#i must have for at least one bard outfit

[sntoot]

mr hoso suzuki practicing all his cool ast moves today (and then i exited gpose to find it was raining and there would be no redos, rip, but at least i got some cute lil pics anyways)

[sailorkamino]

sheltered

relatonships: geraskier x magic!reader [tangled au]

word count: 1.8k

summary: your village believed you to be born cursed and would have killed you, if not for stragobor. you've spent your whole life locked away in a tower but now you've got a chance for freedom in the form of a bard, a witcher, and an pretty horse.

warnings: stragobor, emotionally abusive parent, gaslighting, anti witcher prejudice, death/murder, pre relationship, emotional support dogs

a/n: my first time writing for the witcher! what do you think? i might turn this into a series <3

Spring is coming so you’re making new outfits for your beloved hounds. Which isn’t at all depressing no matter what that one judgemental bird thinks. Anyways you’re using golden yellow fabric for Honeysuckle and cool blue for Periwinkle. As is customary.

Then you sense them. Strangers. You become almost dizzy with fear and excitement. A type of desperation only experienced when you live in a forced solitude. You make your way to the window, desperate for a glance. It’s not like they’ll be able to see you. Your entire tower is invisible to outsiders.

“Hey, look at this tower.”

You choke on air. Your dogs leap from your bed to check on you (still in their winter sweaters.) You hold your breath as two people and a horse step into the clearing. Then you meet yellow cat-like eyes and you’re diving to the floor with a startled noise.

“Careful. Magic.”

One of them is mumbling but it’s drowned out by the sound of your rapid heart. Honeysuckle whines in concern, licking your face. Periwinkle takes a protective stance over both of you, growling out the window.

Father has always told you witchers are bloodthirsty savages. They’ll kill any innocent being for a profit. They know no morals, only violence. When you were born under a black sun your religious village wanted you dead. Father hid you away for protection. You’re not looking to relieve the witch hunt experience.

You mentally poke at the witcher, feeling out his aura. He doesn’t seem particularly beastly. Animals tend to be more shallow than people, all instincts and simple emotions. Surprisingly he doesn’t feel that.

A part of you has always questioned your father's prejudice. You stopped voicing it but the concerns remained. Father hates witchers because they kill beasts. If monsters can be good, why can’t witchers? An old argument resurfaces in your memory.

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said, child?” Father asks angrily. “You cry when a rat dies yet defend butchers.” You look away, embarrassed by his mocking tone.

“This is why you stay in this tower. You’re too naïve for the outside world.”

You wonder if that’s the real reason he keeps you locked away. You’re capable of defending yourself now. So is he really protecting you? Or is he protecting the world? All because you were born under a black sun. Why must you be punished for being different? Why must witchers?

You think of the villagers who looked at a crying orphan and saw a threat. Who saw killing an infant as a lesser evil. You don’t want to be like that. Privately you wonder why your mentor sees compassion as a weakness but you’ve learnt it’s better to agree with him. “Yes father. I’m sorry.”

“No need to fear us. I’m Jaskier the bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Could you give us directions to the nearest town?” The colorful man calls out.

Your heart races until you feel dizzy. So this is the butcher. The most beastly and cruel of all the witchers. He’s… underwhelming to say the least. Certainly least nightmarish and more dreamy than you imagined. But you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. You take a calming breath, petting your hounds to ground yourself.

The primal fear inside of you is wrestling with your desire for a real life conversation with a stranger. This could be your chance to hear both sides of what happened in Blaviken. Father always says you’re too naïve but only tells you his point of view. You’re almost sick with nerves when you blurt out rather loudly, “I wouldn't know. I’ve never been in the forest before.”

There’s a long pause and you can sense confusion. Have you already messed up? You don't want them to leave. Well the witcher can go, but the colorful one seems nice. You pop your head back into view, “I don’t leave my tower. I’m sorry. I… like your horse.” Compliments make you friends right?

“Don’t leave or can’t?” A much gruffer voice asks. You shiver. (He didn’t even say thank you for the compliment, how rude.)

“I’m safe here.” The words sound unconvincing to your own ears. You tell yourself it's because of fear. Not because you’re beginning to question them.

“Who says?”

“My father.”

They share a concerned look. You bite your lip in embarrassment. It sounds quite childish when you say it out loud. But you’ve been persecuted before, you aren’t about to let your guard down around a hired killer. So… why are you still talking to him?

Then you notice the brunet’s instrument. What a lovely change of subject. “Is that a lute?”

“It is!”

You’re practically jumping now. Honeysuckle, picking up on your excitement, smacks you with her wagging tail. “I’ve never heard a bard before! Play me something?”

Jaskier goes impossibly sad. You frown, hating the kicked puppy expression. What did you do wrong? Maybe you should just stick to socializing with animals. At least the rats find you charming.

“You’ve never heard music, my dear?”

Your face goes hot, both at the endearment and the pity in his voice. “I have lots of instruments but I don’t think I’m very good. Being self taught and all.”

“Why don’t I come up and give you a lesson? Free of charge!”

Your stomach twists in knots. You don’t know what’s more terrifying. Your new friend coming inside or leaving you to loneliness. You avoid eye contact when you answer. “My father wouldn’t like that.”

“What would you like?” The witcher asks sternly. You freeze. No one has ever cared what you wanted before. Is that concern you sense from him? Sympathy? From a so-called beast? Your silence seems like an answer enough. “So can’t leave,” he concludes.

“Can others enter?” Jaskier asks curiously.

You don’t know why you answer but you do. “Only with a portal. There’s no door.”

“But there’s a window.”

You frown. Obviously there’s a window, you’re talking out of it right now. Maybe your new friend is a little slow.

“Rope?” he proposes to the witcher.

Your mouth drops open. A rope? That’s it? Years of isolation by a warlock solved with a fucking rope? It can’t be that simple. It just can’t be. “My father is very powerful,” you warn. “And he hates witchers.”

“Him and most of the continent,” the man grumbles dryly. For some reason you feel guilty. Years of indoctrination to hate his kind, forgotten in mere minutes. Maybe you really are naïve.

“Who’s your father, dear? Maybe we know him?”

You sincerely hope not. “Stregobor.”

Dead silence. Then a very empathetic “fuck.”

Your stomach sinks. That’s the most emotion you’ve heard in the witcher’s voice so far and it doesn't sound good. Will they judge you for your fathers deeds? Wait, why are you assuming your father’s in the wrong? Since when did he become the bad guy? (Maybe he always has been but you’ve ignored it.)

“Let me guess, you were born during a black sun?” He asks flatly.

You feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under you. The comfort that’s been growing disappears, replaced with icy fear. You don’t even know this man yet you still feel betrayed. “Are you here to kill me?” You ask, slightly wobbly.

He sighs tiredly. Maybe he gets asked that a lot. “No. You aren’t fucking cursed. You were born during an eclipse. A completely natural phenomenon. A bunch of old bastards made up that curse for power and control.”

Your jaw drops, conflicting emotions raging inside of you. If he’s right you’re not cursed, which is great. But it also means your father has betrayed you. Your whole life can’t be a lie. It just can’t. A sinking part of you knows he’s making sense, even wants to believe him, but you desperately ignore it.

“I hurt people,” you confess abruptly.

“I thought you never left this tower?” Jaskier asks.

“When I was a baby.”

The witcher raises an unimpressed brow. “Did Stregobor tell you that?”

You growl in frustration as a strong wind rustles the trees. Jaskier looks around in bewilderment but the witcher holds your steady gaze. Not easily frightened by your show of power or glowing eyes.

“I’ve met a lot of monsters. You’re not one.”

The words you’ve always longed to hear. Uttered by the man you’ve been taught to hate. You take a moment to collect your flurry of emotions before answering. “Funny,” you smile weakly, “I was gonna say the same thing about you, witcher.”

You steady yourself before asking the next question. Knowing it won’t be easy but needing answers. The more you talk to Geralt the more you question what you’ve been taught about witchers. Maybe you don’t want him to be a monster. Maybe you’re so lonely you don’t care if he is.

“Tell me about Blaviken.”

“What?” His voice is somehow gruffer. Face horribly blank and posture rigid.

“Every story has two sides, yet I’ve only heard my father’s.”

He sighs deeply. Then begins. He tells you about Renfri. A princess born under the black sun. Her step mother was looking for a way to get rid of her and the curse was convenient. Stregobor agreed the girl was an evil mutant that must be isolated but her step mother wanted her dead. Together they ruined her life.

Renfri evaded them. She spent years being hunted, until she became the hunter. Eventually she formed a gang of sorts and tracked Stregobor to Blaviken but couldn’t enter his tower. (Apparently the idea of living in a tower forever was very distressing to your father. You don't know if you should laugh or vomit.)

Both Renfri and Stregobor asked Geralt to kill the other but he refused, not wanting to get involved. Although he hated Stregobor he tried to talk the princess out of revenge. It was too late. She threatened to kill townspeople until the warlock came out.

Your heart sinks at the ultimatum. Your father has never been a compassionate man. By the grim look on the witcher’s face he knew it too. In the end Geralt did what Stregobor wanted him to do. Instead of payment or thanks he was branded a butcher.

The fear-shame-grief rolling off of the witcher (definitely not emotionless by the way) is enough to make your eyes sting. Your gaze settles on Jaskier, who’s gone into full sad puppy mode. You have a feeling he’s never heard the full story either. You clear your choked throat.

“You mentioned a rope, good sir?”

[asoulofatlantis]

Sometimes I feel like one of the reasons for replaying this game is simply being angry at this boy for choosing to use those powers in situations where it might not have even been necessary.

(By the way, I did play Dragon Quest Builder 2 yesterday, but nothing happened that was worth mentioning as I was mostly... well... building and gathering materials ^^’ Just for your Information.)

Valimar being called “a big toy” XD

The fact that she is at least aware of it, even tho it changes nothing about her questionable personality.

Him. Just him being himself is worth replaying this game again and again and again. And who would not have missed the bard Oliver Lenheim? XD

You know... I’ve watched the Northern War Anime yesterday and one thing is for certain when it comes to Rean. He will ALWAYS protect people, no matter who they are. Seeing that here once again, is just one more reason to replay this game.

Hearing people talk about Rean like this, knowing all his good and bad sides, makes replaying this game worth your while too. Never hurts to understand that the character you love, is the way he is.

This scene XD I do not like Musse as you know, but I love how she knows to push peoples buttons.

The fact that this scene is a complete plothole if you go back to the train and actually listen to new class 7 listen to Reans recording. Because no one was standing infront of that door, shortly before the message was over. Not to mention afterwards, I talked with Musse outside of the train. BUT finding things like that can also make it worth replaying that game XD

You might want to tell me that I have a questionable tendency to like characters I shouldn’t but seeing Vita again is also something I am happy about and so once again, its a reason to replay this game. (And like the rollercoaster of emotions that is this chapter.)

That is another plothole. You may have noticed that Crows body and face has matured, which would make sense given its been roughly two years and everyone else has matured as well HOWEVER Crow is dead, he is an immortal and the Steel Maiden has been “alive” as an immortal for a VERY long time and has not aged one bit. Meaning that as an immortal, you should stay in the state you were in when you reawakened, which is basically the state you were in when you died, given that your body won’t age anymore after that. So Azure Siegfried here, should look exactly the same way he did at the end of CS2. If you replay games a few times, just like with Final Fantasy X you have more time to think about stuff like that, which is, once again, a good reason to replay it.

The fact that Towas heart immediately knew that it was Crow, even tho it obviously doesn’t make sense at this point that he is alive.

With Olivert, it took a few people A LOT longer too recognize him, even tho he barely changed anything but his outfit and his hairstyle (not that he never has his hair open in public either) so the only reason to not recognize that Olivier is prince Olivert, is the fact that you would doubt that he would run around with some seemingly random people in Crossbell without any guards around while he should have been leading the inspection-team. When it comes to looks tho, he barely has changed. Crow on the other hand, has matured, his Hairstyle is different, his voice is deeper and he is wearing a Mask that on top of the fact that he died infront of our very eyes, should be enough to make sure no one would believe its Crow, despite the still obvious similarities and the hints thrown in from McBurn and Vita. However, everyone immediately felt that it was him. Makes you wonder if it is simply because the people dealing with Olivert missed the connection class 7 had with Crow. However it is a interesting observation to make in an replay of the game.

Rean putting Alisa first, despite the inner turmoil he must be going through himself right now. 

It was funny tho, when you play this game for the first time, you do wonder what hit Alisa so hard, given that her relationship with Crow wasn’t deeper than most peoples. That she had recognized her fathers voice, is something you only get when you play this game again.

[favoniuscodex]

soft deception. [diluc x reader]

pairing: diluc x f!reader prompt: you love your boyfriend, you really do. he’s just so, so trusting in you that you can’t help but to trick him every now and then. (alternatively: you give diluc the world’s ugliest onesie as a christmas present and now that it’s all over, you want to go back in time and punch yourself in the face for unleashing this curse within your household.) word count: ~2.5k warnings/genres: humor, fluff, sfw but like... adult jokes at some points a/n: purely self indulgent, nobody requested this, tried out a bit of a different writing style. i wrote this to try to cheer myself up, so hopefully it makes you all happy! no beta reader though (but i never have one anyways)

You had a tendency to think of yourself as the funniest person in Teyvat at times.

Especially when you had Mondstadt’s most gullible eligible bachelor wrapped around your finger, desiring to cater to your every whim. Sure, the two of you were like two young teenagers in love despite being much older, to the point where it was a mental workout to restrain yourself from leaving purple and blue marks all along his neck, desiring to hear praises stutter on his lips as you show the man the love he has lacked over the years. It didn’t help that he also had those cherry-colored eyes that pierced into you, the only eyes to ever truly see you for you. In your humble opinion, the best part about Diluc Ragnvindr is neither his wisdom nor his love, but his ass.

Unsure if Barbatos is actually able to listen into your thoughts or not due to Venti’s uncanny capability to make jokes about thoughts you know you have never uttered aloud whenever Diluc turns his back to the two of you at the bar, you quickly rectify your thoughts and mumble an apology to the potentially omniscient alcoholic bard. 

The best part about Diluc Ragnvindr lies within his ass... umptions. His assumptions, specifically about the inherent truthfulness he believed to be in your statements. Your boyfriend, as much as you loved him, is an extremely gullible man. Such a fact is even written on the ceilings of every room, but it never hurts to double-check. If you are Teyvat’s jester, then Diluc is Teyvat’s fool, but he is a fool in love. 

The calculated, reserved man only lets himself be duped by you. No matter how many times you trick him, he’ll listen to your exaggerated claims and boisterous words with widened eyes, immediately trusting your words as he trusts you wholeheartedly.

You thrive in such an environment, manipulating Diluc to your liking. Not in a bad way of course, as the thought of hurting even a single hair on his head makes your stomach churn and nausea arise. Rather, you find amusement in tricking him with subtle sleights of the hand and little white lies, before revealing your cards at the end of every show and reveling in his flustered nature. You long not to hurt Diluc, but you relish in the way his milky skin turns to a rosy pink upon realizing your deception. 

In simpler terms, you love to prank your red-haired, stoic boyfriend in order to see the shy smile and bashful eyes that accompany his revelations of your actions. 

Being the funniest, sexiest woman in Teyvat with the most attractive, most trusting boyfriend in all of Mondstadt leads to raucous laughter on your behalf and flushed cheeks on your boyfriend’s behalf during many nights within your shared home. With Diluc’s confidence in you, you are unstoppable.

Such arrogance had a tendency to bite you in the ass. 

Especially now. Right now. You’ve never regretted duping Diluc more than you do at this moment. For Christmas, you had given him two presents, his actual present and one designed to be a joke. Diluc, bless his heart, had not interpreted such a present to be no more than a simple gag and had politely smiled at you as he held the gift up, inspecting it with poorly disguised distaste in his eyes. The gift in question was a pajama onesie you had found within the clearance section of some decaying Mondstadt boutique, but these weren’t just any pajamas. It was the ugliest piece of clothing you had ever seen.

The offending onesie glints in the light of the fireplace that illuminates Diluc’s face and your poor excuse at a poker face as he analyzes his gift. It is decorated with a variety of misshapen owls, feathers formed by multicolored, poorly sewn sequins. Each owl has two octagonal, almost glowing, gaudy amber-colored rhinestones for eyes, yet each rhinestone is a slightly different shade from the others, as if they had been left out in the sun, forgotten about. A santa hat is perched on the heads of each owl and a candy cane is loosely held in at least one wing of each owl. The onesie even has built-in feet, with owl-shaped grips on the bottom that barely cling on for life in a failed attempt to provide the user traction. Diluc quickly attaches to such a concept and tries to use it as an out.

“It’s… lovely,” He finally manages, doing his best to keep his voice even as he smiles at you. You can see the pain in his eyes. “But I do not believe the feet will fit me.”

You widen your eyes in sadness and bat your eyelashes at him innocently, as if such a sentiment truly wounded you. “Can you hire a tailor to fix them? I spent a lot of time picking out this gift and I think it’s perfect.”

Diluc’s smile breaks and horror creeps into his eyes upon realizing there’s no way out of the predicament he’s currently in. As he breaks his intense ogling of the onesie to look at you, his faux smile is plastered once again on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes and it wavers, but you simply give him a cheery grin in response.

“Of course, dear,” Diluc responds, albeit a bit despondently. Your heart twists a bit and- no, no. Guilt is not allowed in the heart of a true comedian. “Anything for you.” His eyes are empty as his smile slowly drops into a thin line. Your expression of glee is a sharp contrast.

“Yay!” You giggle and clap your hands together once as you pop up from your seated position. Diluc’s woeful expression alleviates upon seeing your seemingly genuine reaction and he manages a small smile once more, this one a bit more genuine. “C’mon! Let’s try it on!”

After wearing it the rest of Christmas night, Diluc not only wears it past the reasonable date to keep wearing Christmas merchandise after Christmas is over, but he wears it multiple times per week. You know he’s only doing it to see your fit of giggles every time he does so and that Diluc wants nothing more than to see you happy, but you’re beginning to hate yourself for such a gift. 

The inklings of self-hatred explode into full self-loathing when Diluc reveals he found an identical onesie while shopping and that he purchased it in order to be able to wear around the house more often. You have to hold yourself back from narrowing your eyes at him as he holds up the offending, nearly identical onesie, albeit in a different color. Unlike you, Diluc isn’t a bully. There’s absolutely no way he’s joking right now. Maybe. You aren’t sure.

The end of January rolls around and you’re ready to wrestle Diluc for his Pyro vision and burn these damn onesies yourself. Every time Diluc joins you in bed, ready to clock in for the night, he’s wearing the archonsforsaken Christmas outfit despite Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching. If you wear a cute outfit and lie on the bed, hoping for Diluc’s attention? You’ll certainly get it, but there’s more than just his eyes watching you. There are the artificial eyes of the owls watching the two of you, their beady little rhinestones judging you for your premarital sins. Whenever you reach out to stroke his arm or thigh reassuringly, you’re met with the feeling of cheap flannel and pilled fabrics.

Unfortunately for Diluc, Kaeya is your hero in this situation as he arrives to Dawn Winery unannounced and interrupts you and Diluc reading in bed together. The cavalry captain hadn’t even bothered to knock, swinging the door open with zero fear of what he might have found inside. But, upon seeing the two of you, Kaeya freezes.

“What the hell is that?” Kaeya nearly screeches in horror, pointing at Diluc.

“I’m sure you know what Diluc looks like, Kaeya,” You respond in an annoyed tone. You loved Adelinde, but why had she let Kaeya up to your and Diluc’s chambers without any warning is beyond your comprehension. “You only have one eyepatch, not two.”

Diluc does a poor job at stifling a chuckle next to you, his book now resting on the nightstand next to him due to the intrusion. He wordlessly sneaks an arm around your waist and you lean into his chest instinctively, trying your best to ignore the scratch of the sequins against your cheek.

“No, not that,” Kaeya says, unperturbed at your slight against him. “That! That thing he’s wearing! It’s awful!” His finger shakes in the air before the blue-haired man doubles over in laughter. “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, holy shit.”

You look up at Diluc, who is flushed a deep crimson in embarrassment and whose brows are furrowed.

“I must admit,” Diluc clears his throat, voice diffident. “It has grown on me.”

Your heart melts at his confession and you scoot up a bit in his grasp, causing him to look at you in confusion before you press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. Adoration swims in his irises as he looks at you and softly smiles, forgetting about Kaeya’s presence despite his brother’s noisy, ceaseless laughter. Sure, the onesie might be a joke that you want to throw into a fire and pray that it burns in the pits of hell for eternity, but Diluc’s defense of your present in the face of Kaeya’s mockery warms even your cold prankster heart.

“Diluc,” You whisper lowly, not wanting Kaeya to hear. It was unlikely he would anyways, as every time he looked up at the two of you in the bed in front of him, Kaeya would burst out into peals of laughter once more. “Where’s the other onesie?”

Diluc looks at you, confused. “It’s in the laundry room. It should be dry now.” Before Diluc can ask you why you need to know such information, you’re breaking free of his grip, stumbling out of the bed, shoving past Kaeya and nearly sprinting out of the room in a hurry. Kaeya and Diluc both watch you leave, equally bewildered.

“Why are you here?” You hear Diluc ask his brother as you flee the room, but you don’t stick around for the rest of their conversation. They can be emotionally constipated together, you have more important things to do. Seizing the freshly-cleaned onesie, you shut the laundry door and shimmy it over your current pajamas, one of Diluc’s old shirts and a pair of old shorts. You have to hop around a bit to get the fabric to settle in just the right places and, dear Barbatos, this thing is uncomfortable. 

Diluc must really love you to put up with this outfit every night. Before you can melt into a puddle of goo at the thought of your essentially perfect boyfriend who would do nearly anything for you, you storm out of the laundry room and back into the bedroom, climbing back into bed with Diluc wordlessly, settling your legs underneath the covers and guiding Diluc’s arm back to its rightful place around your waist.

You press another kiss to Diluc’s cheek as he stares at you with an unreadable expression. Despite having recovered from his earlier flustered state, his cheeks quickly return to the shade of red you adore so much. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t stick on this onesie just to shamelessly ogle your boyfriend and kiss him senseless. No, you wore it to spite the man in front of the two of you, whose expression is now morphed into one of horror.

“There’s two of them?! One was already a crime against humanity, but two?!” Kaeya is aghast at such a concept. Diluc’s gaze breaks off you and he tightens his grip around your waist as he glowers at his brother.

“We have a third one if you wish to continue intruding in our home,” Diluc proposes, his voice having a slight edge to it. Kaeya holds his hands up later.

“Alright. I’ll see you later then. Bye, (Y/N)~!” Kaeya quickly ejects himself from the conversation, not even bothering to spare his brother a goodbye in his hurry to leave before a onesie can be thrust upon you.

“You look adorable,” Diluc confesses before pressing a kiss to your forehead. This time, it’s your turn to fluster and you look away, startled by his forwardness. “I always like seeing you in my clothes.”

“Oh… thank you,” You murmur sheepishly, but Diluc grabs your chin and lightly guides your face to look at him. A shiteating grin breaks out across his face.

“I appreciate your support, darling, but isn’t it time we stop this ruse?” Diluc questions and your eyes widen in surprise. “Unfortunately, my brother is correct. These outfits are quite… awful.”

“I like them!” You interject, unsure as to why you’re defending the outfits you had just been wishing for the destruction of.

“Is that so?” Diluc challenges, eyebrows raised as you nod your head furiously. A soft chuckle escapes his lips. “(Y/N), I know I might be dumb at times, especially when it comes to you, but surely you can’t think I’m dumb enough to believe this lie.”

You narrow your eyes at him and fold your arms in contempt. “There is no way you’ve called my bluff this early. Kaeya told you I was fucking with you, didn’t he?”

Diluc’s smug attitude is replaced with that of a scolded puppy, unable to look you in the eyes. “... Yes.”

You can’t help but press yet another kiss to his face, this time gracing his jaw as you pepper light kisses down his neck. “You’re correct. I absolutely loathe these ugly clothes. It’s not even Christmas anymore. But I’d be damned if I was going to let that gremlin insult something of yours.”

Diluc laughs genuinely and he brings your face close to his, pressing your lips together in a sweet, chaste kiss, before pulling away far too soon for your liking.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I should probably change now that the joke is over,” Diluc explains. You raise your eyebrows at him and he lets out a sigh. “The fabric is itchy.” Your boyfriend clambers out of bed and you unabashedly watch him change into a more comfortable outfit, admiring the way his lithe muscles move as he puts on a new shirt. Diluc turns around and looks at you expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to change too?” He asks as he climbs back under the covers with you, but you softly smile and shake your head in response. 

“No,” You coo. “I think it’ll stay on for tonight.” You wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling into his shoulder exaggeratedly.

Diluc groans at your words and you realize he shares the same hatred of the onesies that you do. But, as Diluc’s chief prankster, you’re determined to get the last laugh, even if the dumb fabric scratches against you all night.

[bitcher-of-blaviken]

The Death of a Bard

Rating: T Warnings: None WC: 1,783 Tags: Modern AU, family shenanigans, Geralt is a good dad, fluff, nobody is dead i swear

Geralt sniffed and subtly wiped a tear from his eye as Yennefer stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Eskel stood on Geralt’s other side, a box of tissues clasped in his large hands. In front of them, Jaskier laid in the long makeshift coffin, his hands clasped over his stomach with flowers tucked under them. They were just wildflowers that Ciri found out in the backyard where they were all standing, but it’s how Jaskier would have wanted his funeral to be like. Off the cuff, nothing grand, a cheap cardboard box instead of a grand and beautiful coffin of mahogany and a plush velvet interior. Geralt knew that this was what the humble musician would have always truly wanted.

Lambert stood on the other side of the box. “Dearly beloved and hated, we are here to celebrate the death of Jaskier—“

“It’s to celebrate the life, Lambert,” Geralt interrupted. He cleared his throat and sniffled again. “He had a good life. He deserves to be celebrated.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Lambert retorted with a scoff. He fumbled with the wrinkled paper in his hands. He was dressed in his nicest outfit, which was his work uniform for the post office. It was sufficient. “We are here to celebrate the life of Jaskier, who died from a fatal gunshot wound in the stomach. He bled out slowly and painfully, murdered in cold blood.”

“Who would do such a horrible thing?” Eskel lamented, his voice watery. “He was so young. He had so many more years ahead of him, so much more music to make, so much— I’m running out of words.” He choked out a sob and took a tissue out from his box to blow his nose into it, comically loud.

“Nobody move,” Ciri called out, walking out with an oversized fedora on. It was nearly falling over her eyes as she stomped out, her chest puffed out despite the large trenchcoat she wore trailing half behind her on the ground. “We have reason to believe the murderer is among this group. Nobody gets in or out.”

Gasps came from all of them.

“Oh come on lady, all of us loved the guy. Some more than others,” Lambert said with a pointed look at Geralt, who flushed. “None of us would kill him. We don’t even have guns.”

“Is that so?” Ciri asked, showing them all a plastic ziploc bag. Inside was a tiny, bright pink water gun. “I’m Detective Cirilla. We found this on the crime scene.”

More gasps from all of them, though there was barely suppressed snickers from Lambert.

“You think this is funny, do you?” Ciri asked as she strode over to Lambert. “There is a man dead in front of us and you think to laugh? Sounds like something the murderer would do.”

“No I’m laughing because it’s a fuckin’ pink water gun,” Lambert interjected with a grin.

“Language,” Yennefer chided.

“No, it is the murder weapon and you better start giving an alibi or you’re going to jail for some interrogation,” Ciri insisted with a shake of the ziploc bag. The harmless water gun rattled around inside of it.

Lambert cleared his throat and put his hands up at the equally hard stares from everyone else at the funeral. “Fine,” he relented. “I was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready.”

“What were you cooking?” Ciri asked, her tone and glare so serious that Geralt even saw Yennefer have to bring a hand up to suppress a smile.

“Pancakes,” Lambert replied equally as seriously. He even crossed his arms and leaned down to meet Ciri’s glare, their noses nearly touching.

“Hm. A likely story,” Ciri relented with a huff. She marched over to Eskel and pointed a tiny finger up at him. Geralt had to hand it to him, he still managed to look convincingly frightened even with an eight year-old in a too big hat and far too big trenchcoat pouting up at him. “And what about you? What were you doing at the time of the murder?”

“I was just— reading with Kitty curled up on my lap. I wasn’t able to move, much less murder someone. I’ve never seen that gun in my life,” Eskel defended, his hands up. “I swear detective, I would have never!”

“I see, and you?” Ciri asked as she whirled around to point at Geralt.

“You think I would have murdered him?” Geralt asked, his tone coming out more flat than it probably should have. He wasn’t good at the theatrics like Eskel and Lambert were. “We just married last week, we were supposed to go on our honeymoon. You were there detective.” It was true, Ciri had married him and Jaskier last week.

“I see,” Ciri said, rubbing her chin as she thought. “But what about his will?”

“What about it?” Geralt asked.

“I have it here,” Lambert said as he cleared his throat. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

“Well? Don’t tarry on man, read it!” Ciri demanded. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. At least she was learning a wide range of vocabulary.

“Yeah yeah, it says ‘If I die, I leave all of my earthly possessions to my newly wedded husband Geralt, including…” Lambert gave a loud gasp.

“What does it say? Including what?!” Ciri asked.

“It says ‘Including my super duper big family inheritance that I have stored away in the coast of Belize’. He was loaded!” Lambert exclaimed.

“Let me see that,” Ciri said as she snatched the paper out of Lambert’s hands. She hummed as she looked over the paper, which really just had the will written out in crayon with multiple words misspelled, including Geralt’s name, but nobody commented on that. She gasped and waved the paper. “This will is forged! I knew it!”

Everyone else gasped as well.

“Forged?” Yennefer asked.

“Yes! His signature was faked,” Ciri decided as she showed the paper to Yennefer.

A loud snore from the “coffin” interrupted them, and Geralt kicked the cardboard box. Jaskier gave a yelp from the jostling.

“Corpses don’t snore,” Geralt chided.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just comfy, and you all were droning on, it faded into background noise,” Jaskier mumbled. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he settled back in the cardboard box. He reached up with one hand, gesturing in a small circle. “Continue.”

“Thank you sir,” Ciri said with a nod. “Sorry about your death.”

“Thank you for your condolences detective,” Jaskier said. “I shall now go back to being dead now. Blargh.”

Geralt huffed a laugh as Jaskier put his hands back on his stomach and clasped them over the flowers again.

“Now! Who would gain from such a forgering, if not Geralt!” Ciri declared as she rounded back on Geralt. “You murdered your new husband in cold blood, to take his secret fortune for yourself!”

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt protested with another sniffle. “I— loved him. A lot. I was really looking forward to the honeymoon. We even had our entire trip planned.” He produced the two strips of green construction paper from his jacket pocket, with the words “Honeymoon tickets” written on them in crayon with a lot of little red hearts around the words.

“I see,” Ciri said, taking the tickets from him to inspect them carefully. “But then why forge the will?”

“I was framed,” Geralt sighed. “Someone must have wanted me to be out of the way. Someone who would have gotten the fortune instead.”

“Someone like..his long lost sister?!” Ciri asked as she pointed an accusatory finger at Yennefer.

“How did you know detective?” Yennefer gasped, a hand on her chest.

“In the victim’s bedroom, I found the actual will stuffed under the mattress!” Ciri said as she whipped out another piece of paper. Everyone gasped again. “But this one says the exact same thing as the forged one! Everything is to be left to Geralt, including his super duper huge family fortune! So why would Geralt have forged a will if he was going to get Jaskier’s family fortune anyways?” She waved the paper at Yennefer. “So I looked around, and found a chain of letters between you two! He wanted to reconnect with his lost sister, and told you about the fortune he inherited from your parents that he was going to share with Geralt!”

“It should have stayed in the family!” Yennefer cried.

“Exactly! And if the forged will was deemed trash and I hadn’t found the true will, then it would have gone to you!” Ciri said with a proud grin. She mirrored Yennefer’s pose, her hands on her hips as she puffed her chest out. “Case closed!”

“Argh, I was so close to getting away with it,” Yennefer said as she offered her hands for Ciri to clasp the toy handcuffs on her.

“Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and— um.” Ciri paused, trying to remember.

“Certain nuclear weapons,” Lambert reminded her with a snicker.

“Yeah!” Ciri said with a grin. “Just like my Uncle Lambert always says!” She bounced and grabbed one of Yennefer’s hands. “The judge has already decided your sentence. It’s a thousand years in jail! We’re locking you away for a long time.”

“That seems fair for a murder,” Yennefer relented as she let Ciri tug her back into the house.

Geralt smiled as he watched them disappear inside, and he turned to help Jaskier stand up out of the box. Jaskier winced and rubbed his backside.

“Ah, that was cold,” he said.

“I told you,” Lambert snickered. “Not so funny when it’s your turn to be dead, now is it?”

“I think I liked it better when Ciri was marrying us to each other,” Eskel muttered. “Are you sure she should be watching those crime shows?”

“Can’t really stop her,” Geralt said with a shrug. “It teaches her big words, and at least that way we don’t have to try to explain to her what incest is and why it’s bad.”

“I was having the time of my life,” Lambert teased with a snicker. “I rocked that wedding dress.”

“Geralt wore it better,” Jaskier fired back with a grin.

“Dead people don’t get opinions,” Lambert said as he led the way to the house again. “Come on, let’s get inside before the detective eats all of the carrots.”

Jaskier slipped his hand into Geralt’s and kissed his cheek. “I absolutely would leave you my super duper big family fortune that I stashed on the coast of Belize if I had it,” he cooed.

“I know,” Geralt chuckled.

“Do you think she even knows where Belize is?”

“Probably not.”

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Surprise to be Sure

Pairing: Geralt/Fem!Reader

Words: 5761

Summary:  You meet Geralt and Jaskier on the road and have a lovely little adventure in the kingdom of Temeria.

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of violence, TW mentions of rape, SMUT, 18+

A/N: It’s here y’all, my b-day Geralt fic! I’m really happy with how this turned out and could honestly have published it without the smut, that’s how much I love this fic. It is definitely going to be part of a series so I hope you all enjoy! (PS I love writing Jaskier way too much and could honestly just do a full series of him having random misadventures all over the continent!) I’m tagging @navybrat817​ because I know she loves some Henry Cavill

Jaskier had been belting the Fishmonger’s Daughter for the past 30 minutes, and Geralt was ready to murder him.

“Must you insist on shouting our position to every living creature in a 5 mile radius?” He hissed at the bard.

“List, my grumpy, hoar-headed friend. I need to be sure my voice is in top form if I’m performing at a royal ball. Now, you’ll feel better if you sing with me, Oooh Fishmonger, Oh Fishmonger, Come Quell your Daughter’s Hunger!”

“I’m going to feed you that damn lute before we reach the castle if you don’t shut up. I can’t listen to this for three days.” The Witcher growled under his breath. He couldn’t figure out why he had agreed to accompany the irritating man on his journey, but the man always managed to convince him to go along with his stupid plans.  

“Now, Geralt. You know you secretly love my singing. After all, how many jobs has that little song of mine rustled up for you, eh? Stop being so grouchy.”

He gave him a grunt. “Fine, can you at least sing something else?”

“Ah, but of course, my large, angry friend. Eh hem, You think you’re safe, without a care…”

“Gods, not that one.”

“Well, there’s no pleasing you is there. Ahh, what’s that noise?”

A feminine shriek split the air, causing a flock of birds to take flight only a few feet from the pair of riders. Roach of course didn’t mind, but Jaskier’s mount almost threw him, causing Geralt to smile.

“Gods, see, this is why I hate travelling on these creatures. Give me a nice coach ride any time. Come Geralt, let us see what fair maiden is in need of our assistance.”

“Our assistance?”

“Well, your assistance. C’mon Geralt, a damsel in distress, this is the perfect material for a new song.”

Geralt followed the idiot as he rode towards the sounds of distress, determined to keep him from getting himself killed. He didn’t really like getting involved in petty issues of the realms but knew that Jaskier lived for these tiny adventures.

They came upon you, surrounded by five men in soiled armor. Your cart had a broken wheel and was sinking into the snow and mud. One of the men had you pinned in the back of the cart by your neck as he buried his other hand in your skirts. The other men jeered at you as they kept their watch.

“Look Geralt, a fair maid waiting to be rescued, what could make for a better song? Ho there fellows, stop your raping or you’ll have to deal with my cantankerous companion here.”

“Move along, bard this doesn’t concern you.” One of the soldiers growled at Jaskier before spitting to the side. “Or, wait your turn and we’ll let you and your pal have her when we’re done.”

“Ah, Geralt, I’ll let you take care of them. Make sure to draw it out, a long fight always makes for a better song.”

“Oh, fuck this.” You hissed, pulling out the stiletto you had hidden in your skirts and gutting the man who was restraining you.

Jaskier turned his head and vomited as the man’s intestines seeped out of him and he crumbled to the forest floor. You flung your cloak off your shoulders as you drew the obscenely large longsword you had concealed beneath its folds and chopped off the hand of the next soldier who came charging at you before plunging it into his chest.

“I don’t know, bard. Seems like the maid has things under control.” Geralt grinned at his companion once he had finished emptying his stomach.

You wrenched the blade free as the two unhorsed soldiers rushed you. One of them tossed his own dagger at you and you used your sword to whip it back at him, catching him in the throat. You brought up your dagger and crossed the blades you were holding to catch the sword of your fourth opponent. You managed to loop the dagger under his hilt and wrenched the sword from his grasp as you let the momentum from his attack carry you the two of you backwards, flipping him over your head until you were straddling his chest. You gave him a small smirk as your drove your dagger through his eye.

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Jaskier asked as he watched the bloody show with abject horror painted on his face.

“What would you suggest bard? The woman seems to be able to handle herself, and I can’t say these soldiers seem particularly deserving of assistance.”

The final soldier had dismounted and was now striding towards you, twirling his sword around like an idiot peacock. You scowled at him before pulling a massive crossbow from beneath the packages in your cart and shooting him in the shoulder.

He went down with a soft grunt and you strutted over to him, crossbow slung over your shoulder and dagger twirling through your fingers. You tutted at him like you were chiding a naughty schoolboy.

“Oh, Abbett, what did you do with the money? I certainly hope you have it on you. I don’t feel like trekking through this frozen forest digging for it.”

“You cunt.” The man spat at you. “We fought those bloody Nilfgaardians to keep these farmers safe and warm. The least they can do to thank us is give up a few bloody coins and their daughters.”

You shot him again in the leg and he let out a scream.

“One more time, Abbett, the money? I can’t give those poor girls their maidenhoods again but maybe their families can offer a dowry to make them good matches.”

“Argh, bitch! It’s in the saddlebags.”

“Excellent! See, not so fucking difficult, and you saved me the nasty task of gelding you!” You took a few steps forward and shot him through the eye as you went to examine the horse and find the stolen coins.

“Ahem, hello, madam! I am Jaskier the Bard and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Would you join us on our journey to the capital of Temeria? You seem like a lass with stories to tell and I’m just the fellow to put them to song.”

“Jaskier, shut the fuck up.” Geralt hissed at him.

You whipped around to the two of them and pointed your crossbow at the Witcher. “Fuck, I almost forgot about you two. Well, you’ve given me a bit of a conundrum boys. I was counting on there not being any witnesses here. These vagabonds are still wearing the king’s colors after all, and we’re close enough to the capital that that could prove to be a problem for me.” You had started to unfasten the bodice of the gown you were wearing, desperate to get out of the confining layers of cloth that had comprised your disguise. You revealed an outfit of bleached leather and furs that clung to your body.

“Oops.” Jaskier murmured, giving Geralt a sheepish grin as he raised his hands in supplication. “Geralt, friend, maybe you can talk to our new companion.”

“Right, listen, we don’t care that you just slaughtered five of the king’s soldiers, though I’m sure upon closer inspection they’ll be shown to be deserters. And as we have no desire to bring any trouble down on you, we’ll just be on our way.”

“Wait,” You called after them, tossing the rags of your gown onto the abandoned cart as you saddled your horse. “If you’re heading towards the capital, I’ll join you. I have some deliveries to make before I get out of this god-forsaken country, and that way I can keep an eye on you.” You gave them a grin as you rode up the hill to join them. “I can think of worse company than a bard and a Witcher.”

Jaskier shot a grin back at you as you joined them. “Ah, finally someone who will appreciate my talents. Tell me… um..”

“Y/N”

“Y/N, lovely, do you have any requests?”

Geralt groaned internally at the thought of being stuck with two singing idiots for the journey but was cut short by the sound of multiple bows being drawn.

“Fuck.”

“That’s far enough you three.” A captain in shining armor commanded as you came into view of a mounted regiment of king’s soldiers, accompanied by about 100 footmen who all had arrows trained on you. “What do you know about several groups of dead king’s men that have been found in these woods.”

Geralt shot you a look of reproach over his shoulder as you pointedly avoided making eye contact, examining your fingernails like they were the most interesting thing on the continent.

“There’s another group of dead soldiers in the clearing back there, captain. Looks like we’ve found our culprits.”

“Oh, just wait a minute. My grouchy friend and I were just passing through when we came upon this lovely woman being set upon by these supposed kingsmen. Granted, we considered dispatching them ourselves but our fair companion had things well in hand. Seems like she was doing your jobs for you.”

You and Geralt shared a groan. “Shut up, Jaskier.”

The captain gave a snort of derision. “You want us to believe this pretty thing has been besting the king’s chosen troops on her own for months? Take their weapons and restrain the Witcher and the woman. The bard can sing us some songs to pass the time as we travel. We’ll save this for the king to sort out.”

You gave a heavy sigh and started handing over your blades. Jaskier’s eyes started to bulge as you continued pulling smaller and smaller knives out of an increasingly absurd number of hiding places, until there was an impressive pile in front of the soldier who had been tasked with collecting your weapons.

Geralt was less forthcoming in turning over his weapons and didn’t really start until a spear prodded him in the back. He was gazing at Renfri’s blade when the captain lost his patience, and the butt of the spear whipped across the back of his head, knocking him cold.

“Put his blades with the rest of it.”

Geralt woke up with his face buried in your hair and let out a groan at the throbbing in his skull.

“What the fuck?” He lifted his head, squinting against the sun reflecting off the new fallen snow.

“Good morning, Witcher. Apparently this type of restraint has been proven to limit the ability of the restrained to extricate themselves from their bindings. You missed a fascinating lecture on it as they were tying us up.”

The two of you were bound face to face on the saddle of your massive black courser. Your arms and legs tangled around each other and wrapped in an intricate series of knots. He started trying to wrench himself free, but only succeeded in bringing you even closer to him as he let out a grunt of frustration.

“Look at the two of you, so cozy.” Jaskier rode up with a grin on his face, strumming his lute. “Do not worry yourselves, my violent friends. I am currently working on a plan to extricate the two of you from this predicament. I have the ear of the captain.”

“Are you going to annoy him to death Jaskier? Maybe if you sing that damn abortion song enough times, he’ll release us just to be rid of you.”

“You wound me, Geralt. The name of that tune is “You Think You’re Safe” and you’ll be happy to know that the captain is enamored of my talents and has asked me to regale him and his officers at their meal tonight.”

“Ah, good for you Jaskier. Make sure to sing the ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ I hear that’s a favorite of the troops.” You smiled at him, throwing him a wink.

“Oh, I knew I liked you, Y/N! See Geralt, it isn’t so hard to appreciate what I bring to the table. Thank you for your advice, sweet lady, I will be sure to take heed!” He rode off, humming to himself as he tuned his lute.

“Why would you encourage him?” Geralt growled in your ear, still fighting against his bonds.

“Ah, Witcher, you need to relax. I’m sure Jaskier’s plan will work out just fine.”

“The bard is an imbecile, the day I trust myself to any plan of his is the day I resign myself to a slow and painful death.”

“Well, be that as it may, if you don’t stop struggling, we’re going to end up in a very uncomfortable situation.” You said, giving a gasp as another jerk of your bonds brought you indecently close.

“Fuck.” He let out in a hiss, resigning himself to waiting for a better opportunity as a lock of your hair blew into his face, smelling of pine and turned earth “I don’t suppose you have any sort of plan of escape, since it’s your fault we’re in this situation.”

“Geralt, I do apologize that you have ended up in my mess. I’m so sorry that the war with Nilfgaard has caused unprecedented levels of desertion, and that the cowards that have runoff have been terrorizing and robbing the smallfolk. And I’m sorry that the king failed to listen to the pleas of his people, who had to pool together the last of their coin to contract me to come in and relieve them of their problems. But yes, this mess is entirely of my own making, and nothing to do with the colossal mismanagement of the realm of Temeria.”

“Hmmph.” He grunted into your hair. “So how are you getting us out of this mess?”

You gave him a snort. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours Witcher, something will work out.”

“Alright, dismount.” One of the lieutenants ordered, leering at the two of you. “Hope you two have enjoyed today’s ride. I hear they’re already constructing a gibbet for you in Vizima.”

“I see the royal council has decided to do away with even the minimal farce of a trial then.”

Two soldiers had started to undo the maze of knots binding you and the Witcher together and you gave a hiss as blood started to flow back into your legs.

“An attack on the king’s army is an attack on the king. No trials for traitors to the crown.”

“You do know that neither of us are citizens of this kingdom?” Geralt asked him. “You can’t betray a monarch you don’t serve.”

“Pssh, a minor inconsistency. The king can’t be seen as soft during wartime.”

“Oh, of course not.” You murmured as the soldiers dragged you off your mount and led you to the prisoners’ tent that had been erected next to the officers’. The same intricate raveling of ropes and knots started again as they bound your upper bodies to the poles in the center of the tent. You could hear the beginnings of revelry in the officers’ pavilion when they left you.

“Well, now what?” Geralt asked you, pulling against the bonds at his wrists.

“Just, have a little patience.” You chided him, leaning against your pole in as relaxed of a pose as you could achieve.

“You did hear that they plan on executing us once they get us back to the capital?”

“No, Geralt, I missed that.” You spat at him as you heard Jaskier start to sing and gave a small smile. “Excellent, let’s hope he leaves the good stuff until they’re well and drunk.”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” He asked you, still trying to wrench himself free.

“For fucks’ sake, give it a rest. Apparently the royal knot tyers are the only members of this army who haven’t fallen lax in their duties.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Just give it a half hour and we’ll give you a chance to get out all the pent up aggression.”

“So you do have a plan? Any chance you want to let me in on it?”

“I think I’ll leave it for a surprise.”

The two of you sat there listening as the sounds of drunken celebration filled the camp. It only took 20 minutes for the revelry to reach a dull roar, and a smile crept over your face when you heard the first refrains of ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’.

“Ah, Jaskier, perfect timing.” You muttered.

The song started speeding up and spread through the regiment. You heard the soldiers start clapping along and seized your moment, bending your legs and driving your back into the post you were bound to at each clap, starting to shift it out of the ground with each drive of your shoulders.

Geralt finally seized on your idea and joined you in wrenching his post out of the ground. Within a few rounds of the song, they were loosened enough for you to drag them out of their anchors, causing the tent to collapse around you. You slipped your bonds over the ends of the posts and unraveled yourselves. Geralt gave you a look of appreciation as you hefted your post, flung the folds of the fallen tent off yourself and whipped the post around to take out the two guards that had been posted at the entrance.

“Well, let’s find our weapons, shall we?” You said, giving him a grin.

Apparently, your appraisal of the army had been accurate; you ran into minimal resistance as you made your way to the weapons tent and managed to knock out the only sentries you encountered before Geralt had a chance to react.

“Ah, my babies.” You said to yourself as you started resheathing the ridiculous number of knives you had accumulated for yourself, kissing each blade before you returned it to its rightful place.

“How can you possibly be comfortable wearing all of that steel?” Geralt asked you around a grin, watching you tuck a dirk between your breasts and wondering how you managed to not cut yourself.

“I’m a woman traveling the continent alone, Witcher. I’ve found that the element of surprise is my friend, and there’s nothing quite as surprising as an unexpected knife between the ribs.”

He actually laughed at that, strapping one sword to his back and one to his hip as you hefted your crossbow and loaded it with a bolt before heading back out into the snow.

You were met by the surprised faces of a drunken group of soldiers who were wending their way through the tents, arms around each other as the slurred the lyrics to their favorite song. You shot the first through the chest as you drew your longsword over your shoulder and you dropped your crossbow to the ground, slashing the second across the face before they finally regained their composure and sounded the alarm.

Geralt drew his blades and clashed with three of the remaining soldiers as you grappled with the other two. He managed to drive his long sword through one of their chests before the other two had a chance to converge on him and he struggled to drive them apart with his fists to allow himself room to maneuver. One of his opponents went down suddenly with a dagger through his throat and Geralt threw a look your way to see your first opponent down and missing an eye as you drove your knee into the chest of your second opponent, driving him into a post as you brought your sword around and ran it across his throat.

Geralt threw his assailant over his shoulder and rammed his blade through his chest as you let out a shrill whistle and hefted your crossbow as the sound of hoofbeats rose through the camp. Roach and your courser came charging around the bend suddenly and you latched onto your steed’s mane and swung yourself onto his back as Geralt vaulted onto Roach’s. You turned suddenly and led him back towards the officers’ pavilion as drunken soldiers did their best to pursue you.

“We almost forgot the fucking bard!” You grinned at him as you hopped off your horse and slashed through the back of the officers’ tent. You emerged seconds later with a terrified looking Jaskier, who you tossed over the back of your mount like a sack of potatoes before leaping up behind him and kicking your steed to a gallop.

“Either of you want to fill me in on what the fuck is happening?!” Jaskier shrieked as he bounced around.

The two of you ignored him as you rode on. You set a punishing pace through the whole night, not looking back until you crossed the river into the kingdom of Redania as the sun rose and you finally allowed your horses to slow their pace to a walk, dismounting to give them a rest.

“If my lute is damaged, I’ll never forgive you.” Jaskier whined as he inspected his instrument, hobbling along as he tried to adjust after the unceremonious thrashing he had taken during the ride.

“Jaskier, a little thanks should be in order. Y/N and I did save you from a rather nasty execution after all.” Geralt grinned at him as he walked beside you, Roach nuzzling him in the shoulder as he patted her snout.

“I told the two of you, I had the captain’s ear, I would have been able to talk us out of any trouble.”

You gave him a snort as your courser butted his head into yours, begging for his own pats. “Jaskier, you would have been strung up right beside us. Just think though, this little adventure has the makings of a great song, eh? I’ll buy you a nice hot meal and a bath at the inn we’re coming up on.”

“Well, I’d never say no to a bath. How close is this inn?”

“Just over the next hill.”

You arrived within an hour and made arrangements for the horses as Jaskier headed in to arrange rooms and meals for the three of you.

Geralt and you headed into the inn and you grabbed the two of you the largest mugs of beer you could arrange before joining Jaskier at a table and tearing into the trencher of bread.

“So, good news first.” The bard said. “I arranged for nice, hot baths for all three of us, in addition to our meals. The only thing is, they only had two rooms.”

Geralt let out a groan at that. “Fine, bard, I guess the two of us are sharing accommodations for the next few days then.”

“Aah, well. I figured, with you two having grown so close during our little journey, that you wouldn’t mind sharing the much, much larger room whilst I make due with the tiny, lonely room myself that I’ve already had them unload my things into.”

The two of you shot him equally reproachful looks over your mugs of beer as a barmaid arrived to let him know his bath was ready.

“Ah, splendid. Well, you two enjoy your breakfasts. I’m going to take a very long nap after my bath and I’ll see you this afternoon, or maybe even tomorrow.”

A whole roasted chicken arrived and the two of you tore into it without a word, polishing it off quickly as you hadn’t realized how famished you were.

“I’ll arrange for them to bring up the hot water for baths for us.” You told Geralt as you stood up and stretched, downing the last of your beer.

“I’m fine without.” The Witcher grumbled at you.

You gave him a derisive chuckle. “If we’re bedding together for the two days it’ll take for the horses to rest up, you’re bathing yourself at least once, I don’t need to smell everywhere you’ve been in the past month.”

He gave an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders as he followed you upstairs. It had been a while since he’d spent the night with a woman he wasn’t paying, and there was something about you he found disarming. Endearing, but disarming nonetheless.

“Ah, at least there’s two tubs.” You said gleefully as you entered the room. A group of attendants arrived a moment later, carrying four large buckets of steaming water between them that they emptied into the copper tubs before taking their leave.

You started by pulling off your supple boots and Geralt turned his back as he began to unlace his jerkin. He heard you give a soft laugh behind him. “Are we really going to pretend like neither of us have seen a naked body before, Witcher?”

He whipped around at the amusement in your voice. You had removed your corset and sleeves and were down to nothing but a thin linen tunic on top. He tried not to stare at the shape of your breasts moving beneath the fabric as you worked at unlacing your breeches. You shot him a wicked look through your lashes as you moved your fingers back to unstrap the multiple sheathes that had been hidden beneath your bodice.

He did his best to ignore you as he ripped his jerkin off over his head. He made easy work of his tunic and breeches and sank into the tub while you were still working on undoing the intricate trappings of your hidden arsenal.

“I really don’t see how you can be comfortable in all of that Y/N.” He chided you as you removed the final straps and drew your tunic over your head before shimmying out of your breeches. He did his best to keep his eyes occupied elsewhere as you stepped into your own bath, hissing at the heat.

“Comfort is a matter of individual preference, dear. Oh, that’s wonderful.” You sank into the water with a sigh and dunked your head under before coming back up with a gasp.

“So, you going to tell me how you ended up with a warhorse, enough steel to equip a small band of thieves, and the strength to wield a tentpole like a damn quarterstaff, or is that something I’ll have to guess at?” He asked as he dumped a bucket over his head and ran the water through his hair before shaking it back out and splashing you, making you yelp.

“I think I’ll keep that my little secret for now, Geralt. Maybe if you buy me a few strongales over the next few days I’ll regale you with my tale of woe.” You let out a sigh as you felt your muscles relax. “Maybe I’ll get you to tell me your history as well. I hear the Redanians have a liquor that will light your chest on fire and make you forget the seasons.”

He gave a laugh and settled his head back against the tub. “You think you can outdrink me girl, you’re in for a nasty surprise… fuck.” He hadn’t heard you leave your tub and sat up startled when you crawled into his, sloshing water over the sides.

“Oh, Geralt, you’ll find that I’m full of surprises.” You said before pressing your mouth to his softly and giving a gentle sigh.

He got over his surprise quickly and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to him fiercely as he growled against your lips.

You gave him a small laugh as you moved your lips down the line of his jaw to his neck, running your teeth along his collarbone before nipping at him softly as your hands moved down the plains of his chest, dipping below the water to take his cock in your grasp. He gave you a satisfying moan as you did so and you began sliding your hand up and down his length slowly as you raised a small bruise on his shoulder with your mouth.

He bucked his hips up into your hand as you increased your pace and you moved your other hand below the water to play with his balls. You leaned against his chest and gazed up at him with heavy lids as you watched him come apart under your ministrations.

He arched his back and gave a heavy moan as he came in your hand and you grinned against his chest as he softened, planting soft kisses along his throat as he came down and his breathing slowed.

He swallowed thickly and grinned at you before scooping his arms underneath you and lifting you out of the tub easily, making you shriek with glee before he dropped you unceremoniously on the large bed and pounced on top of you, nuzzling himself into the skin below your ear as his large hands skimmed down the sides of your torso before coming to rest on your hips and kneading them, raising bruises on your soft skin.

He brought one hand between the two of you and ran his fingers through the soft hair of your mound before rubbing them between your folds, making you arch into him as you let out a thin whine, fluttering your lashes as you gazed at him. He grinned down at you as he inserted two fingers at an agonizingly slow pace and you moaned as he started fucking them into you, curling them against that sweet, spongy spot each time.

He added another finger as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your clean scent as you mewled and whimpered, begging him for more. He started strumming your clit with his thumb and you writhed underneath him, doing your best to grind your cunt into him as his fingers stretched you.

It was almost too much when he added the fourth finger and you wrapped your hands in his silver hair, pressing his face to your neck as you cried silently. He moved his mouth back to yours as he increased his speed and pressure on your tiny bud, moving his tongue softly past your lips and tangling it with yours. You came around him, clenching down on his fingers in your release as all the breath rushed out of you. He felt you go rigid beneath him before you collapsed back against the bed with a sigh.

“You think you’re ready for me sweetheart?” He asked as he kissed your neck, moving his hands up to palm your breasts.

You pulled his head back by his hair and gave him a grin before squeezing his sides with your thighs and rolling until you were on top of him, straddling his hips.

You sat up over him and he groaned at the sight of you, soft skin moving over lean muscle, a patchwork of faint scars covering your torso. He ran his thumb over an especially noticeable one that ran over your ribs below your left breast as you guided him to your entrance and sheathed his length inside you suddenly, making him hiss.

You started grinding against him, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone before you started fucking yourself on his cock. He tossed his head back with a moan and a murmured “Fuck” as his hands moved to your hips and guided your thrusts, meeting your hips with his own as he rutted up into you.

He sat up suddenly and pressed you to him as he knelt beneath you, staring into your eyes with lust blown pupils, a thin golden ring around a pool of deep black. You wrapped your legs around his back as he fucked up into you at a faster pace, making it hard for you to breathe.

He wrenched your head down to his and crashed his mouth against yours, his tongue invading you hungrily as you felt your pleasure starting to coil in your abdomen and you whimpered into his mouth.

He felt you starting to clench around him and moved a hand between you to strum at your clit. It only took a moment and you were flying apart around him, every muscle below your waist spasming as your orgasm wracked you and you cried into his mouth. His release was right behind yours as his hips stilled and you felt his spend spurting into you, coating your velvety walls in his release with a feral growl.

He collapsed back on the bed, still holding you to him as you both came down from you pleasure, breathing heavily as your hearts pounded together. You propped your chin on his chest and gave him a sinful grin that he returned, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to untangle yourselves.

“Well, if all your surprises are that pleasant, Y/N, I can’t wait to find out more.” He said to you over his shoulder as he stood up from the bed, grabbing a towel to finish drying himself off. He tossed you one and you ran it softly between your thighs, cleaning the mixture of your releases from your slit as you grinned back at him.

“My dear Witcher, I aim to please.” You threw a wink at him before you stood up and stretched. “I arranged for some clean clothes to be brought up, could you check the door for them?”

He peeked his head out and brought in two sets of soft woolens, tossing one to you. You yanked a tunic over your head before stepping into the clean pair of breeches. You decided to forgo most of your blades for the moment, opting for a simple belt that contained two daggers once you had finished lacing up your bodice.

“Shall we head down for more ale?”

“Gods yes, what else do you know about this storied Redanian liquor?”

You gave him a throaty laugh as you headed down to the main room and lute music floated up to meet you.

“Ah, Y/N! Geralt! My friends! Join us for a song won’t you? Y/N, I still want to hear you sing ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’ for us, eh? Oh Fishmonger, Oh Fishmonger, Come Quell your Daughter’s Hunger”

“Gods, Jaskier, aren’t you sick of that song yet?” Geralt growled half heartedly

“Pull the stick out of your ass, Witcher. C’mon, Jaskier. To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn!”

“What a lovely voice you have my lady! For tis naught but bad luck, to fuck with a puck!”

The Witcher rolled his eyes at the two of you as he headed to the bar and the rest of the patrons joined in. What he wouldn’t give to never hear this abominable tune ever again.

“Lest your grandkid be born, a hairy young faun! Bleating and baying all day, hey ho!”

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes​

[mars-writes-yandere]

Request: I have a request for the Maid! AU. What if Ciel hired an actual servant to help the phantomhive trio since they’re kind of morons.The new maid is very good at her tasks,but unlike all the servants,she has no combat skills and couldn’t hurt a fly if she wanted to.After an attack on the manor leaves the new maid injured,Bard,Finny,and Mey-Rin feel a sudden urge to protect her from all harm.The protective urges soon becomes so strong that they don’t even let her leave the manor to buy groceries,unless one of them is with her.Bard even stops using dynamite for cooking out of fear of hurting the maid.(You could make the servants have romantic feelings or just platonic ones if you want)

so i decided to make them have platonic feelings i hope that’s ok!!!

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping

Word count: 1.2 k

It wasn’t your dream job to be a maid but it paid the bills. Your mom is deathly sick and you needed to pay for the medication but your father refused to pay and your brother was too little.

You slipped on the outfit and grabbed everything you needed before venturing on foot to the phantomhive manor. It wasn’t too far away since you also lived outside of the city. You had moved there with your mom and brother after her and your father broke up.

It was a bit scary walking through the forest so early in the morning while it was still dark out. The head butler had offered you a room but someone needed to take care of your mother since your brother was still in school.

Arriving at the kitchen door (which you had been instructed to as to not wake the young master) the smell of something burning filled your nose. Throwing the door open smoke hit your eyes making them water. You quickly ran inside towards the sink and grabbed the nearest bowl, filling it with water. Finding the fire you threw water on it, making it go out.

Once enough smoke cleared out of the kitchen you opened some windows to air the room out.

“Thanks um.. I thought that using the flamethrower would make things go quickly.” A voice said from the door.

You turned around to see a tall man with fluffed up blond hair with black specks in it and a face covered in ash.

“Um sir…i know i’m new and probably shouldn’t be saying anything but maybe don’t use the flamethrower? you could have put a lot of people in danger.” You said twiddling your thumbs. You didn’t want to upset a possible superior in your first day

“I agree with y/n. Baldroy you shouldn’t be using the flamethrower as I've told you many times before.”

You looked past the blond man to see the head butler, Sebastian, standing there. Sebastian looked at you and gave you a polite and thankful smile before looking back a baldroy and glaring.

Once Sebastian was done yelling at Baldroy he left the room, presumably to wake the young master up.

“I’m sorry you got scolded…are you ok?” You asked the man

“Oh I'm fine, it happens a lot, are you ok little miss? I hope you didn’t get hurt. My name is Baldroy by the way.” The man, Baldroy said.

“Oh I'm totally fine! And it’s nice to meet you baldroy i’m y/n!” You said with a big smile.

Baldroy was always one to make rash decisions so to make the decision that he needed to protect you, even after first meeting you wasn’t a big surprise. Baldroy smiled at you before hearing finny and mey-rin come into the kitchen.

“Oh! You must be the new maid! My name is finny!” The young boy said coming up to you, shoving his hand in your face.

“O-oh it’s nice to meet you finny and that’s mey-rin! I’m y/n'' you said, shaking his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, yes it is!” The woman you presumed is mey-rin said.

“It’s nice to meet you and I hope you enjoy your time here!” Finny said, pulling you into a strong hug.

“I agree!” Mey-rin said joining the hug

Bard just nodded his head but smiled non the less.

Your first week at the manor was nice to say the least. Everyone was pleasant and nice, except for Sebastian who seemed a little standoffish but you didn’t mind.

You didn’t see the young master a ton since you mostly worked with mey-rin since she was the clumsiest according to Sebastian. You didn’t mind it though, she's sweet and tells you stories about the different adventures she’s been on with the other servants. Your favorite is probably the one where they met pluto and angela.

Speaking of Pluto, he had warmed up to you pretty quick. Whenever he’s inside the manor he’ll always follow you around and sit by your side. It’s a little weird having a full ass human sit by your side as you're doing work but like he’s not naked so you can’t really complain.

“y/n baldroy is going to cook dinner tonight can you keep an eye on him?” Sebastian asked, kicking Pluto out of the house.

That’s another thing you’ve been doing. Keeping an eye on baldroy when he cooks because for some reason he doesn’t use the flamethrower when you’re there. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to bother you? Who knows.

“Yeah of course Sebastian! Just let me finish putting the china away. Do you want me to do anything while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No, just keep an eye on him, that's all.”

You nodded your head, finishing putting the china away before entering the kitchen.

“Hey there y/n!” Baldroy said, setting the flamethrower he had in his hand down.

“ I’m doing good!! I hope you’re not planning on cooking with that.” You joked sitting on the counter.

“Not while you’re here.” Baldroy said under his breath

“What was that?” You asked tilting your head.

“Nothing!!!”

After you left the manor and the young master went to bed, mey-rin snuck into baldroy and finny's room

“So we should go over the plan one more time. “ Baldroy said

“Right! So after y/n’s shift is done we ask them to stay for dinner and then we slip this in her drink!” Finny said holding a small vile of some white power in his hand.

“That’s the plan, yes it is!”

“What if we get caught by the young master or sebastian?” Fuming asked, biting his nails.

“They won’t catch us.” Baldroy said confidently

The next day after the day was over you started gathering your things before mey-rin stopped you.

“Y/n! Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

“I really shouldn’t-“

“Aww c'mon y/n!” Finny asked popping out of nowhere

“I guess-“

“Great!” Finny said, pulling you into the kitchen, sitting you down on one of the chairs .

Baldroy brought a glass of a red color substance that you presumed is wine over to you.

“Thanks but i don’t-“

“Just drink it y/n.” Baldroy said in a stern tone.

Scared, you drank the whole thing in one gulp before smiling weakly at him. Baldroy gave you one of his bright smiles in return because leaving the kitchen.

You could hear whispers from your co-workers coming from outside the kitchen but you didn’t care. You were starting to feel dizzy and tired.

Stumbling out of the kitchen you slumped against finny who looked at baldroy and mey-rin worryingly.

“Is this what’s supposed to happen?” He asked in a hushed tone.

Baldroy just nodded his head with a stern look on his face.

“Guys? what’s going on?” You asked now putting all your weight against finny who was able to hold you up with no problem.

“‘This is for your safety y/n yes it is .” Mey-rin said with a regretful look on her face

“Did you guys….drug me?” You asked, your words slurring as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

The last thing you saw before you passed out was the three servants giving each other a look before turning their attention back to you.

[wolf-and-bard]

Bad Reputation

Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Jaskier/Eskel, ~1.3k, rated T, no warnings

Written for @thewitcherbog fic train event together with @kueble, @professorjaskier, and @softdarlingjaskier so be on the lookout for their parts in the next few days. It was so much fun!! 😊💕

---

“Ta-da,” Jaskier says with a flourish of his hand, and gestures at the dress-form he has set up in the middle of the living area of his rooms at Oxenfurt, all furniture pushed to the side. The mannequin is clad in a positively stunning arrangement, an unpretentious doublet of deep burgundy with subtly golden ribbons at the cuffs and seams, a matching pair of cotton breeches. Underneath, an almost-black silken shirt. It’s plain for Jaskier’s tastes and habits, but it’s perfect for its recipient whose suspicious gaze is currently flicking between Jaskier and the clothes. 

“What is that?” Eskel asks, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He’s wearing his typical red-and-dark stripe with those small spikes on the shoulders that Jaskier thinks are honestly ridiculous. Not big enough to work as any form of weaponry or defense mechanism, too dismissable to count as a fashion statement. Yeah, right. Wolves and fashion. Ridiculous.

Jaskier snorts and watches Eskel watch the dress-form, wary and uncomprehending to a point that is just adorable. 

“That, my dear witcher, is an outfit. Your outfit to be precise. That is to say, the outfit you will wear tonight.” Jaskier puts on his brightest sunlight-smile, hoping it will cover up the awkwardness he can feel tightening his throat. This could have started better. But then again, this could have started so much worse. Eskel could already be out the door what with him just having arrived, swords still strapped to his back, one hand fisted around the plain linen sack he keeps most of his belongings in. 

“Do I look like Geralt to you?” Eskel asks, brow raised which contorts the landscape of scars that cover half his face, stretching them out. Jaskier’s fingers itch to reach out and trace them, they always do whenever Eskel graces him with a visit to his apartment.

It’s about the only place they ever cross paths. With Geralt, Jaskier is bound to stumble into him in the most ridiculous of places and predicaments, as though Destiny wills it so. With Eskel… well. Jaskier learned early on in their acquaintance that finding Eskel anywhere takes effort, so it’s easier to have Eskel find him. The wolf sticks to himself almost all year round, avoids big cities and gets by on mysterious, long-winded contracts that take him to places most of the rest of the world has forgotten about. Jaskier has never once accompanied Eskel on one of his hunts, and that is perhaps why he often feels that a certain distance remains between them, no matter how often Eskel comes around.

And Eskel does, with striking regularity. At least once, whenever Jaskier’s staying in Oxenfurt for longer than a handful of days. He’ll always bring something too; a fine Toussaint vintage for them to share, a hearty piece of salt-crystal cheese for them to put on their bread, some pickled fish straight from the Skellige Isles. It isn’t always edible or drinkable, sometimes it’s useful like a pretty button or a new set of lute strings. There is no rhyme or reason to Eskel’s little gifts, just one thing that threads through them, and it is that every time, they take Jaskier by surprise. Eskel is so very reliable and Jaskier’s brain still hesitates to form expectations. Expectations can get crushed and he has already invested more heart into this relationship than is strictly healthy.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks into the silence which has speeded by for Jaskier with his mind reminiscing, but which must have dragged excessively for the witcher. To Eskel’s credit, he doesn’t show the slightest twitch of impatience. 

“Of course you don’t,” Jaskier says, shuddering inwardly. Outwardly, his smile freezes over.

You look nothing like Geralt, he doesn’t say though he knows that with taking away the scars and dyeing Geralt’s hair, they would look strikingly similar. There are no pictures of Eskel before, but it didn’t even need Vesemir telling Jaskier this for the bard to notice. They have the same cut of jawline, same set of their shoulders, a similar nose. But that’s artificial and if one looks closely, the similarities start to fall away pretty quickly.

You look much more beautiful than him – sorry Geralt, but it’s true, is what Jaskier also doesn’t say even though his rapidly beating heart keeps commanding him to.

“Then why would I wear this? What for?”

“Oh nothing special, just a wee little occasion, really.”

“Jaskier…”

“A-hem, right. The school-board is throwing a fancy dinner party tonight and I have been invited as a guest. I thought you might want to join me… be my partner if you will.”

Oh, but that feels daring. That feels very daring. 

Eskel cocks his head, golden eyes boring into Jaskier’s. Jaskier feels his cheeks heat and licks his lips. 

“Can’t I go the way I am?” the witcher asks finally. 

“Ah, well,” Jaskier says and swallows. “Well, you see… there’s nothing wrong with the way you are, necessarily, but… it’s, well. They are very important people and I have a certain standing within the university. A reputation to maintain, if you will.”

“You?” Eskel raises a brow. “A reputation to maintain?”

A reputation other than drinking and whoring around, is what Eskel doesn’t say, but it is heavily implied and not even in a condescending manner. Eskel knows Jaskier the flamboyant bard, Jaskier the man with an eye for a good party, Jaskier that will drag any conquest into his bed regardless of whether there’s a witcher crashing in his guest bedroom or not. And even though Eskel’s been visiting him in Oxenfurt, in his rooms at the heart of the academy, Professor Pankratz is a complete stranger to both Eskel and Geralt. They know of him, of course, but they don’t know him.

“Yes, me,” Jaskier says. “A Professor at this university and highly valued member of several poet’s societies and bardic unions.”

“Trust a fucking academic to demand I dress up for him.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to trust anyone around here?” Jaskier retorts in what he hopes is a light note, but something has settled in the pit of his stomach at Eskel’s words, even though they were meant in jest. If this was Geralt, there would have been a deeper meaning woven into the words. In this regard too, Eskel is very different from Geralt in the manner in which he deals out his faith. He was wary when they first met at Kaer Morhen, of course; careful. But one night under the tightly-woven tapestry of constellations above the keep together, watching from the battlements while the temperature still allowed it, and Eskel turned from cool indifference to a low simmer of secretive smiles and sidelong glances. Jaskier can’t help but wonder if - for all of Eskel’s straightforwardness - there is still a hidden fuse he’s about to light up like a damn wildfire one day.

“I thought you were the exception,” Eskel grumbles and sighs deeply. Still eyeing the doublet wearily, the wolf witcher begins to pace around it, circling it as though it is a ghoul about to jump him and not his dress for the night. It would have been quite funny too, if it didn’t make Jaskier ponder so much. He doesn’t like pondering, not before an evening of events. He isn’t here to think, which would lead to dissecting, which would lead to inspiration and doubt at the same time. Jaskier has many doubts, especially when the handsomely rugged witcher in front of him is involved and he suspects there’s no glazing over them now, not when big words such as trust have been thrown this carelessly into the room. 

“I hoped I would be,” Jaskier admits begrudgingly and carves out another smile, if dampened. “Will you come along then? It would mean the world to me.”

[wolfish-trickster]

Old oak tree

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 2,3K+

Warning: typos, angst, itsi bitsi fluff at the end

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld @forevernthensome @kozkaboi

"So, what do you think?" Loki asked spreading his arms and showing you his new outfit.

You shrugged. "Looks good to me."

"Don't you think it's too much?" he checked himself in your mirror.

"Is anything EVER too much for you?" you asked with a smirk.

"I just...I really like her and I don't want to mess up."

"You won't, trust me," you reassured him.

He hugged you tightly, to your surprise. "What would I do without such a friend like you?"

The younger prince bolted from your room faster than you could answer. You sighed and closed the doors after him so no one could hear your heart breaking, again.

You and Loki were friends. Best friends actually. But you started to to see him more than that years ago. And you hated it.

You already accepted the fact he'll see you as only his supportive friend. If only he could stop asking you to help him woo his love interests. He always asked your opinion on everything. Flowers, his outfits, gifts he wanted to give them.

Once he even asked to kiss you so he could practice. It was in general your and his first kiss ever. Your head spinned when your life long best friend and crush in one person gently placed his lips on yours, his tongue sliding to your mouth. When he pulled away he just mumbled simple 'thanks' and ran away, leaving you flustered and with a face on fire under your favourite tree. At first you often sat under that old oak, remembering the feeling and smiling to yourself. However with every new interest of Loki you started to avoid the poor tree. Hate it even. You hated how it represented how you foolishly threw away your first kiss.

You still stood by Loki. What else could you do? Confess your feelings? As if that'll help.

You started to see pattern in his interests and you never managed to tic the boxes. You were only average among everything; intelligence, looks, skills. There were hundred and one people who were exactly like you. Loki would never choose you over a noble woman or man he was used to courting.

Now, when you were finally alone, you could think about what are you going to do about your never ending crush. You layed down on your bed and stared at your white ceiling. You already tried to avoid him in hopes you will loose your feelings for him, that didn't work. You wrote down every negative thing about him, trick your mind he isn't a good boyfriend material. Didn't work either since he is the kindest person you've ever met. And the gentlest. And nicest. With the most beautiful smile and eyes. And arms that give the coziest hugs.

"Fuck," you whispered and closed your eyes. It always ended like this. No matter how much you tried, you could never see him as something less than a great person he was.

Suddenly you heard his melodic laughter under your windows. As well as some girl's. You couldn't take it anymore.

"You know what? If he can date around, so can I!" you told yourself in pure desperation to get rid of the jealousy and pain from knowing he will never love you.

First thing you did was hiding everything he gave you as a child, every little trinket you cherished in false thought he's starting to catch feelings for you. You removed all of it from your shelves and put in a big box sliding it under your bed.

There, now onto the more complicated part: the oak of your very first kiss. Your heart ached with every step you took towards it. It was already old and not so full of life like it used to be. Its bark was dry and overgrown with moss. The poor thing didn't have enough energy to grow its leaves as viscoulsy like few years ago. No one visited it anymore. It was lonely just like you.

"Looks like you're few years from death, old buddy," you patted its trunk. "Let's end your missery now."

*

You were on your way back to your room holding a little pot filled with soil. Nothing was growing out yet, but in few months you were expecting a small oak sappling to grow. You couldn’t say goodbye to your old wooden friend just yet.

There, deep in halls, sounds are resonating. Sounds you soon came to hate. Kissing, Loki chuckling, some woman moaning, door closing.

You sadly looked down at the pot and took the biggest diversion to your room, avoiding coming any near Loki's bedroom.

*

Few days later you still avoided Loki. That time was the first time he had brought anyone to his bedroom to do....that. It was good he didn't ask you to practice on you. If he did, you would've.... you don't know what would you do. Probably panic first and get angry next.

While Loki was, let's say, occupied you got closer to one soldier, Arne. He was kind, tall, ginger with freckles and very skilled fighter. He wasn't the smartest but he had a sense of humor and always tried to make you laugh. He wasn't Loki though, but it didn't matter. At least you kept yourself busy, so your heart could heal.

Right now you were in stables with Arne. He was telling you how he got his first horse when he finished his soldier training few decades back. You were braiding his mare's mane as he stood right beside you, his shoulder lightly touching yours. Everything was at peace.

"Y/N! Y/N, WHERE ARE YOU?" came Loki's voice.

Almost everything.

You turned your head towards his voice. He was rushing towards you until he stopped when he noticed Arne standing so close to you.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked a little irritated.

"Well-"

"It doesn't matter, I have to show you something," he took you by the hand and started dragging you out of the stables only for you to slip your hand from his and hugging Arne. "See you tomorrow," you waved him goodbye and walked out, Loki trailing after you.

"So, what is it you wanted to show me?"

"What the Hel was that?" he pointed at you and behind him at the stables, completely ignoring your question.

"A hug. Why?"

"Since when are you hugging random soldiers? And since when are you even hanging out with low ranking soldiers like Hofferson?"

"His first name is Arne, and I'm allowed to hug whoever I want. Same goes for hanging out. Now are you going to show me the thing or can I return to him?"

"Right," he remember, took your hand again and ran to gardens. To the familiar now empty corner. "Look what some bastard did," he pointed at the wide oak stump.

"Yeah, I know."

"You do? Oh, darling," he threw his arms around you. You fought with yourself internally to not hug him back, but being close to him after a very long time felt just too good not to give in.

"I'm so sorry. I know it was your favourite tree. I will find the culprit and-"

"You don't have to," you interrupted and pulled yourself away from him.

"I do! That tree meant a lot to me too. I was actually working on a spell to bring life into it again."

"And how exactly did it mean a lot to you? I never saw you even near that tree."

Loki stuttered. "E-ehm, we had our first kiss underneath it."

"As if that meant anything to you," you muttered.

"What?"

"I said it was old and it had to be cut down."

"Well you could've asked me before you killed it," he spat rather angrily.

"My family planted it, I get to do whatever I want with it!"

"Did it mean so little to you?"

"No. On the contrary, it meant the world to me! That's why I had to cut it down!"

"What? Why? I don't understand you," he shook his head.

"Well excuse me for wanting to destroy the biggest thing that reminded me how my best friend stole my first kiss!"

"Stole? I asked and you complied!" Loki defended himself.

You groaned. "Okay fine, you didn't steal it, I lost it. Now can I go back to Arne?"

"Lost it?! Have you got any idea how many people would murder for a kiss from a prince? And why do you want to go to Arne so desperatelly? You never talked to soldiers before, so why the change of heart?"

"I like him, he's nice and courageous and-"

"I forbid it."

"What?!" you couldn't believe your ears.

"I forbid it. You can't whore around with soldiers like him, think about your reputation!" he crossed his arms infront of him.

"Whore around? Look who's talking! You've had at least 5 lovers in the past month!"

"T-that's different."

"And how exactly is it different, Loki?"

"I-"

You waited. Nothing came out of him.

"That's what I thought."

*

Few days passed, you continued avoiding Loki and he started to close off from everyone. Occasionally you saw some green sparkles in a shape of a person sitting on the oak stump. You figured that must be Loki under cloaking spell. All you wanted to do was run to him and hug him, he looked so depressed and lonely. Just like you were when you saw him with all those lovers in the past.

You felt bad for him. But you doubted he felt bad for you back then. Or now. So you always walked pass him, pretending you didn't notice him.

*

*knock knock*

You looked up from watering your growing oak sapling. Who could it be? You weren't expecting anyone. "Who's there?"

"Guess," came a dull voice.

You put away your watering kettle and hid the pot behind courtains. "Come in, Loki."

He stepped inside wearing one of his ordinary clothes, his hair wasn't slicked back like he used to style it and he had apologetic expression on his face.

"Y/N, I came to apologize."

Loki is apologizing. Now that's new. "What for?" you asked teasingly.

He sighed. "For saying you were whoring around. It wasn't right from me," he pulled out your favourite flower from behind his back, "friends?"

You took the flower. "Okay, friends."

Loki clapped his hands excitedly. "Great, now that we're at good terms with eachother I-"

"No!" you silenced him. You knew there had to be a catch. He made up with you just so he could ask you for help. Just like always.

"You don't even know what I was about to say."

"Oh, I think I do. You want me to give you advices again. Well, guess what? That's not happening. So you can, as mortals say, do 180 and walk out that door," you pointed behind him to your bedroom door.

Loki held out his hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to ask you that! I just want to talk."

"Oh," now you felt stupid. "Okay, a little talk never killed anyone I guess."

"Thank you," he let his hands fall down and took a walk around your room. "I see you were redecorating," he noticed all of his trinkets he gave you were gone. He assumed you most likely threw them out or burned them. Just the thought of it hurt him.

"Yeah," you hugged your arms to comfort yourself. "I still have them, I just didn't want to look at them anymore."

He turned towards you. "Why? First the tree, then my little gifts. What's next, me?" he joked to ease both your and his growing anxiety.

You chuckled lightly and shook your head. "No, don't worry."

He walked to you and put his hand on your shoulders. "Then why? We're best friends, right? We can tell eachother everything."

"That's exactly what I can't do," you grabbed his hand on your shoulder and slowly removed them.

"Why? Do you... do you hate me?"

"What? Heavens no! I could never hate you!"

He sighed from relief. "Good. But then why? I can't think of a single reason you would do those things. Wait. On a second thought," he held his chin between his thumb and index finger and looked down like he always does when he was thinking. He shook his head then and chuckled to himself. "No, that's absurd. You could never be in love with me."

You involuntarily tensed up. He noticed.

"Or could you?"

Tears started burning in your eyes as you nodded. "Sorry."

"For how long?"

After few minutes of thinking you shook your head. "I don't remember when it happened. It just happened."

"Well, when did you realise then? That you...you know? Are in love with me?"

"Few days before the oak kiss, I guess."

"But that was decades ago! This long time and I never saw," he facepalmed.

"And you...?" you asked hopefully. Maybe he will tell you he loves you too, right?

He sighed. "I'm sorry Y/N. I love you, but not like that. You have always been like a little sister I always wanted."

You nodded. Of course he doesn't love you like that. How even could he? You turned away from him and let some tears escape.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," he rubbed your back. "We can still be friends. Nothing will change between us. I promise."

But it already did. Everything changed for you. How could you even look him in the eye?

You wiped away your tears and put on a perfectly rehearsed fake smile. "Okay, I can work with that," you offered him your hand, "friends?"

Instead of shaking it he hugged you. "Friends."

You hugged him back and let your fake smile fall. Your naive little self told you he will change his mind in the future. You are already so close with eachother. Closer than anyone you know. It's just a matter of time. For now, you can only dream.

[himbo-half-orc]

Psst can I have some Ace Aiden? Maybe he still likes to flirt and read smutty smut, but have no actual interest in sex with other people?

Thanks for the prompt, and I hope you like this one @jaskierswolf ^_^

Ace Aiden (E) - Lambert invites his friend Aiden to spend the winter with him at Kaer Morhen. They're just friends, but it takes a while for the rest of Lambert's family to understand.

-

Lambert was glad he’d invited Aiden to spend the winter with him at Kaer Morhen this year. He’d written to Vesemir months ago to ask whether it would be ok, and had received warm encouragement from his mentor. This winter was going to be so much better with his friend there to spend it with. The long, cold nights could get so boring, and his brothers were a bit dull. Aiden was sure to liven the place up a bit.

They’d just arrived after a difficult journey up the mountain, to be greeted by Lambert’s mentor and father figure Vesemir.

“Lambert, good to see you. The others are already here.” He gave his youngest charge a massive hug, then turned to greet the other witcher, “And you must be Aiden? My name is Vesemir. Welcome to Kaer Morhen. I hope you’ll be comfortable during your stay with us.”

“Thank you Sir, you’re most kind.” The two shook hands.

“No doubt you’ll meet the rest of the wolves later. I’ve set you up in a room next to Lambert, unless… did you want to share?”

Aiden turned to Lambert, “You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?” He winked.

Honestly, Lambert didn’t mind. They always shared a room and a bed on the path as it was usually cheaper, and during the winter the extra warmth would be a bonus. Aiden was also in a strange new place, and might be feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all.

“Sure, my room is definitely big enough.” He shrugged.

Vesemir didn’t say anything, just gave them a strange smile as Lambert led the Cat to his room. It didn’t take long to sort out their packs and once that was done, Aiden was shown where the hot springs were located so that they could bathe and wash up before supper. Lambert really missed the baths when he was away from this place, it was one of the few things it had going for it. The hot steamy water was pure bliss after their days of travel and Lambert was glad to feel clean once again, the heat easing his aches and pains from another arduous year on the path.

Once they were finished and dressed once more, it was time to head towards the hall for food. Vesemir was a decent cook, and the smell of venison stew wafted across the courtyard, causing them to hurry their steps. It had been a lean year, and there hadn’t been much they could catch on the ascent up the mountain, so they were pretty hungry.

Once in the hall, they met Vesemir and Aiden was introduced to Lambert’s other brothers, Eskel and Geralt. As it turned out, Geralt had also brought a friend with him this year - a human bard named Jaskier. Lambert noticed his brother eyeing the Cat witcher with suspicion, but Aiden either hadn’t noticed, or pretended not to care.

“Oh my! That outfit looks great on you!” Aiden was gushing over the hideous purple and blue clothing that the bard was wearing. It was shiny and had overly puffy sleeves, with bits of lace and frills all over. He was also wearing a massive floppy hat to match. No, match wasn’t the right word…

Lambert was pondering this, and why Aiden had complimented it, when he saw Geralt’s eyes narrow and his lips thin. Oh! This was great fun! Was his brother jealous? Of Aiden? Hmm, it seemed there was more to this bard than he initially thought. This could be a very interesting winter indeed.

They soon ate their fill of delicious food and all too soon it was time to break out the white gull and tell lurid stories of their various travels this past season. They always tried to outdo one another, and Lambert was sure at least half of it was made up, to sound more impressive. Meanwhile, Aiden and Jaskier appeared to have become fast friends, giggling in the corner. Every so often, Jaskier would take a quick glance at Geralt, taking care not to stare too long or risk his notice. Very interesting. It seemed the bard was interested in his brother too. Maybe they were already dating in secret? Lambert went over to them to check that Aiden was ok, under the guise of refilling their tankards.

“I see you’re making friends here already.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Lamby, I’m all yours.” Aiden purred in response.

“I’m not worried about that. Sorry, but you’re stuck with me kiddo.”

“Kiddo? Lambert, I’m five years older than you!”

“And?” He got slapped for that. He sat back down with his brothers and Aiden went back to chatting to his new friend.

It turned out that Geralt and Jaskier had been at the keep for a few days, and the bard had found a stash of smutty romance novels in the back of the library, and he was showing one such to Aiden, reading various raunchy passages aloud and sniggering. Jaskier was quite the actor, which made it all the worse. They weren't being very subtle about it, and Lambert overheard the odd line between his conversations with the others. It was pretty bad.

“Valentino ripped open the maiden’s bodice to reveal her heaving breasts, nipples like strawberries, ripe for the plucking.”

“Ha! Who wrote this? Nipples like strawberries? She needs to go and see a healer!”

“Yeah, it’s like the author has never even met a woman before!”

“Ooh, how about this one?”

“He thrust his throbbing member into her voluptuous lady garden, filling her with ecstasy.”

“What does that even mean?”

Lambert turned back to Eskel and Geralt, who were trying to outdo each other with stories of their various conquests. It seemed a bit vulgar when Jaskier was clearly pining away after his brother, or if they were dating, it must be an open relationship. Hmm, he’d have to ask Geralt when they were alone.

After a few hours, he noticed that Aiden was starting to get tired. He’d stopped joining in with the conversations and his head was starting to droop. He made excuses for them both and led his friend back to their room.

“I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you compliment the bard’s clothing? It was ugly. Looked like he’d been in a fight with too many colours and they all ganged up on him.”

Aiden looked at him and sighed.

“It’s called fashion, Lambert! Besides, it is good manners to compliment someone on their clothes. Makes a good impression.”

“Urgh, I hate social conventions. It was ugly. He was lucky I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, well, that works too.”

….

The next day, Lambert was the first to wake. He was always an early riser, even if he hated waking up. Aiden on the other hand, the lucky bastard, did not get up at the arse-crack of dawn, and Lambert decided to let him sleep in a little longer. There was no rush - their chores would wait.

Lambert made his way to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast of porridge. His brothers were already there, and seemed to be waiting for him. This didn’t bode well.

“So, you and the Cat, eh?” Eskel winked at him.

“When were you going to tell us?” Geralt demanded, crossing his arms. He looked grumpier than usual.

“Tell you what?” Lambert wasn’t sure what the hell they were on about.

“That you have a boyfriend!”

“I don’t?”

“A lover then.”

“Er.. no?”

“Oh come on! He was flirting with you like mad yesterday, and Vesemir said you were sharing a room!” Eskel and Geralt had clearly got the wrong end of the stick.

“Aiden? Oh, he’s like that with everyone. We’re just friends, I promise."

“Lambert, I think he’s into you. You have a chance there.” Eskel sounded like he was trying to be encouraging.

“Ha! No, honesty, he doesn’t… just no. Trust me, we’re just friends. Aiden doesn’t go in for that kind of thing, and I’m fine with that.”

With that, Aiden burst into the room, gave Lambert a quick kiss on the cheek and looked Eskel up and down, “What’s up, hot stuff?”

Eskel blushed to the tips of his ears and mumbled, grabbing some of the porridge and sitting down to eat.

“See?” Lambert thought that was a perfect example of what he was trying to explain.

“See what, gorgeous?”

“They think you fancy me, because you flirt. I tried to tell them that’s just what you’re like.”

“Oh, eww. Sorry to disappoint, but Lamby here is telling the truth. We are strictly friends. No offence.”

“None taken.”

@thewitcherbog @dapandapod @bi-aragorn @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @kingeomer

[dead-dove-diner]

“Maybe I’m just fucking tired of your bullshit!”  👀

Remember how I said I'd write a tiny little thing?

I lied.

No warnings, only angst ~*~

“And just where do you think you're going?” Jaskier huffed, twisting to shoot his companion a withering glare from across the room where he stood unpacking their bags.

They'd been on the road for almost a month now with little real respite to actually rest and relax, and Jaskier was planning on taking full advantage of the inns rather gracious baths and laundresses to their full extent before trudging down to play for their supper, and part of that included scrubbing Geralt head to toe beforehand.

It had already cost extra to have those little luxuries added to the price of the room which meant the two were left sharing a bed for the next few nights, and there was no way in all seven hells that Jaskier was letting that man waltz off into the night before getting clean. Geralt had a horrible habit of coming back in the wee hours of the morning and crawling into bed without bathing and Jaskier was not having it.

He was not sharing a bed with a filthy Witcher that smelt like the unholy union of rancid monster bits and a half-dead polecat!

Geralt, who was idling by the door and working replacing his soiled armour with a shirt that only vaguely stunk of rot, grunted in reply.

“Out,”

“Oh-ho, no you don't,” Jaskier said, throwing his own shirt down to point a threatening finger at the man. “You-”

“I'm fine,” Geralt grunted, and then winced when the action of tugging his cuirass over his head pulled on what was no doubt a nasty bruise from the Wyvern they'd run into a few miles from town. It had only been a juvenile, Geralt said, only just left the nest, most likely, but its size made it quick and spry and it'd got a good swipe of its tail in and thrown Geralt into a tree before he'd managed dispatch it.

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier said dryly, as he watched the Witcher struggle, “I can tell,”

Geralt grunted again.

“In any case,” he continued, turning back to his bag and pulling yet another filthy outfit from its depths to add to the growing pile he was to hand off to the washerwomen, “You're not going anywhere tonight,”

“Jaskier,”

“A bath, Witcher. I paid for us both and you'll be having one should I have to drag you there myself. I refuse to share a bed with you smelling as you do,”

Geralt snorted unattractively and finally succeeded in throwing his leathers and filthy shirt to the ground. The entire left side of his chest was mottled purple and black and no doubt ached like a bastard, but the mess was already turning yellow at the edges as it healed and Jaskier couldn't see any blood, so there was nothing he could do to help. He might have offered some bruise balm had he not run out of the stuff a week back, but Geralt would have only grumbled and shook off the suggestion anyway like he always did.

“Not to worry, bard,” he said, reaching for the shirt he'd decided was least stained and in need of washing and pulling it over his head. “You'll be free of my stench for the night,”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he huffed, “You'd best not go looking for a contract before you can lift your sword without wincing, or I'll-”

The Witcher snorted again, this time sounding almost amused.

“The sword I'll be lifting tonight isn't so heavy as to injure me,”

“Your sword weighs more than me,” Jaskier reminded him with a short look, but Geralt just sighed and started in on the leather around his thighs.

“My cock, bard.”

Heat was quick to warm its way over Jaskier's cheeks, and he spluttered, “Well!” he said, “What could that possibly have to do with-”

“The brothel,”

“The- oh,”

And well, of course Jaskier had noticed the brothel when they'd wandered into town, but he'd been more preoccupied with filling his belly and getting clean rather than seeing to his other needs. He'd assumed, perhaps rather stupidly, that Geralt was on the same mind and that they'd make use of the clean bed and their clean bodies together like they'd taken to doing on the path.

It was a recent development and they'd not gone further than a few hurried hand-jobs under the cover of night, and Jaskier wouldn't even go so far as to even call them lovers, but- well.. he'd figured they'd take the time they had at the inn to finally take the next step.

He didn't need exclusivity- a fools dream when faced with the life of a Witcher or a bard- but for Geralt to brush him off so easily? So callously?

He'd not even thought to ask if Jaskier would be open to getting him off! The bastard had just assumed Jaskier would be all fine and dandy with emptying his purse on a room and cleaning services and then go off and use his own coin to pay a whore to suck his dick?

Jaskier pushed down the swell of raging jealousy that bubbled in his chest, and very slowly, very carefully, took a long, deep, breath through his nose.

“You will bathe,”

He might not be the one on the receiving end of the Witchers stench for the night, but he couldn't in good conscience send him off to some poor girl smelling as he did.

“I'll bathe in the morning,”

“You will bathe now,”

Geralt, the absolute bastard, actually laughed.He glanced up from where he was working on the buckle of his cuisse for a moment and flashed his teeth in a grin.

“Afraid I'll insult the whores delicate sensibilities?” he asked, “I can't be the worst they've had in a town like this,”

The town was small and dirty, but it was on a well used trading route into Novigrad and no doubt seen many a road weary traveller looking for comfort and release- not to mention the doughy farmers that resided there and made use of the brothels ladies. Geralt was right that they'd probably had worse, but that wasn't the point of the matter.

“They are filling the bath for us as we speak,” Jaskier said, making an effort to keep his voice even and his hands relaxed as to keep from ruining the doublet he held in them.

“I'll reheat it when I need it,”

“Its a public wash-room, Geralt, it will be filthy!”

He shrugged, “I've bathed in worse,”

“Oh, for the love of-” he threw the doublet down into the pile beside him and snapped, “You will bathe!”

“What the hell has got into you!” Geralt snapped back, finally dropping the bundle of leather to the ground and actually looking at him. “Melitele's tits, I'll give you the coin for the bath if it means so much to you!”

Jaskier threw his hands up, “I don't want your coin!”

“Then what do you want!”

“I want you to bathe!”

“I'll bathe when I get back!”

Jaskier almost screamed, fisting his hands in his hair and pulling.

“Why must you fight me on everything!”

“Maybe I’m just fucking tired of your bullshit!” Geralt finally snarled.

Like the air had been sucked out of the room, Jaskier fell still and silent, shocked, and Geralt froze.

His hands slipped from his hair to hang limply at his sides as they stared at one another for a long moment before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“Right,” he said roughly, “Right,”

Gathering his bundle of filthy clothes, Jaskier made quick work to leave the room, but Geralt blocked him.

“Wait,” he said, “That's.. that's not what I-”

“No,” Jaskier interrupted, voice eerily steady even to his own ears, “it is.”

“It's not,” he said, “I-”

Jaskier wrenched himself from the Witcher's loose grip on his shoulder and pushed past him.

“I'm going to bathe,” he told him, as something hot and thick built in his throat, “You can do as you please,”

“Jaskier-”

“I hope you have enough coin to stay the night at the brothel,” he said, finally stepping from the room and heading down the hall to where the inn-keep had informed him the baths were. “I'll not share a bed with a filthy, stinking Witcher,”

He left without a single glance back, and Geralt let him.

end

[aresonaro]

Goldric Week: Day 1

Prompt: First Meeting/Magic

Thanks to @kai-strophics for organizing this!

...

Running errands wasn't what Edric had planned to do for his Sunday. Sure, he had nothing to do that day. Sure, he was alone and bored since Em had to do a group project and Amity had locked herself in her room to study. Sure. Sure. Maybe he could have made more of an effort to appear busy… grab a random book and pretend for a few seconds, but he hadn’t. As soon as Alador had seen him, he had given him a list and an absent-minded pat in the back before going back down to his studio.

And now he was stuck looking for oil. It was the last thing he needed. The last one. And the brand Alador had requested was nowhere to be seen.

“The last shop that could possibly sell this is on the other side of town… ah, Titan.”

Edric huffs and shoves the list in his pocket, suddenly exhausted. It feels like he’s wasted his whole morning just walking around aimlessly. He watches some kids pass him by while playing and wishes at least Emira could be here, so they could play some pranks. At least it wouldn’t be so boring then.

He groans again.

“Aren’t you a little too young to be complaining like that?” Someone asks, by his side, voice muffled. A quick glance in that direction reveals a guard of the Emperor’s Coven, clad in a curious gold and white outfit. It gives Edric pause - he’s too used to the dull grays and blacks, the pointy masks.

Something clicks in his mind, remembering both the posters all around town and the things Amity and Luz had told him.

“Even I get tired of being handsome. Can’t blame me for complaining once in a while.”

The Golden Guard snorts, dismissive, his attention slowly going back to the rest of the plaza. Maybe he was on patrol.

“Sure, carrying all that ego must get tiring.”

Oh-ho, this guy has a spark! Amity hadn’t mentioned he could be witty. A grand discovery, for sure.

Edric gives him his best toothy smile, leaning against the wall of one of the shops. They are in the entrance of the marketplace, not the most romantic setting, for sure, but Edric can make this work.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

“I guess you would know, huh, Golden Boy?”

“Don’t you have places to be?”

“Of course, I need to be in your heart by nine.”

“Ugh… I’m on duty.”

“You won’t be forever.”

“Can’t you just… leave me alone?”

“Why? Is my charm working?”

“Hardly.”

Edric is beginning to hate the mask. He surely got at least a blush, right? He must have. Pity the gorgeous thing is covered by a bland, golden mask.

"Say... don't you guys get tired of being masked up all the time?"

"It is what it is. Can't do much about it."

"That's kinda sad, man. Mom wants us to go into the Emperor's Coven but, if you ask me, covering up our handsome faces should be a crime."

That earns him a little snort. Well. Isn't that interesting? Edric is pretty sure his dad doesn't need the oil right away-

There's a crash and a bang and suddenly the plaza erupts into chaos, screams everywhere. The Golden Guard hurries into the scene while Edric flinches away, startled.

He sees the source of the problem pretty quickly. A wild witch and some of the rebels from the bard coven. They are clearly disorganized in their escape; it seems like the capture of their leader and fellow rebels a few weeks ago had done a number on them.

And usually - usually - Edric would choose to stay on the sidelines. He would pick the safe option, because he had never had a good reason for endangering himself like that. That wasn't the case anymore, not since Eda's almost petrification and the things Luz had told them.

At the end of the day, Edric would always prefer to side with chaos. Way more fun than whatever Mom had planned for them, anyway. The Bad Girl Coven didn't sound too bad, either.

He tries to take notice of all the guards currently swarming the area. Twenty, at the very least. Man, the rebels knew how to put on a show but not how to make an escape.

Thankfully, Edric was a bit of a showman himself-

"Woah there, buddies. Wrong choice."

The Golden Guard appears high in the air on his staff, shoulders thrown back, cape billowing behind him. Isn’t he a sight to behold?

Edric grins. Witty and cocky? What a combination.

The Golden Guard’s attention is solely on the wild witch and the rebels, who meet his magic head-on. The battle begins in earnest.

The other witches hang back, curious, used to this kind of thing.

Edric hides his hand in his pocket, beginning to cast a spell as discreetly as he can. Years and years of carefully planned and expertly executed pranks, plus a bit of his own natural talent, make this child play.

He hides his tracks well, as he usually does with all his pranks. He gets creative: elemental magic for the guards plus an illusion to hide the rebels. The fighting stops, chaos giving way to confusion that the rebels take advantage of to slip by the entrance and out of sight, the illusions of them still on the plaza.

Oh Edric, sometimes your genius… It's almost frightening.

The guards are struggling to take off their masks, alarmed by the sudden rise of temperature around them. They manage to take them off with a grateful breath, fanning themselves, trying to apprehend the illusions in a disorganized fashion.

Now, for the grand finale…

He had chosen the temperature spell more out of curiosity than to create a distraction. A win-win, shall we say. His eyes search the sky, his grin dropping in surprise at the appearance of the Golden Guard. Oh Titan. Oh, dear Titan.

There he sits, like a divine sight, mask held by one hand, gorgeous magenta eyes narrowed at the scene below, ragged breathing. Edric wants to go there and contemplate him for hours.

I’m gay. I’m so fucking gay. Titan. Oh, Titan, bless you for this wonderful sight.

His lack of concentration makes the illusion and temperature spell drop, but it doesn’t really matter by now. The rebels and the wild witch already made their escape. The Golden Guard yells out a few orders and without the mask muffling his voice, Edric is enraptured. His voice is lovely. It sinks on his heart and makes a little nest there, forever his. He would be replaying the sound in his mind for hours.

How would it be, if he laughed?

“You are gorgeous,” he says, almost breathlessly, when the Golden Guard descends. He gives him a dry look, his magenta eyes wary and tired. This close, it’s impossible to notice the bags under his eyes.

“Save it, Blight. Go bother someone else.”

“I mean it.”

There’s the tiniest pause before he puts his mask on again. “I am a busy man, Blight. Goodbye.”

Damn, witty, cocky and hard to get a hold of. This man is like smoke, intoxicating. There’s something else about him - something deeper than what Luz and Amity had seen - that makes Edric question everything.

Enemy? The Golden Guard is their enemy?

“I’m whipped. Not even a minute, and he has me whipped. That’s not something just anyone could do.”

He was going to get to the bottom of this. He had to. He had to know what was behind this bad but sad boy.

But first-

Edric makes a beeline for his house.

“Amity, why didn’t you tell me the Golden Guard is hot? What, was I just supposed to find out by myself?”

“...What? Wait, what do you mean? Edric, what did you do?!”

[kueble]

Bad Reputation part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Jaskier/Eskel, ~5.8k for the whole fic, rated T, no warnings

Written for @thewitcherbog fic train event together with @wolf-and-bard, @professorjaskier, and @softdarlingjaskier so keep an eye out for all 4 parts!

“You went through all this trouble,” Eskel says as he gestures to the fancy outfit in front of him.  “I suppose if it means that much to you, then of course I will.  Just...I may not actually impress anyone.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Jaskier chirps, clapping his hands at him.  “I have been composing songs and poetry for years about my witcher friends, yet no one on the board has ever met one.  Even if you manage to do nothing more than stand next to me and exist, they’ll be charmed.”

“Not too sure about that,” Eskel mumbles, feeling quite inadequate all of a sudden.  He hopes Jaskier doesn’t expect too much of him, because he isn’t one for dramatic stories or taking center stage.  Hell, he barely says a word unless he’s surrounded by friends, more than content to hide away in the corner of whatever backwater tavern he’s visiting.  A fancy dinner with important professors and influential donors is not something he’s prepared for.

“Oh, you’ll be lovely.  I think the world of you, Eskel, and I know you won’t let me down.  I’ll leave you alone so you can freshen up and get dressed, but do let me know if you need any help with the outfit, alright?  I know it is a bit more than you’re used to,” Jaskier grins at him, and Eskel remembers why he’s here.

He grumbles to himself as the bard steps out of the room, leaving him and the new clothing alone.  Geralt likes to mock his fondness for him, but how can one not be overly fond when Jaskier can light up a room with a wink or a smile?  Weaker men than him have surely fallen for Jaskier.  Eskel isn’t sure how anyone can look at the man’s honest eyes or the graceful curve of his grin and not fall completely head over heels for him.

And so here he is, fighting to freshen up with nothing but a basin of cold water and a cloth that is softer than anything that’s touched his skin in years.  Eskel frowns down at the water before running the cool cloth over his face again.  He might not have much to offer, but he can at least put on the damn outfit and do his best to not fuck up the entire dinner.  He’s faced down more beasts than he can count, and one room full of stuffy academics shouldn’t put him this much on edge.

Once he’s cleaned up a bit, Eskel eyes the dress-from warily.  He has no idea how Jaskier got his measurements, but based on all the fashionable outfits he puts together, he must know his way around things.  Sighing, Eskel strips the mannequin and starts dressing himself.  The pants fit like a glove, and he has to wander over to the mirror in the corner and see how they look.  He knows that he has a burly build, but the pants make him seem less threatening somehow?  They are form-fitting and cut perfectly to his body.

Once he realizes the pants aren’t horrible, he pulls the shirt over his head, shivering at how soft and delicate it seems.  He doesn’t think he’s ever had a shirt that feels this gentle against his skin.  The doublet looks more unassuming once he has it on.  The deep burgundy suits him, and the gold highlights are pleasant and not overwhelming.  Clearly Jaskier had the clothing catered to his tastes, and he smiles softly as he tugs at the edge of his sleeve.

Jaskier knew he would feel out of place in anything gaudier than this, and he worked it so that Eskel is comfortable without sticking out too much.   In hindsight, his armor would look very out of place at a high-class dinner.  There’s nothing to do for his hair, so he just runs his fingers through it and hopes for the best.  With one last look in the mirror, he decides that it’s time to face his task for the night.

“Oh!” Jaskier chirps when he walks out of the guest room, “You look absolutely stunning!  I see Frederick worked his magic for me once again.   Everyone will be charmed by you, I’m sure.”

Eskel wants to say something, he really does, but his tongue is stuck in his mouth, thick and useless.  Jaskier looks utterly divine.  The doublet is a deep blue, almost navy, and it makes his eyes pop even brighter than they normally do.  The sleeves are trimmed with butter yellow ribbon, criss-crossing to tie at the cuffs.  His chemise is a soft off-white with embroidered yellow flowers - buttercups Eskel thinks - along the collar.  It’s buttoned up more than Jaskier normally does, but there is still a hint of chest hair peeking out at the base of his neck.

Eskel spots what else is laying against his neck and gasps before he can stop himself from reacting.

“Is that?” Eskel asks, amazed that Jaskier kept such a small thing, much less put it to use.

“The piece of sea glass you brought me back from the rocky shores of Skellige?” Jaskier asks coyly, smiling brightly at him.  “It is.  I have a friend who makes jewelry and I had her craft the necklace for me.   Does it suit me?”

“Everything suits you,” Eskel mumbles before he can help it.  He can feel his cheeks flushing and rushes to save face, “I mean, you have a certain look about you.  Nice things suit you.   The...the necklace is very nice.  Lovely even.  You look good tonight.”

Sometimes he hates how words trouble him so much.  He can appreciate poetry, will spend hours pouring over whatever books he finds along the path, but he can never make the flowery words fit what comes out when he speaks.   The truth is, Jaskier looks gorgeous, almost ethereal standing in front of him, and it’s all too much.

He offers a grin in place of words, hoping Jaskier can see what he’s feeling.  The bard smiles back and brings his fingers up to the necklace laying against his collar.  It’s a simple thing, but somehow beautiful.  Eskel remembers finding the chuck of cobalt blue sea glass hidden between the stones on a beach in Skellige.  The blue stood out from the gray landscape, and he’d quickly wiped the siren blood from his hands and bent down to retrieve it.  The bit of glass had shone brightly in the sun, but it looks even better hanging around Jaskier’s neck.  There are thin bands of silver wrapped around the edges to hold it together and a dainty silver chain to pull the whole piece together.

Sometimes Eskel thinks he knows where he stands with Jaskier, but there are times like tonight that set him back to wondering.  It can’t be good for him to hang so many hopes on small interactions like this, but he’d accepted the fact that he’s completely gone for the man ages ago.  Eskel has never been like this with anyone else, has never gone out of his way to find little trinkets and gifts that reminded him of someone.  But he can’t help thinking of Jaskier’s warm smile or his honeyed voice while he is walking the path alone.

There have been times when these thoughts were the only thing that kept him going;  moments where he’d been covered in blood - more his own than not - and he well and truly thought that was where his tale would end.  But the image of Jaskier and his lovely face would hit him hard, and he would find the strength to pull himself together and finish a fight or drag himself to civilization.  It’s dangerous to let someone have such an influence on himself, but Eskel stopped caring years ago.

Jaskier is such a gorgeous soul, and witchers don’t get to have nice things like him.  So Eskel pushes his feelings down and does his best to make due with the strange friendship they’ve carved out for themselves.  He’s more than happy to continue to share wine and food and song with the man, just so long as he gets to spend time with him.

“You flatter me,” Jaskier says softly, just a hint of pink on the apples of his cheeks.  It’s a good look on him, and Eskel wonders how deep the blush would go, given the right circumstances.  But that’s not in the cards for them, so he just shakes those thoughts out of his head and does his best to ignore the way his heart aches.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Eskel replies, chuckling as Jaskier swats at his arm.  “But never mind that.  Did I put myself together alright?  Wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation.”

“I believe it’s safe in your hands,” Jaskier answers quickly, reaching out to brush his shoulders and flatten out the collar of the doublet.  “You look positively radiant, even though your normal attire suits you just as well.  Thank you for catering to me tonight.  I know you could have told me to fuck off, and I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“Not much I wouldn’t do for you,” Eskel says quickly, and Jaskier’s smile widens.

“Don’t tell me that, dear heart.  I’ll take advantage of you,” he whispers, and Eskel has to look away before he does something stupid.  It seems to break whatever moment they’re sharing, and Jaskier clears his throat before offering his arm.  “Anyway, shall we get going then?  We’re right on time to be fashionably late.”

Eskel hooks their arms together and lets Jaskier lead him out of the room.  Tonight is going to be a long fucking night.

[noctis-noctua]

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

    The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today? 

    “Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

    “Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

    “I was planning on coming by later this evening.  Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic. 

    “I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage. 

    Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside. 

    He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother. 

    It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you. 

    In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you. 

    The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you. 

     Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere. 

    “To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

    “Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside. 

    “Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy. 

    “We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

    The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago. 

    “Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to. 

    “Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay. 

    “Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber. 

    “Deal!” 

    “Deal.” 

    They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

    “So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

    “Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke. 

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

[sneakerdoodle]

"(Not) Alone", Chapter 2

Rated: K

Get some uhhhhhh friend times, winter outfits, background gays and existential crisis! Alternative summary:

"Miriam is like you're gonna' rummage through the contents of my heart? okay. what's in your drawers"

- @buttercup-bug <3 big thanks to them for their support and consultation too!!!!

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General warnings: states potentially resembling a panic attack; moderately graphic metaphors, including mentions of drowning; familial tension

- This time I see where I'm flying, at least, - Miriam mutters, seemingly to herself.

Kiwi, fiddling with the strap of the bag hanging behind them, thinks back to Miriam's first and latest visit to Chismest. The flight there is hard to remember through the blur of pain they were in, but they can vaguely recall their friend complaining about the smog through coughing fits, as well as the jerking movements of the broom as she would aggressively rub her watering eyes.

Now, the skies above Chismest are clear, and the frosted trees below are sparkling in the sunlight. It is quieter, too, without the incessant thud of machines that would vibrate through the atmosphere in a low vague hum.

- Still too hecking cold, - Miriam grumbles and clenches her fists harder around the broom to get the blood flowing.

Bard readily leans closer in, sharing whatever body heat they can. Their cheek smooshes against Miriam's back, and the next words come out slightly muffled.

- You must be glad we're packed! Want me to get your cape?

Miriam shakes her head emphatically.

- Nope, thanks, no bag-rummaging in the air.

Kiwi nods slowly, looking past their dangling feet, down below, to the town's edge.

Miriam brings the broom to a bit of a rushed stop, and it hovers in the air, gently swaying up and down. Bard straightens, pulling away.

- Well, we're here. Where to? - Miriam's head is turned as she examines Bard's face, questioningly and with a hint of suspicion.

- Down! - he chirps nonchalantly. Miriam rolls her eyes.

- Thanks. Great tip. It's too early to go to the Observatory, so down where?

Bard contemplates, sinking a bit into their shoulders, and watches the town below. It's changed, a lot. The streets are lighter, and the people are moving through them at a much more of a leisurely pace. There seems to be no shame about being out and about during daytime, no one is in a hurry to get from one place to another. From somewhere below, they can even hear what sounds like faint, soft music.

Bard smiles timidly, entertaining the thought of actually having a good time in their hometown.

- Let's go on a tour!

They land at the outskirts, and Miriam shivers instinctively as the snow crunches under her foot. Bard immediately dives into the bag Saphy has lovingly packed for the two and pulls out a warm woven cape and a wide magenta scarf, presenting them to Miriam with a shining smile. She takes them from their hands, begrudgingly, as if having a body capable of getting cold is something to be self-conscious about. As soon as the cape rests on her shoulders, however, her expression softens into one of comfort and quiet content.

Bard follows her example and wraps a similar long shawl around their own shoulders. It's soothing, both with its warmth and weight, and they close their eyes for a second, sitting with the calm. A long hand-knitted striped scarf follows, and Kiwi feels the most equipped for the cold they can possibly be.

The bag is still heavy on their shoulder. They reach in and pull out a warm and pointy winter hat – and can almost hear Miriam's defenses coming right up. She looks at them with a determined frown, fight-ready.

- No.

- Aw, come on, Miriam! - they try not to smile too widely. - You should stay warm!!

Miriam stares at them in ferocious defiance, unblinking, for a good ten seconds. With a groan, she finally caves in, snatches the hat out of their hands and puts it on. Her face goes red with embarrassment, and she promptly looks away and pulls the scarf over her mouth.

Pulled on in a hurry, the hat sits on Miriam's head slightly sideways, with ruffled hair sticking out from under it and getting in the girl's face. She puts one messy lock away in a jerky motion, tucking it under an ear flap before crossing her arms and looking down at her feet. Bard watches in unconcealed endeared amusement.

- How come you don't get one, - Miriam blurts out, in a tone that implies that she does not expect much of an answer. With an annoyed sigh, she grabs Bard by the sleeve and heads towards the town.

- Not a word to Saphy.

Walking through the streets of Chismest is... strange, almost overwhelming. The town is unexpectedly loud, with the voices of its residents bouncing from one corner to another, sounding from the windows that used to barely ever open. The distant sounds of music Bard heard from up on the broom are closer now, creating an uncharacteristically melodic ambiance. And the weirdest of all, there is so much variety.

Beth's diner is inviting people in to try Katya's new pastry recipe. The Gift House is no more, replaced by a general store. Tanya stands in front of it, fixing a sign that reads: “Next island fruit shipment: TUESDAY, 12 PM”. She notices the two guests and waves at them before going back inside.

Johann is standing in front of the ex-factory building, frowning at the timetable of various workshops, community meetings and the Astronomy Board sessions, apparently figuring out a scheduling issue with Elmer: the lesson on identifying local plants seems to be encroaching onto the public presentation of his newest potential enterprise.

Miriam lingers under the very lantern she would spend her time by back when she and Bard visited Chismest together for the first time. She looks at the large building that used to house the endless deafening machines. It is still slightly shocking in how it looms over the rest of Chismest.

- ...Weird, - Miriam says after a while. Bard hums noncommittally. Miriam looks at them, impatient for a more engaged response. - Very weird, right? I'd only been there for a week, and it still freaks me out to be around this... thing. How are they all just, getting on with it???

Bard is quiet for a moment, unsure whether anything they have to say is worth voicing, but Miriam's gaze is insistent, so they give it a try.

- They're taking it back?.. I think... it's always been their town, and now they can sort of... take it back for themselves?

Put into words, the thought surprises them. They reflect on it for a moment. Is that the reason they still aren't keen on coming back, even after hearing all about the wonderful transformations Chismest has gone through? Maybe it's never been their town, they way it has been for all its other victims, all these other people that were hurt by it but never left. Has it.. always been a question of belonging? Not one of finding a better life?..

She is pulled back out of her thoughts by Miriam's skeptical hum. The girl shifts her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably a couple of times before asking, unsure:

- Do you... wanna go in?..

Kiwi hurriedly shakes her head, and Miriam lets out a sigh of relief.

- Yeah. Me neither.

They continue on their way, approaching the Clocktower Pub, which appears to be the source of music tinting the town views a subtle but cheerful color. In front of the pub, a group of people is gathered in front of a samovar in a seemingly passionate discussion. Among them, Bard recognizes Elara. Like everyone else around her, she is holding a steaming mug.

Boris splashes some of his tea as he swings his arm to make a point.

- Zere is enough coal, no? Nothing iz broken, so why fix?

Elara wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, still calm, but more ardent than Bard remembers her. Before she gets to make her defense, Miles chimes in with a tired groan.

- Yeah, well, the Lights are right there every year, so why the hell not.

- But ze expenses...

- Why not think of it as an investment... - Elara starts, before noticing the two visitors approaching the group. She blinks in surprise behind her glasses. - Oh! You're here already.

Kiwi smiles awkwardly while Miriam waves her hand, then demonstratively hugs her shoulders. The next moment, a mug of tea lands in her palms, expeditiously passed from hands to hands from where the samovar is sitting on a large wooden table. Miriam looks down at it in surprise, startled into her special sort of quietness, processing the simple and natural act of kindness.

- We arrived early! - Bard replies, smiling gratefully at Miles who hands them another mug. - Just walking around for now!

Elara nods slowly.

- This place has changed a lot, hasn't it?

Bard pulls their lips into a smile. For a moment their gaze lingers on Elara, thoughtful. It's so different, seeing her as a part of the community, freely sharing her practical solutions, engaging openly rather than conducting interventions from the margins. She fits right in.

- Well, Winston will be waiting for you in the evening. I hope to stop by as well.

She turns to Miriam, who's been quietly sipping her tea and looking at the group from over her mug.

- You're going to need to have a night's rest before heading back, aren't you? You are welcome to stay at the Observatory, if you would like.

Miriam chokes on the tea and coughs, her cheeks growing pink.

- Oh, - she croaks out, - no, I'm good. Uh. Thanks.

Elara nods.

- Well, let us know. Now, if you excuse me...

She turns back to the group, where Miles' eye rolls are starting to get dangerously expressive.

Miram finishes her tea in a bit of a hurry, circles around the gathering to place the mug on the table and slips away, seeming slightly overwhelmed by the hospitable treatment. Bard follows, waving goodbye to Elara and the rest.

They catch up to Miriam and look around absentmindedly, eyes gliding over the fronts of multi-storey buildings. Ahead, they catch a smudge of orange and red – and slow down. Miriam slows her pace, too, and follows his eyes to where flowers growing in front of the window of his childhood home are nodding their colorful heads to the faint music.

Miriam stops with a quiet sigh.

- Are you sure about it all? - she asks, with the emphasis that is only natural, considering she has already had to ask this question at least thrice.

Bard tears their eyes away from the flowers and turns to her. They take a few seconds, then nod.

- Yeah 🎶, - they sing, low and quiet, and fidget with their hands for a second before continuing: - Just... for a bit there, can you...

- ...Yeah. - Miriam rocks back on her heels for a moment, gearing herself up, then steps towards Kiwi and takes them by the hand. Her expression is nervous and awkward, but she musters a small reassuring squeeze. Bard feels slightly less alone. - Come on.

Bard's hand sits firmly in Miriam's as they sigh before knocking on the door; Miriam does not let go once they are already inside, either, waved in by Kiwi's Mom.

- Sit down, now! - Mom coos in her customary enthusiasm. - I will brew you some tea. Are you and your friend hungry, muffin? - before Kiwi can mumble anything vague in response, she continues: - I have the lunch all ready! Too bad your father is on one of his walks. - Mom shakes her head with that signature vocal laugh. - What a restless man he is!

Bard's sigh of relief is so resounding that for a moment, they are scared Mom will notice. Luckily, she seems too busy rummaging through the cabinets. They look at Miriam, reassured, and loosen their fingers. Miriam's hold persists, however. She gives them a serious, meaningful look, an “I'm here, okay? So don't be stupid” that she can't quite express with her words. Only then, she lets go, but does not break eye contact. Bard's gaze drops down to their feet as they take a second to internalize the sentiment. When they look back up, their smile is timid and grateful.

- Are you hungry? - they ask in a dramatic whisper. Miriam shrugs, then shakes her head. - Thanks, - Kiwi says to Mom, voice slightly strained, - I think we'll just... hang around!

- Nonsense! - she titters in response, turning around with a tray already holding a tea set. - At least have some tea with your old momma!

Bard gives Miriam an apologetic look. She seems downright agonized at the thought of forcing more hot beverages down her throat so soon.

The tea break is the appropriate amount of awkward. Mom asks Miriam about the life in Delphi and the everyday routines of an average witch household, and Miriam grumbles her replies while doing her best drinking impression. The ruse is up once Mom goes to pour everyone another round and discovers Miriam's cup about as full as it was at the start. After having a proper laugh about “that curious friend of yours, muffin”, she finally dismisses the two of them, saying it is time for her to take care of some chores.

Bard plops down on their bed and sighs. They look at Miriam with a sorry little smile. She is standing in the door, looking around the room with a perplexed expression.

- I've never been here before, - she notes, mistrustfully, somehow.

- Oh! I guess you haven't! - Bard looks around the bare walls and minimal furniture. It's not much.

Miriam seems to arrive at the same conclusion.

- Doesn't seem like you, - she says, poking a bouquet of dried flowers.

- There used to be more, - Kiwi mumbles absentmindedly, resting their chin on their hand. - Miriam!! - they gasp with a jump as their friend throws one of the drawers of the bedside table open. Miram stumbles backwards, startled.

- Yeesh, sorry. I thought you weren't one for personal boundaries??

Bard sits with this fair observation for a moment, processing their own hypocrisy.

- W... well--

- I'm not pushing or anything, - Miriam grumbles, - just... surprised you're familiar with the concept.

Bard shrugs and hums an awkward inconclusive sound. They look over to the open drawer and shuffle closer to it to see what is inside. Miriam pointedly looks at the wall in a demonstration of her respect for Kiwi's personal space.

At the bottom of the drawer, there is a handful of crayons and an old notebook. They pick it up and leaf through it, an array of colorful drawings flickering in a quick succession. All the bright fantasies of their childhood are momentarily revived before them. A small smile tugs at the corners of Bard's mouth.

They linger on one page and giggle, then open the notebook wide and hold it in front of them, demonstrating. Miriam looks over and arches her brow.

- What am I looking at exactly?

- Me!, - Bard helpfully supplies. - As a witch 🎶.

And that is exactly what the drawing depicts. A younger version of them, with a different hairstyle, in a pose resembling an overexcited starfish, clad in dramatic dark robes and a pointy hat with a big glowing star on it.

Miriam stares for a good few seconds.

-....why.

- Because witches are cool!! - Kiwi exclaims, without a shred of sarcasm. The skeptic look on Miriam's face deepens. She squints at the drawing.

- Is... - she snorts, - ...is your hair pink?

Bard cracks up again, and Miriam shortly follows, the two dissolving into a duet of giggles.

Kiwi pats the space next to them, and his friend joins, looking over his shoulder at the series of doodles detailing Witch-Bard's magical adventures.

Hours pass effortlessly, in joint reminiscing, daydreaming and doodling.

***

- ...and once you're all set and sure of where it's pointing relatively to, uh, the Anchor, you use the finder to, well, find things!

Winston pauses his slightly nervous chirping and looks at his audience comprised of Miriam, struck into overwhelmed silence, and Bard, who is otherwise occupied.

- Did... did you get any of that? - Winston inquires with the same frantic smile.

Noticing the break in the background noise of thorough astronomical instructions, Bard finally looks up from giving Berry all of the most loving pets in the world – to see Miriam looking at them in quiet despair. Reading the look of blissful unawareness on her friend's face, she sighs.

- Can't you, like... write it all down or something??

Winston nods hurriedly, already on his way to the desk. From the looks of it, he has pretty much moved into the observatory full time, and happily. Bard watches him stick his hands into the pockets of the labcoat and make it flap against his legs, for about the tenth time in the past hour. They wonder why an astronomer would need a labcoat. Do they have to get one too?

Miriam walks over to Kiwi and watches glumly as they scratch Berry behind her ear.

- Aren't you excited? - Bard asks, noting the moody energy. Miriam hums in uncertainty.

- Just... - she gives another annoyed sigh and kicks the floor with the pointy toe of her boot. - Nothing. - She crosses her arms and averts her eyes, then finally shares in a low, muffled voice: - ...hate feeling stupid.

Bard looks up, blinking in surprise.

- You're not!! You know so many awesome things, Miriam!

She stands there silently for a few seconds, before crouching next to them. Bard readily scooches over.

Miriam slowly, nervously extends her hand towards Berry. Their four-legged friend sniffs the tips of Miriam's fingers before lovingly sticking her nose into the girl's palm and wagging her tail. Miriam exhales in relief and gives Berry a few slow, focused pets.

- Thanks. - There is another pause as she struggles with the words for a bit. - We're... gonna try together, yeah?

Bard flashes an enthusiastic smile.

- Yeah! 🎶

- ...Okay, - Miriam does not look away from the dog, who is leaning into the touch with half-lidded eyes. - Then… don't make me figure it all out on my own, - she continues in a more casual grumble. - Don't hang around here for too long.

Bard nods slowly, turning away from Miriam, back to where Berry has dissolved into a euphoric puddle.

- I... won't.

Winston returns with a small stack of papers scribbled over with a frantic hand and awkwardly shoves them in Miriam's vague direction. She just barely manages to get back up on her feet and not lose balance as the paper tumbles into her arms. Winston hurriedly withdraws, slapping his arms along his body, and laughs nervously as Miriam disgruntledly tries to keep the pages from raining all over the floor.

- Uhm, - Winston fiddles with his hands and avoids Bard's eyes when she looks up, questioning. - Is it... just you?.. I mean, joining the project...

- There are many!! - Kiwi rests their chin in their hand, thinking back to Delphi and recounting everyone who seemed excited about the arrival of the telescope. - Ryan and Mitzi, so Dani as well, Lena, Fredrick, Whit...

- Shockingly, - Miriam mutters from where she is still fussing with the instructions, trying to fit them into the overpacked bag. Bard shoots her a scandalized look, a trained non-verbal substitute for “Miriam, be nice!!”.

Winston marks each mentioned name with a nod, a wide thin-lipped smile on his face.

- I... don't know who any of these people are, - he concludes, finally, before turning away and marching back over to his desk. There seems to be a glimmer of genuine joy in his embarrassment, however. Bard thinks back to Elara's letter, inviting them to become a part of the mapping initiative.

“I would be proud to take credit for the project, were it actually mine. Winston is, undoubtedly, the heart of the operation. I told him his conception of it was outstanding - he seemed equally hopeful and horrified. I think he'd take great pleasure in that: making this sort of connection with so many new people. Finding... cohorts, if you will”.

Once the last final glare of sunshine dissipates completely, Winston invites his guests over to the observation deck, the telescope in tow. Kiwi and Miriam fumble with the stand under his fretful watch, but manage to fix the apparatus in place without breaking anything. Winston points out the Anchor star, once again, and fixes the telescope on it.

- Try the finder first, then--

- Yeah, yeah, - Miriam hurries to interrupt, and Bard catches the familiar notes of embarrassment in her voice. They gently bump their shoulder against hers in silent support. Miriam draws a steadying breath. - ...I think we got it. Uh, thanks.

She looks over at Bard, quietly tilting her head towards the telescope in invitation. They light up and step towards it, holding their breath. The most beautiful colors bloom in their mind, inspired by all the magical stellar landscapes pictured on the walls of the observatory. What will be the first shade of the whole rest of the Universe that they will see?

Bard puts their eye straight to the eyepiece (Winston whimpers somewhere out of view, forcibly choking the word ''finder'' back). They squint, trying to make anything out in the blur.

- Well?? - Miriam asks, antsy.

- Iiiii don't see anything! - Bard replies, hoping their disappointment is not too apparent in how hollow their usual casual tone comes out.

From the sounds of it, Winston is on the verge of unraveling as he is trying desperately to let the two figure things out on their own.

Miriam groans.

- Stupid overcomplicated glass tubes... Let me... - she steps towards the telescope cautiously, like it is a wild animal, and stares at it for a while. Then reaches for one of the lenses lined up at the end and moves it out of the way with an unsteady hand, looking deeply unsure and skeptical.

- Try now?..

Bard puts their eye back to the glass, trying really hard to not get their hopes up.

- Miriam, - they utter under their breath, - come look.

Through the lens of the telescope, they are seeing another world. It is distant, silent, seemingly unmoving. And yet, in the swirling pattern of stardust, they sense a spiraling dance, sweeping their soul away with it.

Pure, awe-struck exhilaration rises in their chest, all but bringing them to tears in a sudden crescendo – when suddenly, they feel their heart drop, endlessly, like it is hurtling through the dark suffocation of space surrounding the twirling stars.

The arms of the spiral galaxy, its overpowering gravity, remind them of the dark pull of the black hole at the end of time. And no matter how hard they try not to think about it, they know exactly what lies on the other side.

Bard all but jumps away from the telescope and stumbles backwards, instinctively throwing their hands up in front of them in a protective gesture. The familiar despair laps at her heart, and suddenly she feels so hopeless she could cry.

- Kiwi??

Bard blinks a couple of times and turns to Miriam, who is giving them the most concerned look they have ever gotten from her. Winston is hovering behind her, not even trying to conceal his panic.

Miriam steps towards them gingerly.

- Are you okay??

Kiwi draws a breath and tries to straighten himself up.

- I, uh... - they look at their feet, struggling to find any words that would sound at all plausible. But this time, they can hardly even convince themself to brush the overwhelming feeling off as unimportant, as their trained impulse commands.

Miriam takes another step and reaches for them, then freezes. She throws a quick self-conscious glance at Winston, one breath away from shriveling up. Winston seems to take it as a hint.

- Umm, I'll!!.. - he fumbles with his hands for a second before sharply turning around and marching over to the exit without another word, to descend back into the observatory.

Miriam remains frozen in place, stubbornly inspecting the patch of grate floor beneath her feet, until Winston's steps fade away; then throws her head up, looking at Kiwi with a concerned frown.

- What was that??

Bard looks down at the floor, uncertain, as if the needed words were scattered all around it in a chaotic pattern.

Miriam opens her mouth, seemingly preparing to speak again, but no words follow. She stops trying to catch Kiwi's eyes and lowers her own, crossing her arms.

Bard looks up to see her face overshadowed by a disheartened, lonely, distant expression, and feels a tug at their heart. Perhaps... Perhaps it's worth trying to talk about.

They lower themself to the floor, back leaning against the dome, and sigh shakily.

- Do you... do you ever get... scared?..

Miriam looks up, still lost, but apprehensively open.

- Like... in general?

Kiwi looks at their hands resting on top of the knees for a moment, trying to figure out what they are attempting to share.

- Of... the world, I think. Or... the universe... - they cross their arms and hold their shoulders. - How it's... really big.

Miriam's posture loosens and softens. She sits down next to Kiwi, hugging her knees, and looks at them expectantly.

Bard goes on.

- It's alright if there are a lot of people, - they're not sure this makes sense, but it's hard to talk about as it is, so they just let themself continue, - 'cause then together, you are something big enough? But if it's just you..., - they feel their mouth go dry and their body tense up with adrenaline, the vivid, unraveling sensations of the recent nights creeping up from the back of their mind. They swallow, hard, and grip their shoulders.

Miriam is silent for a good while.

- ...It's not, though, is it? Just you?..

Kiwi looks over to see her staring in front of herself with a concentrated, contemplative frown. Her words are coming out labored and strained, like she is unhappy with having to actually say them out loud.

Miriam's head sinks into her shoulders, just slightly, and her fists clench, before she speaks again, sounding almost fearful to assume:

- We're figuring it out together?..

Bard feels a crack at their heart, stinging and painful, breaking them away from the deep cold despair that's been filling it with steady certainty. They never meant to imply that Miriam's friendship is anything other than cherished, and comforting in every possible way.

- We are! - their smile comes out pensive, but somehow rejuvenating still, just like the fresh crack in their chest. He leans against Miriam's shoulder. - It's just.. - they take a second, trying to nail down the core of the overwhelming feeling that's been haunting them for the last couple of weeks, - what if we weren't?..

It's surprisingly hard to articulate what exactly is making Kiwi freeze with terror every night. This weird incessant pull, somewhere out of life, as if some part of them is trailing behind, threatening to bring them down with it, to drown them. Like some immeasurable weight their limbs are getting too numb to carry, slowing them down, making their legs give off, while everything else effortlessly speeds forward. They cannot find any context or explanation for it – not one they are ready to face, anyway. All they have is this overwhelming, overpowering, incomprehensible fear. What if they get left behind?

Miriam sits with the idea, silently. Her expression is difficult to read, but for a moment, Kiwi seems to catch a glisten in her eyes, and feels immeasurably guilty. They don't get to express their concern, though, before Miriam speaks up again.

- I... do get scared, - she takes a deeper breath, - of... being alone. Again. But I'm not. - The last words come out almost stubborn, like Miriam is arguing with a naysayer. - Things are changing, right?.. It... doesn't have to be the same.

Kiwi holds that thought: “Doesn't have to be the same”. They try to take comfort in it. A distant, neglected part of their heart aches and squirms at it, like a disturbed wound.

Doesn't matter. This can change. Everything else is.

The two sit in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, each rocked by their own waves of chilling thoughts. But – Bard has to remind themself – not alone. They are not alone.

- The stars are really cool, - they say quietly, with a small, meek smile. Miriam looks at them, glum and questioning. - You should try the telescope!

- ...Nah, - their friend replies after a moment of contemplation. - Whatever. - She rocks back and forth a couple of times in uncertainty before carefully suggesting: - ...Wanna go back inside?

Bard nods slowly.

- Maybe... in a moment?

Miriam wordlessly settles back in. Kiwi closes their eyes and leans heavier into the touch, focusing fully on the warmth of their friend's arm against their own, holding onto that feeling with everything they have.

They bring the telescope inside with them, already dismantled, and pack it into layers upon layers of protective wrapping with Winston's help. It is then hoisted up on Miriam's broom as she floats a couple of feet above ground, testing out if it would be possible to carry the instrument on her own.

Miriam slowly lowers the telescope to the ground and hops off.

- Should be fine?? - she says nervously, which does not at all reassure the sweaty and frantic novice astronomer. Winston gives her a shaky smile, nonetheless.

- Great! - he croaks out and rushes to change the subject. - Um!! If you're not in a hurry, Peter is coming over soon?? I thought it... might be good... - he trails off, looking at his guests in a silent plea to interpret the rest of the sentence on their own.

Bard and Miriam exchange glances. Bard certainly is not itching to go back to their Mom's... parents', home, and his friend does not seem to, either. Kiwi looks back at Winston and nods excitedly.

- Sounds great!! 🎶

Peter shows up about half an hour later, bringing his balalaika and, quite unexpectedly, a fruit basket. As Kiwi tries to process the dissonance between his ever-melancholic demeanor and the colorful bow on the basket's handle, Peter seems to be processing the presence of anyone but Winston at their meeting place. It doesn't take him too long, though. He silently hands Winston the gift, then turns to greet the two ex-co-saboteurs.

He shares a mutually awkward but overall amicable handshake with Miriam, then moves on to Bard and startles them once again, by putting a hand on their shoulder and sighing meaningfully.

- It is good to not be the only person of musical nature around here, - he shares. - I'm sure you are familiar with the longing.

- Sure! - Kiwi chirps out with a smile, not even trying to parse this.

The four of them settle down at the center of the large domed room, right on the floor, and Berry excitedly joins them, curling up between Winston and Miriam. The group passes the fruit basket around and shares the news from the last couple of months.

- Chismest is a changed place, - Peter shares solemnly while pulling apart a peeled orange. - People are no longer weighed down by the chains of numbing, thankless labour. We are finding joy in communal connection and personal power, once again. The need for manufacturable happiness substitutes is no more.

- Cool! - Bard looks at the small fuzzy kiwi fruit in their palms and considers the implications of eating it. - Langtree is sort of haunted now!

Winston produces a vague high-pitched sound in reaction to that, like a choking questioning laugh.

- Well, there were ghosts there before, - Bard readily elaborates, - because they were worried about their families before the... – a cold wave of terror washes over their heart, once again, at the thought of the end of their old universe, and they gulp, as subtly as they can, -...the world almost ending. And they did return to the Spirit World, at the end, but we can contact them through the songs they've left behind! And some of them just visit on their own. Mary always follows Woody around, so I guess... it's Woody who is sort of haunted now?

The room is silent, for a bit. Miriam absentmindedly nods along to the familiar story while picking berries out of her hand, and Winston and Peter are processing the mound of new information. At last, Peter nods wistfully.

- The world is healing at large, - he pronounces, chewing on an orange slice. - People are finding more ways to forge unbreakable bonds with those they meet and those they've lost. It fills me with great hope. I had to express it in a song, - he throws a somber, mournful look around the room, - it is in B major.

Peter strikes the first chord on his balalaika and closes his eyes, swaying slowly back and forth. Kiwi feels the familiar fizzy excitement of a life performance bubble up in her chest – along with a slight prick of jealousy: he never did get around to learning any instrument.

Peter continues his playing, the sound climbing up and up, reaching for some beautiful, exhilarating future that now, for the first time in many long years, seems to be just around the corner. The energy is moving and contagious, the waving melody pushing Kiwi's heart closer and closer to this sensation of unbounded hopeful anticipation with every strike against the strings.

Peter starts harmonizing, his melancholic voice blending with the movement of the music in paradoxical, enchanting ways. Winston joins in, his voice high and nervous, but bustling with genuine restless joy. For a while, it is just the two of them, singing their hopes and prayers for what tomorrow brings. They share a glance and smile at each other, a brief, shy moment.

Miriam, who's been nodding off for a while, is swaying softly to the rise and fall of the symphony with her eyes closed, hugging her knees. Then, there is a soft, unexpected sound as she quietly joins the harmonies, her voice gentle and raspy, as if she is simply muttering in her sleep. There is a small, hesitating smile on her face, lurking behind the hair falling in front of it, but visible enough from where Kiwi is sitting.

Miriam opens her eyes, leaving them half-lidded; her voice grows slightly louder. She looks over at Bard – and stops, the now so familiar confused, vaguely concerned frown setting in.

The sudden interruption on her part draws the attention of the other two, and now the whole room is looking at where Bard is sitting, back straight, extremely tense and hyper-aware of not having sung a single note.

There is a moment of deafening, unnerving silence as Peter stops playing.

Kiwi feels short of air.

They must look really pathetic, because the next moment, the music picks up again, mercifully, although without the same sort of blissful absorption. Winston and Peter return to singing between the two of them, as if conjuring an invisible screen for Miriam and Bard to communicate on the other side of. Miriam continues looking at Kiwi, concern growing deeper, grumpier.

Bard casts their eyes down and takes a shaky breath.

There is shuffling next to them, and suddenly they feel Miriam's hand on their own. They meet her questioning look once again, but she promptly averts her eyes, already feeling awkward. Instead, she squeezes their palm harder, passing on a bit of a reassurance.

They sit in silence for a while, one hand holding another firmly, until the song passes the bridge and returns to the final repetition of the chorus. Bard looks up at Miriam, and she looks at them. They find silent agreement in each other's eyes, and just as the first note of the chorus is about to break, they draw a synchronized breath and join in.

Bard's voice is quiet and unsure, and so is Miriam's, and there is comfort in that. It feels like mutual acknowledgment of something Kiwi isn't quite ready to put into words. And it's different from the high-spirited call of the song, but it belongs. And with every note shared in a low-key, tentative voice between the two, Bard feels a bit more secure.

The melody draws the two of them in once again, gradually and insistently, and at the end of the chorus, their voices sound firmer, brighter, conceiving of the same reassuring promise. The final note rings in the air, and the company shares a moment of sweet, comfortable, inspired silence. Then, without a word, Peter strikes the strings again.

The second time around, all four of them sing from start to end. Kiwi gives Miriam a grateful, timid smile. They settle into a comfortable volume, audible but private enough. There is still a slight tremor to it, and from time to time, it tumbles down, missing the high upbeat note. But Bard tries to find relief in the comfortable unity the group is sharing, and the others seem willing to accommodate. Through all the self-consciousness and hesitation, and the deep underlying fear of what it means to struggle with something so natural, Bard tries to focus on the swelling of the music, and lets it carry them wherever it wishes.

The door to the Observatory opens in the middle of the song, letting in the cold night air and Elara, looking tired but distinctly happy. She lingers at the entrance, taking the sound in, then slips past the group into her room, as quietly as she can - but leaves the door just slightly ajar.

Here and now, everything is alright.

***

It's like being dragged on a hook wedged deep into your heart. Your tired, aching heart, endlessly bleeding out into the nothingness around you.

The world is twirling in a symphony of color and sound, somewhere else, somewhere ahead, somewhere that exists. Somewhere with space to soar through in its triumphant spiraling dance.

It is a state you can never reach again. You are expulsed, empty, broken. The world chose light and movement. It chose to leave you far behind. The weight of you was never significant enough to make it reconsider its trajectory.

You were never significant enough to stay around for.

It's a cruel joke, to still sense it, constantly, hurled through space and time you are left on the outside of. The proverbial hook sits firmly in your beating flesh. Every turn of the unfathomable planet indulging in its endless dance out of sight, out of any conception to your lost, isolated mind, is another tug on your pulsing wound. Each of them reminds you of the life that goes on without you.

The elusive, torturous link drags you along, like an endless drawing punishment. You resent it for leading you on. Why keep any illusion of connection when you have already been severed, irredeemably, tossed aside like a rotten part threatening the whole? Why tether you to the existence that is no longer yours, if not to take sick pleasure in giving you false hope, and watch you agonize over every movement of the vital dance far beyond?

Life is malicious. It did not simply choose to leave you behind. It decided to never let you forget.

You're not giving it the satisfaction of making you hope. It will have to learn that you were never foolish enough to believe, even for a moment, that you are not alone.

***

Kiwi wakes up with a start and bolts upwards, hand at their chest, gripping the fabric of their pajamas. They are short of breath. Again.

Desperately wading through the panic flooding their brain, they attempt a breath, waiting for the tightness in their chest to soften and recede, bit by bit, letting her steady her heartbeat. Once they can fill their lungs again, they breathe in, deep, and pull their knees up to their chest to hide their face in.

The panic fades, leaving them one on one with the dull, isolating desperation. It sits at the center of their being, patient, waiting for them to turn their attention to it. And Kiwi tries his very best not to, but it's there, time after time.

They look up to where Miriam is asleep on the opposite end of the couch, her knees tucked up to her torso. She looks grumpy, even now – perhaps because Bard had straightened their legs in their sleep, again, not leaving her with much space to get comfortable. Or it might be the blanket that has fallen to the floor, leaving her open to the chilly atmosphere of a Chismest night.

Kiwi slides off the couch, as lightly and quietly as she can, and walks over to the fuzzy woven quilt. They pick it up and hold it in their hands for a moment. It's about as old as them, and worn, and the hastily mended patches look glaringly out of place even in the heavily dispersed light. Bard covers Miriam, as slowly and gently as possible, and hopes the threadbare blanket is enough to keep her warm.

They shrivel and hug themself, staying still for a moment, in the dark and quiet. Or... partial quiet. From their, parents', room, they can hear the quiet cooing that immediately transports them to their childhood, and the many sleepless nights spent with Mom peacefully dozing behind the closed door. Tonight, she is joined by deep, mighty sighs and an occasional cough, uncannily close to jingling chimes. Kiwi isn't sure they will be able to fall asleep again, with the new addition disrupting the more familiar ambiance.

She looks over her shoulder, to the window, behind which the colorful flowers are gently bobbing their heads in the quiet wind. That is familiar, at least. A splotch of color in the dark northern night, as she stands alone, barefoot, cold, feeling inexplicably lonely.

Bard leans into the familiar sensation of rough floorboards under their soles as they quietly make their way to the window. He climbs up onto the chair pushed against it and gently presses his hand against the frame. It opens, letting a gust of crisp fresh air in. Bard takes a deep breath, hoping the night chill sobers them up, soothes them, yanks them out of this quicksand of weird, confusing feelings.

The night tastes so disorientingly different. Breathing is easier than it has ever been around these parts, with the once ever-present tint of soot gone and all but forgotten. The air is pure and sweet, and the flowers blooming in it are shining brighter than ever.

Bard looks at them with distant eyes, feeling herself sink deeper into the sand. Their defiant colors used to be a source of greatest comfort. The many nights spent at the window, leaning onto the ceiling and looking out, endlessly waiting, passed easier with the company of the resilient blooms, still joyful and bright in this cold, suffocating place. When the flowers responded to Kiwi's song with a play of color, a new nightly routine took root. Bard barely thought about the wait, anymore. It was about the shimmering petals, the glow in the dark night saturated with smog, and the promise of greener pastures somewhere far away. It was a promise of a different place, full of sun and nature and song, where the world would respond to the melody of their heart.

Chismest is that place, now. Its own brand of it, and definitely falling behind Langtree when it came to daytime hours, but renewed, and welcoming, and singing. A redeemed and reclaimed environment, no longer poisoning all life it gives home to. And the flowers at their Mother's windowsill seem to celebrate that with every fiber, unfolding proudly and happily to drink in the fresh clean air. The world has changed for the better, and they healed alongside it, naturally, as its inalienable part.

...Can Bard still do the same?

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Just a simple song. One sweet song to share with their long-term friends, to join in on the celebration.

Bard exhales a note, low and soft as to not wake Miriam up, feeling around for the melody they sang not so long ago: Peter's new piece. Just as earlier, they are stumbling over the notes, which feel clumsy and wrong in their chest, like a puzzle piece that is being forced into a misshapen hole. But perhaps, that is okay, Bard reassures themself. It doesn't have to be perfect. It has always been enough to just sing from their heart.

They open one eye, fearfully, their face scrunched up into an apprehensive cringe.

The color does not shift even a shade. Notes fall flat onto the petals, not one of them moved even in the slightest.

Bard lets the song die away once their breath is exhausted. They look at the flowers, endlessly lost, searching for any hint of an answer. What had to even happen to take something so natural away from them? What could they possibly have lost?..

Something scary crawls up to the forefront of his mind, replacing the vaguely panicked confusion with a feeling of cold doom. He could try singing differently. He could sound the notes that have been ringing in his ear the past weeks.

Kiwi breathes deep. Singing the song would mean... something. Something big. It almost feels like on the other side of it, they might stop recognizing themself. But... if this is the only one they have left--

Over on the couch, Miriam grumbles in her sleep and fusses under the blanket, disturbed by the cold night air. Kiwi hurriedly pushes the window shut. Their friend settles a few seconds later, burrowing deeper under the warm cover.

Bard sighs and throws one final dejected glance at the unresponsive flowers on the other side of the glass. They curl up in the chair and hold themself tight for the rest of the night.

[elliestormfound]

First Lines Meme

Thank you for tagging me in this @stinastar <3

List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Geralt was pacing in his room. - Words are hard sometimes

“Geralt, this is stupid, just bite me!” - Just bite me

Geralt could kick himself. - Roach knows best

Geralt was confused. - Too much

Sometimes it’s just like that. - Just the two of them

Ciri was standing in the great hall of the Kaer Trolde citadel, watching the feast Queen Cerys had invited her and the other wolf witchers to. - There is nothing more romantic than arm wrestling

“Jaskier...should I…do you want me to…” - Do you want me to…?

Geralt had just returned from a hunt and only grunted a greeting to Jaskier. - Don’t raise your voice at me

“You cannot expect me to wear this ridiculous outfit,” Geralt said, nodding at the colourful ensemble of clothes Jaskier had laid out for him. - Lovely Bottom

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled from where he was sitting on Roach, “where are you going?” - Barefoot

Jaskier was only half conscious when Geralt practically dragged him over the threshold of Kaer Morhen. - Cold winds and hot springs

“What are you watching?” Jaskier asked as he walked into the living room. - Perseverance

Geralt and Jaskier had boarded the Black Dragon - a ship from Novigrad to Skellige - a week ago. - Bowline

 “Geralt, stop!” Jaskier nearly shouted, “don’t be an ass and let me have a look at your shoulder.” - Injured witcher and feral bard

“Come out of the bath, the water must be cold by now,” Jaskier said, but Geralt just growled quietly and kept his eyes closed. - Come out of the bath

The day had barely begun when Geralt woke up surrounded by the faint glow of the sun about to rise in the east. - Lashes

When Geralt neared the clearing he saw Jaskier rummaging through their bags with his back to him. - Grieving

Jaskier plopped down on the bench next to Eskel. - Dance with me 

Jaskier had to hurry to bring the stack of books he just got from the library to his office before his next lecture.  - Glasses

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” Jaskier asked the dark haired witcher with a soft smile. - You don’t need to kiss me

One pattern, similar to Stina, a lot of them begin with the name of the protagonist :D 

What I try to do with the first sentence (or at least the first paragraph) - but not always succeed - is to make it interesting, to grab the attention of the reader. So I try not to start with something too boring and descriptive but with a bit of action, dialogue or something else that catches the eye. Or try to establish the main protagonist and the main conflict of the story

I think I kinda managed that with 20. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” Jaskier asked the dark haired witcher with a soft smile.

okay, I don’t tag Stina because you tagged me, but know you’re one of my favorite authors. I tag in no particular order: @westmoor @dani-dandelino @hailhailsatan @witcher-and-his-bard @dapandapod @jaskierswolf @moonysrz @thecomfortofoldstorries @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher