#make him a swords bard too. so you still get that sweet sweet combat

[flashhwing]

I love seeing everyone post screenshots of Astarion where he's wearing the drow armor in dark colors and then going to my own game where he's wearing the bard tunic in white. we are having fundamentally different experiences of this character

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Honor him. Younger Mercenary Oberyn Martell x f!reader fanfic. #Writer Wednesday 05/26/2021

Summary: You receive the worst news, Oberyn Martell died, your first lover and the first adventure you lived.

Once when you were younger you ran away from your house escaping an unhappy engagement and the promise of a dull life. But your family hired an elite force of mercenaries to find you not knowing that their leader is a Prince of Dorne.

Word count: 6,5k (ups sorry)

Warning: Blood, violence, Oberyn’s death is mentioned as canon in the book and show, Ophidiophobia(fear of snakes), unhappy arranged marriage, alcohol. +18 SMUT (it means no minors, pls) virgen f!reader, oral sex (f¡ receiving descriptive, male receiving mentioned) p in v sex (unprotected cos there’s no durex in Essos BUT USE PROTECTION IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE) grieving.

A/N: I'M SORRY I'M LATE this is for #Writer Wednesday, the challenge created by @autumnleaves1991-blog

I read the books a long time ago, yep, I’m one of those people that said “I’ll finish them when George publish them all” so I got ASOIAF wiki and run with it, so buckle up for some bad geography from Essos and inaccurate cultural stuff. I think this is the longest thing I’ve written and the smuttiest, so sorry if it’s cringy.

Honor him

“Apparently he won the combat but the wounds were too severe and he died”

You raise your eyes from the book. One of the young servants whispers to another collecting the dead leaves on the ground.

“What is it?”

They rise from the ground nervously expecting that you will scold them for gossiping

“We heard the news from the world. A bard was chanting them on the market, my lady” she approaches the fountain; you’re seated on the ceramic tile, feet inside the water, refreshing from the blazing sun in this part of Essos.

“And what did he say?”

“He said there was a trial in Kingslanding. For the death of king Joffrey, and it was his cousin...”

“His uncle, the imp” clarifies the other and the other girl rolls her eyes

“Yes, his uncle was on trial for his murder. And Prince Oberyn from Dorne was his champion”

“The imp asked for a trial by combat, you see, my lady” adds the other

“He battled the Mountain; he crushed the prince’s skull apparently”

“But! but! His blade had poison on it so the Mountain died too” says the other girl excitedly

“Oberyn died?” you mutter, your hands are limp and you don’t realize that you have drop your book until you hear the “blop” sound in the water and it splashed your tunic

Your mind travels to years past in an instant: A journey through the vast empty lands of this continent and how you loved for the first time.

The pages of your book are getting more and more transparent while the black trickles of ink disappear in the water. You wish to scream, to rip your clothes and your hair out of your scalp but you do nothing.

“Are you alright, my lady?” the girls look at each other when you don’t move or try to retrieve your book from the water.

You always thought the greatest pain he gave you was leaving you at your father’s door many years ago, but now he’s gone forever. You always thought, while looking from your window at night, that you will see him one day, coming back on his dark horse ready to steal you away again, but now that he’s dead that small hope, that tiny flame that you kept in your heart is gone.

Your childish hopes and dreams of reviving your first love are shattered. It’s true that your life has changed, you’re a grown woman now, wiser and experience but you still fantasize over him, seeing his face and his hands on your lovers.

“We should call physician” you heard them whisper, but so far away

“Where is he anyway?”

“At his clinic, you silly girl, run”

“You do not need to call him” you mutter “I’m fine. Excuse me”

Not caring for splashing water all over the house, you run to your chambers and collapse into your bed. Buried in the soft pillows, you cried, muffling your howls with them so nobody could hear. Late in the night the moon and stars shine bright casting bluish shadows in your room.

Your body is tired but restless and in the night shade a timid ray of white light illuminates that small scar in your forearm in the shape of a half-moon. And you kiss it, at least you will always have something of his carved in your skin.

Many years ago. Essos.

“You’re cheating, boy” the big man slams the table, the wooden pieces and the coins that all the players have laid at the center fall down. He points at you spitting from a mouth full of crooked black teeth “Show me your arms, boy, I know you’re lying”

“I’m just lucky, sir” you raise your blouse’s sleeves and your arms up innocently and somehow it makes him angrier

He insults you in whatever language he speaks and slams the table up, the players run and the loud tavern suddenly gets quite, waiting for the next movement. You’re an ant in front of that enormous giant, when he stands tall and walks menacingly towards you, you freeze, he doesn’t listen to you when you apologize, it doesn’t matter anyway, you just did to gain time and look for an exit but the room is too crowded.

“Here, boy, I’ve also many tricks under my sleeve” he has a dirty bag hanging from his belt and takes it and throws it at you. It lands at your feet and for a second you smirk not knowing what a bag could do to you, but then it moves and in a blur you see a green and yellow thing twisting until you feel it pressing and slithering over your body. The snake, a beautiful, shiny creature with vibrant colors faces you hissing and shows its fangs. Everything happens to fast. Out of instinct you protect your face with your arms and the animal understands this as a threat and it bites. The pain rings like a bell all over your body every nerve in your body aflame.

In a second, cold blood wets your face and you gasp when you see the snake’s head slide to the side separated from its body with a clean cut.

“I’m sorry for the demise of your little friend” A tall lean man stands beside the giant. You can’t see his face, since he’s covered with black turban and his body is in full armor. One of his arms still holds a curved sword that has snake blood on it; the other has a dagger pointed to your enemy’s neck.

“That viper was worth more than you or your little friend and you will pay for it”

“I doubt it. You know my little friend here” and he points his sword to you “it’s worth a lot and if I don’t tend to her wound rapidly she will die and that’s a shame. So, decide now, do you want to be a setback or do you want to keep living your stinky life longer?”

By brute force, the giant decides his fate and tries to disarm the man who in a swift movement cuts his throat and his blood and destiny joints that of his pet.

“You’ve been quite difficult to find, child” he opens the fabric covering his face. His eyes are dark, dark beard covers his defined jaw line and an amused smirk graces his handsome face. “Let me see that arm” he lowers his weapons, shamelessly cleaning his dagger on the back of the dead tall man and walks to you until your back is pressed against one of the tavern columns. Sheathing his sword, his hand takes yours and raises your arm, evaluating the wound and he hums deeply “Oh, sweet child”

“Am I going to die?” you cry

“Probably”

“If it’s my father who commands you to find me, I beg you to let me die; I do not wish to go back. Death is better than that dreadful place” you shake your head determined but terrified at the same time. He looks at you with his brow troubled

“Death is never better than anything” and he drags your arm to his face. His dark gaze fix on you while he sucks on the wound so hard that for a moment you think he’s drinking your life away. But then he lets you go and spits to the ground “Let’s hope that’s enough. You will come with me so I can give you the antidote”

“I told you, I have no desire to return to my home”

“It’s a pity, then, that I don’t care about that” he grins.

He gave you so many small jars to drink. Some tasted sweet some bitter and some other made you want to vomit and not drink or eat ever again. But you’re alive. A few hours passed, and then a day, then two, and you’re irrevocably getting back home.

You’ve learnt that your father, in an attempt to find you, has commissioned this elite group of mercenaries to retrieve you; and he’s the leader. It’s a small company but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. All of them seemed to have many different skills, weapons hidden at every corner of their body, they speak languages you don’t know and you ride your horse tied to it watching each one of them with a suspicious look. After two days riding with them you have decided that there’s no way you could escape now. There’s always one of them standing guard and just a small glare your way gets every thought of escaping out of your head. So, even if it’s dramatic, you decided that your best option is to die. A few days in the desert without water and food and your father will receive a corpse.

“Drink, little girl, you’re withering like a flower” the leader, the man that saved you, says handing you the waterskin

“No, thank you” you turn your head, seated under the shadow of a very thin and dry bush. The orange and violet light announces the immanent sunset where you have stopped for the day.

“You’ve been refusing water all day. You have to drink” he says and pushes the waterskin to your face once more.

“No, thank you” you repeat and he sighs. Thinking you’ve won as he throws the waterskin by his side, you smile subtly until he’s close, crouched down, knees over the sand, looking at you.

“Maybe being a spoiled little flower works for your father, but not to me. Drink or I will make you” He takes your chin and raises it to meet his eyes

“I’m not thirsty” you say, your lips are already dry and they hurt, your tongue is thick inside your mouth and your body screams for just one drop.

“Don’t challenge me, child” he lowers his voice and you gulp

“I’m not a child” you protest, he keeps calling you that and honestly you don’t think he’s much older that you

“Then why do you behave like one? Drink, for the last time” His mouth is a fine line now and his grip on your chin is a little bit firmer

When you don’t answer he opens the waterskin and tucking on your lower lip he pours a small trickle of water in your mouth. The liquid taste sweet, your body works on it own and you open your mouth to drink more with desperation.

“So you weren’t thirsty...stubborn girl” he smirks and you want to slap his smug and beautiful face

He stops pouring water and laughs when you rise up drinking the last drops before he puts the cap on it.

“Look at you, not a withering flower anymore” the mercenary brushes his knuckles over you cheek and you feel them burn “What else do you want?” his thumb caress your chin gathering the small drops of water on your skin and spreads it over your lower lip.

You feel your bones burning, a tension in your lower belly that you haven’t feel many times and that makes you ask for something you don’t even know, so you just answer a timid yes and let him guide you to the fire and the rest of the company.

One of the mercenary is skinning some rabbits, methodically pulling the skin off with blood hands and a deathly gaze fix on you “So she decided to join us” she says

“Oberyn can be really persuasive” another, a big bald man with a beard tinted in blue, adds

So his name is Oberyn, where have you heard that name before?

“Remember that her father is paying for the whole of her, untouched he said” a lean blonde woman, with her face full of black and blue tattoos, is lounged over the bags sharpening her knives

“Well, I hope he doesn’t see her arm, that viper left her with a beautiful scar” Oberyn sits down and helps the mercenary skinning the animals and impales them and puts them to roast on the fire

“I’m not talking about that kind of viper...” she says and the company laughs

“I’m right here” they stop laughing looking at you as if you have done something they deem impossible

“So she speaks” the bearded man says

“She does but it may take some convincing” Oberyn smiles at you over the flames that illuminate his striking and sharp features “If you wish to eat, sweet flower, why don’t tell us how did you escape? We love a good story while we camp”

“Your father was convinced some ragged boy had stole you from your palace” adds the blonde woman

You smile, feeling some kind of pride for your plan, that, looking at it from perspective, did not grant you what you wanted but at least you had a good run. You tell them about how you disguised as a ragged boy lurking a few nights prior your escape so that the servants suspected about somebody being guilty of your disappearing. And how you ran away the night of your betrothal and made it look as if somebody had kidnapped you.

“I ran out of money in Lys so I had to beg, or steal, or gamble for a few coins. And then you found me” you finish your tale, sucking on your fingers, the meat is the best you ever tasted but yet again it must be the hunger from this days refusing to eat or drink.

“I’m almost tempted to let you go, young one, you seem a very resourceful girl” the beard man that you now know as Uhlan smiles at you proudly

“Think about the money” the blonde woman, Rikan, chew on a bone and toss it to the fire

“I’m always thinking about it, why do you think I’m a sellsword?” he jests

“Because you were a street rat with a broad back as broad as your stupidity and it’s the only thing you can do” Rikan spits and Uhlan laughs, a deep and low chuckle that resonates as a thunder.

“She’s a little princess, she couldn’t have survived much longer” the other woman, Shifa adds, the rest of the company has changed the way they look at you, but her. She still squints at you

“There’re princes that have survived worse” Uhlan counters and suddenly there’s a heavy and uncomfortable silence over them. You look at all of them trying to understand and you see Oberyn looking at his feet until he claps his hands together “Let’s get some sleep, we have a long way ahead”

It’s surprising what food, water and company can achieve. You’re smiling more, you almost forget that you will be delivered to your father and future husband within days, Uhlan tells you about his many adventures, how he almost die in Yiti, how he rode once with a Khalassar and that he had seen the great shadow in the East. Rikan has gifted you a knife “a girl needs to defend herself” she said and proceed to show you how to kill a man in many different ways “If you want to kill your husband though, you must ask Oberyn, he’s the one that knows about poisons and how to kill somebody without raising suspicions”

“How does he know that?” you ask, leaning to the right so you get close to her horse, Oberyn rides beside Shifa before you; both of them speaking in a language you don’t understand

“He has studied many things; he’s been all over the world. He was almost a Maester once, but preferred to travel, fight and fuck the world before he gets back to his duties”

“Duties?”

“He’s a prince” she whispers a mischievous smile on her lips “he doesn’t want to talk about it, because it makes people treat him differently or underestimate him. So don’t tell him it was me, blame the big rat”

“Did somebody call me?” Uhlan screams at the back

“You do have a sharp ear when you want, my friend”

You arrive to Myr at dusk. The city is still vibrating, the merchants offering everything you could imagine and the streets smell like thousands spices. And you absorb it all with wide eyes and open mouth.

“It’s a beautiful world, my sweet flower, and you wanted to end your life” Oberyn raises his voice over the people chatting and selling stuff

“If only it could always be like this” you answer, your smile dies in your mouth remembering this is a passing thing. The adventure will be over soon.

“Life gives us many opportunities to dwell in its pleasures; you have only to acquire a keen eye to recognize the perfect moment to seize it”

“Are you implying that I will have another chance to escape?” you scoff

“Maybe...if that is what you want or maybe to enjoy your life as a married woman, who knows”

You sigh deeply trying to ignore the thoughts about your future husband, that drunken bastard, boring and dull that your father chose.

“Or you could run away and avoid your responsibilities; you can create your own destiny, my sweet flower”

“And that’s what you are doing? Avoiding your duties?” you stop in your tracks and he watches you for a moment, chewing on his lower lip

“Maybe” he answers finally

“I’m tired of being treated as if I was overreacting being a spoiled child while you are here doing exactly what I did, ran away, from the duties of a noble life. I’m not overreacting; all I want is to decide if I want to live my life bearing children for my fool husband and maybe die giving birth or out of boredom and disappointment or try my luck in the wild world. Isn’t that what you are doing? Travel, fight and fuck the world? What’s the difference between me and you?” The people surround you, the company has already enter the tavern in front of you knowing they shouldn’t meddle

“Travel, fight and fuck the world seem a pretty good title for a book. Maybe when I’m old I will write my adventures under that title” he laughs

“I’m glad I amuse you” you spat with your arms crossed

“I apologize if I made you feel that I was underestimating you. Do not confuse my laughter with mockery, I know how you feel and I understand.” He comes close to you, each hand on your arms, pressing them lightly “Believe me, I wouldn’t have accepted this job if your father didn’t pay so well. I have to get back home and I want to leave my company with enough resources so they can continue on their own” he explains, he bends his neck so you are so close you can smell his scent, leather, horse and the dessert. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy ourselves while it lasts” Oberyn smiles and passes his arm over your shoulders “Have you tasted the wine from Myr?” you shake your head “It’s the sweetest”

The wine is starting to play with your mind, your smile falls languidly over the corner of your lips and you don’t know why you’re laughing but whatever song Uhlan is singing is the funniest thing you’ve heard. Rikan laughs by your side, her laugh is actually sweet and high making her look less menacing. Shifa is the only one that doesn’t look amused at all and he drinks from her goblet eyeing the tavern, especially you, with hatred.

“C’mon, Shifa, we know you can smile” Uhlan grabs her in a bear hug but she squeezes herself out of it

“Let me alone, you brute”

“You haven’t talked much since we retrieve the little girl over here, tell us what’s going on in that little twisted mind of yours?” the man jokes and the other mercenary glares at him

“I’m going to my chamber” She drinks the rest of her drink and strides to the rooms, pushing the drunken people in her way

“Leave her, Uhlan! She’s just jealous that her prince is not directing his attentions only to her lately” Rikan says winking at you

Oberyn has been absent having a conversation in another table until he comes back with a serious expression

“I’m partially offended that you think our company it’s not worth your time” Uhlan says sliding to give him enough space to seat by his side

“Huh, so I guess Shifa is not the only one jealous” Rikan drinks looking at him over her goblet

“Shut up!”

“Where is she?” Oberyn asks

“She went to her chamber” Uhlan serves him wine “So what was about those ugly bastards that got your attention; I thought you had a very refined taste”

“Those are Westerosi men; I wanted to get news of the world. Some of us still appreciate the pursuit of knowledge, my friend” Oberyn taps on his big shoulder

“I appreciate the pursuit of a good fuck better, my friend. Let’s see if those Westerosi want to share some news with me, Rikan are you coming? I’m always lucky with you around”

“I don’t like Westerosi” she snarls

“I don’t care, I just need you to be there so they take a good look at your ugly face and they get convinced that fucking with me is the good option of the two of us” he jokes with one of those thunder like chuckles

Rikan laughs and she follows him, waddling towards the men’s table.

“I should go to my room” you say, rising too fast and the whole room twists and turns

“You liked the wine, I see” he observes you grab the wooden table for your dear life until you find your balance

“Too sweet, I haven’t noticed it until it was too late”

“Let me guide you then”

Oberyn grabs you by your waist and helps you climb the stairs to the second floor. People gather around the aisle, laughter and moans fill the air and the heat of Oberyn skin over yours and the boldness giving by the alcohol make you pressed your body against his a little tighter than its necessary.

“This is you” he says opening the door for you

“Is it true what you said about creating our own destiny?” you collapse on his firm chest, your hands brushing over his neck

“Yes, sweet flower”

“Sweet flower” you mimic his accent “Say it one more time” your glossy lips, sticky with wine, leave a kiss on the tan uncover skin of his chest. His laugh makes you raise your head

“You need to sleep, child”

“No, no!” you slap his hand away when he tries to push you inside the room “Don’t call me that, I’m not a child. I’m a woman” you try to fix your posture to seem taller but you body stumbles to one side almost falling down

“What you are is a very inebriated girl. Good night, my sweet flower” he says closing the door

“Are you going to Shifa’s room?” the words escape your lips before you can think and he lingers on the door with an eyebrow raised

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t want you to go to her” again the words are out before you process them

“And what do you want me to do?” Oberyn closes the door behind him. And you breathe deeply a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Stay with me” you mutter

“Believe me I would, but you don’t know what you are asking. It is the wine speaking”

“No it’s not” you pout again falling into his arms, hearing how you sound like a spoiled little girl, you cough “It’s not” you repeat

“Right, let me take you to bed then”

You gasp looking at him with wide eyes. Oberyn hugs your body and walks towards the simple bed at the corner until you both fall down on the soft mattress

“Oberyn” you whisper “I have to tell you something before we...”

“Tell me, sweet flower” He lays beside you, posing his head over his fist

“I’m...I’ve never...” you stutter

“No need to worry” with his free hand he starts to brush his index finger from your brow to the tip of your nose so slowly and softly that you feel your eyes closing down

“Are you trying to make me sleep as if I was a puppy?” you slur

“Shh” he continues until the room goes dark and you cannot open your eyes for much that you try

“Sweet dreams, sweet flower” you hear before you blank out.

The sun pierces your eyes as if its rays were daggers. The company laughs at your expense, but yet again, Shifa hisses and insults you in some language but it’s evident that she said something nasty because Oberyn glares at her.

“No more Myr wine for you, little girl” Uhlan laughs helping you get on your horse

“Never” you murmur

The pain in the back of your head and the unstoppable thirst you have makes you moody, and it doesn’t help that you know you’re one day away from your home. But everything is worse with the hard sting of jealousy. It’s not that Oberyn does much, but he rides along side her, speaking in that stupid language you don’t understand, and she makes him laugh, he watches with attention whatever she points at during the way. He looks at her, talks to her. All you want is to rush your stupid horse and take her place.

It gets worse when Shifa sees you observing them; knowing damn well what you feel, she becomes softer, leaving touches on his skin, whispers things on his ear. And you can see the intimacy, the camaraderie that they share and that you will never have. And she’s a woman not a little girl, fierce, independent, and strong; and you cannot stop comparing yourself to her.

You arrive to a small town in between the domains of the two free cities, just hours away from the gates of Pentos.

“We will spent the night here, we need to be presentable for tomorrow”

The town has a small and humble bath house. The simple exterior made of red brick doesn’t show the beauty it has in its interior. The garden inside is made of brick and ceramic creating beautiful arches that frame the pool in the middle; green vines crept over the walls and the tender murmur of water is the only sound you can hear.

“We have rooms to accommodate you for the night once you’re done with your baths” the lady, owner of the house, announces and snaps her fingers towards the servants so they get everything ready.

“Thank you” Oberyn says bowing his head “Wash away the dust of our journey, my friends. Specially you, Uhlan” he jokes, slapping the big man’s belly

“You’re as stinky as me, my prince, but the Gods didn’t give me a beautiful face”

The company strips shamelessly, you think that they’re so comfortable around each other that they don’t think twice before submerge their naked bodies in the fresh water.

You stay by the side, taking off your shoes and rolling your sleeves so you can wash your feet and face. You avert your eyes when you see that Oberyn’s armor is on the floor. Your eyes fixed on the water and the blue tiles at the bottom, but you cannot stop from raising your eyes just a little.

His magnificent, strong, and tight body, his beautiful golden skin is marked in scars in some parts, you see the muscles on his legs tensing and relaxing as he gets in the pool. Your eyes travel through the room to avoid seeing him in his full grace.

“C’mon child, you don’t want to be stinky when you meet your father” Rikan splash water at you

“I-I”

“Let her be, she’s scare of my big cock” Uhlan laughs

“That thing that you can barely get up? C’mon, child, it is harmless” The blonde mercenary swims towards you and grabs your hand to pull you in

“Rikan, leave her, let’s finish and we will leave her some privacy” Oberyn says under the small waterfall brushing his skin with a small piece of soap

“Your husband’s eyes will be the only ones that will see you naked” Shifa says and she swims towards Oberyn. Her body is toned and muscular. She joints him under the water stream and when she tries to touch him, he moves away.

You don’t want to smile, but you do, until you remember that he refused you the other night and tonight is the last night you’ll spend with them. Shifa will have him for whatever time she wants.

Eventually they leave the pool, putting on some fresh clothes and rubbing some scent oils on their skins and they look different, less mercenary and more like elite warriors with a thousand adventures to tell. You will miss them; they are the only friends you have ever had.

“Thank you” you say stopping their banter over who’s going to take which room, they look at you confused “Thank you for rescuing me” you say with a trembling voice

“It’s nothing, child” Uhlan says and you see his big eyes shine

“We will give you some privacy” Rikan nods

When they are away you take off those stinky clothes you’ve been wearing since you escape. You moan feeling the water soften your muscle and you enjoy the strong cascade of water hitting your back until your bones feel like liquid inside your skin.

“I never expected you to thank us for getting you to your father” his voice gets you out of the trance, and you don’t open your eyes when you hear the soft sound of clothes hitting the ground and the splash of water when he gets inside the pool again.

“I didn’t thank you for that, but for rescuing me” you answer still your eyes closed under the waterfall “And saving my life” you pass your hand over the now healed wound, a moon shape scar where he suck the venom out of you.

Oberyn fingers grab your wrist, raising your arm towards his lips and planting kisses alongside your veins until he arrives to the thicker skin of the scar, sucking again on it.

“Do you still believe that it was better to let you die from the snake’s bite than to be back home?” he whispers against your skin, his beard tickling you over your pulse

“I still can run away” you open one eye. Oberyn looks amused at you

“Will you?” he asks saving the distance between you

“I don’t know. Will you come get me if I do?” You approach him, intertwining your hands on his neck

“The world is big and beautiful; it will be a shame that a sweet flower like you rots in a place like this all her life” he turns his head and leaves a kiss on each of your arms

“So that’s a no” you laugh but the pain in your heart is real

“I have to leave Essos soon, I guess the time for adventures is up” he exhales deeply

“Just the last one then” you’re surprised of your boldness when you rise on your tiptoes to kiss his lips

It is soft at first. Just tasting him, tempting him to show you more, and he does. Oberyn opens his mouth and sucks on your lower lip and when your mouth is open he savors you with his tongue. He holds your face on his large palms guiding you softly until the kiss deepens and your hands leave his neck roaming through his back and he reciprocates. His hand caresses every inch from your neck to your arms. You moan in protest when he breaks the kiss but then his kisses move to your neck nibbling your skin. He pampers every part of you with his attention, soft kisses and bites over the top of you breast.You cry out laughing when he grabs you and rise by the waist so he can access your tits. You circle his waist with your legs and you hold yourself on his shoulders.

Any good sense in you, any coherent thought gets lost one his mouth sucks on your nipples and you kiss his head trying to control your panting. The sounds that come out of you seem so far away, his low grunts and moans over your breast melt you and you feel the heat gathering between your legs.

“My sweet flower, you have the sweetest tits” he moans and he lowers you so he can kiss you one more time. You run your fingers over his dark hair, his impossibly close to you but you need more. You need him like those drops of water he poured in you the first time. The hunger, the jealousy and desire you felt these past days have reached its peak and you think your heart will collapse. You repeat his name on his lips like a plea.

Oberyn carries you to the side of the pool, and you feel your cheeks burning, your body in goose flesh feeling exposed and at his mercy now that the water is not covering you. He takes his time admiring you, his brow eyes eating every pore of your skin. Kissing your legs he parts them grabbing you by the hips he positions you just at the edge of the pool. He palms your breasts one more time, gracing each nipple with a small pinch that makes you moan loudly. You get flustered, gaining a bit of your conscience back

“No need to be shy, my love, let go. I wish to hear every sweet moan, drink every drop of this sweet cunt” he plants a kiss on your navel, before lowering his face. His first lick between your lips makes you marvel of the unknown sensation. His eyes are fixed on you while he licks faster and sucks between your small lips, when you tense, every single fiber of your body burning, he changes his rhythm, lapping languidly all your sex and back again, fast and slow, and never too much. Until you’re gasping for air and pushing him away

“Please, it’s too much”

“Let me show you, trust me” his wet mouth bites you inner thigh before he starts again. This time you reach the point of no return faster. A wide abyss before you where you skin burns and you heart beat faster until you fall, crying his name. And he holds you, planting kisses all over you body, every part he can reach. The gasps lead to laughter

“What happe...how?” you ask

“I have many things to show you my sweet flower” he smiles

Oberyn lets you in his room. The warm night breeze moves the white curtains and the moonshine casts its rays so you can see him get on top of you with the warmest of smiles.

“Do you still want this, my flower?” he asks

You grab him by the neck and let your lips answer for you. Lowering your touch you push his back so he presses his body against you even tighter.

“Please, please” you beg on his ear

He reaches between your bodies and brushes the tip of his cock on your lips coating it in your arousal, before pushing gently. You gasp at the intrusion; it’s not pain what you feel but definitively a bit uncomfortable at first

“Let me in, my sweet, relax for me” Oberyn bends his neck to kiss and bite your tits. The pleasure turns your body into a withering mess until you’re full of him.

He moves lazily at first letting you grow used to his length and width while he observes your face

“Is it alright my love?”

“I need more” you murmur

“More?” He rises, pressing the weight of his body on his knees and opens you wider grabbing the soft skin on your hips “Like this?” he thrusts deep and fast with each word and you nod biting your lip. His pace is unforgiving, and you cannot think, all you can feel is him, and his sweet words and praises combined with the slaps of wet skin and the creaks of this old bed. Your fingers scratch softly on his chest trying to hold into something when you feel that abyss again, but this time you let it go and it hits you harder. Oberyn collapses over you letting your cunt squeeze him even tighter, slowly dragging himself in and out until he sense his release coming and he pushes harder once, twice until he spills his warm seed.

You kiss his brow, wet from exhaustion and the pool, in a way the cage he’s forming with his body pressed against the mattress is the freest you have ever felt.

The dawn wakes you up, many years later, a harrowing pain in your chest remembering how he kissed you a thousand times, how you slept caged in his arms for a few hours and then woke up with his face between your thighs

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you flinched, feeling the swollen and sensitive skin “I will kiss it better” he said. And you made love again, he moved you in the bed showing how to touch your body and how to touch him, how to pleasure him with your mouth as he did to you. Until the sun invaded the room and crashed your safe space between the shadows. You could no longer hide from your destiny, it was time to go.

He left you, a small and decent kiss on your hand and bid you farewell wishing you a happy life.

You remember running, not paying attention to your father’s complaints and your mother’s cries while you soon-to-be husband drank wine unbothered by the whole thing. You ran to the balcony watching his dark horse taking him out of the city.

He never looked back, and with his parting figure you promised you will live your life happy even if you have to run for it. That you will live adventures on your own until life gives you the last drop of its joy and pleasure. In a way you promised to honor him without knowing one day it will come true.

So you woke up, older, wiser, in your own house, after many adventures lived, and after a sleepless night mourning him, you grab paper and ink and write:

“Travel, fight and fuck the world: the Adventures of an Unusual Lady”

[jaskicr]

reverse au BUT canon universe geralt and jaskier are sent to an alternate universe where their roles are reversed but they remember their canon lives

ft. bamf jaskier and blushy geralt

canon universe geralt and jaskier touch a weird artefact and they’re sent to an alternate universe where jaskier is a witcher and geralt is human

(this is established relationship)

so they grow up without memories of their past (???) selves but they get vague impressions/dreams that tell them something’s not right

they regain their full memories they’re 15/16 ish

jaskier is born first. he’s sent to kaer morhen and goes through the training and the trials to become a witcher (he gets extra mutations bc i said so, im a sucker for witcher!jaskier with white hair and cat eyes ok)

he remembers his life as a bard when he’s 16, not long before he sets out on the path

and he realises that geralt isn’t with him in kaer morhen - he’s in the cohort geralt would have been, he’s friends with eskel and all that, but geralt isn’t here

and jaskier thinks that whatever happened, geralt must be dead

it hurts, as he walks around kaer morhen, knowing that geralt should be there, knowing that, in another life, geralt had walked within the same walls

but jaskier still holds out hope, returning to kaer morhen every winter and hoping that someone like geralt would show up

but geralt never does, and on his travels, jaskier asks mages and researches to find a way to reverse whatever was done, but he can’t

after maybe 2 decades, jaskier gives up and properly mourns the witcher he had known, who doesn’t exist here

once, he tries picking up the lute, but it hurts too much. it reminds him of what he’s lost, reminds him that geralt isn’t here

he puts down the lute and picks up his swords. he doesn’t touch the lute after that

something like blaviken still happens but maybe in a different way bc it’s jaskier

a few decades after jaskier is born, geralt is born into a noble family

from a young age, he’s unnervingly good at sword fighting and combat, and he enjoys it, but something draws him to music

at first geralt isn’t very good at it, but there’s an inexplicable urge within him that tells him to continue, a quiet yearning for melody and music that makes him want to be good at it

so he goes to oxenfurt, and that’s when he remembers being a witcher once, remembers the path, remembers jaskier

and he searched desperately for jaskier. he scours the campus, asking professors and students, searching the faculty and alumni

but no one has heard of jaskier

and geralt knows that there’s no way that jaskier wouldn’t have gone to oxenfurt - the only reason jaskier isn’t here, isn’t in whatever universe this is, is because he’s dead

geralt vows to live in jaskier’s memory, and he takes up the lute

he misses jaskier’s singing, misses his songs. so he learns the lute, learns to sing, so that there’s always a part of jaskier with him

when geralt graduates from oxenfurt, he sets out on the road

in a fit of nostalgia, he travels to posada, something bittersweet and wistful rising within him

unbeknownst to geralt, jaskier is heading to posada as well, tracking a contract

they unknowingly end up in the same tavern

at this point, jaskier has learnt to tune out bards. it hurts too much to remember what he’ll never have, so he doesn’t register the bard that’s playing right now

geralt is playing when he spots a dark figure in the corner, black armour and swords marking him out as a witcher

it’s all too familiar, and a tentative hope blooms in geralt’s heart

maybe -

he makes his way over, heart hammering, and says the words etched deep into his memory

‘i love the way you just.. sit in the corner and brood’

and geralt’s heart is in his throat, hoping and hoping and hoping for the right response

and jaskier hears a familiar voice saying words he had said, a lifetime ago

jaskier raises his head and sees a familiar face, a face he knows as well as his own despite the different hair and eyes and stature, and his heart stutters

it can’t be. but it is. and jaskier just knows.

geralt almost cries when unnaturally bright blue eyes with slitted pupils rise to meet his, set in a familiar face marked by a long scar and framed by silver hair

‘i’m here to drink alone’

it’s this familiar exchange, repeated but reversed, that lets them know that the other remembers, that they’re here

and for the first time since they woke up in this different world, they feel complete

they bask in the moment, drinking each other in, because they’ve found each other, and even if they’re different, even if everything is different, they’re together

geralt slides into the seat opposite jaskier, and it’s so, so familiar, but so different

‘i thought you were dead,’ geralt whispers

jaskier smiles, a small and sad thing, but he reaches over and grabs geralt’s hand. their callouses are reversed, now. jaskier’s hands are rough from the grips of his swords, and geralt’s fingers are padded from years of playing the lute

‘me too,’ jaskier confesses softly. then his smile turns slightly more playful. ‘i didn’t think you’d have red hair and green eyes. you look good.’

then geralt ducks his head and blushes under his freckles (yes he has freckles it’s hella adorable ok) and jaskier is fascinated bc he’s never seen geralt blush

(and he!! has freckles!!!)

‘this suits you,’ geralt mumbles, still blushing. he peeks out from under his lashes and jaskier sort of melts. ‘the hair and the eyes, i mean.’

and, well. jaskier had been insecure about his mutations that mark him as something other, something inhuman, but hearing geralt’s acceptance of him...

jaskier squeezes geralt’s hand, still in awe that he’s here, he’s real. they’re here, together. ‘i missed you.’

geralt beams, and jaskier‘s heart warms at how easily geralt seems to smile now. ‘i missed you too.’

the elves happen pretty much the same way apart from the fact that geralt and jaskier expecting it

and when geralt follows jaskier, neither of them object to it

they try to find out what happened to them, but all they’ve figured out is that their lives have been reversed, and no one else seems to be affected

so they travel the continent together trying to find an explanation or a cure

they try to return to the place where they found the artefact, but they only find a patch of dirt

jaskier brings geralt to kaer morhen

they ask vesemir about their situation (and geralt aches at the fact that his old mentor doesn’t know him), but he has no idea

eskel and lambert look at geralt with no recognition, and it hurts

but they take to geralt easily, and in no time, it’s almost like they’re back in their own world

they find yen earlier than they do in canon. she’s hostile at first, not knowing why they’re seeking her out, but when she hears their story she’s intrigued and promises to try and find a cure

in the meantime they try to settle into the new lives and new dynamic

they both have two lifetimes in their heads, two whole lives that are theirs, that they’ve lived

of course, they’re not the same people, shaped by new experiences as well as old

geralt is more open, more affectionate, more vocal with his thoughts and feelings. he smiles more, and he’s less gruff with others, though he still isn’t completely comfortable in social interactions

jaskier is a bit quieter, a result of his witcher upbringing. he’s still mostly open about his emotions, and being around geralt makes him smile and chatter liked he used to, but there’s a hypervigilance in him borne out of his witcher training, something lethal and deadly

they learn about each other again, finding new things to love and explore

now, geralt is the one who plays in taverns, and jaskier is the one who takes contracts

geralt still retains the skills and memories of his training as a witcher. though he lacks the enhanced strength, he can still fight, and jaskier gets some lightweight swords for him

geralt helps out on contracts sometimes, when he’s confident that he won’t get hurt. jaskier is reluctant at first, but concedes that geralt should be able to hold his own against weaker monsters

that’s when geralt realises that witcher!jaskier is a huge bamf and also very buff (buff jaskier rights!!!) and geralt really shouldn’t like it as much as he does

jaskier also looks unfairly good in armour with his swords in his hands

and now he understands why jaskier used to be obsessed about his black eyes after taking a potion, because HNNNG

with geralt by his side, jaskier doesn’t mind playing the lute again. it doesn’t hurt like it used to, with geralt by his side once more

geralt lends jaskier his lute and jaskier plucks out tentative notes on the strings, before he launches into one of his songs

jaskier’s voice is rough and untrained, lacking the oxenfurt training he used to have as a bard, but it’s pleasant and sweet, and geralt joins in, their voices twining together in a lovely duet

jaskier doesn’t join geralt when he sings in taverns, fearful of how humans would react, but on the road, they sometimes sing together, and it’s unexpectedly nice

(maybe jaskier gets a glamour at some point, and the continent discovers that the famed bard geralt occasionally gains a partner)

as a witcher, geralt had been unable to lash out at the people who’d insulted him and attacked him

but now, he’s human, and watching jaskier’s shoulders slump as humans spit vitriol at him, well, geralt gets to be feral now

he’s far more dangerous than jaskier had been as a bard. sure, bard jaskier was feral, but he lacked the skills that geralt remembers from his time as a witcher

the humans don’t stand a chance against geralt, and jaskier is the one hauling geralt out of fights now, and many taverns witness a white-haired witcher dragging his redheaded bard out as he yanks him into a fierce kiss

they’re both very soft and very gone on one another. geralt is far more tactile now and jaskier does not mind. they cuddle a lot and jaskier is the big spoon

they’re both openly affectionate, there’s a lot of soft hand holding and hair braiding and casual touches and like. they’re just soft, ok?

jaskier makes it his mission to make geralt blush as much as possible, because it’s adorable

(he also discovers how far down that blush goes, and geralt gets to witness jaskier’s witcher strength and stamina)

they make it work. jaskier gets insecure sometimes, knowing that his features are unnatural and scarred and nothing like what he’d looked like as a bard

but geralt reassures him, telling him that he’s beautiful no matter what

sometimes, geralt hates his own human frailty, how weak he is without his enhanced strength and how easily he gets hurt

but jaskier shows him everything he loves about geralt’s human body, telling him how happy he is that geralt gets to live a life without the suffering of a witcher

and the longer they’re together and the more they get to know each other all over again, they become less sure whether they want a cure or not

geralt likes being a human bard. humans don’t hate him anymore, and he likes being a bard more than he thought he would

but he knows that jaskier is, by nature, someone who loves people. and watching jaskier be rejected by prejudiced humans makes geralt’s heart hurt, because jaskier loves people so fucking much, and now he’s hated by them

but jaskier doesn’t mind being a witcher either. he can help people now, even if they’re ungrateful. there’s a deep satisfaction as he slays monsters terrorising innocents, and like this, he also gets to protect geralt

(not that geralt needs protecting, but still, it’s nice. and geralt has realised that he quite likes jaskier swooping in to save him aka picking him up in his arms)

and jaskier sees how free and easy and open this geralt is, unburdened by decades of hatred and conflict, and he wants this for geralt, wants geralt to know the happiness of a human life without being hated by the very people he helps

both of them like the lives they lead now, and they don’t know if they want to go back. but their old life is the original world, and they still wonder if they should go back

idk how it ends - either they somehow find a cure and return to canon universe with a whole load of new experiences, or they never find a cure and they learn to live in this new world

or maybe they do find a cure and decide that they’ll stay in this world because they’ve learnt to accept and love each other even with the changes, and it’s their world now

there’s a fic for this now!

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn't Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 1)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

TW - canon-typical violence, description of fighting, blood, gore, swearing, sexist language, description of injury, descrioptions of anxiety/panic attacks

Fic summary:You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing.

Chapter Summary: The first time Jaskier and Geralt heard you sing. This was not planned. Tis a big deal for you.

Jaskier had grown used to Geralt's constant pining for silence, his rumbles of discontent and years of “shut up” and "fuck off" while he plucked away on his lute and let melodies fall from his lips. Though he knew that under all the furrowed brows and bitter growls, the witcher appreciated him.

Truth be told, coin had often been halved, quartered or suddenly 'stolen' away from lords, knights and nobles alike rendering them incapable of paying the witcher even after monsters had been slain...that is until the ballad had started to follow him like flies after shit. Since then, some noblemen would actively seek him out for any twig crack in the woods to then invite the trio to a throwaway dinner party so they could show off the white-haired champion if they caught word of him within three towns.

Naturally, he resented the very idea of lingering about these people any more than he already had to, being talked about, sung about, danced about, treated like some sort of trophy workhand for these tittering idiots. And of course, Jaskier leapt at the opportunity to perform for the more rosy-cheeked, satin clad crowd, and you often just went along with whoever won the squabble, enjoying either a night of Jaskier singing atop a table in a tavern or atop a table in a banquet hall. (Though the latter often left you with a heftier rattle in your pouches and warm beds, baths and linens for a few more nights.)

How you would have wanted that a few months ago.

About six months earlier

It was bound to happen sooner or later, travelling with two men and often having to settle for a bed on the ground. Not that you often minded, but that night, after a longer than necessary altercation with a couple of alghouls, you had crashed into your bedroll, not bothering to clean the blood off your face let alone off your arrows and out of your clothes.

You woke that morning to aching bones and a musty stench you wanted to be rid of as soon as possible.

The grass was dewy and sweet-smelling as you turned to the other side, letting the sun stroke your cheek good morning. You saw roach tied to a nearby tree and had concluded that your companions had wandered to the next town for supplies. You had been running low on a good few essentials for a while now and were grateful that your companions had let you slumber away, knowing you didn't fuss too much over anything they would get from the market.

You opened your pack and grabbed two lumps of soap before heading to the river that had lulled you to sleep that night. The first, a dry lye soap made simply and quickly, good for getting "blood, shit and grit out" as Geralt so elegantly put it. And the second, still wrapped in wax paper, the last few crumbles of a soft, fragrant lavender soap you had made yourself. You had saved so many dried flowers from where you could, hung and dried them on the side of your satchel, scraped the bottom of vials clean for drops of various oils into your little bottle, olive, sunflower, even a little of Jaskier's special coconut oil. Cooking a soap over the campfire was a waste of wood in Geralt’s eyes, but you could tell the soft scent calmed him as it wafted through the air that night.

You smiled to yourself as you finally stepped into the river, the edges warmed by the kiss of the sun.

You peeled off your trousers and walked further in, letting the water lap at your thighs growing used to the cold quickly. Rubbing the soap into your trousers, you watched as the blood slowly swirled out in front of you and saw as your fingers started to go from angry splotches of red and black back to that natural, warm brown. Your shirt stuck to your skin and hair, caked crimson. After all this time, you still could not believe how much things bled. Your mind flashed back to the alghouls from last night as your fingers worked through cleaning your formerly beige overshirt.

It should have been easy. Just two. You were only there to watch how Geralt wielded his sword for a few, usually weak opponents. His silver sword heaved thick strokes through the air, his feet danced around his opponents and you let your arrows loose from afar, aiding your friend as another got too close for your liking. The specially made silver tips slicing through skin and bone, causing a shriek. It turned and caught another arrow in its shoulder, bounding toward you. Frantic, you simply held out your next arrow in your hand, ready to impale it as it drew near enough. But you froze. Was this one of the ones you had to get in a specific place? Drive it through the heart? The head? Why was it still running? Surely two silver arrows should have been enou-

shhhlllck

Geralt unseamed the creature through it's abdomen from behind and drew his sword up and through it’s head as its blood gushed over you and the last few gurgles escaped what was left of its throat as it crumpled before you in a horrid mess.

"You're too slow up close. It would have had you."

He was right.

As talented as you were with a bow and arrow, able to get a man in the eye from half a field away, your experience with close combat was laughable. Usually, you had time to think, plan out your shots, you didn't even have to deal with blood until you retrieved your arrows. You probably would have had your face ripped off. Or your throat torn out. Or something.

You place the sopping shirt next to your trousers on the bank and scurry back with the lavender soap in your hand. Once you've thrust yourself back into the gentle river almost chest level, you start to hum a soft tune, trying to ignore the murky red all over, instead focus on the light scent of lavender and the gliding of the soap through your hair. You close your eyes and let your mouth fall open, a melody plucked from a memory now dull and faded, the sound clear and bright.

Losing yourself in the rises and falls in the melody, voice opening and notes falling out as your muscles remember what it is to have sound flow and gush from your belly out into the world. No body, no mind, no cold, no blood-

All of a sudden, a loud brightly coloured heap burst through the foliage and breathlessly plunged into the river, flailing erratically. You attempt to preserve your unmentionables with your hands, your lilting voice turning to shrill yelps. You submerge yourself lower, shoulders barely peeking out over the disturbed waves. In contrast, the intruder, exploding out of the water as frantically as he fell in, spluttering and coughing “Y/N! You can - cough - sing! You can sing!! - cough -”

Oh, thank the Gods.

“JASKIER! GO AWAY!”

“But Y/N! -cough - You sounded lovely! I-”

“I’M NAKED JASKIER FUCK OFF!”

Jaskier slapped his hand to his eyes immediately and scrambled back up the bank, stumbling as he managed to regain his footing and ran off, his back to you whilst still covering his eyes.

You had not expected them to be back so soon. Truth be told you had not known how long they had been gone when you woke but then why hadn’t you heard them coming back?

Not focusing again. Fuck! You know you can’t afford to get lost in your own head again, stupid girl. What would have happened if it had been someone else hearing a-

He heard. Geralt too probably with his enhanced senses.

Fucks sake.

It had just been so long since you had let your voice be free. You hadn’t let your companions hear you so much as hum on your travels as you were sure that it would make you come across as a silly little girl. With Jaskier it was different. He is a poet, a bard. He had been studying it for many years whereas you had pipe dreams growing up like every other lass in the village. You sang in school with a wide smile and a voice that rang like a bell, you sang on holy Fridays with fingers interlaced and the plume of your mothers rouge on your cheeks. Nothing compared to the grand halls and festivals that Jaskier would perform at. Gods you hoped he wouldn’t speak of it again. You were sure that they would take you even less seriously now.

You’ll show them

Just go back to camp and pretend it didn’t happen. Say there was a girl wandering nearby and Jaskier should go and chase her before she is lost to the woods forever.

If this carries on, get yourself killed or someone else hurt. You know that Geralt can’t let that happen. He’ll probably drop you off in the town and wish you luck because you’ve become more stress than your skills are worth. You get it, you do.

It will just be so hard getting used to being alone again.

Your head is spiralling again. You need this to stop. You think of the meditation that Geralt showed you. You can't meditate, you're still naked in a river! Tears escape your eyes as you just can’t organise your thoughts into any kind of action. You can't run naked through the woods, you can't turn up in your sopping wet clothes, you’re no help on hunts, you’ve let your biggest comfort turn into your biggest embarrassment because you just can’t think straight.

“Y/N! I - I’m not looking! I have your clothes you left them back at camp”

You look up to see Jaskier was inching closer, eyes covered by one hand, your dry pair of clothes draped over his other forearm. He was inching closer, his toes probing to see if he had gone too far. Once his foot had felt the sploshy bank he stopped and held his arm out. You were sure that he had not heard you cry but you didn’t want the lump in your throat to give it away. You rose out, plucked the clothes from him and he promptly scampered off, one hand still across his eyes for some reason. You let out your breath, finding it had slowed due to holding it in for so long. You wrung out your hair as much as you could before flinging your trousers and shirt on with shaking hands. You were sure you could sleep right on into the next day.

At camp

Jaskier had fumbled back to camp, drenched and squelching till he could hear the soft wooshing of roach’s breath. Geralt was sat, sorting the things they had brought from market.

----------

Jakier was stumbling giddy from when he had first encountered the river, his mind rushing as he made his way through the trees.

That voice! Hesitant, yet rich and full and resonant. Thick with the weight of being tied inside her chest, it would take some practice to let her voice flourish and fly like he knew it could, but that was no matter! With his brief but busy year being a professor at Oxenfurt under his belt, he scoured through the plethora of exercises and scales that he had stored away. Her warm tone, he thought, would contrast beautifully with his chipper and airy voice.

In his head flashed scenes of the two writing together, performing together, studying together. Jaskier, Poet of the continent accompanied by-

“What did you do Jaskier”

The voice came firm and gruff, as opposed to the often exasperated or gentle (rarely was there anything in between) tone his witcher friend usually employed when he was addressing the bard.

Jaskier’s ear wide grin faltered as Geralt towered over him.

Knowing the flirty way of Jaskier and seeing him dripping before him, hearing the shout of “IM NAKED” and honing in his ear, he was presently hearing the soft gasps of Y/N, he could not help but draw himself to conclusions, knowing that human men, even those whom one trusted could turn to be worse than the monsters in his quests. When the fathers and trusted lovers of innocent women could turn as quickly as the page of a book, what was a loose and often unashamed bard that he happened to know for a few years?

He grabbed the young man by his soaking collars

“What the fuck did you do”

Somewhere between a growl and a roar, the words seethed from Geralt as he heard Y/N’s sharp breaths mix with sobs she was trying to silence.

After that night, he knew his small friend would need some time. They had both been exhausted, his head pounding from the potions he had used, he didn’t speak much to her apart from some abrupt criticism after the last alghoul was taken care of. He didn’t know much about teaching or guiding, or comforting for that matter, but he figured letting her sleep in would do no harm and he had bought some apples for her to feed roach. That helped him. The thought that she should be thrust from one horrid altercation to another at the hands of his first companion filled him with rage. These thoughts raced through his head while he attempted to decipher Jaskier’s words through this sudden wave of protectiveness.

Jaskier was chuckling, almost about to pat his massive friend on the head like an overreactive hound,

“I fail to see why you’re so wound up, dear witcher. I simply sought to find the source of the singing, and it turned out to be Y/N! Marvellous isn’t she?”

“Why are you wet.” Geralt demanded.

truth be told, he was so used to hearing Jaskier’s voice or lute, he simply dumped the noise into that category. Thinking back, it was different. Still musical, but different. Jaskier’s sound seemed to sit on the wind and flit and glide like a bird while this new sound was earthy, full, round, blending with the flow of the river and almost raw, coarse and slightly unsteady like a horse that had run for the first time out of market.

“I was simply mesmerised, Geralt. " he sighed, sagging slightly in the bigger man's grip " I was convinced it might be a water nymph, that I might catch it, steal some ideas for melody and- and then let the poor thing go of course, but”

“Why is she crying Jaskier”

The girl’s sobs had subsided slightly, but her breath was shuddering and shallow. He knew when she got like this, it was hard to get back down. He had expected it sometime today but usually, he could smell the fear rising, notice the scrunching up of her small frame, and make sure the trio were alone, quiet, ready.

“Crying? Whatever do you mea-”

The focused and worried look on Geralt’s face clicked in Jaskiers’ head and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him

“Oh gods, shit. Shes alone. What do I do Geralt? Can you hear her?”

The stream came pouring out his mouth as he paced around the camp, his eyes landing on a pile of neatly folded clothes.

“ Jaskier go back and give them to her. Slowly. She’ll come back in her own time”

Geralt listened intently while Jaskier went to return the garments. It surprised him that the sound of his younger companion trying to catch her breath like it was a feather in the wind was the same person who had made such a pleasing sound not very many minutes ago.

It stopped.

He couldn’t hear her breathe, but Jaskier was calm. He heard the rustling of clothes and the damp footfall of the bard returning. He turned his attention back to her again. He was afraid that after the episode, holding her breath would cause her to topple back into the river. Stupid. He should’ve thought of that beforehand. She didn’t. Strong lass. He heard her breaths less shallow as her hair dripped and her clothes were back on.

He was reassured now and started to take out the apples from the small fruit sack.

“Well if she was crying, she isn’t any more” stated Jaskier, almost reassuring himself that his clumsiness couldn’t have hurt his friend.

He proceeded to look for his woollen blanket, laying it out carefully, waiting for his friend to return.

A/N

Thank you so much for reading! Its the first time I've started writing after a long time, if you have any constructive criticism please leave it in the comments :)

I've started a new AO3, Tumblr page and page on Fanfiction.net which will hold my fics too. same username :)

I am very pernickety when writing which is why it's been hard for me to upload anything in the last few years and why it might take a little time for me to upload new chapters but please stick around :D

PART 2

mwah x

[thevalleyisjolly]

Thinking about alternate character classes lately, and I’m always thinking about A Crown of Candy at any given point in time, so without further ado, for your consideration:

Wizard!Theo, except that he’s the only wizard ever with a positive Strength modifier because that would be hilarious.  Wizard!Theo, who learned more from Lazuli than anyone knew, whose magic isn’t loud or flashy but spell notes hidden in a false prayer book, a soft glow on the tips of his paws and a muttered breath as one of the princesses falls from the top of the staircase again only to land on their feet, as softly as a feather.  In this world, he’s officially the royal tutor, because there are things that Caramelinda doesn’t know, but she does know what Lazuli taught him and she knows where his loyalties lie and she knows that one day, one day the spark she can see in Ruby’s eyes will need a teacher but will more importantly need a protector.  And to the princesses, to the rest of the court, to the world, he’s a slightly gullible, rather awkward tutor who stands on ceremony far too much, and they laugh at him and his silly little sprinkle pet and isn’t he a bit of a large goon?  Even Amethar forgets, every now and then, what he’s seen Theo do on a battlefield, to a battlefield, because as awkward as his social skills may be, Theo is committed to the part and he plays it well.  In any lifetime, in any world, Theo loves his people and he’ll do what he has to for them.

Bonus subclass: School of Abjuration obviously, this squishy gummy bear has one mission, and that’s to protect people.

Rogue!Lapin, because obviously.  Rogue!Lapin, who never summoned the Sugar Plum Fairy, who smiled and charmed and lied his way from the street to the service of a minor but respectable lord, and from there up and up the social strata until he is chamberlain to House Jawbreaker.  Duke Jawbreaker doesn’t bother much with him, but Spearia Mentha takes one look at Lapin, standing too straight and tall, the accent of the common mountain folk still seeping out at his edges, his eyes sharp and clever even when bowing and murmuring obedience, and she thinks “Hmm.”  And when her sweet baby has to go to Castle Candy as hostage, a safe and willing hostage, but a hostage nonetheless, she writes to dear sister Caramelinda and asks would it be alright if she sent someone from her own household, just to keep an eye on the boy, for her peace of mind as a mother?  Liam arrives at Castle Candy, sans pig, plus one very stuffy guardian, and Lapin Cadbury looks up at the towering spires and parapets of the castle, and a small, rare smile flashes across his face for just a second.

Bonus subclass: Mastermind is really the only way to go, isn’t it?

Sorcerer!Amethar, but listen, alright, my kingdom for Sorceror!Amethar who grows up with magic as rage flowing through his veins, whose wrath manifests not as bursts of concentrated battle fury, but in wild surges of strange and powerful magic.  There is magic in the blood and bones of House Rocks, an old and willful magic.  His sisters protected him, as much as they could, but still, there are whispers, more so once the young prince becomes the grieving king with the eyes of the world on him.  People mutter about the witch king of Candia, they say that he’s levelled armies with his sorcery, that he’s bewitched the Emperor Gustavo into friendship, that he’s dangerous and brings only death and destruction.  And it hurts, it does, not because he cares what other people think, but because they aren’t all wrong.  Look at him, the Unfallen, alive when so many have died.  It hurts that he has so much power singing in his blood, and he’s the one who’s powerless, who can’t be the protector, who must be the protected.  Why him?  Why not strong Rococoa, or brilliant Lazuli, or kind Citrina, or cunning Sapphria?  Why is he alive and not them, when he is the wildcard, the dangerous one, the last person who should be king?

Bonus subclass: I mean, it’s gotta be Wild Magic, no doubt about it.

Druid!Cumulous is another story that writes itself.  Druid!Cumulous still swears the same vows of dedication and protection to Candia’s magic, Candia’s secrets, and so Candia itself rises to acknowledge that.  It isn’t the red glow of the Hungry One that surrounds him when he fights, but the bright pink of the frosting sprites, the warm chocolate of the fudge brownies, the brilliant lemon-yellow of the river dragon’s scales, the slightest tint of sugar plum purple.  All spirits are fickle and unpredictable and dangerous, but they can recognize faith and they can appreciate service and they can reward what is freely given.  The Sugar Plum Fairy considers this one for a while.  She has no little pet bunny in this world, no servant to demand wishes from.  But fairies are jealous, too jealous.  Hearts and minds and souls, of course they should be hers, wholly hers, why wouldn’t they be, and for all the vastness of her realm, all her secrets and all her magic, there is something more to Candia than what is just in her.  So she lets this one be, and lays her trap for another prize, a bigger prize…

Bonus subclass: You could honestly make a good argument for Circle of the Shepherd or Circle of the Land, although Circle of the Moon is pretty great for more combat-focused war guys druids.

Warlock!Saccharina’s life is still a tragedy, because magic was only the most obvious thing that the nuns tried to beat out of her.  Warlock!Saccharina is not born with lightning in her fingers and a storm in her heart, but she is born with a strength and a will that the nuns despise.  In this world, Saccharina looks in the window, in the mirror, and she still sees a blue woman, a kind woman with a kind face, reaching out to her, comforting her when the nuns mistreat her, telling her wondrous stories and magical secrets.  In this world, the Rocks sisters, held in a false afterlife, stage a jailbreak.  Rococoa raises herself back to the living, cold with vengeance against the man who murdered her.  Citrina hitches up her skirts and hikes off to Vegetania, prepared to visit as many dreams and instigate as many supernatural miracles as she needs in order to reform the Church.  Sapphria laughs and winks and goes off to do something mysterious and terribly complex and probably very clever.  And Lazuli?  Lazuli goes to find her eldest niece, and to help her do something about the frankly terrible situation she’s in.  She is no spirit of the dead that a small exorcism by a provincial abbess can banish, but something new, something more.  And when Saccharina finally drowns the monastery, a grim smile on her face, it is with eyes and fingers that glow a brilliant, sharp blue.

Bonus subclass: Either Great Old One or Celestial, depending on how Lazuli fights her way back to the waking world.  Reaching out to the mortal world from the afterlife?  Probably Celestial.  Something strange and mysterious that’s never happened before in all of creation, and isn’t entirely comprehensible even to her?  Great Old One.

Barbarian!Jet grows up with so much rage inside her, but a rage for others, a fire for others.  It’s a rage that goes bone-deep, born of so much love and fear, because Jet Rocks may be sheltered and immature and naive, but one thing she does know, one of the earliest things she knows, is that the world is dangerous for people like Ruby, people like Pops, the world does not like people like Ruby and Pops, and as young as she is, she’s already heard how people whisper and seen how they point at Pops when his back is turned.  And if they found out about Ruby-  It’s a different rage that drives Barbarian!Jet, not a mindless battle frenzy, but love sharpened to the keenest focus, to protect, to guard.  In this world, and in every world, Jet Rocks loves her sister above all else, and will do anything to make sure she is safe.  Her parents worry, of course.  Caramelinda looks into her daughter’s eyes, sees hard steel and the heart of sacrifice, and she weeps when she looks into the mirror and sees the same, this is not the life she wanted for her.  Amethar understands.  He knows.  He knew the minute his daughters were placed into his arms for the first time, and the instinct to protect something so precious, precious beyond measure.  He just didn’t want his daughter to understand as well, not so soon, not so young.

Bonus subclass: Path of the Ancestral Guardian, I think, because Jet’s rage is rooted in and for her family.  Also, imagine the confusion and the angst the first time Jet summons past ancestors to fight with her in battle, and none of them include her aunts because they’re too busy raising hell elsewhere.

Bard!Ruby tumbles out of the cradle with a cheerful tongue and a clever mind, and Amethar has to stop himself from calling after Sapphria, because Ruby is so much like her, so nimble on her feet, so clever with her words.  But it’s Caramelinda that sees it first, how Ruby’s leaps and cartwheels hang just a little too long in the air, how Jet brightens and sharpens too fast after just a word from her.  And it’s Theo, of course it’s Theo, who catches Ruby and Jet trying to rob the cookie jar with a spectral, definitely magic, definitely arcane hand floating in the air, where did she even learn that, he doesn’t have that spell, this is bad, this is very, very bad.  Ruby’s more careful after that, after Mom’s lecture about how dangerous it is, and Pops just standing there, looking stern, nodding along to everything that Mom’s saying, not saying a word to the contrary.  Her magic is just for Jet now, her and Jet and nobody else, and she does a very good job of pretending she doesn’t know anything else, pretending like she doesn’t feel the thrum inside of her, pretending like something isn’t singing in her blood with every leap and twirl and handstand.  

Bonus subclass: College of Valour?  It gets that combat flavouring without being as specific as College of Swords, but I’m open to suggestions.

Warlock!Liam, and he is so young, so lonely, roaming the forests around Castle Manylicks, when he finds her or maybe she finds him.  Just a sweet little fairy who knows where to find the best seeds, the ones that have a little bit of magic in them, and here’s a lonely little boy who’s so interested in what she can show him!  And then of course, this isn’t just any lonely little boy, this is the son of Duke Jawbreaker, someone royal, someone important.  I’ll be your friend, she says, coy and sweet, a nice friend, not like your brothers.  I know lots of things, secret things, magic things, that I can show you.  Come with me, do you want to see something really neat?  Her magic is almost golden, almost Bulbian, with the slightest whiff of something rich and sticky and sweet and purple, and Liam’s only glad that he has a friend now, someone who’s nice to him, who’s interested in the same things, who remembers his name and doesn’t pick on him because he likes seeds more than swords.  Lonely children don’t need to be threatened or coerced, lonely children don’t need deals with the devil.  Lonely children just need a kind voice and warm approval and someone to show them affection, and the Sugar Plum Fairy knows just how to work with that.

Bonus subclass: Gonna diverge from Lapin here and go with Archfey as the warlock/patron relationship, because Liam isn’t in a position where he has to pretend that his powers come from the Bulb, so the SPF can lean into her feyness more.

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Nurse Witcher

Geralt of Rivia x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Imagine: You get hurt and Geralt takes the responsibility upon himself to patch you up.

Word Count: 2020 words 

Warnings: swearing

- requested -

Masterlist

The day you officially joined Jaskier and Geralt on their journey was a life changing one but you couldn't say you regretted it. You were always up for an adventure and a little danger and following a Witcher, those two were always around somewhere. You’d been travelling with them for just over five months now and you couldn't ever imagine going back to your life as a farmer’s daughter. There was no excitement there. 

Unfortunately, all the constant monster hunting was bound to get someone hurt eventually, you just didn't think it would be you. Jaskier had heard word of a striga in the woods in a village not far from where you were currently residing. Naturally, Geralt didn't wait too long before heading into the monster’s territory, leaving you and Jaskier racing to catch up with him. Jaskier was thankful for your arrival to the team since you let him ride with you on your horse. Though, you never saw Geralt giving Jaskier glaring looks whenever he held onto you a little too tight. 

Jaskier was like your best friend so you two were quite close, which Geralt always seemed to make comments about. You guess you could say you were friends with Geralt but there was something preventing you from becoming close friends with him and that was your undeniable attraction to him. Granted, you never told either of your companions but you never really made an effort to get to know Geralt on a more personal level in case you messed things up, knowing how easy it was to get on Geralt’s bad side. 

So, you and Jaskier were currently in the woods, trying to track Geralt’s location. You were going to offer him some assistance in combat while Jaskier wanted to watch the fight so he could write a song about it. You were both quietly walking through the trees when you heard a loud screech and a man’s shout. You and Jaskier both looked at each other before breaking out into a run towards the location of the sound. 

There was a dip in the ground and you fell, tumbling down a hill that had been a couple feet in front of you. You heard Jaskier calling out to you but you couldn't ear him well, the sound of leaves and sticks scraping against you was too loud to concentrate on what the bard was saying. You finally stopped moving when you were at the bottom of the hill and you wasted no time in climbing to your feet, drawing your sword. You saw Geralt roughly twenty feet away from you and he was fighting this beast. It wasn't a striga like once thought but it was an ugly creature indeed. It looked half man, half wolf and was covered in matted hair and its snout looked broken. But, you assumed you could fault that to Geralt’s actions. 

Not wasting any more time, you raced over, despite some pain in your left ankle. You could only guess that your accident had sprained the joint sometime during your fall. You raised your sword above your head and swung it down, aiming for the beast’s head but it moved and the metal was lodged into it’s broad shoulder. The creature roared and it turned and swung it’s arm back towards you, throwing you off the ground and into a nearby tree. 

You felt a deep pain in your lower back but you made the decision to ignore that as well and got back onto your feet as quick as you could before Geralt took any more damage. In hindsight, Geralt was more than capable of handling the creature himself but you liked to help, it got the job done quicker and it made you feel as though you were contributing to the team rather than being just a lowly tag along. 

You groaned as you hurried over to the two to grab your sword that had fallen onto the floor and pick it back up. Reaching down for the weapon, you looked away from the beast for two seconds but it was enough for it to strike you without you noticing. You felt a sharp pain in your side and you cried out. As you fell to the ground, you looked to your right side and saw three deep gashes. Your fall caught Geralt’s attention and when he saw the blood spilling from your side, he felt an overwhelming rage take over him and he lashed out at the beast. He skillfully swung his own sword and proceeded to slice at the creature’s torso, thighs and arms before ending the fight with a swift chop of the neck, separating it from it’s body. 

As much as you would’ve liked to congratulate Geralt on his success, you were too busy focusing on applying pressure to your wound. Jaskier came running down the hill as soon as the beast was dead, to be able to stumble by your side and try to help. But as soon as Jaskier was at your side, Geralt was already picking you up in his arms to carry you back up the hill to take you back to the village where you were staying, “Why did you do that? I was perfectly capable of killing the beast myself.” “Fuck off, I was just trying to help.” You tried to laugh but you only succeeded in bringing yourself more pain, resulting in your crying out. 

“She needs a doctor, urgently.” “No!” You cried out at Jaskier’s comment. You despised doctors, had done ever since you were a young girl. You had too many bad experiences with them and you’d sworn you’d never set foot in one again, so long as you may live. Geralt and Jaskier both knew this and while Jaskier thought it was ridiculous, Geralt respected your wishes. “I’ll do it myself.”

“No offence, Geralt, but don't you think someone more professional should be handling a wound as grave as hers?” Geralt grunted in dismissal, “She doesn't want a doctor so I’ll do it myself. I know what I’m doing.” Jaskier gritted his teeth, “If my friend dies because of you, I swear I will hurt you so bad, you’ll...you’ll...Just don't hurt her!”

You were listening to what they were saying but you were far too delirious from the pain that you couldn't give a response apart from a few unintelligible mumbles. Geralt looked down at you with worry once Jaskier had stopped his lecturing. Your eyes were half closed and your breaths were heavy but slow. He needed to hurry or there was a chance you couldn't be saved. When Geralt sped up his pace, that’s when you passed out from the pain, not able to take any more. 

---

Wood. That was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. With a loud groan, you turned on your left side to be able to take a look around the room you were in. It looked similar to the room you had been in last night but it was different. You then turned back onto your back and turned your head to the right, seeing Geralt sat on the chair next to the bed. You jerked from surprise, “Fuck!” Geralt gave the smallest smile of amusement from your reaction then turned serious when you cried out from the pain of your movements. Your hand immediately went down to clutch at your side and you hissed from the pressure. You pulled the sheets off your body and lifted your shirt, finding bandages wrapped around your whole stomach and sides. 

You relaxed your head back down onto the pillow and let out a deep breath, “So I’m not dead then?” “Fortunately not.” You grinned playfully, “Fortunately? Are you getting sweet on me?” Geralt rolled his eyes and got up from his seat, moving to the small table in the corner of the room where he picked up a roll of bandages and a bottle of what looked like herbs but who knew what it was. “I need to change your bandages now, you’ve been out almost two days now.” 

Your eyes widened, “Two days?!” Your nose then scrunched up from the pain in your side from getting worked up. Geralt sighed, “You need to keep still or it will take twice as long to heal.” “I know. Fuck, it hurts.” “It’s going to hurt less if you just let me change your bandages.” You sighed and gave a small nod, letting Geralt swiftly prop you up into a sitting position. It took everything you had not to scream, tears rushing to your eyes from the pain. It felt like you were being jabbed in the side with a heated iron rod over and over again. 

You saw Geralt’s hand move to reach for the bandages when you realised he was going to see your stomach. Out of fear, your hand gripped his wrist and he stopped, “What’s wrong?” You gritted your teeth, “I can change them myself now, thank you.” Geralt shook his head, “Don’t be ridiculous,” “I’m not.” “Just let me-” “No!” 

Frustrated, Geralt growled and glared at you, “Why must you be so difficult? I assume you’d have no problem with Jaskier doing this? is my touch so repulsive?” Shocked at his words, you paused. You cleared your throat before speaking, “No, it isn't. I don’t want you to see naked. I’ve been told it isn't a pleasant sight.”

“If that is your attempt at humour, it isn’t very amusing.” Geralt’s voice had softened as he slowly started to unravel the material around your waist. Your hand gripped his wrist more firmly, “It’s not a joke, Geralt.” The Witcher grunted, continuing with his task, ignoring your grip on him. “It may have escaped your notice, but I have already seen your bare torso when I first cleaned your wound. If nothing else, trust me when I say the sight is more than pleasant. Even with the nasty wound on your side.” You scoffed a laugh but groaned afterwards. Geralt had now unwrapped the last of the bandages and was focusing on your wound. 

With care, he opened the bottle of herbs with one hand, keeping you upright still with one arm behind your back. He hesitated slightly before applying the herbs into your wound, knowing that it was only going to cause you more pain before it would help soothe your injuries. You forced yourself to endure the pain, knowing it was meant to help you, but you didn't realise that Geralt was experiencing pain of his own. He felt an ache in his chest every time he heard one of your pained groans and whimpers.

Once he was done, he was careful to slowly wrap fresh bandages around your wounds, seeing that they still looked practically brand new. Geralt could tell that these were going to take an extra long time to heal and would most likely leave very large scars on your body. Now that you were lying back down, you sighed from relief. There was still pain, but it was dulled and it felt like you could breathe properly again. You grinned, “So, wanna tell me why you care if I’d let Jaskier touch my wounds?” Geralt got up and walked away from the bed to put his medical supplies back into his small leather pouch and attach it onto his belt. 

“It’s nothing to concern  yourself with. You need to rest.” “I’ll rest once you tell me.” Geralt continued to act as if it wasn't important to him, “Go to sleep, (Y/N), or I’ll have Jaskier sing you to sleep.” You mock gasped, “You’re no fun, Geralt. Fine, I’ll rest.” You couldn't see the smile Geralt had on his face as he was stood with his back facing you. Geralt said nothing else as he left the room, presumable to alert Jaskier that you had woken up. Smiling at the door that Geralt had just left through, you slowly closed your eyes and allowed yourself to relax and let yourself drift off to sleep once more. 

[wolfish-trickster]

Lost traveler

3/?

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 588

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

Summary: A mysterious traveler visits Asgard and thanks to an accident has to stay for longer than she expected. Bonds are created but also shattered along the way.

A/N: reader has elemental powers, something like avatar the last airbender.

The palace was HUGE. Everyone always spoke of palaces as giant places but you've never been in one this big! Golden walls reflected light onto beautyful carved columns connecting the impossibly high ceiling with marble floor. On every turn there was either a tapestry or stairway to a big balcony with gorgeous view of the golden city below.

Evrytime you let out a gasp or your eyes wondered around the room you were walking through the queen softly chuckled at your side. She showed you a big part of the palace, since you will be living here for few weeks and no one would like you to get lost in one of the neverending hallways.

Finally she lead you out of the palace to top of some coloseum-like building. All around you sat men and women dressed in silky or leather clothes. They were watching what was happening bellow them. Down on the bottom there were few pairs combating. Either hand to hand, sword to sword or other weapon you've never seen before.

With a hand on your back she lead you down towards the fighters. People bowed to her as you both passed them. You heard few of them whisper about the 'dirty girl with unfitting clothes by the Allmother's side'. You turned towards the whisperers and smiled cheekily at them, letting them know you heard them and you couldn't care less about what they had to tell you. Even though you felt a little selfconscious thanks to them.

Queen walked you towards a particular group of fighters, two of them you already knew. Thor, if you remember correctly, and his brother were sitting on a nearby bench with two more men. One of them was twice as big as you with messy ginger hair and bushy beard, the other had black hair tied in a tight ponytail. They were laughing and cheering for two of their friends. Another blond man with slight facial hair combating with a brown haired girl. The girl pinned him down with her knee on his back and twisted his arm backwards.

"Come on Fandral! Are you really going to let a girl beat you?!" you heard Thor shouting.

Frigga coughed to announce her presence before Fandral could respond. Both of the warriors stood up and brushed the dust from their clothes. The rest of the group stood up and bowed. "Allmother."

Thor and his brother, however, didn't bow. They just walked over to you two. "Greetings mother," hold on, MOTHER?! THOSE TWO ARE PRINCES?!

"This is Astrid. She will be staying with us for a little while. Be kind to her," queen introduced you. You waved at them with a timid smile.

One of the princes stepped closer to you. "So, looks like you are feeling better, little traveler," the younger brother gestured to your bandaged hand.

You nodded. "It's getting better."

He smiled at you, almost relieved.

Then nudged his brother with his elbow. "What-? Oh! Yeah, right," the Thunderer caughed. "I apologize for striking you with a lightning bolt. I won't do it again," he gave a 'are you happy now?' look to his brother. He just rolled his eyes.

"Okay, apology accepted."

"Wait, YOU were the one who hurt her?" Fandral stared at Thor.

"Fandral, not now."

"Oh for Norn's sake," the girl pushed her way through boys towards you. "Hello, my name is Sif. Ignore those dunderheads."

"Who do you call a dunderhead?!" the ginger giant asked, even though it sounded more like a roar with his booming voice.

Sif turned towards him. "Do you want to taste the dirt just like Fandral?"

".....no."

You chuckled at their little banter.

Frigga hugged you around shoulders. "Seems like you don't need me anymore. They will keep you company and show you the rest of Asgard. And who knows, maybe you will find a trusted friend among them," she winked and waved goodbye to her two sons and their friends.

You turned towards them, fidgeting with your fingers. What are you going to say? Are you supposed to say something? Will you just let them ask whatever they want to know and you will answer?

The younger prince decided to end your internal suffering. "I think we owe you our names at least. You already know Sif," he gestured at her and she winked. "This blind oaf is my brother Thor."

"Blind?" you asked.

Raven haired boy grinned. "He-"

"It's an inside joke! Right?" Thor adressed his brother treatingly.

"Right. Then we have Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg," one by one they either waved at you or grinned. Fandral even winked.

"And I am Loki," he offered his hand for you to shake.

"A-astrid," you took it hesitantly. He gave you a look. You couldn't read it was a good or a bad one.

You shrugged it quickly when Thor launched forward at you and took your hand in his big rough one. "Such a pretty girl, traveling the world. You must be desperatly lonely. No worries my sweet, I will not take a step away from you," he winked at you, a seductive smile grew on his lips. He brought your hand towards them. You quickly pulled your hand back and behind yourself.

"I'm just fine on my own, thanks," you blurted before you could stop yourself. Will they behead you for saying no to a prince?

Loki chuckled. "She's a feisty one. I like that."

Apparently no.

"Hey, Astrid," Sif tried to pull you away from them. "Can I ask you something?"

'Bet she will ask where I am from' "Sure."

"Do you know how to fight?"

You didn't expect that. "No, not really."

You felt Loki's eyes on you again. And the same look he gave you before.

"Hmm, what a pitty," she detached herself from your side. "Alright, who wants to go next?" she cracked her nuckles and grabbed a long sword from a nearby bench.

Thor grabbed his own and rolled his shoulders. "You are going down."

~~~

She didn't go down. Not even an hour later. Loki didn't bother to show off his muscles like Thor's friends in front of you. Throughout the whole training he was wondering only one thing: why did you lie? If you were a fighter, why not showing it? And your true name? What was with the cracked bracelet of yours? And how did you get here without using bifrost?

So many questions.... Loki WILL find an answer. He always does.

"Our little companion seems bored," Hogun noted.

And sure enough, you were drawing circles into the dirt with the tip of your boot. When you realized they were talking about you, your head shot up. "What?"

"I said you seem bored."

"No, I'm just... Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts. That's all."

You really aren't a good liar.

"You are bored. And honestly, I would be too if I was thrown into your situation. What do you suggest we do?" Loki asked.

"I have an idea," Thor interrupted. "Let's show you Asgard!" he started pushing you out of the training area. And as always, everyone had to do what Thor wanted.

They walked you around the biggest beauties, the most outstanding views in the city. Thor was proudly pointing at building after building as if he was the one who build them. Loki was the only one to notice your unease. How you shy away from people, avoid going into crowded places, how you always try to hide behind them.

'You didn't like being in the city' Loki concluded.

"-and that is where the best beer and mead is made. How do you like your temporary home so far?" Thor asked hopefully.

"It's nice?" that was more of a question than answer.

"Didn't I tell you? He is blind," Loki scoffed. "Blind towards the fact you do not like crowds and attention. And since you still have your traveling clothes on," he tugged at your shirt, "you are attracting way more attention than you would like. Correct?"

"Yes, actually."

"Here is my proposition to you: for the rest of the day, we will go anywhere you want. How does it sound?" he smiled charmingly, hoping to see you blush. He wanted to know what makes you tick.

"That would be very kind of you," no blush, but a sweet, grateful smile. He could work with that.

Rest of the group sighed. "Alright Astrid, where do you want to go?"

"Can we go to the forrest? Please?"

"Forrest? Seriously?" Sif whined.

"What? Scared you might get lost again?" Volstagg nudged her.

"For your information, we were nine and it was Loki who told me to go right if I want to see a roe!" she pointed her sharp finger towards the trickster.

Loki shrugged. "Not my fault you scared her away and got lost," he turned to you, "I like the way you think. I can show you the most beautiful lily ponds and the most colourful flowers as well," he dropped the volume of his voice a little, "and some poisonious plants if those fools start to get on your nerves."

To his surprise, a mischevious smirk grazed your features. "I like the way you think."

[zkmythicalcreaturesweek]

Check out these mythical creature ficlets from Sav featuring witch!Katara and mermaid!Katara

she sings heathen songs by the light of the moon

The night was dark and unforgiving, devoid of a moon and the starlight obscured by a thick blanket of fog. It was an ominous night, but it wasn’t enough to deter Zuko, disgraced witch hunter, from his quest.

Tonight he was on the trail of a savage witch that legend said could control the blood of men and force them to her will. They called her the Painted Lady; they whispered it in fear, as though by uttering her name they might summon her and rain death upon their villages.

But Zuko was not afraid. He had killed a dozen witches by now. He had his weapons, his protections. He might not have been the prodigy that his sister was. He might not have brought honor to his father the way that Azula did. But Zuko knew he was strong and capable.

This witch would not live to see dawn.

Zuko tracked her to the witch’s den she was reported to live in. He readied his dao swords, dipped in a concoction that was supposed to harm witches. He was not afraid.

But as he approached, the fog seemed to thicken. He could feel the heavy moisture in the air. A chill ran down his spine as gooseflesh crawled across his skin, but before he could turn back, before he could run, there came a great roaring sound, and suddenly, Zuko was swept away in a deluge of freezing water.

He yelled as his blades were wrenched from his grip, as the water carried—no, it seemed to push— him back, away from the witch’s den. The water washed over his face, choking him and blinding him at once. Zuko couldn’t find purchase; his hands grappled uselessly against the water that seemed to be alive, slippery and impossible to fight.

At last, the water stopped. Zuko lay with his chest heaving and heart thundering in his chest. But before he could fully recover, there was suddenly a sharp pearl dagger pressed against his throat.

In the moonless night, her eyes were like dark wine, like the sea at sunset. But the red and gold marks on her skin nearly seemed to glow, even as she was cast in shadow by the wide-brimmed hat she wore. Her teeth, white and straight, flashed in a vicious snarl.

“Fool,” she hissed. “You’ve brought your own death upon your head.”

And her voice was like a melody more sweet than any instrument or bard could play. It sent a shiver down his spine, but this shiver was different. It wasn’t fear or wariness, it was…Zuko wasn’t sure that he had a word for it.

But he wanted to hear her voice again, wanted to watch her lips move to form the syllables as her voice painted the night with the sounds. Her eyes were mesmerizing; stormy seas tossed in a tempest. He wanted to drown in the storm in her eyes. He wanted to trace the marks on her skin, wanted to know if they were paint or tattoos, wanted to know how far down they painted her tea-colored skin. He wanted to know if she was all steel and hard edges, like a knife's blade, or if she was soft, too, like silk.

Zuko knew the dangers of beautiful witches. They were perhaps even more deadly than the old hags, for these beautiful ones were said to weave spells around helpless men with their appearance alone. But Zuko didn’t care. He only wanted to hear her voice again.

The witch—this legendary Painted Lady—raised her blade to plunge it into his heart. He could accept his death from this beautiful creature, but first, he had to tell her:

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

The witch faltered, her blade still hovering over him. He had never seen something or someone so magnificent.

“What?” she said, and that one word pulled him under her spell for good.

while my waves enclose you until you’re warm

The storm was violent, with ugly purple clouds that rained down with the fury of spirits and sent the sea roiling with a ferocity that made it seem almost alive.

Katara watched the tempest from below, deep in the dark sea. With each crack of lightning, the water lit up, and she watched the small ship being tossed mercilessly by the waves. She had watched countless men meet their fates by the power of the sea, had seen ships sink and come to rest on the silty seabed. Men were such fools, thinking they were worthy to combat the elements.

Lightning flashed across the sky, and the ship above was struck with an awful crack that she could hear even down in the sea. She watched as something—no, someone—plunged into the icy waters. Before she could think about it, Katara swam upwards, her strong flippers propelling her towards the quickly-sinking form.

She caught him under his arms and drew him to her chest. His eyes were closed, and bubbles of air escaped his mouth and nose. Men were such fragile creatures. He would die down here.

Katara turned and swam back down, her heart racing. She didn’t want this man to die. She shouldn’t have cared about him—men had hunted her kind almost to extinction—but she had never been able to turn her back on people who needed her. She wouldn’t start now.

She swam to a system of underwater caves down below and pulled him along inside. Deep in the cave system, there was a pocket of air. That would keep this man alive.

Katara pulled him onto a narrow shelf of rock. The bioluminescent creatures of the cave cast them in an eerie green-blue glow. His skin was pale, his dark hair plastered against his forehead. He was handsome, for a man, she supposed, although an angry scar marred the left hand side, across his eye to his ear.

She rested her head on his chest, hoping to hear his heart. It was beating weakly, but he was alive. Katara quickly pulled back and drew the water from his lungs.

The man coughed and sputtered, his eyes fluttering behind his closed eyelids. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and finally opened his eyes. He looked up and saw her there, and she saw that his eyes were gold, like the sun when it set.

“Don’t be afraid,” Katara told him gently. “You’re safe.”

His eyes cut around the dim cave before landing on her again. His cheeks darkened with a blush, and he looked away from her, focusing on something past her head. Katara glanced down and realized that her bare breasts were exposed above the water. She had heard that men were such prudish things, although merfolk did not have those same views. But she lowered herself beneath the water until she was covered.

“Who are you?” he demanded to know.

“A friend,” Katara answered. “I saved you from the storm. You fell into the sea.”

His eyes landed on her again, sharp, inquisitive. Beautiful. Katara swallowed. She had never seen a man as beautiful as this one, even with his scar.

“You’re a mermaid,” he hissed, suddenly sliding across his ledge to put more distance between them.

“I won’t harm you,” Katara said placatingly as she held up her hands.

“Mermaids drown sailors at sea,” he snapped.

Katara shook her head. “No, we don’t. It’s a lie men made to justify hunting us for our tails.”

She emphasized this by leaning her arms on the rock he was sitting on and lifting her tail from the water. It was a beautiful cerulean blue, and she watched as his eyes widened in fascination before she dipped her tail back below the water.

“I need to get back to my ship,” he said harshly.

Katara shook her head again. “It’s too dangerous. You’ll never make it aboard with the storm.”

“I can't stay here with you!” he spat.

Katara arched her brow. “Why, because I’m a mermaid? Or because I’m half-naked and you must protect your virtue?”

“I’ve seen naked women before,” he snapped.

“Oh, have you?” She pushed her chest above the water. “In paintings, perhaps?”

He averted his gaze and scowled. Katara chuckled to herself. Human men were so silly.

“I need to get back to my ship,” he said again.

“And as I said, we’ll have to wait for the storm to break. Then I’ll take you back,” she told him. “So get comfortable. The storm could go on for a while.”

He continued to sulk like an insolent teenage boy. Katara found it both annoying and endearing. With a smirk, she flicked seawater at him.

“What was that for?” he demanded to know.

“Quit pouting,” she said. “Things could be worse, you know. I could have let you drown.”

“Hmph.”

Katara watched him for a minute. She would never understand men. Where was his gratitude for saving his life? But it didn’t matter. She would befriend this man before the night was over. And, she supposed, that started by learning his name.

“I’m Katara, by the way,” she said.

His eyes flickered to her, his brow still furrowed. She thought he wasn’t going to answer.

But then, he quietly said, “Zuko.”

She smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Zuko. We’ll ride out the storm together.”

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sing Once Again With Me: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again (The Witcher; A Phantom of the Opera AU)

A/N: This was tricky. I made it tricky for myself by changing who/what our beloved protagonist thought the Phantom was at the start. But that’s okay. Word Count: 1879 Content Warning: Angst, violence Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @joz-stankovich @sennextheassasinkingoflight Previous Chapter: Madame Giry’s Tale Cross-posted to AO3: here

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As soon as he was released from the prison, ostensibly into Yennefer’s custody, Geralt’s first instinct was to go and check on Jaskier.

“He’ll be asleep,” Yennefer cautioned. “Let him rest, and get some rest yourself. See him in the morning.”

Geralt shook his head. “I need to see him now. I…don’t intend to leave his side until this is solved.”

She studied him for a moment and then sighed. “I can let you into the dormitory hall, but the rooms are shared by a half-dozen performers each. Who will raise an alarm and wreak havoc if you disturb them unexpectedly. There is a small alcove not far from the door to his room, if you really insist on it, you can rest there.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it affectionately. “Thank you Yennefer. For everything you’ve done and are doing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You fall for the bard and suddenly you’ve gone all soft on me.”

~

Geralt dozed fitfully, propped in the little space Yennefer had directed him toward. Jaskier knew that the witcher was waiting there for him, and that if he asked it, he would go with him happily. But unfortunately, that was the problem. He loved Geralt and knew that the other man was only trying to look out for him, but since everything began, he had felt suffocated, strangled by the concern on the faces of those closest and contempt on everyone else’s. He needed space. He needed a moment alone. He needed to think.

He pulled his cloak tightly around him as he slipped past his sleeping guardian in the pre-dawn light, trusting his familiarity with the music hall to guide him where light could not.

~

He had only meant to take a short walk, let the crisp morning air clear his mind, but some impulse or instinct carried him out past the city walls to the cemetery with its hundreds of quiet, unremarkable dead.

“I wonder,” he breathed, words misting in the air before him as he leaned against a low stone wall separating the graves into years, “are any of you the ghost that haunts me now?”

He stood there for a long while, thoughts tumbling over each other. Was this spirit indeed, as he had once hoped, the one his grandfather spoke of? Why then had it turned cruel? And why was wearing a mangled version of the face of his first love? (Well, calling Valdo his first or love were perhaps being overdramatic, but there had been something unique and special about their relationship when they had been young and foolish boys at school, something neither of them had ever cared to categorize.) And if it wasn’t the spirit, what was it? What did it want from him?

He felt tears stinging at his eyes as he began to wander again, the wind biting at him through the layers he’d put on. As a younger man he might have loved this whole ordeal, the drama and the twisted desire, the waring feelings within him for the monster and the hunter, every element a piece of the perfect story, a ballad of epic proportions, one for the ages and the history books. But now, he just wanted peace.

A monument caught his eye and called to him, a hooded figure playing the violin, carved so lifelike that he could almost hear the aching notes.

Valdo Marx A True Artist Never Dies May His Song Be Everlasting In Our Hearts

Jaskier drew in a sharp breath as numb, gloved fingers reached out to trace the letters of the inscription on the plinth.

He had wondered, when he came to the city where he knew Valdo had been a frequent performer, why they had never run into each other, but thought that perhaps it was just a matter of timing or of Valdo having found somewhere better to be, after all they were quite far from Cidaris, whence he drew his fame. As it had gone on, it had become no more than a passing curiosity. It was better that they never met, what with being rivals. But still, he had never imagined nor wished the man dead (the incident with the djinn far from his mind at that moment).

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, as if the hardened stone could give him answers. “How can he be dead? Unless…”

He took a step back and planted his hands on his hips in an attempt to look imperious, drawing on what memories he had of learning to be a proper noble from his father.

“I don’t know if this is how any of this works, but I hope that you can hear me. If you’re really dead and haunting me then say so. Tell me plainly.”

Silence reigned over the cemetery, so complete that Jaskier thought he could hear the snowflakes that now fell from the sky as they settled on the stones and ground around him.

“No I suppose I didn’t expect that would work,” he said after a while, shrugging. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Still, he could not peel himself away from the beautifully carved marker. He sat heavily, regardless of the cold and wet and cast his eyes upward, as if hoping to find some face beneath the player’s hood. Instead he found only shadow.

“That doesn’t seem right for you, you know,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the statue. “You were never the mysterious hooded-figure type, and of all the instruments you played the violin was your worst. Course, trumpeting angels wouldn’t be right either. Too nice, too clean for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, briefly wondering if criticizing a dead man’s grave to the air when his ghost might or might not be haunting him was a good idea, but decided that it probably didn’t matter. What could it do, make Valdo haunt him more?

“Can’t fault them completely I guess. They were trying their best. You were…impossible to capture in a single thing. There was just too much of you, and too contradictory, for that.”

He fell silent, leaning back and closing his eyes, as he had against the man himself when the two worked on lyrics together (when they weren’t competing fiercely), in the rare moments of peace between them, under the trees at Oxenfurt.

“How did you die I wonder? Did you have to suffer? Were you alone? Gods I hope you weren’t alone. You hated silences and being left completely to your own thoughts. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

He was crying now, the tears freezing to his face painfully while he continued to ramble.

“I do miss you sometimes. More so since I settled than when I was travelling, but I think that’s because I could convince myself we’d only just narrowly passed each other and might cross paths again.”

He sighed.

“I didn’t want to reunite or rekindle the…passion between us. But you were my first friend you know, the first person who saw me as Jaskier, or as a musician. I loved that you considered me an artistic rival and the way we fought. It was the first time I didn’t think someone only saw the Viscount de Lettenhove.”

Suddenly, he stiffened. The wind carried the sound of his name, whispered, coaxing, to his ears. He stood, dusting off the seat of his pants, and waited. When he heard it again, he tried to follow, wending further from the gates, toward the decrepit and tumbling mausoleums that stood, long forgotten, near the walls.

One of the sets of great, iron doors stood open. An eerie, reddish light glowed from within as Jaskier climbed, entranced.

“Who are you that calls to me?” he asked, voice whispering and awed.

“Have you forgotten your Angel of Music?” the answer was soft, almost hurt. “You know who I am. Come to me, my sweet.”

Jaskier nodded, his steps drawing him nearer. “I tried to deny you. I turned from you. I still feel like I should be fighting against this pull…”

The response was hypnotic, sonorous, perfectly cadenced to fit into Jaskier’s mind. “But you know, in your soul, you can feel it, we are two halves. You cannot resist, do not want to resist. Come to me, come to the Angel of Music.”

He was nearly at the doors when another voice cut through his mind, breaking the hold over him that the spirit seemed to possess.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called, thundering up on Roach. “Stop!” He dismounted before the horse had fully ceased her movements, drawing his silver sword as he ran to the bard’s side.

“Geralt!” the cry was startled, but pleased, a thundering terror suddenly sweeping over Jaskier and threatening to drive him to his knees.

“Whatever you think, whatever’s going on, this thing means to harm you.”

With a snarl, Valdo leapt at the witcher, diving out from behind one of the mausoleum’s statuary in a flurry of black cloak and the flash of steel as his own sword struck out.

Geralt dodged, barely, and the pair locked into combat. The clash of blades shattered the stillness of the morning, their ever-moving feet stirring up the mud and slush, sliding to keep their balance. Jaskier cowered, pressed to the banister of the stair, struck numb with fear and the confusion of it being for both men.

More than once the Phantom tried to blind or distract Geralt with a swirl of his cape, and at least twice his aggressive movements had seen the witcher tumble to the ground. Still, strength for strength and blow for blow it was an even match, and as they moved, Jaskier followed, wide-eyed and open mouthed in horror.

The Phantom punched Geralt, who stumbled back with the sickening crunch of his nose breaking. When he recovered footing and sight, the ghost was gone, only to reappear moments later from around a statue, striking at him from the back. Geralt barely dodged, feeling the blade slice into his shoulder, and shouted.

Rather than slowing him though, this seemed merely to light a greater fire within the witcher and he lunged, startling the Phantom, who stumbled down a short set of steps. Using the height, plus his own natural size, Geralt pressed the advantage against the lither opponent. Knocking his sword away, he swung back, ready to behead the other man and see the whole thing end.

“Geralt, no!” Jaskier called out, rushing to his side. “Please, not…not in a cemetery, not like this.”

Geralt stepped back, panting heavily, and turned to the bard in confusion. Jaskier’s eyes were wide and pleading, the blue shining with tears and fear and pain. He gritted his teeth, turning back to the creature on the ground, fury pounding in his blood. And then he sheathed his sword.

He swung himself onto Roach’s back and reached down to pull Jaskier gently up behind him.

“Let’s go,” he growled, taking off at a hard canter.

Jaskier wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt’s waist, casting a last glance back at the Phantom, who was now standing and watching them go, the tension in him obvious even from the growing distance, before pressing his face between Geralt’s shoulder blades with a soft sob.