#mime being a bard is the most delightful thing to me

[herebecritters]

The D&D party HEHEHEH

Geshtu plays a vampire drow Warlock named Ilewela (iLewela).

Hopps (oc belonging to @ickyguts) plays a drow swashbuckler rogue named Atlas.

Kyle (oc belonging to @technicoloranimalviolence) plays a Cleric

Mime plays a bard, Toothy a fighter, and Giggles a druid.

Sniffles is their DM naturally hehe

Geshtu kinda stays glued to Hopps during the sessions, he’s still uneasy interacting with most treefolk. Luckily it helps having a character to hide behind. He slowly opens up more over time, but he still keeps his distance for the most part. The others find him odd and a little creepy, but….he’s a really good warlock and is really good at driving the game. Its almost like he has a lot of leadership experience or something.

Hopps spent WAY too much money on cosplays for them. But they sure do look fly as hell.

Geshtu in his Ilawela cosplay:

Ilawela in game:

They are the same exact person. Geshtu basically just plays himself. He thinks he’s a great role player.

I’ll post about the story of their campaign later but for now….have this >:3

[jaskiersvalley]

@jaskiers-right-foot My buddy! It is a magnificent day to level up and to such a milestone at that! In true fandom fashion, now that the veil of NSFW has fallen away from your innocent eyes, please enjoy some good old fashioned hurt/comfort with a smattering of smut. Have a fantastic day. Happy Birthday!

Bruised Bruises

It wasn’t often someone got the drop on Jaskier. But he had been tired from travelling, Geralt was settling Roach before setting up camp and Jaskier was bursting for a piss. So he’d wandered off a little way, humming softly to himself and very much looking forward to sitting by a small fire, leaning against Geralt’s solid shoulder and dozing while their dinner cooked. Of course, like all best laid plans, his way utterly wrecked.

One moment he was fumbling with the lace of his trousers while the woods around him cracked with the sound of creatures. The next moment, he was short of breath, having been struck in the throat, making him wheeze. Rope was being wrapped around his throat and Jaskier was hauled off, unable to yell or even fight his sudden attackers. For a change, Jaskier was dragged towards Geralt rather than away. Obviously, his charming new companions were intent on getting some use out of him. Maybe leverage against Geralt. Idiots.

“Witcher!” The one holding the rope around Jaskier’s throat yelled, yanking harshly and making him gasp. “We have a trade to offer.”

Which really just wouldn’t do. Jaskier was a bit busy trying to take a breath but he still had it in him to wave at Geralt from his predicament. Why idiots had expected him to be a helpless idiot in a kidnapping situation was rather beyond him. The more he thought about it, the more offensive it became. He was fully capable of defending himself. With that in mind, Jaskier dropped his hands from the rope, satisfied his captors weren’t paying him much attention, which made it so much easier to pull his dagger out and twist to stab at the hand holding him.

In that time, Geralt had pulled his own sword and was slowly lumbering closer. The bandits decided it was high time to turn and flee with tails between their legs. All Geralt really wanted was to get a hand on Jaskier and make sure he was okay, the rest was for show, the bard could take care of such annoyances anyway.

“They left a mark on you.” Geralt’s eyes were dark as he looked over the already forming bruises and burns as the rope fell away.

What Jaskier wanted to say was “you want to leave marks of your own?” because some life affirming sex would have been most welcome in that moment. However, all that came out was a wheezy croak as his throat refused to cooperate. A warm, rough hand rested over it and Geralt peered at him, gaze full of concern even if it looked like a simple frown. But Jaskier knew him well enough to be familiar with the small nuances of what Geralt’s emotions looked like.

There was nothing for it, Jaskier was going to have to mime his needs if Geralt refused to develop mind reading abilities and kept escaping his attempts at a kiss. Rolling his eyes, Jaskier brought up his hands and made the crude gesture for sex - two fingers rather than the classic one in the hole because Geralt was thick. For good measure he touched a finger to Geralt’s lips and then to his neck. If that didn’t convey everything he wanted, then his witcher was a lost cause. Though there was one more trick up his sleeve, Jaskier began to strip.

“Incorrigible,” Geralt rumbled but Jaskier was delighted to see he was getting with the program and stripping too. Small mercies.

Thankfully Jaskier didn’t need a voice for what they were doing, Geralt was familiar enough with how they liked things that he didn’t need Jaskier talking him through it. The silence was still strange.

“Not used to you being so quiet.” Geralt rumbled as he spread oil on his fingers while his eyes devoured Jaskier. Playfully, Jaskier reached and poked at Geralt’s throat which earned him a huff. “I’m not filling the silence just because your voice is wrecked.”

Geralt said it with such a flat delivery, if anybody had been listening in, they wouldn’t have realised he was two fingers deep in his bard already. He could see they way Jaskier writhed, mouth open but only a rasp came out.

“I don’t like that they’ve left marks on you,” Geralt rumbled, pumping his fingers as he leaned forward. His lips brushed against the dark line on Jaskier’s throat, teeth grazing against it lightly. “Guess I need to leave my own.”

His lips latched onto the soft skin of Jaskier’s neck just above the rope burn and sucked a deep purple bruise there as he pushed a third finger in, loving how he felt Jaskier’s breath hitch but there was no sound.

“I love you warm and tight you are,” he rumbled. “My silent little song bird.”

Finally, he was spreading oil on himself and adjusting Jaskier’s hips to he could press in. In the silence, he breathy moan could be heard, usually drowned out by Jaskier’s demands and cries.

“Fuck, you feel so good darling. Take me so well.”

Under him, Jaskier’s back bowed, mouth forming words without sound. It left his throat delightfully bare and Geralt made himself at home, leaving a trail of searing kisses, pulling more bruises to the surface.

“Gorgeous. And mine.” The last word was snarled, the possessive nature Geralt rarely indulged in coming to surface in full force. “Only I get to leave my marks on you.”

A croaked ‘yours’ was forced past Jaskier’s lips. He was so proud of being able to to that for Geralt at least. His hands were wrapped around his shoulders, pulling Geralt down while he managed to work his feet under him, gaining leverage to push up into each thrust. If he could, he would have been urging Geralt to go harder, faster. But, as it was, he was utterly at the other’s mercy.

“Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous like this.” All of Geralt’s words were soft, barely audible but now that Jaskier couldn’t make a noise, they were filling the silence. And Jaskier was quaking at the praise, panting, air rushing in a light whine through his sore throat and it drew more kisses across his Adam’s apple.

Geralt’s movements were becoming less controlled, more abrupt and he mouthed praise against Jaskier’s skin, words breaking as he trembled and came. Reaching between them, he wrapped fingers around Jaskier and brought him off with a few sure strokes, marvelling how the bard’s mouth fell open but no noise came out.

Lying curled up next to each other, Geralt stroked lazily down Jaskier’s chest, enjoying the feel of hair under his palm.

“You’ll need a good week before you can sing again.”

Morose, Jaskier nodded, hand going up to run along the bruise which now looked like a choker decorated with a myriad of purple stones where Geralt had left his own marks.The only thing he wished for was a mirror so he could admire it. But that was always something to do the next way. And maybe he could convince Geralt to add a couple more to it for luck.