#instead of owning any too-magical books with which to bard from

[myriadsystem]

Some moments of a kinder story than the one our heroes got that have stuck in my brain

[chthonic-mommy]

Imagine a Good Ending for Karlach

Larian hire me right now.

also my English is weak but I’m trying so please be kind I can’t REMAIN SILENT ANYMORE. it was a 3am unfiltered stream of consciousness written in language which isn’t my native.

So, the final battle. Karlach overheats. I don’t care how are they going to get rid of anything else - that’s not the topic. Then Tav (maybe with Gale’s help) uses extreme ice spell on Karlach, a few seconds before the end. This won’t let her die - but won’t let her live either. Tav just couldn’t tolerate the thought of Karlach dying. The battle ends. Everything’s over. Everyone is alive. But there is Tav - with swollen eyes, feeling like her own heart’s gonna explode instead of Karlach’s engine. And then there is The Body. Tav holds her head close to her chest, crying, but Karlach’s cold now, too cold. Gale tries to go talk with her, but both Astarion and Lae’zel ask him not to. Tav is overwhelmed and incredibly protective over The Body. She is a short and weak bard, but she will not let anyone touch Karlach, she’ll protect her like a mother lioness protects her cub.

She’ll take The Body home with her. Cold, with an ice crust on that place where soft light was coming from.

A year passed. Tav stayed in Baldurs Gate. Karlach’s dream was to help tiefling children who lost their parents. Karlach told Tav “All children should have proper housing. I didn’t have any opportunities when I was a child myself. It didn’t turn out good.”

So Tav opened a home school. She wasn’t as good with children as Karlach was, but she originated from aristocratic family, so she, as a woman of great knowledge, became a teacher for tiefling kids. They were stubborn at first and didn’t attend classes, but by time they started to listen. They began to help Tav with the garden, so they could eat stuff they grew together afterwards. Mattis remembered what Karlach told him - it’s easier to avoid battle and come out as winner out of any situation if you have a way with words. Mol was the last to stop leading her illegal lifestyle, influenced by others.

Tav taught them proper writing, counting, helped them with better clothing. She couldn’t give them everything - money won’t last forever. But she tried - tiefling kids had breakfast and dinner, they had a place to sleep, they were learning something.

Tav was numb. She stopped crying - work and children who needed her, all of that made her tougher. She was weak physically before - Karlach was always there for her to help. She remained weak, but could hardly afford that weakness now.

Three years have passed. Tav searched. Karlach’s body remained the same. There was a way to melt her heart, but she’ll die right after, Tav needed a way to melt her engine without damage, and a way to make it work. Gale told her one day “You need to move on, Tav, those children need you.” Tav answered him “She wanted to live more than any of us did. I’ll rip my own heart out, if needed. Help me or leave me alone.” She and Gale stopped talking for a year. Than he returned to her with loads of books and an apology.

Astarion didn’t like the whole idea of home school at first, but he still was coming to Tav as frequent as he could. He taught kids personal boundaries, cuz Tav didn’t want to be touched, so Astarion taught children that before a hug you need to ask first. Astarion never left Tav’s side, he supported her in her dream to bring Karlach back. He missed his barbarian friend too.

Five years have passed. Lae’zel and Shadowheart came to Tav’s place and brought their hatched gith child with them. Lae’zel also brought githyanki medicine, Shadowheart brought her prayers. Gale and Astarion came, bringing a fire artifact they’ve been searching for during the last year. Halsin and Will came, bringing their magic. Dammon was there as well. The whole group have got together again because everyone knew - if today’s stuff won’t work out, Tav will lose her life purpose. She needed their support.

It was the dark and cold night. Tav was nearly as cold as Karlach, tearless and calm. Gale started to dissolve the spell, the engine began to melt. Halsin was trying to support Karlach’s health, at least till the engine starts. And then everything went wrong. The engine started to heat like crazy, burning Karlach from inside, Dammon took his blacksmith tools and started to repair the engine right there. Tav took the fire artifact and put it into the engine. It burned through her gloves, it burned her hands heavily. Dammon took a step back.

Karlach’s body twisted in pain, she started to cough. She threw up. She coughed again, there was a black smoke, the smell of charcoal and burned flesh.

Everyone stood still, until Astarion ran for Karlach and hugged her tight.

“Damn, Fangs, I’m gonna vomit again…”

He looked nervous, his eyes twitched just like he was going to start crying, but he buried himself into that hug even more. Lae’zel came to them too, swearing, but hugged them with all her strength. Then was Halsin and his bear-like hugs. And Gale - who already started crying. Shadowheart and Will stood aside politely.

Karlach coughed uncontrollably, suffering from pain, laughed, not quite understanding what happened. For her it was just a moment - like she slept for a while. But everyone was different then she remembered. Gale had more wrinkles, Astarion never hugged her like this before, and Tav… looked like a pale imitation of herself. She stood silent, watching the hugs happening. Like she wasn’t there at all.

Everyone moved away, leaving Karlach sitting on the floor, still coughing but not that bad. Tav stayed on her place. She was afraid to believe it.

“Love…” Karlach started, and Tav whimpered, her heart skipped a beat. “…What’s with your hands? Did I burn you?”

Tav came closer, with tears dropping on the floor, breathing fast, looking like she’s gonna either have an anxiety attack or faint.

“Tav?” That’s was enough for her to burst out crying. She rushed into Karlach’s arms, crying like a baby, shivering.

Karlach’s started to kiss Tav’s face, trying to calm her down, caressed her hair. She worried so much and her engine was still unstable - it started heating again. Tav kissed her lips and felt them burning, like it was their first kiss.

“We need to stop, Tav, something’s wrong.”

“I’ll never stop! Karlach I missed you so fucking much! You were here, your body, cold and silent, I could touch you but there was no YOU in there! For five fucking years! I’ll rather burn myself than hold back now.”

Karlach looked at her in shock.

“Five years? How… How did you?..”

“I needed you to live. I did what I could.”

“That’s why your hands are burned?”

“That’s a small price.”

Karlach pulled her close, while her engine calmed down a little.

“And you waited for me for five years…unable to reach me… just like I waited to touch you… when we just met… it’s all crazy.”

“I was afraid I’d lose you. I’d die too.”

“Love…”

“Don’t tell me anything. It’s easy to get used to good things. When you lose them - you may never recover.”

Karlach kissed her again, kissed her burned lips, kissed her forehead, kissed the tears traces on her cheeks.

“We’ll talk about it later… I’m here, love, I’m here…”

That was the first night after the final battle which they spent happy, together. Tav was crying over and over, snuggling to Karlach and holding her hand tight, like she’ll disappear at any moment.

The next morning Karlach found out about kids. Most kids who she remembered were nearly young adults now. Mol and Mattis came early to help Tav with her house chores and ran to Karlach’s arms like they were her own kids.

“Karlach, we thought you dead!”

“Yeah, we thought mama Tav lied to us so we wouldn’t be sad about you!”

And Karlach hugged them close, but then pushed away to ask a question.

“Mama Tav?”

“Yeah, everyone calls her mom, it’s easier to explain and to remember.”

“She adopted EVERY child here?”

“Not really, but we’re still hers, I guess. She helped us all this years.”

They told Karlach about their jobs, about little ones who came when Karlach was already “away”. When little ones, those who stayed at Tav’s place, woke up, they rushed to see what’s happening and why this place is so crowded.

Mol said: “Listen here, little bastards, THAT’S Karlach we told you stories about! She finally came back!”

And then there were lots of “wow”, “she’s as tall as I thought!”, “the light from her chest is real, see?” and “are you mama Tav’s wife? she wouldn’t tell us”. Karlach was delighted.

She got to meet Lae’zel’s and Shadowheart’s baby gith, and couldn’t get enough of him.

She and Tav made use of every free minute to speak. Tav started to bloom like she used to - colors came back to her. They kissed again and again to the point when Astarion started to joke dirty about putting Karlach back to sleep.

When Karlach asked Dammon, how’s her engine, he told her he doesn’t know how long will it last. They didn’t know anything at all.

Lae’zel always asked Tav before, why does she read so much, isn’t she already one of the smartest women in Faerun?

Tav always answered that the main point of learning is that you never stop. Science has no answers, you learn and then you understand that you know nothing and then you learn again. And that’s an endless path, you’re never stagnated. Lae’zel was fascinated by that.

Tav answered Karlach’s question about her engine just as expected.

“If it breaks, we’ll find a way to heal you again. And again. That’s the never-ending path of knowledge…”

“Knew you’ll say that.”

“So why did you ask then?”

“Just wanted to hear it aloud. It’s strange to know… that now I’m finally free. What should I do, Tav?”

“You can start at helping me with our homeschooled gang. I’m slowly getting burnt out. Mal and Mattis are helpful, but I can’t trust them with everything and they don’t have to be here all the time.”

“Understood…” Karlach stopped thinking about her future after Dammon for the first time told her that her engine can’t be entirely fixed. She couldn’t imagine someone going this far to bring her back. But Tav did it.

Karlach was free. Finally free of Avernus, free of her past, nearly free of death (Tav made her believe in that). She was surrounded by children and her friends were all here to welcome her back. Tav was here - with her hands and lips burned and painful, but refusing to leave her no matter what. Sweet Tav, who seemed so little in comparison to Karlach. Her savior.

“Gods,” Karlach smiled bright. ”Love, it feels so good to be alive.”

[bad-pun-king]

I’ve been getting into homestuck recently and stumbled across classpects as a concept awhile ago. I got curious and went to see if any Wildbow protagonists had been given classpects in crossover speculation. I was only able to find any for Taylor, probably because fans of both like to compare her to Vriska from what I’ve seen, with arguments for Taylor being a Page of Rage, Witch of Doom, or Bard of Heart.

I’d like to go over each protagonist personally, but it’s been too long since I read Worm, Ward, or Pact and reading those I was still all in on how the narrator sees things and bad at reading into the narration instead of just reading it, so those 3 all kind of blend together in my head too much for me to try them. I might do Sy, but I haven’t thought him much yet for it.

What I want to do right now is give classpects to Verona, Lucy, and Avery, based on my understanding of the classes and aspects I’ve been able to pick up.

Verona I would say is probably a Mage of Heart. Her arc has been more less about getting her to find a good place for her Self. She couldn’t really be herself with Brett always being nearby ready to whine to her about some bullshit or another, treating her as daughter and wife at the same time despite her age, and never appreciating any of the work she actually did until she just stopped doing it all together. Now she has her demesne that allows her to have her own home as she wants it, it’s become a hangout spot for all her closest friends, and she doesn’t have to worry about invaders doing any sort of harm to her, emotionally like Brett or even physically in most cases. Not to mention she can also easily interpret and communicate with nonverbal Others like Tashlit. But that’s just why I see her as Heart. For Mage it was more or less just that loves learning about her interests so much. She’s turning her demesne into a bookstore for books that were never written, she’s easily the most well-rounded in terms of understanding practices of the 3 Kennet Witches, and she’s even experimented with different things both mundane and magical to see how she likes them, such as that friends with benefits relationship she had with Jeremy for awhile or trying out Hosting, alchemy, enchantment, among other practices. I had also considered Void for Verona on account of how easy it is for her to play around with the truth without lying outright to confuse people, but ultimately her arc is more about getting from where she hated her life and circumstances so much she wanted to give up her humanity and become virtually anything else to getting where she’s perfectly comfortable being herself and flourishing under her own power, which to me reads with the idea that Heart is about the Inner Self.

Avery was probably the easiest of the trio. Maid of Blood. It’s my understanding that Blood is supposed to be about relationships and connections, and Avery has become something of an embodiment of networking with how many friends and contacts she’s built up over the course of Pale, and that’s all starting from a point where she could go months at a time without anybody noticing she hadn’t said a thing because of how disconnected she was. My understanding of a Maid is someone that takes care of, creates, and maintains their aspect, and boy howdy if Avery doesn’t do that. She literally goes to the edges of reality itself via the Paths to find contacts who’d otherwise be unable to contact anyone in a meaningful way in the form of Lost, who would all otherwise be to conceptually close to the ideas associated with Breath to get anywhere in their continued existences. Avery’s also the one of the trio most likely to allow an antagonist to redeem themself for similar reasons.

Lucy was the hardest one for me to get. I’d definitely peg her as a Knight, but I can’t decide if she fits better as a Knight of Hope or a Knight of Rage. I could see her as Hope because Hope players are described as “driven first and foremost by their convictions. They do right for right's sake, and are quick to come to the aid of anyone they deem to be experiencing injustice.” That sounds extremely Lucy, but Hope as a concept also seems to be connected to the use of positive emotions to empower and accomplish where as Lucy is not someone I would describe as being emotionally positive. She is almost always on guard in some way or another, always prepared to be ‘bullet-proof’ in as many ways as possible because she’s anticipating some asshole coming up and challenging her on some arbitrary thing. Even her Sight allows her to see specifically negative emotions and pain in the form of watercolor-esc stains. This is where interpreting her as less Hopey and more Ragey comes in. She’s very tired of the way the world is. She fights tooth and nail in arguments, in magic, in duels, and in Law to gain just a bit of ground even if it isn’t as much ground as she had wanted. Training under Guilherme and Bubbleyum does seem to have taught her to be coolheaded enough not to suppress her anger but to channel it for all those sorts of fights I mentioned. Rage at the injustices of the world and especially those right in front of her that she can do something about, is what fuels her. As for why I’d put her as a Knight, that’s because Knight is the closest to how she normally operates. She doesn’t seek the knowledge the way a Mage or Seer does, she doesn’t really fit homestuck’s idea of an Heir or (ironically) Witch, she doesn’t generate or heal like a Maid or Sylph, and she isn’t destructive of any aspect like a Prince or Bard, she isn’t taking to deprive from others like a Thief or Rogue, and she certainly isn’t as selfish as she could be with her defense of what she cares about like a Page. The idea that she serves Hope for the future or exploits her own Rage or whatever it is Knights are supposed to one-worded to, Knight fits the best of the classes.

Bonus bit, going purely based off vibes I’d say Verona and Lucy are both derse dreamers while Avery would be prospit.

I’d like to do the other protagonists too but like I mentioned above it’s been too long since I read Worm, Pact, or Ward for me to do Taylor, Blake, or Victoria. I still can and might do Sy, I only recently finished Twig so he’s still fresh enough on my mind I think I could, just not now. In the meantime I’d like seeing some other people try at any or all of them. Get some speculation going for wildbow protags other than Taylor.

[raeynbowboi]

Disney Villains in DnD

With the Disney Princesses and Princes, I put them into parties, but for the villains, I’m going to start by listing the ones powerful enough to be a Warlock Patron in descending order of power (by their base form). The rest are ordered by the release date of their film. I’m not going to cover all of the Disney villains in this one post, as there’s just too many, and not all of them map easily onto DnD.

CHERNABOG THE DARK MASTER

AS BIG BAD: Archfield Patron Warlock (Asmodeus)

As Playable Character:

Race: Asmodeus Tiefling Background: Courtier Class: Divine Soul Sorcerer (Evil) Skills: Insight, Deception, Intimidation, Persuasion

The Devil on Bald Mountain, Chernabog stands as Satan and Lucifer incarnate, the Disney-Canon equivalent to the Prince of Darkness, and the ruler of Hell. Like with Maleficent and Hades, Chernabog lacks a stat block, being a Greater Deity, and King of the Archfiends, Ruler of the Nine Hells. As a playable character, Chernabog doesn’t lend out his hellish powers or get them from an outside source. Instead he is a Tiefling with the infernal bloodline of Asmodeus (Lawful Evil) running through his veins. When he was an angel, Lucifer would have been a courtier, standing in the shining Court of Heaven before he was banished to Hell. His skills make him adept at lying to and manipulating people, as Insight lets him learn a person’s desires, and then use lies and honeyed words to lead them astray in his service. Consider this a free “how to play as satan” build.

MALEFICENT THE WICKED FAIRY

As Big Bad: The Raven Queen

As Playable Character:

Race: Hexblood Background: Noble (History, Persuasion Intimidation) Class: Wildfire Druid Skills: Arcana, History, Intimidation, Perception

Lore-wise, Maleficent uses “All the Powers of Hell”, but in terms of Dungeons and Dragons, the Wildfire Druid gives Maleficent the best parallels to her powers, as she’s able to grow a wall of thorns, call a bolt of lightning, Polymorph into a fire-breathing dragon, and spread fire. It also works lore-wise as the Wildfire Druid destroys the very forest they swore to protect. As a Hexblood, Maleficent becomes a fey hag, able to curse princesses and disguise herself as a racial ability. As the Big Bad, Maleficent maps perfectly onto the Raven Queen, ruling over the shadowfell, summoning the Heartless to do her biding, and loaning Diablo to those who worship or swear fealty to the Raven Queen.

HADES GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD

As Big Bad: Hades/Death God

As Playable Character:

Race: Mephistopheles Tiefling/Reborn Background: Charlatan Class: Death Cleric Skills: Deception, Insight, Persuasion, Sleight of Hand

For Hades, the God of the Dead, making him into a Cleric was a no-brainer. But Clerics have very limited options for fire magic. Sacred flame and Flame Strike both deal radiant damage, and their only other fire spell is Searing Smite which they got in the spell list expansion. But as a Mephistopheles Tiefling, Hades can also gain temporary access to Burning Hands and Flame Blade, along with Mage Hand. Mephistopheles is also the demon best known for making a deal with Faust, a trait shared by the deal-making Hades. If you’re not feeling the fire theme, or your DM doesn’t like the tiefling subraces, Hades can also work as a Reborn.

THE HORNED KING MASTER OF THE CAULDRON BORN

As Big Bad: Undead/Undying Warlock Patron (Lich)

As Playable Character:

Race: Reborn Background: Noble (History, Persuasion Intimidation) Class: Necromancy Wizard Skills: Arcana, History, Intimidation, Investigation

Ironically, there is a new magic item that maps perfectly onto the Black Cauldron, the Cauldron of Rebirth. But oddly, it can only be attuned by a Druid or Warlock, and the Necromancy Wizard creates the strongest undead thralls, as he adds his Proficiency Bonus to their attack and damage rolls. But if you’d rather have the Horned King be able to use the Cauldron of Rebirth, then make him a Spores Druid. If you absolutely must go warlock, make him an Undead Warlock. As a Warlock Patron, he would be a Lich. In the Chronicles of Prydain books, he served Arawn, God of Death. But the Horned King serves no such master in the Disney film.

JAFAR THE GRAND VIZIER

As Big Bad: Genie Warlock Patron (Efreeti)

Race: Human/Fire Genasi Background: Courtier (Insight, Persuasion) Class: Genie Warlock (Djinni)/Wild Magic Sorcerer Skills: Arcana, Deception, Insight, Persuasion

Jafar is the only one of the patron villains who themselves is a warlock to another patron. In his human form, Jafar has little to no powers. Everything Jafar is able to do is through either his magic snake staff or Genie’s magic. It’s only once he becomes a genie himself that Jafar has his own powers. So, Jafar here is split between two builds. As a human, he’s a warlock relying on a djinni. As a genie himself, he’s a wild magic sorcerer. Technically, he could be both. Play Jafar however you want. As a big bad, Jafar is stuck as one of the most subserviant types of warlock patron, which isn’t so surprising why he’s this low on the patron scale. Only Ursula is technically weaker than him, but that’s only true when she’s in her base form. Once she wields the trident, Ursula is even more powerful than The Horned King.

URSULA THE SEA WITCH

As Big Bad: Fathomless Warlock Patron (Sea Hag/Kraken)

As Playable Character:

Race: Triton Background: Courtier (Insight, Persuasion) Class: Glamour Bard Skills: Arcana, Deception, Insight, Performance, Persuasion Items: Circlet of Human Perfection (reskin as seashell necklace)

I built Ariel as a Fathomless Warlock because in order for her to be on land, she had to make a deal with Ursula. So, with Ursula on land, she can masquerade as Vanessa, using Ariel’s voice to charm and manipulate people. We even see Ursula do this when she charms Eric, so we know that as Vanessa, Ursula could easily run a successful criminal empire using Ariel’s voice to hypnotize and manipulate people into obeying her orders. The Circlet of Human Perfection allows Ursula to maintain a perfect beautiful human disguise without having to eat up spell slots. As a Fathomless Patron, Ursula in her base form is a simple Sea Hag, being much weaker. But once she gets a hold of Dekella, the Bident of Thassa from King Triton, she can grow in both size and power to rival the might of a Kraken. And with Thassa’s divine bident, Ursula can command the tides and all the beasts and monstrosities within it, puting her nearly on par with the powers of a goddess of the sea. But unlike Hades, Maleficent, and Chernabog, even at her near godlike power, Ursula still has a stat block, her bident can still be taken from her, and she can still be slain and defeated.

QUEEN GRIMHILDE THE EVIL QUEEN

Race: Human Background: Noble (History, Persuasion Intimidation) Class: Alchemist Artificer Skills: Arcana, History, Intimidation, Investigation

I really did consider the Transmutation Wizard for Grimhilde, as it has the power to cast polymorph for all of your Frog Prince needs, and a master transmuter can even Restore Youth. But then, the alchemist can brew a potion of transformation, and the chemistry set is clearly how we see Grimhilde using magic. The only magic she performs without the chemistry set is when she creates a gust of wind in front of her magic mirror. She doesn’t even create the lightning bolt for her transformation spell, it just happens to be storming outside, so she’s not controlling the weather either. Plus, the most powerful spell she has is the poisoned apple and she has to summon a bolt of lightning to cast Alter Self, a 2nd level spell. By DnD standards, Grimhilde’s not really that powerful. She doesn’t even fight the player herself in Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep.  If you want Grimhilde to be more magical, then go with Transmutation Wizard, but if you want to be more accurate, the Alchemist is how Grimhilde does her magic. Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove shares a nearly identical build.

CAPTAIN HOOK THE GENTLEMAN THIEF

Race: Human Background: Pirate (Athletics, Perception) Class: Swashbuckler Rogue Skills: Athletics, Deception, Insight, Intimidation, Perception, Persuasion

While Hook’s still a putrid coward, he holds himself quite well, and is the epitome of Lawful Evil, maintaining a strict personal moral code to clash with Peter’s frankly Chaotic Neutral “heroism”. Hook’s not really good at the normal rogue skills like hiding or thieving, but he shines as a manipulative double-talking liar. Long John Silver from Treasure Planet has a similar build.

GASTON LEGUME THE HANSOME HUNTER

Race: Human Background: Folk Hero (Animal Handling Persuasion, Survival) Class: Monster Slayer Ranger Skills: Athletics, Perception, Persuasion Stealth, Survival

As the strapping hero of Belle’s Village, Gaston has the favor of his entire community, keeping them safe from any and all beasties that lurk beyond the city. Too bad he’s as rotten as they come. Likely one of the weakest villains in terms of pure power scale as little more than a local hero, he’s still an iconic enough villain I couldn’t resist adding him. Clayton from Tarzan shares a similar build.

SCAR THE USURPER OF PRIDE ROCK

Race: Leonin Background: Noble (History, Persuasion) Class: Oath of Treachery Paladin Fighting Style: Unarmed Skills: History, Insight, Intimidation, Persuasion

Simba was a druid because he was a wise king who could call upon his people to stand beside him. Scar is a paladin because he has devoted himself to a single goal: his own personal power. Scar shows little wisdom, but has a strong character and savvy charms about him that make him better suited as a CHA caster.

JUDGE CLAUDE FROLLO THE JUDGE OF PARIS

Race: Human Background: Investigator Class: Light Cleric Skills: Insight, Investigation, Persuasion, Religion

This was an easy villain to build. As a religious man worshipping God (who would def fall under Life, Light, and maybe Knowledge) Frollo would go for the one that lets him keep witches warm. His background was chosen as an investigator because he’s responsible for keeping the peace in Paris, and there wasn’t a background option for lawmaker. Noble or Courtier might have worked, but didn’t seem quite like the right fit as they deal more with aristocratic authority and royal court politics.

RIKU THE HEARTLESS KEYBLADE MASTER

Race: Human Background: Soldier (Athletics, Intimidation) Class: Raven Queen Warlock/Hexblade Warlock, Shadow Sorcerer Pact Boon: Blade Skills: Arcana, Athletics, Deception, Intimidation

In the first Kingdom Hearts game, Riku spends most of the game being manipulated by Maleficent. His DnD counterpart would surely be a warlock to her. But Maleficent oddly has not one but three possible warlock patron options. As the Raven Queen, she obviously has the Raven Queen Warlock, but the Raven Queen also created the Hexblade, which come from the Shadowfell, which she rules over. The third is unique to Maleficent, as she is a fairy, and a powerful one at that. Making her a valid choice for an Archfey Warlock. Archfey doesn’t quite fit Riku, but the other two do, and as a Sorcerer, Riku draws power from the Shadowfell which his patron rules over.

DR. FACILIER THE SHADOW MAN

Race: Human Background: Charlatan (Deception, Sleight of Hand) Class: Fiend Warlock Skills: Arcana, Deception, Persuasion, Sleight of Hand

It’s kind of hard to deny that Dr. Facilier is obviously a warlock, though his patron options don’t really come close to a neat fit. Among his choices though, fiend comes the closest to selling his soul to the Other Siders or Shadow Folk. It’s possible he could have sold his soul to the Raven Queen and his shadowy friends are the emissaries of the shadowfell, but as he has no raven or crow familiar, that’s a somewhat weak comparison.

[jaskierswolf]

My dearest darling Wolfie, I saw your idea for game gerlion friends to lovers in @thewitcherbog horny chat and I am here to ask you to write the fic. Pls 💜😘

Tada!! I can't remember if this was exactly what I had planned... but it's what we're getting. Lovingly beta'd by @comfyswitcherblanketfort.

CW: probably rated M? Briefly mentioned masturbation more horny than smutty.

____

A retirement at Corvo Bianco had never been what Geralt expected of his life. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told a young Dandelion that witcher’s never retire, but in recent years between looting caves and haggling for contracts, he’d managed to save quite a bit of coin. He was, objectively, rich. He had the best armour on the Continent, the most deadly swords and crossbow bolts, and thanks to B.B., his house was beautifully decorated, with the exception of the rather garish portrait of his most loyal friend. Yet, he was still gaining more money than he knew what to do with. He’d started investing in merchants and refusing payment but the vineyard brought in a steady income and Geralt had to admit that his life was pretty luxurious these days.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Dandelion had turned up, in fine, brightly coloured silks and the elegantly decorated elven lute from so many years ago. Geralt sometimes wondered whether Toruviel had enchanted her lute. There was barely a scratch and Geralt couldn’t even recall Dandelion ever having to change the lute strings in all the years he’d known the bard. Geralt was no expert but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to change the lute strings.

The sun was shining over the fields of Corvo Bianco, and Geralt felt at peace. Perhaps that was why he was feeling so nostalgic, pondering over the events that had led him to this moment. His life had always been so busy, but with Ciri off touring the multiverse, and Yennefer doing whatever Yennefer did these days now the Djinn wish had been broken, he was… well… bored? He had every Gwent card currently made, and no one would play him. It was just him and the bard, living the bachelor’s life in Touissant.

So was it any wonder that Geralt had started to develop feelings for his friend? Perhaps they’d always been there, clouded by the wish that tied him to Yennefer, or perhaps their newfound domesticity had awoken something in Geralt that he had never expected. Dandelion spent a lot of time in the makeshift study, working on his latest book, but they always ate together and sometimes the bard would even accompany Geralt on his contracts in the fields, for old times sake. After long nights of drinking too much wine or vodka, it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to fall asleep together, curled up in one bed just like they used to in their youth. Those were Geralt’s favourite nights, because despite his protests of being better alone, he enjoyed the familiar warmth of another body pressed against his, and Dandelion had always been a cuddler.

And as if on cue, the bard burst through the doors onto the patio where Geralt was watching the world go by.

“Ah, Geralt, old friend, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dandelion announced with a flick of his wrist. “I was just in town.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt groaned. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Dear Henrietta will forgive me in time, my friend,” Dandelion winked, his tongue flicking out between his lips, “and until then I have plenty of friends who will offer me shelter if the guards are around.”

“You look like a man sized peacock,” Geralt scoffed. “How the hell does no one see you?”

“Ah, dear witcher, you forget that I used to be a spy,” Dandelion laughed, putting one hand on his hips. “Now, stop interrupting, Geralt, or do you not care about the gift I picked out for you in town today?”

Geralt hummed, knowing that it didn’t really matter whether he cared or not. Nothing would stop Dandelion once he was in the middle of a story. Some things just never changed. “Go on.”

Dandelion beamed, and from behind his back he produced a wooden box. The poet cocked his head as he opened the lid, revealing a set of tiny vials neatly lined up. Geralt almost choked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oil?” he spluttered. A man such as Dandelion had to know of the more promiscuous uses of oil. Whilst Dandelion had never explicitly said as such, the way he talked of his lovers had always led Geralt to believe that he was rather flexible in his tastes, much like Geralt himself.

The poet blushed as he pulled a single vial from the box, his long lutist fingers wrapping around the glass. “Bath oils, Geralt.”

“Oh, of course,” Geralt cursed internally. Dandelion had bought all sorts of expensive oils and lotions when they had been on the path together, neither of them were shy with their bathing habits and the poet was a highly skilled masseur.

Which was not helping Geralt’s sudden rush of arousal as he remembered the feel of the poet’s hands on his skin. They’d laughed off awkward erections in the past, it was just a thing that happened… but Geralt was starting to wonder what would happen if, for once, they let it happen.

“This one will probably be a bit much for your witcher senses, my friend, but I rather like it,” Dandelion continued, oblivious to Geralt's inner turmoil. “This one,” another vial was plucked from the box, “however, I think you will like, and I managed to buy this,” Dandelion pulled a scroll from his pocket, “from a local mage. It’s supposed to move the water around the tub, like a massage!”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Geralt sighed, rolling his eyes. As much as he adored his old friend, the man could take his sweet time getting to the point. It was even worse when the poet and Regis got together, Geralt honestly thought he might never know peace again.

“Because, Geralt, I am treating my dearest friend to an extravagant bath time experience!” Dandelion exclaimed with wide arms, almost knocking off his own hat in his enthusiasm. “Friendship and love, art and wine, Geralt. What more could you want in life?”

Love.

No, friendship. Geralt needed to focus on that. How many times had Dandelion called him his friend? Too many to count.

“Assuming you have wine, what’s the art?” Geralt smirked, enjoying the offended noises Dandelion made.

“Geralt, I’ll have you know that-”

“Relax, Dandelion. I’m teasing. So how about this bath then?”

The two men made their way upstairs, peeling off their outer clothes as they strolled past Geralt’s bedroom, and picking up a robe each. Dandelion had filled the room with candles, and there was a soft floral scent hanging in the air, roses, the oil vial that Dandelion had initially held up.

“I thought this one was too much for my ‘witcher senses’?” Geralt scoffed, peering at the magically bubbling water.

“Well, yes, but I did also say I liked this one, and I’ll admit that I got a little carried away. You don’t mind, do you Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head as he stripped off his final layer of clothing and settled into the tub. Dandelion sat in a chair, still wrapped in his robe, and picked up his lute. He plucked idly at the strings until he was seemingly happy that they were in tune, and then he began to sing. Geralt sighed as he sank deeper into the hot water, the enchantment really did feel like a sort of massage as jets of water pulsed against his skin, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The oils, the candles, the romantic ballad…

Was his friend trying to tell him something?

It was time for Geralt to test the waters as it was. He trod the water with his hand, gently splashing to the beat of Dandelion’s song. Normally, he would close his eyes and let the poet’s music fill the room, but instead he was mesmerised by the way Dandelion’s finger caressed the lute strings. Geralt could feel his cock harden as he pondered what other uses his friend’s delicate hands could have, the way they found their mark with such precision. The poet could make any instrument sing to the gods in his hands, Geralt was sure that he was no exception.

“Practicing your fingering?” he asked Dandelion with a tilt of his head.

The strings twanged unpleasantly, making Geralt grimace as the sound reverberated in his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Geralt smirked. “On your lute.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Dandelion muttered. “I’m just trying to figure out the next verse. I could use a hand, or an ear if you’d be willing to help.”

“I have a hand you could use, or two,” Geralt muttered not really intending for Dandelion to hear him but the poet had sharp ears and he spluttered incoherently as he set down his lute.

Geralt hummed and let his hand drop beneath the water, stroking his cock lazily. He wasn’t really chasing any real pleasure, but it was a good feeling, sending warmth across his skin. The bath, the candles, the song, they had to mean something even in Dandelion’s subconsciousness. The man was an insatiable flirt, and yet never seemed to notice when others’ affections were cast upon him, not unless it was blunt in its honesty.

So Geralt would be blunt.

He closed his eyes as he continued to stroke the length of his cock, the motion causing the water to ripple slightly, but not yet enough to draw Dandelion’s attention. The poet was too busy wittering on about his rhymes, only noticing when Geralt’s breath hitched as he cupped his balls.

“Geralt?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grunted softly, his pleasure beginning to build from a warm ember to a roaring blaze that burned through him. The poet’s cornflower blue eyes were on him, dark and hungry. His cheeks were flushed rosy, and it seemed his dear friend was finally catching onto what was happening.

“I- I can leave, my friend, if you would prefer…”

“Stay,” Geralt insisted. “This not what you had in mind?”

“Well,” Dandelion laughed. “I had hoped, but I never thought it would actually happen, and well, really I thought it might take a little more convincing. Who knew all I needed all along were a few cheap candles?”

“Just get in the bath, Dandelion,” Geralt growled.

“Okay, okay,” Dandelion said with a roll of his eyes but shrugged out of his robe, allowing Geralt to admire his slender form. The poet’s cock remained soft as he stepped into the water. “So… how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have I been more than just a friend to you, Geralt?” Dandelion asked, settling into the water with a soft moan. His hands resting on Geralt’s thighs, fingers drawing patterns on Geralt’s skin under the water.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer. Could he even pin it down? Geralt wasn’t sure.

“Hard to tell, our friendship has never exactly been normal, Dandelion,” Geralt admitted.

Dandelion laughed, leaning forward in the tub, his hands stroking up Geralt’s thigh, the movement forcing the air from Geralt’s lungs. “You know, you’re right, and I think we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Mhmm, and how about we start with a kiss?” Dandelion winked, before falling into Geralt embrace with a splash.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you normally have “casualties” when you announce a blog event? Anyway, for the Valentine’s event, can you write some familial headcanons for the Diasomnia boys making chocolates with their daughter please?

[Referring to this post!]

I believe the only other big blog event I held (barring Birthday Blog Takeovers) was Make your Vows back in July 2020... So I have not run enough themed blog events to know for sure if having causalities is normal audnaoudaudoaaafadasdagarwrh

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Malleus vows to set aside his practical magic for the day. It would be a lot faster to make chocolates if he just snapped his fingers, but he knows just how much it would mean to his child if they made them together by hand.

He does everything the old fashioned way! That means pulling up a recipe from a book instead of from the internet, and using a whisk instead of a hand mixer. It might take a longer time to get the chocolates done, but it doesn’t matter much to Malleus--he cherishes this special time he gets to spend with his child.

Malleus would rather melt the chocolate discs with his dragonic fire than rely on a microwave (sometimes there are so many possible settings that he gets confused). He’ll prompt his child to attempt and summon their own fire, too--it’s good practice, and he can use this chance to demonstrate the proper fire breathing and temperature controlling techniques to them!

Malleus isn’t aware of any fancy chocolate-making techniques, so he opts to lay them out on parchment paper and create custom chocolate bars. They make simple but cute designs, ranging from writing out each others’ names to Gao-Gao Dragon-kun and the various flowers kept in the family garden.

When the chocolate bards have hardened, Malleus breaks off small pieces and pops them into his child’s mouth. He tenderly wipes up after them if he sees smears left behind around their lips--and when his child offers to do the same for him, he’s more than happy to accept.

It’s a blessing that Lilia’s child shares his... unique tastes. They’re the only one that can seem to stomach whatever strange concoctions he mixes up! Since they’re both used to odd combinations, they decide to make a batch of chocolates in unusual textures and flavors.

Lilia’s all for letting his kid have their independence in the kitchen. They want to try adding some sliced celery into the mix? Sure, why not? They want to add a few dashes of prune juice? Go ahead! He doesn’t believe that he should limit his child’s creativity.

The kitchen is pretty energetic with Lilia and his kid in it! They’re always rustling through cupboards to try and find something, or whipping chocolate in unison while doing cute little dances and singing together which sometimes sounds like death metal screeching. While they wait for their chocolate to chill, Lilia just sits on the kitchen counter and tells his child stories of their infanthood.

To test if the chocolate they’ve prepared is stiff enough to be molded, Lilia and his kid do “the bat test”--they hang upside down from the ceiling like bats and see if the chocolate drips. If it doesn’t, that means it’s ready to be shaped!

They spend all day stuffing their chocolates with all kinds of weird things: kimchi, dried squid, durian, bits of black licorice, preserved anchovies and pineapple... then they exchange them with one another and compete to see who made the most delicious chocolates!

Silver encourages his child to do as much as they can, as experience is the best teacher, but stresses the importance of staying vigilant in the kitchen! He tells his child that they never know when an accident might happen, so they should always know an escape route in case of a fire, and where the nearest first-aid kit is located in case of a personal injury.

He’s skilled with knives thanks to his expertise in swordplay, but he has also been injured many times during his training. Silver hovers over his kid, his hands over theirs, and carefully guides them into slicing a chocolate bar while avoiding cuts. Every so often, he’ll remind them to keep their fingers curled like some of their animal friends do!

Another virtue Silver stresses during the chocolate-making process is patience! Chocolate is very temperature sensitive, so he amuses his kid with cutting basic shapes into fruits while the chocolate slowly heats up and cools back down. Kiwi slices, pineapple stars, melon balls, watermelon hearts, strawberry bunnies and flowers...

They take turns dipping the fruits into chocolate, twirling and tapping the excess off before dipping them in sprinkles, sugar, or other toppings. Silver’s not very good at making cute designs, so it’s up to his kid to help him brush up!

While the chocolate-covered strawberries cool, Silver takes the excess fruit, and his child by the hand, and leads them out into the wilderness. Like father, like son--the animals flock to them, and they allow the little critters to feast on fruit straight out of their hands.

Sebek is overprotective!! Before he even lets his child get near a butter knife, he gives a long speech about important safety hazards and what to avoid doing (no running, no leaving an active appliance unattended to!). Sebek doesn’t want to see them hurt!

He’s always by their side with a recipe in hand! Sebek is a very “cook by the book” type of person, so he often reminds his child of the next step, or tells them what ingredient and amount is needed so they can grab it.

Sebek takes additional safety precautions while he makes chocolate with his kid. Sharp corners in the kitchen are padded out, and he does what he can to minimize flyaway pieces of food and spillage. You need to crush graham crackers? Put them inside a sealed baggies first, then use a rolling pin. Afraid of the chocolate boiling over or splattering? Time for safety goggles and heat protectant gloves!

Beating air into chocolate and cream can be hard at times! If his child gets worn out, Sebek has no problems taking over and finishing the job for them. It’s easy when you have massive arms like he does. His child marvels at their father’s strength, and it makes him puff up with pride.

Sebek is a big advocate for food needing to look as good as it tastes! He shows his child how to temper the chocolate to make it all nice and shiny, and they spend hours dusting truffles with cocoa and sticking little nuts and crushed candies into them. Once they’re complete, Sebek praises his kid for all their hard work and, together, they share a plate of truffles.

[dmsden]

A History Lesson - Looking back at D&D’s history

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Well, this is the 5th Monday in March, and that means I get to write about anything I want! It’s also my birth month, which means it’s my anniversary of getting into D&D (42 years!), and that has me feeling nostalgic. Coupled with a discussion I had recently with some friends, I thought it would be fun to look back at the various editions of D&D and give you all a bit of history. I’m not going to get into Gygax vs Arneson or any of that. I’m only talking about the published game itself, not its creators or its storied origins.

The original D&D (or OD&D as it’s sometimes called) came in a small box. It had three booklets inside - Men & Magic, Monsters & Treasure, and The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures - along with reference sheets and dice. Each was softcover and roughly the same dimensions as a DVD/BluRay case. The game was pretty rudimentary - for one thing, it assumed you already had a copy of Chainmail, D&D’s direct wargame predecessor. It also recommended you have a game called Outdoor Survival for purposes of traveling through the wilderness. It had only three classes - fighting man, magic-user, and cleric - and nothing about playing other races. It did have the insane charts that 1st edition would ultimately known for, and it was possible to play a pretty fun game of D&D with it, as its popularity would come to show.

The game expanded through similar chapbooks - Greyhawk, Blackmoor, Eldritch Wizardry, Gods Demigods & Heroes, Swords & Spells. With the exception of the last one, each brought new facets to the game - new classes like Thief and Monk, new spells, new threats. It was clear the game was going to need an overhaul, and it got one.

I consider this overhaul to yield the real “1st Edition”, as so much of the game didn’t exist in those original games. The game split into a “Basic” game, just called Dungeons & Dragons and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons.

The basic game was a boxed set that included a rulebook, a full adventure module, and dice...or, well, it was supposed to contain dice. The game was so popular and new in those days that demand for dice outstripped production. My copy of D&D came with a coupon for dice when they became available and a sheet of “chits” - laminated numbers meant to be put into cups (we used Dixie Cups with the name of the die written on it), shaken, and a random number pulled out without looking. It was meant to introduce new players to the game, so it was a trimmed down version. Races were human, elf, dwarf, and halfling, and classes were fighter, cleric, magic-user, and thief. The box only included rules for going up to 3rd level, with the intention that players would then graduate into AD&D. This is where I joined, with the old blue cover box set and In Search of the Unknown, before Keep on the Borderlands even existed.

AD&D was the game in its full glory. Along with the races I mention above, we got half-elves, half-orcs, and gnomes. The four basic classes also had sub-classes, like paladin and ranger for the fighter, druid for the cleric, illusionist for the wizard, and assassin for the thief. There were rules for multi-classing, as well as “Dual-classing”, a sort of multi-class variation for humans only, which, when done in the correct combination, could yield the infamous bard...which didn’t actually yield any bard abilities until around level 13 or so.

This edition had 5 different saving throws for things like “Death Magic”, “Petrification & Polymorph”, “Spells”, and so on. It had the infamous Armor Class system that started at 10 and went down, so that having a -3 AC was very good!  It also had specific attack matricies for each class; you would literally look on a table to determine the number you needed to roll on a D20 based on your class, your level, and your opponent’s armor class. It was fun, but it was very complicated.

It also had some, frankly, shitty rules. There was gender disparity in terms of attributes, which my group totally ignored. Because the game designers wanted humans to be a competitive the game, and because non-humans had so many abilities and could multiclass, non-humans were severely limited in the levels they could achieve in most classes. In fact, some classes, such as monk and paladin, were restricted only to humans.

As the years went on, things got a bit muddled. It probably didn’t help that the rules in Basic D&D and AD&D didn’t perfectly line up. In D&D, the worst armor class was a 9. In AD&D, the worst armor class was a 10. All of this led to an overhaul, but not one considered a separate edition. AD&D mostly got new covers and new books, like the Wilderness Survival Guide and Dungeon Survival Guide, Monster Manual 2, and the Manual of the Planes. It got a number of new settings, too. In addition to the default Greyhawk setting, we got the Forgotten Realms setting for the first time, details of which had been appearing in Dragon Magazine for years, thanks to the prolific Ed Greenwood. We also, eventually, got the whole Dragonlance saga, which yielded the setting of Krynn.

In this new version, Basic D&D broke off into its own game system to some degree. Elf, Dwarf, and Halfling started being treated like classes rather than races, with specific abilities at different levels. Higher level characters could be created using progressive boxes - Expert, Companion, Master, and Immortal, each with its own boxed set and supported by Mystara, a completely different setting that got its own updates over the years. It was odd, because D&D essentially was competing for players with AD&D, and I remember arguments with friends over which version was better (I was firmly in the AD&D camp.)

In 1989, when I was in college, they finally brought forth 2nd edition D&D. This streamlined things a little. Armor Class still went down, but now attack rolls boiled into a single number called To Hit Armor Class 0, or THAC0. It made the whole process of figuring out what you needed to roll a bit less cumbersome, but it was still a bit awkward. The classes got a lot of overhaul, including making Bard its own core class. But what I remember best about 2nd edition was the boom in settings. This was the age of settings, and many beloved ones got started, including Dark Sun, Planescape, Ravenloft, and Spelljammer.

It was also the age of the “Complete Handbooks”. They brought out splatbooks about every class and race in the game, as well as books expanding several concepts for the DM, such as the Arms & Equipment Guide, the Castle Guide, and the Complete Book of Villains. There were also splatbooks about running D&D in historic periods, such as Ancient Rome, among the ancient Celts, or during the time of the Musketeers. The game got new covers for the rule books again, and a bunch of books about options started coming out. It was a boom time for books, but many people complained there was too much.

Without going too deep, TSR ended up in severe financial troubles. They declared bankruptcy, and there was real fear of the game going away. And then Wizards of the Coast (WotC) stepped in. They helped TSR get back onto its feet, and they helped produce some modules specifically engineered to help DM’s bring an end to their campaign...possibly even their whole campaign world...because something big was coming.

That something big was, of course, 3rd edition D&D. The game got majorly streamlined, and many sacred cows ended up as hamburger. AC finally started going up instead of down. Everything was refined to the “D20″ system we’ve been playing ever since. Races could be any class. There were no level or stat limits for anyone. After years of the game being forced into tight little boxes, it really felt like we could breathe. I had stopped playing D&D, but 3rd edition brought me back into the fold. I often say that 3E was made for the players who’d felt constricted and wanted more flexibility.

The trouble with 3E, and its successor 3.5, is that it was still a dense and difficult game for newcomers to get into. It’s been acknowledged that D&D essentially created many of the systems we see and know in other games - experience points, leveling up, hit points, etc. But trying to break into the experience for the first time was difficult. The look of 3E was gorgeous, but I understood that it must seem awfully daunting to someone who’d never played.

4E and its follow-up, Essentials, was an attempt to course correct that. They tried to make this edition incredibly friendly to new DMs, and, frankly, they succeeded. By creating player classes and monsters and magic-items that were all very plug and play, they did a great job of creating a game that someone who had never DMed before could dive into with no experience or mentor and start a game pretty easily. Encounter design was given a lot of ease, and there were promises of a robust online tool system that would help out with many of the more tedious aspects of playing.

There was also a lot of shake up in terms of choices. Suddenly, new classes and races were proliferating like crazy. We got the dragonborn, the tiefling, and the eladrin right in the core book, but we said good-bye to the gnome and half-orc at first. Suddenly the warlock was the new class everyone wanted to try. We got paragon paths and epic destinies that would really shape a character as time went on. The game went very tactical, as well, which some of us loved. The concept of rituals came into the game. Later books like the Player’s Handbook 2 and 3 gave us back gnomes and half-orcs, and also gave us minotaurs, wilden, shardminds, and githzerai. We got new psionic classes, brand new class concepts like the Runeknight and the Seeker...

But there was a tremendous backlash. People felt that, in making the game so very plug and play, they’d taken a ton of choice away from the players. Without the tools (which were never that robust, frankly), it was almost impossible to navigate the massive panoply of options. And, worse, it was harder and harder to develop encounters without those tools. People complained that the game had gone more tactical in order to sell miniatures and battlemats. Given that I have never played the game without miniatures and battlemats (since I started in the days when D&D was still half-wargame), I found this odd, but I also understand my style of play isn’t everyone’s.

The one argument I will never understand is that it didn’t “feel” like D&D, or it was somehow ONLY a tactical game and not a role-playing game any more. Again, given that the original game didn’t even call itself a role-playing game, this felt odd. Personally, I roleplay no matter what game I’m playing. If I’m playing Monopoly, I’m roleplaying, doing voices, and pretending to be something I’m not. I honestly enjoyed 4E, and I know a lot of folks who did, too. A lot of it may simply come down to style of play. But I also enjoyed all the games that came before, including Pathfinder. To paraphrase the YouTube content creator The Dungeon Bastard, “Does your game have dungeons? Does it have dragons? Great. I wanna play.”

As a sidenote, in the months leading up to 4E’s release, a lot of internet videos were released by WotC emphasizing the nature of change and talking about differences in the rules. They also released some preview books showing the direction they were heading. WotC must have anticipated that people were going to find this edition very different indeed. They also cleverly brought in some very funny folks - Scott Kurtz from PVPOnline and Jerry Holkins & Mike Krahulik from Penny Arcade - and got them to play D&D for podcasting purposes. Looking back, this must’ve brought in a lot of listeners who might never have played D&D and given them a reason to try it out.

After its release, WotC clearly noted that missteps had been made, as this edition of the game was losing them players. They began work on what they referred to as D&D Next, and, this time, they did massive amounts of playtesting, some of which I participated in.

I don’t feel like I have to describe 5E to any of you, Dear Readers, as you could go to virtually any store and pick it up. I am a big fan of 5E’s simplicity and elegance, and I suspect this is the edition of D&D we’re going to have for some time to come, especially given its popularity. Given the effect of podcasts like Critical Role (and I might save an article on Critical Role’s importance to D&D until my next Freestyle article), D&D is likely more popular now than it’s ever been, with a much wider and more diverse audience than ever before.

I know I’m painting with broad strokes here, but I hope this was, at least, entertaining, and maybe you learned something, Gentle Readers. Until we next meet, may all your 20s be natural.

[sepedarodatiga]

The Snow Queen fairytale as a motif used in GoT/ASOIAF

First of all, how many fairytales and myths can GRRM fit into this story, seriously?? I know many have written well thought and well informed meta of various fairytale motives fit with ASOIAF/GoT, and I am just here adding into an already huge pile, but it bothers me, okay. I have to get it out there into the tumblr void. And this is not really a well thought and well informed meta (I’m not a folklore/literature expert, not to mention European folklore/literature), I’m just pointing my fingers into the patterns I saw fit. Also, I can’t count myself as ASOIAF book reader, I just watch the show. What I know about the books, I read it here in tumblr. 

But anyway, you might be surprised as to which character I saw fit as The Snow Queen in GoT

It’s Daenerys Targaryen.

I know I know... whaat? The Mother of Dragons, Bride of Fire as The Snow Queen? Get out of here, right...

But it’s a pun. It’s not The Snow Queen, it’s Jon Snow’s Queen, get it? Remember how Jon repeatedly saying “you’re my queen” to Dany during season 8? Yeah. Oh and Jon is Kay, while Sansa is Gerda. 

What made me realize that Dany is The Snow Queen is when I was reading my son the fairytale. In the version retold by Kate Friend, it describes The Snow Queen as beautiful and terrible. And I was like, huh, just like Dany, especially with the white hair and the all white costume in season 8. 

Daenerys Targaryen, beautiful and terrible.

And then of course the story went on describing how Kay becomes her prisoner and then I was like, well that’s like Jon Snow during season 8 too.... And then in Disney’s adaptation Frozen, Elsa has white hair with purple eyeshadow, while Anna (Gerda) has....red hair....which is like... Sansa Stark. Then I also remember the illustration on my son’s book which is by John Patience, that reminded me of the Iron Throne.

The Snow Queen illustration by John Patience. See how much alike this setting is with the Red Keep? Especially in Dany’s vision in HoTU when snow was falling.

So I went investigating, and shit... I mean obviously the sequencing was moved around, GRRM likes to subvert things, but my God!

Before we get into Jon Snow and his queen, I have to start with the other characters first. And I will be taking excerpt of the story from The Hans Christian Andersen Center website which I assume would be the most original one.

Gerda = Sansa Stark

Here is a description of Gerda’s power:  “No power that I could give could be as great as that which she already has. Don't you see how men and beasts are compelled to serve her, and how far she has come in the wide world since she started out in her naked feet? We mustn't tell her about this power. Strength lies in her heart, because she is such a sweet, innocent child.”

Furthermore, her connection with Kay are through roses (they have a window box full of roses) and a song that goes like this:  "Where roses bloom so sweetly in the vale, There shall you find the Christ Child, without fail." Another variation of the song is: “The rose in the valley has flowers so sweet, and angels come down there the children to greet.” She saved Kay with her prayers, hugs, kisses, tears and her song and their reunion literally ended winter and brings spring. If that’s not Sansa Stark (and the jonsa reunion), then I don’t know what is.

Gerda made a journey to the North to find Kay and bring him back together with her to their home. Sansa did not meant to make a journey North to find Jon and bring him back home, but this is what happened anyway. The story even stressed on the fact that when they came back to their homes, they were no longer children but grown ups. On her quest Gerda offered her red shoes to the river to get information about Kay’s whereabouts but the red shoes were given back to her the first time. But she did it once again and the river set her on the path to find Kay. I’m not really sure but for Sansa it could be her betrothal to Joffrey that was then canceled but then she got married to Tyrion Lannister. Her red shoes is her name and her claim to the North.

Gerda then met an old woman who wanted to keep her and made her forget about Kay by keeping all the roses underground. The old woman’s place was beautiful. Here is an excerpt:  “Then Gerda was led into the flower garden. How fragrant and lovely it was! Every known flower of every season was there in full bloom. No picture book was ever so pretty and gay. Gerda jumped for joy, and played in the garden until the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. Then she was tucked into a beautiful bed, under a red silk coverlet quilted with blue violets. There she slept, and there she dreamed as gloriously as any queen on her wedding day.” But then she saw a rose on the old woman’s hat and finally remembers her purpose of finding Kay. I would say that the old woman is Cersei Lannister who tried to make Sansa forget about her home and her innocence. Sansa was also saved from her clutch by roses (The Tyrells).

Then Gerda with information from a crow, met a Princess and Prince. She thought that the Prince might be Kay, but it turns out he was not. This might be Sansa’s vale arc and the Prince is either Petyr Baelish or Harry Hardyng. The Prince and Princess also gave provisions for Gerda’s journey to the North, so this may be that the KoTV helps Sansa getting Winterfell back. The crow, has a ladylove, another crow and they finally get married and live in the Princess’s castle though unfortunately the crow then died. The crow was a wild forest crow while his ladylove is a tame crow. These two crows could be genderbent into Sam Tarly and Gilly. Remember that Sam is mock as Jon’s ladylove by Alliser Thorne?

Next Gerda met a robber girl who sleeps with a knife and have plenty of pigeons. Yep, of course that is very much like Arya Stark (who sometimes is being referred to as “a girl”)

The pigeons told Gerda about Kay and The Snow Queen. The robber girl finally gave Gerda her reindeer called Bae for her journey to the North. The girl likes to tickle the reindeer’s neck with her knife. At the end of the story it is told that the robber girl then decided to leave her place and find adventure in the world. Very much like Arya’s ending.

Now about that reindeer Bae who helped Gerda to reach to Kay in The Snow Queen’s palace in the far North. In ASOIAF/GoT, we can connect Bae to Baelish. Make sense. Petyr Baelish helps Sansa get to North and Arya’s knife did end up in his neck. But also we can connect it to two foreshadowing of Sansa bearing Jon’s child. The first is more well-known: Bael the Bard. The second one I think is more hidden and I made a post about it quite long ago: Baelor. Is this far fetched? Maybe, but I’ll take it.

Kay = Jon (+ The Night King)

Kay and Gerda are neighbours and they share a garden (particularly a flower box full of roses). Their relationship, in the words of Hans Christian Andersen himself are: “These children were not brother and sister, but they loved each other just as much as if they had been.” So they are NOT brother and sister but love each other as such. While Jon and Sansa are also NOT brother and sister but was raised as such.

Then Kay got splinters of magic mirror stuck to his eyes and his heart. The mirror “made everything great and good that was reflected in it appear small and ugly, but which magnified all evil things until each blemish loomed large”. It made Kay hated all the roses, they look ugly now to his eyes and also made Kay loved the snow and the cold. Jon Snow at the beginning of the story was a cynical little boy because he was raised as a bastard. He wanted to leave Winterfell and sneered at the idea of having a family of his own because he felt that he can’t have them. So he went to the coldest place there is.

In the story, Kay plays with his sled, and then The Snow Queen came with her sled and Kay hooked his sled to hers. The Snow Queen first, covers Kay in a bearskin rug and gave Kay kisses. The first kiss “was colder than ice. He felt it right down to his heart, half of which was already an icy lump. He felt as if he were dying, but only for a moment. Then he felt quite comfortable, and no longer noticed the cold”. The second kiss makes Kay forgets about Gerda and their homes. The third kiss, The Snow Queen does not give him because it would be the kiss of death.

I argue that GRRM subvert this story. I think Jon Snow was already saved by Sansa before he met Dany. The splinters in his eyes and heart was already gone when he faced The Snow Queen. The reunion happened before he met Dany. The first two kisses also already happened: Jon Snow had died and came alive again, and he also forced to forget about his home and family while he was at the Night’s Watch. The bearskin rug which The Snow Queen used to cover Kay can allude to Jeor Mormont and/or Longclaw. 

Then Jon Snow met his queen finally, but instead of a hooking sleds.... it’s dragons. Jon Snow’s sled was his dragon Rhaegal which are hooked to Dany’s sled Drogon. But his eyes wasn’t blinded by the splinter and his heart were already warm. He knowingly and willingly follow the dragon to save his family.

And the third kiss of death that wasn’t given by The Snow Queen? Jon Snow will give it to his queen instead.

Now let’s go back a little bit. Kay was also given a puzzle from ice by The Snow Queen, and if he can solve it then he is free. He was supposed to spell the word “eternity” but he couldn’t figure it out with the shard in his eyes and heart. In GoT we know exactly who has got an shard in his heart.

The Night King. And so that is why he plays with puzzle in ice. He is struggling to form the one symbol that would set him free.

Bonuses

Other than those patterns, there are several interesting tidbits from the story that fits with ASOIAF. There is this one blog said that The Snow Queen story was inspired by another story called “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” which if you read it, it is essentially “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” (the bear is a white bear, by the way)

More bonuses here. When Gerda finally remembers to find Kay during her time in the old woman’s home because of the rose, different flowers gave her different stories even though none tells her about Kay.

This is the story from tiger lily:

"Do you hear the drum? Boom, boom! It was only two notes, always boom, boom! Hear the women wail. Hear the priests chant. The Hindoo woman in her long red robe stands on the funeral pyre. The flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo woman is thinking of that living man in the crowd around them. She is thinking of him whose eyes are burning hotter than the flames-of him whose fiery glances have pierced her heart more deeply than these flames that soon will burn her body to ashes. Can the flame of the heart die in the flame of the funeral pyre?"

So GRRM didn’t take the sati ritual for Dany’s rites of passage as mother of dragons from just anywhere, but it is from this story.

Also, hear this story from hyacinth

"There were three sisters, quite transparent and very fair. One wore a red dress, the second wore a blue one, and the third went all in white. Hand in hand they danced in the clear moonlight, beside a calm lake. They were not elfin folk. They were human beings. The air was sweet, and the sisters disappeared into the forest. The fragrance of the air grew sweeter. Three coffins, in which lie the three sisters, glide out of the forest and across the lake. The fireflies hover about them like little flickering lights. Are the dancing sisters sleeping or are they dead? The fragrance of the flowers says they are dead, and the evening bell tolls for their funeral."

Of course this immediately bring to memory the quote of Jon Snow with Val: “The light of the half-moon turned Val’s honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. “The air tastes sweet.”” Well then, according to Hans Christian Andersen, that means death. There are three sisters here which could allude to the three queens at the almost end of GoT: Cersei Lannister (red), Sansa Stark (blue) and Daenerys Targaryen (white).

So those are my stab at it. I would be interested to hear if anyone’s take on it.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

mock the meat it feeds on

For the prompt: could you do geraskier "Don't you trust me?" / "You're not the one I don't trust..." with jaskier being jealous over/worried about triss? (in the books+games she does some manipulative stuff to be with geralt.)

I’ve only ever seen the show so I wasn’t too sure about the shady stuff regarding Triss and couldn’t find a simple explanation of it when I tried to look it up so I kinda took a different route because I really like show Triss so hopefully you still like it! Also on ao3!

And I’m gonna tag @roughentumble again!

In all the years that Jaskier has known Geralt, since that very first day in Posada, he's never known him to tolerate cities well, let alone actually enjoy them, which is why his sudden affinity for Novigrad is so vexing. Well, that and the reason for his newfound affinity.

Her name is Triss Merigold. She's a sorceress, of course, because Geralt apparently has a type and much to Jaskier's disappointment it's decidedly not talkative bards, and Jaskier trusts her about as much as he trusts a rabid dog.

The first time Jaskier meets her, he and Geralt are in Novigrad to replenish Geralt's dwindling supply of herbs and elixirs after a string of back-to-back contracts along the northern Redanian coast. They're searching for an apothecary, Geralt in the same foul mood he always slips into when they're forced into larger cities for whatever reason, his enhanced senses easily overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells of the city, making him incredibly susceptible to sensory overload and the consequent migraines that followed.

Jaskier's done his best over the years to accommodate for Geralt's sensitivity, content with either avoiding large cities altogether when traveling with Geralt or taking it upon himself to venture into busy marketplaces or meet with aldermen while Geralt waited on the outskirts of the city. But buying food or delivering severed monster heads to aldermen was a far cry from collecting the necessary ingredients Geralt needed.

Geralt himself was a walking encyclopedia of flowers and herbs needed for his potions, but Jaskier only possessed a rudimentary understanding of them, garnered from explanations Geralt had supplied when Jaskier had sufficiently wheedled him enough for a herbology lesson. Making the potions used by witchers was a precise science; one wrong ingredient or combination of such could result in a potion meant to staunch bleeding instead thinning the blood and preventing clotting or an elixir meant to heal instead being little more than poison.

And Jaskier would rather Geralt not die because he confused puffball and sewant mushrooms.

With no other option and Geralt's supplies running dangerously low, too low for him to risk even thinking about taking another contract, Geralt's reluctantly accompanied Jaskier into Novigrad.

They initially avoid the main marketplace in favor of backstreets and narrow alleyways in search of a more niche apothecary, hedge witches or homeopaths selling their wares out of their small homes. But after finding three small-scale herbalists' inventory severely lacking, they're forced to head to Hierarch Square in the heart of the city where the crowds are busiest.

They're scanning the overwhelmingly busy Square with its many shops and storefronts and throngs of swarming shoppers for a larger apothecary when they stumble onto Triss.

She's standing outside of a three-story house right on the Square, dressed in resplendent orange robes the color of fresh tiger lilies and, unsurprisingly, marigolds. The color, and the bright midmorning sunshine, brings out the bronze and auburn notes in her thick brown hair and highlights the brilliant sage green of her eyes, even at a distance.

She's watering a row of plants in a red brick planter that Jaskier immediately recognizes as healing herbs, yarrow and nettle and chamomile, milk thistle and Echinacea. Affixed just above the door to the home she's standing in front of is a large sign advertising her expertise as a sorceress, specifically one specializing in healing magic.

Jaskier's torn quite evenly between relief at finding someone who should have all the herbs Geralt requires and immediate distrust. Neither of them have very good track records in regards to sorceresses. They tend to want nothing more than to bed Geralt and get him wrapped around their little finger and tend to despise Jaskier solely for the fact that he exists.

If Jaskier didn't know better he'd say they were jealous, his friendship with Geralt always outliving the witcher's whirlwind affairs with his sorceresses. But Jaskier does know better and it wouldn't do to believe such a foolish notion, to think that Geralt truly wanted him more than he did any of his past lovers.

Now, Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, weighing their options, or rather the lack thereof, when he notices Geralt noticing the sorceress, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Without any further warning, he strides through the crowd of busy shoppers with Roach in tow to greet the sorceress with one of his rare half-smiles.

She returns Geralt's smile with a radiant one of her own and him into a quick hug, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. Jaskier can only watch dumbly, feeling like a knife has just been plunged into his heart, reopening old wounds along the way.

After a moment, Jaskier hurries after Geralt, weaving in between people who don't seem to acknowledge his existence, stomping on his toes and elbowing him in the ribs as he rushes over to Geralt. Triss greets Jaskier with a wide smile, more polite than he expects her to be as she introduces herself when Geralt fails to bother with proper introductions, leaning in to give Jaskier a hug of his own.

Brushing a few of her curls behind her ear, she invites them in for tea and quite generously offers to help replenish their supplies as much as she possibly can. They sit in her drawing room that's fragrant with sage and neroli, full of dried herbs and various crystals displayed on a shelf above the large fireplace, sipping the orange blossom tea she pours them in delicate porcelain teacups while she and Geralt catch up.

Jaskier listens attentively as Triss explains how they'd first met in Temeria, about the striga and the witcher who fell victim to it before Geralt had arrived, about King Foltest's scandalous affair with his sister, about how she had soon after left Temeria in favor of setting up shop in Novigrad. She's much friendlier than Jaskier is used to sorceresses being, smiling warmly as they talk and laughing when Jaskier jokes about Geralt being much more tight-lipped when Jaskier had asked him for the story about the striga.

After they've finished chatting, Geralt lists off the various herbs and other ingredients they're in search of at Triss' request. With a radiant smile directed at Geralt, Triss rises from her seat and starts bustling around the room, gathering herbs and flowers and small glass jars to store them in, leaving Jaskier and Geralt to finish their tea.

She's across the room with her back to them, standing at a work table scattered with potted herbs, meticulously gathering leaves and petals, when Geralt suddenly stands and crosses the room to stand beside her, leaving Jaskier alone at the table with Triss' cat, a giant fluffy orange beast of a feline with a smushed face that bats at his hand whenever he tries to pet it. Jaskier watches with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Geralt leans in close to Triss to say something to her that has her blushing and giggling as she turns to playfully swat at Geralt's arm, their faces intimately close.

Jaskier forces himself to look away as they continue talking softly amongst themselves, his honeyed tea suddenly bitter on his tongue. The knife in his chest twists.

Triss sends them on their way an hour or so later after providing them with everything they need, declining any sort of payment when Geralt reaches for his coin purse. With a gentle hand on Geralt's shoulder, orange painted nails a sharp contrast to the black of his armor, inviting them to visit her again the next time they're in Novigrad. Jaskier selfishly hopes they need never again enter the city.

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Quite predictably, Jaskier’s hopes are cruelly dashed and not two months later they're returning to Novigrad to collect a bounty for a fleder that had been terrorizing an old cemetery not far from the city proper. As they approach the city gates, Jaskier offers to take the proof to the local alderman, hoping to spare Geralt the inevitable migraine, but Geralt just grunts something about having another errand to run.

They head to Hierarch Square immediately after seeing the alderman, Geralt's pockets heavy with coin as he leads them directly to Triss' home. It really is a lovely him, a pale cream color with dark wood timbering and a steeply pitched brown clay roof. It's a shame Jaskier despises the mere sight of it.

Triss greets them at the front door with a smile, the warm afternoon sunshine on her face highlighting the scattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She's enchanting in a sage green dress that matches the shade of her eyes, yellow and orange marigolds embroidered along the hem and modest neckline.

She invites them in much to Geralt's visible pleasure but Jaskier politely begs off, lying about needing to pop into Books and Scrolls across the way for a few things and ignoring the look Geralt gives him at the obvious lie. If he truly did need anything from the bookshop, he would have mentioned it to Geralt, something he and Geralt both know but it's the first excuse that springs to mind aside from being brutally honest and explaining that he has no interest in watching them flirt again.

He does actually head across the Square to wander aimlessly through Books and Scrolls in hopes of distracting himself from thoughts of what Geralt and Triss could be currently doing now that they had no audience. He chats with the proprietor for a bit, then indulges himself and purchases a few inexpensive chapbooks of poetry and a new leather-bound songbook, the pages gilded and the top right corner of every page stamped with the image of a charming little nightingale, a familiar symbol to a poet like himself. By the time he returns to where Roach is waiting outside of Triss', Geralt and Triss are still inside.

He scratches Roach behind the ear the way she likes and feeds her a carrot he's been saving in one of his bags for her, sits on the edge of one of Triss' planters and halfheartedly strums his lute, figures he might as well try to make some coin while Geralt's...preoccupied.

He's made enough coin to afford a nice room at the Kingfisher by the time Geralt emerges from Triss' home, a small self-satisfied grin on his face. It's a shame, really. Typically Jaskier would be basking in the rare sight of Geralt smiling but at this moment it just sets his heart plummeting.

Jaskier would like nothing more than to leave Novigrad as soon as possible but it's growing dark and he'd like to indulge in some creature comforts only an inn of fine repute in a large city can offer, rich wine and a large tub and feather mattresses. Geralt doesn't argue, either in too good of a mood from his dalliance or simply because he enjoys said comforts just as much as Jaskier does, leading the way to the nearby inn while Jaskier forces enough enthusiasm to prattle on about how it was one of his own ballads that led to the particular naming of the Kingfisher.

He performs the very song that evening at Olivier, the innkeeper's, request, stealing surreptitious glances at Geralt in the dark corner he's claimed as his own for the evening as he sings of an unrequited love so painful and all-consuming that when the young maiden learned that the knight she so adored had eloped with a gorgeous princess, she threw herself into the sea. It was only the compassion of a sympathetic goddess that saved her from her fate, turning her into a kingfisher so she could sing of her lost love forevermore.

Jaskier thinks of the nearby harbor, with its fishing ships and sailors, and wonders what kind of bird he'd become if he threw himself to the mercy of the sea.

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To Jaskier's disdain, the pattern continues for the next several months.

Any time that they're even remotely close to Novigrad, they make a detour to the city, booking a discounted room at the Kingfisher (the rate generously halved by Olivier who gives Jaskier his drinks for free and always insists he grace them with a performance or two of his ballad about the kingfisher) that Geralt scarcely uses, constantly at Triss' home.

Jaskier splits his time at the Kingfisher, catching up with Olivier or performing with Priscilla, or the Passiflora, baring his heart and soul to the Marquise Serenity's sympathetic working girls who always coo over him and let him wax poetic about the brave, stoic, unfairly handsome witcher who will never return his affection. In the evenings, when Geralt deigns to return to the inn, always smiling the smile of a well-fucked man, Jaskier forces conversation while Geralt plays Gwent with Olivier or other patrons of the inn.

But most of all, he aches.

It's harder, somehow, with Triss. With Yennefer, while just as powerful and ever-present, the jealousy he felt was accompanied by the fact that he simply disliked Yennefer altogether, even before she and Geralt started their weird, complicated, fucked up relationship.

It wasn't difficult to dislike her when she had threatened him, held him at knifepoint, demanded he make a damn wish at the risk of losing his manhood if he refused. She would've easily killed him in her pursuit of the djinn and never lost a wink of sleep over it, disliked him just as much as he disliked her.

But Triss, Triss is sweet and kind, unassuming and about as intimidating as a kitten regardless of the powerful magic she wields. She smiles warmly whenever she sees Jaskier, greeting him with offers of tea and sweetcakes or questions about how he is rather than with snide comments about his age or appearance or his singing.

She's altogether lovely, nurturing and generous and absolutely gorgeous. Someone Geralt deserves. And Jaskier hates it. Hates her, as petty and vindictive as it may be. Hates her kindness and her gentleness and her warm melodic laughter. Hates that the man he loves seems to love her.

He hates her. But not nearly as much as he hates himself.

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Not a full month has passed since the last time they've graced the streets of Novigrad and here they are once again back in the city after hearing word of a siren that's wandered into the busy harbor to prey on merchants from Skellige and local fishermen alike.

Accustomed to sirens hunting in packs, the way fish swim in schools and seabirds scavenge in flocks, Geralt had finished the contract in record time, lugging the siren's head and tail from the harbor to the alderman's home to collect his payment. By now Jaskier knows that it's useless to waste time hoping that they can simply leave Novigrad now that's Geralt job is done.

So when Geralt abruptly announces he has business elsewhere in the city, Jaskier just sighs and informs him that he'll be at the Passiflora in the event that Geralt needs to find him. Rather unlikely given that Geralt will be occupied with Triss for the next few hours. Fucking witcher stamina.

He ignores the odd, irritated look Geralt gives him as they part ways. Like Geralt has any right to be bothered by him seeking out his own pleasure with the ladies at the Passiflora when he's off getting tangled up in expensive sheets with a bloody sorceress.

It's not as if Jaskier's actually going to the Passiflora to indulge in the services offered there. Geralt knows that he loathes the concept of having to pay for a fuck, not when he can seduce nearly anyone he chooses with his charm and wit alone, as evidenced by the scores of married men and women whose beds he's graced.

No, Jaskier's heading to the famed brothel for much more selfish reasons than wetting his wick. To strum melancholy chords on his lute and cry and complain about his one-sided love.

Which is exactly what he does. This early in the day the Passiflora isn't very busy, the ladies milling around the extravagant front parlor with its thick red brocade curtains and exposed wood beams, relaxing on red velvet chaise lounges and large tufted couches big enough to host an orgy on.

They greet him with kind smiles and calls of his name, like they're welcoming an old friend, and he manages a smile that isn't entirely forced. He sits on one of the chaise lounges and begins playing, another melancholy ballad about lost love and heartbreak, the ladies gathering round to listen to him sing, charitably ignoring the way his voice shakes.

He leaves the Passiflora a few hours later feeling a bit lighter for having aired his grievances to his enraptured audience, heading straight to Triss' house to collect his witcher for supper. Roach isn't waiting outside like she typically is but Jaskier just assumes Geralt left her in the warmth and comfort of the Kingfisher's meticulously maintained stables under the care of Olivier's best stablehand.

Jaskier isn't sure what exactly possesses him to actually head inside to collect Geralt, should know from experience to be wary about poking his head in on Geralt and his sorceresses. And yet he strolls right into Triss' home like a lamb to the slaughter.

The drawing room, filled with multiple bouquets of marigolds and orange dahlias, is empty aside from Triss' cat. The great orange beast is sprawled out on its side on the green velvet sofa, watching Jaskier with its pale yellow eyes rather judgmentally. Quite childishly, Jaskier sticks his tongue out at it.

He continues through the house to the kitchen, Geralt's name on his lips, and immediately regrets it.

Triss is leaning against the edge of her wooden kitchen table, nearly sitting on it to accommodate the large witcher standing between her parted legs, knees bracketing his hips. The dual swords, silver for monsters steel for humans, strapped to Geralt's back are all that he can see of him. That and one of his big callused hand as they slip under the rucked up hem of Triss' deep green robes to gently clutch at her bared thigh.

It's like Rinde all over again, helplessly watching Geralt in another's embrace as his heart shatters in his chest with enough force it could shake the earth itself. His entire chest aching like he's just been sucker punched, Jaskier averts his eyes and starts spouting half-formed apologies, stepping backward and accidentally knocking a mortar and pestle off a nearby counter with a loud clatter in his haste to retreat.

It's as he's still profusely apologizing that he belatedly realizes that Geralt doesn't have any scars on his left wrist. Unlike the wrist connected to the hand on Triss' exposed thigh. And that while he saw the broad shoulders and dual swords of a witcher, he didn't spot a single white hair, instead what appeared to be a thatch of dark hair.

He looks up sharply, trailing off, to see Triss hastily pulling down her skirts, cheeks darkened with a blush. And standing beside her is...

"Eskel?!" Jaskier gasps, looking the witcher up and down in shock. He's unmistakable with his dark wispy hair and spiked jacket and handsome smile, not to mention the rather distinctive scars running down the right side of his face.

They've only met on a few occasions, on contracts serious enough to attract more than one witcher. Such an occurrence would typically lead to the witchers trying to beat each other to finish the contract in order to claim the reward for themselves but in the case of two Wolf School witchers such as Geralt and Eskel, it simply led to the contracts being finished quicker than expected, the reward evenly split, and Eskel regaling Jaskier with embarrassing childhood stories about Geralt.

Now, Eskel greets him with a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck as though embarrassed about being caught. "Jaskier! You manage to drag Geralt to Novigrad?"

The mere mention of Geralt's name sets Jaskier alight, in an instant absolutely fuming as he cries, "What in the hell is going on here?! I would expect this from the likes of you — he points an accusatory finger at Triss, then turns to Eskel — "but you?! My gods, what's Geralt going to think?! His own brother...! Melitele's tits, how in the bloody hell is going to handle this-this despicable behavior?! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

To his chagrin, Eskel merely laughs, turning to Triss who sends him a confused look. She turns back to Jaskier, still smoothing out her skirts, and opens her mouth, undoubtedly in an attempt to defend her cruel deception.

"I don't want to hear it!" Jaskier snaps, incensed. He throws up his hands in frustration and turns on his heel to stomp back out of the kitchen, through the drawing room, and out of Triss' home, slamming the door behind him, fully prepared to storm across the Square and retreat to his and Geralt's room at the Kingfisher.

He has no plan, no inkling of what exactly his next step is beside waiting for Geralt to return to their room and somehow explaining that once again his sorceress lover has hurt him with her selfishness. The thought of breaking such dreadful news to Geralt is daunting; Jaskier doesn't ever want to be the cause of such pain for his friend.

He may act the careless rakehell when it suits him, ricocheting from one whirlwind affair to another, but even he isn't immune to the sting that comes with being left for another. He's grown attached to lovers time and time again only to be cast aside in favor of someone else, someone younger, prettier, less annoying, the pain always just as sharp as the very first time.

He thinks of the careless way the Countess de Stael had abandoned him for her new lover, of how she had callously ousted him from her home and her life, of how he'd drowned his sorrow in women and wine and a wasted wish on a djinn that wasn't even under his command. Of the horrible pain he feels every time Geralt goes chasing after Yennefer, leaving him behind with his bruised and battered heart still on his sleeve.

He only gets a quarter of the way across the Square, still trying to sort out how exactly he's going to explain the horrid situation, before he quite literally bumps into Geralt, having paid no mind to the bustling crowd around him in his anger.

Geralt's clearly on his way to Triss' home; it's the only reason he ever steps foot in the busy Square, otherwise avoiding it like a plague even he wouldn't be immune to. Jaskier plants one hand on Geralt's chest and points back at Triss' house with the other as he resolutely declares, "You do not want to go in there!"

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts, rolling his eyes and pressing forward, making Jaskier slide backward across the stone-paved street, propelled by the unstoppable force that is Geralt of Rivia. Roach offers no assistance. "I need to see Triss about getting more wolfsbane, I'm out."

"Not right now, you don't!" Jaskier insists, holding up a finger in Geralt's face. Geralt ignores him, continuing to walk forward as Jaskier's boots make a horrendous sound as the soles scrape over the cobblestone. Jaskier lets out an affronted squeak. "Geralt! For once in your miserable life will you listen to me, you stubborn oaf! Especially when I'm trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?" Geralt echoes, abruptly freezing in his tracks. His hand immediately goes for his swords. "What's in there?"

"Oh, put your swords away, it's not a monster," Jaskier says, though he certainly considers anyone who would hurt Geralt in such a way to be quite monstrous indeed. Regardless, the swords aren't entirely necessary. Jaskier sighs. "I just... I don't want you going in there, alright?"

Geralt narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly, little more than a slight squint as he looks at Jaskier, dropping his hand back to his side. "Don't you trust me?"

"Oh please, Geralt," Jaskier scoffs, rolling his eyes. "It's not you I don't trust..."

"Jaskier," Geralt says again, patience wearing thin.

Jaskier sighs again, feeling absolutely awful about having to relay the terrible truth to Geralt. At the very least, he can spare Geralt the pain of witnessing it himself, from having the sight of his lover and his brother tangled together in an intimate embrace ingrained in his mind's eye forevermore.

"Geralt, I'm so sorry," Jaskier begins, unable to stop the nervous fidgeting of his fingers, alternating between wringing his hands together and picking at his cuticles. "I... I was looking for you at Triss' and I found her. With Eskel."

He hopes it's self-explanatory enough to be a sufficient explanation, that he won't have to delve into the lurid details, but Geralt simply stares at him expectantly. "And-And, oh Geralt, I'm so sorry. They were in a rather...compromising position."

"And?" Geralt demands when it becomes apparent Jaskier has nothing else to say, cocking a brow. He seems entirely unfazed by what Jaskier's just revealed to him, as though he had simply reported the weather and not an instance of infidelity.

"And? And?!" Jaskier repeats, aghast. "And, I'm sorry that your lover has been unfaithful! With one your own brothers of all people!"

His voice raises without his volition, the slightest edge of hysteria sharpening it. Fortunately, the dull roar of the marketplace around them drowns it out a bit and keeps him from making a spectacle of himself.

Still, Geralt does not react beyond the confused look plastered on his face. Jaskier doesn't exactly expect a jealous outburst or for Geralt to break down in tears but he does expect a reaction of some sort! Anger or resignation or upset. Anything! Something! Not confusion, not this otherwise blank expression.

Jaskier's about to ask if Geralt heard him when the other man finally speaks.

"Jaskier," he begins almost cautiously, like he has something of grave importance to inform Jaskier of and fears he might startle the bard. "Triss is not my lover."

Ooh, lovely, now Geralt's lying to him. It reignites Jaskier's anger with a vengeance.

"Oh, please, Geralt! Despite what you may think I am not an idiot! You hate cities, can barely tolerate them for more than a moment, and yet over the past year, you've made us stop in Novigrad whenever we're even remotely nearby! You spend hours with her doing Melitele knows what while I'm relegated to playing at the inn to earn coin for a room you scarcely even use!"

"You never gave the impression you wanted to sit with us," Geralt answers, as though that's what Jaskier is upset about, feeling unwelcome during their little trysts. "You seemed content keeping Roach company, but you were always welcome, Triss said so herself."

Jaskier lets out an outraged squawk, gesturing aimlessly in his frustration. "Welcome to what?! Watching the man I've been in love with for half my life and his new lover?! Well, no thank you! I may be a glutton for punishment but I am not a bloody masochist and I have no interest whatsoever in subjecting myself to such a thing!"

He barely has a moment to register what he's just said, what precious secret he's just so carelessly divulged, because as soon as the words are out of his mouth the bell tower across the Square erupts into sound, filling the afternoon with the clamor of bells. It's too much for Geralt, much too loud much too fast, the sound most assuredly deafening with his heightened sense of hearing. He immediately winces, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand to his temple.

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier says, tone softening as he steps closer to Geralt to lay a hand on his shoulder. Geralt just hums, sounding pained. It immediately spurs Jaskier into action.

Keeping his hand on Geralt's shoulder, Jaskier sets his other hand around Geralt's right wrist, guiding him across the Square and letting him lean some of his rather considerable weight on him. Geralt maintains his light grip on Roach's reins like an anchor, earning a soft, soothing nicker from the mare as she gently bumps her snout against the side of his arm.

"Come now, we'll get you to the inn and get you some peace and quiet away from all this hubbub," Jaskier needlessly explains as he ushers Geralt down a less busy side street towards the Kingfisher. He bites his lip to keep from rambling the way he tends to when he's anxious or nervous, not wanting to exacerbate Geralt's migraine.

Fortunately, Geralt allows himself to be led to the Kingfisher and up the two flights of stairs to their room that's significantly quieter than the busy streets outside without any complaints, only speaking up to insist Jaskier make sure Roach is properly stabled. Jaskier leaves Geralt's side just long enough to ensure that Roach is content in her cozy stable with fresh hay and a few apples the size of his fist.

Returning to Geralt's side, Jaskier sits him down on the edge of the bed, helping him strip out of the heaviest pieces of his armor until Geralt waves him off to finish removing it himself, kicking off his boots in the meantime. As Geralt finishes removing his armor until he's in just his dark shirt and leathers, Jaskier bustles around the room making him some tea.

He boils the water over the fireplace, briefly lamenting the fact that he can't instantaneously boil it with a quick Igni, and prepares the dried chamomile flowers he keeps for just such an occasion. He digs a chunk of ginger root out of the bottom of his bag, grating a bit of it into the dried chamomile; just a touch so as not to overwhelm Geralt's sensitive palate.

He wraps the chamomile and hint of ginger in some cheesecloth as a makeshift teabag, setting it in a teacup Olivier has brought up at his request. The teacup is hand-painted, the delicate ivory-colored porcelain adorned with a ring of forget-me-nots and kingfishers in mid-flight. The irony of both symbols makes Jaskier's chest ache and a hollow laugh slip past his lips.

Once the water's done boiling, Jaskier pours some into the teacup, letting the tea steep for a few minutes before bringing it to Geralt who's still rubbing at his forehead. He instructs Geralt to drink it all then steps out to fetch a fresh pot of water from the kitchens, ferrying it back up to their room as quickly as he can. He dips an old rag, also taken from the kitchens, into the pot of cold water, wringing it out until it's damp rather than sopping wet before folding it and gently draping it across Geralt's forehead, setting his empty teacup aside.

He's holding the rag against Geralt's forehead, hoping it'll help alleviate his migraine to some degree, when Geralt's fingers curl around his wrist. His other hand comes to rest on the small of Jaskier's back beneath the hem of his doublet, reeling him in closer until their chests are nearly molded together, his shins hitting the side of the low mattress and his free hand settling on Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt's expression is significantly less pinched than it was in the Square as he looks up at Jaskier, pinning him in place with his gaze alone.

"Jaskier..." he rumbles, voice like an incoming thunderstorm. "What you said earlier..."

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, the memory of what he'd said outside Triss' washing over him like the rainstorm accompanying Geralt's thunder. Once again his careless tongue has gotten him into trouble, only this time instead of enraging some twopenny duke or sweet maiden's father, he's potentially ruined the most important relationship in his life.

He's said too much, like he always does. Always blathering on like the lovesick fool he is, using all sorts of pretty words and melodies to hide the ugly things he feels, like his jealousy and distrust, his petty resentment towards those whose only sin was that they'd had Geralt in the way that he's always wanted but can never have.

And now it's going to cost him Geralt, the way he's always known it would eventually. A foregone conclusion he'd tried to delay for as long as possible.

Now that Geralt knows that Jaskier's in love with him, now that Jaskier's so carelessly confessed his most well-guarded secret, he's sure to leave Jaskier in the dust the way he's always threatened. And Jaskier will be without the man he's devoted so much of his life to, with only memories and unsung love songs to keep him warm at night.

He waits patiently for Geralt to continue, pressing his lips together as he tries valiantly to steel himself for the inevitable. But bracing oneself for heartbreak is like bracing for a hurricane; being prepared did not alleviate the devastation that was wrought, it only made it slightly more manageable.

"Triss and I aren't lovers," Geralt says instead, and Jaskier just barely refrains from laughing in his face. "We're friends, acquaintances, really. Nothing more."

There's something about the tone of Geralt's voice, some undercurrent of steel and soft thunder, that makes it impossible for Jaskier to doubt the veracity of his statement, not when for all of Geralt's tendency to deflect Jaskier's prying questions he rarely ever lies to him.

Jaskier opens his eyes, looking down at Geralt with a confused frown. "But—"

"Last winter Eskel told me he'd met her on a contract in Novigrad, that they're...involved," Geralt elaborates. A small smile curls the corner of his lips up, it's the same small smile he wears when he teases Lambert or decides to make a joke at Jaskier's expense. "I've been visiting her to tell her about him. Old stories of dumb shit he's done, mischief he caused that led to a hiding."

Jaskier gapes at him, trying to wrap his mind around what Geralt's just told him. Once he does, he can't contain his incredulity. "You mean to tell me that for the past year you've been venturing into a city you despise solely to tell your brother's lover funny stories about him just to embarrass him?! Oh, gods, what am I even saying? That's exactly something you'd do you-you... You bloody muttonhead!"

Geralt's smile persists. "Muttonhead? You're the one who thought I was fucking Triss."

"Of course, I did!" Because you were always off slipping away to go see her at all hours, always whispering and cooing like a pair of lovesick mourning doves! What was I supposed to think? How was I to know you were just trying to embarrass your poor brother!" Jaskier defends, throwing up his free hand, indignation swelling within him before ebbing away to be replaced by a tide of embarrassment. He groans, hanging his head and closing his eyes. "I'm such an idiot, I cannot believe I've made such a fool of myself! Over a bloody misunderstanding of all things! Oh, sweet Melitele, I'm a fucking fool."

He draws in a sharp, ragged breath, raises his chin and tries to brace himself, staring over Geralt's shoulder. "And now... Now I'm sure you'll be taking your leave. Suppose Olivier will let me stay for a bit until I regain my bearings, as long as I perform my song about the kingfisher for him, he really does love that ballad."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, cutting off Jaskier's rambling before he can manage to embarrass himself any further. How very charitable of him. "Why would I leave?"

"Why would you...? Geralt! I just professed my love for you not half an hour's time ago! What else should I expect you to do? Pick me up in your arms and declare your endless devotion to me?!" Jaskier's impassioned diatribe trails off with a deep sigh. Still pressing the damp rag to Geralt's forehead, ever gentle to compensate for every hand that's touched him with nothing but cruelty, he breathes deeply and meets Geralt's eyes. "I told you, Geralt, I'm not a masochist. I would not torture myself with such grand delusions."

"I know well that you do not reciprocate my feelings. I understand, of course, and I've made my peace with it," Jaskier goes on, forcing himself to go on even when he feels his throat tighten. "I didn't intend on admitting it in such a way — in any way, really — and I apologize. I would be happy to continue traveling with you, truly nothing would make me happier, but I understand if you wish to part ways. I would never...hold it against you or any such thing, I swear."

"Did you mean it?" Geralt asks, catching Jaskier off guard. He's not sure what exactly Geralt's referring to.

He frowns at Geralt, sure his confusion is scrawled across his face. "Did I mean what?"

"What you said," Geralt says rather helpfully. Jaskier raises his brows expectantly. He's said a great deal this afternoon.

"When you said you love me," Geralt clarifies, meeting Jaskier's eyes with no trace of hesitation.

Jaskier manages another weak smile, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Of course. With every breath in my body. Every line in every song."

"Jaskier..." Geralt breathes, sounding wounded. His eyes slide shut and he tips his head to the side until his nose and cheek graze the heel of Jaskier's palm. He presses his lips to the spot where Jaskier's wrist and hand, softly kissing it.

Jaskier's breath catches in his throat at the fleeting touch of Geralt's lips, his stubble rasping against the smooth skin of his inner wrist. Hearing the hitch in Jaskier's breath, Geralt opens his eyes, gazing up at Jaskier with those buttercup gold eyes of his that always make Jaskier melt, knees weak from naught but a look.

With the hand he has on the small of Jaskier's back, warm through the fabric of his chemise, Geralt pulls him even closer. So close that Jaskier has to straddle Geralt's knee to avoid falling on his ass.

The movement startles another gasp out of Jaskier. He drops the wet rag with a muted thump against the hardwood floor as Geralt places another barely-there kiss to his wrist, just shy of where his own fingers are still curled around Jaskier's forearm.

Geralt raises his head and Jaskier can't resist the urge to cup Geralt's cheek in his hand, only having to move it an inch or so to rest his palm against Geralt's jaw, his thumb automatically brushing over the sharp cut of his cheekbone. Geralt leans into the touch the same way that Roach leans into scratches behind her ear, full-bodied and surprisingly trusting.

Chests brushing and Jaskier's knees bracketing one of Geralt's, they're dangerously close together. He knows Geralt would never hurt him, knows he could likewise never be able to be truly afraid of him. But Jaskier's heart pounds against his ribcage like waves crashing against the rocky shore, the ebb and flow thundering in his ears like warning bells.

Geralt's face is close to his, only a few scant inches apart, a temptation like he's never known. Geralt's always been a temptation, a constant one dangled in front of Jaskier but just out of his reach, closer than a brother. But he's never been *this* close.

Jaskier's been good for the past twenty odd years. Has resisted all of his selfish urges and one-sided wanting. Hasn't let his hands linger longer than could be deemed friendly, hasn't succumbed to his ever-present desire to just throw caution and consequences to the wind and kiss Geralt with all the passion and longing he's managed to contain thus far.

He's been tortured with temptation over the years, nearly driven mad by it all. By the temptation of helping Geralt out of his armor and sullied clothes, face to face with miles of pale skin and mouthwatering muscle greater men than he would find hard to resist drooling over, ignoring his baser desires in order to help bathe him. By the temptation of waking in a shared bed with Geralt only an arm's length away, if even that far, his handsome features softened by sleep and the early morning sunshine bathing him in rays of pale gold.

But he could never make that leap of faith, could never close the distance between them even for the most chaste of kisses. He was too worried about losing what he already had and cherished so dearly in his pursuit of more, afraid he would lose his world while shooting for the moon.

He wasn't lying when he said he would be happy to continue traveling with Geralt, content to have Geralt in his life as a friend rather than the alternative of not having him in his life at all.

But Geralt's eyes flicker down to his lips for a long moment, a flash of brilliant gold promising treasure far beyond any precious metals or priceless gems and Jaskier can no longer resist the temptation, yielding to it instead.

He leans down toward Geralt at the same moment Geralt raises his head, pulled together like two magnets, binary stars drawn towards one another by mutual attraction. He's not sure who exactly kisses who first or if they simply crash together at precisely the same time, Jaskier's hand slipping into Geralt's hair when Geralt releases his wrist in favor of cupping the side of Jaskier's face in his big hand.

Kissing Geralt is like feeling the first rays of morning sunshine wash over him, like walking in the first rainfall after a long drought. It's like the rush of performing for a large audience at a prestigious event and like the intimate camaraderie formed when performing for just a small tavern full of attentive listeners.

It's honey and salted sea air, steel and silver and snow, blood and ambrosia. Like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

Jaskier never wants to stop. Knows he could easily get addicted to it if Geralt let him, could grow drunk off the bouquet of his lips like the finest wine. And, wonder of wonders, it seems as though Geralt just might.

Because Geralt's kissing him with the same remarkably focused, single-minded intensity he uses when completing an especially difficult contract, when he's sharpening his swords by the firelight, when he's taking care of Roach. Being the object of such intensity is heady, rather flattering.

Geralt's right hand is warm on Jaskier's back, his little finger dipping under the hem of his chemise, using the hand cupping Jaskier's face to guide his head just the slightest bit to the side as he deepens the kiss. His lips are slightly chapped but addictive nonetheless as he curls his tongue against Jaskier's in a way that nearly makes him see stars. Jaskier's knees are perilously weak, knees gone to jelly like the strawberry preserves Geralt fancies so much at the first touch of his lips.

The position is a bit awkward. With how low the bed is, Jaskier's forced to crane his neck at an awkward angle, head tipped to the side to avoid simply mashing his face against Geralt's like a schoolboy having his first snog. He can feel a crick in his neck that's going to plague him for days if he doesn't move but the thought of tearing his lips away from Geralt's is downright torturous and he'd rather stand there forever in slight discomfort if it means he can continue to kiss his witcher for just a moment longer.

But Geralt, ever vigilant, seems to notice the uncomfortable way Jaskier's head is angled, moving farther back on the mattress and pulling Jaskier with him until the bard's crawling on his knees on the mattress, now straddling Geralt's thigh rather than his knee. They're of a height now, easing the way as Jaskier pours all of himself into the kiss with renewed passion.

But even with the lungs of a singer, Jaskier has to break the kiss to catch his breath, chest heaving as he presses his forehead against Geralt's. Geralt shifts his hand from Jaskier's face to his hip as he brushes the tip of his nose across Jaskier's cheek, practically nuzzling him, and mutters, "Never wanted her, Jaskier. Just you. Only you."

Jaskier can't help the groan that's wrenched out of him at the hushed confession, lowering his head for another deep kiss, fisting his left hand in the fabric of Geralt's shirt. His heart feels fit to burst at the confirmation that his feelings aren't one-sided, that his love for Geralt is reciprocated to some degree, enough for him to be straddling the man's lap and kissing the daylights out of him.

A few moments later, he again reluctantly drags his lips away from Geralt's for the sake of breathing, smiling when Geralt grunts almost petulantly as Jaskier pauses their kiss. Catching his breath, he runs his fingers through Geralt's hair, the glide of the silk-soft strands through his fingers both soothing and exhilarating.

Geralt ducks his head to bury his face in the side of Jaskier's neck, peppering kisses down the side of his neck from just below his ear to the collar of his doublet. Jaskier lets out a soft breath, hand tightening in Geralt's hair.

"I... I should apologize to Triss," Jaskier manages to say in spite of the cloud of lust filling his entire body, mind clearing for a moment even as Geralt very lightly grazes his teeth up the long line of his neck. "I said some rather awful things to her..."

"Hmm... Later..." Geralt rumbles against his throat, lips rasping over the sensitive skin and making Jaskier squirm atop him. Jaskier shudders as Geralt starts laying open-mouthed kisses on his throat, wants him to leave a mark, a bruise in the shape of his mouth as proof that this isn't just another midday fantasy or late-night dream, that it's real. He doubts Geralt would be adverse.

"E-Eskel, too," Jaskier says shakily, eyes fluttering shut as Geralt continues showering his neck with attention, his tongue occasionally darting out to taste his skin. He gasps out a sharp moan when Geralt nips at a rather sensitive spot just behind Jaskier's earlobe, apparently not a fan of Jaskier saying other people's names while wrapped in his arms. Jaskier can't exactly fault him for that, dipping his head to press his lips against Geralt's.

The hand on Jaskier's back slips more fully beneath the hem of his chemise, fingers fanned out across the small of his back, Geralt's other hand on his hip squeezing gently. Jaskier shivers again, Geralt's bare skin on his own sending a frisson of pleasure down his spine, heat pooling low in his gut.

He blindly feels for the front laces of Geralt's shirt, humming happily when he finds them. He abandons his grip on Geralt's hair to settle both hands on Geralt's broad chest, sturdy and warm beneath his palms, fingers toying with the laces.

He unlaces them as much as possible, revealing a wide swath of his chest, scattered with old scars and dusted with hair. Jaskier can't resist running his hands over the bared skin, tracing his fingers over familiar scars he knew the stories of by heart: claw marks from a griffin, an old stab wound from a lucky bandit, a slash from the tail spikes of a forktail, all of them part of the man he loves so much, features rather than flaws.

He wants to touch more of Geralt's chest, wants to strip him of his shirt and run his fingers over every scar he can find, press kisses to each one. But he also wants to bury his hands in Geralt's hair again, to brush his fingertips through the silky strands that smell faintly of jasmine bath oil. He wants to cup Geralt's face in his hands, brush kisses across his cheeks and forehead and eyelids and chin. He'd also very much like to get his hands on Geralt's ass.

Years of wanting have left him with so many desires to touch, all of them getting muddled in his head in his haste to accept whatever Geralt's willing to offer even if it's just a few more kisses. But his mind is still clear enough for something to occur to him.

"Oh!" He gasps, pulling back for a moment, panting a bit. He winces theatrically, genuinely contrite. "You may not ever be able to go to the Passiflora again. I may have told all the girls there that you're a heartless cad who's quite thoroughly shattered my heart with your gallivanting ways."

Geralt quirks a pale brow, clearly annoyed that Jaskier's once again put their kissing on hold in favor of prattling on. But there's a smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks up at Jaskier. "Is that what you were doing there?"

Jaskier nods a touch sheepishly, chewing his lip. He runs his thumb over Geralt's bottom lip and the cleft in his chin, feeling a bit foolish as he admits, "You know I don't like paying for sex. I needed a shoulder to cry on. The girls were always rather sympathetic."

"Hmm," Geralt replies, reaching up to card his fingers through Jaskier's hair, brushing his thumb over his cheek. His eyes flicker down to look at Jaskier's mouth, lips pink and kiss swollen. "Somehow, I think I'll manage without their services. Now shut up, Jaskier."

And Jaskier, well, he's more than happy to comply. For now. The sea won’t be claiming him tonight. He’s found his halcyon days.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you know any good movie aus? Not as in they're actors, but fics written based on movie plots?

Hey Nonny!!

OHHHH! This is fantastic! Because I actually have ANOTHER ask looking for crossovers too, and the list is HUGE. So I’ve used this opportunity to split the list up into two. This one here is for my MFL list, and if anyone has any of their own to suggest, please add them to this list! 

So, check out Below!

CROSSOVERS and FUSIONS (Feb 2021) Pt. 1.5 [FICS TO READ]

See Also:

Fairy Tales and Fantasy

TV, Movies, and Books AU (Fantasy Pt. 2)

Wonderful Life AU

Sherlock / Hannibal Crossovers?

Science Fiction / Fantasy

Faes / Faeries

Disney-esque Fics

Moulin Rouge AU

Crossovers and Fusions Pt 1

Two More Miracles by PatPrecieux (T, 221 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Angst With Happy Ending, 221B Ficlet, Temporary Character Death) – Tragedy and miracles go hand in hand.

Here, Though the World Explode, These Two Survive by TheTyger (G, 1,194 w., 2 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Post-TRF, Ineffable Husbands, Fluff, Reunion, Rings, Hurt/Comfort) – Tomorrow, it would be three years from that day. Three years with no rude text messages, no experiments being conducted while London slept, no body parts in the fridge. And John still sometimes caught himself buying extra milk and looking for cases and making two coffees.

Just the Book by Carenejeans (G, 1,495 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Humour, Aziraphale’s Bookshop) – John's looking for a book. It's Aziraphale's bookshop, but Crowley provides customer service.

The Case of the Missing.... by Beth H (G, 2,601 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock Crossover || Case Fic) – Crowley has gone missing, and Aziraphale hasn't a clue how to go about finding him. Luckily, help comes from above...or rather, from the side.

The Curious Case of the Missing Antichrist by Aedemiel (G, 2,865 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock Crossover || Vignette, Case Fic, Desperation, Bad Ideas) – What if Aziraphale and Crowley had consulted the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, about finding Adam Young?

Eye of the Storm by Calais_Reno (G, 2,996 w., 1 Ch. || The Day After Tomorrow AU || Survival, Cold Weather, Boy Scout John, No Major Character Death) – Weather has become the fifth horseman of the apocalypse.

Nice and Accurate Deductions by htebazytook (T, 3,179 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Romance, Humour, Fluff) – Sherlock drags John to a certain bookshop in Soho.

Snake In The Flat by PatPrecieux (T, 3,293 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Magical Realism, Fluff, Humour, Ineffable Husbands) – There can be a snake in the grass, snakes on a plane and now there's a snake in the flat.

The Picture of Sherlock Holmes by CarmillaCarmine (M, 3,306 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian Dorian Gray AU || Angst, Paris, London, Travel, Painting, Major Character Death, Opera, Captain John, First Meetings) – Sherlock Holmes, a rich and frivolous man, after a lifetime of debauchery finally falls in love. His heart chooses Captain Watson.

The Old Town by a_different_equation (T, 3,573 w., 1 Ch. || Hans Christian Anderson Fusion || Magical Realism, Christmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Love Stories, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Museums, Sweet Sherlock) – Once upon a time there were two boys. This is the story how once upon December, they found the missing Christmas Spirit, true love and new beginnings. A Queer fairytale for all seasons.

Holmes vs. Harkness by coinin (T, 3,960 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood / HHGTTG Fusion || Crack, Mystrade) – In which Captain Jack gets in a little over his head and is introduced to the myriad joys of bureaucracy, Mycroft is smug, the Guide offers up some helpful advice, John Watson doesn't share, and, in a strange turn of events, Jack doesn't get laid even once.

Perfect by TrufflesTheMushroom (T, 3,984 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || The Apocalypse) – Crowley and Aziraphale have made a huge mistake. It's the end of the world and it all boils down to one fight. Crowley has picked John Watson. Aziraphale has picked Sherlock Holmes.

Limbo by Calais_Reno (T, 4,070 w., 1 Ch. || Good Omens Crossover || Waiting Rooms, Ineffable Bureaucracy, Paperwork, Explosions, Apocalypse, Second Chances, Declarations of Love, Nobody Dies) – Ordinarily Sherlock would be quite impatient by now with all this pointless waiting (for what?), but at the moment he feels as if he has all the time in the world.

The Baker Street Flat by Anonymous (PG-13, 5,000-20,000 w., 7 Parts || Lake House Crossover || Angst, Romance, LIVEJOURNAL Comments Fic) – John’s pretty sure it’s a sign of mental imbalance — of which he has been all too frequently accused of late — that he is actually entertaining the possibility that he is communicating with a total stranger two years in the future via the magic mail slot on the door of his new flat. He certainly won’t be mentioning this at next week’s session. On his way out the door to interview for a part-time position at a local surgery, another meeting where he has no intention of mentioning his most recent hobby, he drops a fairly sarcastic note: If you’re really from 2012, is the world about to end?

In the Shadows by Laur (M, 5,029 w., 1 Ch. || Loose Shutter Island Fusion || Disturbing Imagery, Psychological, Angst, Major Character Death, Grief/Trauma) – Do you believe in ghosts? When Sherlock’s eyes snap to him they are anguished.

come be my april fool by a_different_equation (M, 6,473 w., 1 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Writer!Sherlock, Est. Rel., Fluff / Humour, Baking, Marriage Proposal, Military Kink, Domestics, POV John, Romance, Sherlock Wears Glasses, Sweet Sherlock, Bookstores, Queer Themes) – After leaving ‘The Great British Bake Off’, Sue Perkins has written a book about Victorian baking. Tonight, on April 1st, she is reading at ‘The Bard’, Mike Stamford’s bookstore in central London. It is the exact same spot where John Watson, battered and bruised, had learned all about his magnificent bastard – one Mr. Sherlock Holmes, famous gay crime fiction writer – for the first time. A story about found family, DRAMAtical lesbians, how to react when your boyfriend has a military kink but he doesn't want to act on it, oh, and popping the question. Sequel to 'i read your book, you magnificent bastard'. Part 2 of Magnificent Bastard!AU

The Babadook by CatieBrie (T, 6,886 w., 1 Ch. || Babadook Fusion || Post-TRF, Horror, Demonic Possession, Violence, Halloween, Grief, Angst with Happy Ending) – “A children’s book,” John mutters as he flips it open. The pages are scrawled with beautiful charcoal lines and thick black ink. The cover, bright red, edges the open pages and something tugs at the back of John’s brain. It’s a familiar feeling, black and tarrish and thick in his thoughts. He shakes it off and picks the book up off his bed, turning so that he can sit on the edge and spread the book out across his knees. If it’s in a word or it’s in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook. He turns the page, ignoring the pressure building beneath his chest. There’s a closet on one page; paper doors meant to be opened by the reader flutter as John reads the text on the other page.

What To Do With An Atypical Animal Within by HarveyDangerfield  & swimsalot (E, 7,804 w. || Harry Potter AU || Animagus, Porn With A Little Plot, Tail Porn) – Sherlock is determined to be an animagus. But what happens when it isn't a fox or a horse or a dog he's turning into?

The Lonely by elwinglyre (E, 7,888 w., 1 Ch. || Twilight Zone AU || Major Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Firsts, Sad Ending) – Witness if you will a distant planet with a dungeon made of desert sand and mountain stone. This planet holds one inmate, a man wrongly accused, serving a life sentence. His only solace, his notebook and the thought of the day when the supply ship brings him a pardon. Instead, salvation comes to John Watson in a large box and a visitor from The Twilight Zone.

Friend by esama (G, 7,909 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Character Death, Kid Fic) – Sherlock finds the skull when he's five.

Spell It Out by prettysailorsoldier (M, 8,344 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Fusion || Teenlock, Christmas, Love Potion/Spell, Pining Sherlock) – Remaining at Hogwarts over break has become something of a tradition for Sherlock and John, staying behind together ever since their very first year, but, when Irene throws a gift of doctored coconut ice into the mix, plans quickly change, even if John doesn't. Part 6 of 25 Days of Johnlock

The Long Goodbye by elbereth (M, 8,367 w., 1 Ch. || Time Traveller’s Wife AU || Doomed Timelines, Time Travel) – Sherlock travels in time. The ending is known even before they meet, yet they choose to live this love. One of them knows the past, one of them knows the future, yet their deepest secret is safe from each other. Limited time, but unlimited love.

Sugar & Spice by Ttime42 (T, 8,476 w., 1 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || First Kiss, Baking) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson compete on The Great British Bake Off.

Pygmalion by ancientreader (T, 9,136 w., 2, Ch. || Pygmalion AU || Magical Realism) – The spell to turn a statue into an animate being has been illegal in the UK for a hundred and seventy years when the -- body? -- is found on Hampstead Heath. It changes everything.

Am I the Current (Tiger) King of England? by Dee_Laundry (T, 9,360 w., 1 Ch. || Tiger King Fusion || Post-S4, Dreams, Friendship, John’s Sexuality, Sherlock’s Sexuality, Quarantine/CoVID-19, Past Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Dom/Sub, First Kiss) – “I had the weirdest dream last night,” John said. Seven times.

I Could Try by Arcwin (T, 9,583 w., 5 Ch. || Greek Mythology Crossover || Post-TRF, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, POV John, Pining John, BAMF John, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Horror, Angst with Happy Ending) – John is grieving Sherlock's death post Reichenbach until one day, he sees the violin case, and something inside him tells him to pick it up. Crossover between BBC Sherlock and the Greek tragedy Orpehus and Eurydice, wherein Eurydice is killed for her beauty and taken to the Underworld. Orpheus, being the son of Apollo (the God of Music and Medicine) travels to the Underworld to convince (via playing his lyre) Hades and Persephone to let Eurydice go. Orpheus then must travel with Eurydice behind him, not looking back, until they exit to the land of the living.

Puzzlebox by  standbygo (E, 9,867 w., 5 Ch. || Hellraiser Fusion || True Love, Supernatural Elements, Psychological Horror, First Kiss, Post S2, Angst with Happy Ending) – A love story with horror. A horror story with a happy ending.

you are a paradigm by 1electricpirate (M, 10,013 w. || Harry Potter AU || Wizard!John / Muggle!Sherlock, Magic) – Sometimes, only sometimes, when Sherlock is very far away and absolutely guaranteed not to return for at least three hours, John sits on the sofa and lets the tea make itself. In which John is (reluctantly) a wizard, Mycroft is (apparently) omniscient, and Sherlock is (surprisingly) oblivious. Part 1 of More Things Than Are Dreamt Of

Already Gone by johnwatso (M, 10,078 w., 8 Ch. || Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion || Non-Linear Narrative, Memory Loss, Ambiguous / Open Ending) – Dear Mr Greg Lestrade,  Sherlock Holmes has had John Watson erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. Thank you, Lacuna Inc.

A Real Deal by toyhto (M, 10,339 w., 1 Ch. || Black Mirror-Inspired ||  Science Fiction, Post-TRF, Canon Divergence) –  Please be real, he thought and pulled Sherlock closer.

You Don't Need Wings to Fly by Laiquilasse (T, 11,326 w., 11 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Bullying, Angels, Suicidal Ideation, Christmas) – John, an angel, is sent from Heaven to help a desperate Sherlock Holmes by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed.

Backup Copies by etothepii (M, 13,332 w., 3 Ch. || Dollhouse Crossover || Major Character Death) – When John dies, Sherlock doesn't know what to do. But Mycroft does.

Silent Night by khorazir (M, 15,060 w., 1 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Care Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Reunion, PTSD John, Christmas) – It’s Christmas Eve 1944, and Sherlock Holmes has received his most precious gift already: after a long, dangerous deployment, Surgeon Captain John Watson of the Royal Navy has unexpectedly returned from the front. As if this weren’t enough, there’s a case. Both events make for a night full of promise, excitement, and the difficult task of getting reacquainted with the man Sherlock hasn’t seen in three years and feared he’d lost forever. Part 2 of Enigma

In Arduis Fidelis by Raliena (T, 18,628 w., 10 Ch. || GI Joe Crossover || Captivity, Surgery, BAMF John, John “Three Continents” Watson, POV John Watson, Prisoner of War, Cobra - Freeform, soldier John, John-centric, Doctor John Watson, John is a Very Good Doctor, Violence) – Once upon a time John was a Soldier and a Doctor. And he was known John or Doc or Doctor. But things change. And he *earned* his right to the name “Three Continents Watson”. Part 1 of the Three Continents Watson series

Serendipity by Calais_Reno (T, 18,222 w., 3 Ch. || Serendipity Fusion || Christmas, Romance, Coincidences, First Meetings, Misunderstandings, New York City, Fate and Destiny) – A bit of New York Christmas fluff, based on the 2001 movie.

Magnificent by esama (T, 19,477 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Crossover Pairing) – The birth of the Ministry of Magic and his relationship with the British Government.

Much Ado About Nothing or Get Over Here and Kiss Me Already! by MorganeUK (NR, 19,847 w., 13 Ch. || Much Ado About Nothing AU || Mutual Pining, Angst, Lestrolly) – AU in modern time where the Holmes' are a powerful noble family, Mycroft is the chief of defences and Sherlock is working for secret service. Lestrade is a high rank officer in the army. Ms Hudson is an old Lady that took care of her niece and nephew Molly and John since their youth. Part 1 of the Sherlock / Shakespeare series

Dead Letter Office by a_different_equation (M, 20,364 w., 15 Ch. || ‘Bartleby’ Fusion / Office Setting AU || Different First Meeting, Epistolary, John's Blog, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pre-Canon, John Watson is Sherlock's Boss, PTSD John, Military Backstory, Writer John, Drug Use, Texting) – John Watson comes home from the war, gets a new job and meets Sherlock Holmes through Mike Stamford. Same tale since 1891, except this time it’s 2008, John is Sherlock’s boss, and they work together at the Dead Letter Office in London. It's not a love story, until it finally is.

When John Met Sherlock by MorganeUK (T, 21,293 w., 10 Ch. || When Harry Met Sally AU || Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship, Faking It, Mutual Pining, Background Lestrolly, Fluff and Smut, Rom-Com) – At first they thought that friendship was impossible. Then meet again and become friends. After dinners, texts, cases and discussions they become more, best friends. Faking orgasm before falling on the floor together to get real one... Then going back to pushing each other away again... Before falling in love!But not necessarily in this order.

You're The One by Mazarin221b (E, 21,768 + w. || WiP || Underage Dirty Dancing Fusion ||  Period Typical Homophobia, Sexism, Angst, Fluff) – John Watson is seventeen years old and has his life planned out: medical school, a commission, and an opportunity to change the world. He just has to get through three weeks at The Copper Beeches - a resort owned by one of his father's patients - with his annoying sister and his perfect parents before he's off to Cambridge. But John has a secret he's trying desperately to keep, and, it seems, so is just about everyone around him, including the incredibly gorgeous and amazing dance teacher, Sherlock Holmes, and his partner Irene Adler. Too bad Jim Moriarty seems to know precisely what everyone is hiding.

Into the Multiverse by AnAnYaH (M, 21,958 w., 18 Ch. || Avengers / Sherlock / Dr. Strange Crossover || Multiverses, Everstrange, Parentlock / Teenage Rosie, Sad Sherlock, Angry Sherlock, Sherlock/John Fight, Magic, Strange John, First Kiss, Whipping, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Threats of Rape / Non-Con, Mental Anguish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending) – Nothing lasts forever. I am beginning to think it's the same for you and me. In a world where we don't co-exist how long will it take to finally break us ? Or are we already broken in need of a fix ?A multi-chapter fic where Sherlock and John had to leave their lives to save the world from universal threats and pursue as Doctor Strange and Everett Ross.Will they ever reunite? Part 1 of the Everstrange series

Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle by KatsatheGraceling (M, 22,751 w., 1 Ch. || James Bond Crossover || Bondlock, BAMF John, Assassin John, Q is a Holmes, Clueless Sherlock, Omniscient Mycroft) – The one where John is a BAMF assassin. With an affinity for cuddly warm jumpers.

Impossible Improbable Truth by KaraRenee (M, 24,308 w., 9 Ch. || Labyrinth AU) – John and Sherlock take a case investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl and her toddler half brother. What they find is an impossible adventure that leads them on a journey of discovery of their sexuality.

The Art Of Seduction: A Study In Pulling by flawedamythyst (M, 25,279 w., 1 Ch. || Queer As Folk Inspired AU || John/OMC, Additional Tags to Be Added Upon Reading) – Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way. Part 1 of The Art Of Seduction

False Advertising by ravenscar (E, 27,722 w. || Office AU / Devil Wears Prada Inspired || Victor Trevor, Flashbacks, Hurt / Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Younger John/Older Sherlock, Marriage Proposal) – Sherlock is John’s boss and mentor at an advertising agency. Can they find love in the cut-throat workplace?

A Wizarding Barista's Field Guide to Seducing a Muggle by paradigmfinch (T, 29,344 w., 9 Ch || Harry Potter Coffee Shop AU || Wizard John, Muggle Sherlock, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Dates, Secret Identity) – To help pay for Healing tuition, John Watson gets a job at a coffee shop in Muggle London, where he soon sets his sights on a particularly gorgeous customer. John's seen plenty of Muggle films. How different can it really be to woo a Muggle?

Time Of My Life by fiveainley_ohmy (E, 29,719 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Dancing Fusion || Bisexual John, Dancing, Gay/Demi Sherlock) – John Watson takes his alcoholic sister to a summer camp in attempt to rehabilitate her. He didn't expect to fall in love with the dance instructor.

Through Dangers Untold by hogwartswitch (E, 32,003 w., 13 Ch. || Labyrinth AU) – The Goblin King has fallen in love with John Watson and visits him in dreams. But the evil wizard who cursed the Goblin King cannot allow that to continue. Will John survive the labyrinth? Or will he become a lost goblin like all the rest?

Unsettled by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy (E, 33,879 w., 10 Ch. || HIs Dark Materials AU || Daemons, Dark Themes, Non-Con) – Sherlock's dæmon hadn't settled. Once John realised that, so much made sense. Though so much else didn't, because it practically wasn't possible. Part 1 of the The Utmost Edge of Hazard series

The Last Companion by standbygo (E, 34,101 w., 14 Ch. || Firefly Fusion || Prostitution, Case Fic, Falling in Love, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn, BAMF John, Discussions of Non Con But Doesn’t Happen) – Thirty years after the Miranda Wars, there is peace, both on the Rim and the Core planets. There are a number of old social mores still in place, such as the Order of Companions, but there is a sense that even such respected practices are coming to an end… Sherlock is a Companion - the best Companion on Persephone. With a bit of detective work on the side, of course. Then he meets a man named John Watson, encounters a series of bizarre cases, and finds his world is getting turned upside down.

The Great Bakerstreet Bake Off by Elphen (M, 38,058 w., 8 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Caring Sherlock, Sweet John, Fluff, Baking, Accidental Touching, Pining, BJ’s, Banter and Bickering, Oblivious Characters) – John has decided to watch The Great British Bake Off this year and he is determined to do so. As Sherlock joins him, he is certain that that plan is ruined. He's in for a surprise when he's allowed to watch it but the real shock comes when Sherlock decides they ought to bake themselves. What's more, they should bake what they make in the Bake Off. John's not so sure it's a good idea but when his insides flutter at the thought, he finds it hard to complain.

Toe to Toe by standbygo (E, 44,971 w., 26 Ch. || White Nights Crossover || Ballet/Dance, Slow Burn, Spies/Secret Agents, Angst with Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss/Time, Shower Sex) – Sherlock Holmes is an international ballet star. After a favour for his brother goes south, he finds himself trapped in a foreign country, with a man named John Watson who could be an enemy... or an ally.

Silence by halloa_what_is_this (T, 44,993 w., 13 Ch. || The Piano Fusion || Victorian Sherlock, Dub Con, Voyeurism, Permanent Mutilation, Johniarty, Mute John) – In 1850, John is a mute young man forced to marry to save his father from indebtedness. His sister as his interpreter and his piano to keep him company, he travels to London to live with his husband James Moriarty. Without John's consent, James sells the piano to his friend Sherlock Holmes, who only asks for lessons from John in return. The lessons turn into a power play between the two when Sherlock proposes a deal: John may earn his piano back one key at a time, certain conditions attached. Part 1 of the Aborted Wings series

Crime is of the Essence by K8BNimble (M, 45,569 w., 18 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Mystery, Slash) – When a man he hasn’t seen in almost ten years appears in his home with a man he thought was dead for twenty years, Harry Potter knew his evening had just gotten complicated. Written for Snarry Swap 2011. Named Hot Rec by "The Daily Snitch"1/18/2011. Snarry, past Harry/Sherlock. Long plotty mystery with light graphic slash sex.

Always 1895 by standbygo (E, 45,901 w., 19 Ch. || Oxford Time Travel AU || Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, First Kiss/Time, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Angst With Happy Ending) – Time travelling historian John Watson goes to Victorian era England to study, and meets detective Sherlock Holmes. He finds himself torn between the work he was sent to do, the exciting life of solving crimes, and the extraordinary Holmes himself.

Curled (A Tangled AU) by crimsonwinter (G, 46,330 w., 13 Ch. || Tangled AU || Alternating POV) – Sherlock lives a limited life, high in a tower, and all he's wanted in eighteen years of isolation is to someday break free and see the floating lights. Somehow, a string of events leads him to John Watson, a surprisingly kind thief who steals his heart. Will they escape the selfish advances of Moriarty, Sherlock's paternal guardian, and will Sherlock find the meaning behind the silver lanterns?

The Boy Who Balanced on the Train Tracks by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 54,894 w., 5 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || John/Snape, Period Typical Homophobia, Character Death, Underage Sexual Attraction, Sexual Awakening, Time Turner, First Time, Poverty, Domestic Abuse, Death Eaters, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with Happy / Bittersweet Ending) – Every year, on the 2nd of May, John Watson dreams of long black hair.

Say You’ll Stay With Me by justacookieofacumberbatch (E, 63,349 w., 21 Ch. || Pretty Woman Fusion || Prostitution) – It was just supposed to be an ordinary business trip, but when John’s car stalls out on Hollywood Boulevard, he meets someone who just might change his life.

Whispers in Corners by esama (T, 64,402 w., 10 Ch. || Harry Potter Crossover || Deathly Hallows, Crossover Pairing) – Everything started with a stumble - his new life in a new world as well as his surprisingly successful career as a medium.

Masters of Ink by Indybaggins (E, 67,382 w., 7 Ch. || Ink Master Tattoo TV Show AU || Angst, Banter, Body Modification, Cheating, Desire, Developing Relationship, Disability, Falling in Love, Feels, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Married John, Past Drug Addiction, Pining, Requited Love, Sex, Slow Burn, Smoking, Tattoo Artist John, Tattoo Artist Sherlock) – First-meeting-on-a-reality-show AU, Ink Master edition! There is expert tattooing, slightly less expert flirting, and two men falling hard. But John is married, and they can’t all win.

The Craving in Between by love_in_mind_palace (E, 69,349 w., 16 Ch. || Wedding Planner AU || Infidelity, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Sexting & Texting, Alternating POV, Mary is Not Nice) – Sherlock Holmes, The wedding Consultant. Picky about his projects and a nightmare to work with. Rejects ninety percent of the couples after just having a look at them and can predict how long a marriage will last. But when unassuming, plain, John Watson reluctantly limps his way in his office, with his more than enthusiastic fiancée, Mary Morstan, instead of dismissing the ill-assorted couple on the spot, he promptly decides that the project, and the groom.. are definitely worth working on.

The Loss of Flesh and Soul by deuxexmycroft (M, 69,712 w., 6/8 Ch. || WiP || Silence of the Lambs Crossover || Serial Killers, One-Sided Relationship) – Five years after John Watson puts the murderous Sherlock Holmes behind bars, a vicious copycat killer emerges. A reluctant John is pulled out of retirement to seek the expertise of the only man who can help, a man who has developed an unsettling obsession with John himself. Part 1 of The Loss of Flesh and Soul

The Vampires of London by consultingdetective (E, 72,660 w., 21 Ch. || Dracula AU || Pining Sherlock, Army Doctor John, Sharing a Bed, Porn With Feelings, Plot Twists) –  Over one hundred years after the first battle, a series of murders have caught the attention of London's police force and Sherlock Holmes. While most of the city has forgotten the vampire that once walked its streets, the descendants of the Van Helsing, Harker, and Seward families have not.

Save Me or Let Me Drown by GubraithianFire (E, 72,986 w., 16 Ch. || Shameless AU || Dysfunctional Family, Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Humour, Clubbing, Bipolar Disorder, Custody Battle, Mutual Pining, Family Fluff, Smut, Handcuffs, Anal Sex, Shower Sex, Rimming, Come Shot, Angst With Happy Ending) – How Sherlock escaped from his family, John sacrificed everything to his, and how, together, they built their own. Part 1 of the The Watsons series

This Is Your Song by agirlsname (E, 79,990 w., 19 Ch. || Moulin Rouge Fusion || Prostitute Sherlock, Poet John, Acting, Singing, Dancing, Writing, Poetry, Musical, Song Fic, Heavy Angst, Unreliable Narrator, Sherlock is French, Love at First Sight, UST, First Kiss/Time, Frottage, Coming in Pants, Anal Sex, Switchlock, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Secret Relationship, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Terminal Illnesses, Grief/Mourning, Breakup/Makeup Sex, Past Drug Use, Attempted Rape, Canon-Typical Violence)– When John Watson is invalided home from the army in 1895, he moves to Paris to rediscover his writing and find a new meaning in life. His old friend Stamford invites him into a group of artist friends, and suddenly John finds himself auditioning to write a show for the famous brothel across the street. There, he meets the most beautiful man he’s ever seen - Sherlock, the star of the Moulin Rouge. But Sherlock is already promised to the investor of the show, the rich Duke Moriarty.

Sherlock, P.I. by Callie4180 (E, 83,264 w., 11 Ch. || Magnum P.I. Fusion || Past Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Stalking, Creepy Moriarty) – For the Fall TV Sherlock fusion project. Sherlock, P.I. is an American television show that follows the exciting adventures of genius private investigator Sherlock Homes and his friends as they live their lives on the beautiful island of Oahu in Hawaii. Sherlock solves crimes as he wrestles with the ghosts and demons of his past.

Saudade by tunteeton (E, 96,952 w., 30 Ch. || After That Very Much AU || Case Fic, Non-Con Drug Use, Dubious Science, Canon Compliant up to THoB, John’s in Denial, Sub!Sherlock, Fake Non-Con Drug Use, Dom/Sub Relationship, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Kidnapping, Threatened Torture, Mary is Not Nice, Anal, Fluff, Non-Con Domming, Verbal Abuse, Slapping) – saudade (port.): a deep and melancholy longing for something or someone that is gone and not coming back. Homesickness, an emptiness in one’s soul, a love that remains after the loved one dies. John loses Sherlock, gains Sherlock and learns to never, ever, ever pray. Part 1 of the The Untranslatables series

Rosethorne by suitesamba (M, 98,888 w., 28 Ch. || Secret Garden AU || Injured Sherlock / John, Recovery, First Times, Minor Character Death, Disability, Past Domestic Abuse [Mary/OMC]) – John Watson, WWII army doctor, is injured in the line of duty and can no longer wield a scalpel. Sherlock Holmes, Britain’s best code-breaker, is side-lined by his own devastating injury. In a work inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “The Secret Garden,” the two men must find meaning and purpose in a world which seems to have taken away all they hold most dear. But of course, it really hasn’t.

Cake and Other Sins by  Indybaggins (E, 100,670 w. || Great British Bakeoff AU || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Baking, Desire, Disability, Incest (Holmescest/Holmescest with John), Masturbation, Falling in Love, Oral, Outdoor Sex, Past Drug Use, Poisoning, Voyeurism) – Sherlock and John meet as competing bakers on The Great British Bake Off. There’s intense baking, lush recipes and enticing food. Mycroft, guilt, past sins in chocolate and gingerbread. And love. That too.

Fallen Through Time by susandwrites (E, 102,040+ w., 39/? Ch. || Outlander Fusion / Victorian AU || WIP || Time Travel, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex/Fingering, Riding Crops, Rough Sex, Floor Sex, Breath Play, Light BDSM, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Switching, Romance, Sex to Love) – Inspired by my love of Outlander, but not exactly an Outlander AU. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, finds himself in Victorian London while investigating a murder. The first person he meets is Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and his world is irrevocably altered.

Reichenbach Falls - Déjà vu by VeeTheRee (M, 180,436+ w., 29/303 Ch. || WiP ||Gravity Falls / Multifandom AU || Alternate First Meeting, Gay Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Unilock, Summer Romance/Love, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Villain Mary, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Canadian John, French Canadian Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Mystery, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship Summer Love, Light Angst, BAMF! John, Case Fic) – Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on. Part 1 of the Reichenbach Falls series

To the Sticking Place by blueink3 (E, 121,973 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Musical Theatre AU || Showmance, Friends to Lovers, Bickering, UST / RST, Fluff, Virgin Sherlock, BAMF John, New York City / Broadway) – Renowned Shakespearean actor Sherlock Holmes has finally burned all of his bridges in the theatre industry save for his constant director, Greg Lestrade. John Watson has made a name for himself in the musical theatre circuit, but age and injury are working against him. Can they reinvent themselves for an all-male Macbeth without killing one another? Part 1 of the Screw Your Courage series

Bel Canto by bendingsignpost (T, 127,481 w., 16 Ch. || Phantom of the Opera AU || Secret Identity, Sherlock’s Violin, Operas, Aristocracy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Disguise, Inheritance, Genderqueer Character, Classical Music, Singing) – After years of waiting for wealthy patrons to faint, Dr John Watson discovers a far more interesting patient in the opera house basement.

Welcome to Silent Hill by Cleo2010 (M, 130,227 w., 37 Ch. || Silent Hill Fusion || POV First Person Sherlock, Unrequited Love, Psychological Horror, Violence / Gore, Monsters, Nudity, Drug Use, Harm to Children, Cults, Distressing Imagery, Torture, Death) – John is missing. When Sherlock receives a text summoning him to Silent Hill he's intent on reclaiming his friend but the town has other ideas. Our detective must battle through a world shaped by his own troubled psyche as he uncovers the town's secrets, attempts to find John and hunt down Jim Moriarty. Part 1 of the Welcome to Silent Hill series

Drift Compatible by J_Baillier (E, 130,380 w., 26 Ch. || Pacific Rim Fusion || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate First Meeting, Angst, Family Drama, Accidental Telepathic Voyeurism, Martial Arts, Sci-Fi, Internalised Homophobia, Rubbish Siblings, Army Doctor John, Medical H/C, Bullying, Neurodiversity, PTSD, Drug Use, Depression, Mourning, Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, UST/URT) – A washed out war hero struggling with his past. A prodigy who wants nothing to do with his family legacy. Both are looking for something—and someone—worth fighting for in a world where human civilisation is constantly under threat.

Out There by DiscordantWords (T, 131,695 w., 10 Ch. || X-Files Fusion || Slow Burn, UST, Case Fic, Government Conspiracy, Aliens, UFOs, Mutants, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Coma) – FBI Special Agent John Watson, medical doctor and army veteran, is assigned to assist eccentric genius Sherlock Holmes with paranormal investigations on the X-Files project.

Omens On Baker Street Series by WorseOmens (NR, 155,294+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || Sherlock / Good Omens Crossover || Post S4 Sherlock, BAMF Aziraphale, Soft Crowley, Jealous Crowley, Fluff, Angst, General Idiocy, Misunderstandings, Crimes, Humour, Pining, Crimes, Magical Shenanigans, Unlikely Friendships, ?Slow Burn, True Forms, Ineffable Dads, South Downs) – Sherlock and John are no longer the only crime-solving disaster duo in London. After Sherlock unknowingly wrongs a demon, he finds himself with two mysterious rivals in the detective scene. For Crowley and Aziraphale, it's just a bit of fun, but they end up learning more about human nature than they bargained for.

Skeletons by flawedamythyst (T, 174,262 w. across 3 works || Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion ||  Implied Character Death) – Sherlock's refusal to talk about his past hides far more skeletons than John could ever have guessed at. Halloween-esque AU.

In the Deep, Where Dark Things Sleep by HardlyFair (M, 184,979 w., 26 Ch. || Scorpio Races AU || Graphic Violence, 1960′s, Slow Burn, Past Drug Use, Bed Sharing, Water Horses, Folklore, First Kiss/Time, Horror Elements, Vet!John, Protective John, Magical Realism, Horse Racing, Mutual Pining, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort) – The closer time crawls to November, the more water horses the Scorpio Sea spits out. The colder Thisby becomes. Sherlock Holmes is an islander - completely surrounded by the water. John Watson, he knows, comes from the mainland and lives for the Races. On the first of November, Sherlock will race. The man holding steady by his side is someone he never expects. A Scorpio Races AU (Maggie Stiefvater), but no knowledge of the book needed.

Rom-com adaptations... Series by MorganeUK (T, 211,229+ w across 8 works || Series WiP || Assorted Crossovers || Rom-Coms, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friendship, Additional Tags Per Story) –  Mostly Johnlock with Mystrade or Lestrolly. If you want a movie to be johnlocked, let me know :-) Each story is completely different from the other!

Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / VirginSherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

Over/Under Series by khorazir (M, 319,561 w. across 5 works || Cabin Pressure Crossover || Post-S2 / Reichenbach, ReunionFriendship, Angst, Humour, Pining, Cycling, Mountains, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Case Fic, First Kiss, Pining, Family Issues, Inexperienced Sherlock) – After his Fall, Sherlock travels the world to destroy what remains of James Moriarty's criminal empire. When things don't go according to plan and he finds himself in desperate need of a discreet means of travel, cue MJN Air ...

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #189

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the royal hikkikoneet of Himeji Castle, Osakabehime! This giant nerd is a Lore Bard, because it’s hard to stay in your room all day and not read things, as well as a Trickery Domain Cleric to fill your castle to the brim with ghostly defenses (and run away to your kotatsu when things get scary).

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Prepare for trouble, and make it double!

Race and Background

Going by Fate’s official lore, Osakabehime is a kitsune like Tamamo. But, since Tamamo’s pretty insistent on No Doubles, O-heems here had to change her race, and so do we. So we’re making her a Hexblood to get some castle magic right off the bat. This makes Batty Fey and Humanoid, and she gets +1 Wisdom and +2 Charisma. She keeps the standard Medium size, but she still gets Darkvision, Fey Resilience against the charmed condition, Hex Magic which lets her cast Disguise Self and Hex using her Charisma. You can cast one of these spells for free each day, or by using spell slots.

She can also make Magic Tokens out of her hair (and other things, but those are gross), letting her send a message to the creature holding it. Also, while she’s within 10 miles of the token, she can enter a trance to see and hear through the token for 1 minute, after which the token is destroyed. She can make a token once per long rest, and they only last until her next long rest anyway, so don’t get excited about stockpiling them like I just did before reading that part.

Castle Guardian Spirit isn’t an official D&D background, but fortunately Mangaka is! Or at least, Guild Artisan has the same sort of ring to it. This gives Batty proficiency in Insight and Persuasion.

Ability Scores

Batty’s Wisdom should be her highest stat. Making good art requires good eyes to figure out how to improve your technique. Second best is her Charisma. She’s got that awkward underdog style going for her, despite how much she overthinks things. Her Dexterity is also pretty high. She might not move around much, but she’s an expert at hiding from responsibilities! Batty’s Intelligence is above average, it’s hard to spend that much time on the internet and not learn something. Her Constitution isn’t great, I blame staying inside all day, but we’re dumping Strength for pretty much the same reason. There’s nothing saying a NEET can’t be a gym rat, but that’s def not Batty.

Class Levels

Bard 1: Starting off as a bard gives Batty all sorts of proficiencies, like Dexterity and Charisma saves, Sleight of Hand and Performance to master her brushstrokes, History for living for so long, and Stealth to slip away from crowds. If she does end up next to people though, she can use her Bardic Inspiration to give them a d6 for one of their checks, saves, or attack rolls Charisma Bonus times per long rest. Batty can also use her Charisma to cast Spells! Minor Illusion and Silent Image will create the first soldiers in her origami army (they can’t touch people, but they can be distracting!). She also gets Feather Fall for some bat parachuting, Blade Ward to hide from physical attacks in her kotatsu dimension, Charm Person to avoid fights altogether, and Distort Value to make even a neck guard look like a proof of courage.

Cleric 1: Bouncing over to cleric real quick will give us all sorts of goodies. Since Batty is a Trickery cleric, she gets a Blessing of the Trickster, giving another creature advantage on stealth checks for an hour. Don’t you know heavy armor is uruso noisy? Keep it quiet! She also learns another set of spells (since we’re multiclassing you’ll have to use the special table to figure out how many slots you have now.) that use her Wisdom to cast and prepare them. She gets Charm Person and Disguise Self for free, which... she already had from level one... But, she also gets cantrips! Guidance and Resistance will make you a little more knowledgeable than everyone else about everything, and Thaumaturgy will help you get your spooky castle ghost thing going. You can also prepare spells like Bane to dull the senses of intruders, and Purify Food and Drink and Sanctuary to protect yourself and guests.

Bard 2: Second level bards are even better at everything since they’re Jacks of All Trades, adding half their proficiency to all skill checks. They also learn a Song of Rest, so anyone brave enough to spend a short rest in Himeji Castle will heal an extra d6 when they use hit dice. Your Magical Inspiration makes your bardic inspiration dice even better, letting your allies add the d6 to the damage or healing of a spell! Batty can also cast Speak with Animals now! Turns out she has an army of like 800 animal spirits helping out, which certainly explains all the origami.

Bard 3: As a Lore bard, Batty gets even more proficiencies, making her really good with Deception, Arcana, and Religion. I mean, she is kind of a god already. She can also turn her bardic inspiration into Cutting Words, reducing a creature’s check, attack roll, or damage by that amount instead of adding to it. She means well, but her cringey moments can get pretty uramessy. She also get Expertise in Performance and Stealth, doubling her jozu modifier. She can also cast Animal Messenger to make her first origami animal that can actually help you, delivering a message to a creature you specify in a location you’ve been before.

Bard 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Charisma for more inspiration and confidence, meaning more helpful hints and more cringey cutting words per long rest. This also makes your spells better! Speaking of, you get Prestidigitation to make real origami at will, and Phantasmal Force to make an origami horse that can really trample people. Well, kind of. It’s still an illusion, but the damage is real.

Bard 5: Fifth level bards get stronger Bardic Inspiration, their dice turning into d8s. They also become a Font of Inspiration, thanks to their inspiration dice refilling on short rests instead of long ones. You can also use third level spells now, like using a Glyph of Warding to hide Phantasmal Forces all around your castle. You can use these glyphs to create Explosive Runes for straight damage, or Spell Glyphs to store spells of the level you cast the glyph at or lower, which will target whatever activated the glyph in the first place. It takes an hour and 200 gold to cast, but it also lets you ignore concentration, so... actually this would be a great way to summon creatures. Just stick a glyph in a book, throw it at a creature’s head, boom, summons without concentration. You’re welcome.

Bard 6: Sixth level bards can waste their turn using Countercharm to give allies advantage on saves against being frightened or charmed. You already get half of that for free, so why bother. More importantly, you get Additional Magical Secrets, giving you two spells from any class. For your normal spell, grab Nondetection to prevent yourself from getting found through magic, then use magical secrets to pick up Leomund’s Tiny Hut to hide in a proper kotatsu of protection, and Conjure Animals for some slightly fleshier origami animals. We’ll get the real deal later, but this works just as well, yo-i.

Bard 7: Seventh level bards get fourth level spells, like Hallucinatory Terrain. Changing up the whole castle grounds is a good way to get people lost, and if they’re lost they’re less likely to find you.

Bard 8: Max out your Charisma with this ASI for better spells and more cringe. You can also use Greater Invisibility to keep yourself hidden, even while making more origami.

Bard 9: Your last level of bard makes your Song of Rest a d8 too, but more importantly, you also get fifth level spells, meaning you can finally cast Animate Objects to make real origami animals of variable sizes. You can create up to 10 animals this way, with medium pieces of paper counting as two, large pieces as four, and huge objects as eight. You can also upcast this spell for more objects at once. Rise, my mighty karmy!

Cleric 2: Now that we have your origarmy ready to go, we can finally dip back into cleric! Second level clerics can Channel Divinity once per short rest, either Turning Undead with a wisdom save, or Invoking Duplicity to create an illusory copy of yourself for a minute. The illusion has to stay within 120 feet of you, but you can cast spells as though you were standing in its space. Perfect for when you have to fight but you want to stay in your tiny hut at the same time.

Cleric 3: Third level clerics get second level spells, like Mirror Image and Pass without Trace. Finally, you can make yourself sneaky! You also get access to a bunch of other spells that will make yourself more protected- Aid increases your and up to two other creature’s max HP for 8 hours, Protection from Poison protects you... from poison, and Zone of Truth makes sure nobody can hide their plans from you.

Cleric 4: With your bard stuff taken care of, you can use this ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger cleric spells. You also learn Mending. Your army is made of paper, they’re going to get torn eventually.

Cleric 5: Fifth level clerics can Destroy Undead of CR 1/2 or lower when they’re turned, and they also get third level spells, like Blink and Dispel Magic. Bringing your own magic into someone’s house is shitsurei manners, don’t you think? You can also Bestow Curses on particularly rude guests, Meld into Stone to hide away without a trace, and create Spirit Guardians to protect yourself from melee attacks.

Cleric 6: As a sixth level cleric, you can Channel Divinity twice per rest, and you can use it to put on a Cloak of Shadows, becoming invisible until the end of next turn, or until you attack or cast a spell.

Cleric 7: Seventh level clerics get fourth level spells, like Dimension Door to pop straight into your kotatsu from 500 feet away. You can also cast Polymorph to reclaim your foxy glory! Or turn into a T Rex, if you want to powergame. Your choice. You also get access to Guardians of Faith, which are like Spirit Guardians, but they don’t stick near you- perfect for when you want to avoid being in a fight entirely. You can also use an Aura of Life and/or Aura of Purity to make your hikkolife a bit easier. The former gives nearby allies resistance to necrotic damage, immunity to max HP reduction, and autoheals creatures when they start their turn with 0 hit points. Hey, another spell that would be really good to keep around in a glyph of warding! The latter prevents disease, gives creatures in it resistance against poison damage, and has advantage on saves against being blinded, charmed, deafened, frightened, paralyzed, poisoned, and stunned.

Cleric 8: Use your last ASI to max out your Wisdom for the best cleric spells possible. Your Destroy Undead grows to affect creatures of CR 1 or lower, and you also get a Divine Strike, causing all your weapon attacks to deal an extra 1d8 poison damage. I mean... no reason to turn down a free gift, right?

Cleric 9: Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells, like Dominate Person and Modify Memory to sculpt the minds of those foolish enough to enter your castle without permission. You can also use Insect Plague to create a massive swarm of tiny origami bats, dealing piercing damage to creatures stuck in them. Alternatively, use Hallow to make your castle a more liminal space, adding a bunch of effects against celestials, elementals, fey (probably should just not include that one.), fiends, and undead, preventing them from entering the area and messing with their magic and mental effects. There’s also a ton of other effects you can add, just take a look at the spell, we’re not writing them all out here.

Cleric 10: Tenth level clerics get Divine Intervention, letting you pray to your god for a roya-l get out of jail free card once a day, with a week’s break after it actually works. You have a roughly 1 in 10 chance of it working each time you use it, based on your cleric level. If it works, you can get whatever your DM thinks is appropriate- maybe a couple robots show up to help out your plan to be lazy forever? Nah, that’d be silly. You can also cast Sacred Flame this level. I was running out of good cantrips to give you, and kitsune are known for will of wisps and the like, so it’s sort of on theme.

Cleric 11: Your capstone level makes Destroy Undead affect creatures of CR 2 or lower, and you get sixth level spells! Forbiddance locks magical travel out of an area for up to a day- if you cast the spell every day for a month, it’ll last until dispelled. You can also force extraplanar creatures to take a bunch of damage every turn they’re in the area without a save, so Tamamo will finally leave you alone. You can use Word of Recall to teleport back to your kotatsu from anywhere, no restrictions. (Technically you have to pick a spot that is involved with your god, but aside from that.) Or, you can use a Heroes’ Feast to make the rest of your party stronger so you won’t feel as bad when you leave the fighting to them. This cures creatures of all disease and poison, makes them immune to poison and being frightened, gives them advantage on wisdom saves, and increases their max HP, all for 24 hours.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

Glyph of Warding lets you set up tons of traps and store spells away for later, all without using concentration. That is huge for a build whose main source of damage comes from summon spells. Not only does it let you cast more of them, it also means the ones you have up won’t disappear because you get hit.

Speaking of, it’s really easy for you to avoid combat entirely. Go invisible, hide in a tiny hut and let your duplicity do the fighting for you, throw gobs of paper at enemies then run the other way, whatever they do doesn’t matter because you won’t be around to get hit anyway!

If an enemy does try to chase you down, they’ll have to pass through your massive army of summons first-with an upcasted Animate Objects, that means they’ll be taking 18 attacks of opportunity before they even walk through them all, and that’s before factoring nonsense from your glyphs.

Cons:

You are terrible at fighting directly. You have very few spells that deal damage directly, you have barely over 100 HP, and your AC is 11 if you’re playing to character. Once somebody does make it past your paper, you’d better have a word of recall ready.

Multiclassing really hurts spellcasters. It means you don’t get 7th level or higher spells, you have to spend all your ASIs on casting modifiers to make them both good, and you don’t get the guaranteed intervention from only being a cleric.

You have a big army, but they’re still made of paper. If you go the tiny bat route, all your summons will only have 20 hp, which means one fireball will tear through all of them in a single blow.

[firstknightss]

ANOTHER GWAINE LANCELOT ESSAY

both gwaine n lancelot r so interesting because..................

altho gwaine has a personality of a jock (and the actions of a clown), he IS pretty smart bookwise. Since he was nobilty, he was probably educated really well, in languages and literature and maths, and all that book stuff. He's one of the few who can read, and speak a few diff languages and knows About Things one would learn from a book. Like YEs? He's also streetsmart, as hes been around a lot, which has obviously meant a ton of interactions with other people. I'm sure gwaine knows to get out of nearly any sticky situation, and he seems like a people person to me. Although, since he was brought up in such a rigid lifestyle, i guess emotions aren't a forte of his, and he often leaves loose ends hanging out, because i dont really think he knows how to work with feelings and the Jazz. Also i dont think gwaine has a lot of common sense, like. i Love the man. But he DOESNT. He's got enough to get by, but sometimes he's a little dumb. He doesn't pick up on small details, unless he's looking for them.

tldr: gwaine seems streetsmart, but he is technically booksmart

ON THE OTHER HAND!!!

altho lancelot has the personality of a nerd (and the actions of a self sacrificing clown), he's VERY smart streetwise. He's grown up in a poor village, and he's been trying to make a name for himself since he was probably very young. He knows how to work with people, not in the dysfunctional way gwaine does, that's because he's in touch with his own feelings. He DOES push them away yes, but it's not complete denial of his emotions, it's more having a balanced and understanding worldview. He's gotten out of literally any situation, and he understands laws and practices (Not that im saying he supports them, he doesn't. He just knows enough about the world to know that everything doesnt have a happy endin.) Lancelot isn't much of an extrovert, he's definitely more intRoverted and reclusive, but he offers friendship, being kind and loyal to anyone who wishes to take it (many people don't). He's a good fighter, but instead of it being a choice, its more so that he's a bit trapped in his situation. Bookwise, lancelot didn't grow up in a noble household, with money and books and teachers, but i'm sure he grew up in a close knit village where bards were common. With tales of heroes that they spun which were extremely interesting, and inspiring to lancelot. Lancelot obvs picks up details (merlins magic amongst others) and that's pretty much how he's stayed alive as some kind of hireable mercenary for a large chunk of his life. He sees details so he doesn't do anything too irrational (or he sees the details and decides to do stupid shit anyway)

tldr: lancelot seems booksmart, but he is streetsmart

[witcherslittledove]

Home is Where the Heart Is

A Joey/Henry lockdown fic - AO3

Rated: T

Words: 7k ish

CW: RPF, covid, far too much pining?

_______

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Madeleine sighed again, pressing her head into the crook of Joey’s neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

It was pulled back into a messy bun, flyaway strands surrounding her face in a halo, and as the sun shone from behind her, she looked like some kind of angel. Joey wondered, not for the first time, how he’d even been so lucky to have Madeleine as a friend. She truly was a wonder, his favourite person and light of his life. Everyone should have a friend like Madeleine Hyland.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled back from her embrace. “Nah, it’s alright, Madeleine. Your parents need you, much more important than little old me.”

“Oh fuck that, you bastard, stop fishing for compliments,” she laughed, swatting him on the arm.

“Aww,” he pouted, “Oi!”

She’d hit his arm again, barely a tap but he pretended it hurt, rubbing his arm and pouting even harder at his friend.

“Come off it, Joey. You’re staying with Henry for the rest of lockdown, that’s hardly a trial,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

Ah yes.

Henry.

The bane of Joey’s existence, mostly because of the fucking ginormous crush he had on his co-star. He hadn’t known Henry had been signed on for Geralt until his audition, really he hadn’t known much at all, just that he’d be auditioning for a bard and that he should probably take his lute to the audition. A spur of the moment decision that had turned his life upside down. He’d gone from a nobody to... well, not exactly famous but people had started to recognise him, much to his despair.

And then there was Henry.

He’d been admiring Henry from a distance for a few years now, watching him in the Tudors had sort of been Joey’s bisexual awakening, and then he’d suddenly been thrust into the most bizarre experience of having to work fairly closely with the man.

Joey would never forget the feeling of Henry throwing him over his shoulder as if he wasn’t almost the same size as Henry.

Fuck, that had been hot.

And now, Joey had to cohabit with said crush for an indeterminate amount of time, preferably without making a fool of himself.

He was doomed.

Of course, he could have said no when Henry had offered his place when Joey was grumbling about being alone during lockdown after Madeleine's parents got sick, but no… Henry had stared at him with such shining hope in his eyes that Joey never stood a chance.

Joey just needed to keep reminding himself that Henry was straight. He was practically the poster boy for heteronormative; classically gorgeous, action star, gymrat, lover of sports and building fucking computers.

Okay, maybe Joey was generalising a tad, but it was a form of self-defence.

Christ, the mere thought that Henry could be interested in men… interested in him.

It was too much.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his best friend whilst waiting for his biggest crush to pick him up. Madeleine bundled into her car with the last of her bags, and Joey was left waiting on the pavement. In all honesty, he would have preferred to drive to Henry’s place himself or at least get the tube, something where he felt like he was actively doing something. The waiting was killing him, making his thoughts run out of control. Maybe he shouldn’t have packed his guitar. He could have at least been tuning it, or plucking out some meaningless melody, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted.

When the black car pulled up, Joey let out a sigh of relief before realising that it was very much frying pan, fire. Luckily, before he could really start to panic, the back door opened and Joey was almost bowled off his feet by a large bundle of fur that Henry claimed was a dog and not, in fact, a bear.

“Kal!” Joey greeted warmly, burying his fingers into Kal’s neverending fur, and letting the dog lick all over his face.

“He’s missed you,” Henry called in lieu of a greeting.

He was wearing a grey henley that looked like it was two sizes too small and his dark blue jeans seemed to strain against his quads. Henry’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked down at Joey with a blinding Hollywood smile that made Joey’s heart flutter. Dark curls seemed to have finally recovered from the weeks stuck under Geralt’s wig and they fell in front of his so very blue eyes.

He was bloody gorgeous, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

So Joey did the only logical thing, and started to coo at Kal instead. “I’ve missed him too,” he trilled happily into the dog’s fur, scratching Kal behind his ears. “Such a good boy! The bestest, cutest doggo.”

“He’s not the only one who’s missed you, you know,” Henry groused, although when Joey looked up, he was still smiling so Joey didn’t feel too bad for paying far more attention to Kal than the gorgeous specimen of a man that is Henry Cavill.

“Aww, you sap,” he chuckled. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for those cruel and terrible words you cursed me with the last time we met.”

It wasn’t the last time they’d met. They’d had a few scenes after the argument in episode six. Scheduling had meant that it wasn’t filmed entirely in order, and then there had been reshoots and post-production parties, premieres and the table reads for season two, but it was a sort of in-joke. Joey liked to tease Henry about the argument, they’d both lurked enough online to know that ‘the mountain’ was a big fucking deal to the fans of their characters.

Henry rolled his eyes and opened his arms out for a hug which Joey eagerly returned, inhaling the soft musky cologne that Henry wore and enjoying the strongs arms that wrapped around him. He loved hugs, but most of Joey’s male friends would do that god awful hug and pat thing, then pull away too soon. Henry had never been like that and it was delightful, even if it really didn’t help the not so little crush that Joey had on the man.

It was cliche but it really did feel like coming home.

Fuck.

He was utterly screwed… and not even in the fun way.

The drive to Henry’s place was quiet, Joey spent most of the time watching the streets of London roll past as they weaved through bendy roads that webbed across the city. The traffic was weirdly non-existent, a side effect of a global pandemic, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the ghost towns from films and books.

It was truly haunting, spooky in just the right way. Horror and the Wild had very much had woodland magic vibes, but driving through the dead streets of London, Joey wondered what happened to the fae when a city sprung up near their home. Did they adapt like the wildlife did? Urban spirits that lurked in the shadows, in the alleys, behind the bins and cobbled streets at the back of theatres.

Most theatres were supposed to be haunted, Joey had always wondered just who the spirits were that glided through the aisles when the shows went dark.

Henry didn’t feel the need to fill the silence which Joey was grateful for. On set, with Jaskier on his fingertips, Joey was happy to joke about and laugh and banter, but he was nervous about the move to Henry’s and the silence gave him time to get lost in his own imagination, a reality that wasn’t quite the one they knew.

He was almost disappointed when the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather grand house. It was part of a terrace but that was unsurprising, most places in London were, but it was much nicer than the shitty little flat that Joey shared with Madeleine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They were poles apart. Even being friends was unrealistic. How the hell was Joey supposed to even pretend they were in the same league? It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Joey just had to be a perfect house guest, no clumsy mistakes, no setting fire to any ovens, and no slipping in the shower and messing up his ankle.

He’d just have to spend all his time with Kal lest Henry find out just how much of a walking disaster he could be.

Henry had only offered because he was a caregiver, selfless and kind in everything he did. He would have done the same to anyone else if they’d mentioned spending lockdown alone. Joey was just the lucky one.

Or unlucky.

He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Yes, he would just have to spend his days with Kal and his guitar, stay out of Henry’s way and then everything would be fine.

Right?

___

Joey’s plan went according to plan for almost an entire week. He mostly kept to his room and occasionally the living room. Henry wanted to show Joey some films he liked and it would have been rude to say no, so Joey curled up with Kal on the floor to keep some space between them. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to snuggle up against Henry’s chest the same way he did with Madeleine, only it wouldn’t be the same because Madeleine was his best friend and Henry was… well… Henry.

It was such a mess.

And he was probably being an arse.

They’d gotten along so well on set in between takes, but now, without Jaskier there as a crutch, Joey’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and all because of a stupid crush. This would all be a lot easier if Joey were straight; no awkward crushes, no pining for a man he couldn’t have, no… whatever this was?

He could flirt and tease and banter just like he would with any of his friends because it was harmless.

If only.

No.

He had to do better. The reason Henry had invited him to stay was so neither of them would be alone, and despite all his cuddles with Kal, Joey was really starting to feel touch starved. He’d never gone so long without human touch.

The problem was that Henry was just so fucking sweet. He was so bloody understanding that it made Joey just yearn even harder. There was never any pressure to hang out, just gentle suggestions, and the most amazing home-cooked meals that Henry said could be heated up another time if Joey wasn’t hungry. The wine Henry picked out to go with the meal was heavenly, and fuck, the man could cook.

He felt like he was being seduced; wooed with the most gorgeous culinary delights that were truly to die for.

What was a poor bisexual to do?

So every evening Joey would sit across from Henry at the table, trying to joke and laugh just as they had before, but even to his own ears it felt flat. Madeleine’s voice in his head reminded him that that was probably his anxiety speaking but, of course, he ignored it. They ate their food and then Joey would either retreat to his room with his beloved guitar or Henry would suggest a film.

Until Henry decided enough was enough.

Joey was lured from his room with the sweet delicious smell of pizza, and when he came down the stairs he found Henry already on the couch, two boxes of pizza and a couple of beers already opened and ready to go.

There was no sitting on the floor, not with pizza and a Kal. Joey wouldn’t get to taste the greasy wonders of his takeaway if he sat on the floor, and the pizza box was already being guarded by Henry on the couch.

He had to break his rule.

Fuck.

“Kitchen table not good enough?” he teased with a quirk of his lips.

Henry scoffed. “Who eats pizza at the table?”

It was a fair point and sighed, resigning himself to an evening pressed up against his friend when his cuddle instincts got too much. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, maybe it would help get him out of his head and into the moment… maybe he should just let Jaskier out of the box and pretend that all was fine?

No.

He could do this. Just… be himself?

“Before I open this box, there is one very important question I have to ask,” he said far too seriously, barely able to hide a smile as he scooped the pizza box into his lap and sat down next to Henry, keeping a safe distance between them.

“There’s no pineapple.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Joey laughed and opened the box. It was a standard pepperoni pizza, not his go to, but it was a safe option and one that was always yummy regardless of the restaurant. “Garlic dip?” he asked with a cock of his head.

“Damn, I hoped you wouldn’t like it,” Henry grumbled and pulled a small green topped tub from inside his own box.

“You!” Joey said in mock outrage, “keeping the beloved dip from me. It’s like the mountain all over again.”

“It’s not like the mountain,” Henry grumbled. “I didn’t make the script, you can’t keep blaming me for that.”

Joey’s heart sank as he wondered if he’d taken the joke too far, but when he met Henry’s gaze he saw the man was smiling despite his grousing. “I can,” he insisted.

“Hmm,” Henry replied in his most Geralt-y voice.

And with an internal sigh of relief, everything seemed to be okay. Yes, Joey was pulling some of his energy from his beloved character, but so was Henry, and it seemed to smooth out the edges of his anxiety. The beer helped and everything seemed a lot more relaxed with the takeaway pizza and the film already starting to play on the TV.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered after the pizza was finished and the credits had started to roll.

Joey’s head was resting on his friend’s shoulder but he’d managed to keep himself from koala hugging… so far. The vulnerability caught his attention though, and he sat up wearily to peer at Henry.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by inviting you here.”

Joey wanted to swear, to stomp around the room and tear the place upside down. He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up, his damn anxiety keeping him from being the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he could be if his head just shut up! He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, he slumped back down to lean against Henry and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’m just- it’s hard for me, being somewhere new,” not a lie, not entirely the truth, “and I didn’t want to encroach on your space. This is your home, and I- umm- I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Henry laughed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back off his face, and Joey was entranced for a moment, wanting to reach out and feel the soft hair between his fingers for himself. It was a miracle that he managed to keep his hands in his own lap.

“Joey, this is our home, for now at least,” Henry said with such conviction and warmth that Joey made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Our home?”

“We have no idea how long this nightmare is going to last. It could be months, Joey. I want you to feel like you can relax here,” Henry insisted, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug.

“Right- yeah, no, I know,” Joey mumbled, trying and failing not to blush.

Now that Henry wasn’t really having to watch what he ate and stay dehydrated for dear old Geralt, he was big.

And Joey was weak.

It was like all his wet dreams were becoming a reality, one by one.

He was just monkey-braining over the fact that Henry was one big, large, strong man that wanted to take care of him. It was pathetic. Joey wasn’t exactly small himself, and he could, should the role require it, hold up pretty well in a sword fight with Henry and not look entirely ridiculous.

“And I know Kal is very cute,” Henry teased, nodding to the dog who was sprawled on the carpet in front of them, “but if you ever need a hug, he’s not your only option.”

Joey definitely didn’t squeak this time. Instead, he finally let himself snuggle up to Henry the way he’d been wanting to all evening, every evening since he’d arrived. “Like this?” he teased.

Henry chuckled, and just squeezed his arms tighter around Joey, “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbled. “I was being an arse.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Joey scoffed.

“I should have been clearer on day one,” Henry sighed, “although seeing as you live here now, maybe you should cook?”

Joey laughed nervously, burying his face into Henry’s jumper. “Neither of us want that,” he muttered. “Trust me.”

“I’ll help?” Henry suggested, which of course brought forth a dozen images of cooking together, dancing in the kitchen to whatever songs fell past Joey’s lips, lazy early morning kisses as they waited for the coffee.

He swallowed, blinking away the fantasies. “How about you cook, and I’ll help?”

“Lazy,” Henry said with a chuckle but just pulled Joey closer.

“Only trying to keep you safe, darling.”

Darling.

Fuck.

“I mean, Henry, sorry, slip of the tongue. I mean- fuck. I call Madeleine darling all the time?”

“Joey, it's okay,” Henry reassured him.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Joey untangled himself from Henry’s arms and gathered up the pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Booping Kal on the nose as he went past, he busied himself with clearing up. It wasn’t much and didn’t take long, so sooner than he would have liked he poked his head back around the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, rough-housing Kal, chuckling as the dog kept licking at his face. The sight made Joey smile softly, and he almost didn’t want to leave, but he was getting tired and he really didn’t want to slip up again. He couldn’t blame every mistake on Madeleine. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his hair. “See you tomorrow, Henry.”

_______

After that, things started to get easier. Joey would flop down onto the sofa next to Henry in the evenings regardless of what they were doing. Sometimes he’d lie with his head in Henry’s lap whilst they both read a book, other times he’d pluck at his guitar and laugh over stupid limericks that he could make up about his co-star. True to his word, Henry made Joey start helping with mealtimes, although he soon regretted that decision but refused to back down. The food still tasted good but the presentation was lacking. They spent an afternoon trying to bake bread together… Joey’s did not turn out so well and Henry’s attempt was thankfully less than perfect but still edible. The little flaws made Joey feel a little less inferior, and made Henry seem all the more human.

Kal still got a lot of Joey’s attention. How could he not? He was just so fluffy and adorable, plus Joey loved the little pout that Henry did whenever Kal got more hugs than he did. Joey could pretend that his friend was jealous, and that just helped him sleep a little easier at night.

Cuddling on the couch had become their usual routine, and it settled something deep inside of Joey that had been becoming restless. Mornings were spent watching Henry workout. Joey joined in occasionally but usually he would just cheer Henry on from the sidelines sipping his cup of tea. It was a sight to behold, and Joey thanked the lord that the gyms were currently closed otherwise he would never have been allowed to enjoy the view.

Henry’s arse was truly spectacular.

Despite his morning workouts, Henry had definitely gained a rather lovely layer of fat over his previously tightly toned muscles. He looked stronger. He looked cuddlier. Joey’s crush was only getting worse by the day, wanting to run his hands over the broad muscles of Henry’s back, thighs, arms… wherever he was allowed, but he just settled for the cuddling each day.

Joey tried not to think about the fat building over his own stomach and filling out his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you’d had a lifetime of his mother breathing down his neck about his weight. He was cuddlier too, that’s what he told himself whenever the familiar buzz of anxiety started to build up.

And anyway, Henry didn’t seem to mind.

Kal certainly didn’t. The beast of a dog had started to share the sofa with them in the evenings, squishing between them for maximum cuddle potential until eventually he got bored and retreated back to the floor.

It was really starting to feel like home. There were signs of Joey around the house, sheet music left on the TV cabinet, a set of spare lute strings in the kitchen, the bastard instrument tucked away in the corner of the living room until Joey could bring himself to pick it up. Two sets of keys now hung up by the front door so they could both take turns walking Kal without having to worry about getting locked out if the other was busy. A fluffy worn blanket was now strewn over the big armchair where Joey liked to sit during the day. Even the fridge now stocked Joey’s favourite rosé wine.

All in all, Joey wasn’t hating lockdown. It was frustrating but he enjoyed being inside anyway, and well, the company was pretty great.

The two of them were curled up on the sofa watching the Great British Bake Off on netflix, gin and tonics flowing a little too freely, and Joey felt like he was on top of the world. He had the best cuddler in all of England, nay, the world, a big fluffy puppy to boot and some bloody brilliant booze in hand.

The best thing was that Henry’s hoody had shifted up at some point during the evening, and Joey couldn’t take his eyes off the soft but defined muscles that were often hidden under Henry’s clothes. The dark hair that dipped beneath the exposed band of Henry’s boxers was tantalizing, and Joey longed to reach out and touch…

Only he was drunk enough that his inside thoughts had his hand moving before he could realise, landing on Henry’s stomach.

He froze and stared up at his friend with wide eyes.

“Oops,” he slurred.

“That’s my stomach,” Henry pointed out.

And still Joey didn’t remove his hand, relishing the bare skin beneath his fingertips, but he knew he needed an excuse, so he did the only logical thing and launched his attack. Henry was stronger than him, but Joey had the element of surprise as he tickled his friend, fingers dancing across the exposed skin as Henry desperately tried to shove Joey away. They were both laughing, too busy pushing and pulling at each other, that neither of them quite registered that at some point in the tussle, Joey had straddled Henry’s waist in an attempt to keep him pinned down.

Until suddenly their lips were barely a breath apart.

Oh.

“Hi,” Joey mumbled, smiling coyly down at Henry, the longer strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“Hi.”

It wouldn’t take much to lean down and kiss him, maybe Henry would even reach up first. There was no denying the sudden pull between them, and god, Joey wanted it. He’d wanted it for so long now.

So close.

The warmth of Henry’s breath brushing against his lips.

Eyes closed.

Hearts racing.

A soft whisper of a moan.

And then a bark rang out in the room, startling Joey and shattering the moment. He cursed as he fell to the floor, the world spinning from the gin and giddy burst of adrenaline. Kal jumped up into Henry’s lap, barking and whining excitedly at his owner, checking that he was okay following Joey’s tyrannical tickle attack.

Joey felt like an ice bucket had been dumped over his head, feeling far too sober, far too fast.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

Fuck!

“Right,” he slurred as he pushed his hands back through his hair- too long, needed a haircut. “Bedtime, sleep. Yup.”

“Joey?”

“See you in the morning?” he mumbled, although glancing at the clock, he wondered if that was a little optimistic. “Tomorrow,” he amended.

“Tomorrow,” Henry agreed, looking a little disappointed.

Joey refused to think about it. He wouldn’t start to hope. It would hurt too much if this all went wrong.

______

They didn’t talk about it.

Or rather, Joey, didn’t talk about it.

Henry tried to bring it up the next morning but Joey just laughed it off before his heart could get torn to pieces. He didn’t need confirmation that his crush was a no go. He already knew, but he really didn’t need to hear the words. Not to mention his hangover was an utter bitch and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself, which is exactly what he did.

After a few days, or was it weeks, months, years? Time seemed to stop existing, all Joey knew was his clothes seemed to be tighter than before and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but after a lockdown-eque period of time, all was forgotten. They fell back into their usual routine, and Joey’s crush continued to simmer just below the surface, unnoticed by Henry.

He’d started to facetime Madeleine most evenings just before bed now that the novelty of living with a bloody filmstar had worn off. He missed her terribly and she seemed to be going crazy at her parent’s house. There was a twinge of guilt stabbing in his chest when he realised he’d all but forgotten about her the first few weeks of lockdown, but it was nice to catch up with her again.

Henry was brilliant, but he was no Madeleine Hyland. He wasn’t Joey’s best friend.

And sometimes Joey just needed to vent about Henry’s stranger habits. Like seriously, why wass there that weird sponsored water just stationed around the house? And what was with the weirdly staged selfies on instagram. It made Joey feel a whole lot better about his own lack of media presence. He’d rather be a mystery online than this boomer energy than Henry had going on.

Venting to Madeleine helped too, he got less frustrated about the shit hole that was life during a pandemic. A little less angry, a little less depressed, and a little less pathetic with his pining over Henry, although Madeleine would probably disagree.

She was probably right.

The sudden cold turn in the weather hadn’t helped. It wasn’t too bad but Joey had mostly brought summer clothes with him because he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be staying more than a couple of weeks. Thankfully he’d thrown in a couple of onesies for comfort reasons so he spent most his days dressed like a tiger and hoping that Henry would find it endearing. The best part was his onesies were a bit looser and fit him more comfortably than his normal clothes. A lockdown diet was brilliant, but not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d gone shopping all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, was for Henry to rock up to dinner wearing the stupid bunny onesie that Joey had left in his room.

“There,” Henry greeted him with a broad smile, “Now we match.”

It wasn’t fair. Joey wanted to kiss him so badly. The white onesie was a little short on Henry, pulling up just above his ankles, and it still managed to stretch at his shoulders, but it was so fucking adorable and Joey could pin point the exact moment his crush tumbled over the edge into love.

It was the crinkles at the corner of Henry’s eyes as he smiled, the slight tilt of his head, the sparkle in his ocean blue eyes.

Except they weren’t just blue. No, there were specks of golden brown in one eye, that were just captivating. Joey felt like he could so easily get lost in Henry. Every time he looked at the man he found something new and exciting.

“Darling, you look adorable!” he cooed, before he could get too distracted by the fluttering of his own heart. “Very cuddly.”

Henry chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing Joey to barrel into them. “That was the idea.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping that Henry would have forgotten that-

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“Bugger,” Joey whined. “Cheesy pasta?”

“You made that last time,” Henry teased.

“I’m very good at carbonara!” Joey countered.

“Melted cheese on pasta isn’t carbonara.”

Joey scoffed. “Eh, close enough.”

“Fine, make your cheesy pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Joey said with a wink. “I’ll add bacon this time.”

The pasta was overcooked and the bacon was a little chewy, but it was dinner, and afterwards Henry made them both extravagant hot chocolates made from actual chocolate rather than powder shit that Joey used. It was covered in whipped cream and marshmallows and had a healthy amount of Baileys to top it off. They curled up on their usual spot on the sofa, buried under blankets and held the warm mugs close to their chests.

If it had been snowing, then Joey would have thought he’d walked into a Christmas film, all it needed was a fireplace and some fairy lights. It was cosy and warm, and a little bit romantic, or it would be if Henry was interested in men and Joey was his type.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

They were friends, good friends, good friends that liked to cuddle and almost kiss if the dog hadn’t interrupted.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He took a long gulp of his hot chocolate to stave off his anxiety, not noticing when his nose dived straight into the whipped cream until he looked up to find Henry staring at him with a fond expression. Warmth flooded through Joey’s chest as he returned the smile, feeling high on love and sugar.

“Hi,” he breathed, sounding as love sick as he felt.

Henry’s smile brightened, filling the whole room with light and Joey could have sworn he could hear the swell of violins in the soundtrack of his life.

“Hi,” Henry replied easily as if he hadn’t stolen Joey’s breath, heart and soul. “You- umm, cream, here!”

Henry tapped his own nose.

“Oh cock!” Joey hurried to wipe his nose, almost spilling his hot chocolate in the process, “Fuck! Bugger, shit balls!”

Henry, the bastard, just laughed, his arms reaching out to steady the mug and stop Joey from falling to the ground. “I think you made it worse.”

Joey snorted “I got that, yup, thanks.”

This time he could feel the sticky sweet cream clinging to his cheek, the subtle taste of vanilla on his lips. He pouted up at Henry, gazing through his eyelashes in a way that he hoped could be played off as friendly, but also maybe a little bit seductive. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he barely resisted the urge to wink.

Maybe there had been more Bailey’s in his drink than he realised.

Instead, he just wiped his face and snuggled back up to Henry, pulling the blanket up to his chin. They settled on watching Always Sunny, so Joey didn’t really have to concentrate. He let the tension drain from his body as he listened to the familiar TV show and then closed his eyes. Warm, happy and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved-

Joey fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the way Henry was staring down at him as if he hung the fucking moon and stars, or the inner turmoil his friend was plague with as Henry resisted leaning down to kiss Joey in his sleep.

No, Joey was blissfully ignorant, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

________

The rest of lockdown went by in a blur. Their routine started to seem normal and any doubts Joey had about spending so much time with Henry faded away. They bantered easily like they had on set, laughing and giggling over whatever stupid thing one of them had said. Henry would spend hours playing his video games whilst Joey zoomed Madeleine to work on their new album together. When the regulations relaxed they started to walk Kal together, enjoying the quiet summer days and fresh air. The cuddling never really stopped, and some mornings Joey would wake up still curled up against Henry’s chest, their limbs tangled from the night before.

Those were Joey’s favourite mornings. He’d be stiff all day from sleeping on the couch but he could pretend, for just a few moments, that things were more than they were.

The pining never went away but it was truly the sweetest torture that he’d ever had to endure. The domestic bliss being barely a step away from everything he craved.

And when the time came for Joey to return to his flat with Madeleine, he felt like shit. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in the strange fantasy world he had with Henry, eating too much food and drinking too much wine, cuddling and watching crappy Netflix shows.

Which was why he was sat, staring at a messy pile of clothes on his bed, clothes he’d not worn in weeks. Over the chair were his onesies and a collection of jumpers and hoodies that he’d stolen from Henry over the last few months and weeks. Kal stared up at him from the floor, tail thumping against the carpet.

Joey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest that was growing more painful with everything second that passed. “I don’t know, Kal. I should be happy about going home.”

Kal didn’t respond, his tail still wagging away just like it always did whenever Joey paid attention to him.

“I miss Madeleine, of course I do, but living with Henry has been great. And you, I love you, big fluffy puppy!” He cooed with a big smile as Kal barked happily and jumped up onto the bed. Joey laughed as he tried to keep his face away from the attack, wrapping his arms around Kal’s neck and pressing his nose into the fur.

“If I tell him how I feel that’s just going to make season two really really awkward, but I just feel like I’m missing a chance, you know?”

If Kal knew, he either didn’t care or just enjoyed watching Joey suffer. There was no reply and Kal just rested his head in Joey’s lap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, still running his fingers through Kal’s fur. “You’re no use.”

Kal snorted at that and Joey rolled his eyes.

“But I love you anyway, yes I do!”

“Ready to go?” Henry asked from the door.

“Shit!” Joey yelped. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Henry chuckled, striding into the room and perching on the bed opposite Joey. He reached out to scratch Kal on the head with a dazzling smile. Joey felt his cheeks warm up and he buried his face in Kal’s fur to hide the blush. So many months and he still couldn’t stop his heart from racing whenever Henry smiled. He was pathetic.

And he was running out of time.

He knew it was a bad idea, even entertaining the thought of dating a co-star, but he’d regret it if he didn’t give it a shot. I mean he could always blame the mixed signals if it went wrong. They’d nearly kissed twice and Joey didn’t even cuddle Madeleine as much as he’d cuddled Henry. They were probably the only people that were less touch-starved during the lockdown than before.

So Joey was going to tell him.

Just three words.

He could do that.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do that.

“Joey?” Henry said, reaching out to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

Joey blinked. Had Henry been talking to him? He’d asked a question so that would make sense. God, his anxiety had gone through the roof, it was like that first day all over again.

“Need to pack,” he mumbled, gesturing at his clothes.

Henry let out a long and heavy sigh, sounding just as thrilled about the idea as Joey did. “I suppose you do, yeah. When is Madeleine due over?”

Joey hummed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. Lockdown traffic must be a thing of the past.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighed.

Neither of them moved, both staring glumly at Kal who was happily nestled between them. It was strange but Joey had almost begun to think of Kal as his, theirs. Their home, their life, their dog. He would miss Kal very much.

He would miss Henry even more.

“Do you have a start date yet?” Joey asked, the restrictions were lifting and there were talks about getting back to work again, but it was all up in the air.

Henry shook his head. “Should be getting a call from my agent some time this week. I need to make sure my other projects can work around the schedule.”

Joey smirked, “Or my dear witcher will have a new face next time we meet,” he teased.

Henry scoffed. “Not a chance, you’re stuck with me, bard.”

“You still owe me an apology,” Joey shot back, not quite realising how close they’d gotten during their mock argument.

He swallowed and licked his lips, one hand reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek. His face was burning right up to the tips of his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. There was a spark of electricity crackling between them, the scent of coffee lingering on Henry’s breath.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry promised, voice hoarse and low, making heat spread through Joey’s body and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathed, the words shaky.

Joey longed to reach out and brush his fingertips along the strong line of Henry’s jaw, to feel the scratch of stubble beneath his skin. He longed to tangle his hands in the dark mess of curls, to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It felt as if there was a magnetic force pulling them closer, a string tying their souls together, binding them as one. Joey couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to, and he was over that. He couldn’t live inside his head any longer, not when there was a chance.

Hope.

Deadly, poisoning his very soul, until he could think of nothing except Henry’s lips on his, hands roaming bodies, pulling at hair, unable to resist the promised pleasures of sin. Tongues tangling. Hearts singing. One breath shared between two. Heat. Lust. Love.

Just Henry.

His love.

Joey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Henry’s, their lips barely ghosting over each other, you really couldn’t call it a kiss; not yet. One more breath, a millimetre to close the gap.

A horn honked from outside and they pulled apart before they could cross the bridge, past the point of no return.

Joey let out a slightly manic laugh and ran his hands through his hair, whilst Henry went back to stroking Kal as he cleared his throat.

“Bollocks, I still haven’t packed.”

“I’ll invite Madeleine in for some tea,” Henry chuckled, stretching as he stood up.

Kal barked happily and jumped down, wagging his tail as he sniffed at Henry’s socks.

And Joey was left alone once more.

“Fuck!” he groaned, covering his face as he flopped back onto his pillows.

By the time he finished packing, Madeleine and Henry were laughing away in the kitchen like old friends.

Like Joey and Henry had so many times.

He wasn’t special. Henry was just that guy.

Hope.

Dangerous and lethal, stabbing into the heart and tearing the soul apart.

“Ready,” Joey mumbled, holding up his suitcase and guitar. “Might take a couple of trips, I have another bag upstairs and the damn lute.”

“Not sure I ever heard you play the lute?” Henry teased.

“Yeah well,” Joey grumbled and turned away from the kitchen before he could start crying.

He really really didn’t want to cry in front of Henry. What was a little heartbreak between friends? At least he could channel that into Jaskier whenever they finally got back onto set. God, he was a fucking mess.

“I’ll help you,” Henry volunteered because of course he would. He probably just wanted Joey gone sooner.

The poor bloke probably couldn’t wait to have his own space back without Joey’s inedible attempts at cooking, non-stop music and chatter, lazy slobbish evenings in front of the TV.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

Fuck!

Joey sniffed and stumbled out the door, his hands gripping his suitcase so tight he thought he might break the handle. Back home with Madeleine, to his life, and his bed, and nights spent drinking too much wine and lurking on social media.

He’d just about managed to throw his suitcase into the boot when he heard a loud bark behind him, followed by Henry grunting. Joey was almost knocked off his feet as Kal bundled into him, circling around as he jumped up, winding the lead around Joey’s body and pulling a poor Henry with him.

Not that Joey was particularly complaining about having Henry pressed up against him, but did it have to be when he was crying?

Henry cursed, struggling to keep hold of the lead. Their faces were close and they had to wrap their arms around each other to keep steady. Joey laughed through his tears, reminded of a similar moment from one of his favourite Disney films.

Only Kal was a lot bigger than a Dalmatian.

“I don’t think he wants you to leave?” Henry said, smiling sheepishly.

Joey smiled back despite his broken heart. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I- I don’t want you to leave either,” Henry whispered so quietly that Joey wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all. “I- umm, I like having you here… with me.”

“Oh,” Joey replied stupidly.

“Fuck, I- Joey… Can- can I kiss you?”

The world turned upside down. Joey's heart stopped and everything started to spin. He tried to process the words but nothing seemed to make sense. There was no fucking way that Henry had said that, that he wanted to- wanted to…

Fuck!

“Oh,” he repeated, blinking at Henry as he licked his lips. “I mean. Fuck. No, I mean… Christ. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Henry chuckled and cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together in the most tender of kisses, taking Joey’s breath away right there on the pavement. Joey just giggled when they parted and then swooped back in for another kiss, and another-

And he never wanted to stop.

He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed this; Henry’s lips on his.

Henry had other ideas though, pulling away with a blinding smile.

“Stay with me?”

Joey nodded and threw his arms around Henry’s neck. “God, yes.”

And then they kissed some more. They had months of lockdown to catch up on, after all.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XII.ii

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Behold, a new - very emotional - chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

come take a look at the incredible art for this chapter by the one and only @gen-syz-art right here ✨

and please, mind the tags on Archive

______________________

Geralt keeps himself busy with taking notes from a bestiary he’d found on one of the shelves in the library a few days ago, and he doesn’t even notice as a few hours go by.

It’s only when he hears the familiar tap-tap-tap of Asra’s and Lucio’s claws against the floor that he realises Jaskier must’ve woken up and let them out of the room.

The dogs make their way to Geralt, wagging their tails and licking his hand when he reaches out to pet them, and he needs to shift closer to one side of the chair to make space for Asra that has taken to curling up next to him and sleeping with her head in his lap.

He doesn’t mind it though he knows that it makes Lucio a little jealous.

“Would you look at you two, simply made for each other,” Jaskier teases, coming into the room.

He’d changed from the clothes he’d had on in the morning, and is now wearing a chemise of black silk, adorned with intricate emerald-green lace on the cinched wrists and the high neckline. It’s a pattern of leaves and flowers, all woven together close enough for there to be barely any skin showing.

“You look beautiful,” Geralt says, without even thinking about it, and Jaskier blushes under his gaze.

“What did you do here without me?” he asks, coming closer and giving Asra a jealous little look.

Geralt gestures to his notes on the table beside the chair and the open bestiary on top of them. He wants to get Asra back onto the floor, and have Jaskier in his lap instead of her, but she might take offence in that, and Geralt just isn’t willing to risk it.

He is, however, fully entitled to just stand up and move to the settee, which is exactly what he does, taking Jaskier with him by the hand.

Asra raises her head and snorts at him but doesn’t really protest, especially when Lucio jumps up onto the chair, and they curl up together.

“Can’t get your hands off me, can you?” Jaskier teases when Geralt pulls him down onto the settee, but he goes willingly, regardless.

He settles comfortably against Geralt’s chest, a pleased little rumble escaping his lips when the witcher pulls a blanket over both of them, keeping out the cold. It’s not winter just yet, but there are only a few more weeks left. And Redania has never really been warm.

“You don’t have to stay in the mansion all the time, you know,” Jaskier murmurs after a little while of comfortable silence. “If you want to go hunting or maybe just take Roach out for a ride, you can. I don’t want you to feel like you must stay on this side of the gates just because I do.”

Geralt hasn’t really thought about it. But knowing that Jaskier cares makes his chest feel warm.

“I like it here with you,” he says, running his fingers through the bard’s hair. “But I could bring you little things from the outside, like berries or herbs, make you feel more connected to the world.”

Jaskier hums, nuzzling against his chest and pressing a kiss to it through the fabric of Geralt’s shirt.

“Little rocks,” he says.

“What was that?”

“Little rocks. Pebbles from the river. Sometimes there are colourful ones, I used to collect them when I was in the Academy.”

“I’ll bring you little rocks, then,” Geralt agrees, and it might just be the most sentimental thing he’d ever said to anyone. “The colourful ones.”

Jaskier raises his head from his chest and leans in, leaving a warm, grateful kiss on Geralt’s lips. It makes the witcher shiver all over.

Before Jaskier can break away, he kisses him again, just as soft, and the bard returns it, shifting just enough to get a better angle. Even as he breaks the kiss to take in a breath, their lips still touch, and then Geralt can feel the wet brush of his tongue on his lips.

Jaskier doesn’t deepen the kiss, just teases, and though Geralt allows him to play his little games, he’s got a few tricks of his own.

Leaving one hand where it’s resting on Jaskier’s waist, he brings the other one higher, running his fingers up the line of the bard’s spine, and the way he gasps when Geralt brushes over the mark in-between his shoulder blades might just be the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Unfair,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear, but the next moment he’s already shifting to straddle his hips.

Geralt doesn’t let himself give in that easily.

“No,” he grins, rolling his hips just enough for Jaskier to feel it. “What was unfair is you teasing me when I was here last time, making it harder and harder to resist.”

Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers over the top three buttons on Geralt’s shirt, and they open, giving him better access to the witcher’s neck. Geralt nearly whines at the little pinpricks of magic against his skin.

“You didn’t have to resist, Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the witcher’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw. “You could have just taken what you wanted.”

Feeling braver, Geralt tugs on the hem of Jaskier’s chemise, untucking it from the waist of his trousers, and slips his hand under the thin fabric, nearly burning himself with the heat of Jaskier’s skin. He wants to be more patient, but it’s been months of all those feelings burning in his chest, and he just can’t bring himself to.

Jaskier arches his back and presses his hips closer to Geralt’s as the witcher rucks his chemise up to his chest and runs both his hands up his sides, catching Jaskier’s lips in a kiss just in time to drink in his trembling little moan when he runs his fingers directly over the mark on his back.

“Is it really that sensitive?” he murmurs when Jaskier breaks away, his breathing hot against Geralt’s skin.

Jaskier nips at his lower lip in revenge, almost hard enough to break the tender skin.

“Yes,” he growls, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to Geralt’s neck and rolling his hips against his. “And if you keep doing that, you’ll pay for it later.”

Oh, but that is just way too tempting to resist.

“You need to work on your threats,” Geralt grins, dragging his nails down Jaskier’s back, gentle enough not to cause any pain.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, back arching, and hides his face in the cure of Geralt’s shoulders, shuddering all over.

Geralt medallion hums against his chest with the magic radiating off Jaskier, and on the desk by the window, all the books fly open, the pages turning as if disturbed by a sudden gust of wind.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes, and it’s so close to a whine that Geralt nearly loses his mind. “I can’t fucking control my magic when I’m with you.”

And gods, that might be the most incredible thing anyone’s ever said to Geralt.

He’s very aware of just how hard he is from merely a couple of kisses, and there is nothing he wants more than to flip them both around, lay Jaskier down onto the soft cushions and take him apart bit by bit, until he’s whimpering and shaking, but even more than that, he’s aware of just how important it is not to rush.

“We can slow down, if you want to,” he murmurs, pressing a warm, comforting kiss to Jaskier’s cheek. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Jaskier hums something, leaning into Geralt’s touch when he wraps his arms around his waist, gently brushing over the soft skin with his thumb.

“I am comfortable,” he says, averting his eyes almost apologetically. “I just need to adjust a little. I can barely contain my power when you touch me like that.”

Geralt tips his chin up and pulls him into a long, calming kiss.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he grins once Jaskier breaks away.

Jaskier rolls his eyes affectionately, and settles in more comfortably again, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

It takes a little while for Geralt’s veins to stop burning but Jaskier’s steady breathing calms him, and really, just having him in his arms is enough.

There’s going to be time for everything else.

***

They stay in the library for the entire day, never really letting go of each other, and when Arthur comes in to bring them hot wine, he gives them a little look and Geralt could swear that he hides a smile beneath his moustache.

At some point, Asra and Lucio try to join them, but the settee isn’t big enough for all of them at once, so Jaskier gives them an apologetic look and feeds them treats that appear in his hand out of thin air.

Geralt can’t help but kiss him every chance he gets, still not quite able to believe that he’s allowed to do that now, and Jaskier smiles into his lips and kisses him back every time.

Dinner seems like an insufficient reason to get up, so they both just skip it, earning themselves another look from Arthur, this one slightly more disapproving. Jaskier gives him a charming smile in return and pointedly kisses Geralt on the corner of his lips.

It’s comfortable and easy, like they’ve known each other forever. Like everything has finally fallen into place.

“You know, I’ve had a lot of people in this mansion over the years,” Jaskier murmurs, tilting his head to sneak a look at Geralt. “But I’ve never spent entire days in the arms of any of them. Only you.”

He reaches up to brush his thumb over Geralt’s cheek, the sleeve of his chemise riding up, and the witcher already parts his lips to answer when he finally notices.

A cold shiver runs down his back, breath getting stuck in his throat, and Jaskier must notice that, because within seconds, he’s on his feet, holding his arm to his chest like a broken wing. His eyes are widened with fear, and the scent of it comes off him in waves, so strong that it’s overwhelming.

Still feeling like he’s unable to breathe, Geralt sits up slowly, careful not to startle Jaskier with any sudden movement, and his heart is beating so hard in his chest that it hurts.

“Jask--” he says softly. “What is that?”

He stands up to take a step towards the bard, but he backs away from him, terrified, tears shining in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he says, voice shaking.

Slowly, Geralt takes another step, holding both his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Jaskier doesn’t move away from him, but he still holds his arm to his chest, shaking all over.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries again, carefully closing in the distance between them until he is standing right in front of him. “Please. Let me see?”

Jaskier shakes his head stubbornly, clenching his fingers tighter.

“It’s nothing, Geralt, really--”

“Please,” the witcher repeats, cutting him off and holding his hand out. “I won’t hurt you. Just let me see.”

The seconds that go by in silence feel like an eternity, disturbed only by Jaskier’s soft sobs, until finally, very slowly, he takes his arm away from his chest and places his wrist in Geralt’s hand.

Geralt undoes the three little buttons on the side of his sleeve with shaking fingers, and Jaskier turns away, closing his eyes shut, tears glistening in his cheeks, as Geralt rolls his sleeve up.

There, on the perfect pale skin, is a long vertical scar, running from the bend of Jaskier’s wrist and all the way up to the middle of his forearm. Geralt knows enough about the marks that blades can leave on skin to know that it’s deep without having to touch it.

Geralt can feels his ears ringing even as he says:

“And the other one?”

Jaskier gives him his other arm without any words or resistance, but the broken sob that escapes his chest shatters Geralt’s heart into pieces.

“Jask--” he calls softly, reaching with his other hand to brush the bard’s hair out of his face, but when he tries to turn him towards him, Jaskier resists, refusing to open his eyes and look at him.

He’s still holding his other arm out, and Geralt takes it gently, forcing himself to take in a breath.

He undoes the buttons, and though he knows that there is going to be another scar on that arm, it still feels like a stab to the chest to roll up Jaskier’s sleeve and see it.

It’s identical to the one on his right arm, just as long and deep, and Geralt feels like his heart rips open in his chest with pain.

He should be used to scars but these ones take all air away from his lungs.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Jaskier sniffles, voice still shaking, and when Geralt raises his head, he finds the bard looking at him, blue eyes clouded up with tears. “Thought I could hide them from you for just a little longer.”

He looks so scared, so broken, and he’s still shaking all over as Geralt pulls him into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest. His eyes burn with tears, and he shuts them, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s temple.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair to comfort him. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

Jaskier clings onto him, shaking with silent tears, and Geralt holds him, whispering comforting little things and leaving kisses on his temple even as his own heart bleeds in his chest.

The thought of losing him long before they even met hurts much more than he ever could’ve thought.

Time stretches and passes by without Geralt knowing if it’s been minutes or hours. After what seems like an eternity, Jaskier’s sobs quiet down, and his tears dry, but he doesn’t let go of Geralt, his body still trembling.

After seemingly just as long, Geralt finally takes in enough air to ask:

“Why did you do it?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond for a few long seconds, just breathing, before breaking away to look at Geralt.

“I was scared,” he says quietly, letting Geralt take his wrists into his hands again. “I’ve been here for a little over three years when I noticed that I’m changing, that I’m growing older. I was only twenty-one, and no-one else would’ve noticed the difference, but I did. And it was-- gods, it was hard enough already, with being unable to step outside, trying to get a proper control of my power and just being alone, but that… it just hit me so much harder than I was able to take.”

Twenty-one. He could’ve died at twenty-one.  

“I tried not to think about it, I really did,” Jaskier says, his gaze falling onto his forearms. “But it became something that I couldn’t get rid of. Every time I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like it was getting worse. And I was so scared, so fucking scared of just slowly growing old and dying in this mansion, without ever taking another step outside, that one evening it just-- it just became too much.”

There are tears in his eyes again, running down his cheeks in wet lines, but he doesn’t take his hands away to wipe them off.

“I wanted control over at least something in my life, Geralt. And if I couldn’t choose the way I lived, I wanted to choose the way I died. I couldn’t stand the thought of just slowly rotting away within these walls, torn away from the outside world and completely forgotten by it, so I just… I decided to end my life before it could happen.”

Geralt can feel himself shake, and the longer he looks at the scars on Jaskier’s arms, the worse it gets. Just the thought of how scared he must’ve been to try and take his own life feels like it re-opens all of Geralt’s own scars, making him burn and bleed all over.

He can’t think of anything that he would not have done for Jaskier not to have those marks on his arms.

“Arthur found me,” Jaskier chuckles humorlessly. “The dogs felt the scent of blood and started barking, waking him up. I was unconscious by then but from what he’d told me, he’d knocked on my bathroom door for about a minute before breaking it down. Found me in the tub, stopped the blood, carried me to bed. I slept through four days straight, according to him.”

Geralt forcibly makes himself calm down, recalling everything he’d even been taught in Kaer Morhen. His mind keeps racing, but his body reacts like it had been trained to, and finally, he manages to stop himself from trembling.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that--” he says, barely above a whisper. “Gods, Jask, I’m just--”

He hates that he can’t find the right words, and he shuts his eyes again, leaning down to touch his lips to Jaskier’s wrists, leaving hard, dry kisses on both scars.

Jaskier flinches but doesn’t take his hands away.

“It took me a long time to recover after that,” he says quietly. “Not only physically, but mentally. I’ve spent a month in bed, barely getting up and just fucking crying. Everything hurt, especially the scars, and every time I moved my arm wrong, the pain just paralysed me.”

He sways a little on his feet, and pulls Geralt down onto the hide in front of the fireplace with him. Asra and Lucio jump down from their chair and come closer, sniffing and licking at him, and Jaskier smiles through the tears, hugging them both.

“They were still fresh when one night Arthur woke me up and said that there is a woman at the gates, begging to be let in,” he says, leaning into Geralt’s arms when the witcher opens them. “She turned out to be a mage. She was badly hurt and on the run from the witch hunters, so I hid her here.”

He seems to be calming down now, resting his back against Geralt’s chest, and as his breathing evens out, Geralt can feel himself being able to breathe again, as well.

He holds Jaskier in his arms, rocking gently from side to side, and presses soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. His heart is still beating too hard and too fast for a witcher but he listens without interrupting, letting Jaskier say everything that he needs to.

“I will tell you about her some other day, if you want me to,” Jaskier says, and Geralt can hear just how tired he is, how much this conversation is taking out of him. “But she stayed with me for a little over a month, healing her wounds and planning her next steps, and when she was ready to leave, she told me that in return for my kindness towards her, she would like to grant me any wish I choose. Of course, I asked her to break the curse. But even as I was saying those words, I knew that it’s too intricate to be broken that way.”

Asra and Lucio poke at him with their noses, whining in concern, and Jaskier smiles at them, leaning down to kiss both dogs on the noses.

“It’s alright, my loves,” he reassures before tilting his head to brush his lips over Geralt’s jaw and address him again. “But when she told me that it’s a curse that can only be broken by the mage that had cast it or by meeting the requirements, she also offered me something else. Over her days here, she’d noticed the healing scars on my arms, and when she asked, I just told her. So she offered me a deal. You’re going to stay young as long as you have a reason to live, she said. It seemed a little too good to be true, but I still took it.”

Jaskier turns around in Geralt’s arms and gently brushes a stray lock of his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. Geralt leans into the touch, closing his eyes, and it’s almost unexpected when Jaskier touches a gentle kiss to his lips.

And just as the meaning of Jaskier’s words fully sinks in, he says:

“Now, I don’t look twenty-five, do I?”

Geralt’s eyes fly open and it feels like he sees Jaskier for the first time, like he properly sees him for the first time. Because he’s right, He doesn’t look twenty-five. He looks twenty-one.

“It worked,” Geralt whispers.

The smile that Jaskier gives him is tired and small, but it still reaches his eyes.

“It worked,” he echoes. “And it gave me a reason to go on. Made me feel like I have it in me to keep looking for a way to break the curse without the constant fear of running out of time. And, gods, I’ve always been grateful for it but after I met you-- I’m happy I didn’t die that night.”

The words echo through Geralt’s mind what feels like a hundred times, and his chest gets so tight that he’s more than sure that his ribs are about to break.

He pulls Jaskier to his lips, kissing him with such desperation that it hurts, and Jaskier returns it fully, clinging onto Geralt’s shoulders. There is barely any air to breathe, but that doesn’t matter with just how much everything that he’d just heard makes Geralt feel.

“We’ll find a way to break it,” he whispers into Jaskier’s lips in-between kisses. “We will.”

“I know,” Jaskier nods. “I know, darling.”

He sounds exhausted, and though he’s not trembling anymore, Geralt knows that he needs to get some proper rest, needs to recover.

“You should go to bed,” he says softly, pressing a warm, chaste kiss to the bard’s forehead. “You’re tired.”

Jaskier hums something, hiding his face in the curve of Geralt’s shoulder for a few long seconds before breaking away and getting up, unsteady on his feet. Geralt does the same, never letting go of the bard’s hand.

“Geralt?” Jaskier calls softly, raising his head to meet the witcher’s eyes. “Could you stay with me for the night? After everything I’ve told you, I don’t want to be alone.”

Stay with him for the night.

Geralt’s heart skips a beat.

“Of course,” he says, closing his eyes when Jaskier leans into his arms again. “Of course, my love.”