not much! She’s not one to react to things by crying, so much as by acting accordingly as necessary. She handles sadness through cheering up with friends and honoring whoever has died.

Illiadde: She doesn’t cry.

Cue: Lace being in danger, Lace being distressed, Lace being badly hurt!

Odollumn: She doesn’t know what emotions are, she came out of the pod a biiiiit faulty.

Regniette: A very Asuran asura in terms of temperament, they don’t really cry over much, just think about how to logically get an advantage back after.

Nimue: Death or loss of vitality in anything makes him cry quietly.

Ezra: She’s not one for sad emotions or caring about people, so she doesn’t really cry!

Fhariem: When she hears about the few other Courtiers she likes dying or falling to the more violent Court ways.

Envert: She doesn’t cry, just laughs manically!

Cherie: If someone doesn’t want to be his friend, meaning he actually has to fight them instead of working things out nicely :c

Fuilliome: He cries over friends being hurt, he knows he has made enemies and feels pretty guilty if it bounces back on anyone he knows. He’s made a habit of only befriending people who can really handle each other.

Renee: She used to cry over catastrophes and big disasters, but now it’s more if you’ve seen one you’ve seen em all. Truly overly happy moments will make her cry though.

Tenor: Friends dying makes her sad, she might cry a little performatively. Ans she will cry to save face or garner pity from others, she’s just a sweet perfect noble girl after all!

Jioro: Aqun or Roanna or Laranthir facing any pain would make her cry, but she’s pretty overall tough and ornery emotionally.

20. What was something they struggled with greatly and how did they overcome it?

Taomesin: They struggled with the difficulties brought up by asking for help and being ignored or punished for it, they overcame this by learning to never ask for help or voice concerns ever again! c:

Nixxte: They struggled with the complete vicious removal of their lower jaw, but over time they’ve recovered and learned sign language and have both a work and casual set of artificial jaws made!

Tirs: She struggled with the betrayal of her first girlfriend, Envert. But she’s been able to move forward, learned none of it was her fault, and has made some very supportive friends who’ve helped her regain her old vitality and enthusiasm!

Mint: They have struggled with Most Of Their Life, fraught with torture and rape trigger warnings that they think they’re finally recovering from but are actually still thoroughly buried in thanks to a very manipulative boyfriend who’s fantastic at gasslighting and confusing Mint.

Bodacc: She’s struggled with integrating into asuran society, having been raised through Charr society. She’s still trying to overcome either her charr-like habits, or her need to be accepted by other asuras.

Mango: She’s chill! Hasn’t really struggled yet.

Imekaari: He’s struggled with how closed off Lace is, and the fact that he’s not naturally a confrontational person so isn’t good at trying to get Lace to understand they need help. But he’s been getting better with this, having actively gotten Lace to open up to him at least and now he’s also been able to full-on enforce bedrest and recovery for them! One day he’ll even get them to finally seek out actual therapeutic help.

Tojoll: tbh she hasn’t had much difficulties! She’s my happy commander, no one has died everything has been a victory! This Kralkatorrik situation is the most difficult situation for her so far tbh because the fucker just won’t die.

Elaphurus: They struggled with a lot, primarily the fact that when Mordremoth died their memory was wiped completely! They awoke afraid and confused and have slowly been learning the world and about themself with the help of very nice new friends.

Aqun: Earlier on in life she struggled with being taken seriously as a soldier, being visibly a rich girl who’s been handed everything in life. But she has worked hard and proven herself to be someone who’s very self reliant, responsible, and worthy of a title.

Tvelle: She struggled as a kid fitting into asuran society. She was a lot more hotheaded and started a lot of fights in school. She eventually ran away shortly before joining a college, and joined the Vigil. Over the years she’s mellowed out quite a bit, but has found people who respect her choices and lack of discipline and has worked on passing on that support to others she meets who need a helping hand!

Whomstdve: Nothing yet! She’s chill

Laighe: She’s struggled with SO MUCH and hasn’t truly overcome any of it yet. She’s a walking mess, it’s a wonder she’s still holding herself together honestly.

Ennreck: He’s not your average charr, not very confrontational and a fan of alone time. Early on he left the Citadel and moved far away, eventually stumbling onto olmakhan territory, spending some time with them, collecting supplies, and building his own ranch in the desert nearby!

Aezlin: He has no difficulties, he gets whatever he wants! If something is wrong Oriphio will fix it~

Vellask: She struggled greatly with being infected by a parasitic fungus that latched onto her brain! It was nearly fatal but she was actually able to somehow manage to communicate with it, the two have worked out a mutually beneficial compromise in which she lets it spread as she travels and it doesn’t kill her so she can be a mobile distributor for it.

Terizzi: They went through a few things in a row, first falling to Mordremoth and then being captured by inquest for studies and experimentation. It was extremely traumatic and terrifying, and they still haven’t truly recovered. They cope by not trusting ANYONE now and living an incredibly isolated life with their pets.

Strair: The one thing in their life they struggled with truly was the one time they failed an undercover mission and were caught by the White Mantle. They have permanent physical alterations, and would have died in there if Lace hadn’t convinced Illiadde to come save them. They made a solid recovery though! They really have nothing emotionally to recover from.

Kvold: Spent years and years being extremely emotionally abused and manipulated, eventually he was forcibly rescued from the Court and began rehabilitation in Lace’s house! He’s still very cautious about emotionally investing in people now, since it ruined most of his life and mentality, but he is healing. He’s reconciled with Wrelia, helped Liaur also escape the Court, and has rebuilt a lot of friendships!

Embrant: Her biggest difficulty was when Wrelia had completely broken down. She spent a lot of time gently helping her girlfriend recover emotionally, and was incredibly loving and patient. Now, the two are happily married~

Rieft: No large difficulties! Just a good ol adrenalin junkie having one hell of a time!

Illiadde: Her entire life is a struggle and she will never recover.

Cue: He basically lost his life from before HoT when he crashed with the Pact and fell to Mordremoth. He came out of the ordeal with severe anger issues and some mordrem features that left most people very not chill with him. He had a hard time finding work to survive on and was really just getting by until Lace hired him to build them a new house. Since then, the two got to know each other and the rest is history! They’re both helping each other grow from a lot of shit.

Odollumn: She never struggles, she doesn’t much care about difficult situations.

Regniette: They have died several times and have multiple deals with multiple entities to keep their body going! It’s a very bad coping mechanism for avoiding death and they intend to keep it up for as long as it’ll still work.

Nimue: He’s lived an actually very peaceful nomadic life, avoiding any stressful areas or people!

Ezra: She copes with everything by killing the source of stress, it’s never gotten to a point of serious emotional struggle for her before she’s taken the source out.

Fhariem: She struggled with seeing the Court change from using Nightmare to separate from the dream, to enforcing nightmare upon others as if they were no better than the Pale Tree. She tried for a while to change things from inside the Court until leaving it to go join the Priory to preserve the more ‘honorable’ history of the Court.

Envert: She struggled with getting kicked out of the Grove, though she really changed nothing about herself and is now incredibly bitter that they’d kick her out over some meager experiments. She’s since gained her own very very shady lab in the middle of nowhere.

Cherie: Has not struggled, is a good and pure happy boi!

Fuilliome: Hasn’t truly suffered, loves his job, is good at his job, has had some sad or difficult moments but is well adjusted overall!

Renee: The first big catastrophe she saw end a civilisation was tragic for her, she was broken for years. But as she lived through lifetimes and seeing cities rise and fall, she has reconciled with the fact that no matter how much ruin strikes, life will always find a way to rebuild. Things will always move on.

Tenor: She’s spoiled and makes sure she gets exactly everything she wants! No big struggles for this horrible woman!

Jioro: Major social anxiety has actually been a huge struggle for her, though with those she counts in her loved ones she can make it through events now without leaving early. Though she still hates social events overall.

22. If they could change just one thing about themselves, what would it be?

Taomesin: They’d be more durable, they find their loss of limbs to be a hindrance and it means at least a couple days getting used to prosthetic limbs when they could instead be working on saving the world.

Nixxte: They’d like their lower jaw back pls

Tirs: She’d like to be a little less jumpy in serious relationships, Envert left quite an impression.

Mint: They’d like to be cured from their PTSD, they want to be okay again…

Bodacc: She’d make herself smarter, trying to fit more into typical asuran standards.

Mango: She’s actually quite happy as is!

Imekaari: He’d like to be comfortable being a bit more assertive when necessary.

Tojoll: She’s Flawless and very content with herself

Elaphurus: They’d like to look less intimidating to people, they just want to make friends and learn about the world

Aqun: She’d like to not have died once and tied herself to Glint to come back. She finds Glint weak and spineless and undeserving of boing sort of back in the world after she put the weight of the world on a child.

Tvelle: She’d like to be a little less intense emotionally, she can come on a bit strong to new people which makes some people uneasy at first.

Whomstdve: She’s Cursed And Perfect

Laighe: She’d like to be more confident in herself and not so unsure about what she’s doing. So much has happened and she’s feeling so lost but like she can’t stop…

Ennreck: Sometimes he wishes he was a bit more of a typical charr, but overall he’s generally content with how his life has panned out. He’s living a tough but happy life.

Aezlin: He’s FLAWLESS he’ll never need to change at all~

Vellask: She’d honestly love to not have a parasitic fungus hitchhiking in her head any more.

Terizzi: They’d like to not be Damaged, to not have gone through the jungle or the experiments.

Strair: A little more flexibility could be nice~

Kvold: He’d like to have been born to the dream instead of to nightmare. He’s never truly gotten to be a dreamer or feel that connection.

Embrant: She is actually quite happy as she is! After all, the love of her life thinks she’s perfect as is~

Rieft: She’d like to have a little more bulk to her, and is working on that!

Illiadde: She’d like to be dead.

Cue: He’d like to lose his mordrem features and his short temper fuse

Odollumn: She doesn’t even consider changing herself.

Regniette: They’d like for their body to be more durable for easier upkeep between deaths.

Nimue: He’s quite content as is!

Ezra: She’d like to be even faster and stronger, play with her prey longer than she already does.

Fhariem: She’s content as is, it’s the Court that she thinks needs to change.

Envert: She wishes she seemed less suspicious to people, it’d make it easier to pull in new test subjects!

Cherie: He’d like to be a little less naive, though honestly he’s not doing much to change that and he really is just so trusting and friendly and hopes the best of everyone.

Fuilliome: He’s happy the way he is!

Renee: She’s actually quite content, she’s immortal so if she ever has or does want to change anything she has all the time in the world to make it happen.

Tenor: She’s so happy in her current life. No changes necessary~

Jioro: She’d like to severely lower her social anxiety so she can function in society better.

#kid-oddity #this is EVERYONE #I had to take breaks in answering this there's so much to think about with it holy shit #enjoy this endless response #holy shit #characters

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blackrose-ffxiv · 6 years

Photo

Confidence Men 08/31

Michaux Vidal runs his fingers through his hair, which the steam is already causing to poof up a bit. He seems to be in an unusually good mood, despite having to frequently remove his fogged-up glasses to clean them. "I've never met an Hingan noble before," he comments. "They can't be worse than Ishgardian nobles, can they?" He glances over at Idristan, but his eyes end up lingering on his bare chest rather than his face. One corner of his mouth twitches. "There are other benefits to not being in Ishgard."

Idristan Agache wrinkles his nose slightly in distaste. "Definitely not," he says firmly--so firmly, in fact, that one might think that he had a certain specific noble in mind. He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be in a good mood--but then, this was hardly new. He lets out a huff, then he looks over to Michaux, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of that faint hint of a smile. He follows Michaux's gaze, then he rolls his eyes. "Stay focused," he grumbles quietly. "We're not here so you can gawk at me."

Lebeaux Desrosiers deserved a nice relaxing soak. The past moons had been hectic, to say the least. Nothing would be better treatment than a few bells spent soaking. Well, it was a bit boring to be quite honest, but at least it was a less taxing pastime than most of his usual hobbies. He was well into a good soak when a mention of Ishgard drifted to long ears. Not once, but twice. He rose to his feet and waded through the warm water to fetch a shirt and towel, dabbing sweat and steam from his face as he glanced in the direction the sound had come from. A familiar silverhaired sullen silhouette and… another elezen. His standard small smile grew somewhat, yet he didn’t go straight over. The mysterious ex, perhaps?

Michaux grins. "Right, that's just a side benefit. My goal today is to perform my boyfriend so outrageously that Sol will have to come back just to kick me in the nuts. She has a strong kick, but I will happily make the sacrifice." As he speaks, a Hingan man in fine clothes enters the baths followed by a male servant. Mich doesn't immediately spot him - his poor eyesight is only compounded by the steam - but he hears him speaking imperiously to the servant. "That would be our guest, I assume. He only made you wait a short time. He must have some respect for the Ishgardian peerage. What a mistake."

Still unaware that the two of them were being watched, Idristan rolls his eyes once more. "I'm so glad you find it amusing," he remarks dryly. He then grimaces slightly and looks away. "And I'd feel worse for you if I didn't know you were enjoying every second of this." Well, no, that was probably a lie. But at least he was trying? He too then looks over towards the newcomers, squinting to see through the steam. "It looks like it," he says quietly, much more seriously than before. "And please," he scoffs, before shifting slightly awkwardly on his feet and sighing. "Well. Time to put on the act then," he mutters under his breath as he moves to stand a little closer to Michaux.

Fingers settled over Lebeaux’s own mouth to stifle a small snort at the mention of peerage. He had casually been moving closer, keeping behind the two men and putting the towel over his head to at least do something to hide his own hair and ears as he went through the motions of toweling off after a nice soak. Eavesdropping shamelessly all the while. That wouldn’t do at all. “Oh, you poor thing.” He chimed in as he stepped up between the two, on the far side of Idristan’s equally little friend, to be well out of punching range. “Has he really been telling you that he’s a peer? Good afternoon, Idristan.” He greeted the other and then flashed a serene smile that stopped just short of icy blue eyes at the duskwight. “And this is?” Con-blocked.

Michaux appears to have no misgivings about putting on their little show. He snuggles up to Idristan and links arms with him. The look in his eyes as he smiles up at Idristan is scorching. Scandalous boyfriend, indeed. This was it. This was how he was going to win his bet with Solenne. There would be kissing before their performance was over… But then another Wildwood shows up. Ishgardian, judging by his accent. Michaux immediately stiffens and the expression in his eyes go flat. There's something about that voice that reminds him too much of another Ishgardian who might still be in hiding somewhere, awaiting his chance for revenge. He swallows hard and slowly turns his head, but then he relaxes slightly. Whoever this man is, he's definitely not Ardenoix Marchemont. "Friend of yours, darling?" he asks Idristan while keeping his gaze fixed on Lebeaux. Meanwhile, the Hingan lord has disappeared, presumably to change into suitable bathing attire.

Idristan's posture instantly changes as he hears that voice. He stiffens, his expression darkening even further as he scowls over towards the other Ishgardian. It thus takes him a few moments to notice that Michaux has linked arms with him. He casts a brief look towards Michaux, then back to Lebeaux. "I've told him nothing that isn't true." In some form. "And not a friend," he adds, perhaps a touch too emphatically. "Colleague." He practically growls the word. Wasn't this just going great already. "Lebeaux, Michaux," he says, tilting his head towards the duskwight. Perhaps if he answered the other's questions and glared enough, it would make him go away...

The smile grew ever so slightly, starting with a quirk in one corner and ending nowhere good as his pale gaze moved between the two shorter elezen. The same sort of look in his eye as when he was preparing his needles for sutures. As though he’d just stumbled upon something absolutely delightful. “Lebeaux Desrosiers,” He finished the introduction with a small tilt of his head by way of greating. “Head Chirurgeon of a local Company. Idristan does some assisting for me here and there. A pleasure, Michaux.” He straightened up and smoothed a stray strand of damp hair away. “A colleague that calls you ‘darling’?” He glanced meaningfully down at the linked arms with a raised brow to go with the smirk.

Michaux looks Lebeaux up and down curiously. There is a hint of interest in his eyes -godsdamnit, why are so many Ishgardians pretty? - but he still seems wary. "I believe you're the colleague," he clarifies. "I'm the scandalous boyfriend. I wish I could say it's a pleasure to meet you, but we're just a touch busy right now. Not that I wouldn't love to have you join us when we take this show back to the inn later. The beds aren't very big, but I'm sure we'll make do. Isn't that right, darling," he adds, looking back at Idristan with mischief in his eyes. But Idris would also feel a gentle prodding at the corners of his mind at the same time.

Idristan eyes Lebeaux warily. He knew what that smile signified. It was associated with pain. Usually his. "Head Chirurgeon only because no one else wants it," he mutters under his breath. "And that's... correct," he adds, more loudly, though there is a small pause as he agrees with Michaux. He then shoots the latter a sharp look. "No," he says firmly, unable to suppress a small shudder at the thought. "Besides. I'm sure Lebeaux has other things he should be doing," he adds pointedly, glaring over at the other Ishgardian. He ignores that gentle prodding, too distracted by how things were devolving.

The chirurgeon smiiiiled and nodded his agreement. “I should say we’re colleagues, as such I feel rather bad for you that he would immediately try to lump you in that same pile.” Lebeaux tutted quietly under his breath, shaking his head before tilting it in an approximation of a sympathetic gesture. “You poor thing, he’s been hiding you away and lying about you, as well as to you. How shameful.” He shifted that smile back towards Idristan, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his own chin. “After hearing you mooning over love and romance one would have expected you to treat a lover a little better. Not slinking off to meet him as though he were a kept boy or a prostitute.” He looked back to Michaux at that, eyeing his attire and smiling in a way that very much suggested he had figured him more for a gentleman-of-the-night than an actual lover. “Ah!” He declared, moving that hand down to his own chest. “Oh my, is that why time is of the essence? Am I squandering your well-spent coin?”

Michaux grunts softly, slightly annoyed but not particularly surprised by Idristan's unresponsiveness. It's inconvenient, but typical. So he lets out a sigh and looks back at Lebeaux. "Lucky for me, I'm rather difficult to lie to," he says flippantly. And then he actually grins at the suggestion that he's a prostitute. They should have gone with that story instead. "Were you hoping to spend a little coin yourself, perhaps?" he suggests. "I'm sure I could find a few hours in my busy schedule." Meanwhile, the Hingan lord and his servant have reemerged and are beginning to make their way toward the small knot of Elezen. Michaux catches sight of them as they approach. The Hingan is looking at Lebeaux, apparently having marked him out as the Ishgardian to which he should address himself. This really is getting complicated.

'Frustrated' seemed to be an understatement for how Idristan was feeling at that very moment. "What I do with my personal time is none of your concern Lebeaux," he snaps. "I certainly don't go around asking what you do during yours." Save for perhaps when he was tormenting Marvik. He then looks over in horror as Michaux seems to play along with Lebeaux's suggestion. "He is not," he snaps towards the other elezen, sounding defensive. "Don't encourage him, dear," he adds to Michaux, though the term of endearment sounds extremely forced. He too notices the Hingans coming closer, and groans inwardly. Even better.

“A valuable trait for one in your profession.” Lebeaux offered the backhanded compliment with a smile. “I suspect it rather helps when picking your marks, though I do regret to inform you that as well-polished as that one looks, it’s only a bit of foil gilding. It takes very little chipping to find the common material underneath.” He smiled sweetly at Idristan. “Oh, please. You’re a terrible liar and a worse actor. You’re only embarrassing yourself now.” His attention settled back on Michaux, unaware of the Hingans approaching to join their merry band. “It takes little more than a glance when placed next to the genuine article to mark the knockoff.” He preened, casually adjusting the lay of his open shirt over his vest, every word dripping in smug superiority. None-too-subtly indicating who he meant by the ‘genuine article’.

Michaux rests two fingers lightly against his temple, glances over at the Hingans, and then back at Idristan with a raised brow. Doing things the conventional way doesn't look like it will work anymore. Unfortunately, this is a bad place for doing things in an unconventional way. His attention is drawn back to Lebeaux, and he looks him over again. "The genuine article is very pretty," he acknowledges with a faint smirk, "but the real thing tends to have more sharp edges, in my experience. I like a little danger, but is the pleasure worth the price?" At this point, the Hingan lord has stopped in front of Lebeaux. He interrupts Michaux, having already apparently taken his measure as a low-born creature, and says, "You are Lord Agache?"

Idristan glares once more over at Lebeaux. "My father is noble," he points out in a growl. "And besides. At least I don't hide what I am behind smiles," he adds. His hands curl into fists at the suggestion that he is a bad liar, but before he can actually take a swing at the other Ishgardian, Michaux cuts in. He just stares over at the duskwight for a few moments, as if he can't quite believe him, but is saved from having to actually come up with words to respond by the arrival of the Hingans. "No," he says quickly, before Lebeaux can have a chance to interrupt and make things even worse. "That would be me," he says in his best Pillars accent. The one that makes Michaux want to punch him.

“If nothing else, it would be an evening never forgotten.” Lebeaux mused with that same sharp smirk. It was true enough, one way or another. “Some consolation, if you like; there’s little point in damaging a fine purchase.” Why break what you’ve just bought, at least on the first time playing with it. His icy gaze shifted aside as a Hingan gentleman approached him and incorrectly addressed him as Lord Agache. He sniffed haughtily and laid a hand on his own chest again. “Master Agache would be right there.” He corrected as he gestured towards the white haired man, who had suddenly leaned hard on the Ishgardian equivalent of a ‘posh’ accent. “I would be Lord Desrosiers.” He explained, a brow quirking in amusement at this sudden turn of events. Ohh, what he wandered into here.

"Shall we have a go now, in that case?" Michaux suggests to Lebeaux, his crimson eyes intent upon his face. "Idristan seems to have guests, and as you are his respected 'colleague,' I'm sure he would not object." He reaches out and, if not prevented, lazily trails a finger down Lebeaux's chest toward his navel. Meanwhile, the Hingan man is looking quite confused. "Is there a Lord Agache here or not? I was invited here to discuss business matters with him. If I've been lured on false pretense…" He doesn't seem quite certain how to end that sentence. He seems slightly agitated, and the way he speaks is more petulant than dignified. It would seem that Oyuna was right when she called him foolish.

Idristan has to bite hard on his lower lip to keep from truly speaking his mind at the thought of Lebeaux damaging Michaux. He draws in a sharp breath, fighting to keep his expression... well. Not neutral, but at it's usual level of sullenness. "There is no need to confuse our guests Lebeaux," he practically growls through clenched teeth, his fingers curling as he watches Michuax reach out towards the other Ishgardian. "Let him be Michaux," he murmurs, quietly but firmly. "I doubt he's truly interested, he just wants to..." He pauses for a moment, considering the other warily. "Amuse himself." He then looks over towards the Hingan once more, attempting to plaster a small smile onto his face. It's... only partially successful. "No, Ser," he says quickly. "I'm right here. Please excuse my..." He hesitates once more. "Associates," he settles on finally.

Lebeaux caught the hand that trailed along his chest, allowing it a brief skim of pale skin before he brought it up and turned it over so the palm faced upwards. “Isn’t that precisely what he’s here for? A bit of amusement.” He brushed his lips briefly against skin just over the Duskwight’s pulse in his wrist, yet his gaze was unwavering as it watched the Hingan and Idristan. “Oh, I would hate to steal you away from Idristan after he’s already paid…” He lied quietly, he didn’t offer any more corrections for the time being, watching and listening intently to have a better idea of just what he had stumbled into. From his limited experience, it rather rang of some of the clandestine meetings his yakuza contacts occasionally had to discuss business or alliances.

Michaux represses a shiver. He hears Idristan's sharp intake of breath and the warning note in his voice, and gods yes, this feels dangerous, but there's a hint of fascination in his eyes as he watches Lebeaux. How dangerous is it? How much is he going to regret drawing this man's notice later? Probably a lot, but he doesn't pull his hand away. The Hingan man turns to Idristan, still confused but willing to accept the introduction. "I am Narikage Ishiku. The letter which I received from Miss Saito intrigued me. There is a growing interest in guns in this country, but the Garleans are stingy trading partners. You can supply guns?"

Lebeaux still seemed for all intents and purposes busier laying it on thick for Michaux than paying attention, lowering the wrist from his lips to place his own palm atop the other’s. His smile ever present though he was still watching the others from under lowered lashes. Guns. Really. Gun running. His expression flattened somewhat yet still the smile remained. He leaned down towards the Duskwight’s ear, as though to whisper sweet nothings as his fingers curled, sharp points biting slightly into dark skin. Yet not enough to draw blood. “My my, so much for an afternoon of pleasurable distraction. I see now why you wished to lead me away quickly.” He mused coolly, dropping the captured hand before he straightened up to openly observe the discussion ‘Lord Agache’ was having.

Michaux lets out a soft breath as those sharp nails dig into his palm, and his pupils dilate suddenly. "There might have been other reasons too," Michaux murmurs, but then Lebeaux releases his hand and he remembers what they're supposed to be doing here. Conning Hingans. Right. Lord Ishiku waves a hand airily. "I have people to handle the details. The important point is, can you secure the guns for me, and what do you want in return?"

Idristan purses his lips at this. "Ishgard takes where it's weapons go seriously Lord Ishiku," he says. "I want a private meeting, so that we can work out those details. Preferrably somewhere less..." He glances over towards Lebeaux. "Crowded than Kugane. But yes, it can be done," he adds quickly. Still praying that the other Ishgardian wouldn't ruin this. "My friend--" It seems to cause him almost physical pain to say the word. "Lord Desrosiers can certainly vouch for my reliability."

Lebeaux ignored the Duskwight’s quiet explanation. The thrill of the hunt having lessened considerably now that he was aware that it had all been something of a charade. If Michaux was indeed ‘hired’ it wasn’t the sort of services he had first assumed. His gaze slid from piece to piece on the gameboard, attempting to connect the dots of the gamble at stake as well as the game being played itself. “Oh, I daresay this an excellent place to discuss. Quite discreet.” He smiiiiled down his nose at Idristan. While he still hadn’t quite grasped the game being played he understood that keeping the play going depended entirely on him now, it was at his whims whether he would allow it to go on or flip the whole thing. And he wasn’t feeling very motivated to keep the board steady. “You seem to have forgotten to answer Lord Ishiku’s question as to what you want in return for your services. After all, such reliability and quality must come at quite the cost.” He mused, carefully minding the sarcasm so the Hingan wouldn’t pick it up on it and rather read in to it as honestly vouching for the shady conjurer.

@roses-and-grimoires @solennelagarde

#lebeaux #idristan #michaux #some seriously shady business going on #without shirts though

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lilacmoon83 · 6 years

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The Convenience of Love

Prompt from @loboselinaistrash. She asked for Snowing and a marriage of convenience. In a world where Leopold lived and Regina escaped, Snow becomes her father's victim in Regina's place. Escaping to George's Kingdom, she requests asylum. But George proposes something else. A union between her and his son Prince James. But could this marriage of convenience become more? Snowing.

There is eluding to past sexual abuse, but nothing graphic. It's implied though, so you've been warned. This can be stand-alone, but there are a lot of possibilities here so I will accept prompts for this new verse. Review or PM me if you have one!

Also, this is VERY anti-Leopold. You've been warned again.

Enjoy and please reblog and share!

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03:

"So...I plead for asylum from you, Your Majesty. You have my word that I will not be a burden or inconvenience on your Kingdom. I just need a little time to acquire what I need to leave this realm," Princess Snow White pleaded, as she stood before the Throne of King George. She didn't expect much, for she had heard he was a ruthless man. But she had to try...she had to get away from her father. Standing beside the Throne was his son, Prince James, looking at her with disdain and sporting a cut on his chin. He had caught her sneaking into the castle and she had belted him with a rock. She allowed herself a small smug smile at that.

"Yes...I've heard of your plight. I have to say, though I am more than willing to admit that while I am a ruthless man, I do not think I would ever touch my child in such a manner," he said bluntly. Snow stood frozen by his words and felt the weight of the horrors she had experienced threaten to suffocate her.

"By the look on your face it would seem the whispers and rumors about the kind of man Leopold really is are true," George added.

"Father…" James hissed. She was surprised by the look on the Prince's face. Usually she received disgust or pity from those who found out what her father had done to her and his secret attempt to change the law. A law that would force her to wed her own father. Leopold was a sick man and wanted her to replace his beloved Eva. Regina had escaped him long ago and for that, Snow was happy. She had heard that she found love with an outlaw in Sherwood Forest. But her escape had been the turning point for her father. Once he lost Regina, Snow had become his new victim in a frightening way. Now she was just a broken princess looking for a way out of the nightmare that was her life. She only hoped George would take pity on her, as much as she hated it. Prince James' expression was one of sympathy, but not pity and horror. Not at her, but what he had just surmised was done to her. It took her aback from a moment and it made her curious about him. She swallowed thickly.

"Then if you know the rumors are true, then you know why I must escape," she stated bravely.

"Yes...but perhaps there is another option," George stated.

"I'm not sure I understand, Your Majesty," she responded.

"You are the sole heir to your Kingdom's Throne. It is a rich Kingdom with vast resources, while our Kingdom is struggling. We are in need of a merger," he stated.

"We had a merger in place, until my foolish son and his big heart freed Princess Abigail's true love from the trappings of being turned to gold," George spat, casting a glance at his own heir.

"You're just mad, because I refuse to give up on true love," James retorted.

"True love is for children," George hissed, but Snow was intrigued by this Prince. Royals did not entertain thoughts of true love and such idealistic fodder. But this one was different, so unlike any other Prince she had ever met. So charming to a level that she would swear was fraudulent if she could not see the sincerity in his blue eyes.

"But if we were to arrange a marriage for you and my son...then we would have what we need to overthrow your father," George stated.

"What?" James asked in shock and Snow, too, looked flabbergasted.

"That's...ambitious. Our army is not large, but well equipped," Snow replied.

"But mine is large and with the right dealings, we can become equipped enough to seize your Kingdom. You would be saving your people from an unfit King and mine from starvation," he proposed. James still stood in shock and normally Snow would refuse to married off to a Prince for political or monetary gain. But her situation was dire and it wasn't like James was a cruel man. Just being in the room with him right now, she could tell by his eyes. He wore his emotions on his sleeve like no royal she had ever met. It both intrigued and fascinated her. Okay...and it helped that she was attracted to him, not that she wanted to ever admit it.

"Father…" James started to protest.

"Come now, son...you'll be marrying the fairest of them all. And I can already see by the look on her face that she knows your soft heart will see that she is never harmed again," George stated. James swallowed and looked at her. He would have been lying if he said he didn't think she was beautiful. The truth was he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her since she hit in the face. Then when he learned just a vague description of the horror she had been through, it cut him deeply, so deeply it shocked him to his very core. The thought of someone hurting her made him want to hunt them down and make them pay. He didn't know what it was he was feeling for her exactly, but he also knew his father was going to see him married off to a Princess. And so far, she was definitely the least objectionable choice.

"You really think we can overthrow my father and lock him away, Your Majesty?" she questioned. George smirked.

"I wouldn't have proposed such if I wasn't assured of victory, Snow White," he responded. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Then I accept your offer," Snow said bravely. George looked to his son and he stepped down, walking slowly toward her. Inside his pocket, he clutched his mother's ring.

"True love follows this ring," Ruth had told him and he had never quite been able to bring himself to offer it to Abigail during their brief engagement. But with Snow...he found that he wanted to see it on her finger. Snow's surprise showed, as he got down on one knee. If he was going to do this, then he was going to do it right.

"Will you accept my ring and marry me, Princess Snow White?" he asked. She actually smiled. This one was just full of surprises.

"What do you think?" she asked coyly. He smirked and slipped it on her finger. She lifted her hand to examine it, as he rose to his feet. It wasn't exactly what she expected of a typical royal engagement ring and that's why she found that instantly loved it. In a gentlemanly manner, he raised her hand and kissed the back of it, never mind that he was wondering what it would be like to kiss her. And unbeknownst to him, she was wondering the same. It would come in due time and far more willingly than either of them would expect…

When Leopold learned that his daughter was engaged to King George's son, Prince James, to say he was livid was an understatement. He had immediately ordered a conference with King George, asking him to call off the engagement and return his wayward daughter to him. But the other King refused and the eve of their engagement ball arrived.

In the weeks prior, they had spent them getting to know each other. There was official picnics and outings on horseback, as well as meetings with many of the nobles. During that time, Snow and James talked extensively, usually settling into amiable conversation and playful banter. It was growing difficult for them to hide that their obvious genuine care for each other might be becoming something more. It was not lost on those around them either, especially with Snow's instance on calling him Charming. Prince Charming was quickly becoming a moniker that was sticking with Prince James.

But the night of their engagement ball would be a true turning point in their relationship.

Snow actually found herself enjoying the ball and she hadn't enjoyed one since her mother was alive, for they had all been spent with her father's firm hand on her. But at Charming's side, she felt free and had made new friends in Princess Aurora, Princess Ariel, Princess Abigail, and Princess Ella. But her happiness would be interrupted when the ballroom doors burst open and King Leopold strode in with a purposeful stride. She gasped and all the memories of what he had done came rushing back. She felt Charming's protective arm go around her and pull her close.

"It seems this is quite a party. My invitation must have gotten lost in transit," Leopold griped.

"You know damn well that you're not invited," Charming growled.

"Insolent boy...you may be a Prince, but I am King. A King that you have stolen from. I am here to take back what belongs to me," he hissed, as several of his men surrounded him. Charming was about to unsheathe his sword, but Snow beat him to it, as she drew the weapon and pointed it at her father.

"I do not belong to you or anyone. I am not an object you can own," Snow refuted.

"Oh, I believe we both know that I do own you daughter. I proved that," he retorted.

"Guards!" Charming bellowed, as his own men encircled Leopold's.

"I shall leave for now, but this is far from over. You may marry my daughter, Prince Charming, but I will one day regain what you have taken from me," Leopold promised, as he strode out with his guards behind him. Snow couldn't take all the eyes on her any longer and fled the ballroom for her chambers.

"Snow!" he called, as he hurried after her and leaned against her door.

"Snow...please talk to me. You have to know that I'll never let him touch you again. I'd rather die," he pleaded through the door. It opened and he found her there, shoulders racking with sobs and he immediately took her in his arms. He didn't give a damn how improper it might have been to enter her bedchambers and close the door, for he did it anyway. He hugged her fiercely and let her cry against him.

"He's evil...he'll never stop until he takes me back," she sobbed.

"I will never let him do that. I will keep you safe," he promised and she looked up at him, once again witnessing nothing but sincerity in his eyes. There was something else in his eyes as well, but she didn't dare entertain what that might mean.

"He didn't just threaten me this time...he threatened you," she warned. But he shook his head.

"He can level all the threats he wants, but I will never leave your side," he promised.

"Why? There are a dozen other royals you could marry and gain riches for your Kingdom. What if your father decides that I'm too much trouble?" she asked.

"Then I'll piss him off and marry you anyway, And I will die for you if it means protecting you from Leopold," he said boldly. Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked into his eyes. There was no denying what was there anymore.

"You'd die for me?" she asked in disbelief.

"Well, I'd rather not resort to anything too drastic, but I'll go take an arrow for you if you think I'm making it up," he replied.

"No one's ever been willing to die for me," she realized.

"Until now," he corrected.

"Why?" she asked.

"I think you know," he replied.

"But...this is a marriage of convenience," she protested, though halfheartedly.

"And now it's more…" he added. With that statement, they stared at each other until the tension between them could be ignored no longer and their lips came crashing together for the first time. She slid her arms around his neck, trying to get as close to him as possible, as he kissed her with such passion that it made her head swim and her knees weak. As their lips parted, they stared at each other again.

"I love you…" he confessed.

"And...I love you…" she realized, surprising herself. She never expected to fall in love. It hadn't been a possibility or so she thought. But now that it had happened, she felt herself clinging to it with everything she had.

"There's something I must tell you though...but it has to remain a secret. Can you do that?" he asked. She nodded.

"When I was a little girl, I told a secret that I shouldn't have. It got someone killed," she said sadly.

"I didn't understand then...but I do now. Whatever we speak of will be between us," she promised.

"I'm not the real James," he confessed. She looked at him oddly.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"I'm his twin. James is dead. He was raised by George and I was raised on a farm with my mother. When James was killed, I replaced him to keep up the ruse with King Midas and the rest...you know," he confessed. She looked at him with scrutiny for several beats and he felt his heart sink.

"I'll...understand if you don't want to marry me now…" he fretted, but she put her hand to his mouth.

"It finally makes sense," she confessed. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I could never figure out why you're so different from other royals...and in a very good way. Now I know," she said, smiling fondly at him.

"So...you still want to marry me?" he asked. She grinned.

"What do you think?" she asked coyly. He smiled and kissed her again, this time lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. Truly what had began as a marriage of convenience had become one of true love...

What should have been smooth sailing from there to their wedding day turned out to be anything but. Even after being overthrown and losing his Kingdom, Leopold had escaped with a handful of loyal soldiers. And he had revenge on his mind. No one was quite sure how he had done it, but he managed to acquire a magical item to aid him in his revenge. A poison apple that would invoke a sleeping curse upon its victim. To get his daughter to eat the apple, he had managed to capture her Prince Charming when he was away on a hunting trip. In exchange for his life, she bit into the apple for him. After all, if he could not have her, then no one would. His plan then had been to execute the Prince, before George's forces could save his son. But what Leopold didn't count on was Charming's escape.

The Prince rode his horse with an incredible urgency, as if his very life depended upon him getting to his destination. But truthfully, it was not his life that was in peril, but rather the woman he loved. She had eaten a poison apple, willingly sacrificing herself to spare his life...from none other than her own evil father.

Her own father had cursed her to keep them apart and all because he couldn't have her. They had suspected he had acquired a silent partner in his quest and when he had given Snow the magical poisoned apple, it all but confirmed that he was definitely working with someone with magic. The King's Huntsman had helped him escape execution and Rumpelstiltskin made a deal with him that had helped lead him to Snow after he had done Rumple's favor. And now, he was finally here. He hopped off his horse and hurried to the glass covered coffin where the seven dwarves that Snow had befriended during the war with Leopold, mourned their Princess.

"Open it…" he pleaded.

"You're too late…" Grumpy replied harshly, as it began to snow lightly. He swallowed thickly, with grief threatening to cripple him.

"Then at least let me say goodbye…" he requested. The dwarves hesitated for a moment and then granted his request, as they lifted the glass. He leaned down over her and pressed his lips to hers in a final kiss. But then, in a moment of sheer magic, the light inside him that was slowly dying, the light that was Snow, was lit again, as she took a starved breath. Her emerald eyes flew open and she looked up at him, as she breathed once again.

"You...you found me," she uttered, as he beamed at her and helped her sit up.

"Did you ever doubt I would?" he asked.

"Never...though the glass coffin did give me pause," she teased. He grinned and caressed her beautiful face.

"Well, you never have to worry, because I will always find you," he replied.

"Do you promise?" she asked. He did and they sealed it with with another kiss.

Though Leopold was still a lurking threat, their wedding commenced without a hitch.

"Do you Prince James, take this woman, Snow White, to be your beloved wife?" the Holy man asked, as they held hands at the altar, gazing into each other's eyes.

"I do," he answered without hesitation and an eagerness that spoke of his undying love for her.

"And do you, Princess Snow White, take this man, James, to be your beloved husband?" he asked. She tilted her head, gazing at him dreamily.

"Oh, I do," she answered in a blissful tone.

"There is no truer love than that which has been witnessed by this pair and it is my honor to pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride," the holy man said, as they closed the distance between them and he leaned in to press his lips to hers. There was thundering applause, as their union was sealed.

King George watched on proudly, for he had everything he wanted. Truthfully, he could care less that this was now a union of true love, for it united the Kingdoms and saved both. He had thought long ago that he could not have prosperity for his Kingdom and true love for his son. He had hammered it into James that he would marry for convenience and never love. That was not an option. His twin was harder to convince and he had threatened him at one time. But somehow, he had managed to have both. George would have his riches and this union would most certainly produce at least one heir, if not more by the way they were looking at each other. And that fleeting happiness that George thought to be lost to him long ago suddenly seemed attainable. True, he would have never let it happen if not for gaining a hold on Snow White's Kingdom. But if he could have stability and riches, then he would let David have his true love. And no one would ever be any the wiser that he was not the real James.

Later that evening, after all their things were moved into the joint chamber, they were finally alone. They kissed intensely and passionately, as one would expect of newlyweds. But to Snow's surprise, Charming pulled back suddenly.

"Snow…" he said thickly.

"I know what you went through...and if you're not ready for this, I'll understand. We...we won't do this unless it's really what you want," he replied. She smiled at him and kissed him tenderly again.

"I know...but Charming, I love you and I want this. I want to know what it's like to be with someone you love...someone you want to be with," she said. He gently cupped her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.

"I want you to make love to me," she uttered, as their lips crashed together again and he swept her into his arms, before carrying her to the bed.

They fell back onto the bed afterward, breathing heavily with skin slick with perspiration. They looked at each other with love and awe in their eyes. Any expectations either of them had about the marriage bed were thoroughly exceeded on that night, for being in love and making love left them breathless and only solidified the undying true love between them. Love that had blossomed from a marriage of convenience and became everything they ever wanted and next expected to have. There was still threats in their future and there would be obstacles as well, but it would be nothing they would face alone. From then on, they would face it all together. And despite any uncertainty in the future, they had managed to forge, not a happy ending, for they were not ending, but a happy beginning...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #prompt #@loboselinaistrash #romance #AU verse #evil King Leopold #anti-Leopold #Snow White #Prince Charming #King George #true love #I will take prompts for this verse #a marriage of convenience #becomes so much more

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 43 – KSA’s Disaster

“Wait!!!”

Lunark’s heels rotated on their own, as Tao’s voice hit her eardrums almost as soon as she made herself gone.

The moment she turned around, Tao’s entire face was fully caught in her vision.

Though the man was not panting, from his bare feet Lunark could see what a hurry he was in.

“What is it? And where are your shoes?”

“I need a favor to ask. I received a message from KSA asking us to drop by, but would you mind if I ask you to fill in?”

Lunark was not expecting him to ask her something in relation to KSA.

The request itself was not a challenge at all, as difficult as a mother’s call from kitchen, requiring her child to pick up something from the fridge.

However, the operative part was that she was the one who was given the mission.

“Just what kind of excuse am I supposed to give upon entrance?”

Her complaint was not simply a tantrum.

Survival and expatriation of Yuigi, the purpose of her visit, under Takio’s hospitality was confidential from KSA, minus Sangin and Yeonsu. Which must be kept confidential.

And here Lunark was, paying a secret visit to Takio and his team to hand over something that could help them to control Yuigi.

Q.E.D., there is no legitimate objective of visit for her to provide KSA, if she is demanded to explain why she is in Korea.

But Lunark had a feeling Tao would not have caught up to her without taking consideration of such topic, which turned out to be the case.

“Mr. Jang will be back in Korea in a few days. So you can tell them this time you plan on taking him to your kind’s land yourself. It will certainly save you some time, unlike before when you had to set a rendezvous with nobles to do the job.”

“What was that?”

Lunark’s eyes fluttered as if she were electrically shocked.

She left as soon as she stumbled upon Yuigi’s outfit, after she entrusted Muzaka with the new files Adne recently unlocked.

So of course she had no idea about Yuhyung’s return to Korea. Or the reason why.

“The guy is coming back? What do you mean?”

“Huh? Didn’t you hear?”

Tao released what he knew about Yuhyung’s return, rendering Lunark speechless.

“...There must have been a misunderstanding. There’s no way Adne would...”

Though she managed to draw out her voice after much struggle, it was cut off in mere seconds.

As a werewolf warrior, and as an ex-elder of the Union, she has made for herself a chronicle of strife and combats, of both brains and brawls, including a myriad of conspiracies and tricks.

As much as she hated herself for being unable to defend Adne, she could not bring herself to speak again, partially because of what Tao added.

“You know what......?”

“...What?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“...Doesn’t sound like it’s nothing, with that voice, face, and atmosphere of yours.”

“Man, what are you thinking, Tao? This was supposed to be our secret for the time being!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Tao sighed after mopping his face with his hand for a number of times.

Lunark’s eyes turned more questioning as he wasted his time, to which he ultimately yielded.

He revealed to Lunark, as fairly and briefly as possible, the conversation between Adne and Muzaka he overheard, something that took place promptly following the failure of QuadraNet.

Something that was so mysterious and bewildering that now that he thought about it, he never got a chance to try to see what gave rise to such phenomenon.

Once he was done talking, Tao’s mind whispered to him that maybe he should not have done this, as he witnessed how Lunark was petrified perhaps beyond return.

‘Adne became a researcher for the sake of his personal ambition...?’

She already knew that Adne was made Maduke’s best lieutenant of research during the latter’s reign, with the former in the lead of all projects kicked off during the time.

However, this was her first time learning such story about the werewolf researcher.

And now she could not come up with a scheme or motivation to take Adne’s side.

Even though some questions remained, there was more than a handful of reasons to deem Adne a traitor.

‘But why? Just why would he...? Why? For what reason?! For what purpose?!’

Lunark realized there lay in her obsession with Adne’s reason, much more tenacious than anticipated.

Because once she figures out why Adne would “betray,” then there would be no denying that he is indeed traitorous.

Her face looked so foul that even Tao could feel bitterness upon his tongue; nonetheless, he continued to talk to her, and Lunark’s lips thawed in turn.

“Anyways, I think KSA has an item of some sort to give us. Yes, I know it’s a pain, but I must ask you to return here shortly. I’m so sorry I must ask this from you, but I can’t make myself available for the time being.”

“...I get it. You’re gonna need a lot of hands to play with kids.”

“Yes, that’s part of the reason, but listening to you back there reminded me of something to find out.”

Lunark’s eyes sparked at his words.

Aside from curiosity, she had a feeling that Tao was definitely led by something; she noticed how his eyes glowed momentarily, seemingly in knowledge of something worthy of investigation.

Lunark simply nodded, assuming Tao will later disclose for her what has gotten into him.

“You’d better go back now. I bet M-21 is sweating his claws off babysitting those kids.”

Lunark dispensed a jest she would normally keep tucked in, an attempt to bring some calm upon the sea of storms called her heart.

She soon turned around and loaded a virtual map towards KSA in her head.

*****

KSA was met with a disaster in the middle of a night, foreseen by nobody among them.

And the doctor, the one who would be the summoner of such disaster, if they were to nominate one, felt very much inclined to have a serious conversation with his past self.

Although the QuadraNet project was almost entirely Yuhyung’s responsibility, he figured he cannot just sit this project out, especially since they experienced a failure in waking up the QuadraNet.

He tried some deduction on his own to pinpoint a potential reason why QuadraNet failed them, drawing a conclusion that perhaps connecting several servers whipped up interference in network, leading to breach in the firewalls.

Which is why he upgraded a security program developed by Yuhyung, now copied into the latter’s USB along with the program’s original version for Tao.

They promised to be careful on using emails for the time being, and not even the most imbecile of all humans would ever think of sharing such a crucial program through email. So he booked a face-to-face meeting for this time.

And here he was, gazing at a major personnel from werewolves for the meeting.

Lunark was just as mystified.

Yuhyung will inevitably return to Korea, because of a fault committed by the lead researcher of her clan.

In other words, the hold-up in their project was thanks to the werewolves; nevertheless, it was the KSA that was behaving all guilty, because of which Lunark felt so uncomfortable.

Most importantly, there is an awfully good chance, growing even better every second, that the said werewolf has betrayed Lukedonia, KSA, his own kind, and Frankenstein’s family.

To top it off, she was standing with a straight face while retracing the fact over and over again in her mind.

Lunark could feel seams of her heart wrenching in frenzy; she has never felt so remorseful in recent days.

“H-here it is.”

The doctor handed her very carefully a USB. They were standing in the director’s office, which in Lunark’s point of view was a totally unnecessary courtesy.

“Could you please deliver to this Mr. Tao? Once he has it, he’ll take care of the rest.”

“...Will do.”

“Uh... If it does not concern you, may I ask when you plan on taking our researcher?”

“Well, that depends on how fast he can get the new part ready.”

“Uh... I, I see! That was a stupid question.”

Taesik laughed in fluster, while the doctor avoided eye contact and wiped his forehead.

And thus they made Lunark even more uncomfortable.

She knew why they would be so intimidated; she was one of the top authorities from wolfkind, and her first encounter with KSA was as vicious as it could be.

Notwithstanding, Lunark could swear they would get to meet from time to time, if not all the time. And it was not welcome at all to see everyone on the edge of their seats all the time, painfully conscious of each other’s mood.

So she decided to take her opportunity to improve on their relations, by showing how she harbored well-built trust and gratitude for Yuhyung.

“I don’t believe I’ll have to wait for long. When Jang was busy on our kind’s land, unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to see his performance with my own eyes – I happened to be busy. Regardless, I could hear stories about him even without trying – stories about how skillful and smart he is.”

“Uh... Uh, is that so? We’re glad he proved himself helpful.”

Taesik and the doctor exchanged pregnant looks.

They could still remember how Yuhyung put himself to blackout right before Rael.

Naturally, their fear started to scream inside them – fear that Lunark was just being polite, trying to cover a trouble Yuhyung might have brewed in the werewolf realm.

In the end, the doctor could not resist asking, “Uh... By any chance, did our researcher cause any inconvenience?”

“Inconvenience? That’s preposterous. You should be inquiring me if we caused any inconvenience to him. It was a huge leap for him to stop by our land. I can’t help marveling at how remarkable he is whenever I think about him. He managed to withstand his ordeal in a place packed with werewolves. It’s true that at first I was full of concern, after seeing how he was knocked unconscious as soon as he spotted me and...”

“What?!”

Taesik and doctor jumped out of their shoes in synchronization.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said that,’ Lunark clicked her tongue.

“Y-yuhyung fell unconscious?”

“Yeah, and I heard what happened. I must say... I’m terribly sorry. I offered him an apology on our way to Lukedonia, but I bet it’s not even close to enough. I know as of now this is nothing more than an excuse, but I was too busy to afford more chances.”

Then she recalled how she has yet to apologize to Taesik and the doctor.

The moment she raised her head, drooped since who-knows-when, Taesik beat her to it in striking up a conversation.

Surprisingly, his voice was toned with thick urgency.

“I’m sorry, but could you give us more details? What do you mean that our researcher fell unconscious as soon as he saw you?”

Despite her puzzlement, Lunark shared with them what happened upon the sea, when she was there to take Yuhyung from Rael.

At the end of her story, she became even more perplexed, for Taesik and doctor gaped at each other with heavy confusion plastered on their faces.

It was as if they had never known that Yuhyung is prone to blackout in presence of at least one werewolf.

No, it was as if...

“You two had no idea that Jang is afraid of werewolves?”

“No... We had no idea. We had no idea he had such story with him... I don’t know what to say to you, Miss Lu...”

“No, no. No need to say that. It’s all my fault. I’m the one to blame. I’m the one who wrecked such havoc in your motherland and even compelled him to force himself away from his lab.”

“What?!”

Taesik and doctor cried out for the second time, and Lunark rolled her eyes, wondering what could this be about.

“What do you mean, force himself away from his lab?”

Lunark had to be the storyteller yet again, regarding what Yuhyung had gone through when she first visited Korea and brought about a calamitous destruction of the city.

She also unfolded for them how Yuhyung was half-forced to take a break from his job, due to shock of losing his colleagues.

“...That’s what he told you?”

Taesik mumbled in a blank voice.

This time, however, something was off with his face.

This time his face was not exhibiting surprise and stupefaction like it did just a few minutes ago.

“What? What is it?”

(next chapter)

Yep, it’s about time to raise the curtains for what lies behind this question of traitor among them. The next 3 - 4 chapters are like the final steps to the highlight of this entire fic. I can feel the end drawing near as I compose, and I’ll do my best to make a nice, clean conclusion to this work lol.

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

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beholdthepowerofyuri · 6 years

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So I just wanna drop this in here; if you’re a fan of fantasy/D&D-style settings, you should definitely read Goblin Slayer.

Now then. Before I begin, let me clarify something. In this series, it’s established very early on that goblins are known for constantly kidnapping and brutally raping women for the sole purpose of breeding offsprings.

This manga is NOT shy about showing this, and even in scenes where they don’t show the act itself, there’s zero ambiguity as to what has happened. And, more importantly, it’s not like 80% of fantasy hentai where being raped by a monster is treated as a major inconvenience at worst.

These women are clearly traumatized, and there are not-very-subtle implications that it’s extremely rare that those who make it out alive ever fully recover from the experience. At no point is any of this ever played for fanservice, which, if nothing else I can at least appreciate.

So...yeah. In short, it’s a very rape-y manga, though it only serves to show how terrible goblins are. If you can look past this, it’s still a fantastic manga. If not, then I sure as hell won’t blame you.

Either way, with that warning out of the way, let me go into details of the plot itself, and what’s made this such a fun read for me.

Also there are a few spoilers, but I will try to avoid going into too much detail.

It’s a story about a man known simply as “Goblin Slayer”, and every breath he takes goes toward living up to that name in every way imaginable.

This man is not only a walking encyclopedia of everything related to goblins, but he often flat-out refuses to do anything that doesn’t involve killing them. Despite his noble (if not incredibly skewed) intentions, this single-minded obsession makes him very difficult to interact with.

As one of the characters very aptly puts it, he has the charisma and social skills of a dead fish. But, personally, I think it (in an ironic way) adds to his charm, and it doesn’t stop him from having several girls wanting into his pants. He’s a deeply flawed human being, but still a good person nonetheless.

One of my favorite scenes in the manga thus far is when Goblin Slayer and his friends run afoul of an incredibly powerful demon lord.

Not only is Goblin Slayer so single-mindedly obsessed with hunting goblins that he’s fundamentally incapable of even pretending to give a crap about said demon lord (and thus wounding his pride), but even after epically destroying him, it becomes a running gag later on that he barely remembers the battle, purely because the uber-powerful demon lord he defeated wasn’t a goblin.

And the kicker? His only thought before doing what he did to destroy the demon was to express annoyance at having to do so because he had been saving it for goblins. The demon dies with the knowledge that this man considers goblins to be a more worthy opponent than him, and it leaves him completely humiliated.

Another fun thing about the manga is that none of the characters are ever referred to by their name. Instead, they’re referred to by their class and (if they aren’t human) race. For example, Goblin Slayer’s main party consists of him, Priestess, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman and Lizardman Priest.

And there are various other side characters like Heavy Fighter, Female Knight, and Spearman. Even non-combatants are given this treatment; there’s Guild Girl, who works at the guild that everyone is a member of by providing quests and handing out rewards, and Cow Girl, who is Goblin Slayer’s childhood friend. She runs a dairy farm.

Another interesting aspect of the series and setting is how the goblins themselves are depicted. Along with the stuff I mentioned in my warning, they’re depicted as being very weak, yet terrifyingly cunning. On their own, they don’t pose much of a threat, but they very rarely act on their own, and they make up for how weak they are with sheer ruthlessness.

What’s most interesting is how they’re viewed by the rest of the world. Because of how weak they are, they almost exclusively target small villages in the middle of nowhere. Because of how poor the villagers tend to be, they’re very rarely able to offer much in the way of rewards.

Because quests to exterminate them are rarely worth much money, seasoned and experienced adventurers very rarely have any interest in taking them. In fact, Goblin Slayer, despite having being in the third highest rank in the guild, is often looked down on by his peers because all he does is hunt goblins.

Meanwhile, because of how weak they’re rumored to be, newbie adventurers assume they’ll be easy money, but because few know how cunning and ruthless they can be, often end up severely underestimating them. This usually results in them being mercilessly slaughtered or turned into sex slaves.

What’s worse is that no one seems to particularly care if a few weak parties get wiped out by them, and the guild will just keep sending waves of them after goblins until one of them eventually succeeds. Even the government cares little about the goblin threat, often preferring to focus issues like demon lords and the like. Thus, goblins are effectively left to do whatever the hell they want.

Thus, all of this serves as one of Goblin Slayer’s main motivations for doing what he does; he goes out of his way to kill as many goblins as possible simply because no one else will.

And after they finally take part in a battle where killing goblins is made worth their time, the other adventurers actually come to respect him, especially now that they’ve seen first hand what these “weak” creatures are truly capable of.

Have I mentioned that baby goblins are disturbingly cute, but are just as ruthless and outright evil and will deliberately use said cuteness to catch adventurers off guard? Because yeah. That’s a thing.

Also, apparently they came from the moon or some shit...because sure why not?

Anyways...yeah. This has gone on long enough, so I’ll stop here. Just felt a need to gush over how much I’m loving this series so far. Like I said, if you can look past all of the violence and rape, it’s actually a very good story, and it also has its fair share of funny/light-hearted moments to keep it from being too grim.

The first couple chapters are incredibly edgy, but they dial the edge back quite a bit starting with the third. It’s still there, mind you, but not nearly as much.

#goblin slayer #long post #don't mind me #just gushing about my latest obsession

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atopearth · 6 years

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Princess Closet Part 4 - Kai Ayasaki Route

I’m not the biggest fan of Kai’s look but I can see why so many girls adore him considering how kind he is and how much he loves his work. Makeup is usually considered superficial and used for others to compliment yourself but really, makeup can also boost your own self confidence and morale, as well as help you understand your skin and facial structure better. I think so many people see makeup as a mask that they disregard the positive effects that makeup can do for people as well. For me, it really helps when I can cover my red patches of eczema with makeup, it may not be the best for the eczema but it’s really difficult to walk around publicly or in a proper setting with red splotches on my face, needless to say. So when the heroine saw Kai doing makeup for the elderly that are ill in the hospital, I found that it must be really fun to have Kai do their makeup and show them that makeup isn’t limited to age or anything, it’s all about how you feel with it and whether you want to wear it.

Surfing is definitely a surprising hobby of him to have considering how gentle and delicate he seems haha! Kai’s thoughts of quitting modelling because he wanted to change other people rather than seeing himself change sounds like a very noble but also possibly possessing a slightly fearful attitude in his ways. His persistence with the shortboard instead of a longboard for surfing like everyone else as well as his old car might not just be because he particularly likes these things but because he fears change. Wow, a guy that will clean your sandy feet and teach you paddle boarding, dangg he so patient and nice lolll.

Whaaat, she’s banned from dating if it’s Kai when in Reo and Shuu’s routes, they did so many more date-like things! So unfairrr! I like how Kai still just does whatever he wants by asking her to eat and volunteer with him and saying that co-workers and friends do this too! Which is true hahahaha. Honestly, I think I wouldn’t mind sharing a room with another guy but checking out an outdoor hot spring with just our towels is a different story lolol, I don’t even wanna do that with a girl unless we’re super close! I’m glad he clarified that he wouldn’t do s such a thing with other girls even if it’s in swimsuits lol, meaning she’s a special friend but their careers would be in dire straits if they were to date openly. But our heroine seems dense hahaha. I guess your can’t blame her since Kai does seem like a guy who doesn’t care about boundaries and stuff. But sharing the same bed?! Even if they’re not doing anything, that’s lewd hahaha! Especially since it was by choice! They each have their own beds lol!

The heroine hasn’t met any hateful models in the other two routes so it’s kinda scary to have to see that here, I mean jealousy is such a frightening emotion that could lead to many terrible things after all… And I’m literally crying for the heroine because that type of mistake is something I’d totally do (and probably have done) so it really resonates with me how painful it is when you inconvenience others because of yourself and get scolded for it. They’re right for scolding you but the self-blame and the responsibility you feel makes you just want to cry and whenever I cry, I can’t stop haha. So I think it was really sweet when Kai took care of her and then kissed her.. but this unclear relationship kills me too loll.

Omg, have to admit, my heart was racing when he started helping her take off her kimono, gahhh! Considering how confused the heroine was, I’m happy he was clear with her that he does consider her special but the situation with her as a new model and everything and not being allowed to date is what’s stopping him and he clarifies that. It kinda cut when Kai said they could just return to normal co workers if the heroine wants. It’s like whaaat, after all the kisses and everything! You can’t just go back! The owner of the restaurant is right, he is a bit cold. Despite his coldness though, when she called him for no reason and he came to pick her up, I feel like I could understand why I like Kai and don’t like him at the same time, he understands a girl’s heart pretty well, enough that he’ll know her feelings but she’ll always have to be second guessing his but I guess in that sense, you can see that he is mature and logical, but that might not be the best when the heroine is emotionally attached from the way he makes moves on her and yet tries to keep their relationship formally as friends. In a way, you want to be frustrated at the heroine for not understanding that work with Princess Closet is sensitive and a priority right now and so any scandals with her especially with Kai since he’s so popular in the industry would be a disaster but you can’t help but understand her and be frustrated with Kai that he keeps making moves on her but keeps her at a distance at his own leisure and pace.

Although Reo is pushy and does things however he wants, he’s right! The heroine shouldn’t put down herself and say she’s not good enough for Kai! As Reo said, she’s the princess he chose, there’s no one better than her! She needs to have more confidence in herself that even if Kai were to not be with her (obviously he will), it’s not because of her inadequacy! I loved it when Reo shouted at Kai, he’s such a good guy 👌 sometimes I really do hate Kai though, just because he’s always so smiley so it makes you feel like an idiot for being mad at him and stuff! Like, I know he’s probably not as calm as he looks but the fact that he looks like it makes you mad because it’s affecting the heroine badly! I can see why Reo would want to go after her if he’s actually liked her but backed off because of Kai. But whoa, he’s so pushy! LOL. That’s a big no no, Reo. This ain’t your route, sorry.

But it’s kinda funny though. In Shuu’s route, everyone was telling the heroine to not give up on him whereas in this route, Sumire, Shuu and Reo tell the heroine that she should probably just give up on Kai lol. Completely different attitude and treatment 😂 it’s also funny that everyone knew Kai was into her but took a blind eye to it to not complicate things but because Reo is a straightforward guy, he reacted and that made Kai have to drop his cool and calm guy act of protecting her career. It’s cliche but it was nice to see Kai be so worked up over the heroine. It made me happy for her. But omg, I LOLed when Kai was telling Shuu that they’re dating and Shuu was mad saying that he thought Kai wasn’t like Reo and was an adult 😂😂 it’s true that Reo does too many things on impulse and very wilfully as well 😂 but it was just so funny hahahaha.

Omg, he took her to a planetarium!! Well, it’s attached with work but omg!! That is my dream date lolol! I don’t know why but I’m super fascinated with planetariums and ferris wheels so whenever these are mentioned, they’re just so romantic to me. I’m more inclined towards planetariums though, just the whole idea of looking at the night sky and space makes me happy and warm. I mean looking at stars always makes me feel nice and calm. That’s what I loved to do when I walked home in Auburn lol. But yeah honestly, just sitting down and looking at the night sky is enough for me haha. I agree with Kai though in realising how just a bit of makeup can actually change your mood so much. I used to think of it as a fickle and superficial thing but when you make yourself pretty and look nice, you feel more confident and happy too. I like that.

I think it must have felt extremely confronting when the model that had her career ruined because of a scandal came to the studio screaming that the heroine stole her work. That would be pretty scary. Especially since the heroine could likely be the next one considering the fact that Shuu has lots of enemies and Kai’s dad is a politician so their lives and actions would be closely observed and scrutinised. Breaking up is definitely for the best especially since the heroine really enjoys her modelling work and is getting paranoid about being seen in public with Kai but the way he said it to her was just too cruel. What if it affects her work so much that she can’t model properly anymore? That’s just too cruel, Kai. I know he feels like he needs to be harsh like that for her to get out and save her career and I’m sure it’s hurting him a lot to be saying stuff like that to her but I think like Shuu said, this is her decision to make on whether she is willing to take the risks with this relationship or not. He can suggest things and what causes of action they can take for this relationship but one sidedly deciding things like that is really mean. But I guess he does understand the industry better and he does understand how important of a time this is for her, him and Princess Closet as a brand and he also knows how she thinks and so this would have been the only way for them to let go of each other.

The guys are really understanding and kind though, very considerate of the heroine’s feelings and even said she can cry her heart out to them when she started getting teary. I guess it’s true that her aversion to being seen with Kai in public must have hurt him even though he was prepared, I guess the heroine is like a little lamb and he didn’t want her to be burdened by these things. I feel like Kai’s route is probably the most sensual and flirty hahaha. But you know, although it may seem like the heroine is kinda childish and unprofessional in this route especially when she ruined her makeup by crying when Kai’s assistant was talking about him, I think that’s what Kai needs to wake himself up from his persistence of keeping a calm and professional exterior. The heroine’s quite an emotional person and she really shows it because she’s honest and easy to read and I guess that’s exactly what Kai’s weakness kinda is hahaha. If she was a more professional person that could hide her emotions better, he probably would have been able to restrain himself better, maybe! Which kinda makes it sad for people who are not as expressive like me… But I do agree with the heroine that their breakup was necessary and Kai made the right decision because it was true that she wasn’t ready to take on the consequences properly as she is now knowing how important Kai is whilst still possessing the resolve to rebuild her career if it were to fall because of a scandal. In the past, she wouldn’t have had that strength, but during the time they separated, they continued their respective work and she built a more capable reputation and work ethic as well as the confidence to stand on her own two feet. I’d say she’s still reliant but she’s definitely better than before and most importantly, she’s more sure of her feelings for him because of the separation and so she understands what she regards as most important and indispensable. It’s her attitude that changed I guess and that’s what the separation brought about, in which if it didn’t happen, their relationship might have become very strained. It’s kinda cute that he can act a bit more childish around her, that’s really sweet.

Yaaa know, I would totally buy the Princess Closet cosmetics lmao, I can imagine how cute the crown packaging is and I agree that the lip product seems really good and interesting and the perfume too omg~ packaging is super important and perfume has great flexibility in being a bottle so I would be so tempted~~ and with Kai’s expertise and hard work, the products themselves are definitely worth trying! I also find it cute to see Shuu with Sumire bonding together and Reo going to the cosmetics launch with his dad, I mean you don’t really see them much with their family in their respective routes so it’s nice that you get to see a little snippet of their bonds, so cute too hahaha. I feel sorry for Shuu, Kai and Reo are both so reckless at the end of their routes lolol. As expected, the perfume bottle is really so cute!!! I think proposing with the original Princess Closet scent was perfect since he made that scent to remember her and to show his love for her so there’s really no better representation of his love for her than the original that was made.

#princess closet

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overdressedcarp · 7 years

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PLEASE POST IT.

NowPresenting: “Milo and Cavendish as Calamity Cronies” and Other Things I Need toExplain

This one’s for you, anon. You know whoyou are. (And I… don’t know who youare, unfortunately. You’re welcome in my ask box anytime, though.)

Thank you to Romina (@fisforfreakyme)for being the guinea pig for the first draft of this beast. You’re a saint.

The post that prompted this ask is here.

I’ve been pondering parallels betweenMilo and Cavendish for a while, because even though the show clearly isn’tsetting Cavendish up as the big bad, he’s still a bang-up antagonist, in largepart because of how he represents an alternate take (an “alternate future” inthe most absolutely figurative and deliciously ironic sense) on a characterwidely regarded as the embodiment of bungling things up—a character most peoplewould prefer “help by not helping.”

Cavendishand Milo both run into a lot of misfortune andthings-not-going-the-way-they’re-supposed-to. Milo’s bad luck is more dramatic(and sometimes ends up being the *cause* of Cavendish’s misfortune) but likeDakota says in “We’re Going to the Zoo,” they don’t really need Milo around toundermine their efforts. Half the time it’s Cavendish tripping over his own twofeet and botching things up himself.

Anoverarching theme in the show is how to react to bad circumstances. We’re givencharacters that fall all over the “healthily dealing with misfortune” spectrum,ranging from “shrug with a side of snark” to “snark with a side of neuroses” to“Everyone panic! I’ll start!” Cav and Milo embody totally opposite ends ofthis spectrum. Milo has learned to adapt to the chaos and at times is even ableto harness Murphy’s Law as an asset rather than a curse. Cavendish’s defaultresponse, in contrast, is to blame someone else for his woes and get angry/sulkyabout them.

This,more than any fuzzy notions of relative likeability, is what makes Milo thehero. This is the reason the show is called MiloMurphy’s Law and not The BalthazarCavendish Files.

Milohas been dealt what most people would call a bad lot in life—every day bringsone absurd disaster after another, ranging from mild inconvenience to actualphysical injury. He has to work exponentially harder than his peers just to getthe same results on assignments. Murphy’s Law causes absences from school andthen makes it nigh-impossible for him even to deliver a doctor’s note excusingthe absences. At first glance his life seems like a series of Sisyphean labors,rolling a boulder up a hill only for it to tumble back down again. But in thevery first episode, when Zack confronts Milo about Murphy’s Law, we see thatMilo doesn’t view his life in that light at all.

“I just can’t handle all of… this.”

“All of what?”

“This cyclone of calamity that follows youeverywhere you go! How do you live like this?”

“How do you live like *that*?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… you wanna live like those otherkids? They took a bus to school today. A bus! Does that seem like more fun toyou?”

Murphy’sLaw has forced Milo to grow up quickly, something which could easily be missedbehind the optimism and credulity. Despite having a lot of reasons to getdiscouraged or to resent Murphy’s Law, he does the exact opposite: he embracesthe “curse” as an opportunity. He has objectively less control over his lifethan most people do (most people, for instance, can wait at the bus stop in themorning without needing to factor in the possibility that a concrete drainage pipewill come rolling through and chase them down a hill), and yet he is constantlytaking responsibility: for his friends’ safety (and grades, and happiness, andeverything else), his sister’s movie-going experience, Amanda’s enjoymenthours… Murphy’s Law isn’t an excuse for Milo; it’s the very thing drivinghim. He’s gotten so good at making lemonade from his life’s never-ending supplyof lemons that most of the time he reallyis having more fun than everyone else.

You wanna live like those other kids?

Cavendishtransparently envies his coworkers, and it’s not difficult to understand why. Theirlives are glamorous and full of expensive creature comforts. The thingsCavendish strives for and consistently fails to achieve—respect, recognition,prestige—are awarded to them seemingly without effort.

They took a limousine to the past. Does thatseem like more fun to you?

Thetrajectory of Cavendish’s character arc is difficult to plot because he embodiesso many contradictions. He’s not a villain—muddy as his motives might be, Ibelieve his world-saving ambitions are birthed out of at least a seed ofgenuine altruism—but he’s also a long way from becoming a hero. He’s vain,petty, and quick to point fingers. More than anything, he’s held back bythe fact that his ego won’t allow him to grapple with the fact that he’sself-sabotaging. The narrative isn’t going to start taking Cavendish seriouslyuntil he can stop taking himself so seriously. But there’s more to Cavendish’sego than just taking himself too seriously: he’s driven—controlled—by a deeplyinsecure need for everyone else totake him seriously.

Forthe longest time, I was framing the question from the perspective of what itwould take for him to become the sort of person who warrants the kind ofvalidation he craves. But then I had a thought: what if Cavendish at his best isn’t the sort of person who warrantsthe kind of validation he craves? What if, in a weird upside-down way, it’s theexact opposite?

Rememberhow Milo introduces himself to Zack in Episode 1: “I’ve got a bit of areputation.” People know him as a jinx, a trouble-bringer if not atrouble-maker. Melissa and Zack know him well enough to see how distorted thatpicture is, but most people are reluctant to get that close.

Here’sthe thing. The show gives us moments where the people around Milo are able tosee and appreciate his capabilities. But Milo at his best isn’t ever going tobe the sort of person that Elliot or Bradley is going to appreciate, at least,not until their perspective on him changes. Milo is the one with the undistortedview, the one who can see himself and his condition clearly. (Remind me to talksometime about the symbolism of characters with glasses in this show.)

Cavendish,likewise, has “a bit of a reputation,” and it’s driving him crazy. Right nowBlock isn’t taking Cavendish seriously—he’s just the paranoid, bumbling idiotwho can’t complete a simple mission. Heck, nobody at the Bureau takes Cavendishseriously. And Cavendish hates it. But my long-shot theory is that what heviews as the biggest obstacle to his success could actually turn out to be hisgreatest asset.

Thistheory rests on the assumption that the Bureau is not actually a sacred fountof truth and justice with noble aims for the destiny of humanity, but if we’rebeing honest all my heart really needs is to see Mr. Block get his comeuppancefor being so delightfully detestable.

Anyway.I want to eventually seeCavendish taking himself less seriously, but not because I’m desperate to seehim become soft or huggable or even an especially nice person. I want to see Cavendishtaking himself less seriously because I can’t imagine a Cavendish more terrifyingthan one who knows he can takeadvantageof the fact that no one takes him seriously.

To Block, Cavendish is aninconvenience and a dolt, but not a threat. Cavendish is a bugbear for theBureau, sure, but not because he’s doingit on purpose. And Block takes that for granted, because it’s obvious toanyone in a five-mile radius just how badly Cavendish needs the Bureau’s validation.

I want Block to question Cavendish’scompetence. His sanity. Absolutely everything except for his loyalty. And Iwant it to come back to bite him hard. Because I’m not sure that even a massivewell-oiled government agency from the future is equipped to handle both Miloand Cavendish leaning full-tilt into their respective statuses as Magnets forDisaster.

#milo murphy's law #mml #milo murphy #balthazar cavendish #calamity cronies #we'll have to wait and see exactly what the writers have in mind after the season midpoint #but tbh #crowning moment of awesome for me would be letting the two of them wreak total havoc with the bureau #or whomever the big bad turns out to be #i just want block to absolutely fall apart when he realizes he's been checkmated by the most ineffective agent the bureau has ever seen #precisely *because* he's the most ineffective agent the bureau has ever seen #overdressed analysis #ask a carp a question #i trimmed down the tags but it's still an essay surprise surprise #putting this in the main tag because i am A Fool

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