#I have many feelings and words about this song but I cannot express them properly right now

[dontmeanyoudontmissit]

Dear Reader might just be my favorite Taylor Swift song.

[kanmom51]

JK live 25.5.2023 12:03 am KST

cr./creators of media used in this post.

Jaykay our man went live.

And although he surprised us, it by no means was a surprise now, was it?

Kind of feels like a pattern here, doesn't it? JM's off somewhere and JK's on Weverse live, lol.

I love how he always seems to be missing us when JM doesn't seem to be around, or should I put it this way? When JM's around he doesn't give a rat's ass about us? Nah, he loves army, but he definitley has his priorities... and above all, someone we will NEVER compete with for JK's love, is JM. I do wish a big chunk of army would understand that already.

The timing is also, as always, thought out. And this time the date giving us 8/11 and the time giving us the 123 is no coincidence in my apparently very insane opinion.

We also actually have 8/11/15. Shock. Awe. You want to see for yourselves?

25.5.2023 12:03 am KST, right?

So the 8/11 we get from the date: 2+5+2+2=11 and 5+3=8

And then, if we take the time, the 12 and the 03 as they are: 12+3=15 Ta-dah.

8/11/15

I would like to talk for a second here about how happy JK looks.

He himself talks about how he's been cooking a lot and eating a lot and he put on weight. I, for one, think he looks amazing. I hated to see him so skinny back in his Feb lives.

I think this is a first time in a long time we are seeing his eye smile even when it's not about JM. He's happy. He's active. He's working and working out and looking good and gaining muscle. He has JM around more and he's just back on track and he's happy. And it shows.

Satiated. That's a word that comes to mind. He has all the things he loves. JM, food, music, JM. He has it all now.

Also, our Jiminah, must be over the moon with his babe getting his man boobies back.

I mean, those chesties, or dare I say breasties were his besties, he just cannot keep his hand off them. LITERALLY.

And the hair, lol.

How he starts the live with his hair down and then goes to put it up. Am I the only one that as he does that is thinking about this?

Which was JM commenting on JK's mukbang live (which was deleted, ugh), telling him how much he wants to tie his hair back neatly (oh, the cute art we got from that one...).

Can I also mention, before we move on, just how adorable that man is?

He went to grab his glasses cause he didn't see the screen well...

What strikes me every single time is that sense of naivete about him. It feels like he's literally doing these things for the first time, and the excitement and expressions on his face, it's just so sweet/cute. So endearing. I mean, it's not the first time he's worn his glasses, and yet the surprise how much better things look with them on, it's just so adorable.

And of course I cannot not add this edit, cause it's just hilarious.

I'm surprised, yet not surprised every single time again as to how rude and stupid fans can be. At the start of the live, just before JK goes to pull up his hair (and I really want to hope that this wasn't the reason that he tied up his hair at the end), he reads out a comment calling him Jungsoon which is in essence calling him girly or "baby girl", which he replies to:

Which he says twice, followed by...

And he goes to tie his hair but doesn't, sidetracked by a positive comment saying he's been missed. That's also when he goes on to talk about cooking and putting on weight.

Fans like that they just fucking piss me off.

JK talks about not singing too loud at night. Explaining how even though he thought the place was properly sound proofed, and although the neighbours can't hear him singing, they can feel the vibrations from the speakers, oopsy. He received a kind of complaint about it, and says how since he hasn't been singing loudly at night (well, not as loudly, lol).

The live playlist

JK didn't listen to too many songs. He didn't sing too many songs either. In the just over an hour live we got to hear 7 songs.

1. That’s Not How This Works - Charlie Puth

2. NIGHT DANCER - imase

3. Angel Pt. 1 - Kodak Black, Jimin, NLE Choppa, JVKE, Muni Long

4. The Palnet - BTS (this song he didn't actually play, he sang a couple of lines and talked about a little but not actually playing and singing).

5. Seed - Taeyang

6. Super - Seventeen

7. Shoong! - Taeyang feat. Lisa of Blackpink

8. Fighting - Seventeen

And in my mind, the live is kind of split into 2 parts:

Part 1 was dominated by Night dancer and Angel Pt. 1.

Part 2 was Taeyang and Seventeen leaning. Although we got to hear Angel again in part 2, lol.

The way JK keeps doing this, supporting JM and his work, I mean you have to be blind not to see this.

JK literally sang or hummed JM's Angel pt. 1 four times throughout his live, including his funny as hell ad-lib that now that we have the translated live we can well appreciate (I was scared they won't translate that part, but they came through, well at least with that).

FOUR TIMES.

Enjoy an edit of all 4 together:

There is also this, which I did find interesting.

1st time in the live he 'happens to come by it':

2nd time is him singing the lyrics in Korean:

Humming on a little bit longer.

Third time he hummed the song, and the fourth time he hummed it one key higher.

You know what though? Thinking about it, Angel pt. 1 was all through part one and part two of the live (my mental 2 parts of the live peeps), lol. Or maybe let's forget about the parts and say that the live was all about Angel, nope, sorry, got that wrong, it was about Jimin hyung pt. 1 (wink wink).

And this is something JK does. He loves JM. He JM's songs, he loves to sing them. We've seen this time and time again.

Now all we really need is Letter, although I have a feeling we aren't going to get that. Which in itself, their reluctance to talk about it or sing it ever since it's been released, that is a big ass neon light telling us just how private and personal this song is to THEM.

Also, side note, that adlibbed Angel in Korean - JK's how to tell us he's drinking a highball without actually telling us he's drinking a highball, lol.

JK says he's been on YT and TikTok lately (making it clear that he's not on IG, which makes me think he might actually still be lurking on IG, idk, it's the criminal mind in me, lol). That's where he said he first heard Night dancer (will get to that song in a sec) and obviously also saw Jiminie's Seventeen Super dance challenge.

JK told us about how much he's been listening to Night dancer. Can't stop listening to it was more like it. He plays it several times during the live. And it's a good song. I get why he likes it. And the lyrics, I also get why this song is living rent free in his mind.

It's an unexceptional, ordinary night The noise, the sparkle, and you

The clock hands are frozen again The frequented, cluttered room Nothing changed, but as I look back We both had gotten older

The music stops again, you drop the needle We've replayed it so much, we nearly grow bored of it Nothing changed, please don't change You're the only one who's stayed

We avoid the topic with small talk We hesitate to touch the subject We stop to push the hands forward Our breaths start to sync

It's an unexceptional, ordinary night Dance with the noise, the sparkle, and you It's an average, boring night But let's move forward together

Your translucent, pale skin Your carefree smile Nothing changed, please don't change But this is only just for now

The more I stare The more memories that overflow A cup of coffee for a wavering heart A disheveled room, a scratchy melody Let's blend together, one more time

It's an unexceptional, ordinary night Dance with my beating heart, my elation, and you It's an average, boring night But let's move forward together

The night is long and uncertain The music could stop at any moment I want to be with you, to drown with you I don't care if tomorrow never comes

It's an unexceptional, ordinary night Dance with the noise, the sparkle, and you It's an average, boring night Love me Who cares anymore, just look at me Let's dance as we sway and stumble It's an unexceptional, ordinary night But let's move forward together

I keep going back to read and re-read those lyrics. Eyes tear up. This is definitely one that hits the heart strings, and so understandably a song that JK is feeling right now.

I don't know if you guys remember the ask I had a long while back asking me to pick a Troye Sivan song for every year of Jikook's relationship.

Thing is, for 2022-3 it wouldn't be a Troye Sivan song I would choose. It would be this one.

The song is by a Japanese artist called Imase, who went online to thank and show his appreciation to JK for listening to his song and mentioning it in his live.

I can't help but wonder if this is why JK knows that Japanese YT teacher so well, is he touching up on his Japanese?

So, part 2 JK sang 2 songs by Taeyang (hilarious how he stops singing Shoop the second it's Lisa's part), 2 songs by Seventeen, talked about how Jun taught him the dance for Super and Mingyu asked him to do the challenge but hasn't called him, and then proceeded to say that he won't do it, lol.

Pity, I'm sure he'd rock it.

He also talked about watching Go Seventeen and how funny they were.

I do love how he's sharing with us the songs he loves, the shows he likes, and also supporting his partner and his friends.

JK also mentioned he saw the photo of his female lookalike, Hira Saya, lol.

JK talked about Hobi finishing his basic training that day. Sending them a selfie to their group chat.

I personally am not prepared for that day.

But the hilarious part, once again, is does he not think we will notice his hair getting shorter?????

Again, that naivete of his, just like he was surprised he was so easily recognized at Coachella, lol.

After singing fighting, JK, as we so dearly know him, turns to the camera and asks: "should we sleep now?"

He turns back to sing fighting for a few seconds and then:

Adds "fighting for tomorrow", waves bye, says he dropped by briefly to play, that he'll find good songs for us and come back, asking "but these are all songs that you already knew, right? You probably listen to more music than I do. I really don't listen to music", waves bye, says not to get sick and be happy, and he's done.

Lol.

Look, it's not like he didn't warn us. Multiple times. He said he'd have to go to sleep at 1 am cause he has somewhat of a schedule the next morning. It's the way he does it that has me on the floor laughing.

I didn't talk about the CP song he played and sang, because yeah, CP, not much to talk about, other than again, this is an artist that JK likes, admires, and one that he is choosing to share his music with us and sing his songs.

Anyways, before I end this, a couple of points I noticed:

The songs he played and sang to us. JK said it loud and clear. And his live closing statement kind of cements the fact that he came to sing these songs he thinks are good songs, and that even though he, in his own words, doesn't really listen to music these days, is obviously listening to these songs and wanted to play them and sing them to us. Songs that happen to be by his partner (4 times he goes back to Angel pt. 1 in his live for a total of over 5 minutes singing or humming or adlibbing it), his friends (Seventeen), artists he admires (CP and Taeyang) and a special extra song that happens to live in his head at the moment (Night dancer).

The absence of the songs he didn't play. I think it was kind of loud and clear, don't you?

Anyway, JK came back to us, as he has been doing when JM is absent. He's happy. He looks happy. So I'm happy. And as much as I want more frequent lives from him, if JM being away or absent is the catalyst then I would rather he have his Jiminie by his side than me enjoy him going live. And him going live is pure joy. Do you understand what I'm willing to give up here? Do I need to make myself any clearer?

I want them to be happy is all.

💜💛

[soullikethesea]

More processing

I think I need to release T from my expectations. Release T from what she cannot meet.

Start over?

I feel jealous about what I overheard when she was with her previous client. I couldn't hear words, just sounds. T talking in a very prosodic and gentle voice, the client sobbing, but actually being comforted. When it was eventually time for me to go in, T put back her chair from right next to the couch back to her spot. So I can only imagine how close she was, perhaps even holding the client's hand.

Ouchie ouch. Why can't I have something like that? Of course I believe everyone should receive great care and it's not at all that I think the other client shouldn't have gotten it. Good for them.

It's just painful. Painfully quiet during my session and nowhere to go. Misunderstandings and misattunement and me imagining building walls just to feel a little safer. The thoughts of parts getting louder and louder in the disconnect. I'm not sure who it is exactly, but someone telling me I'm better off dead. Someone else telling me how bad I am. It echoes in the silence.

T having such success in her work with another client makes me feel like even more of an anomaly. It kind of sticks to me in a bad way. Of course parts of me would love to have a T properly comforting them (or not a T, just anyone). Of course I would love to feel less ruined by the past - less like that path for comfort is completely blocked. Lucas feels threateningly close and tells me solemnly and sadly that "we all want things we cannot have."

There is such hopelessness in our body. Defeat. The story of early childhood and beyond.

Fox brings our bravery. Like when T seemed to think it would only be a mild inconvenience to cancel next week's session. Fox did that thing we do when things get hard: take a deep breath and try to be the bigger person. He expressed empathy for her and thought about Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender. "I thought I'd lost my honour and my father could somehow return it to me, but I was wrong: it is something you earn for yourself, by choosing to do what's right." Somehow that quote brought our power back to us. We were choosing not to hurt T, and I told myself gently (over and over) that we were not going to hurt ourself anymore nowadays.

"In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength." Lucas loves that one, unsurprisingly. And it's the one thing we're trying to expand upon, which has gotten us in this mess. It's not just about T being flaky sometimes, it's about the future direction of therapy & if it's time to continue our journey on a different path. If things were to move forward, we'd have to reconnect. Lucas would have to use his Warm Heart skill, even when everything in him is screaming Fuck You, Leave Me Alone!

Leave me alone, so I can turn inside instead. To Fox, whom we know and love. To Scholar, who tries so freaking hard all the time. To Mae, who can always be depended upon. To Lucas, who cares so much about keeping us safe. ...and to the ones we don't even know that well yet. The young ones who Long so loudly, who are angry, needy, and not as "cute" as people expect littles to be. Wuss, who hates our guts. So many ways to see the world and to see people, and none of them say: "Yes, people are good and people make me feel really calm and safe."

None of them could handle our T holding our hand and sing-songing us into peacefulness.

[girls-and-honey]

Okay so the other day I told this girl I had gone to art school for 5 years, and she went « oh that’s great, I’d love to know more about the theories of art! You see, I feel like I’m very uncultured and I can’t appreciate art properly because I’m not enough of an intellectual »

Now here comes my slightly angry rant, because I’ve heard this so many times. I used to be like this too, I used to think that ✨art✨ was this mysterious thing that was only accessible to the select few inTelLeCtUaLs who really *got it* because of their immense brain power. But after 5 years of bowing to their supposed intellectual prowess, you know what I learned?

It’s all bullshit. Whatever « conceptual art » tried to make everyone believe, art isn’t intellectual. And anyone who says so is a pretentious, talentless moron (believe me, I met quite a few of them). Art is emotion. Painting, drawing, sculpting, making movies, dancing, singing, writing poetry…. It’s all related to emotion. Expressing what you feel, what you wanna say but can’t put into words. Putting something out there because you *feel* like it. That’s what it’s all about. And if you wanna write a book about the theory of it, good for you. But no one should have to read it to appreciate art.

Please darlings, don’t feel intimidated and belittled by the pompous schmucks who pretend that they understand it better than you because they possess a ✨higher understanding✨ of art. They are *lying* to you and themselves. The concept isn’t prevalent to the feeling, and art cannot be explained rationally.

If you feel something while looking at a painting, then you appreciate it. Simple as that. ❤️

I get so excited every time I see an okay so ask come in askdfldj thank you for sending <3

so happy to see this attitude towards art!! I completely relate to the sentiment that art (and not just visual art - dance, music, writing, and on and on like you mentioned) is all about emotion and think it definitely works both ways - for creating art and consuming it

it reminds me a bit of learning to read and advancing on to longer and more difficult books; throughout elementary school I feel like there was a big emphasis on 'wow you read such a big book!' being somehow superior to 'you read a story you enjoyed!' which should be more the focus. they can totally overlap too, but yeah all the poems and stories and songs that I appreciate most are the ones that pull forward some emotion that's usually hidden or just at a resting baseline level. personally I forget to apply this to art sometimes so while I'm not super technical about why I might like a piece of art there are some where my reaction is 'nice I like this' and some where I'm strongly drawn in to some aspect or it makes me feel. and that's when I remember, when it elicits a strong reaction

"But no one should have to read [books on art theory] to appreciate art" - I wish I could highlight and underline this in your ask because this is so important. very much gives vibes of this part from parks and rec but on the side of 'a person should not have to have an advanced art degree to be able to engage with art in a meaningful way'

[mmmcheetos]

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2bw85cjBOzhXwMflMumwe4?si=b4fa8ff4dc1049a6 - idk if i've ever shared the jinxue story playlist with you so here!! (yes ik there is a disturbing amount of fnaf songs, i'm on tumblr, what did you expect?)

If i may be so bold, I'd like to elaborate on the song choice 'Main Character'! It's Jin Yuran 1.0 and the song is him sloooowwwwlllyyyyy descending into insanity while trying to keep positive because he's the beaming eldest son made of sun rays. However, the bridge is when he properly loses it, and i've assigned little lyrics to people in my head so forgive me briefly while i explain it to you like a goddamn film script: Lai Yingxue: "Judge me by what my cover shows/" (practically emotionless on the outside and this is how everyone percieves him) "author becomes beyond reproach/" (Because of his disposition, he's talked ill off) "you don't know the prose or is the spine is still intact" (No one ever actually bothers to get to know him, his thoughts and feelings are ignored due to his demeanour, a book never read because the words look too long)

JYR's Dad: "...The Royak We/demand a standard of loyalty/in order to be reverent, lick the emperor's new boots" (Forcing the guoshi all to listen and obey and basically suck up to him, at risk of their loved one's lives)

Mai Guiying: "The court's fool got the guillotine" (1, his head was cut off, 2, he is the 'fool' of the court, naive and trusting but too scared to actually seek help until, eventually, he goes to the wrong person)

all guoshi: "we all do what we need to to get through/" (them taking their anger out on the children, slowly becoming cruel and bitter as being held hostage in a gilded cage put on display makes them slowly begin to lose any care they had for being in the moral right, just desperate for catharsis) JYR, in the immediate following lyric: "But I ain't done a fucking thing to you!" (He's an innocent bystander who was caught as a ransom in a war he didn't know existed - he never hurt anyone until he broke)

Also JYR, fast forwarding a few lines: "I mean, imagine if antagonists lacked any evil scheme!" (This one is a scene in my head of emporer JYR holding a hostage LYX's face, screaming desperately into a blank expression - the impact of the line comes from the irony: LYX was no antagonist, he didn't have an evil scheme. He and his friends lashed out and it hurt the wrong person. JYR was never part of the equation but he was the one who ended the game by destroying it. His descent to madness was an accident, not deliberate, but he cannot see it any other way because he simply doesnt know. In his decimated mind, LYX is a man of no love, empathy or kindness; he is a true villain)

Yikes, i just went english student-ish on you my apologies-

anyways, enjoy my thoughts!!!

🐉

au contraire there is not enough fnaf songs (i am on tumblr too my friend). there are so many bangers in this playlist tho love to see it

also don't apologise !!! i loved reading through this (especially after a ridiculous amount of math, i think i'm descending into insanity)

i'm now thinking about what you said ("while trying to keep positive because he's the beaming eldest son made of sun rays.") and how "i'm the main character, you have to like me" applies to jyr bc he's he prince! he's trying so hard to impress his tutors! and yet, they all hate him and make him suffer. and his second chance at life is a chance for him to be that likable, o.p. main character. idk tho i am not the english student here i have lost the ability to analyse texts

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

I have severe ADHD and sometimes the feeling of being super under stimulated is too much to bear but there is something so comforting about Greta's music that makes me feel like I am fully surrounded in the heaviest weighted blanket and it puts me at such ease.

I don't really know how to explain this to neurotypical people but it just feels like I feel full again. Sometimes it feels like I can't feel enough and my body is so big and I feel hollow. But when I have my car radio volume as far as it'll go just to feel it all around me, and the words and the melodies are so satisfying to me, I can sing them as loud as I please and it feels like such a release that I need sometimes.

I find I get a lot of my frustrations out by singing, a lot of times its through broadway musicals but GVF is the only other music I can play that can match that, but they pull such emotions out of me that I never can properly express. Also maybe because I hate sad songs because they only make me sadder and I get too caught up in the words, but GVF makes me feel so understood and all of their songs have so much meaning to me for anything I'm feeling.

Like how Always There can be so happy and feel so freeing one day, but so sorrowful and full of self understanding. Every song just has so many meanings that they all feel different depending on when I'm listening. I don't know if what I'm saying makes a whole lot of sense but, in short, as a neurodivergent who often can feel out of touch or lonely, their music means everything to me and holy shit I cannot wait to see them live, I think I would actually ascend.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi! I love everything that you write and heh I am a fan! 😄 tbh this is my first time requesting something on Tumblr! If you don't mind and if I am not being a bother...can you write about how the guys would react If MC suddenly starts making meme references? I don't know how I got the idea but I am REALLY curious. And love you! :D

Hiya! Tyvm for the kind words, and apologies that this took a while! I hope you have the chance to enjoy it regardless ❤️❤️❤️ Love you too, sweet pea! I promise to get to the next request you’ve sent ASAP~

Aight but this would be hilarious because the range of the reactions is just ungodly. I will be putting this under a cut after Napoleon so I don’t clog up everyone’s dash, but all the suitors are included below otherwise! 

Comte is the one that recognizes a few, but didn’t really stay in modern times long enough to be as well-versed as a Gen Z kid might. Regardless he finds the wittiness and absolute chaotic fuckery to be delightful, and will 100% support the harmless nonsense. It never fails to get a laugh out of him

Mozart that first day be like: “Buzz off MC I hate you” MC, because she likes swinging bats at wasps’ nests: “Well that’s not very cash money of you” Mozart: ?????????? Comte, giggling in the bg like the secret fae he is This one’s just because I’m petty, but after the events of Comte rt I just imagine them encountering Vlad again and MC’s just “I lived bitch.” while Comte is flipping him off behind her lkjahgkjhdsg

Comte @ Leo when he finds the latter under his desk: Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you.  MC: wheezing from the hallway as she’s about to give him his letters

MC: So how was your day, honey? Comte: Good, good--briefly had to go beastmode upon the punk that pilfered my lint roller MC, biting her lip to keep from laughing: So does Leo still have his kneecaps? Comte: for now.

Comte, @ literally anyone upsetting the MC: I won’t hesitate, bitch

Comte: Be careful with my emotional baggage, it’s designer

MC: What if I was evil and ran towards you at very fast speeds Comte: My arms are strong, I would catch and hug you

Leo and Dazai are the ones that don’t have a single reference point but are filled with so much dumbass chaos energy that they just. Understand immediately???? Nobody knows how or why, but they just catch on so fast--adapt the language in a matter of weeks. Never underestimate the power of combined boredom, depression, and humor

I swear to god I just see MC taking them their Blanc/Rouge and being like “here you go sir, one enslaved moisture” and they just go fucking hog wild from day one. MC starts impersonating Theo when he leaves the room around Dazai, like fake deep voice “you all only hate me because you do not like me and I am mean to you. grow up.” Or like the MC meets a baby on her travels with Leo around town and she holds them and says v seriously and sagely “So you are Baby? I have heard tales of your exploits.” and Leo about loses his shit right there. They both think MC is the funniest person alive--they’ve never been more eager to throw a ring at someone in their entire life.

Also a bonus for my beloved Dazai:  MC, facing even the slightest inconvenience (like dropping her fork) in the most dramtic voice possible: Life is not daijoubu. Dazai: wheezing

MC, after watching Theo turn down a woman at the bar in the meanest way possible: bro quit letting the darkness consume you u r scaring the hoes Dazai, literally rolling around on the ground, half-drunk and dying:

MC, walking alongside Dazai and stopping to stare at her reflection in the River Seine. Dazai’s expecting some sad or twisted shit, since people often feel comfortable talking about those things around him, but instead she just: “Oh, it’s you. The source of all my problems.” And he about falls into the river from shock HAHAHA

At this point don’t be surprised if his next book is about an absolute madlad woman similar to MC

Napoleon finds it to be a delightful quirk more than anything? He doesn’t really understand it, but he finds it funny when they change their voice for effect or speak in exaggerated tones. If it’s just comprehensible enough for an outsider to understand--or Sebas gives him context--chances are it’ll send him into a laughing fit

For this one I just imagine MC singing that Ratatouille meme song obnoxiously bad while cooking, and Napoleon and Comte are just so wildly amused by it bc it makes zero sense and it’s only vaguely French at this point

MC @ Napoleon while they’re cooking brunch: Can I offer you a nice egg in these trying times?

MC, conflicted because she’s tired and wanted to sleep in but also got to see Napo’s cute sleeping face for a few hours: For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5AM on the day I can sleep in. Sebas: Early to bed and early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise MC: early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch Napoleon: laughing in agreement

Isaac is the type to be bewildered and concerned at first (especially when he hears the more nihilistic ones hoOOOoooOO BOY) but eventually begins to understand it’s some bizarre attempt at humor (that hurts Zack baby). While some part of him laments that it reminds him of Dazai and he’s secretly jealous of how she and Dazai bond over it, he will sometimes join in the chaos when the mood strikes him and he’s feeling mischievous

Isaac: How are you feeling? MC: Oh, I’m not Isaac: seconds from dialing 911 Isaac: Are you okay? MC: Oh yeah dw I just suffer from that syndrome where your neutral expression makes you look like you’re an angry serial killer Isaac: say sike rn

Isaac, tutoring MC and correcting something:  MC, muttering while redoing it: The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math. Isaac: unable to help a laugh

One time MC was avoiding Isaac for fear of hurting his feelings and he just confronts her like: Isaac: back by unpopular demand, me! What’s wrong, MC pls MC was so hecking proud of him

Isaac, telling MC about a recent discovery he learned at uni from another professor: bones typically heal stronger after they’ve been broken--so long as they’re set properly, of course MC, looking him dead in the eyes: So what you’re saying is that I should break every bone in my body until I become superhumanly powerful? Isaac: please do not, no

Mozart and Jeanne are just. Totally lost. Why are you talking like that??? Why are you making “crab hands”???? They don’t understand. Maybe never will. They reach a point where they just kind of laugh and shake their heads, endeared by the oddity after they’re used to it and have determined it isn’t a threat/insult. 

MC: It’s a cold and it’s a brooooken, Waluigi. Waaaaluigiiiii...waaaahluigi..... Mozart: surprised, then starts snickering and playing along on the piano

Arthur, asking MC very personal questions out loud because he is an idiot sometimes: Soooo MC, are you a top or a bottom? MC: I’m a threat. (If he asks a second time, the response will be “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy.”) Jeanne, fighting a smile:

MC, about to punch an asshole: Your free trial of being alive has ended Jeanne, seconds from laughing for the first time in 100 years:

Also, because I genuinely can’t help myself. You know that knight meme like “Parry this you fucking casual.” I cannot stress enough that it is literally the personification of Jeanne’s entire character. I’m not even joking.

Arthur and Shakespeare are utterly fascinated by the rapid evolution of wordplay and the sheer hilarity. They will ask all about these so-called “memes” and ask for examples of them if MC can show them (either somehow accessing her phone or drawing them). MC draws Arthur the knife cat meme and he about a s c e n d s at the hilarity of it all, points and yells THEO IS HOLDING THE KNIFE. He is correct. They will be delighted and follow along eagerly, and--god forbid--will make their own based on late 19th century struggles.

Is this where Shakespeare got the idea for “What, you egg? stabs him” and “You are a saucy boy.”? I’m too scared to ask. Don’t even get me started on “The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.” That one is just too on the nose...

I can’t even imagine what would happen to Shakespeare if MC like translated vines and memes into Ye Olde English around him. Imagine she’s at one of those noble balls and hears rumors of these two guys living together and they’re so obviously gay and he says “And those gents w’re roommates.” And in the most false surprised tone ever MC just replies “oh mine own god, those gents w’re roommates.” Imagine having a wife that’s just as hilarious as you are and hits you with all the force of a bag of wet mice every time you speak in retaliation, he’s going into palpitations.

Every time Arthur does smth stupid MC just: “I Pretend I Do Not See It.”

Vincent is tickled pink by MC’s penchant for finding joy and/or amusement in nearly everything they do, and he smiles gently when he sees them muttering and laughing to themselves. He wants to be able to join them in what they love, but he has a harder time following along and understanding the darker humor sometimes. Mostly gets confused??? Please give him the easier ones to mimic and laugh when he tries--or just include him in your jokes MC. He’s babie your honor...

But he also. Will not. Stand any kind of self-deprecation or borderline verbal self-harm. He’s usually very easygoing and calm, but for whatever reason that stuff makes him go deathly quiet and upset.

MC, after something goes horribly wrong, hugging Vincent: Oh Vince, we really in it now Vincent: giggling a little despite his worries, relaxing

MC: Theo stop simping for Vincent that’s my job

MC, when Theo leaves the room and she gets Vincent all to herself: The evil is defeated.

MC: And this is where I would put my will to live...if I h a d one! Vincent: ;-; MC: oh shit, oh fuck, I was only kidding Vincent wait (MC was subsequently lectured and loved on for many hours)

Theo is conflicted because on the one hand, he loves to see you smiling and having fun. On the other, you’re clowning as hard as Dazai and Arthur and he can only handle so many monkeys in his circus. Most of the time he will roll his eyes and be the straight man of this comedy, but you might find him cracking a smile--or accidentally letting a chuckle slip past his lips now and again.

MC, after meeting Theo: I’m a nice person, but I’m about to start throwing rocks at people.

Theo, those first days: Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me? MC: I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer.

Theo: Every time I ask MC to explain “vibe check” to me she hits me with some kind of improvised weapon

MC, after the “incident” (you know the one): This year, I lost my dear lover Theo Theo, in the distance: QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD! MC: ;-; sometimes I can still hear his voice...

Sebastian is last because oh boy. OH BOYYYYY I LOVE HIM. Okay so the way I see this happening with Sebastian is just. So wild. Because at first he’s t r y i n g so hard to be the proper butler man. He does not meme. But then he starts to drift closer to what Niles from The Nanny was, where he’ll quip and joke in private or when the situation is just beyond the amount of absurdity he can handle without making a snarky comment. Everyone in the house can’t fathom how Sebas and MC got so close so fast, but there are points where they’re just “Are they even speaking English anymore???” It’s 11 times funnier than normal because Sebas almost never smiles or laughs when memeing, the deadpan quality of his playing along sends MC every time

Has ABSOLUTELY said “HEY. PANINI HEAD. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME???” jokingly when MC made a mistake in the kitchen. They laugh about it for y e a r s

MC: I can’t date someone who keeps a lamb as a pet, that’s so weird Sebas, brushing Lotte in front of MC: MC: MC: Okay, I will make an exception because she looks very polite

MC and Sebas, fully aware of the fame some of the men will reach in modern times: We will watch your career with great interest.  (I s2g that’s like half of Sebas’ rt right there I’m crying)

Sebas rt with Lotte be like that 500 dollar Mareep meme: “sometimes a family can be just a boy, his gf, and their 500 dollar two foot tall Lotte”

[samstree]

hi dear!! what about 37 for the pining prompts?? only if you feel like it 💞💞

37. "Characters cannot touch for plot reasons." Thanks for the prompt Chrysa!! Here's more empath!Jaskier!

Unfinished Story

Empath!Jaskier, 2.4k, soft geraskier, ciri has a nightmare, hurt/comfort, mentions of past violence

Part of the Empath AU 

Read on AO3

Ciri’s scream pulls Geralt out of his doze.

He springs up immediately, knocking Jaskier’s arm out of the way. The bard grumbles something incoherent on the bedroll before fully waking. “G’ralt, what is… Oh, shit.”

The scream continues, Geralt’s medallion thrumming because of the chaos carried by the sound. The ember is dying but the moon provides enough light for him to see Cir in a fetal position, her face buried in the crook of her elbow. Her ashen-colored curls obscure the view.

Geralt half-scrambles to her side, familiar panic seizing his heart. It’s been so long since she had a nightmare this bad, so long that it’s taking him a second to react.

“Ciri.” He shakes her shoulder gently, but she flinches away. The smell of fear rolls off of her in waves. “Ciri, wake up. You are dreaming.”

The sharp wail trails off to a quieter one, but her eyes stay shut, her brows agonizingly knitted tight. Geralt tries to soothe her by stroking her hair, only to have her snatch his hand and holding onto it for dear life. He squeezes, hoping it’s a comforting gesture.

Each of Ciri’s cries sends a pang of regret in Geralt’s chest. If only he could go back in time. If only he had found her earlier, before the horrors of Nilfgaard—

“Hey, let me help.”

A hand falls to Geralt’s shoulder, and Jaskier meets his gaze in the dim light, the bleariness in his eyes completely gone.

Please, he wants to say. The word gets interrupted by the girl’s writhing.

Jaskier takes over Ciri’s hand, despite her reluctance to let go of Geralt. She clings to him during bad dreams, even when she can’t properly wake up, but the witcher knows it’s important not to touch either of them right now. The wolf medallion vibrates more as the empath works, calming her through the touch.

“It’s okay…” Geralt murmurs helplessly to the girl still asleep. “It’s okay, cub. We are here.”

The empty space around Geralt is excruciating. Under the clear night sky, his witcher senses allow him to see the two of them basked in the silver moonlight—Jaskier kneeling at Ciri’s side, one hand clasped around her wrist and the other carding through her curls. The girl’s pained expression eases slowly.

“Oh… Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” Jaskier shushes her, the flow of chaos buzzing in the air. “Let me take your fear away, all right? Don’t fight me. Let me in, so you won’t be scared anymore…”

The bard continues to murmur sweet nothings to the girl, easing her resistance to his empathetic powers. At this point, Jaskier’s magic is like a second layer of skin to Geralt, gentle and warm and weaving around their hearts. Even when it’s not directly used on him, he feels somehow pulled to their connection.

To Jaskier and Ciri.

His empath bard and his child surprise.

Two halves of his world.

Jaskier’s eyes are closed to concentration, taming the waves of Ciri’s distress. The action exerts him, Geralt can tell from his elevated heartbeat and the slight slump in his shoulders. The witcher catches himself before he reaches out subconsciously. The gnawing urge to help almost makes him scowl in frustration.

Inaction has never been Geralt’s strong suit.

Finally, finally, Ciri’s eyes flutter open. She’s holding back the tears, as always, even when she’s confused from these dreams, even when she’s reliving her past and desperately searching for her family in the present.

“Geralt?”

Her voice is so small and he has to lean in to hear.

A relieved sigh escapes Jaskier’s lips as he lets go of the girl’s hand. With the magic dissipating, so does the stench of fear. The air settles. As soon as the medallion stills, Geralt surges forward to put a hand on her arm, so she knows he’s here.

On Geralt’s periphery, he senses bard stand and walk to the other side of the campfire—the empath usually needs a moment to collect himself after absorbing someone’s emotions—but right now Geralt’s focus is on his child.

“It’s okay. You are safe, Ciri,” Geralt whispers.

“I dreamed—”

“You are not there anymore.”

“It was burning…I—there was fire… and the man.” She sniffles, stubbornly refusing to cry. His child is tough, probably too tough for her own good.

“It wasn’t real.”

“Because you found me?” There’s a sliver of doubt in her voice that Geralt wishes more than anything to remove.

“Because I found you, Ciri,” he reassures. She’ll need reminding tonight. “You are my destiny and more. I’m here so you’ll never have to be lost again.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Geralt tucks away a strand of hair on her face and watches her eyelids droop heavily.

“I’m not. Not now that I’m awake.”

He returns the smile, although she can’t see it that well in the shadows. “That’s because of Jaskier.”

“Oh.” She searches for the bard. When Geralt looks back at the empath’s silhouette, he’s leaning against a tree, a few paces away from camp. “Thank you, Jaskier. Again,” she says.

“Of course, princess,” Jaskier says softly, “I know how scary nightmares can be, no matter how long it’s been. Those things may have happened a long time ago, but sometimes…they come back and haunt when you least expect it.” He pauses, looking to the distance for a moment. “I’d chase them away for you any time.”

She murmurs another thanks before her eyes close with exhaustion.

“Go back to sleep,” Geralt tucks Ciri’s blanket in, before taking her hand again, his thumb tracing a little circle on her skin. “Sleep, cub. We’ll be here. Both of us.”

It doesn’t take long for her to fall into a deep slumber, peacefully this time. Geralt sits next to her for a while longer just to be sure. When he finally leaves Ciri’s side to see to his bard, Jaskier is still standing with his back against the tree. He seems to be miles away, his expression hidden in the shadows, distant and inscrutable.

“Jask?” They are far enough from the girl but Geralt keeps his voice low.

With a surprised gasp, the bard notices him approaching and almost flinches. “Don’t—”

“Don’t touch you, I know.”

Jaskier rests his head on the tree bark. “Just for now.”

Geralt’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. Using those powers takes a lot out of Jaskier, and it leaves him unbalanced. The empath is so wary of hurting him by accident when he’s like this, with raw energy still rippling under his skin.

But in truth, Geralt doesn’t care. He wishes Jaskier could let him in, let him share the burden. Right now, with the space between them, he’ll have to rely on words instead of action.

It really isn’t his strong suit.

“Another nightmare… ” he decides to distract the bard while he recovers. “It’s been too long since Ciri had an episode. I thought it was all over.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. “We should all know better.”

Geralt frowns at the haunted look on his bard’s face. The tips of his fingers reach forward again, but he quickly hides the movement by crossing his arms before his chest.

“You sound like you are speaking from experience, Jask.”

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s stomach turns at the way Jaskier speaks about the girl’s trauma. “You know if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Jaskier squirms, chewing on his lower lip. Now he’s truly nervous, tense even. The witcher sees the way his posture stiffens and quickly adds, “Or not. Uh—it’s okay if you don’t—"

“No,” Jaskier interrupts him, shaking his head, “No, I want to tell you. I should tell you everything, at this point.”

Silence hangs between them as the bard adjusts his breathing. In and out, like he would before a performance.

“Years ago, when you first identified my powers” Jaskier chooses his words cautiously, the moon shining in his eyes. “I asked if you would use silver on me.”

Geralt’s heart sinks. “I would never, Jaskier. I—How could you ever think that?”

“Oh, relax, my love. I know.” the bard chuckles tightly. “Even back then, I knew you to be a decent man under all the gruffness. You wouldn’t even harm those confused monsters who drifted to human territory on accident, remember? You claimed that your life was just coin and contracts, but to me, it was clear that you were so much more.”

“You are not a monster,” Geralt argues.

“No, but someone else might think differently.”

The leaves rustle in the breeze, the air cooling as the night stretches on. Without the blanket, Jaskier shivers with only a thin chemise on his back. Geralt’s body gravitates toward him of its own volition. Fuck it, if he can just hold Jaskier right now…

“I was thirteen.” The bard is lost in memory. “This man, a magic user, came to our door. It was just me and my mother. He somehow knew about our identities and asked for her help. You see, she had been keeping it a secret for so long, so she couldn’t trust this man, this mage, who somehow just knew that we were empaths.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before continuing.

“His request was… weird. Something about a king or a royal court. I remember thinking that whatever he said sounded so sinister, it couldn’t have been any good. Mum sent him away on the spot, but afterwards she got so scared, like he’d come back again or something. That night, she barred the door and told me to hide in a storage chest. I refused, so she made me. She kept me obedient the entire time.”

Geralt frowns. “Her powers were the same as yours?”

“Stronger.” Jaskier starts pacing, a few twigs snapping under his feet. “She didn’t need contact to manipulate someone’s emotions like me, and she could influence many at the same time. I’m not as powerful—my father was human.”

“What happened next?” Somehow, Geralt knows the story will not end well. A mage usually means trouble. Or in this case, the shadow hidden behind Jaskier’s bright smiles and chirpy songs.

“She kept me calm the whole night, even when she wasn’t with me, but I could feel her fear. It’s was like an undercurrent beneath my skin. I could feel her emotions change. Then I heard the sound of fighting, but I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go and help her…”

The salty tang of tears assaults Geralt’s nose, but they don’t fall. Jaskier looks up to the sky to hold back the grief that makes his hands tremble.

“Everything got fuzzy after that, but I still remember the pain and the despair. It was like a part of me was hurting with her. Part of me still does, during some nights.” Jaskier closes his eyes in agony. “When I got out the next morning, no one was there. Our home was wrecked, ruined. There was… There was so much blood, Geralt. I—I couldn’t…”

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s shoulders shake, whimpers choking in his throat. Under the night sky, the bard retreats into himself, making his frame look so much smaller. He sways a little and Geralt extends his hands again, hovering by his elbow. “Can I please touch you now?” he pleads.

With a sniffle, the bard composes himself. He flexes his hands to see if his magic is in check. “I think so, yes—oh.”

Geralt pulls Jaskier in for the tightest hug, his arms wrapping around the bard’s frame protectively. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, he can feel another shiver running down Jaskier’s spine, so he rubs small circles into his back to get some heat back in.

He breathes in Jaskier’s scent, not knowing if the lingering stench of fear is from Ciri or the bard.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jask…” Geralt keeps murmuring into the soft hair by Jaskier’s temple. Gradually, the bard sags against his shoulder, letting himself be soothed and supported. Geralt then places his lips to the skin under Jaskier’s ear, and then his cheek, his chin, all the while holding him impossibly close. He’s ready to help the empath restore his energy with all the brimming love in his chest. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” the bard shakes his head. “I’m good. For now.”

They stand there for so long, swaying gently while the world sleeps, before the bard speaks up again.

“I looked for her, and him, at so many courts.” Jaskier’s slightly colder fingers rest on the nape of Geralt’s neck, buried into the hair there. “No mage fit his description. No trace of her either. I think that deep down, I already knew that she was gone, even back then. Otherwise, I would have felt her in there somehow. No matter how far away she was, but all I had was just this emptiness. I was alone since then.”

“You are not. Not anymore.”

“No,” Jaskier pulls away, the tears have dried. Geralt brings the pad of his thumb to trace those streaks anyway. Under his touch, Jaskier smiles. “You see, back in Posada, I met this witcher, a dashing and heroic one. He fell for me so hard that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without me, so he begged me to become his travel companion.”

“And you agreed?” Geralt chuckles.

“Not at first, but he wore me down eventually.”

The bard is the most ridiculous man Geralt knows, and yet here they are. Shaking his head in amusement, the witcher steers his bard back to their bedrolls. As they settle back into their usual position, Geralt can’t help but pull him closer, making sure they are touching from head to toe.

The cover sets heavily over Jaskier's body, slowly warming up his skin. His heart beats against Geralt’s ribcage steadily, showing with solid proof that the empath has survived those horrors.

“I found you too, Jask,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss between Jaskier’s brows.

“Good.” The bard's reply is muffled by Geralt's skin. Not far from them, Ciri is still breathing evenly, sound asleep. Geralt has everyone he needs to protect right here with him, tucked away from their separate demons.

And yet, his mind drifts to Jaskier's story. It’s a tragedy with no end and no closure. There was never a body to bury, no vengeance to seek either.

Somehow, he doubts that an unfinished story will stay unfinished.

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity​ @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses​ @mothmanismyuncle​ @theultimatenerdd​ @percy-jackson-is-sexy-​

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[crowtrinkets]

Loved, Past Tense

WARNING: LUCIO REVERSED ENDING SPOILERS

--

Word Count: 2,123

The apprentice is now the devil, they have the undying love and admiration of Lucio. But they cannot help by miss Asra their friend. With their new-found knowledge and powers, they attempt to talk to Asra, confront him.

I was inspired after reading Lucio’s revered ending, plz don’t judge my attempt at angst too hard.

--

The click of Lucio’s boots exiting through the gate as he heads back to the mortal world echoes in my realm. That's right. My realm. I run my clawed hand along my throne admiring its handiwork. I wonder how many millennia the previous devil spent sitting here, waiting for entertainment. I do not desire to grow bored here all alone while Lucio makes conquests for Vesuvia in the name of the Devil. My name. Nadia fights back with her family in Prakra, I feel a slight tinge of remorse knowing she’s fighting so hard. I wish she would submit it would make things so much easier if my friends were on my side. Then there is the matter of Asra. My dear teacher, my friend, he left without so much as a goodbye. I wish he said goodbye. With a wave of my magic, an image appears before me. My shop, our shop. It looks like no one has been home in months. The dust building on the counter brings a frown to my face.

"I have to find him."

I will the image away placing my hands in my lap. I’ll have to meditate on this. Becoming the Devil gave me a vast knowledge of the unknown. Secrets I never knew as a mortal suddenly became common knowledge to me. I know about my past, all the details of it, Asra's deal with the Arcana. If I were not how I am now I may have lost my mind with the knowledge of my life before my death, but I’m stronger now. Asra and I share a heart, I can use my magic, my power to find him. It’s just a matter of if he will let me. Closing my eyes I reach out, with my magic or my newfound powers I cannot tell the difference. It seems they merged together. I find a thread and grab it, but it severs the minute I grab hold. Asra must have recognized me. I will find him. I lounge into my throne admiring the palace-like structure the devil created for this realm, it's a little vast for my taste but maybe I’m just used to my shop. No matter, I have other things to worry about.

—-

I stand out in the red fields, running my hand over a crater and filling it with water. I have found that Asra is partial to water magic. I have tracked his location without raising suspicions. It was all thanks to my creatures that Lucio is so fond of. I managed to find an item tethered to Julian and tracked him, being as they are traveling together, Asra as well. They’re in some far off desert town. Whatever they’re doing there I do not know, nor do I care, I just want to talk to Asra. I wave my hand over the water and concentrate on Julian's aura. He doesn’t use a lick of magic so he wouldn’t even notice my presence.

“Asra! Tubs free!” I hear the ring of a man's voice, Julian's, judging by the red hair poking underneath a towel as he walks out of view.

“Thank you, Julian, did you refill it?” Asra's voice.

“Ah I did, I hope the water is a good temperature?” I roll my eyes at the attempt of flirting. I hear Julian leave and the door close. Asra lets out a sigh, I hear the movement of fabric, as he removes his shirt. Asra approaches the tub reaching a hand towards the water, but stops when he sees my face staring back at him.

“Hello Asra,” is all I can muster to say. Asra stares stunned for a minute then starts.

“H-hello,” it seems he’s at a loss for words, rare for him.

“Why have you been hiding, why haven’t you visited me,” Asra’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I don’t understand, why would I visit you? Do you know the carnage Lucio has laid waste to in Vesuvia?” His voice is in a harsh whisper, he doesn’t want the others to hear that he’s talking to me. No matter I do not care about them.

“Lucio is doing what I asked of him, those people don’t understand I’m doing them a service,” I continue to stare Asra down, my eyes refusing to leave his. He looks at me, his expression neutral but I can see behind his eyes. Fear, anger, sadness, I can feel it in our shared hearts.

“Allowing people to die? Raiding nearby territories? That's what you call service? What happened to you?” Asra grips the edges of the tub, disgust forming on his face. “Why did you leave us, back there, with the world turtle, you didn't even say anything, no goodbye….. No nothing,” I feel the taste of anger settle in my mouth.

“Why did you leave me!” I hiss, leaning close to the water. Asra takes a step back. “All those days you left on your journeys, leaving me to run the shop on my own, disappearing in the morning without so much as a goodbye?”

“You wouldn’t understand, MC-“

“Oh? Wouldn’t I?” I tap the water with a claw, allowing it to distort and ripple the image of Asra. I reach into the water and allow myself to be engulfed. For a second I don't see anything, then my eyes settle. I'm in the bathroom Asra is in. It’s small, wooden, there is a multitude of towels folded on shelves, countless bottles of soaps and scents on a table. A window behind me reveals a vast desert. I turn back and face Asra who looks up at me in horror.

“Do not be afraid Asra, I mean you no harm, I just want to know why,” he takes a step back, craning his neck up as I stand in the bathtub. I crouch down into the tub, sitting so my height is less intimidating. If I wanted to scare him I would’ve done it ages ago.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Asra avoids my eyes, looking to the floor instead, as he backs up and falls into a stool. He puts his head into his hands and lets out a sigh.

“I know, Asra,” he looks up at me. Before he starts I interrupt. “I know everything, I know about my death, how I died of the plague. How we were friends before… more than friends,” I pause allowing my words to take root. “Your deal, the reason my memories were wiped. I. Know. Everything.” I growl, gripping the edges of the tub, leaning forward to emphasize my words, my anger at his secrets. Asra gawks for a second, leaning his elbows on his knees before he starts.

“Then why bother asking if you know everything, I ran away for a reason, MC… To get away from you,” There's a hint of anger in his wavering voice.

“Then why leave, if you were so fond of me Asra, why did you not act on it, I have seen realities where you and I could have been together,” I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I barely feel the sadness, it remains in the back of my mind, sitting behind a glass wall, visible but unreachable. “I loved you Asra... Loved,” Asra winces at confession.

“I should have been there for you,” his voice wavers, tears threatening to leave his eyes.

“Yes! You should have... You left the second before Countess Nadia came into our shop that night. Maybe you knew it was her, and you wanted to get rid of me... you were tired of taking care of me and you didn't have the courage to say anything,” Asra stands.

“No, no no that’s not what happened! I-I I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with you, holding you, calling you mine. W-when I would tell you of your past you would go into this catatonic state,” Asra’s voice begins to break. “I couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore so I had to let you go... B-but for you to end up with Lucio? Why would you do this to me… I loved you,”

“Lucio has shown me more love and dedication than you ever have!” I lurch forward sending the baths water over the edge.

“You call that love? Him blindly following you like a lost pup?” Asra tenses. I can see the mental battle going on in his mind. I can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest, as mine mimics his.

“Lucio stole my parents from me… I was so alone for years, having to fend for myself,” he places a hand on his chest, attempting bravado.

“Your parents brought that among themselves, they knew the terms of their deal with the devil and the took it,” I bark out, window-rattling behind me. “Lucio was doing what was asked of him by the devil, the fact that your parents even took the deal says a lot about them, about you,” Asra of all people should know that deals are not a one-sided project.

He reaches down and picks up the shirt he previously removed and grabs hold of the doorknob. At that moment I summon chains to grab hold of the knob and slam it close before Asra can make his way out. Asra flinches and stares at them, backing up and leaning against the wall, his stare shifts to me, cold and deadpanned.

“I may have forgiven Lucio for what he did to me, but that does not change his past! The things he did,”

“People can change Asra,” I say almost sing-song.

“You’ve changed… For the worst,” his voice shakes, his fists clench and I can feel his magic reach out, trying to find anything to fight me with.

“Oh yes Asra, I have changed,” I step out of the bath, one hoof at a time, sauntering towards to him, as though we were having a friendly conversation. Towering over him I can feel the fear creeping up inside him.

“But not for the worst. You and I, master, we’re similar.” Asra’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and anger. “You recreated me, for your own selfish means, why couldn’t you just let me stay dead? You wanted a weak, helpless follower. To worship you, love you and you got what you wanted,” I reach up towards Asra’s head.

“N-no that’s not what I wante-“ I grab him by his hair, angling him so he can look at me properly. He hisses in pain grabbing my wrist attempting to pull free. But my grip is too strong.

“And now that I’ve surpassed you, you can’t bear the thought. Your poor little Apprentice doesn’t need you anymore. So you run away, hide from your regrets, I will always know where you are, Asra,” I lift my hand, poking a claw into Asra’s chest right over his heart, not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting. His breath hitches when I make contact. “We share a heart remember? I know everything you’re feeling, I know you feel disgusted and fearful. But you even yearn for me. You can’t forget me,” I see a spark of magic forming in Asra’s hand, I summon chains to bind his hands above his head before he does.

“You’re no better than the last devil,” he chokes out through pained gasps. Tears fall from his face, but his expression remains full of anger. Hatred.

“Maybe, maybe not, but you can’t do anything to stop me. Killing the devil almost destroyed me. That’s why I had to become him, you could never do something like that… Lucio saved my life he aided in my ascension, you revived me to keep me to yourself,” I let go of Asra and back up towards to tub, keeping eye contact. Once again I feel tears threatening to fall from my eyes, but I do not feel sorrow. Asra on the other hand is crying. I feel his heartbreak, and mine as well but I am numb to the feeling.

“I-I hate you…” He means it.

“That may be so, but you still love me as well,” I step back into the tub.

“I HATE YOU!” Asra flings a bottle at my head but I am already sinking in the water, too fast for it to make contact. I hear a crash and then nothing.

I pull my head from the water, sitting up. I am back in my realm, sitting on the edge of the water. I look back down but there is no image, just the reflected red sky above me and my face, distorted by shadows. Something drops into the water causing it to ripple. I bring a hand to my face.

Tears.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

[blueprint-han]

on top of the world ↠ hhj.

genre: royal au; fluff inspired by a fucking barbie movie leave me alone okay

⇥ warnings: if having a ballroom dance with hyunjin is a warning, then <3, district names are randomly chosen, not meant in reference to SKZ !!

wc: 1.5 K

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not aim to represent the activities of the real Hwang Hyunjin, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: drabble.

taglist: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz​ @sunoo-luvs 

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @tpwkjerii​ (requests for this are closed now!)

↯ note: dghwey i had literally no idea what to write for your url, so i searched up the full form of “tpwk” and ended up with “treat people with kindness”. I developed it into an idea i already had. Tell me if you like it <33 ⇥ dawn.☀️

↯ note 2: oh... i cannot... write fantasy for the life in me. ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Ladies, all in line.” The instructor clapped her hand, signaling all the princess and lady royals to line up in front of her. You quickly scrambled out of where you were seated, almost doubling over your heels as you tried to wobble your way to the line. 

Oh curse those heels. They were gonna be the reason you crashed headfirst into the floor one day, you were sure. They were those typical pointy, magenta colored pumps that only an expert in poise could pull of properly. Your uniform didn’t help either, layers and layers of clothing — topped of with a jacket, which meant you would be sweating buckets if it weren’t for the air conditioning.

Gosh, you hated being the princess and heir to the next throne. Why couldn’t you just lounge in the courtroom in your sweats and sneakers? They were more fashionable anyway. When your mom had told you that you were gonna attend “Royal Training School”, you’d pictured horse riding in the lush green stables, elegant dinners with rich silverware, and most of all — just having some time away from the royal castle, just having some time for yourself and having fun in that time.

Well, you were in for a huge mess.

It’d been only a week since you attended this place, and you hated it. The place woke you up at 5 a.m., shoved breakfast (which was mostly a piece of “high gluten” bread) to your hands and then took you ballroom dancing. So your day was terrible from the beginning already. There was no horseback riding, no sword fighting, because according to your parents — “princesses didn’t do fights”. Seemed superstitious to you, someone with a forward thinking mind, but what could you do?

Too dazed in your thoughts, your foot slipped and you lurched forward. You yelped loudly, but before you could catch the attention of the class or feel the polished marble against your face, a hand wrapped around your waist, ceasing your fall and holding you mid-air.

“You okay, princess?”

You snapped back into attention, eyes meeting with your classmates, all of them having a shocked look on their faces, and some of them anger. Turning around, you were surprised to gaze into hazel brown eyes that seemed to draw you in without reserve.

“Um..., princess?”

“Ah, yes!” You snapped out of it once again, straightening up as you smoothened the fabric of your shirt. “T-Thank you.” You took once glance at his face, and... wow. He was absolutely ethereal. His golden locks of hair fell perfectly over his temples, he adorned a majestic black suit and by just looking at him, he exuded confidence.

He giggled. “It’s alright, princess. Glad you aren’t hurt.”

“Oh, that-”

“Ahem!” The both of you looked to the side, noticing now how the entire class, along with the instructor were giving you snobby glares. “If you’re done chit chatting, can we start out class, Princess Y/N and Prince Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin. That was a pretty name.

You noticed that there was another line of men, wearing similar attire like Hyunjin, lined up in front of the princesses. “They must be from another academy,” Silent thoughts flooded your mind as you took your place, and your eyes went wide when you found yourself face to face with the Hyunjin guy again, though there was a reasonable distance between the both of you.

“Now, royals.” The instructor chimed, clacking her heels against the surface as she waltzed to the edge of the room. “You’ve been practicing ballroom dancing with yourselves for a while now, so The Head and me decided that it would be a good idea for you to get a little peek of what the actual thing looks like.” She said uninterestedly, picking at the underside of the nails as she started the music.

Immediately, slow, melodious music flooded through the speakers as you looked at one another. and then at the guy in front of you... err, Hyunjin. “You’ve already been partnered up, so get started.”

Your mouth dropped open a bit when you realised what the instructor’s statement meant, almost panicking when all the girls next to you bowed down gracefully, coaxing you to follow the same. Hyunjin did the signature “bow down and lend a hand” pose like his other classmates, and you hesitantly straightened up, lending a hand to him.

Immediately, just like how confident he looked, he pulled you close to himself, settling his hands on your hips as a smirk graced his features.

Ah... so he’d noticed you blushing.

You didn’t know why you were blushing in the first place. You’d never met this person before, but something about him just made the giddy schoolgirl in you bubble up to the surface. You shyly settled your hands on his shoulders, moving along to the beat with his motions... and silently praying your ant’s worth of dancing knowledge would not fuck this up.

“So, should we do the introductions?”

“What?” You asked, almost stumbling on your feet once again. You made a mental reminder to burn the current pair of heels you were sporting.

“Don’t you introduce yourself to the person you’re dancing with?” he heaved a laugh, almost melting at how adorably bashful you were getting in his hold. You were about to mumble a response, but then stopped, gathered your confidence, and smiled sweetly.

“Oh well then, I’m Princess Y/N from District 8; honor to meet you.” You said in a sing song voice, muffling a laugh as Hyunjin twirled you around in his hold and pulled you back. The velvet coat was soft under your touch, and for some odd reason, you wondered how his soft-lookin hair would feel under your palm.

“I’m Prince Hyunjin from District 10; equally honored to meet you,” He tilted his head to the side and you noticed him bite his lip for a second. Brushing it off, you continued swaying to the music, feeling slightly more at ease now.

“How’s school here, princess Y/N? You enjoying?” His tone was respectful, almost like he was talking to a friend he met after many years,

“Nah,” You rolled your eyes, making Hyunjin look at you like a confused puppy, waiting for you to explain. Hyunjin wasn’t used to someone hearing they disliked royal training, especially when he’d found it nothing but enjoying.

“It’s just the same old. “Oh go to ballroom, learn to balance books on your head, walk with grace, eat your food elegantly, dance again. sleep early!” Your voice was a hushed whisper, yet mocking. “You’d think that’s what I should’ve expected, but I wanted to learn sword fighting, horse riding, that kind of stuff. They barely let us outdoors here.” You tsked, watching as Hyunjin bit his lip again.

“What?” You asked, figuring that Hyunjin knew you’d noticed his action.

He chuckled. “Your stepping on my toes.”

“Oh crap I am?” You looed down, pulling your feet farther away from his as an apology crawled up your tongue, but before you could shoot it out, Hyunjin stopped you. “It’s okay.”

“Maybe I’ll step on yours and we’ll get even?” He winked, a smug look on is face as he waited for your reply. The music was basically forgotten at his point, both f you lost in a world where nobody else existed, just you, your thoughts, your words, and your giggles. You mirrored his playful expression. “I’d like to see you try.”

Hyunjin didn’t break eye contact, and you felt a small flutter in your chest when he did so. He lifted his foot, but you were too quick, you moved your foot away the moment he settled his own down, and then for revenge, you stepped on his foot once again.

“Ouch!” Hyunjin shrieked, and thanks to the loud music. no one could hear him. You hadn’t stomped too hard thankfully, but Hyunjin’s cute expression when he crinkled his nose sent you into a spiral of giggles.

“Hey! You’re supposed to treat people with kindness” He pouted, twirling you around once again as he led you to the next spot in the ballroom. Your feet basically slid around at this point, and you didn’t even mind your heels.

“Yeah? That’s what you get for trying to step on a princess’ toes.” You rested your head against his shoulder, muffling your giggles as well as calming your heart at the sudden sprut of confidence.

Hyunjin’s grip on your waist tightened, making you straighten up, faint heat dusting your cheeks. The dance was almost coming to an end, and you wished it could go on forever. You hadn’t had such fun in a while, but unfortunately, Hyunjin didn’t belong to this academy. Sadly, the dance would come to an end.

“Maybe I can teach you horse riding?” Hyunjin inquired, a curious glint in his eyes as he watched your reaction. You gasped in shock.

“Y-you’d be willing to do that?”

“Of course, if you’re up for it.”

“How will we even do that?”

“I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t sneaked out of the premises at night.”

You remained silent.

“Thought so.” Hyunjin winked again. “So, what do you say?”

You twirled around one more time, moving slightly closer to him when you came back this time. The next moment, the music stopped, and you murmured to him with a smirk pulled at your lips.

“I’d be on top of the world.”

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

[auroracalisto]

what it would be like to date jaskier

listen, okay?  i am absolutely in love with this man.  it was only a matter of time before i decided to do a headcanon thing with him.  

he would be such a sweetheart and no one can tell me otherwise.  

he would literally do anything and everything for you

that includes: helping you cross a river, giving you food, making sure that your hair is properly in place before the two (maybe three, if you’re with geralt) go into someplace, making sure that you have a proper sleeping arrangement, literally anything that you can name. 

oh my god, the songs he would write for you

literally

he would be the sweetest thing and a lot of the songs he would write for you would be sappy but loveable love ballads and you cannot tell me otherwise.  again with that phrase.  but totally necessary. 

god.  jaskier would just.  be incredible.  

he would always want to tell you how beautiful you are.  how impeccable your fashion sense is, how amazing your hair would smell after you washed it with the oils he bought you from the town you had just passed through.  there are so many things that he would compliment you on and a simple list like this does not give it any sort of justice. 

if the two of you were to travel with geralt, it could go one of two ways.  either he would be defending you against geralt, or you would be defending him against geralt.  he would much rather prefer the first choice, but the first time that you had defended him against geralt, he thought that his heart was about to burst out of his chest. 

like.  WHAT.

who is this magnificent creature that has the tongue of a snake and a bite so hard that it would make the Witcher himself shut up?  

you.  of course it would be you.

it would lowkey make him fall even more in love with you; more than what he already had been

jaskier would wonder many times how he got so lucky as to have you as a partner.  he would wonder how the universe knew that you were exactly what he needed.  

he didn’t know what you thought about that.  in fact, he never really told you that.  the only time he would ever come close to expressing his doubts to you is when he would be like,, so drunk that geralt has to help him back to camp

and that doesn’t happen a hella lot when you’re traveling with them

jlasjdflasjf imagine IMAGINE the ballads that he would write for you (i legit already said this, but seriously, just take a moment to imagine.  he wrote pretty banging music for geralt.  he literally made geralt famous because of his ballads.  what kind of songs would jaskier make for you, the love of his life?  he truly would have to keep you around for a while if he starts writing music about you.  perhaps it’s another thing that would thrust his own name into the world of storytelling.  his love for you and the way that he so effortlessly portrayed your love life with the words that flowed from his lips and the notes that struck under his fingertips).  

imagine those late night conversations that the two of you would have when you’re both so tired and mentally exhausted but you just keep pushing yourselves os you can spend more time together

“[your name], do you think frogs have feelings?”

you couldn’t help your giggle.  “what kind of question is that?  i would imagine so.  why wouldn’t they?  they can croak, eat, have babies—”

“—frogs can’t have babies.”

“uh.  uh, they have eggs, do they not?  would you even call them eggs?  is that the proper word for that?”

“i don’t—“

“—if the two of you do not shut the fuck up, i will personally rip out both of your tongues.”

after geralt’s lovely interjection, of course the two of you would stop talking.  but while you became tired and continued giggling, jaskier would just watch as you fell asleep, wondering how in the world he got so lucky as to have you by his side.  

jaskier would legit be the best boyfriend ever and i stand by that.

thank you for coming to my ted talk, good night (or morning, idk what time it is when you decided to read this trainwreck of a post)

[trekkiepirate]

Master of All

My Witcher Secret Santa gift for @motionalocean! @thewitchersecretsanta

Crossposted to AO3 HERE

nearly 9.2K of BAMF!Jaskier and Geralt being progressively more smitten. 5 Times Jaskier Is Good At Things Geralt Didn't Expect And The 1 Thing He Knew Jaskier Was Good At. PG-13 for bad words, canon-typical violence, and the +1 Under cut because it’s hella long.

1. Pickpocketing

“Well,” Jaskier huffed, “I sincerely hope you missed one of those ghouls and they come back and eat this whole rotten village. Starting with that alderman. No, starting with his appalling son who has the AUDACITY to claim he was a better singer than me. My gods, Geralt, I don’t even think I’ll complain of the lack of a roof and a bed this evening. Sleeping under the stars with my very dear friend-“

“-not friends,” Geralt huffed.

The interruption entirely ignored by Jaskier. “-who is twice, thrice, no no no ten, a hundred, a THOUSAND times the man that they could ever dream of being. Asking a man-“

“-not a man,” Geralt said, expecting, correctly, Jaskier would ignore this comment too.

Jaskier, instead, whirled and looked at Geralt like he had punched him. Actually, he looked more upset than when Geralt has, in fact, punched him. “Of course you’re a man.” Jaskier tilted his head. “Well, I cannot say for certain as I have not yet seen you… in a state of undress. Though not that the having of a penis makes one a man. It’s more about your own identity-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, sliding two now-skinned hares onto sticks over the fire.

“You’re a man because that’s who you tell the world you are.”

“I don’t.”

It seemed only every other sentence was going to get through Jaskier’s tirades as he stopped speaking.

For a few blissful seconds. “Geralt,” Jaskier put his hands on his hips, voice exasperated as if he were a teacher who expected better of his pupil. “Geralt,” he said again, “you are the best man I have ever met. Smarter than any scholar, kinder than any priest, more noble than any titled twat.”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier seemed so sincere. “We’ve just met.”

“Right, well, we’ve actually been traveling together for four months, but I imagine time feels different when you’re basically immortal, so we’ll let that slide.”

A frown twisted Geralt’s face. “You’re young. You can’t have met that many people.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and put on what he called his Viscount voice. Though why he’d pretend to be a Viscount was beyond Geralt. “I studied for years at the most prestigious and widely attended university on the Continent. I have met plenty of people, Geralt. And you are still the best one I know.”

Geralt hmmed. “Your good opinion won’t buy us a roof and a bed.”

A grin like a succubus, pretty and dangerous, spread over Jaskier’s face. He reached into his trousers and produced a bag of coins. “It might do.”

The same bag of coins that the alderman had refused to give Geralt after he cleared a nest of ghouls from a field. He’d taken three crowns and told Geralt that it couldn’t be worth the whole bag if it only took him an hour.

As it was, most of that hour was building the bomb he’d need to destroy the nest. The ghouls had been sated by feeding on villagers who’d tried to kill them and were slow.

“Where-” Geralt shook his head, he knew the answer to that one. “How?”

Jaskier tossed the bag in the air and caught it. He continued doing so as he spoke. “Remember when I gestured around his, frankly gaudy and most certainly fake, prized vase?”

Geralt stared at the boy. “You distracted him by making him think you might break his vase and then stole his coin out of his pocket.”

“Exactly! Really it’s his fault for so blatantly putting the coin away while looking down his nose at you.” Jaskier grinned bright and extracted one coin from the bag before handing it to Geralt.

“Thief’s fee?” Geralt nodded at the coin.

Jaskier’s smile got even more mischievous. He balanced the coin on his thumb, then flicked it.

It hit Geralt in the chest and fell into his lap.

“Well, tossing a coin is the chorus of the song anyway,” he winked, then spun around, grabbing a cooked hare and blowing on it before taking a large bite. “They’ll see,” he said as he chewed, “my song will become a hit! ‘Toss a Coin’ will be sung the entire length and breadth of the Continent and men like that will be the pariahs, the outcasts. Anyone who denigrates a witcher will be spit upon in the streets. See how they like that!” Jaskier’s next bite was near savage, tearing the meat from the bone. But the next moment, he grinned over the fire at Geralt. “And until it does become a hit and you are lauded as the hero you are, and don’t say you’re not a hero, I see your mouth opening and you can very well shut it again for all the credence I’m going to give you saying you’re not a hero.” He gestured wildly with his hare, grease dripping slowly down his hand and forearm, on display since he’d rolled up the sleeves as his chemise on such a warm night.

Geralt found his next breath a little harder to take as he stared at the bare forearm. He hmmed and took up his own meal.

“So until that day, I will gladly make sure you are properly paid for your work,” he waggled the fingers of his left hand at Geralt. “One way or another.”

“Don’t get caught,” Geralt said. “I won’t break you out of any jail cell you land in.”

Jaskier laughed. “That is a bald-faced lie. You did the exact thing two towns ago and that wasn’t even me risking my freedom and safety for you to be given all you deserve.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, then quickly back to his hare when he found the expression on Jaskier’s face too… too much like something warm settling in his stomach. He ate the rest of the hare as fast as he could.

No one had ever said Geralt deserved anything. Not anything nice, anyway. But Jaskier seemed to think that Geralt was a kind of hero in a tale and wanted him to be treated as such.

Fool’s errand, he thought. Jaskier was young and didn’t know how the world worked outside of the high walls of a university. He’d learn. Until then…

“Fine.”

Having gone back to eating, Jaskier was silent for a moment as if trying to recall where the conversation was picking up from. “What’s fine? Oh! Me stealing when people refuse to pay you your just wage. Of course it’s fine. Don’t worry your pretty head for a moment; I’ve never been caught yet.” He waggled his fingers in Geralt’s direction. “Dexterity is name of the game when one spends one’s life dedicated to possibly the most delicate and finnicky instrument known to man.” He looked down at his gifted elven lute like it was his flesh and blood child, so loving and soft.

When he raised his head and looked at Geralt, his adoring expression didn’t change in the least.

Geralt cleared his throat and threw the hareless stick onto the fire. ‘Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

A few more large bites and Jaskier did as he was told, snuggling into his bedroll. Which Geralt had bought him when Jaskier proved that no amount of silence or disinterest would keep him from staying at Geralt’s side, praising every deed in song. He picked up the bag of coin and wandered over to Roach to tuck it safely in her saddlebag.

The horse nickered softly and seemed to throw her head repeatedly in Jaskier’s direction.

“Don’t get attached,” Geralt scolded.

Roach tilted her head in Jaskier’s direction and kept it there.

Geralt sighed and whispered into the still night air. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He patted Roach, now seemingly satisfied, and made his way to his own bedroll, set a bit behind Jaskier’s so the bard was close to the warm fire and that anything that leapt at them from the woods would have to get through Geralt before it could get to Jaskier.

He laid there, thinking about how quickly making sure the boy warm and safe had become a priority.

2. Knowing Who The Nobles Are Everywhere They Go

“Nope,” Jaskier plucked the sun-faded paper from Geralt’s hand, ignoring Geralt’s exasperated expression. “Oh no, no, no, no. Nope, you will not be taking this. Well, you will not be taking this contract with Duke Hereward. He’s an absolute bastard and will quite surely stiff you of your deserved coin. No, we’d best find where,” he squinted at the ink, “Meadwood Farms is and go straight to the farmers themselves. Hereward will weasel his weasely way out of giving you anything. I’d gladly steal anything he might have of worth-“

Geralt glanced around, hoping no one who worked for the Duke was listening, as Jaskier did not seem to understand what the word ‘discretion’ meant.

“-alas the double-edged sword of fame means if something were to go mysteriously but deservedly missing after we took our leave, I’d find my lovely new position as a professor at Oxenfurt suddenly taken from me.” He smiled at Geralt. “I need something to do during the winter while you hide away in your Witchery mountains to do… mountainous Witchery things.”

Suppressing the urge to smile, Geralt nodded towards the inn. “I’m sure someone will know who owns the farm in there.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and began to drag him (well, steer him as if Geralt had truly not wanted to be led, there was no way the boy, barely into his twenties, could move him) towards the inn. “Good people of Ellander!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt nearly rolled his eyes.

“Your prayers to the Great Meletile have been answered,” Jaskier continued. “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, has come to aid you with your monster problems. Merely point us to Meadwood Farms and you shall soon see why Geralt is the hero of the Continent.”

Geralt was strangely glad his body no longer had the ability to blush. Jaskier’s absolute faith in Geralt was steadfast and it made something heavy and warm settle in Geralt’s chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to feel this way, to be so… cared about.

A pretty-eyed maiden made her way over to them. She smiled brightly at Jaskier. “I work at the farm. I’d be ever so glad to lead you… and the witcher there.”

The eye rolling couldn’t be controlled this time, as Jaskier immediately brightened under her attentions. “Well lead on, good miss. I presume it’s miss?”

“It is,” she giggled.

Geralt was rather glad they barely paid any heed to him as they flirted their way across town to the countryside. “What is it?” Geralt eventually asked.

Both Jaskier and the young woman, Elzbet apparently, startled as if they’d forgotten Geralt was still there. They probably had.

“The monster,” Geralt clarification. “What is it?”

Elzbet shrugged. “I didn’t see it. I do not know. Master Prospero was the one who saw it. He’s in the big house.”

Jaskier grinned. “Yes, yes, Geralt head up to see Master Prospero. Elzbet has promised to show me a most charming little corner of the barn. Apparently, there’s an owl’s nest there.”

Geralt would turn over every coin he received for the contract if there was actually an owl’s nest anywhere in the barn. All Jaskier was likely to see was up the girl’s skirts. Stomping away with a little more force than he probably needed to use, Geralt found the farm owner and got the information he needed.

It was a nest of nekkars and Geralt has cleared them all out by that night. The reward scraped together by the workers was only a third of what Hereward had promised, but it was given in gratitude and with open hands. Prospero himself was so grateful, he offered Geralt and Jaskier a room in his home for the night, as well as their dinner that night and breakfast the next morning.

Jaskier spent most of the night trying to find a suitably dirty rhyme he approved of for owl.

“Howl. Or yowl, which I will make you do if you do not put that candle out.” Geralt said at last.

“Oh you,” Jaskier tsked as he quickly scribbled down a few more lines. “You know what that Witchery magic does to me.” He winked.

Geralt buried his head further into the pillow. “Didn’t get enough with your farm girl?”

Jaskier gasped, affronted. “Excuse you, Elzbet is more than a farm girl, she is the love of my life.” He sighed dreamily. “I might stay, you know. With her.”

“Better her than me,” Geralt grumbled.

“I know you don’t truly mean those words or I’d be heartbroken beyond repair to hear you say that,” Jaskier shrugged out of his doublet and pinched out the candle flame between his licked fingers. “But what if I did? Stay?”

Geralt huffed. “You’d make a piss poor farmer.”

Jaskier laughed lightly. “Probably true.” He sighed. “Would you miss me?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said in lieu of an actual answer. “If you’re to be a farmer, you must get used to early mornings.”

Humming thoughtfully, Jaskier settled down, the line of his back just an inch away from Geralt’s in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

In the morning, Jaskier packed and took his place at Geralt’s side. He tried out lyrics and chords and by the time he and Geralt made camp that night, Jaskier had a new ballad. It was about love between a wanderer and a maiden, whom he loved but left to follow the open road he had long ago promised his heart to, his truest love.

Though he never actually sang the word road, Geralt realized as he watched Jaskier sing it a week later in a tavern. The song itself was called Walking The Path.

3. Gwent

“Dammit,” Geralt growled as he threw down his remaining card. A clear weather was useless when there were no weather cards in effect. The score was tied, but his opponent played with a Nilfgaardian deck and therefore won all ties.

The smarmy git was smiling at him like a smarmy git. “Fair is fair,” he held out a hand, “I’ll be taking your unique card now.”

It was lying next to the card the other man had anted up in the center of the table, but clearly humiliation was part of his winnings.

Geralt picked up the card and dropped it into the other man’s hand. “Here.”

“Better luck next time,” the bastard called out and he gestured another player to take Geralt’s place.

He still had all the coin he’d won, the cards had been the only prizes in that last round, so Geralt went over to the bar and ordered two ales and a glass of wine.

By the time he was picking up the second mug of ale, Jaskier had finished his set and bounded over, downing the wine in one go as always and ordering himself another.

“What’s this face? Is my singing truly that bad? Please know, if you say anything about pie, I will be forced to waste this lovely wine on your rude head.” Geralt grunted. “Singing was fine. Lost my game is all.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “You were winning when I last checked in on you.” He looked at his glass. “Do you need some coin? I got a fair amount tonight, people around here are very anti-Nilfgaard and my lovely little ditty went a treat. You must have heard the cheers.”

Geralt nodded. He had. In between games, he’d kept his eye on Jaskier. The djinn incident was two weeks ago, but this was Jaskier’s first performance since he almost lost his voice. And life.

The bard had been nervous and Geralt hadn’t even started playing gwent until the anxious scent faded into his usual confident burst of sundried linen and mint. The crowd was just as adoring, just as loud as always. Jaskier’s voice hadn’t suffered any permanent damage and Geralt was relieved. After all, his unthinking words had been the reason Geralt had almost lost… that Jaskier had almost lost his voice.

“Not coin,” Geralt said at last, draining his mug. “Lost my best card though. Drew an unlucky hand and couldn’t seem to bring it back around. Ended in a draw, but the bastard played as Nilfgaard so he took the tie.”

Jaskier frowned. “No chance to get it back?”

Geralt shrugged. “He plays here a lot, apparently. Has rules about only one match per opponent.” He shook his head. “Nothing for it.”

Putting down his half full glass, Jaskier nodded. “Right, well then.” He turned and headed towards the tables set up for cards.

“Jaskier?” Geralt blinked at the space the bard had occupied a second ago. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier was already standing in front of the bastard.

Geralt couldn’t remember his name, wasn’t even sure he’d been told who he’d been playing against.

Jaskier’s relaxed ease was gone, instead his shoulders hunched up, making him look for all the world like an angry cat about to take a chunk out of the next person who tried to pet it. “Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hissed out like the very letters of the name offended him.

Huh. Geralt looked at the man who’d defeated him.

Valdo looked up with a beatific smile. “Julian, is that you? I did think I heard your particular brand of empty words and trite notes in that boyish tenor of yours.”

Now no longer just upset about the card, Geralt’s fingers twitched towards his sword. Sure, he’d not exactly complimented Jaskier’s songs recently, but his insult was born of trying to offend the man into shutting up so Geralt could find the damnable djinn and get some fucking sleep.

Which, looking back, was a useless attempt as Jaskier had been drunk and Drunk Jaskier was even more prone to rambling than Sober Jaskier.

“Normally, I’d be quite glad to just punch you in the nose,” Jaskier smirked, “again.”

Taking a closer look, Geralt did notice that Valdo’s nose was slightly crooked. As if broken a few too many times.

“But if seems you have some pretentious rule about not allowing people to win their losings back from you like an honourable gentleman would.” Jaskier crossed his arms. “So I’ll play you for Geralt’s card.”

Valdo blinked blankly. “Geralt?”

Jaskier clucked his tongue as he sat down. “My goodness, you are out of touch. Everyone on the Continent knows I sing of Geralt of Rivia, heroic Witcher of legend and my very best friend in the whole world.”

Geralt didn’t bother to object.

“Then again, you rarely get to leave Cidaris, don’t you?” Jaskier produced his gwent deck and began to shuffle it. “I often wonder how you’d do in a town you didn’t grow up in? But then your father’s money wouldn’t be there to buy you a court position now would it? Has he bought you a title yet?”

Though Jaskier couldn’t see it, perhaps because Jaskier couldn’t see it, Geralt grinned broadly at that.

Valdo grinned back nastily, revealing he had a missing canine tooth as well. “If he did, at least one of us would use their title to make a difference to their homeland. Tell me, Julian,” he laid out his deck and dealt himself a hand, “when did you last visit Lettenhove? Or do you still think wandering amongst the common folk singing dirty songs in dirty taverns is the proper way a viscount should behave? Whatever would your mother day?”

Geralt watched Jaskier’s grip on his own hand tighten, just slightly. “Just play, Marx.”

Huh. Apparently Jaskier wasn’t making the whole viscount thing up.

“Oh now now,” Valdo laid down his hand, “we haven’t set terms yet. You want the Witcher’s card, right? This one,” he picked it up and flipped it along the back of his hand. “But what will you bet? I never play for anything as gauche as coin. Some of us get wages, not a handful of coins in a dusty lute case. Actually,” Valdo leaned forward, “that’s what we’ll play for. Your pretty lute. See if you can perform in royal courts without your maaaagical little instrument.”

“No.”

Jaskier and Valdo both snapped their attention to Geralt.

“No,” he repeated. Jaskier’s lute was his livelihood, his most precious possession. Geralt wanted his card back, but not at that price. Jaskier was a clever player, Geralt knew, but Valdo’s deck was evil, full of spies and scorch cards. “Not the lute. Choose something else.”

Valdo shook his head. “Don’t think I will,” he turned back to Jaskier. “You bet your lute or I walk away and your witcher never sees his card again.”

Geralt put a hand out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder and urge him up to their room, but Jaskier just nodded. “It’s a bet. Play, Marx.”

Worry came over Geralt and he found himself pacing behind Jaskier, trying not to look at his cards because then he’d know if Jaskier had a good hand and if he didn’t…

If Jaskier lost his lute, he’d be crushed. Geralt would buy him another; he’d have to. But to lose the lute Filavandrel had given him… Jaskier always said it brought him luck, sounded sweeter than all others, even when slightly out of tune.

“It will always remind me of the day my life changed forever,” he’d smile at it, then at Geralt.

Geralt still hadn’t worked out whether he meant the day he wrote the song that made him famous or the day he learned the world was much more complicated than his human-written studies might have led him to believe.

Geralt watched as Jaskier’s hand dwindled to two cards.

Valdo still had half a dozen.

It was the last hand; both had won a turn and this would decide the winner.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Geralt closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to meditate or at least clear his mind. He still had his winnings from the other matches he’d played tonight. He had no idea how much a lute cost, but he’s fairly sure he’d be able to cover it. Did this town even have a shop that might carry one? It was only just inside the borders of Cidaris, not a particularly large village now that Geralt thought about it.

“You,” he heard a hiss, “cheated.”

Jaskier was smiling. “I did no such thing. I merely used your same tactics against you.” He held out a hand. “The card. Unless you’d like to try and win it back?”

Valdo spit out some words in Elder as he threw the card at Jaskier and stomped out like a petulant child.

Geralt was rusty and only caught every few words. Something about Jaskier’s bedroom habits and something else about being a pathetic, he thinks the word was supposed to mean hound or something like that. One phrase that Geralt did catch, as he’d heard it assigned to him once or twice before translated to ‘unlovable’.

Jaskier sat frozen through the tirade and when Geralt rounded the table, he found Jaskier’s eyes to be far more full of wrath and pain than it ought to for someone who had just won a game against a rival.

His face schooled into a triumphant grin, though there was still a sheen of sadness in his eyes. “Your card, Geralt.”

Geralt took it gently, sliding out his deck into order to tuck it away. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, if I lost I was thinking of just stabbing him and making a run for it,” Jaskier waved a hand.

“It’s not that important,” Geralt insisted, ten minutes later as they readied for bed. “It wasn’t worth risking your lute. If you’d lost it. It’s more precious to you than everything, else you’ve said so yourself.”

Jaskier looked up from folding his doublet and smiled, not his cheeky performance grins but a small, genuine thing. “Not everything. Now,” he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots, “may I see the card I won from Marx in what is going to be immortalized into an incredibly epic song as soon as I come up with a rhyme for ‘thrice broken nose’?”

Geralt took it out and handed it over.

It was a fairly new card for the Northern Kingdoms deck. An ashen haired little girl pouted in a frilly pink dress, clearly displeased at being painted.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Princess of Cintra,” Jaskier read. He handed back the card but his hand hovered, as if he might reach out for Geralt’s shoulder or even his cheek. “Yes, this is something worth taking a risk for, no question. …15 points and all,” he said after a moment, when he realized Geralt wasn’t responded. “Course I missed the opportunity of stabbing Marx, but I’ve no doubt the chance will arise again someday.” He laid down and stared at the ceiling.

“Jaskier,” Geralt began, finding his words dry up when those beautiful (when did he start thinking of Jaskier’s eyes as beautiful?) blue eyes blinked up at him. “I… th- you played well.”

A pleased and nearly shy look came over Jaskier’s face. “I know how much you enjoy it. Just wanted to be sure I’d be a worthy opponent for you, dearest witcher.” He stared at Geralt a moment longer, as if looking for something in his face. He shook his head slightly as if coming out of a dream. “Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier turned and faced the wall.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed as he laid down, facing the opposite wall. “Goodnight. Jaskier.”

4. Sailing

Geralt surveyed the people sitting around the table and frowned to notice one missing. “Where’s Jaskier?”

“Went fishing,” Eskel said off hand, jumping right back into his conversation with Coën.

“He what?”

Lambert looked up from his gwent match with Ciri, “He took my boat and went fishing. Said he wouldn’t be much help in a hunt, but this way he wouldn’t be and I quote, ‘useless’ and he could be a ‘worthy winter companion’.”

Geralt winced. He’d apologized for his harsh words on the mountain and Jaskier had forgiven him. But it seems some of the hurt from that day still lingered.

“Where did he go?”

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look.

“I don’t know his coordinates,” Lambert answered.

“Dammit!” Geralt barely kept himself from hitting the table; he didn’t want to scare Ciri, who had put her cards down and was watching the scene with interest. “You know what’s out there. Drowners and bears and I’m not sure we entirely destroyed that harpy nest from last winter and-“

“And he assured us he could handle it,” Eskel said.

Geralt growled. “He’s human! He could get hurt.”

Coën piped up at last. “Jaskier went north from the lakeside hut.” When all eyes turned to him, Coën shrugged, “He wanted to know where the good fishing spots are. I told him.”

Spinning on his heel, Geralt headed for the door to the keep, grabbing a silver sword from a rack of them on the way. He had a location and a direction. He could pick up Jaskier’s scent from there.

Geralt hadn’t bothered to grab a coat and the winter winds bit through his leather and linen clothes almost immediately. It didn’t matter. Jaskier had been alone in the wilds for who knows how long and even without the monsters and the beasts, there were dangers. The bard could overbalance and tumble into the icy waters. What if he hadn’t thought to grab warmer clothes? Geralt picked up speed, wishing he’d thought to bring Roach. Wishing he’d thought about anything other than running to get to Jaskier and…

And he wasn’t sure what would happen after. He just… needed to know that Jaskier was all right. That he was safe. He hadn’t been safe, Geralt sighed to himself as he ran, after Geralt had snapped at him.

Geralt was sure it was just another spat; that he’d arrive back at camp and Jaskier would be there very pointedly writing a song about a heartless cad who was mean to his very best friend in the whole wide world. Jaskier had a good half dozen songs like it already, this would be one more.

Only he wasn’t there. Geralt arrived to find Roach eating the last of the apples Jaskier had packed just for her and giving Geralt a very judgmental look. “Leave off,” he growled at her as he packed up what was left and led her down the mountain. “We’ll pick him up in town and you two can whisper about how mean I am.”

But Jaskier wasn’t in town either. Nor could anyone say which way he went. Geralt cursed then like he cursed now, seeing the roof of the hut by the lake and yet no sign of Jaskier.

Bad things happened when Jaskier went off alone. Geralt shook his head to rid himself of the image of Jaskier, strung up by his hands, those beautiful talented livelihood-making hands threatened and Jaskier said nothing, gave no secrets away. Some because he didn’t know and some because he…

Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier didn’t break, except he does. The man is brave, he’s stupid and criminally loud, but he is also the most loyal man Geralt has ever known. Steel dressed in silk.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Geralt picked up Jaskier’s scent. It’s his soap and sweat and Geralt knows it like he knows his own.

Jaskier has the only boat and Geralt doesn’t fancy a swim, so he sticks to the shoreline, eyes casting about for any signs of danger or Jaskier.

Geralt very specifically tries to avoid thinking about danger AND Jaskier, which means that is all his brain will show him. Images of Jaskier surrounded by drowners, of a boat floating listlessly because the man at the rudder had been torn to pieces by harpies, a bear raising its blood-covered maw with a scrap of bright fabric caught in its teeth.

The last thing he’s thinking is that he will come upon Jaskier peacefully hauling a net of fish into the boat, adding the larger ones to a bucket next to him. So of course, that’s how the story goes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called, eyes as round and surprised as the fish wriggling its last throes in his hands. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

Jaskier dropped the net thoughtlessly onto the boat’s hull and with a series of quick and efficient movements, had the boat floating over to where Geralt stood on the shore. The bard hopped over the side and hurried to Geralt, hands twitching as if he wanted to check the witcher over for any injuries. “Geralt?”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

A frown coming to rest on his face, Jaskier put his hands on his slim hips. “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You’re going to catch your death without a coat, yes I know,” he said as Geralt opened his mouth, “witchers can’t catch colds, immune systems, mutagens, blah blah,” he went back to the boat and finished sorting the fish, “blah. What could possibly have happened that you hurried all the way from Kaer Morhen without so much as a single piece of armour or a cloak?” He turned, suddenly serious. “Is everyone all right? Is Ciri all right? She’s not ill, is she? Did she take a tumble on the training course?”

Touched by how much Jaskier cares about Ciri, despite having known her a relatively short time, Geralt shook his head. “She’s fine. Everyone is fine.”

“Then what in the name of Meletile, Freya and any other four gods you would care to name are you doing here?”

Geralt wished he’d spent less time thinking about the past and more time thinking about the future as he ran. He’s starting to get used to that feeling in general. “You weren’t there.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, then softened. “Surely someone told you I’d gone fishing? I let everyone know. I didn’t,” he smiled sardonically, “think you’d even notice.”

“Why?”

Head tilted like a puppy, Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Why did I go fishing or why did I think you wouldn’t notice? I went fishing because everyone does something at Kaer Morhen. I don’t,” he sighed, “have anything but music to offer and I’m well aware of your opinions on that. I assume your fellow witchers share them and also your witcher hearing, hence my lute case gathers dust. I do, however, know how to sail a boat, catch some fish, and cook said fish. So I thought I would make myself useful. As for you not noticing, well, I’m hardly your first priority here and,” he quickly added, “I understand completely. I shouldn’t be. Ciri comes first, always, of course. Hell, I wasn’t your first priority when we traveled together. Roach was. Speaking of, where is she? You couldn’t have tied her up too far away now.” Jaskier looked at the tree line as if a large mare would suddenly appear.

“I… didn’t bring her,” Geralt said, shame slowly rising in him at Jaskier’s words. Geralt couldn’t refute any of them. He hadn’t noticed the lack of music, assuming Jaskier still played in his room. As for when they travelled together, it hurt deep in Geralt’s gut that Jaskier thought he wasn’t a priority to Geralt. His words were often harsh, but Geralt made sure Jaskier had enough food and hunted more to ensure that he would. He bought Jaskier a warmer, if less stylish, cloak that had seen the bard through most of his twenties.

Jaskier had hefted a bucket of fish in his arms and just stared blankly at Geralt. “You… didn’t bring Roach? You, what, walked all the way here?”

Geralt’s eye twitched. “I ran.”

“For Meletile’s sake, why?”

“There’s…” Geralt cleared his throat, “drowners around. Sometimes. And bears. There might be some harpies left over from a nest we destroyed last winter.”

Jaskier settled the bucket back into the boat. “Were you… worried about me?”

Geralt nodded. Words were awkward and he wished to use as few as possible.

A look not unlike something like wonder crossed Jaskier’s face. “Oh. I… oh. I’m,” he spread his arms as if presenting himself, “fine. As you see. I… guess we should head back.” He gestured towards the boat. “I’ve a decently sized haul. I can make use of this for a while.” Jaskier stood in the shallow water, “Climb on in, and I’ll take us back.”

Geralt didn’t move.

“Oh,” Jaskier looked abashed. “Unless you’d prefer to steer?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “You can steer.”

He could. As Geralt had seen, Jaskier clearly knew his way not only around fishery, but sailing.

Jaskier nodded again to the boat and Geralt stepped in, settling at the bow.

Proving him right, Jaskier shoved them into the water and hauled himself over the side, quickly settling at the rudder and turning them around to head back towards Kaer Morhen.

Geralt cast a glance into the bucket of fish, seeing a few other smaller ones surrounding it. Several fish stared unblinkingly at Geralt as he stared back.

Jaskier hummed then cut himself off when he realized he was doing so, with a nervous glance at Geralt.

He wanted to say something. Tell Jaskier the humming was fine with him. That he should get out his lute and play for them. That Geralt wanted to hear his music, his voice. That the fillingless pie comment all those years ago hadn’t been a slight to Jaskier’s singing but the content of his songs, so many full of dirty humour or exaggerated lies.

All he could manage was “You sail good.”

Staring just as wide-eyed and unblinking as the fish, Jaskier slowly said, “Thank… you… I, uh,” he looked back at the water, “grew up on the coast. Been sailing since I was strong enough to move a rudder. Fishing even longer.”

“Why didn’t you fish that day? You could have caught your own.” Geralt winced as his words were said. Jaskier wasn’t focusing on that day with the djinn. He’d need to be specific.

But Jaskier was already answering, “I was heartbroken and near blind drunk,” he laughed, light and slightly forced. “I’d have fallen in as soon as I bent over to grab the net, hence why I was hoping you would share your haul.” He pursed his lips. “Rather wish I hadn’t, looking back.”

Geralt found himself stuck for words again. They came easy with his brothers in arms. Even with Ciri, he found himself managing to find words of comfort or encouragement when it seemed she needed them.

But Jaskier had always made things complicated for Geralt, since the day they’d met. He could annoy Geralt like nobody and nothing else; Jaskier got himself into trouble on a fairly regular basis, was fussy about his clothes and hair, and could talk the hind legs off a donkey while never saying a blessed thing of worth.

But damn if Geralt didn’t want him there, in all his messy and loud glory. He wanted Jaskier safe and, as recent events had shown, Jaskier was safest at Geralt’s side, because Geralt would move heaven and earth, call upon any help and damn the cost, to keep Jaskier so.

Geralt was in love with Jaskier. The revelation felt both sudden and slow at once. Like he’d been falling in love so quietly and steadily, there was no way to point to the day or hour that he’d actually fallen.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier, lost in daydreams, started. “What’s the matter now?”

“I,” Geralt scrambled for something to say. Should he tell Jaskier he loved him? No, that was absurd. Jaskier, for all his lingering stares and the near constant scent of lust that used to surround him, didn’t love Geralt as more than a friend, if that. Lust was not love, Geralt knew that well. He was with him for the songs and the safety. Sure, Jaskier cared for Geralt, he said it often enough, but he didn’t love him. Like how Geralt was realizing he loved Jaskier.

Who was staring at him expectantly.

At least this time, Geralt kept his annoyed at himself ‘fuck’ inside his head. “I was thinking of all the times we could have taken the river, instead of the roads.” He found words, though he wasn’t sure they were the right ones. “If I’d known you could sail. We could have… sailed. Before now.”

Jaskier dropped his eyes to the bottom of the boat, then turned away as if needing to check where he was going, as if he hadn’t been steering blind for the past several minutes, instinctive. “Ah. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you. Though we weren’t often by the,” a slight hesitation, “the coast.”

“You’re doing very well.” Geralt twitched his lips into as big a smile as he could manage and still felt it came up short.

But Jaskier’s visible cheek rose in a smile. “Thank you, Geralt.”

5. Sword Fighting

A whirl of light green and silver flashed from Geralt’s side, a movement near dancelike in its fluidity, accompanied by a whisper that sounded almost like counting.

Geralt turned just in time to see the bandit’s surprised face before his cleaved straight through torso fell, leaving the remains of his trunk and his lower body to fall to the ground a couple seconds after his head and shoulders had.

Jaskier stood behind the now deceased bandit, blood splattered all over his outfit and his face, still twisted into a mask of wrath. The sword in his hand was red with blood, silver glinting through the drops.

Geralt thinks it’s possible he has never been so turned on in his whole life and he’s going to have a good long talk with himself about why that might be later on.

The moment passed and Jaskier lowered the sword, wiping it on the deserter’s trousers. “Oh blast, sorry about that Geralt, I’ll clean all the blood off properly once we get back to camp. No worries. I know it’s silver for monsters,” he sneered at the dead man and then at the others who had foolishly decided to try to rob a witcher and his companion, “but I rather think it’s still apt. I’ll pay for the repair at the next blacksmith we come across if I damaged it too much.” He held the blade at eye level and examined it. “I think it’s mostly all right and Geralt are you okay? They didn’t manage to knock you in the head, did they? You’ve been staring at me for the past few minutes.”

Geralt was trying to sear the image of Jaskier looking over the blade as if, as if he KNOWS what to look for in a damaged sword. A sword he had used to kill a man creeping up on Geralt. A sword he had welded with deadly and graceful precision. Geralt’s own sword.

A very, very long talk. Possibly in the cold stream they’d just come from before they’d been ambushed.

Jaskier leaned past Geralt to sheathe the sword into its place across the witcher’s back and the spicy smell of anger had dissipated completely into Jaskier’s usual chamomile and honey concern scent. Underlaid by the copper of the blood.

It took a good deal of self-discipline for Geralt to not outright whine when Jaskier laid a warm hand on his cheek, tilting his head to check for injuries.

“Your pupils are very round, darling,” Jaskier said, the endearment he used so often sounded like music to Geralt. “Are you injured? I could grab you a potion if you are. Or maybe you’re just tired.” Jaskier dropped his hand and turned back to where they had laid down their belongings when the first men broke through the cover of the trees, using speed and surprise over strategy.

Geralt was sure he’d had them all until… until Jaskier killed the man who had managed to sneak up on him. Who would have put a sword through Geralt if not for Jaskier’s quick action and Geralt circled back to the image of Jaskier, bloody and snarling like a feral animal as he cut the man down with no hesitation.

A very, very long talk in a very, very cold stream.

Jaskier whistled and Roach came from her hiding spot in the trees. He patted her neck and dug through her saddlebags. “Geralt, are you out of Swallow? We have the spirit and the celandine but I think we might need to head towards the coast so you can cut down some drowners for their brains.” He smiled brightly. “Maybe they’ll be a contract for them as well. And a tavern that appreciates fine music. We could have a va- a very nice day. Or two.” Jaskier ducked his head and pink bloomed in his cheeks.

Geralt found his hand lifting of its own accord and landing on Jaskier’s shoulder.

The bard turned expectantly, then frowned when after a moment Geralt didn’t say or do anything else. “Geralt?” His voice was soft, the scent of his concern drew stronger. “Geralt, are you sure you’re okay? You seem stunned or something. Are you sure you didn’t take a hit to the head?”

“Sword,” Geralt said at last.

“He speaks,” Jaskier smiled briefly. “He speaks nonsense, but he speaks. What about a sword? I already told you I’d take care of any repairs needed after my impromptu maneuver. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage done. It wasn’t even that difficult. You have very good moves, dear.”

Geralt blinked as he realized where he’d seen the move Jaskier had performed. It was one he’d been taught at the School of The Wolf. Jaskier used one of Geralt’s own moves. One of his Witcher moves. To save his life. “That was… that was a witcher move. How did you…” he couldn’t even finish his question.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve followed you for over two decades, Geralt. On and off, sure, but still. I’ve seen you fight nearly every creature you could come across. Including bastards like those,” he nonchalantly tossed his head towards the dead men on the ground, his fringe flicking back into his eyes boyishly. “I memorized the moves you use. Granted, I’ve mostly practiced on training dummies and sparring partners, but I’ve run across my fair share of evil and desperate men before.”

“That… wasn’t your first kill?”

“Gods no,” Jaskier tilted his head and scrunched up his nose as he calculated. “Maybe my… dozenth? Or so. Now I tried not to pick up a sword unless necessary but that gutless bastard,” he spit at the man’s bisected body, “was in your blind spot. You probably would have managed to parry, but I didn’t want to take the chance.” Jaskier smiled. “Good thing too, now that we know you’re out of Swallow. Here,” he held out a canteen of water, “drink this. Get your strength back.”

Geralt took the canteen and drank slowly to give himself time to readjust his worldview on Jaskier. “Did you… count? When you were…”

Jaskier nodded. “Oh yes. Your movements are so like a dancer’s that I memorized them to a beat.” He smirked. “I’ll make a ballad out of them some day. I’m still in the habit of the counting, but eventually I’ll stop needing that, I suppose.”

“Right,” Geralt said, nodding as if he wasn’t imaging Jaskier, in plain shirt and tight trousers, sparring with Geralt on the grounds of Kaer Morhen. A blink and it was a different kind of sparring. In a bedroom. “Huh.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, as he dug back through the saddlebag, “there’s some White Raffard’s if push comes to shove. Makes sense after that last nest of nekkars. Frightful creatures by the way, possibly my least favourite of them all. Though you’re low on White Honey as well, so hopefully we can find a herbalist and stock up a bit before you have to do any major fighting. ”I’m glad now that I all but raided Oxenfurt’s gardens before I joined you for Spring. Got plenty of honeysuckle in my bag and I’m sure we can find some white myrtle with no problem this time of year. Where’s your alcohest, dear? I’m sure Lambert didn’t let you leave Kaer Morhen without every type of spirit known to man.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, unable to take it anymore. “We need to get back to camp.”

Jaskier whirled around and looked at Geralt then up at the sky, the sun slowly descending in the late afternoon light. “Oh you’re right. Best head back now before we lose the light. Pity we had to have that fight after the nice splash we’d had in that stream. Do you think there’s time to wash again before we head back?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes. Let’s do that first, getting clean again. That’s a very, very good idea.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, “I didn’t expect that answer from Mr Uses Monster Guts As Shampoo.”

“We’re going to need to get very clean,” Geralt said, “because as soon as we get back to camp I am going to fuck you.”

Jaskier froze. “Whaaaat did you just say? Geralt, I think I misheard you.”

Geralt shrugged. “Or you can fuck me. After seeing you fight like that, I’m letting you choose how we do it.”

“Seeing me fight.” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find which of the many words he had at his disposal he wished to use.

“Or I could just suck you off, if you’d prefer that instead.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Geralt… Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde and I have never been more grateful for the night Vesemir got drunk and shared stories of your youth, I need you to be very, very serious about that offer.” Jaskier licked his lips. “Because I would very much like to take you up on it and if… if it’s just for the night, I don’t rightly think we should risk our… ye gods, you’ve never even called me your friend and here you are offering sex as if… is this just because you feel obligated? I’m sure you would have moved just in time but I couldn’t risk letting that man hurt you and-“

Geralt reached out and pulled Jaskier close, which shut the bard up. A trick Geralt was wishing he’d let himself try before. “I am very serious. If you want it to be for the night, it’s just for the night. It could be a more… formal arrangement if you’d prefer that.”

Jaskier dropped his head to Geralt’s shoulder and breathed out heavily. “I died, didn’t I? I misjudged the distance and the bandit killed me and this is heaven. I didn’t think I’d go to heaven. Huh.”

“Not dead,” Geralt said, lifting a hand to thread through Jaskier’s hair. “Not letting you die. Ever. Especially now that I know how well you fight. You’re living just as long as I am. Don’t know how. I’ll ask Yen, maybe she’ll know of some-“

“Okay,” Jaskier took a step back. “Now, now you’re just being… you want to ask Yennefer, a very very scary witch that you sleep with on the regular-“

Geralt shrugged. “Going to have to stop that now that I have you.”

A high-pitched whine issued from Jaskier’s throat. “I’m going to need you to stop saying things like that if you don’t mean them… how I… ho- expe- think you mean them.”

“I mean them how you think I mean them,” Geralt said. “Most likely. I mean that I would very much like to take you back to our camp and check at least a few things off the mental list of sexual acts we’ve both been compiling right now.”

Jaskier squeaked, “Both?”

Geralt nodded. “I would very much like to do so tomorrow night and for as many nights as you want me. And to extend your allotment of nights somehow. Yennefer has been searching arcane magic things for decades, surely she’s found some anti-ageing or immortality spell by this point. She wouldn’t have needed it, but I’m sure she would have made note of any.”

“Sure she can’t make me younger before she does that?’ Jaskier asked, relying on humour to help him deal with the inrush of information he was being given.

Tilting his head, Geralt looked Jaskier over very thoroughly, noting with some satisfaction what effect his assessing stare had on the state of Jaskier’s trousers. “I like you as you are now. Not the whelp that followed me when It was stupid and dangerous. You’re a grown man now. You’ve filled out. I like how you look.”

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Pardon me if this all seems very sudden.”

“Not sudden,” Geralt said. “I’ve liked how you looked for years.”

“You never said anything.”

Geralt smirked slightly. “I know you’ve lusted for me. I can smell arousal. You never said anything either.”

Jaskier flailed again. “You didn’t consider me your friend, so forgive me for assuming ‘Hey Geralt, you’re the most bloody gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my whole life would you like to bed me and then marry me’ wouldn’t go down very well.”

“I thought,” Geralt started, “you only wanted to follow me for the songs. For the fame and coin it earns you. It’s why you started following me.”

Struck speechless, Jaskier just stared.

Geralt continued. “I’ve thought of you as my friend, but I didn’t think you thought of me as yours. Until you saved me. Until you learned how I fight in case you ever needed to save me. Until you knew what my potions do and which ones they are. All the little things you’ve done for me throughout the years make sense now. I know friendship. That’s not friendship; it’s love.”

“I have loved you since,” Jaskier waved a hand theatrically, “since you told the elves to let me go. Since you let me stay with you even though you could have outrun me easily on Roach. You hunted enough for two and laid our bedrolls close so I wouldn’t freeze on cold nights and especially after the mountain, you’ve barely let me out of your sight and… oh my gods, I am thick, aren’t I? I am so thick! I am Mr. Thick Thick Thickety Thickface from Thicktown, Thickania. You don’t talk, you do. That was your way of… of… saying how you feel. Isn’t it?”

Geralt hummed and nodded.

Jaskier’s smile could have outshone the lovely sunset happening somewhere behind them. “You love me. Geralt, you… love me. Like I love you. Oh my gods, are you sure I’m not dead? Or having the most wonderful dream? This is real,” he took a step closer and reached out cautiously to pull Geralt into his arms. “This is real, right?”

“It’s real,” Geralt nodded again.

A laugh bubbled out of Jaskier, eliciting a smaller but no less sincere one from Geralt. “If I wasn’t covered in blood, I would be kissing you alre-“

Geralt leaned in and pressed their lips together, relishing the happy gasp Jaskier made against his mouth. “Hmm, I’m bloody too.”

Jaskier kissed Geralt, a small peck and then another. “Where was that stream again?”

Geralt pulled back and took Jaskier’s hand, guiding him in the dimming light. “I won’t be bedding you and then marrying you,” he said.

Confusion scrunched up Jaskier’s face before he realized what he had said before. “Oh bollocks, I didn’t mean that- necessarily- I don’t- where would we find a priest or priestess any- I wasn’t suggesting-”

“We have to have some courting time before we should even think about marrying,” Geralt continued. “it’s only proper.”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded so fast, it was a miracle his head didn’t fly away. “Right, right, right, right. Of course, of course, of course. Proper… proper courting. Geralt?” he asked as they arrived at the stream. “I love you. I just… can I say that now? Because I’ve wanted to say it so many times and I’ve been biting it back for years and I just… I just love you.”

Geralt smiled. “I love you too.”

+1

Wow,” Geralt said, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s how you manage to get away with those abysmal pickup lines. I mean… wow.” His heart was racing so fast it almost sounded human after the passionate, athletic and frankly innovative sex they’d just had. "I always did think it would be good."

He didn’t need to turn to see Jaskier’s smug smile, but he did anyway.

Jaskier’s grin was wide and stretched his cheeks even higher than normal. He tossed his sweaty fringe out of his face and kissed Geralt, deeply, slowly, perfectly. “You’re welcome.”

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when he comforts you

This work, 当他安慰你, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

Victor plants his hand on the top of your head.

“Are you upset?”

Lifting your head from the table, your misty eyes tell him everything. You had harboured high hopes for a successful tender but ended up failing. All the work you put in was futile, and all the overtime by your employees came to naught.

You bury your head despondently into the crook of his neck.

“Victor, am I a failure?”

He takes you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

“No, you did very well.”

He pats your hair. 

“If something belongs to you, no one can take it away from you, and you have to hold on to it. And just because you didn’t get something doesn’t mean you didn’t put in enough effort. It could be meant to spur you on to even greater improvements.”

He’s always like this - revealing his tenderness during your weakest moments.

“But I feel like I’ve done my employees wrong. Just thinking about their disappointed expressions makes me...” You choke, the words lodged in your throat.

“You don’t have to apologise.” His calm voice is at your ear. “Once you’ve set your sights on a goal, you will not lose your way even with time. Everyone can see your hard work, and all of them believe that you can lead them into an even better future.”

You remain silent, keeping your arms around his neck.

“I’ve said it before. You can rely on me more often. I’ll never let you be alone.” 

[ GAVIN ]

“It’s late.” Gavin comments, walking towards you with a glass of warm milk.

You’ve been sitting at the windowsill for a long time, staring absent-mindedly out of the window. “Gavin, I’m really worried.”

Tomorrow, your company will be competing with others for a bid on a project. An inexplicable wave of worry has infiltrated your mind.

He sits by your side, drawing you into his arms.

“I believe in you. My girl has always engaged in fierce battles and never backs down. The hard work you and the company have put in will definitely have results.”

“If I fail, everything will return to ground zero.” You lean against him, greedily drinking in the scent which always reassures you.

"The way this project will be presented is in your hands. When facing competing companies, you are your most perfect weapon.” Gavin gently cradles the back of your head, bringing it to his chest. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

You snuggle into him. “I’m so fortunate to have you with me.”

After covering you with a blanket, he lifts you up, carrying you to the bed. “We’ll be together until we’re old and grey.”

Leaning over, he kisses your eyebrows. 

“Sleep. I’ll be with you in your dreams tonight.”

[ LUCIEN ]

“If I didn’t return early, how long would my Little Butterfly plan to sit here?” A gentle voice extricates you from your thoughts.

“Lucien...” You stare at up him, dried tear streaks on your face.

He sets down his luggage. “I heard about what happened from your employees. The working world is indeed dark. Bribery will never disappear.”

You do understand what Lucien is saying. Because of the bribery of a competing company, all the effort you had put in went down the drain. It’s just too difficult to accept it at this moment. 

Not knowing how to properly express the flood of emotions, you wedge your head in between your knees, sniffling.

He sighs, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “You have always been growing under the sunlight. But now that you’ve met the inevitable darkness, you must learn not to avoid it, but get used to it.”

“The person in charge said that the directors had already decided on our company, but...” Before you finish speaking, tears are already rolling down your cheeks. 

“In the business world, the words of many people cannot be trusted. In the end, you can only trust yourself.” Lucien looks into your eyes. “Even so, there are still many beautiful things in this world. To me, you are the source of all my miracles.”

He kisses the tears off your face. “Don’t cry, the dawn is breaking.”

[ KIRO ]

Your eyes snap wide open. “Kiro!” 

“Miss Chips, did you have a nightmare?” Kiro rubs his eyes and sits up to look at you. “Don’t be afraid, your superhero Kiro is right here.”

Still recovering from the fright, you tremble slightly as you cower in his arms. Recalling the endless darkness in your dream, you can’t help but tighten your grip on his waist. “I dreamt that my surroundings were pitch black. There weren’t any lights, stars, or the moon. I couldn't find you either.”

Kiro pats your back, as though he’s reassuring a frightened child. “That won’t happen, Miss Chips. When the path vanishes, I’ll rush towards you. The brightness of the stars will definitely eliminate the darkness.” 

Softening his voice even more, he adds, “And I’ll never leave you.”

With his comfort, your trembling gradually subsides. You angle your body slightly to further close the distance between the two of you. “Kiro, could you sing me a song?”

He brushes your fringe, which is damp with sweat. “I’ll sing whatever you want.”

He adjusts his position such that you can sleep more comfortable in his arms, then begins humming a song softly.

“Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are...”

Watching his girl drift off to sleep, he kisses your forehead.

“Goodnight, my little star.”

[ SHAW ]

You’ve always known that Shaw has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. He’d use lightning to scare tyrants, but will quietly collect empty cola cans for the elderly auntie who collects scrap waste. 

But this time, he really frightened you.

You’re currently at the convenience store purchasing cola for him. Just as you’re about to make payment, you happen to peer into a mirror. 

In the reflection, you watch as Shaw rushes to save a little girl from getting run down by a lorry. 

Your wallet falls to the ground, money scattering everywhere, creating tinkling sounds as they make contact with the ground.

“Shaw!” 

Not bothering to pick up the fallen items, you run towards the lorry.

Shaw is sitting on the ground and hugging the little girl. He spots you, and a familiar impish grin on his lips. “Hey, I’m over here. You’re going the wrong way.”

You hurriedly switch directions and rush towards him, tears flowing. “I didn’t know it was reflecting the glass, so...” You cut yourself off, noticing the large, bloody gash on his arm.

“What? Scared silly?” He stands up, handing the little girl to her mother.

“Shaw...” You reach out, wanting to check him over but not daring to touch his arm. He lowers his head, looking at his own arm. As though it’s nothing to him, he laughs, using his other arm to pull you onto his chest.

“Don’t cry, it doesn’t hurt.”

--

More translated and original works: here

--

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[queenaeducan]

We Tame the Sky

Pairing: f!Cadash / Josephine Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No warnings apply

In the quiet before the final approach on Haven, Thora Cadash and Josephine share a moment together in Skyhold's chapel.

Written as a fill for Spronky as a part of the @sapphic-solstice event!

Read on AO3 here.

Sitting in the quiet of Skyhold’s chapel, Thora begins to see why her ancestors favoured the stone so. Being born Casteless she had always been as likely to choose a sun-soaked field over a well-lit cave, but tonight is different. Outside, the light breaks in a sickly green over the Frostbacks, scattering across the sky like a spotlight through the pieces of a shattered mirror. Thunder rumbles without storm clouds, booming with Corypheus’ ambition. Beneath the stone chapel ceiling it's not easy to forget the chaos that threatens to tear their world asunder, but peace seems a little more feasible here. The harsh light of a Breach wrenched open is blocked out by a heavy wooden door, and she sits awash in the scent of incense, beneath the watchful eyes of the Maker’s chosen.

She kneels before Andraste, her hopes and dreams clasped between her palms as they come together in prayer. She sings a prayer for those who will ride beside her into the abyss, perhaps never to return, a prayer for those she’s leaving behind, with nothing but belief to buoy their hopes for the future.

And one for herself, should Andraste have any grace to spare.

“You have walked beside me Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others Have forsaken me.”

The prayer for the despairing comes too easily to her, the hymn had played a companion to her countless times through the years, but never had its words rang more clearly in her heart than tonight, as she steeled herself to face Corypheus one last time. She can’t pretend she knows what was in Andraste’s heart as she stood before the gates of Minrathous with her army at her flank, but this is likely the closest she’ll ever come to knowing.

“I am not alone. Even As I stumble on the path With my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here.”

Though the chant evokes the Maker’s light, it’s no longer His face she sees as she closes her eyes, lips pressed against her thumbs in reverent devotion. Before Him come the faces of her friends, the brilliance of Cassandra’s sword as it cleaves through their foes, the glow of Solas’ staff as he cuts through the Deep Roads’ dark, the soft gleam in Josephine’s eye as a smile spreads her lips. Heavensent or no, those were the lights that had gotten her this far.

“There you are.” The sound of Josephine’s voice startles Thora from her prayer, with thoughts of her so near at hand she’d almost thought she imagined it. She looks over in time to see her step lightly through the door, her slippers just a whisper against the floor. “I had thought to find you in the garden, but…” The distant roar of the Breach completes her thought in fewer words. She’d often take her evening prayers beneath the bows of the maple trees, preferring their sanctuary to the small chapel that harboured most of Skyhold’s believers, but she’ll find no peace under them tonight— nor any night until her job is done. Josephine’s lips turn in a smile, a practised expression Thora had seen persist in the darkest circumstances, but it strains now. “Well, what matters is I’ve found you now.”

Thora’s words stick in her throat, all she can do as she rises to her feet is stare dumbly. There always seems too much to say between herself and Josephine to know where to begin.

Thankfully, Josephine always seems to find a way. “I suppose it won’t be long now,” she says.

“It’s just a matter of time.” She wishes they could find anything other than the oncoming fight to talk about, but it may be asking too much of them both. Corypheus is difficult to ignore even at the best of times, now that the ruins of Haven tremble at their doorstep every thought is stained by his influence. “I thought I’d see if I could get a few words in before we set out.”

This time the smile that graces Josephine’s features sneaks up on her, chased by a short breath of laughter. “If it’s good fortune you’re after, I may have just the thing.” Before Thora can so much as ask, the ambassador produces a flag of cloth from the folds of her doublet, flourishing it with a street magician’s flair. “Do you recognise it? The pattern, that is.” She proffers it forward, supporting the fabric with the tips of her fingers so the image lays flat before her eyes. She doesn’t need long to know what she’s looking at (she’d spent far too many hours looking for the blasted thing to ever mistake it): a proud ship sails across an unruly sea, the bow cutting through choppy waves and rendering them calm.

“Your family crest…”

“Soon its likeness will fly above a fleet of ships that will rival the great houses of Antiva, but this one is yours.”

“Mine?”

She nods. “My favour may not have the same weight as Andraste, but if it can accompany you where I cannot, then I give it gladly. May I see your hand?”

Thora immediately extends her right arm, then draws it back just as quick. “No, wait,” she says, offering forward the other, fingers closed into a loose fist to contain the faint buzz of the Anchor. “This one could probably use it more.”

“Naturally.” She winds the handkerchief up so it resembles a bracelet, coiling the fabric up like a rope and measuring it against her slender wrist before she tries Thora’s. Curled ringlets coil around her ears as she leans over to tie it properly, and in all the chaos of Corypheus’ attack she’s still found the presence of mind to perfume herself. Thora discovers this herself as she breathes slowly, and tries to forget her daydreams. “I’m afraid I’ve little else to offer but my hopes, Corypheus has proven most resilient to my charms.” The fabric slides across the smooth finish of her gauntlets without purchase, and then again, each time reset by the patient hand of Lady Montilyet. At last it catches against the details, winding around dwarven runes that spell the Cadash house words in an alphabet that rarely saw sunlight. The sight of her words and the Montilyet crest winding together around her wrist moves something in her. It creeps up her ribs and into her throat and blossoms. Not for the first time since they’ve met, Thora finds herself grateful you can’t choke to death on love.

She ties the knot once, twice, and Thora thinks she sees some reluctance as they fall away to her sides. “May you tame the sky as we tamed the sea, Lady Cadash,” she says in a trembling voice, her words straining against her fears.

“Josephine, I—” Brown eyes rimmed with tears look up at Josephine. The sharp end to her sentence is a keen reminder that while she can’t choke to death on love, she sure can still choke. “I’m…” What she wants to say more than anything feels selfish to say, now more than ever, when her death is so near at hand. What good would it do her to die with no regrets, if it meant sentencing Josephine to a lifetime of them? She grinds her hopes beneath her heel, and tells herself that, should she live to see morning, there’ll be nothing stopping her anymore.

Even if it’s a lie, it’s a lie that can get her through this moment.

“Thank you,” she manages after a moment of tear-induced silence. “I’m... I don’t- I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She folds her hands around Thora’s, cupping the armour-clad knuckles between tender fingers, like her glove was wrought with silk and not steel. “Just come back to us, please.”

Her heart constricts with the burden of a promise she may not keep. The sky calls her name, spelling her doom in the air with the ruins of her first failure, but Josephine’s words have worked miracles for her before. “I’ll do my best, I always— oh.” A distant horn blows, signalling her departure, and their farewell. Eyes laced with tears, she turns to the statue of Andraste as though she were a friend forgotten in the tide of the conversation. “I didn’t get to finish.”

The threads of Josephine’s smile start to unravel, grief twisting the manners from the corners of her lips. “I will finish it for you, Inquisitor,” she says in a voice laid thick with tears she wants desperately to dab from her cheeks. “Go with Andraste’s grace.” Her hands tremble as they release Thora’s, only finding stability as they lace together in prayer. As her footsteps echo with her retreat, she hears Josephine’s voice lift in song, words burdened with her weeping but warm with the Maker’s light.

“Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, And be Forgiven.”

[thiscatiscreepy]

"Isn't it love?"

1618 words.

I little exploration of how the Toy Soldier doesn't love.

CW: mentioned sex, the Toy Soldier's time as a nymph is talked about a bit.

There's a lot of love on the Aurora.

People help each other around the ship, they cook for each other when they sense the other hasn't been eating properly, they hug and kiss when they meet in the corridors, they let their passion bloom in each others' rooms and they talk and stare lovingly at each other as they drift asleep after.

Even the Aurora herself is in love, just as passionately.

But the Toy Soldier doesn't really love. It doubts it ever did. Not people, at least. It loves houses and bedrooms and clothes and hands and voices, but not people. Never people. Just the things attached to them.

Of course, it doesn't mean it doesn't love its crew mates, it does! Just differently.

It loves singing with them, and killing alongside them, and dancing with them, and doing what they ask, and kissing them as their hands remove its clothes and their lips start drifting down its body. It doesn't get the compliments on its apparently "exquisite" clockwork, or fingers playing with its hair or the chaste kisses on its cheek as if the passion suddenly died the second they finished, or eyes full of some soft emotion it can't quite name.

It's not uncomfortable with all those little things, it just doesn't get them. It knows that they're significant, but it doesn't understand why or how. And because it rarely returned those little things to them, they were asking it if it was okay with them. And it always said yes, it's okay, don't worry. But they kept worrying because it didn't return those little things, and so it stared to.

They'd say a sweet nothing to it, the meaning of which it doesn't quite understand, and it would return a variation of some other sweet nothing, the meaning of which it doesn't quite understand either. But, they stopped worrying and asking about the little things, so it felt like it did something right.

It's not hurt or even sad that it has to perform love its crew mates are used to, or that they might get a wrong perception of it because of that, that they might not love the real it. There's very little of it that's real after all, and if the little pretending makes its crew mates feel good, it doesn't mind.

As long as it has its crew mates, it's fine pretending for them.

And so it feels a sharp sting every time a crew mate ditches - no, that's a strong word - leaves it for another.

It's fine though, it always comforts itself. It knows that that they love a lot, and their love is open. It understands why they'd prefer someone real, of flesh and metal, instead of it. It understands why they'd rather spend time with someone who loves them the same way they love each other, someone who doesn't pretend to.

It's fine.

It's fine.

It's fine.

It got over jealousy a long time ago.

And yet the sting is still there.

And yet it still remembers its Angel. That beautiful voice it fell in love with, and the person attached to that voice, whom it tried to love so desperately. And it thought that this what love was - trying hard enough to love someone until you convince yourself you actually do.

And after all that work, after all it did to love, its Angel ditched it - yes, this time the word is right - ditched it for a girl who didn't even try, had never tried to love as hard as it did.

And it was devastated. And it was angry. And it hated the Angel far more than it even loved them. And it decided to take one - only - thing it truly loved from its Angel.

And so it learned to not try to love.

Sometimes it wonders if its crew mates actually love it they way they love each other, or if they, like it once, fell in love with the angelic voice, and just try to love it enough to fool themselves. But then they talk to it in such an unnecessarily soft way that it reassures itself that, yes, they do actually love it, and always will.

It remembers its crew mates talking about the times they fell in love. They'd hear a hauntingly beautiful voice, or catch a glimpse of a godlike visage, or climb over a hellish massacre that's not of their doing; and they chase after the source of such wonderful things, and find themselves stunned and wordless when they finally see them. And they fall in love.

The Toy Soldier never understands why they always seek the source in the first place. Don't they see that they fell in love with the source only by attachment? That those faceless things are the ones they actually loved? That those things deserve as much love?

It tried to express it once, but only got weird looks in return, so it didn't mention it again.

But that's what it loves, truly loves - things, creations, fragments, not the people behind them. In some ways, it believes, the things have just as much - if not more - history and character as their sources. It gets frustrated when people mistake its love for a part of them for its love for them as a whole.

Because it doesn't love people.

It loves uniforms because they remind it of good wars and it loves guns because their song is deafening and it loves swords because they glisten so blindingly in the sun and it loves voices because they harmonize so beautifully and it loves voices because they scream so hauntingly and it loves passion because passion doesn't need love.

And so it thought that being a nymph would be perfect for it. It could sing, and it could please. All passion and no love.

And, for a bit, it got exactly that. It didn't always like the things people did to it, but at least they did it fast and didn't expect it to love them afterwards. Though some of them still asked worried questions and it had to reassure them that yes it's fine, no you weren't too rough, no I cannot feel pain, yes I'll tell you to stop if needed.

But it was not until one fateful night when it truly realised that this job wasn't what it had hoped it would be. As it undressed and got itself ready and begun undressing its client, they burst into tears over some inconvenience it doesn't remember at this point. And they cried and cried and mourned to it, seeking some sympathy with their pleading eyes but it didn't know what to do except to listen. It didn't got to do what it was hired to do that night, and it wondered why they expected it to know what to do.

Since that night it listened to plenty of broken people, each with different and yet same problems. And they all expected it to do something as they sobbed onto its chest and clutched at its arms. Why did they think a wooden man would fix them, it still doesn't understand.

Still, that job was a good distraction, and it got to meet plenty of nice people and got itself so many lovely new things with the money and it told its crew mates all about it and it was even somewhat sad watching it all burn.

Shortly after that, the crew stopped loving it.

At least, that's what it felt like. They still had passions but they didn't say their sweet nothings and they stopped loving it the way they loved each other.

It felt wrong, unnatural. Like they were restraining themselves from loving it.

And it hurt.

What happened? it asked Brian. He looked extremely confused. Why did you stop loving me? it added.

I thought that's what you wanted, Brian replied.

It stared at him and asked, why?

You said it yourself, on the City, Brian told it.

What a wildly wrong assumption, it thinks.

I didn't mind your love, it said, I never did, why did you think those broken people were anything like you?

You never seemed to love us, Brian said, we thought we were making you uncomfortable.

I would have said so! it exclaimed, I know my boundaries and none of you were overstepping them.

But, Brian strained, you just, don't love, isn't this more suitable for you?

I'm used to it, it replied, I've been loved by you for millennia, and your love is normal for me, and your unconditional love is one of your parts I love, just as your voices and your clothes and you violence.

Brian looked at it, still unsure, and said, we just didn't want you to do things you wouldn't normally do, especially just for our comfort.

Then don't, it said, just don't expect me to love you the same way you love each other. I don't understand your acts of love but I know they mean you care about me and that you will be there for me and I love how consistently you show that. I still want you all to be with me.

Brian was silent for a moment, and nodded slowly. Okay, just, don't be afraid to tell us that you're uncomfortable, he said.

I never am with you, it reassured him.

And so the next day, their love resumed, with all the cuddles and hand holding and loving gazes and small kisses. They still seemed unsure about its limits at times but eventually got the hang of it.

They finally seemed to understand that it doesn't love them, it loves their love.